_Spurr._ Well, it's no business of mine; you've behaved devilish well to me, and I'm not surprised that you'd rather not be seen in the state you're in. I shouldn't like it myself! _Und._ State? _What_ state? _Spurr._ Ah, I _wondered_ whether you knew. You'll see what I mean when you've had a look at yourself in the glass. I daresay it'll come off right enough. I can't stop. Ta, ta, old fellow, and thanks awfully! [_He goes out._ _Und. (alone)._ What does he mean? But I've no time to waste. Where have they put my portmanteau? I can't give up _everything_. (_He hunts round the room, and eventually discovers a door leading into a small dressing-room._) Ah, it's in there. I'll get it out, and put my things in. (_As he rushes back, he suddenly comes face to face with his own reflection in a cheval glass._) Wh--who's that? Can this--this piebald horror possibly be--_me_? How----? Ah, it was _ink_ in that infernal basket--not water! And my hair's full of flour! I _can't_ go into a hotel like this, they'd think I was an escaped lunatic! (_He flies to a wash-hand stand, and scrubs and sluices desperately, after which he inspects the result in the mirror._) It's not _nearly_ off yet! Will _anything_ get rid of this streakiness? (_He soaps and scrubs once more._) And the flour's caked in my hair now! I must brush it all out before I am fit to be seen. (_He gradually, after infinite toil, succeeds in making himself slightly more presentable._) Is the carriage waiting for me all this time? (_He pitches things into his portmanteau in a frantic flurry._) What's that? Some one's coming! [_He listens._ _Tredwell (outside)._ It's my conviction you've been telling me a pack o' lies, you young rascal. For what hearthly business that feller UNDERSHELL could 'ave in the Verney---- However, _I_'ll soon see how it is. (_He knocks._) Is anyone in 'ere? _Und. (to himself, distractedly)._ He mustn't find me here! Yet, where---- Ah, it's the only place! [_He blows out the candles, and darts into the dressing-room as_ TREDWELL _enters_. _Tred._ The boy's right. He _is_ in here; them candles is smouldering still. (_He relights one, and looks under the bed._) You'd better come out o' that, UNDERSHELL, and give an account of yourself--do you 'ear me?... He ain't under there! (_He tries the dressing-room door;_ UNDERSHELL _holds his breath, and clings desperately to the handle._) Very well, Sir, I know you're _there_, and I've no time to trouble with you at present, so you may as well stay where you are till you're wanted. I've 'eard o' your goings-on from Mr. ADAMS, and I shall 'ave to fetch Sir RUPERT up to 'ave a talk with you by-and-by. [_He turns the key upon him, and goes._ _Und. (to himself, overwhelmed, as the Butler's step is heard retreating)._ And I came down here to assert the dignity of Literature! [Illustration: "He suddenly comes face to face with his own reflection."] * * * * *