"We'll have to give Angela something or she'll tidy us," he groaned.

"These orderly people are a curse," I protested. "They have no
consideration for others. Look at me; I am naturally disorderly, but I
don't run round and untidy people's houses for them."

Edward nodded. "I know; I know it's all wrong, of course; we should make a
stand. Still, if we can buy Angela off, I think ... you understand?..." And
he ambled off to his muck-room.

If anybody in this neighbourhood has anything that is both an eyesore and
an encumbrance they bestow it on Edward for his muck-room, where he stores
it against an impossible contingency. I trotted upstairs to my bedroom and
routed about among my _Lares et Penates_. I have many articles which,
though of no intrinsic value, are bound to me by strong ties of sentiment;
little old bits of things--you know how it is. After twenty minutes'
heart-and-drawer-searching I decided to sacrifice a policeman's helmet and
a sock, the upper of which had outlasted the toe and heel. I bore these
downstairs and laid them at Aunt Angela's feet.

"What's this?" said she, stirring the helmet disdainfully with her toe.

"Relic of the Great War. The Crown Prince used to wear it in wet weather to
keep the crown dry."

Aunt Angela sniffed and picked up the sock with the fire-tongs. "And this?"

"A sock, of course," I explained. "An emergency sock of my own invention.
It has three exits, you will observe, very handy in case of fire."