"No fear. I'll keep my weather eye on the shop. Do you want me to sleep here?"
"You'd better, I think. But don't have rowdy parties here, will you? And don't wander away and leave the door open. By George! I believe I'd better stay——"
"Rot! Go on and take your vacation, old chap! Back in a week?"
"Yes; or any time you wire me——"
"Not I. I'll have a jolly time by myself."
"Don't have too many men here in the evening. The smoke will get into those new curtains——"
Dankmere, in his trousers and undershirt, stretched on the divan, laughed and blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling. Then, reaching forth he took a palm-leaf fan in one hand, a tall, frosty glass in the other, and applied both in a manner from which he could extract the most benefit.
"Bon voyage!" he nodded to Quarren. "My duties and compliments and all that—and pick me out an heiress of sorts—there's a good fellow——"
As Quarren went out he heard his lordship burst forth into his distressing whistle; and he left him searching piercingly for inspiration to complete his "Coster's Hornpipe."