CHAPTER XI
THE DEFECTION OF MR. TRIGGS
"WELL, me dear, how goes it?"
Patricia looked up from a Blue Book, from which she was laboriously extracting statistics. Mr. Triggs stood before her, florid and happy. He was wearing a new black and white check suit, a white waistcoat and a red tie, whilst in his hand he carried a white felt top-hat with a black band.
"It doesn't go at all well," said Patricia, smiling.
"What's the matter, me dear?" he enquired anxiously. "You look fagged out."
"Oh! I'm endeavouring to extract information about potatoes from stupid Blue Books," said Patricia, leaning back in her chair. "Why can't they let potatoes grow without writing about them?" she asked plaintively, screwing up her eyebrows.
"'E ain't much good, is 'e?" enquired Mr. Triggs.
"Who?" asked Patricia in surprise.
"A. B." said Mr. Triggs, lowering his voice and looking round furtively, "Dull, 'e strikes me."
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