Obeying the voice of authority, he pushed the tombstone to one
side and poked his head out of the sepulchre.
"Piccadilly Jim!" he murmured apologetically.
"Piccadilly Jim!" said Mrs. Crocker. "It is extremely impertinent
of them!"
In spite of his misery, a wan smile appeared on Mr. Pett's
death-mask at this remark.
"They should worry about--!"
"Peter!"
Mr. Pett died again, greatly respected.
"Why should the New York papers refer to James at all?" said Mrs.
Crocker.
"Explain, Peter!"
Mr. Pett emerged reluctantly from the cerements. He had supposed
that Nesta would do the talking.
"Well, he's a news-item."
"Why?"
"Well, here's a boy that's been a regular fellow--raised in
America--done work on a newspaper--suddenly taken off to England
to become a London dude--mixing with all the dukes, playing
pinochle with the King--naturally they're interested in him."
A more agreeable expression came over Mrs. Crocker's face.
"Of course, that is quite true. One cannot prevent the papers
from printing what they wish. So they have published articles
about James' doings in English Society?"
"Doings," said Mr. Pett, "is right!"
"Something has got to be done about it," said Mrs. Pett.
Mr. Pett endorsed this.
"Nesta's going to lose her health if these stories go on," he
said.
Mrs. Crocker raised her eyebrows, but she had hard work to keep a
contented smile off her face.
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