u brace up the breeches a little higher?" said Daphne.

"No, I can't," snapped her husband. "As it is, my feet are nearly off
the ground."

Seated upon the bed, Jonah rolled over upon his side and gave himself
up to a convulsion of silent mirth.

"The sleeves and the waistcoat," continued my sister, "are nothing.
Adele and I can easily alter them. What worries me is the breeches."

"They'd worry you a damned sight more if you had 'em on," said Berry.
"And if you think I'm going to wear this little song-without-words,
even as amended by you and Adele, you're simply unplaced. To say I
wouldn't be seen dead in it conveys nothing at all."

"My dear boy," purred Daphne, "be reasonable. It's far too late to get
hold of anything else: it's the ball of the season, and fancy dress is
_de rigueur_. I'm sure if you would only brace up----"

With an unearthly shriek, Berry collapsed in my arms.

"Take her away!" he roared. "Take her away before I offer her
violence. Explain my anatomy. Tell her I've got a trunk. Conceal
nothing. Only...."

Amid the explosion of pent-up laughter, the rest of the sentence was
lost.

As soon as we could speak coherently, we endeavoured to smooth him down.

At length--

"It's transparently plain," said Jonah, "that that dress is out of the
question." Here he took out his watch. "Let's see. It's now three
o'clock. That gives us just seven hours to conceive and execute some
other confection. It shouldn't be difficult."

"Now you're talking," said Berry. "I know. I'll go as a mahout. Now,
that's easy. Six feet of butter muslin, four pennyworth of woad, and a
harpoon. And we can lock the elephant's switch and park him in the
rhododendrons."

"Why," said Jonah, "shouldn't you go as Mr. Sycamore Tight? You're not
unlike him, and the excitement would be intense."

After a little discussion we turned the suggestion down.

For all that, it was not without merit.

Mr. Sycamore Tight was wanted--wanted badly. There was a price upon
his head. Two days after he had landed in France, a large American
bank had discovered good reason to believe that Mr. Tight had
personally depleted its funds to the tune of over a million.

Daily, for the last four days, the gentleman's photograph had appeared
in every French paper, illustrating a succinct and compelling
advertisement, which included a short summary of his characteristics
and announced the offer of a reward of fifty thousand