enormous chandelier, and the ladder was wobbling.

"It's all tommy-rot," muttered Watson, apropos of nothing that had
gone before.

"Wot's all tommy-rot?" demanded Mr. Diggs severely.

"Christmas Eve," said Watson. "I have no objection to Christmas
morning, but 'ang me if I can see any sense in Christmas Eve. What's
it good for, anyway?"

"You'd better get a taller ladder," said Mr. Diggs. "It's getting on
towards 'alf-past eight. We can't be all night 'anging that bunch of
mistletoe, you know."

Melissa paused in her work long enough to devote an appraising look
upon Watson.

"You look very handsome up there, Watson. It gives you a very good
height. Straighten your legs out a bit. If you stand up as straight as
you can you'll be as tall as Mr. Diggs THINKS he is."

"See here, my fine lady," began Diggs, annoyed.

"Oh, I beg pardon, Mr. Diggs," cried Melissa. "I didn't see you."

"You'll get your walking papers if you don't keep your place," said
Diggs ominously.

"And I'll keep my place if I don't get my walking papers," retorted