"What's this?" said she, stirring the helmet disdainfully with her toe.
"Relic of the Great War. The Crown Prince used to wear it in wet weather to keep the crown dry."
Aunt Angela sniffed and picked up the sock with the fire-tongs. "And this?"
"A sock, of course," I explained. "An emergency sock of my own invention. It has three exits, you will observe, very handy in case of fire."
"Hump!" said Aunt Angela.
Edward returned bearing his offerings, a gent's rimless boater, a doorknob, six inches of lead-piping and half a bottle of cod-liver oil.
"Hump!" said Aunt Angela.
No more was said of it that night. Aunt Angela resumed her sewing, Edward his Gertie, I my slumb—, my meditations. Nor indeed was the jumble sale again mentioned, a fact which in itself should have aroused my suspicions; but I am like that, innocent as a sucking-dove. I had put the matter out of my mind altogether until yesterday evening, when, hearing the sound of laboured breathing and the frantic clanking of a bicycle pump proceeding from the shed, I went thither to investigate, and was nearly capsized by Edward charging out.
"It's gone," he cried—"gone!" and pawed wildly for his stirrup.
"What has?" I inquired.