eye like that of Mrs. Crickford-Crocker) and say, 'Do that again—and Wody Tijer,' and he'd shake his forefinger at me and I'd wilt in terror, and look round for Woby Tijer. I expected him to spring on my back every time I went upstairs in the dark, and, when I woke from a ghastly dream of him, I used to lie and hold my breath, quaking, while I waited for his cold cold claw to clutch my throat. . . ."
"Buster! How dramatic! . . . But what did the old gentleman mean?" asked Mummy.
"I have since realised that the worthy old General was merely saying, 'Do that again—and woe betide you’ . . . What? . . . Well, Mrs. Crickford-Crocker has got it in for me, and I feel like I did when Woby Tijer was on my track."
"Tell me all about it, my child."
"Well, 'twas thus, dear Lady. I knew something would happen to me when you and Burgoyne-Fitzwilliam would not come to the beastly Ball. Fancy Dress Balls ought to be held every Saturday night. Well, I rolled up, quite pleased with myself in my black velvet, as Hamlet, and who should I see before my astonished eyes
