"No reason at all why she shouldn't lend it; but apparently parrots are very excitable birds, and this particular one went mad under the strain of the children's performance, bit Major Downman's finger, and escaped by an upper window. Poor Miss Moxley was extremely upset, and the bird has never been seen since. So you see, as I told you, children are apt to be rather a nuisance to the other guests." "None of the guests at Halma House keeps a tame calf?" George looked frightened. "Oh no, I don't think so. There's certainly never been the least sign of mooing in the garden. Besides, I'm sure Mrs. Easton would object to a calf. She even objects to dogs, as I had to tell James the other day when he came to see me _very_ early about signing some deed or other. But what made you ask about a calf? Do you want one?" "No, I don't want one: I hate cows and calves. Bertram and Viola, however, are likely to want one next week." "You've been spoiling them, old chap. They'd never dare ask me for a calf. Why, it's preposterous. Yes, you've been spoiling them. Ah, well, you can afford it; that's one thing." "Yes, I dare say I have been spoiling them, George; but you'll be able to correct that when they're once again in your sole charge." George looked doubtful. "I'm very strict with them," he admitted. "I had to be after they lost the parrot and burned Mrs. Easton's rug. It was most annoying." "Yes, luckily I hadn't got any suitable fur rugs," John chuckled. "So they actually burnt Mrs. Easton's?" "Yes, and--er--she was so much upset," George went on, "that she's--well--the fact is, they _can't_ come back, John, because she's let their room." "How much do you owe her?" John demanded. "Oh, very little. I think only from last September. Well, you see, Eleanor was out of an engagement all the summer and had a wretched salary at the Parthenon while she was understudying--these actress-managers are awful harpies--do you know Janet Bond?" "Yes, I'm writing a tragedy for her now." "Make her pay, old boy, make her pay. That's my advice. And I know the business side of the profession. But to come back to Mrs. Easton--I was really very angry with her, but you see, I've got my own room here and it's uncommonly difficult to find a private room in a boarding-house, so I thought we'd stay on here till Eleanor's tour was over. She intends to save three pounds a week, and if I have a little luck over the sticks this winter, we shall be quite straight with Mrs. Easton, and then the children will be able to come back in the New Year." "How much do you owe her?" John demanded for the second time. "Oh, I think it's about twenty pounds--it may be a little more." John knew how much the little more always was in George's calculations, and rang the bell, which fetched his brother out of the armchair almost in a bound. "Old boy, I never ring the bell here," he expostulated. "You see, I never consider that my private room is included in the attendance."