The young boy put a note into his hand, and dragged Scottie from the shadow where he had modestly seated himself.
“By Jove,” said the unknown young man, who happened to be Mr. Wise. “It’s Scottie, the Park View dog.”
The gardener literally burst the envelope open. The enclosure said: “Dear Gardener—Will you please keep Scottie until I ask you for him again.—Your fairly sincere suffragette.”
The note went round the Bridge Table.
“I have always wondered,” said Mrs. Rust, “whether politics were really good for women. Now I am sure that they have an unhinging tendency. What does it mean?”
“It means that they are going on an expedition,” said Courtesy. “They want the dog looked after for a day or two.”
“Why, but Park View is a regular palace in Greyville,” said Mr. Wise. “There are three servants in it, all competent to look after Scottie for a day or two.”
“I shall have to do what she says,” said the gardener. “The suffragette’s only fault is that she leaves almost too much to the imagination.”
The boy had vanished.
“Better go round and ask for an explanation,” said Courtesy.