sides,—but a regular fellow, as they say over here."
The Marchioness: "Where did you say he is stopping?"
Mr. Trotter: "Can't for the life of me remember whether it's the 'Sailors' Loft' or the 'Sailors' Bunk.' He told me too. On the water-front somewhere. I knew him in Hong Kong. He says he has cut it all out, however."
The Marchioness: "Cut it all out, Mr. Trotter?"
Mr. Trotter, laughing: "Drink, and all that sort of thing, you know. Jolly good thing too. I give you my personal guarantee that he—"
The Marchioness: "Say no more about it, Mr. Trotter. I am sure we shall all be happy to receive any friend of yours. By the way, where are you now—where are you telephoning from?"
Mr. Trotter: "Drug store just around the corner."
The Marchioness: "A booth, I suppose?"
Mr. Trotter: "Oh, yes. Tight as a sardine box."
The Marchioness: "Good-bye."
Mr. Trotter: "Oh—hello? I beg your pardon—are you there? Ah, I—er—neglected to mention that the baron may not appear at his best tonight. You see, the poor chap is a shade large for my clothes. Naturally, being a sailor-man, he hasn't—er—a very extensive wardrobe. I am fixing him out in a—er—rather abandoned evening suit of my own. That is to say, I abandoned it a couple of seasons ago. Rather nobby thing for a waiter, but not—er—what you might call—"
The Marchioness, chuckling: "Quite good enough
