Maurice pealed the bell louder than ever; and finally a sad-eyed porter in shirt-sleeves opened the door and surveyed the party over a broom. "We want breakfast," said Maurice; "breakfast for eight." "Breakfast always is at eight," the man informed them. "Breakfast for eight people and as quickly as possible." The man looked doubtful. "Good heavens!" Maurice cried irritably. "Surely in any decent hotel you can get breakfast for eight." "What are you?" the man asked. "Theatricals?" "No, no, no, we've been to a fancy dress ball--and we want breakfast." In the end they were admitted, and, a chamber-maid having been discovered on a remote landing, the girls were shown into a bedroom. "I thought this hotel professed to cater for excursions of pleasure," said Maurice frigidly. "We don't get many of 'em here in winter." "I'm not surprised. Good Lord, isn't the fire lighted in the coffee-room?" "We don't use the coffee-room much--except for political meetings. Greenwich has gone out from what it used to be." The girls came in, pale and tired, and the party foregathered round the coffee-room grate, from which a wisp of smoke ascended in steady promise. "Well, Maurice," said Castleton, "I think very little of this ravished conservatory into which your historic sense has led us. How do you like Greenwich, girls?" The girls all sighed. "They don't." "Hullo, here's a waiter," said Cunningham, turning round. "Good morning, waiter." "Good morning, sir." "Is breakfast going to be long?" "It's on order sir. Eggs and bacon, I think you said." "I should think somebody probably did. In fact, I'd almost bet on it," said Castleton. "What's the time, waiter?" "I don't know, sir, but I'll find out for you." "I always thought Greenwich was famous for its time." "Whitebait, sir, more than anything." Castleton sighed; and Maurice, who had gone downstairs to reassure the household, came back trying to look as if waiting for breakfast on a January morning after dancing all night was one of the jolliest experiences attainable by humanity. "Maurice," said Ronnie Walker, "we think your night was splendid. But we think your morning is rotten." "Oh, Maurice, why didn't you let us go to bed?" Jenny grumbled. "You can't really blame the hotel people," Maurice began. "We don't," interrupted Cunningham severely. "We blame you." "I also blame myself," said Ronnie, "for giving way to your mad schemes." "You're right," Jenny put in. "I think we was all mad. What must they have thought of us--a party of loonies, I should say." "I meant it to be very charming," Maurice urged in apology. "Oh, well, it'll all come out in the wash, but I wish they'd bring in this unnatural breakfast." The company sighed in unison, and, as if encouraged by such an utterance of breath, the wisp of smoke broke into a thin blue flame. "Come, that's better," said Maurice, unduly encouraged. "The fire's burning up quite cheerfully."