"
The genius paused at the door.
"Whom shall I ask for?"
"Mrs. Crocker," snapped Miss Trimble. "Siz Bingley Crocker. Tell
her we've found th' guy she's been looking for!"
The genius backed out. There was a howl of anguish from the
doorway.
"I _beg_ your pardon!" said the genius.
"Can't you look where you're going!"
"I am exceedingly sorry--"
"Brrh!"
Mr. Pett entered the room, hopping. He was holding one slippered
foot in his hand and appeared to be submitting it to some form of
massage. It was plain that the usually mild and gentle little man
was in a bad temper. He glowered round him at the company
assembled.
"What the devil's the matter here?" he demanded. "I stood it as
long as I could, but a man can't get a wink of sleep with this
noise going on!"
"Yipe! Yipe! Yipe!" barked Aida from the shelter of Mrs. Pett's
arms.
Mr. Pett started violently.
"Kill that dog! Throw her out! Do _something_ to her!"
Mrs. Pett was staring blankly at her husband. She had never seen
him like this before. It was as if a rabbit had turned and
growled at her. Coming on top of the crowded sensations of the
night, it had the effect of making her feel curiously weak. In
all her married life she had never known what fear was. She had
coped dauntlessly with the late Mr. Ford, a man of a spirited
temperament; and as for the mild Mr. Pett she had trampled on
him. But now she felt afraid.
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