“Wonder what excuse old Alf'll make for being in?” he thought.
He stood with one foot on the bottom stair, listening acutely. He heard a door open above, and then a wild, ear-splitting shriek rang through the house. Instinctively he dashed upstairs and, following his wife into their bedroom, stood by her side gaping stupidly at a pair of legs standing on the hearthstone. As he watched they came backwards into the room, the upper part of a body materialized from the chimney, and turning round revealed the soot-stained face of Mr. Alfred Chase. Another wild shriek from Mrs. Teak greeted its appearance.
“Hul-lo!” exclaimed Mr. Teak, groping for the right thing to say. “Hul-lo! What—what are you doing, Alf?”
Mr. Chase blew the soot from his lips. “I—I—I come 'ome unexpected,” he stammered.
“But—what are—you doing?” panted Mrs. Teak, in a rising voice.
“I—I was passing your door,” said Mr. Chase, “passing your door—to go to my room to—to 'ave a bit of a rinse, when—”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Teak.
Mr. Chase gave Mr. Teak a glance the pathos of which even the soot could not conceal. “When I—I heard a pore little bird struggling in your chimbley,” he continued, with a sigh of relief. “Being fond of animals, I took the liberty of comin' into your room and saving its life.”
Mr. Teak drew a breath, which he endeavoured in vain to render noiseless.
“It got its pore little foot caught in the brickwork,” continued the veracious Mr. Chase, tenderly. “I released it, and it flowed—I mean flew—up the chimbley.”