"Annie arrives nine to-night. Please meet. Jim."
Until this moment he had forgotten all about the wire he had sent himself. Now it had reached him in all its imbecile meaninglessness.
Mrs Freeman regarded his face anxiously.
"Not bad news, I 'ope, sir?"
Jim crushed the thing into his pocket somewhat impatiently.
"No; it's all right, thanks, Mrs Freeman. It's--it's nothing. Thanks for bringing it."
And so Mrs Freeman had to retrace her steps to Pimlico, feeling (it must be confessed) somewhat disappointed at the non-tragic contents of the message she had so carefully conveyed to the hospital.
Jim imbibed more beer and sang more songs, and finally, when the party broke up, dragged Koko off to dine at the Trocadero. All through the meal Jim was excessively merry, his bursts of laughter causing many of the diners to glance curiously in his direction. Koko, knowing by long experience that he could do nothing to stem Jim's methods of letting off steam, decided that his place to-night must be by Mortimer's side; so he hastily scribbled a note asking a colleague to report the fight at the National Milling Club for which he (Koko) had been booked, and despatched it to the Sporting Mail office by a special messenger. Koko felt easier in his mind when he had done this; he saw that Jim intended to make a night of it, and that his programme would be a variegated one.
Dinner over, the Long 'Un hailed a hansom, and, Koko having stowed himself away inside, took his place with a brief "Exhibition!" to the driver.
"Dora!" breathed Jim, as the cab sped across the Circus and headed for Piccadilly.