than anything else. "It's
quite all right."

She had said the wrong thing. He did Exercise 3.

"All right? _Nom d'un nom d'un nom_! The hell you say it's all right! Of
what use to pull stuff like that? Wait one half-moment. Not yet quite so
quick, my old sport. It is by no means all right. See yet again a little.
It is some very different dishes of fish. I can take a few smooths with a
rough, it is true, but I do not find it agreeable when one play larks
against me on my windows. That cannot do. A nice thing, no. I am a
serious man. I do not wish a few larks on my windows. I enjoy larks on my
windows worse as any. It is very little all right. If such rannygazoo is
to arrive, I do not remain any longer in this house no more. I buzz off
and do not stay planted."

Sinister words, I had to admit, and I was not surprised that Aunt Dahlia,
hearing them, should have uttered a cry like the wail of a master of
hounds seeing a fox shot. Anatole had begun to wave his fists again at
Gussie, and she now joined him. Seppings, who was puffing respectfully in
the background, didn't actually wave his fists, but he gave Gussie a
pretty austere look. It was plain to the thoughtful observer that this
Fink-Nottle, in getting on to that skylight, had done a mistaken thing.
He couldn't have been more unpopular in the home of G.G. Simmons.

"Go away, you crazy loon!" cried Aunt Dahlia, in that ringing voice of
hers which had once caused nervous members of the Quorn to lose stirrups
and take tosses from the saddle.

Gussie's reply was to waggle his eyebrows. I could read the message he
was trying to convey.

"I think he means," I said--reasonable old Bertram, always trying to
throw oil on the troubled w's----"that if he does he will fall down the
side of the house and break his neck."

"Well, why not?" said Aunt Dahlia.

I could see her point, of course, but it seemed to me that there might be
a nearer solution. This skylight happened to be the only window in the
house which Uncle Tom had not festooned with his bally bars. I suppose he
felt that if a burglar had the nerve to climb up as far as this, he
deserved what was coming to him.

"If you opened the skylight, he could jump in."

The idea got across.

"Seppings, how does this skylight open?"

"With a pole, madam."

"Then get a pole. Get two poles. Ten."

And presently Gussie was mixing with the company, Like one of those chaps
you read about in the papers, the wretched man