He closed his eyes and dozed uneasily, but was soon awakened by the sound of stealthy footsteps and the swish of silken draperies. He half opened his eyes, and, glancing cautiously under lowered lids saw that his room was gradually filling with people whose one care seemed to be to avoid waking him. They disposed themselves round the chamber in some kind of settled order and, with eyes fixed on his recumbent form, stood waiting. Alf, still wondering what this might mean, suddenly noticed that quite half of his unexpected visitors were women--just such women as haunted his hazy recollections of the night before. Shocked to the depths of his respectable soul, Alf opened his eyes and sat up. Instantly the entire assemblage prostrated themselves--except some of the women, who, Alf saw with horror, carried musical instruments and displayed every sign of being about to play upon them. Alf clutched his aching head. "No, no!" he shouted imploringly. "Stop it. Farr--Mr. Farr! Take 'em away!" "Lord," said Mustapha, entering and bowing gravely. "I am here." "Turn them shameless 'ussies out o' my room. What are they doin' 'ere? I never 'eard o' such goin's on." "Verily, Lord, they are the ladies of thy household, whose duty it is to be present at thy _levée_. And these others are ladies skilled in music, who are about to wish thee good-morrow with a concert of soft sounds." "Not if I know it--not while I've got a 'ead on me like this, any'ow. Clear 'em all out, every last one of 'em--men as well." Mustapha said a few words to the concourse, which went away saying no word but looking very much astonished. "An' now," said Alf, "where's me clothes?" "Lord, they are here." Mustapha indicated a magnificent garment which was lying with a jeweled turban on a cushion at the side of the bed. "Clothes, I said," remarked Alf caustically, "not a blinkin' dressing-gown--what's that?" "That" was a bull-like roar in the distance, which repeated itself over and over again until it at last resolved itself into a call for "Alf." "'Ere, Bill," bellowed Alf in return. "Oh! 'Ere you are," said the newly-christened Mr. Montmorency in wrathful tones as he entered. "Every room I go into seems to be full o' women. 'Ere, what d'you think o' this?" He displayed the garment he was wearing--a voluminous coat of some rich shimmering stuff. "Pinched me clothes, they 'ave, an' left me this ... this...." Words failed him. "An' a pair o' pink satin trousers," he concluded with heat. "What's the game?" "Dunno. Same 'ere," answered Alf. "Look 'ere, Farr, don't you start no funny jokes with us. Clear this mess away an' bring us some proper civvy clothes." "Same as what a gentleman 'ud wear," added Bill. "Pot 'at, an' gloves, an' spats, an'--an' so on. An' 'urry up." "But, Lord," protested Mustapha, "these are garments of the greatest magnificence, such as the great Caliph Haroun Alraschid delighted to wear...."