Flower grinned comfortably.
“You may larf,” said the small girl, severely; “but you won’t larf when you lose it, an’ all becos you won’t poultice it with tea leaves.”
She collected the things together on a tea tray of enormous size, and holding it tightly pressed to her small waist, watched with anxious eyes as the heavy articles slowly tobogganed to the other end. A knife fell outside the door, and the loaf, after a moment’s hesitation which nearly upset the tray, jumped over the edge and bounded downstairs.
Flower knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and slowly refilling it, began to peruse the morning paper, looking in vain, as he had looked each morning, for an account of his death.
His reading was interrupted by a loud knock at the street door, and he threw down the paper to be ready to receive the faithful Fraser. He heard the door open, and then the violent rushing upstairs of Miss Chiffers to announce his visitor.
“Somebody to see you, Mr. Norton,” she panted, bursting into the room.
“Well, show him up,” said Flower.
“All of ’em?” demanded Miss Chiffers.
“Is there more than one?” enquired Flower in a startled voice.
“Three,” said Miss Chiffers, nodding; “two gentlemen and a lady.”