The taxi pulled up with a jerk opposite Hyde Court Mansions, and the Honourable Reginald Seton, in the glossiest of top hats and the most delicate of grey frock-coats, stepped out carefully on to the pavement. Then, with the graceful deliberation that marked all his movements, he extracted half-a-crown from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to the driver.
The man pocketed the coin with a wheezy "Thank ye, sir," and, leaning over from his box, inquired furtively, "Wot's goin' to win ter-day, guv'nor?"
Reggie sighed.
"My bookmaker," he said, adjusting his field-glasses to a nicer angle. Then, with his head slightly on one side, he mounted the two or three stone steps that led into the big block of flats.
The liftman, who looked like a dirty edition of the All Highest, touched his cap as Reggie approached.
"Mr. Delmar's flat, sir?" he inquired, opening the door.
Reggie nodded.
"They tell me, sir," pursued the liftman, as he and Reggie progressed heavenwards, "that Little Eva's very 'ot to-day—very 'ot indeed, sir."
"How unpleasant for her jockey!" replied Reggie, with a slight shudder.
The liftman smiled respectfully.
"It's a good tip, sir," he observed. "I 'ad it straight from the stable."
Reggie looked at him with admiration.
"Did you really, Smith?" he said. "How clever of you! The only things I've ever had from a stable have been bills."
"Ah, well, sir," said the liftman indulgently, "you can afford to pay 'em."
Reggie shook his head.
"That's just where you're wrong, Smith; I can afford not to—which is much more important."
The lift stopped at the third landing, and Mr. Smith flung back the trellised iron gate. Then he stepped out after Reggie, and, crossing to the door exactly opposite, pressed the electric bell.
"Thank you, Smith," said Reggie languidly; "you are very efficient."
The bell was answered by a middle-aged, clean-shaven man with a face like a tired mask.
"Good-morning, Ropes," said Reggie. "Is Mr. Delmar up?"
Ropes stepped back, opening the door.
"Mr. Delmar is dressing, sir; I think he is expecting you."
"I know he is," said Reggie, advancing into the hall, and beginning to take off his gloves. "Has he ordered the car?"
"Nine-thirty sharp, sir."
Reggie smiled.
"Ah, well," he said, "I think we shall be ready by ten, with any luck."
"Yes, sir," replied Ropes; "I should think so, sir."
"You were always an optimist, Ropes," said Reggie.
At that moment a door on the farther side of the hall was thrown open and a voice—a peculiarly engaging, good-tempered sort of voice—inquired cheerfully:
"That you, Reggie?"
Reggie laid down his hat and stick on the settee.
"The answer," he said, "is in the affirmative."
"Well, come in," replied the voice, "and don't be an ass."
Accepting the first suggestion, Reggie walked across the hall.
The room which he entered was as comfortable as a man's bedroom has any right to be. A wood fire was crackling away pleasantly in the grate, and reflecting a comfortable glow on the two or three excellent specimens of Mr. Finch Stuart's talent which hung upon the walls.
On the bed sat Tony, tastefully draped in a white Turkish bath robe. He was smoking a cigarette and helping himself out of a bottle of champagne from the table beside him.
Reggie looked at him reprovingly.
"Tony," he said, "I thought you had long ago abandoned that disgusting English habit of eating breakfast."
Tony shook his head.
"You have always misjudged me," he said. "My real tastes are as simple as a schoolboy's. Have some?"
He poured out a glass and handed it to Reggie, at the same time casting a critical eye over the latter's clothes.
"My dear Reggie," he said, "you are very beautiful, but do you think that's the most suitable costume for motoring down to Newmarket in?"
"Quite," said Reggie contentedly, "if one goes inside."
"Oh," replied Tony, "you've arranged it, have you? May I hear the details?"
"Certainly," said Reggie, sipping gracefully from his glass. "You will perform your usual miracles with the steering-wheel, Musette will watch you with grave approval, and Gwendoline and I will sit behind and hold hands."
"And suppose Musette wants to go inside?"
Reggie smiled.
"I am not the least afraid of that," he said.
Tony got up from the bed and began to shed his bath robe.
"Well, you had better hold Gwendoline's hand as engagingly as you can," he said. "It will probably be your last chance, as far as I'm concerned."
Reggie looked at him with a faint wrinkle in his forehead.
"Is it a riddle, Tony?" he asked plaintively. "I am no good at riddles unless I'm slightly drunk."
"The answer," said Tony, selecting a shirt with some care, "is Little Eva. It's very painful, but the fact remains that if Little Eva doesn't win to-day there's an end of Antony Delmar."
Reggie paused in the act of lighting a cigarette.
"You're not thinking of poisoning yourself, are you, Tony?" he asked, with interest. "Because, if so, a doctor chap once told me——"
Tony laughed.
"You're always very helpful, Reggie," he said; "but, as a matter of fact, I've not the least idea of doing anything so exciting. I only mean that unless Little Eva brings it off we've finished this particular chapter. I've no doubt Ropes will lend me a tenner, but, bar that, I shall be what Pat O'Donnell used to call 'bruk to the buff.'"
For the first time Reggie looked a little serious.
"Are things really as bad as that?" he asked.
"Worse," said Tony calmly. "Much worse. There are my unhappy tradesmen to be considered. That's the only point that worries me. I hate doing a tradesman, Reggie, but I'm afraid I shall have to."
"Of course you will," said Reggie hopefully. "We're always having to do unpleasant things in this life. It's what my uncle the bishop calls 'our duty,' You'll have to go bankrupt, Tony, and then borrow a few thousands and start over again."
Tony, who was adjusting his tie with some care, smiled.
"It's a good idea," he said, "but, unfortunately, I've rather forestalled it. The five thousand that I've got on Little Eva with Morris and Weaver was a sort of farewell testimonial from my friends. I think I touched everyone except you and Ropes, and Ropes has been paying the bills for at least a fortnight. I really can't go on any longer, or the poor fellow will have lost all he's robbed me of."
"Do you mean to say you've put the actual cash up?" demanded Reggie in horror.
"I had to, my dear Reggie. That little beast Murray, who runs the business, wouldn't take a 'pony' from me unless he saw the colour of it first."
"And what do you stand to win?"
Tony sighed.
"Twenty-seven thousand pounds," he said. "It's a beautiful sum, isn't it? I could pay my bills and live for nearly three years on it."
Reggie poured himself out the remainder of the champagne.
"You make me feel quite faint, Tony," he said, "you're so spacious." Then he took a long drink.
"And what do you propose doing," he added, "if Little Eva's beaten?"
"I shall have to work," said Tony.
Reggie stared at him in unaffected amazement.
"Have to what?" he repeated.
"Work," repeated Tony. "I believe it's very difficult and unpleasant, but I don't see any other prospect."
A mingled look of horror and admiration crept across Reggie's face.
"What could you do?" he asked breathlessly.
"I might drive a car," answered Tony hopefully. "I can't think of anything else at the moment."
Reggie took a deep breath,
"You're splendid, Tony," he said. "You remind me of Roosevelt. But of course it's absurd. You must marry some woman with money. There are plenty of them who'd jump at you."
Tony shivered.
"Fancy being jumped at by a woman!" he said plaintively. "It makes me feel like a new hat."
"Well, you're a bad hat," retorted Reggie, laughing; "that's quite near enough. Seriously, though, my dear Tony, you can't possibly be allowed to go under. London would never be the same again. It would be as bad as Romano's being burnt down. You must marry, of course. What's the use of being the most popular man in London if you can't marry a rich woman when you want to?"
"Well, suggest somebody."
Reggie pondered for a moment.
"Why not Mrs. Rosenbaum?"
Tony picked an errant thread off his perfectly cut blue suit. "In order to be facetious, Reggie," he said, "it is not necessary to be disgusting."
Reggie sighed.
"I am doing my best," he declared. "What about Musette? She obviously has the good taste to appreciate you, and she seems to have plenty of money. By the way, Tony, who is she really? Cohen asked me about her after he met her with you at Kempton, and when I said I didn't know, the swine grinned. If I hadn't had a pair of Gordon's boots on I should have kicked him."
Tony shrugged his shoulders.
"My dear Reggie," he said, "I know very little more about Musette than you do. I met her exactly two months ago in the Bois, when, in her extremely sensible way, she stopped and asked me to get rid of some futile Frenchman who had been following her round for the best part of an hour."
"How charming!" said Reggie. "That sort of thing never happens to me. Did you hurt him?"
"I think he shuddered a little at my accent," replied Tony. "Anyhow, he cleared out, and I took Musette back to the Hotel de Paris, where she was staying. There I met Mrs. Watson, and they asked me to call on them in London."
"It sounds like Phillips Oppenheim at his best," said Reggie. "But surely you must have found out something more since then. What relation is she to the old lady, and where does the girl get her money from?"
Tony shook his head.
"I've no idea," he said. "She has never offered to tell me anything, and so, of course, I've never asked her. We've just been pals—that's all."
Reggie helped himself to a cigarette.
"Well, you can't live in Curzon Street on nothing," he said. "I've tried it. They must have at least five thousand a year. I think you will have to marry her, Tony, and trust to luck."
Tony laughed a little uneasily.
"Perhaps she wouldn't marry me," he said.
"Any woman would marry you if you asked her nicely. You have got such an alluring voice."
Tony suddenly straightened himself.
"Well, I'm not going to marry Musette," he said. "It would be a damned shame." Then he walked across the room and rang the bell.
Reggie said nothing. With his head on one side he smoked away thoughtfully at his cigarette.
The silence was broken by the entrance of Ropes.
"Is the car round?" inquired Tony.
"It has been outside exactly twenty minutes, sir," replied Ropes equably. "I have put in the luncheon basket and three bottles of champagne. Everything is quite ready, sir."
"Good," said Tony, picking up two or three stray sovereigns from the dressing-table. "I will now put on my coat, Ropes."
The impassive man-servant stepped out into the hall, reappearing a moment later with a magnificent astrachan-lined garment, in which Tony proceeded to envelop himself.
"If any one should call, sir?" asked Ropes interrogatively.
Tony picked up his cap.
"Tell them," he said, "that it is more blessed to give than to receive."
"Yes, sir," replied Ropes gravely.
Three minutes afterwards, with Tony at the wheel and Reggie reclining luxuriously in the beautiful limousine body, the big Rolls-Royce drew noiselessly away down Piccadilly. Whatever Tony's shortcomings might be, he could certainly drive a car. Threading his way through the traffic with a very poetry of judgment, he glided round the corner of Park Lane, and, cutting across the bows of an onrushing motor omnibus, disappeared in the direction of Curzon Street before the indignant brake-grabbing driver of the latter could recall a single adequate word.
In front of a small, recently painted house he brought the big six-cylinder to a standstill. Then he turned round.
"I'll ring," he said. "Don't you trouble to get out."
"I wasn't going to," replied Reggie pleasantly.
As a matter of fact, there was no necessity for the exertion, for just as Tony was preparing to disembark, the door of the house opened, and a tall, pleasant-looking girl, neatly dressed in blue serge, stepped out on to the pavement.
Tony jumped down and took off his cap, while Reggie gracefully rose and imitated his example.
The girl smiled gravely.
"I am afraid you must have had a bad night," she said; "you are only twenty minutes late."
"Mine is the hand that dragged him from his lair, Miss Gilbert," said Reggie languidly. "But for me he would still be in his bath."
The girl looked at him.
"That was very kind of you, Mr. Seton," she said gently. "I have heard you are rather an expert at getting out of hot water yourself."
Tony chuckled.
"Bravo, Musette!" he said. "Right on the point. If you want to follow it up, say you are going to ride inside."
Musette's eyes twinkled.
"Why, of course!" she said. "Where else should I sit?"
Reggie, who was still standing, looked at her appealingly.
"You have driven with Tony before," he said, "and you know the risks you are running. Death is much easier on the box-seat. Besides, I want to hold Gwendoline's hand."
"I am not at all sure that it is respectable," said Musette severely.
"It will only be her left hand," pleaded Reggie.
"Oh, well, in that case," said Musette; and, without further objection, she seated herself alongside of Tony.
Five minutes' flirtation with death brought the car to Portman Mansions, where Gwendoline, a charming blend of Dresden china and Paquin, floated delicately into the limousine.
Then away past Euston and King's Cross, up through the sordid dreariness of Pentonville and so out on to the far-flung Broxbourne road.
Once clear of the general traffic, Tony began to enjoy himself. Over the first ten police-ridden miles the big car glided along at a steady twenty-five, and then, as the houses became fewer, and the green fields began to appear on either side of the road, the index finger on the speedometer crept encouragingly up.
Musette, who seemed to be blessed with delightfully steady nerves, watched him with frank interest. She made no attempt to talk, such conversation as there was being almost wholly confined to spirited comments from Tony on the extraordinary prevalence of deaf and lame pedestrians. Indeed, his only departure from this interesting monologue was an occasional hurried request to Musette to "Give 'em the Gabriel," a presentation which she effected with promptness and efficiency.
From the tonneau behind, Reggie, who was softly stroking Gwendoline's hand, surveyed them with languid approval. "I don't suppose," he said contentedly, "that there are four such charming people as ourselves in the whole of England."
Gwendoline looked a little doubtful.
"I think Musette is very nice," she said, "but I don't quite understand her."
"You should never understand any one," replied Reggie. "It's like knowing the answer to a riddle."
"Does Tony love her?" asked Gwendoline.
Reggie thought for a moment,
"I'm inclined to think it's more serious than that," he said. "I have an idea that he likes her."
Gwendoline wrinkled up her forehead.
"I can't love any one I don't like," she said decisively. "I've tried several times, and it's always been a failure."
"I can," observed Reggie frankly. "I love lots of people, but I don't think I like any one very much except you and Tony, and Martin, my valet. If you all died, I should become what my uncle calls 'a slave to passion.'"
"It sounds rather nice," said Gwendoline.
Reggie sighed. "It's dreadfully expensive," he observed.
Except for a slight misunderstanding with a farm cart on the borders of Cambridgeshire, which Tony patched up with a charming apology and a sovereign, no untoward incident marred the remainder of the drive. Half-past one was just striking as the car entered the outskirts of Newmarket. Through the broad, grey main street, with its stray race-horses and its lounging throng of gaitered, clean-shaven men, Tony steered a sober and considerate course. The town was full of visitors, and almost every other man who passed either touched his cap or waved a cheery greeting.
Musette smiled.
"You seem to be the best-known person in London, Tony," she said.
"To the police," said Tony modestly, "I believe I am."
A swift run up the hill, a sharp turn to the right, and the Heath, fresh and green in the crisp October air, stretched out gloriously before them. Tony brought the car to a standstill just beyond the enclosure, and then, leaning over, affectionately patted the dashboard.
"Good girl!" he said.
Musette nodded.
"She has done splendidly. You must give her a nice helping of oil while I get lunch ready."
The latter operation did not take long. A well-meant offer of assistance from Reggie and Gwendoline was firmly, if politely, declined, and by the time Tony had attended to the car's requirements, a pleasing medley of champagne, lobster mayonnaise, cold tongue, and Madeira jelly was set out invitingly on the portable table inside the body.
"Here," said Reggie, raising his glass and leaning back luxuriously, "is the health of the gentleman who invented that charming phrase, 'the idle rich.'"
"You might have drunk mine first," protested Gwendoline, "after holding my hand the whole way down."
"Reggie," said Tony, "has the most perfect manner and the most imperfect manners of anybody I know. Musette, your health!"
Musette bowed gravely.
"My toast," she said, "is that you may all back the winner."
"Tony," said Reggie, "has backed Little Eva. I think I shall do the same. The liftman told me that she was 'very 'ot.'"
"Is that what they call 'a tip?'" asked Gwendoline, wrinkling her forehead.
"Hush, child," said Reggie, patting her hand. "Such expressions are not seemly for a young girl to use."
"I am sorry, dear," said Gwendoline, "but you might put ten bob on for me. I want some new gloves badly. You have nearly worn out this pair."
"I can't be left out," said Musette, producing her purse. "Tony, you look honest. Here's a sovereign for Little Eva."
Tony took the coin.
"I'll hedge against you all," he said. "It may bring me luck."
"Well, here goes my last fiver," said Reggie, with a sigh. "If Little Eva's beaten I shall dine with you all in turn next week."
"Have we time for a quarter of a cigarette?" asked Gwendoline. "I feel the gambler's tremors coming on. Look at my hand. It's shaking like a leaf."
"A white rose petal," said Reggie gallantly, "would be a more accurate simile. Have one of mine. They're Russian, and not paid for."
Gwendoline helped herself delicately.
"Reggie," she said, "never pays for anything; he thinks it's vulgar."
"It certainly isn't common," observed Tony. "Reggie carries it to extremes, however. I remember his tailor once saying to him with tears in his voice, 'Ah, Mr. Seton, I shall either have to give you up or else take my lad away from Harrow. I can't afford the two.'"
"And which did he do?" asked Gwendoline puffing out a little cloud of smoke.
Tony waved his hand towards Reggie's perfect frock-coat.
"There," he said, "is the answer."
Gwendoline shook her head sadly.
"I have always thought," she said, "that there was some dark secret in Reggie's life. Hallo, there's a bell. Let's put away these things and go and see what's happening."
Between them, Tony and Musette quickly packed up the débris of luncheon, and then, leaving the car in charge of a courteous, if somewhat heavily suborned, policeman, they all four made their way into the enclosure.
As is usually the case on Cambridgeshire day, the Heath was packed in a manner which must have been highly gratifying to the directors of the race-course. On the further side of the track the spectators stretched away down to the bushes in a long continuous line, while both the stands and the enclosure were as full of people as such superior and expensive places could rightly expect to be.
As soon as the first two races were over, there came a rush for the paddock, where the Cambridgeshire horses were being saddled.
"I vote we stop where we are," said Tony, turning to the others. "What does any one say?"
"Just as you please, as far as I'm concerned," said Reggie. "I like to have a look at the runners, but I'm always ready to be unselfish."
Tony laughed.
"Why, Reggie," he said, "if it wasn't for the tail you wouldn't know one end of a horse from the other."
"Of course not," admitted Reggie calmly; "but I like to walk round and say that so-and-so looks a bit fine-drawn, and thingumybob a bit tucked up. It's wonderful how people always agree with you."
"I shouldn't," said Gwendoline, with decision. "I never agree with you, Reggie, except when you tell me I'm beautiful."
Tony raised his hand.
"Don't quarrel, children," he said, "until after the race is over. I shall break down if you do."
"Here they come!" cried Reggie, as the small group of men clustered round the entrance to the paddock suddenly scattered to right and left. "Look out for Little Eva."
A handsome chestnut, his coat gleaming like new bronze in the mellow afternoon sunlight, was the first to appear. He came out sideways, prancing and shaking his head, and then, twisting round, galloped up past the stands, sending the earth flying beneath his heels.
"That's Colchester, number twelve on the menu," said Tony. "He's the only one I'm afraid of."
"Let's hope he'll break his neck," said Reggie piously. "Here are the others."
One after another the fifteen runners cantered down the course, being greeted with successive cheers that swelled or sunk according to their position in the betting. The loudest welcome of all was reserved for the last, a beautiful, shapely black, carrying the famous Rothschild colours.
Tony moistened his lips. "There she goes," he said quietly. "Pretty mare, isn't she?"
No one answered; only Musette was looking at him. The others were gazing down the course after the horses.
From the stands the start was plainly visible. One could see the tall posts of the gate, and the various runners fidgeting about like small black dots. For about five minutes the movement continued, while a silent tension gradually spread throughout the thousands of watching figures.
The sharp ting of a bell, a sudden gasping cry, "They're off!" and everyone was leaning forward, staring eagerly towards the broken line that rolled unsteadily up the course.
On they came, while louder and ever louder the vast volume of voices swelled into a frenzied roar of excitement.
"The Dryad wins!" "Colchester! Colchester!" "Little Eva for a hundred!" "The Dryad! The Dryad!"
Neck and neck in the centre of the course three horses were sweeping along, clear by a couple of lengths from the parti-coloured medley behind. A hundred yards from home and they were still level, the gap behind them widening at every stride. Suddenly one of them faltered. A sudden shout, "The Dryad's beat!" burst from a thousand throats, and the next moment, locked in an apparently inseparable stride, Colchester and Little Eva came thundering past the post.
The wild cheering died down into a brief spell of almost intolerable silence. Every eye was glued to the tall frame, waiting the fateful decision.
With a perfectly steady hand Tony lit a cigarette. "Colchester's won," he said quietly. "A short head, I should think."
The words had hardly left his lips when a hoarse roar proclaimed the hoisting of the numbers.
12
6
9
Tony laughed lightly. "I thought so," he said. "Reggie, you've lost your fiver. Let us hope it will teach you not to gamble."
But for once in a way Reggie had no answer. He was staring down the course, biting jerkingly at an unlit cigarette.
It was Gwendoline who broke the silence. "Poor Reggie," she said. "I can't let you starve. You must come and dine with us."
Tony thrust his hand into his pocket, and pulled out Reggie's five-pound note.
"Musette," he observed, "there is still corn in Egypt. What about the Savoy?"
Musette, who had been looking at him with rather troubled eyes, shook her head and smiled.
"No, Tony," she said; "I should be haunted by Mr. Seton's ghost. You must dine with me at Curzon Street."
"Perhaps it would be more decent," said Tony. "After all, Reggie was a friend of mine before he went under. I'll send the fiver to the Anti-Socialist fund."
Reggie, who seemed to have recovered himself, turned round with a laugh.
"Yours is a callous heart, Tony," he said. "Suppose we leave this scene of vice and get back to town. There's sure to be a poisonous crush after the last race."
"I'm ready," replied Musette.
"So am I," added Gwendoline, "unless Tony wants to stay."
Tony buttoned his coat.
"Mr. Delmar's interest in racing," he observed, "is temporarily suspended."
* * * * * * *
It was just six o'clock when the big dust-stained car pulled up outside Portman Mansions. Reggie opened the door, and Gwendoline, after collecting her various possessions, rustled daintily out.
"Eight o'clock, Reggie," she said, "and there's a woodcock for dinner. Don't be late. Good-bye, Miss Gilbert. Good-bye, Tony; I'm frightfully sorry Little Eva lost."
"Your griefs are mine, Gwendoline," observed Tony gravely. "Where do you want to get out, Reggie?"
"Oh, drop Miss Gilbert next," said Reggie. "I'll come along with you to Hyde Court."
A few minutes brought them to Curzon Street, where Musette alighted.
"Eight o'clock also, Tony," she said; "but I'm afraid there's no woodcock. It will be an impromptu feast."
"I'm not greedy," said Tony. "It is one of my few good points."
Reggie climbed into the vacant seat alongside of him, and, waving farewell to Musette, they slid off noiselessly round the corner. Neither of them spoke until the car drew up outside Tony's flat. Then Reggie laid his hand on his friend's arm.
"Don't be stupid, Tony," he said. "Marry Musette. You'll make her very happy."
Tony remained silent.
"Very well," said Reggie, with a sigh; "it's not my business. There is only one other thing I want to say. As far as it goes, Tony, you know that what's mine is yours. You'll let me do what I can?"
"My dear Reggie," said Tony, "there's only one luxury I can afford to carry away from this absurd city, and that's the thought that there was one person I never borrowed any money from. Still, it's quite charming of you, Reggie. Come and have breakfast with me in the morning."
Reggie nodded.
Leaving the car in charge of the porter on duty, Tony climbed a little wearily up the stairs that led to his flat. As he opened the door he was met in the hall by the impassive Ropes. Tony looked at him with a smile.
"I see from your expression, Ropes," he said, "that you have been reading the evening paper."
Ropes inclined his head.
"If you will pardon me, sir," he observed, "I was deeply distressed to see that Little Eva had lost, very deeply distressed."
Tony took off his coat and hat, and handed them over to his sorrowing retainer.
"Ah well, Ropes," he remarked, "we've had a pleasant time while it lasted. You must go to Lord North; he's been pestering me to give you up for years. You'll have a bigger scope there for your peculiar abilities."
Ropes shook his head.
"I shall be sorry to disappoint his lordship, sir, but it would be impossible for me to accept another place. If you can no longer retain my services, I shall retire."
"I suppose you are very rich, Ropes?" said Tony sadly.
Ropes bowed. "Quite comfortably off, thank you, sir. I trust, sir, that, if you will excuse my mentioning such a matter, the question of wages will not lead you to dismiss me before it is quite convenient. I should be deeply distressed if you allowed such a consideration to influence you, sir."
"You shall at least have the felicity of helping me dress for dinner, Ropes," said Tony gravely. "We will discuss these unpleasantly sordid topics to-morrow morning."
Half an hour later a taxi pulled up outside Musette's house in Curzon Street, and Tony, faultlessly accoutred, stepped out. He was shown into a room on the left of the hall, where Musette, gracefully slender in a dark blue evening frock, was sitting back in an easy chair, turning over the pages of a novel.
"It will be a duet," she said, holding out her hand, which Tony kissed; "poor Aunt Jemima is in bed with a headache."
"A day of disasters," observed Tony. "I felt it when I got up this morning."
The d