he said, ruefully. "So long, mother. Hope you have a pleasant time at
the Palace."

He took a reef in the counterpane and with a fair amount of dignity,
considering his appearance, stalked upstairs again and stood gloomily
considering affairs in his bedroom. Ever since Gladys and Dorothy had
been big enough to be objects of interest to the young men of the
neighbourhood the clothes nuisance had been rampant. He peeped through
the window-blind at the bright sunshine outside, and then looked back at
the tumbled bed. A murmur of voices downstairs apprised him that the
conspirators were awaiting the result.

He dressed at last and stood like a lamb--a redfaced, bull-necked lamb--
while Mrs. Jobson fastened his collar for him.

"Bert wanted to get a taller one," she remarked, "but I said this would
do to begin with."

"Wanted it to come over my mouth, I s'pose," said the unfortunate Mr.
Jobson. "Well, 'ave it your own way. Don't mind about me. What with
the trousers and the collar, I couldn't pick up a sovereign if I saw one
in front of me."

"If you see one I'll pick it up for you," said his wife, taking up the
hat and moving towards the door. "Come along!"

Mr. Jobson, with his arms standing out stiffly from his sides and his
head painfully erect, followed her downstairs, and a sudden hush as he
entered the kitchen testified to the effect produced by his appearance.
It was followed by a hum of admiration that sent the blood flying to his