It appeared to be a case for prompt action. Jack Herring sat down and then and there began a letter to Miss Bulstrode, care of Mrs. Postwhistle.
“But what I don’t understand——” said Alexander the Poet.
“Oh! take him away somewhere and tell him, someone,” moaned Jack Herring. “How can I think with all this chatter going on?”
“But why did Bennett——” whispered Porson.
“Where is Bennett?” demanded half a dozen fierce voices.
Harry Bennett had not been seen all day.
Jack’s letter was delivered to “Miss Bulstrode” the next morning at breakfast-time. Having perused it, Miss Bulstrode rose and requested of Mrs. Postwhistle the loan of half a crown.
“Mr. Herring’s particular instructions were,” explained Mrs. Postwhistle, “that, above all things, I was not to lend you any money.”
“When you have read that,” replied Miss Bulstrode, handing her the letter, “perhaps you will agree with me that Herring is an ass.”
Mrs. Postwhistle read the letter and produced the half-crown.
“Better get a shave with part of it,” suggested Mrs. Postwhistle. “That is, if you are going to play the fool much longer.”
“Miss Bulstrode” opened his eyes. Mrs. Postwhistle went on with her breakfast.
“Don’t tell them,” said Johnny; “not just for a little while, at all events.”
“Nothing to do with me,” replied Mrs. Postwhistle.
Twenty minutes later, the real Miss Bulstrode, on a visit to her aunt in Kensington, was surprised at receiving, enclosed in an envelope, the following hastily scrawled note:—
“Want to speak to you at once—alone. Don’t yell when you see me. It’s all right. Can explain in two ticks.—Your loving brother, Johnny.”
It took longer than two ticks; but at last the Babe came to an end of it.
“When you have done laughing,” said the Babe.
“But you look so ridiculous,” said his sister.
“They didn’t think so,” retorted the Babe. “I took them in all right. Guess you’ve never had as much attention, all in one day.”
“Are you sure you took them in?” queried his sister.
“If you will come to the Club at eight o’clock this evening,” said the Babe, “I’ll prove it to you. Perhaps I’ll take you on to a theatre afterwards—if you’re good.”
The Babe himself walked into the Autolycus Club a few minutes before eight and encountered an atmosphere of restraint.