“Here’s a go!” panted Ruddy as they dodged through the crowd. “She’ll lose ’em for a cert. Why, I could have been in love with her myself if this hadn’t---- What a rumpage!” They were nearing the turnstile. Above the turmoil of their pursuit they heard the comedian on the sands still declaring, “I’m the Emperor of Sahara, Tarara, Tarara.” Probably he was. In Brighton anything was possible. To Teddy it seemed a mad romance, a wild topsy-turvy, a staged burlesque in which Arthurian knights rescued ladies’ teeth instead of their virtue. Of the two, in Brighton, false teeth were the more precious. The day was hot The Pomeranian was fat Perhaps in Pomerania false teeth are more nutritious. He was beginning to have doubts as to their value, for he had twice turned his head, wondering whether peace might be patched up with honor. He was turning for a third time when he blundered full tilt into a nursemaid’s skirts. He was so startled by the weight of the child she dropped on him that he abandoned his loot and fled. Of the two pursuers Teddy was the first to arrive. Snatching up the teeth, before they could be trampled by the crowd which the child’s screams were attracting, he wrapped them in his pocket-handkerchief, hiding them from public view, and strolled back unconcernedly. But what to do next? How to return them? How to put the lady to least shame? “Well, they _are_ hers,” Ruddy argued. “She knows that we know she wears ’em. They’re no good to us; and we shouldn’t have chased the dog unless we’d thought that she’d like to have ’em. You’re too delicate-minded.” Seen from a distance as they approached her, she looked slight as a schoolgirl. Is was impossible to believe that she was really an old woman. She came hurrying towards them with one hand held out and the other pressed against her mouth. Not a word was said as her lost property was returned. The moment she had it, she walked to the side of the pier and gazed seawards, while both boys turned their backs. She was closing her vanity-case when she called to them. They stared. The powder-puff and mirror had done their work. To the not too observing eye she was a girl. “I want to thank you.” She gave them each a small gloved hand. “I’d like to send you a reward if you’ll give me your address. May I?” They shook their heads. Ruddy acted spokesman. “No. But let us stay till Mr. Nineveh comes back.” “Duke! You know him?” She had a charming, flute-like note in her voice when she asked a question. “We’ve been hunting him all day.” “Why?” “He said he knew how to get pleasure without,” Ruddy’s face puckered with genial impertinence, “without ’laybore’.” The lady laughed. “I think I could tell you how he does it. You’ll never guess what the naughty man did to me. He brought me down here for one dear little day to our two selves and then,” she raised her shoulders ever so slightly, “he saw a pretty face and left me in the shelter to wait for him. I’ve waited; I’ve not had any lunch.”