Stuart stood under our window and yelled up at me, "Oh, Jack! I say,
Jack!"
Sweetheart, who was fussing over the half-unpacked trunk, went to the
window and threw open the panes.
"You don't mean to say you have had your coffee?" she said. "Jack isn't
up yet."
"Jack is up," I explained, coming to the window in pajamas. "Hello!"
"I only wanted to say that I haven't had my coffee," he explained, "and
I'm going to take it with you when you're ready."
Sweetheart picked up her béret, and, passing a hatpin through it,
turned to me with a warning, "I shall eat all the breakfast, monsieur!"
and vanished down the stairs. A moment later I heard her clear voice
below:
Sonnez le chœur,
Chasseur!
Sonnez la mort!
Before I had finished dressing, Sweetheart tripped in with my coffee
and toast.
"Of course I've finished," she said, "and you don't deserve this.
Mr. Stuart has gone off with his canvases, and says he'll see you at
lunch."
I swallowed the coffee and browsed on little squares of toast which
she condescendingly buttered for me, and then, lighting a cigarette, I
announced my intention of commanding an exploring expedition consisting
of Sweetheart and myself. A scratching at the door and a patter of feet
announced that I had been overheard.
Sweetheart unlatched the door, and the pointer pup of the evening
before charged into the room and covered us with boisterous caresses,
which we took to indicate that he not only approved of the expedition,
but intended to undertake the general supervision of it himself. I
resigned the leadership at once.
"His name," said Sweetheart in the tone of one who presents a
distinguished guest, "is 'Luff.'"