A little, wiry fellow, with cheerful Cockney speech, he stood chalking his cue at a window.

"I say, what's the matter one piecee picnic this week?
Pink Pagoda, eh?
Mrs.
Gilly's back, you know." "No, is she ?" wheezed the fat Sturgeon, with something like enthusiasm.
"Now we'll brighten up! By Jove, that's good news.

That's worth hearing.
Eh, Heywood ?" "Rather!" drawled Rudolph's friend, with an alacrity that seemed half cynical, half enigmatic.
A quick tread mounted the stairs, and into the room rose Dr.Chantel.

He bowed gracefully to the padre's group, but halted beside the players.
Whatever he said, they forgot their game, and circled the table to listen.

He spoke earnestly, his hands fluttering in nervous gestures.
"Something's up," grumbled Heywood, "when the doctor forgets to pose." Behind Chantel, as he wheeled, heaved the gray bullet-head and sturdy shoulders of Gilly.
"Alone ?" called the padre.