conductor of the omnibus. He was patently inadequate. He pulled a
cord, stopped the vehicle, and, advancing into the interior, said
"'Ere!" Napoleon might just as well have said "'Ere!" at the battle
of Waterloo. Forces far beyond the control of mere words had been
unchained. Old Stinker was kicking the glassy-eyed passenger's shin.
The glassy-eyed man was protesting that he was a gentleman. Three
women were endeavouring to get through an exit planned by the omnibus's
architect to accommodate but one traveller alone.
And then a massive, uniformed figure was in their midst.
"Wot's this?"
Ambrose waited no longer. He had had sufficient. Edging round the
newcomer, he dropped from the omnibus and with swift strides vanished
into the darkness.
* * * * *
The morning of February the fifteenth came murkily to London in a
mantle of fog. It found Ambrose Wiffin breakfasting in bed. On the tray
before him was a letter. The handwriting was the handwriting that once
he had loved, but now it left him cold. His heart was dead, he regarded
the opposite sex as a wash-out, and letters from Bobbie Wickham could
stir no chord.
He had already perused this letter, but now he took it up once more
and, his lips curved in a bitter smile, ran his eyes over it again,
noting some of its high spots.
"_... very disappointed in you ... cannot understand how you could
have behaved in such an extraordinary way...._"
Ha!
"_... did think I could have trusted you to look after.... And then
you go and leave the poor little fellows alone in the middle of
London...._"
Oh, ha, ha!
"_... Wilfred arrived home in charge of a policeman, and Mother is
furious. I don't think I have ever seen her so pre-War...._"
Ambrose Wiffin threw the letter down and picked up the telephone.
"Hullo."
"Hullo."
"Algy?"
"Yes. Who's that?"
"Ambrose Wiffin."
"Oh? What ho!"
"What ho!"
"What ho!"
"What ho!"
"I say," said Algy Crufts, "What became of you yesterday afternoon? I
kept trying to get you on the 'phone and you were out."
"Sorry," said Ambrose Wiffin. "I was taking a couple of kids to the
movies."
"What on earth for?"
"Oh, well, one likes to get the chance of giving a little pleasure
to people, don't you know. One ought not always to be thinking of
oneself. One ought to try to bring a little sunshine into the lives of
others."
"I suppose," said Algy sceptically, "that as a matter of fact, young
Bobbie Wickham was with you, too, and you held her bally hand all the
time."
"Nothing of the kind," replied Ambrose Wiffin with dignity. "Miss
Wickham was not among those present. What were you trying to get me on
the 'phone about yesterday?"
"To ask you not to be a chump and stay hanging around London in this
beastly weather. Ambrose, old bird, you simply must come to-morrow."
"Algy, old cork, I was just going to ring you up to say I would."
"You were?"
"Absolutely."
"Great work! Sound egg! Right ho, then, I'll meet you under the clock
at Charing Cross at half-past nine."
"Right ho. I'll be there."
"Right ho. Under the clock."
"Right ho. The good old clock."
"Right ho," said Algy Crufts.
"Right ho," said Ambrose Wiffin.
THE END