“Be quick, Jimmy. Tell the man we'll give him five bob for the loan of the beast. Now run the organ under the tree, and we'll dress it when Bubbles comes back,” Sir Christopher cried.
“I've often wondered,” said Penfentenyou, “whether it would puzzle a monkey?” He had forgotten the needs of his Growing Nation, and was earnestly parting the white-thorn stems with his fingers.
Giuseppe and Jimmy did as they were told, the monkey following them with a wary and malignant eye.
“Here's a discovery,” said Jimmy. “The singing part of this organ comes off the wheels.” He spoke volubly to the proprietor. “Oh, it's so as Giuseppe can take it to his room o' nights. And play it. D'you hear that? The organ-grinder, after his day's crime, plays his accursed machine for love. For love, Chris! And Michael Angelo was one of 'em!”
“Don't jaw! Tell him to take the beast's petticoat off,” said Sir Christopher Tomling.
Lord Lundie returned, very little winded, through a gap higher up the hedge.
“They're all out, thank goodness!” he cried, “but I've raided what I could. Marrons glacés, candied fruit, and a bag of oranges.”
“Excellent!” said the world-renowned contractor.
“Jimmy, you're the light-weight; jump up on the organ and impale these things on the leaves as I hand 'em!”