He turned, and shuffled out. CHAPTER XXIII THE REAL MR. WELWYN "_There is an evenin’ paper--_" quavered Mr. Stillbottle blithely, with his feet upon the kitchen hob,-- --"_which is published in the mornin’!_ _Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, little Star!_" He unfolded the early edition of the organ in question and devoted himself to a laboured perusal of the list of probable starters for the Lincolnshire Handicap, now looming in the immediate future; for he was anxious to ascertain whether his premonitions as to the identity of the winner coincided with those of the prophet retained by the management. Apparently they did; for presently the paper was laid aside with a contented sigh, and the student of form resumed the hoary lay which anxiety connected with the investment of his newly acquired capital had caused him momentarily to abandon. "_Twinkle, Star!_ _Tiddley Wink!_ _Twinkle on till you dunno where you are!_ _Oh, we ’ll make things warm for ’Arcourt,_ If ’e ever comes down our court!* _Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, little St--_" Conscious of a draught upon the back of his neck, the vocalist turned uneasily in the direction of the door. It had opened some six inches, revealing to view a pair of cherubic heads, set one above the other. Each head was furnished with a pair of quite circular blue eyes, which surveyed Mr. Stillbottle, with unwinking and unnerving ecstasy. "The Funny Man!" proclaimed The Cure joyously. "Yesh," agreed The Caution. "Lesh box him." The pair entered the room hand in hand, and advanced grimly to the attack. Mr. Stillbottle hastily removed his feet from the hob. "You two," he announced, "can get on out of this. I ain’t never done you no ’arm, ’ave I?" he added appealingly; "so why---" At this point The Caution dealt him a playful but disabling blow in the waistcoat. The Cure, with a shriek of rapture, seized Mr. Stillbottle’s frayed coat by the tails and whirled its owner round three times upon his axis. "Now catch me!" she shrieked. "If I _do_--" gasped Mr. Stillbottle, clutching dizzily at the mantelpiece. Further words failed him, and entrenching himself behind a table, he waited like a hunted animal for the further assaults of his enemies. He was not kept long in suspense. Having armed themselves with the fire-irons, the two affectionate but boisterous infants were upon the point of inaugurating a game of what they called "beat-the-carpet"--it is hardly necessary to specify the rôle assigned to Mr. Stillbottle--when the door opened, revealing the welcome figure of Dicky Mainwaring. Straightway weapons were thrown down, and the newcomer found himself the centre of a cloud of embraces. Dicky was a prime favourite with children and dogs--no bad test of character, either.