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Book, page 161 / 221 last week. Get them out." "Oh, if you say so, we'll 'ave 'em out of it in two twos. Alf, fetch me the spare swingle-bar." "Don't! You'll knock the paint off the door. Get them out!" "What the 'ell else am I trying to do for you, lydy?" the man answered with pathos; but the woman wheeled on her mate. "Edward! They're all drunk here, and they're all mad there. Do something!" she said. Edward took one short step forward, and sighed "Hullo!" in the direction of the turbulent house. The woman walked up and down, the very figure of Domestic Tragedy. The furniture men swayed a little on their heels, and - "Got him!" The shout rang through all the windows at once. It was followed by a blood-hound-like bay from Sir Christopher, a maniacal prestissimo on the organ, and loud cries, for Jimmy. But Jimmy, at my side, rolled his congested eyeballs, owl-wise. "I never knew them," he said. "I'm an orphan." * * * * * * * * * The front, door opened, and the three came forth to short-lived triumph. I had never before seen a Law Lord dressed as for tennis, with a stump-leg barrel-organ strapped to his shoulder. But it is a shy bird in this plumage. Lord Lundie strove to disembarrass himself of his accoutrements much as an ill-trained Punch and Judy dog tries to escape backwards through his frilled collar. Sir Christopher, covered with limewash, cherished a bleeding thumb, and the almost crazy monkey tore at Giuseppe's hair. The men on both sides reeled, but the woman stood her ground. "Idiots!" she said, and once more, "Idiots!"
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