"’The Crouch End Gladiators,’ I think they ’re called," said Dicky. "But I have n’t met any of them yet." "Where is Crouch End?" enquired Lady Adela. "And why should one have a club there?" "It is a cycling club," explained Dicky. "You go out for spins in the country on Saturday afternoons. Topping! I’ll bring them down here one day if you like! Each member is allowed to have one lady guest," he added, with a happy smile. "But to resume. We lost friend Percy at Waterloo. He went to get a bicycle ticket, or something, and was no more seen. The train started without him. Tilly was fearfully upset about it: said she thought it was n’t quite proper for her to come down without a chaperon on her first visit." "She proposes to come again, then?" said Lady Adela, with a short quavering laugh. Dicky stopped short, and regarded his mother with unfeigned astonishment. "Come again? I should think she was coming again! Anyhow, the poor little thing was quite distressed when we lost Perce." "That, dear," remarked Lady Adela icily, "is what I should call straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel. And now, my boy, let me beg you to tell me--" Dicky, who was too fully occupied with the recollections of his recent journey to be aware of the physical and mental strain to which he was subjecting his revered parents, suddenly started off down a fresh alley of irrelevant reminiscence. "Talking of camels," he said, "there is the goat." "Bless my soul, my dear lad!" exclaimed Mr. Mainwaring. "What goat?" Dicky was perfectly ready to explain. "When Tilly and I got out of the train at Shotley Beauchamp station," he began, "and found that you two absent-minded old dears had forgotten to send anything to meet us--" "But Dick, my boy," interposed the old gentleman--Lady Adela was rapidly progressing beyond the stage of articulate remonstrance--"how could your mother be expected to divine your intentions with regard to trains, or to know that you were bringing down--er--a guest?" "I wrote and told you," said Dicky. "When, pray?" enquired Lady Adela, finding speech again. "The day before yesterday," said Dicky positively; "breaking the news about Tilly, and when we were coming, and--" "We received no letter from you," replied Lady Adela. "But I wrote it, Mum!" cried Dicky. "I spent three hours over it. It was the most important letter I have ever written in my life! Is it likely a man could forget--" "Feel in your pockets, my boy," suggested the experienced Mr. Mainwaring. Dicky smiled indulgently upon his resourceful parent, and pulled out the contents of his breast-pocket--a handful of old letters and a cigarette case. "Anything to oblige you, Dad," he ran on, scanning the addresses. "But I know I posted the thing. A man does not forget on such an oc-- No! you are right. I’m a liar. Here it is!" He produced a fat envelope from the bunch, and threw it down upon the tea-table. II