choice of apartments. Pong howled all night long, but his howls were as
nothing compared to the screams of night birds in the trees close by.

The deepest gloom pervaded the household when Lady Deppingham discovered
that not one of their retinue knew how to make coffee or broil bacon.
Not that she cared for bacon, but that his lordship always asked for it
when they did not have it. The evening before they had philosophically
dined on tinned food. She brewed a delightful tea, and Antoine opened
three or four kinds of wine. Altogether it was not so bad. But in the
morning! Everything looked different in the morning. Everything always
does, one way or another.

Bromley upset the last peg of endurance by hoping that the Americans
were bringing a cook and a housemaid with them.

"The Americans always travel like lords," she concluded, forgetting that
she served a lord, and not in the least intending to be ironical.

"That will do, Bromley," said her mistress sharply. "If they're like
most Americans I've seen they'll have nothing but wet nurses and
chauffeurs. I can't eat this vile stuff." She had already burned her
fingers and dropped a slice of beechnut bacon on her sweet little
morning gown. "Come on, Deppy; let's go up and watch the approach of the
enemy."

Dolefully they passed out of the culinary realm; it is of record that
they never looked into it from that hour forth. On the broad,
vine-covered gallery they sat in dour silence and in silence took turns
with Deppy's binoculars in the trying effort to make out what was going
on in the offing. The company's tug seemed unusually active. It bustled