Mr. T. That's Buckram all over. Never can depend upon that fellow. (Gloomily.) Now we shall be thirteen at table!
Mrs. T. Nonsense, Montague—we can't be! Let me see—Uncle Gabriel and Aunt Joanna, two; the Ditchwaters, four; Bodfishes, six; Toomers, eight; Miss Bugle, nine; Mr. Poffley, ten; Cecilia Flinders, eleven, ourselves—we are thirteen! And I know Uncle will refuse to sit down at all if he notices it; and, anyway, it is sure to cast a gloom over the whole thing. We must get somebody!
Mr. T. Couldn't that Miss—what's her name? Seaton—dine, for once?
Mrs. T. The idea, Montague! Then there would be one Lady too many—if you can call a Governess a Lady, that is. And I do so disapprove of taking people out of their proper station.
"Montague, don't say you went and ordered him."
Mr. T. I might wire to Filleter or Makewayt—but I rather think they're both away, and it won't do to run any risk. Shall I bring home Sternstuhl or Federfuchs? Very quiet, respectable young fellows, and I could let one of 'em go off early to dress.
Mrs. T. Thank you, Montague—but I won't have one of your German clerks at my table—everyone would see what he was in a minute. And he mightn't even have a dress-suit! Let me think ... I know what we can do. Blankley supplies extra guests for parties and things. I remember seeing it in the paper. We must hire a man there. Go there at once, Montague, it's very little out of your way, and tell them to be sure and send a gentlemanly person—he needn't talk much, and he won't be required to tell any anecdotes. Make haste, say they can put him down to my deposit account.
Mr. T. I don't half like the idea, Maria, but I suppose it's the only thing left. I'll go and see what they can do for us.
[He goes out.