Now I had to have those papers, and an idea occurred to me, so I stopped. "I say, how about your dinner? You'll miss it altogether. I don't want to keep you. Perhaps if you hurry off at once——"
"Dinner," he cried indignantly, gripping me fiercely by the arm—"what is dinner compared with duty? Do you know, man, I've been doing this bally Special business for over two years and never had a case yet, and now that I've got a real fire—and this is my own fire, mind you, my very own——"
"I thought it was mine," I ventured.
"You talk to me of dinner! Pass right along, please;" and I found myself back among the crowd, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it.
There was a small cheer just then as the flames came through the roof. Of Jones and his wife I saw nothing, but supposed they must have stayed on to enjoy their saddle of mutton, and wondered if they had kept mine hot for me. I could have kept it hot in my own house, I reflected rather miserably.
The fire had been extinguished. As the crowd dispersed I felt a touch on my shoulder. It was the elderly constable, note-book in hand. "You are Mr. Brown, Sir, of Myrtle Villa?" he inquired patiently. "I haven't had your name and address yet, Sir, for showing an unguarded light at the rear of the premises at 8 P.M."
"Plain Cook (good). Wanted for country house; six kept."—Devon and Exeter Gazette.
Too many; sure to spoil the broth.