"The door is locked, gentlemen," she said. "Locked and the key hidden. If you will give me five minutes----" But they would not listen. The Sheriff sat still and ate his luncheon. Time might come and time might go, tides flow and ebb, old eras give way to new--but the British lion must be fed. But once I caught his eye, and I almost thought it twinkled. Perish the thought! The old order wink at the new! They demanded the key. The lunch hour was over. The Assizes waited. In vain Poppy plead for five minutes to talk. "After that, I'll turn over the key," she promised. The only way she could have turned over the key was, of course, to take me into a corner, stand me on my head and jounce it out! I was very nervous, I'll confess. No one had laid a hand on Poppy as yet. She was so young and good looking, and the minute anybody loomed very close, she turned her baby profile to him and he looked as if he'd been caught gunning for butterflies. Finally, however, the noise becoming a tumult, and Poppy and I forced back against the door; the Lord High Sheriff--which sounds like Gilbert & Sullivan--approached. The crowd made respectful way for him. "Now, young ladies," he said, "this has been an agreeable break in our long day. But--all pleasant things must end. Open the door, please." "Will you give me five minutes?" Poppy demanded. "I'm a tax-payer. I help to pay the people in this room. I have a right to be heard." "Open the door," said the Sheriff. "No." "Then give up the key, and one of my men----" I caught his arm. I couldn't stand it another minute. It is all well enough for Poppy to say it was cowardly, and that the situation was ours until I gave it away. The key was not down _her_ back. "Break the lock," I said frantically. "The--the key is where I can't get it." He was really twinkling now, but the crowd around was outraged for him and his dignity. "You didn't swallow it, did you?" he asked in an undertone. "It's down the back of my frock," I replied. Poppy said afterwards that I cried and made a scene and disgraced her generally. It is not true. If tears came, they were tears of rage. It is not true that I cried on the Sheriff's breast. I only leaned my head against his arm for a minute, and he was not angry, for he patted my shoulder. I am terribly fond of Poppy, but she is not always reasonable, as you will see. There had been a great deal of noise. I remember hearing echoes of the dining-room excitement from the hallway beyond the door, and some one pounding. They were breaking the lock from the outside. All the time Poppy was talking in her lovely soft voice. She said: "Since woman is called on to obey the laws, she ought to have a voice in making them----" "Hear, hear!" cried somebody. "Since she doesn't make them, why should she obey them?" demanded Poppy, lifting violet eyes to the crowd.