utional.'

"'It's still harder to pronounce, ma'am,' I assured her. 'That is my
friend's only reason.'

"'It was you that started my-ladying me,' she claimed. 'Why don't
you keep it up? I like it.'

"'My dear Lady Petunia,' said I, 'as you so well put it, the National
Liberal Club carries its own recommendation. What's more, it's going
to be the saving of us.'

"'I don't see connecshun,' objected Farrell. 'They don't admit--'

"'They'll admit you,' I said; 'and that's where you'll sleep
to-night. The night porter will hunt out a pair of pyjamas and
escort you up the lift. Oh, he's used to it. He gets politicians
from Bradford and such places dropping in at all hours. Don't try
the marble staircase--it's winding and slippery at the edge. . . .
And don't stand gaping at me in that helpless fashion, but get a move
on your intelligence. . . . We're dealing with a lady in distress,
and that's our first consideration. Now I can't take you on to
Wimbledon, however willing to be shut of you: first, because it would
take time, and next because I'm not sure how much petrol's left in
the machine. So back we turn for be lights of merry London.
We deposit the Lady Petunia at--what's the address, ma'am?"

"'Never you mind,' said she helpfully. 'Put me down somewhere near
the end of Vauxhall Bridge, and I'll find my way.'

"'Spoken like an angel,' said I. 'And then, Farrell, you're for the
National Liberal Club. The servants there are not known to me, but
I'll bet on their asking fewer questions than I should have to answer
your housekeeper.'

"I think Farrell was about to demand time for consideration. But the
Lady Petunia gripped him by the arm. 'Loveadove!' she exclaimed.
'There's a copper coming down the road!' We bundled him back into
the taxi. 'It's a real copper, too,' she warned me as she sprang in
at his heels. 'Spark her up, and hurry!--I can tell the sound of
their boots at fifty yards.'

"Well, Otty, I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and she.--She was
right. The policeman came up and drew to a halt as, without an
indecent show of haste, I dropped into the driver's seat, started up
and slewed the wheel round.

"'Anything wrong?' he asked.

"'There was,' said I. 'Over-succulence in the bivalves: but she'll
work home, I think.'

"I pipped him Good night, and we sailed down the hill in some style.
Sharp to the right, and by and by I opened a common on my right--
Wandsworth? Clapham?--Don'