we dressy!" cried Bindle, looking appreciatively at Mr.
Stiffson's trousers. "You got 'er beaten with them bags, sir, or my
name ain't Joe Bindle."

Mr. Stiffson coughed nervously behind his hand.

"Now," continued Bindle, "you got a good hour, then we must see wot's
to be done. I'll keep the Ole Bird away."

"The Old Bird?" questioned Mr. Stiffson in a thin voice as he opened
the door; "but Oscar is only----"

"I mean your missis, sir," explained Bindle. "You leave 'er to me."

"Come on, Mr. Man," cried Cissie Boye, "don't be afraid, I never eat
men when there's eggs and bacon."

Mr. Stiffson motioned Bindle to accompany him into the sitting-room.

"I got to see to Oscar," said Bindle reassuringly.

"Now sit down," ordered Cissie Boye. Mr. Stiffson seated himself on
the edge of the chair opposite to her. She busied herself with the
coffee, bacon and eggs. Mr. Stiffson watched her with the air of a man
who is prepared to bolt at any moment. He cast anxious eyes towards
the clock. It pointed to a quarter to nine. Bindle had taken the
precaution of putting it back an hour.

Suddenly Oscar burst into full song. Mr. Stiffson sighed his relief.
Oscar had had his breakfast.

"Now, Mr. Man, eat," commanded Cissie Boye, "and," handing him a cup
of coffee, "drink."

"An' be merry, sir," added Bindle, who entered at the moment. "You're
'avin' the time of your life, an' don't you forget it."

Mr. Stiffson looked as if the passage of centuries would never permit
him to forget.

"An' now I'll leave you little love-birds," said Bindle with the
cheerful assurance of a cupid, "an' go an' keep watch."

"But----" protested Mr. Stiffson, half rising from his chair.

"Oh! do sit down, old thing!" cried Cissie; "you're spoiling my
breakfast."

Mr. Stiffson subsided. Destiny had clearly taken a hand in the affair.

"Now you jest enjoy your little selves," apostrophized Bindle, "an'
then we'll try an' find out 'ow all this 'ere 'appened. It does me,
blowed if it don't."

II

"I'm not aware that I speak indistinctly." The voice was
uncompromising, the deportment aggressive. "I said 'Mr. Jabez
Stiffson.'"

"You did, mum," agreed Bindle tactfully; "I 'eard you myself quite
plainly."

"Then where is he? I'm Mrs. Stiffson."

Mrs. Stiffson was a tall woman of generous proportions. Her hair was
grey, her features virtuously hard, her manner overwhelming. Her
movements gave no suggestion of limbs, she seemed to wheel a