Jack Herring excited jealousy by securing the privilege of carrying her reticule. "Miss Bulstrode" was given to understand that anything any of the seven could do for her, each and every would be delighted to do, if only for the sake of her brother, one of the dearest boys that ever breathed--a bit of an ass, though that, of course, he could not help. "Miss Bulstrode" was not as grateful as perhaps she should have been. Her idea still was that if one of them would lend her a couple of sovereigns, the rest need not worry themselves further. This, purely in her own interests, they declined to do. She had suffered one extensive robbery that day already, as Jack reminded her. London was a city of danger to the young and inexperienced. Far better that they should watch over her and provide for her simple wants. Painful as it was to refuse a lady, a beloved companion's sister's welfare was yet dearer to them. "Miss Bulstrode's" only desire was not to waste their time.
Jack Herring's opinion was that there existed no true Englishman who would grudge time spent upon succouring a beautiful maiden in distress.
Arrived at the little grocer's shop in Rolls Court, Jack Herring drew Mrs. Postwhistle aside.
"She's the sister of a very dear friend of ours," explained Jack Herring.
"A fine-looking girl," commented Mrs. Postwhistle.
"I shall be round again in the morning. Don't let her out of your sight, and, above all, don't lend her any money," directed Jack Herring.
"I understand," replied Mrs. Postwhistle.
"Miss Bulstrode" having despatched an excellent supper of cold mutton and bottled beer, leant back in her chair and crossed her legs.
"I have often wondered," remarked Miss Bulstrode, her eyes fixed upon the ceiling, "what a cigarette would taste like."
"Taste nasty, I should say, the first time," thought Mrs.
Postwhistle, who was knitting.
"Some girls, so I have heard," remarked Miss Bulstrode, "smoke cigarettes."
"Not nice girls," thought Mrs. Postwhistle.
"One of the nicest girls I ever knew," remarked Miss Bulstrode, "always smoked a cigarette after supper. Said it soothed her nerves."
"Wouldn't 'ave thought so if I'd 'ad charge of 'er," said Mrs.
Postwhistle.
"I think," said Miss Bulstrode, who seemed restless, "I think I shall go for a little walk before turning in."
"Perhaps it would do us good," agreed Mrs. Postwhistle, laying down her knitting.
"Don't you trouble to come," urged the thoughtful Miss Bulstrode.
"You look tired."
"Not at all," replied Mrs. Postwhistle. "Feel I should like it."
In some respects Mrs. Postwhistle proved an admirable companion.
She asked no questions, and only spoke when spoken to, which, during that walk, was not often. At the end of half an hour, Miss Bulstrode pleaded a headache and thought she would return home and go to bed. Mrs. Postwhistle thought it a reasonable idea.
"Well, it's better than tramping the streets," muttered Johnny, as the bedroom door was closed behind him, "and that's all one can say for it. Must get hold of a smoke to-morrow, if I have to rob the till. What's that?" Johnny stole across on, tiptoe. "Confound it!" said Johnny, "if she hasn't locked the door!"
Johnny sat down upon the bed and took stock of his position. "It doesn't seem to me," thought Johnny, "that I'm ever going to get out of this mess." Johnny, still muttering, unfastened his stays.
"Thank God, that's off!" ejaculated Johnny piously, as he watched his form slowly expanding. "Suppose I'll be used to them before I've finished with them."
Johnny had a night of dreams.
For the whole of next day, which was Friday, Johnny remained "Miss Bulstrode," hoping against hope to find an opportunity to escape from his predicament without confession. The entire Autolycus Club appeared to have fallen in love with him.
"Thought I was a bit of a fool myself," mused Johnny, "where a petticoat was concerned. Don't believe these blithering idiots have ever seen a girl before."
They came in ones, they came in little parties, and tendered him devotion. Even Mrs. Postwhistle, accustomed to regard human phenomena without comment, remarked upon it.
"When you are all tired of it," said Mrs. Postwhistle to Jack Herring, "let me know."
"The moment we find her brother," explained Jack Herring, "of course we shall take her to him."
"Nothing like looking in the right place for a thing when you've finished looking in the others," observed Mrs. Postwhistle.
"What do you mean?" demanded Jack.
"Just what I say," answered Mrs. Postwhistle.
Jack Herring looked at Mrs. Postwhistle. But Mrs. Postwhistle's face was not of the expressive order.
"Post office still going strong?" asked Jack Herring.
"The post office 'as been a great 'elp to me," admitted Mrs.
Postwhistle; "and I'm not forgetting that I owe it to you."
"Don't mention it," murmured Jack Herring.
They brought her presents--nothing very expensive, more as tokens of regard: dainty packets of sweets, nosegays of simple flowers, bottles of scent. To Somerville "Miss Bulstrode" hinted that if he really did desire to please her, and wasn't merely talking through his hat--Miss Bulstrode apologised for the slang, which, she feared, she must have picked up from her brother--he might give her a box of Messani's cigarettes, size No. 2. The suggestion pained him. Somerville the Briefless was perhaps old-fashioned. Miss Bulstrode cut him short by agreeing that he was, and seemed disinclined for further conversation.
They took her to Madame Tussaud's. They took her up the Monument.
They took her to the Tower of London. In the evening they took her to the Polytechnic to see Pepper's Ghost. They made a merry party wherever they went.
"Seem to be enjoying themselves!" remarked other sightseers, surprised and envious.
"Girl seems to be a bit out of it," remarked others, more observant.
"Sulky-looking bit o' goods, I call her," remarked some of the ladies.
The fortitude with which Miss Bulstrode bore the mysterious disappearance of her brother excited admiration.
