CHAPTER XV
MR. TRIGGS TAKES TEA IN KENSINGTON GARDENS
I
"WELL, me dear, 'ow goes it?"
Mr. Triggs flooded the room with his genial person, mopping his brow with a large bandana handkerchief, and blowing a cheerful protest against the excessive heat.
Patricia looked up from her work and greeted him with a tired smile, as he collapsed heavily upon a chair, which creaked ominously beneath his weight.
"When you're sixty-two in the shade it ain't like being twenty-five in the sun," he said, laughing happily at his joke.
"Now you must sit quiet and be good," admonished Patricia. "I'm busy with beetles."
"Busy with what?" demanded Mr. Triggs arresting the process of fanning himself with his handkerchief.
"The potato-beetle," explained Patricia. "There is no lack of variety in the life of an M.P.'s secretary: babies and beetles, pigs and potatoes, meat and margarine, they all have their allotted place."
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