"There is nothing," replied the visitor, "that I should like at this present moment better than a quid; but I'm afraid it's my duty to stay.

I shan't do n.o.body any 'arm, beyond taking a inventory of the furniture.

You'll find me quite a confidential family friend in a day or two, I should n't wonder. Oh, dear, 'ere's another of 'em coming to 'ave a go!"

He closed his eyes resignedly. Before him stood Tilly--small, slim, white to the lips, with all her world tottering on the brink of the abyss. In her hands she held a cigar-box.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Surname," replied the broker's man pedantically, "Stillbottle.

Christian ditto, Samuel. Net result, Samuel Stillbottle."

"Have a cigar, Mr. Stillbottle," said Tilly, with a ghost of a smile.

Mr. Stillbottle helped himself without comment. He was a man for whom life held few surprises. "Thank you. But I won't go, mind you," was all he said.

Next moment Tilly motioned him to a chair beside the table, and set the decanter and a gla.s.s beside him. "Have something to drink, Mr.

Stillbottle," she said.

"I shall be pleased to do so," replied Mr. Stillbottle graciously.

"Without prejudice, of course," he added, filling his gla.s.s.

By this time the others, astonished and interrogative, had gathered round Tilly.

"Tilly," burst out Percy, "what's the good? He won't go--don't you think it!"

"Young man," corroborated Mr. Stillbottle, "you are right. I won't.

You 've done it in one."

Tilly took an arm of Percy and another of her mother and drew both in the direction of the sofa. Her breath came fast.

"Listen," she said rapidly--"you too, Dad! We _will_ have our tea-party.

We won't throw up a single item in the programme. We'll entertain the Mainwarings, and we'll show them that we know how to do things in proper style, and we'll make them all enjoy themselves--even Sylvia--and I'll get my d.i.c.ky yet!"

She paused, and surveyed her mystified audience with shining eyes.

"But, Sis," enquired the dubious Percy, indicating the fully occupied Mr. Stillbottle, "what about Rockefeller over there?"

The indomitable Tilly laughed.

"He is our old family butler!" she said simply.

CHAPTER XIX

SIDELIGHTS ON A PUBLIC CHARACTER

Mr. Samuel Stillbottle, notebook in hand, with a look of professional severity upon his pinched features, slowly circ.u.mnavigated the drawing-room, making an inventory of the furniture. He was followed, step for step, by the deeply interested Caution and Cure, who, finding the bonds of discipline unusually relaxed, owing to the preoccupation of their elders, had seized an early opportunity of escaping from the region belowstairs in which they were supposed to be enjoying their afternoon siesta, in order to pursue their acquaintance with the gentleman whom they had christened, on sight, "the funny man." They had encountered Mr. Stillbottle in the kitchen, and had conceived a liking for him at once. As appraisers of character their point of view was circ.u.mscribed and their judgment immature; but Mr. Stillbottle's performance at dinner had won their unqualified respect and admiration.

They had accordingly decided to spend the rest of their lives in his company, and with that intent in view had laboriously scaled the staircase, and were now doing their best, by a series of ill-timed demonstrations of cordiality, to obstruct their new friend in the execution of his duty.

"Chesterfield sofa--two castors loose--one-fifteen," murmured Mr.

Stillbottle, plying his pencil. ("Run away, that's good children.) Me'ogany whatnot"--he slipped his hand round behind the piece of furniture in question--"with deal back, two-ten. Armchair, with off 'ind leg cracked, twelve-and-six. (Run away, that's little dears. Run away and drown the kitten, or give the canary a shampoo; but don't stand there starin' at me like a pair of images. I don't like it, so don't do it.) Now for the 'arpsichord!"

The hara.s.sed Mr. Stillbottle began to examine the Welwyns' piano. The Cure turned to The Caution.

"Funny man!" she reiterated ecstatically.

"Yesh," a.s.sented The Caution, who suffered from a slight palatal affection. "Funny man! Lesh fight him a little bit!"

As an intimation that the approaching combat was to be of the friendliest description, he first smiled seraphically upon Mr.

Stillbottle (who was looking the other way at the moment), and then dealt that gentleman a well-directed blow in the back of each knee simultaneously with his pudgy fists. Mr. Stillbottle, who, owing to his ignorance of infantile patois, was entirely unprepared for this onslaught, promptly fell head-first into the arm-chair with the damaged hind leg, reducing its value by a further one-and-ninepence. Before he could extricate himself his enraptured admirers had conceived and partially put into execution the happy design of tickling him to death.

"Now, look 'ere," he exclaimed indignantly, when he was sufficiently recovered from the suddenness of this outrage to resume an upright position, "you must drop it! Pop off! I won't 'ave it! If I ketch 'old of either of you--if I ketch--all right, say no more about it! I believe that little girl 'as got the evil eye," he muttered weakly to himself. Mr. Stillbottle's nerves were not in good order, and The Cure had regarded him with unwinking steadfastness for something like five minutes. "Go and play over there," he urged, almost piteously, "and let me do my job. Now, where was I? Ho, yes--the pianner."

He submitted that venerable instrument to a further scrutiny.

"_Collard and Collard_," he observed. ("A very appropriate t.i.tle, too, for this 'ouse!) Date, about seventy-four or five, I should say." He lifted the lid and struck a few inharmonious chords. "Not been tooned since bought. Loud pedal broke, and ivories off three keys. Mouse-'ole in the back. Say thirty-five bob, or two p--Will you _drop_ it?"

Mr. Stillbottle made this request from the floor, upon which he had suddenly adopted a rec.u.mbent att.i.tude. The Caution and the Cure, having decided to initiate their idol into what they had always considered the most consummate jest in existence, had placed a heavy footstool close behind his heels; and Mr. Stillbottle, stepping back a pace in order to view the _tout ensemble_ of the piano, had carried the joke to a successful and rapturous conclusion.

Amid appreciative shrieks of merriment from the twins, their fermenting playfellow rose solemnly to his feet, and was pausing dramatically for the double purpose of recovering his breath and deciding upon an effective scheme of reprisal, when he became aware that the door was open and that the master of the house was smilingly contemplating the entertainment.

"You three appear to be having a romp," said Mr. Welwyn genially. "You are evidently a lover of children, Mr. Stillbottle!"

Fortunately for the delicate ears of The Caution and The Cure, Mr.

Stillbottle was still incapable of utterance. By the time that his two admirers had been escorted to the door by their progenitor and bidden to return to their own place, his power of speech had returned; but perceiving that the time for explanation was now past, the misjudged romper decided to postpone the refutation of the libel until some other occasion.

"Be seated, Mr. Stillbottle," said Mr. Welwyn politely.

Mr. Stillbottle selected the sofa, which it will be remembered had been marked as high as one pound fifteen.

"I hope you had a comfortable dinner," continued Mr. Welwyn.

"Thank you," replied Mr. Stillbottle briefly--"I 'ad."

Mr. Welwyn produced half-a-sovereign.

"I make a point of being punctilious over money matters," he said, handing the coin to the broker's man. "When our little--er--contract has been carried to a successful conclusion I shall be happy to hand you another."

Mr. Stillbottle pocketed the money.

"When may I expect the other?" he enquired.

"If all goes well, about six o'clock this evening."

"I see," said Mr. Stillbottle comprehendingly. "Carriages at five-forty-five--eh?"