"There, there!" she crooned. "My lamb, my pretty, my precious, my dearie--don't you cry!"

There was a deathlike stillness, broken only by Tilly's sobs. The Mainwarings stood like statues. Mr. Welwyn sat on the sofa, his head bowed between his hands. Grandma Banks slumbered peacefully. The bewildered but conscientious Stillbottle seized his opportunity, and cleared his throat.

"The shover, sir," he announced huskily, "is below, a-waitin' for--"

Next moment a hand like a vice closed upon the herald's collar, and d.i.c.ky Mainwaring's voice remarked concisely into his ear:--

"Go to the devil."

Mr. Stillbottle, utterly dazed, raised his head and surveyed the company. Then he smiled apologetically.

"Wrong entrance," he observed. "My error! _Exit hastily!_"

He turned, and shuffled out.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE REAL MR. WELWYN

"_There is an evenin' paper--_"

quavered Mr. Stillbottle blithely, with his feet upon the kitchen hob,--

--"_which is published in the mornin'!_ _Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, little Star!_"

He unfolded the early edition of the organ in question and devoted himself to a laboured perusal of the list of probable starters for the Lincolnshire Handicap, now looming in the immediate future; for he was anxious to ascertain whether his premonitions as to the ident.i.ty of the winner coincided with those of the prophet retained by the management.

Apparently they did; for presently the paper was laid aside with a contented sigh, and the student of form resumed the h.o.a.ry lay which anxiety connected with the investment of his newly acquired capital had caused him momentarily to abandon.

"_Twinkle, Star!_ _Tiddley Wink!_ _Twinkle on till you dunno where you are!_ _Oh, we 'll make things warm for 'Arcourt,_ If 'e ever comes down our court!*

_Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, little St--_"

Conscious of a draught upon the back of his neck, the vocalist turned uneasily in the direction of the door. It had opened some six inches, revealing to view a pair of cherubic heads, set one above the other.

Each head was furnished with a pair of quite circular blue eyes, which surveyed Mr. Stillbottle, with unwinking and unnerving ecstasy.

"The Funny Man!" proclaimed The Cure joyously.

"Yesh," agreed The Caution. "Lesh box him."

The pair entered the room hand in hand, and advanced grimly to the attack.

Mr. Stillbottle hastily removed his feet from the hob.

"You two," he announced, "can get on out of this. I ain't never done you no 'arm, 'ave I?" he added appealingly; "so why---"

At this point The Caution dealt him a playful but disabling blow in the waistcoat. The Cure, with a shriek of rapture, seized Mr. Stillbottle's frayed coat by the tails and whirled its owner round three times upon his axis.

"Now catch me!" she shrieked.

"If I _do_--" gasped Mr. Stillbottle, clutching dizzily at the mantelpiece. Further words failed him, and entrenching himself behind a table, he waited like a hunted animal for the further a.s.saults of his enemies.

He was not kept long in suspense. Having armed themselves with the fire-irons, the two affectionate but boisterous infants were upon the point of inaugurating a game of what they called "beat-the-carpet"--it is hardly necessary to specify the role a.s.signed to Mr.

Stillbottle--when the door opened, revealing the welcome figure of d.i.c.ky Mainwaring.

Straightway weapons were thrown down, and the newcomer found himself the centre of a cloud of embraces. d.i.c.ky was a prime favourite with children and dogs--no bad test of character, either.

Presently, having shaken himself free from the unmaidenly caresses of the youngest Miss Welwyn, d.i.c.ky became aware of the pathetic presence of Mr. Stillbottle.

"Good-morning, Mr. Russell," he said. "You are just the man I want to see."

"You can see me as often and as long as you like, sir," replied the afflicted Russell fervently, "if only you'll put those two imps on the other side of that door."

"Certainly," said d.i.c.ky. "Now you two, skedaddle!"

To the amazement and admiration of their late victim the two freebooters departed immediately, merely pausing to receive a valedictory salute from their evictor. d.i.c.ky closed the door upon them, and motioning the broker's man to a chair, enquired:--

"Where is everybody this morning, Mr. Russell?"

"My name, in mufti, to my friends," replied the grateful Russell, "is Stillbottle. But you was asking about 'everybody.' Meanin' the Barcelona Troupe of Performing Nuts?"

d.i.c.ky nodded.

"Upstairs, most of 'em," said Stillbottle. "All but your little bit.

She 'as gone out."

d.i.c.ky looked up sharply.

"For long?" he asked.

"I could n't say," replied the broker's man. "Perce has gone to the City. Mother and the little 'un are a-makin' of the beds. The Princ.i.p.al Filbert is still between the sheets. I'm the only member of the cast visible at present. But as you say it's me you came to see, perhaps you'll kindly state your business."

d.i.c.ky did so.

A quarter of an hour later he ascended to the drawing-room, restored to its usual aspect of dingy propriety after yesterday's junketings. He noticed that his carnations had disappeared.

Mr. Welwyn was just entering from his bedroom. At the sight of d.i.c.ky he started, but recovering himself with his usual readiness, shook hands.

"Good-morning, Mr. Mainwaring," he said. "Be seated."

d.i.c.ky complied. "You seem surprised to see me, sir," he said.

"Frankly," replied Mr. Welwyn, "I am. After our treatment of you yesterday I hardly expected you to return. I can only extenuate our performance by a.s.suring you that what looked like a carefully graduated series of insults was nothing more than the logical, if unforeseen, development of a somewhat childish attempt upon our part to delude your family into the impression that our circ.u.mstances were not so straitened as, in point of fact, they are. We meant well, but--"