"Another friend of yours, Spennie?" inquired Sir Thomas politely,
eying the red-haired speaker with interest.

"It's----"

He looked appealingly at Jimmy.

"It's only my man," said Jimmy. "Spike," he added in an undertone, "to
the woods. Chase yourself. It's not up to you to do stunts on this
beat. Fade away."

"Sure," said the abashed Spike, restored to a sense of his position.
"Dat's right. I've got wheels in me coco, that's what I've got, comin'
buttin' in here. Sorry, Mr. Chames. Sorry, gents. Me for the tall
grass."

He trotted away.

"Your man seems to have a pretty taste in literature," said Sir Thomas
to Jimmy. "Well, my dear, finished your chat with the porter?"

Lady Blunt had come up, flushed and triumphant, having left the
solitary porter a demoralized wreck.

"I'm through," she announced crisply. "Well, Spencer? How are you?
Who's this? Don't stand gaping, child. Who's your friend?"

Spennie explained with some incoherence that his name was Pitt. His
uncle had shaken him; the arrival of his aunt seemed to unnerve him
completely.