rs have already arranged themselves," announced Mr. Jack Dane,
from the door of the pump-court. "I heard Sir Samuel speak about your
accommodation, and I saw that nothing was being done, so I discovered
the box-room, and it is now ready, all but bed-covering. And for fear
there might be trouble about that, I've put Lady Turnour's cushions and
rugs on the alleged bed. Would you like to have a look at your quarters
now, or are you too hungry to care?"

"I'm not too hungry to thank you," I exclaimed. "You are a kind of
genie, who takes care of the poor who have neither lamps nor rings to
rub."

"Better not thank me till you've seen the place," said he. "It's a
villainous den; but I didn't think any one here would be likely to do
better with it than I would. Anyhow, you'll find hot water. I
unearthed--literally--another kettle. And it's the first door at the top
of the back stairs."

I flew, or rather stumbled, up the ladder-like stairway, with a candle
which I snatched from the high kitchen mantelpiece, and at the top I
laughed out, gaily. In the narrow passage was a barricade of horrors
which my knight had dragged from the box-room. On strange old hairy
trunks of cowhide he had piled broken chairs, bandboxes covered with
flowered wall-paper, battered clocks, chipped crockery, fire-irons,
bundles done up in blankets, and a motley collection of unspeakable odds
and ends that would have made a sensational jumble sale. I opened the
low door, and peeped into the room with which such liberties had been
taken for my sake. Although it was no more than a store cupboard, my
wonderful brother had contrived to give it quite an air of coziness. The
tiny window was open, and was doing its best to drive out mustiness. A
narrow hospital cot stood against the wall, spread with a mattress quite
an inch thick, and piled with the luxurious rugs and cushions from the
motor car. I was sure Lady Turnour would have preferred my sitting up
all night or freezing coverless rather than I should degrade her
possessions by making use of them; but Mr. Dane evidently hadn't thought
her opinion of importance compared with her maid's comfort. Two wooden
boxes, placed one upon another, formed a wash-hand stand, which not only
boasted a beautiful blue tin basin, but a tumbler, a caraffe full of
water, and a not-much-cracked saucer ready for duty as a soap-dish. The
top box was covered with a rough, clean towel, evidently filched from
the kitchen, and thi