"Isn't it just charming, Mr. McCabe?" says she, holdin' a hand up behind one ear. "I can hardly wait for dear Valentine to come, I'm so anxious to see how pleased he'll be. He just dotes on jungle life. The dear boy! You must come up and take tea with him some afternoon. He's a very shy, diffident little chap; but——"
At that the door bell starts ringin' like the house was afire, and bang! bang! goes someone's fist on the outside panel. Course, we all chases down stairs to see what's broke loose; but before we gets to the front hall the butler has the door open, and in pushes a husky, red whiskered party, wearin' a cloth cap, a belted ulster with four checks to the square yard, and carryin' an extension leather bag about the size of a small trunk, with labels pasted all over it.
"It's a blawsted shyme, that's w'at it is!" says he—"me p'yin' 'alf a bob for a two shillin' drive. These cabbies of yours is a set of bloomink 'iw'ymen!"
"What name, sir?" says the butler.
"Nime!" roars the whiskered gent. "I'm Valentine, that's who I am! Tyke the luggage, you shiverin' pie face!"
"Oh, Valentine!" squeals Aunt Isabella, makin' a rush at him with her arms out.
"Sheer off, aunty!" says he. "Cut out the bally tommyrot and let me 'ave a wash. And sye, send some beggar for the brandy and soda. Where's me rooms?"
"I'll show you up, Valentine," chips in Purdy.
"'Ello! 'O's the little man?" says Vally. "Blow me if it ain't Purdy! Trot along up, Purdy lad, and show me the digs."
Say, he was a bird, Vally was. He talks like a Cockney, acts like a bounder, and looks 'em both.