Subsequently she made several determined attempts to present Gregory to the
gardener, the butcher's boy and to an itinerant musician as an overcoat for
his simian colleague. Had I foiled her in all of these to be beaten in the
end? No, not without a struggle. I scampered downstairs again and, wresting
Harriet's bicycle from its owner's hands (Harriet is the housemaid and it
was her night out), was soon pedalling furiously after Edward.

The jumble sale was being held in the schools and all St. Gwithian was
there, fighting tooth and nail over the bargains. A jumble sale is to _rus_
what remnant sales are to _urbs_. I battled my way round to each table in
turn, but nowhere could I find my poor dear old Gregory. Then I saw Etta,
the presiding genius, and butted my way towards her.

"Look here," I gasped--"have you by any chance seen--?" I gave her a full
description of the lost one.

Etta nodded. "Sort of illuminated horse-blanket? Oh, yes, I should say I
have."

"Tell me," I panted--"tell me, is it sold yet? Who bought it? Where is--?"

"It's not sold _yet_," said Etta calmly. "There was such rivalry over it
that it's going to be raffled. Tickets half-a-crown each. Like one?"

"But it's _mine_!" I protested.

"On the contrary, it's _mine_; Angela gave it to me. If you care to buy all
the tickets--?"

"How much?" I growled.