with very red arms; a care-taker who had obviously failed to take care
of herself; a couple of chimney-sweeps with partially washed faces; a
charwoman with her friend the female greengrocer, who had been burned
out of the opposite side of the court; two or three coster-mongers, a
burglar, several thieves, a footman in resplendent livery, a few noted
drunkards, and chimney-pot Liz with her teapot--not the original teapot
of course--that had perished in the flames--but one indistinguishably
like it, which had been presented to her by Colonel Brentwood. She had
insisted on carrying it with her to Cherub Court on that occasion, on
the ground that they would hardly recognise her without it, especially
now that the fang was gone.

The resplendent footman had been the first guest to arrive, along with
Liz, and was welcomed by the hostess and Mrs Blathers--who aided and
abetted her friend on that occasion--with effusive demonstrations of
goodwill and surprise. Thereafter the footman, who seemed to be
eccentric, sat in a corner with his face buried in his hands, and did
not move while the other guests were assembling. When the room was full
and the tea poured out, Mrs Rampy looked at Liz with a sly awkward air
which was quite foreign to her nature.

"Ah, Mrs Rampy," said Liz, "don't be ashamed."

"Lord, bless us--an' our wittles," said Mrs Rampy, suddenly shutting
her eyes as she opened her mouth, to the intense surprise of her guests.
"Now then," she added, in a tone of great relief, "go a-'ead w'en
you've got the chance. There's more w'ere that come from. 'And about
the cake, Mrs Blathers, like a good creetur. An' it ain't much o' this
blow-hout you owes to me. I on'y supplied the sugar, 'cause that was in
the 'ouse anyways."

"It is a good deed, Mrs Rampy," said old Liz, with a smile, "if you've
supplied all the sweetness to the feast."

"That's a lie!" cried the hostess sharply. "It was _you_ that supplied
it. If it 'adn't bin for you, Liz, I'd never 'ave--"

Mrs Rampy broke down at this point and threw her apron over her head to
conceal her feelings. At the same moment the eccentric footman raised
his head, and something like a pistol-shot was heard as the burglar
brought his palm down on his thigh, exclaiming--

"I know'd it! Trumps--or his ghost!"

"'E's too fat for a ghost," remarked a humorous thief.

"No, mate, I _ain't_ Trumps," said the resplendent man, rising before
the admiring gaze of the pa