The pantomime dame became slightly more animated. Prefacing her remarks
by a repetition of her statement that it was a nice room, she went on
to say that she could 'do' it at seven and sixpence per week 'for
him'--giving him to understand, presumably, that, if the Shah of Persia
or Mr Carnegie ever applied for a night's rest, they would sigh in vain
for such easy terms. And that included lights. Coals were to be looked
on as an extra. 'Sixpence a scuttle.' Attendance was thrown in.

Having stated these terms, she dribbled a piece of fluff under the bed,
after the manner of a professional Association footballer, and relapsed
into her former moody silence.

Mike said he thought that would be all right. The pantomime dame
exhibited no pleasure.

''Bout meals?' she said. 'You'll be wanting breakfast. Bacon, aigs,
an' that, I suppose?'

Mike said he supposed so.

'That'll be extra,' she said. 'And dinner? A chop, or a nice steak?'

Mike bowed before this original flight of fancy. A chop or a nice steak
seemed to be about what he might want.

'That'll be extra,' said the pantomime dame in her best Wilkie Bard
manner.

Mike said yes, he supposed so. After which, having put down seven and