_Blethers._ Sir POSHBURY, I have a secret to reveal which I can preserve no longer--it concerns something that happened many years ago--it is connected with your _birthday_, Sir POSHBURY. _Sir P. (quailing)._ What, _another_! I must stop _his_ tongue at all hazards. Ha, the rotten sash-line! (_To_ BL.) I will hear you, but first close yonder window, the night air is growing chill. [BLETHERS _goes to window at back. Slow music. As he approaches it_, LORD BLESHUGH _enters_ (R 2 E), _and, with a smothered cry of horror, drags him back by the coat-tails--just before the window falls with a tremendous crash_. _Sir P._ BLESHUGH! What have you done? _Lord Blesh. (sternly)._ Saved _him_ from an untimely end--and _you_ from--crime. [_Collapse of_ Sir P. _Enter_ VERBENA, _terrified._ _Verb._ Papa, Papa, hide me! The night-air and the cold stone steps have restored MR. SPIKER to life and consciousness! He is coming to denounce me--you--both of us! He is awfully annoyed! _Sir P. (recklessly)._ It is useless to appeal to me, child. I have enough to do to look after myself--now! [_Enter_ SPIKER, _indignant_. [Illustration] _Spiker._ Pretty treatment for a gentleman, this! Look here, POSHBURY, this young lady has choked me with a cushion, and then pitched me down the front steps--I might have broken my neck! _Sir P._ It was an oversight which I lament, but for which I must decline to be answerable. You must settle your differences with her. _Spiker._ And you, too, old horse! _You_ had a hand in this, I know, and I'll pay you out for it now. My life ain't safe if I marry a girl like that, so I've made up my mind to split, and be done with it! _Sir P. (contemptuously)._ If you don't, BLETHERS _will_. So do your worst, you hound! _Spiker._ Very well, then; I will. (_To the rest._) I denounce this man for travelling with a half-ticket from Edgware Road to Baker Street on his thirteenth birthday, the 31st of March, twenty-seven years ago this very day. [_Sensation._ _Blethers._ Hear me; it was _not_ his thirteenth birthday! Sir POSHBURY'S birthday falls on the 1st of April--_to-morrow!_ I was sent to register the birth, and, by a blunder, which I have repented bitterly ever since, unfortunately gave the wrong date. Till this moment I have never had the manliness or sincerity to confess my error, for fear of losing my situation. _Sir P. (to_ SPIKER). Do you hear, you paltry knave? I was _not_ thirteen. Consequently, I was under age, and the Bye-laws are still unbroken. Your hold over me is gone--gone for ever! _Spiker._ H'm--SPIKER spiked this time! [_Retires up disconcerted._ _Lord Bl._ And you did not really love him, after all, VERBENA? _Verb. (with arch pride)._ Have I not proved my indifference? _Lord Bl._ But I forget--you admitted that you were but trifling with my affection--take back your pin-cushion. _Verb._ Keep it. All that I did was done to spare my father!