“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
“Where to, sir?” asked that stately person touching his cap respectfully.
“Oh, anywhere!” answered Micky casually. “Anywhere that ’ll take until about half after six to get back from.”
“Very good, sir!” gasped the starter. “Yonkers!” said he to the cabby with a grin behind his gloved hand.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Toppingham did not return to the hotel until nearly five o’clock. He was somewhat out of temper as his taxicab had collided with a brewery wagon and he had been obliged to give his name, occupation and address to an assiduous policeman, very much to his disgust. He had also essayed to walk from the scene of the disaster and had lost himself in the neighborhood of the East River.
Morley followed him deprecatingly into his bedroom and coughed suggestively.
“Mr. Michael has turned hup, sir,” he said in well-considered tones.
“What!” ejaculated the noble Earl. “Here?”
“Just so, sir!” replied Morley regretfully. “And I should tell your lordship that Miss294
