The patrons, incredible as it may appear, are Stephen Blasius Vereker and Veronica Elizabeth Vereker. Stiffy, in the gala dress of a schoolboy of eighteen, is perspiring freely under the gaze of the overpowering menial at his elbow; Nicky, in a new hat of colossal but correct dimensions (the gift of her eldest sister), with her hair gathered into the usual _ne plus ultra_ of the "flapper,"--a constricted pigtail tied with a large black bow of ribbon,--is entirely unruffled. How they got there will appear presently. "Will you lunch _à la carte_ or _table d'hôte_, sir?" inquired the waiter, much as an executioner might say--"Will you be drawn or quartered?" The flustered Stiffy gazed helplessly at his sister. "He means, will you pay for what you eat or eat what you pay for, dear," explained that experienced and resourceful young person. "You must excuse him," she added, turning her round and trustful orbs upon the waiter. "He is not accustomed to being given a choice of dishes." The waiter, realising that here was a worthy opponent, maintained a countenance of wood and repeated the question. "You had better give _me_ the _menu_," said Miss Vereker. "How much is the _table d'hôte_ lunch?" "Four shillings, madam." Madam mused. "Let me see," she said thoughtfully. "Can we run to it, dear?" "Of course!" said Stiffy in an undertone, reddening with shame. "You know Daphne gave me----" Nicky smiled joyfully. "So she did. I had forgotten. Two and nine, wasn't it?" Stiffy, with a five-pound-note crackling in his pocket, merely gaped. "Then," continued Nicky, calculating on her fingers, "there is the three and a penny which we got out of the missionary-box. That makes five and tenpence. And there is that shilling that slipped down into your boot, Stiffy. You can easily get under the table and take it off. Six and tenpence. I have elevenpence in stamps, and that, with the threepenny-bit we picked up off the floor of the bus, makes eight shillings. We can just do it. Thank you," she intimated to the waiter with a seraphic smile--"we will take _table d'hôte_. I suppose," she added wistfully, "there would be no reduction if I took my little boy on my knee?" "None, madam." And the waiter, still unshaken, departed to bring the _hors d'oeuvres_. "Nicky, don't play the goat!" urged the respectable Stephen in a low and agitated voice. "That blighter really _believes_ we are going to pay him in stamps. We shall get flung out, for a cert!" "It's all right," said Nicky. "I am only going to try and make him laugh." "You'll fail," said her brother with conviction.