"Don't forget your spats," said Bill. He settled himself more comfortably on the bed. "'Ere, Lucy, my dear, come over 'ere beside me."
"Oh, indeed," said Alf, realizing her presence for the first time. "No, you don't. I don't 'ave no females in my room while I'm dressing."
"Don't trouble yerself about that," replied Bill airily. "Carry on. Lucy won't mind."
Alf stared with strong disapprobation at Lucy, who smiled coyly at him and displayed a large expanse of bare leg.
"No," he agreed in a meaning tone. "Lucy wouldn't mind. I ain't bothering about Lucy, though. It's me as minds. Tell 'er to 'op it at once, Bill Grant, an' think shame of yerself. I dunno what the 'ell's come to yer."
Bill, however unwillingly, was constrained to bow before Alf's outraged modesty, and Lucy accordingly withdrew. Then Alf proceeded to dress himself. A struggle with a stiff and terribly high collar made both Alf himself and his temper exceedingly hot; but at last the operation was over. He placed his glossy topper on his head and displayed himself for his friend's inspection.
Bill looked him over minutely and critically.
"Yes," he said at length. "Yes, you looks all right. Seems to me you wants brightening up some'ow. I know! 'Old on 'arf a mo."
He went out of the room and returned a moment later with something rolled up in his hand.