you pretend to possess pyjamas, you will be swaggering by-and-by about owning a dressing-gown or a pair of slippers. If you own these things, put them on, because I'm going to talk with you for some time."
"Who are you? Who are you?"
"I am Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood, and I am telephoning you from the righteous precincts of the Corinthian Club, which is not accustomed to such language as you've been using."
"Oh, Lord Stranleigh, I beg your pardon. I had no idea, of course"
"Have you put that dressing-gown on?"
"Yes, yes; I'm all right. You see, this bell's been ringing for about half an hour; seems to me, in fact, it's been ringing all night, and I'd just dropped into a troubled sleep when your call came."
"That's all right, Montague. Don't apologise. I forgive you, but it does seem to me that if I'm willing to serve my country by playing billiards here till after midnight, you, in a comfortable residence, ought not to object to do something on your part. Now, don't begin swearing again."
"No fear. How can I oblige you?"
"Things are pretty bad in the City, aren't they?"
"Rotten."
"So I thought. Do you remember buying for
