Recollecting her deafness, and in fear lest she should approach the basket, George from the window bellowed: “Thank you, Mrs. Pinner. But I won't have tea, if you please. Won't have tea. I drink milk--_milk_. A lot of milk. I'm a great milk-drinker.” The Rose wriggled. George thumped the basket. “As soon as you like, Mrs. Pinner. As quick as you like!” Mrs. Pinner closed the door; the Rose advertised her feelings in a long, penetrating mi-aow. In an agony of strained listening George held his breath. But Mrs. Pinner heard nothing; moved steadily downstairs. He wiped his brow. This was the beginning of it. When Mrs. Pinner reappeared, jug of milk and covered dish on a tray, George's plan, after desperate searchings, had come to him. He gave it speech. “I want to arrange, Mrs. Pinner--” “If you wait till I've settled the tray, mister, I'll come close to you. I'm that hard of hearing you wouldn't believe.” George sprang from the basket; approached the table. His life depended upon keeping a distance between basket and Pinner. “I want to arrange to have this room as a private sitting-room.” It had never been so used before, but it could be arranged, Mrs. Pinner told him. She would speak to her 'usband about terms. “And I want to keep it very private indeed, I don't want anyone to enter it unless I am here.” George mounted his lie and galloped it, blushing for shame of his steed. “The fact is, Mrs. Pinner, I'm an inventor. Yes, an inventor. Oh, yes, an inventor.” The wretched steed was stumbling, but he clung on; spurred afresh. “An inventor. And I have to leave things lying about--delicate instruments that mustn't be disturbed. Awfully delicate. I shall be out all day. I shall be taking my invention into the open air to experiment with it. My invention--” He waved his hand at the basket. Mrs. Pinner quite understood; was impressed. “Oh, dear, yes, mister. To be sure. An inventor; fancy that, now!” She gazed at the basket. “And the invention is in there?” “Right in there,” George assured her. “You'll parding my asking, mister; but your saying you have to take it in the open hair--is it one of them hairships, mister?” “Well, it _is,_” George said frankly. This was a useful idea and he approved it. “It _is._ It's an airship.” “Well, I never did!” Mrs. Pinner admired, gazing at the basket. “A hairship in there!” “_Mi-aow!_” spoke the Rose--penetrating, piercing. Mrs. Pinner cocked her head on one side; looked under the table. “I declare I thought I heard a cat,” she puzzled. “In this very room.” George felt perfectly certain that his hair was standing bolt upright on the top of his head, thrusting at right angles to the sides. He forced his alarmed face to smile: “A cock crowing in the yard, I think, Mrs. Pinner.” Mrs. Pinner took the explanation with an apologetic laugh. “I'm that hard o' hearing you never would believe. But I could ha' sworn. Ill not keep you chattering, sir.” She raised the dish cover.