With a wordless exclamation he rushed out upon the roof, closely followed by Molly and her father. Molly was afraid he would get hurt. Sigsbee H. was afraid he would not. It had been a big night for Sigsbee H. Waddington, and he did not want it to end tamely.
“Have your gun ready,” advised Sigsbee H., keeping well in the rear, “and don’t fire till you see the whites of their eyes.”
George reached the door of the sleeping-porch, and smote it a lusty blow.
“Hi!” he cried. He twisted the handle. “Good heavens, it’s locked.”
From the upper window, softened by distance, came a pleading voice.
“I say! I say! I say!” To Lord Hunstanton the beating on the door had sounded like the first guns of a relieving army. He felt like the girl who heard the pipers skirling as they marched on beleaguered Lucknow. “I say, whoever you are, dear old soul, let us out, would you mind.”
George ground his teeth.
“What do you mean—whoever you are? I’m George Finch, and that sleeping-porch belongs to me.”
“Good old George! Hunstanton speaking. Let us out, George, old top, like the sportsman you are!”
“What are you doing in there?”
“A policeman locked us in. And a blighter of a butler, after promising to undo the door, told some thin story about not being able to find the key and legged it with all our available assets. So play the man, dear old George, and blessings will reward you. Also and moreover, by acting promptly you will save the life of my dear good friend and hostess here, who has been hiccuping for some little time and is, I rather fancy, on the point of hysterics.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mrs. Waddington.”
“Is Mrs. Waddington in there with you?”
“Is she not, laddie!”
George drew his breath sharply.
“Mother,” he said reproachfully in through the keyhole, “I had not expected this.”
Sigsbee H. Waddington uttered a fearful cry.
“My wife! In there! With a man with a toothbrush moustache! Let me talk to them!”
“Who was that?” asked Lord Hunstanton.
“Mr. Waddington,” replied George. “Who was that?” he said, as a scream rent the air.
“Mrs. Waddington. I say, George, old man,” queried his lordship anxiously, “what do you do when a woman starts turning blue and making little bubbling noises?”
Sigsbee H., finding that a man of his stature could not hope to speak to any advantage through the window unless he stood on something, had darted across the roof and was now returning with one of the potted shrubs in his arms. The wildness of his eyes and the fact that even in this supreme moment he had gone on puffing at his cigar gave him a striking resemblance to a fire-eating dragon. He bumped the tub down and, like a man who rises on stepping-stones of his dead self to higher things, elevated himself upon it.
This brought him nicely within range of the window and enabled him to push Lord Hunstanton in the face—which was all to the good. His lordship staggered back, leaving the way clear for the injured man to gaze upon his erring wife.
“Ha!” said Sigsbee H. Waddington.
“I can explain everything, Sigsbee!”
Mr. Waddington snorted.
“Nerve,” he said, “in its proper place and when there’s not too much of it, I admire. But when a woman has the crust to disparage the morals of one of the finest young fellows who ever came out of the golden West and then I happen to pop into New York on important business and find her closeted with a man with a toothbrush moustache and she has the audacity to say she can explain everything. …”
Here Mr. Waddington paused to take in breath.
“Sigsbee!”
“It’s living in this soul-destroying East that does it,” proceeded Mr. Waddington, having refilled his thoracic cavities. “If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times, that. …”
“But, Sigsbee, I couldn’t help it. It’s quite true what Lord Hunstanton was saying. A policeman locked us in.”
“What were you doing up here, anyway?”
There was a brief silence within.
“I came to see what that Finch was doing. And I heard him in here, talking to an abandoned creature.”
Mr. Waddington directed a questioning gaze at George.
“Have you been talking to any abandoned creatures tonight?”
“Of course he hasn’t,” cried Molly indignantly.
“I have spoken with no one of the opposite sex,” said George with dignity, “except the girl who stole the necklace. And that was a purely business discussion which would not have brought a blush to the cheek of the sternest critic. I said ‘Hand over that necklace!’ and she handed it over, and then her husband came and took her away.”
“You hear?” said Mr. Waddington.
“No, I don’t,” said Mrs. Waddington.
“Well, take it from me that this splendid young man from the West is as pure as driven snow. So now let’s hear from you once more. Why did the policeman lock you in?”
“We had a misunderstanding.”
“How?”
“Well, I—er—happened to throw a little pepper in his face.”
“Sweet artichokes of Jerusalem! Why?”
“He found me in Mr. Finch’s apartment and wanted to arrest me.”
Mr. Waddington’s voice grew cold and grim.
“Indeed?” he said. “Well, this finishes it! If you can’t live in the East without spending your time throwing pepper at policemen, you’ll come straight out with me to the West before you start attacking them with hatchets. That is my final and unalterable decision. Come West, woman, where hearts are pure, and there try to start a new life.”
“I will, Sigsbee, I will.”
“You bet your permanent henna hair-wash you will!”
“I’ll buy the transportation tomorrow.”
“No, sir!” Mr. Waddington with a grand gesture nearly overbalanced the tub on which he stood. “I will buy the transportation tomorrow. You will be interested to learn that, owing to commercial transactions resulting from the possession of a smart business head, I am now once more an exceedingly wealthy man and able to buy all the transportation this family requires and to run this family as it should be run. I’m the
