He checked, on the verge of yielding to an insane impulse. Being a native of New York, it had been his instinctive thought to call up the hat-shop and demand the return of its delivery-boy. Fortunately the instinct of a true dramatist moved him to sketch hastily the ground-plot of the suggested tragedy. In _Act I_ (_Time: the Present_) he saw himself bearding the telephone in its lair--that is, in the darkest and least accessible recess of the ground-floor hallway. In firm, manful accents, befitting an intrepid soul, he details a number to the central operator--and meekly submits to an acidulated correction of his Amurrikin accent. _Act II_ (_fifteen minutes have elapsed_): He is clinging desperately to the receiver, sustained by hope alone while he attends sympathetically to the sufferings of an English lady trying to get in communication with the Army and Navy Stores. _Act III_ (_ten minutes later_): He has exhausted himself grinding away at an obsolete rotary bell-call. Abruptly his ears are enchanted by a far, thin, frigid moan. It says: "_Are_ you theah?" Responding savagely "NO!" he dashes the receiver back into its hook and flings away to discover that he has lost both train and steamer. Tag line: For this is London in the Twentieth Century. _Curtain: End of the Play._... Disenchanted by consideration of this tentative synopsis, the playwright consulted his watch. Already the incident of the condemnable bandbox had eaten up much invaluable time. He would see himself doomed to unending perdition if he would submit to further hindrance on its behalf. "Milly," said he with decision, "take that ... thing down-stairs, and tell Mrs. Gigg to telephone the hat-shop to call for it." "Yessir." "And after that, call me a taxi. Tell it to wait. I'll be ready by ten or know--" Promptly retiring, Milly took with her, in addition to the bandbox, a confused impression of a room whose atmosphere was thick with flying garments, in the wild swirl of which a lanky lunatic danced weirdly, muttering uncouth incantations.... Forty minutes later (on the stroke of ten) Mr. Staff, beautifully groomed after his habit, his manner (superbly nonchalant) denying that he had ever known reason why he should take a single step in haste, followed his trunks down to the sidewalk and, graciously bidding his landlady adieu, presented Milly with a keepsake in the shape of a golden coin of the realm. A taxicab, heavy-laden with his things, fretted before the door. Staff nodded to the driver. "Euston," said he; "and a shilling extra if you drive like sin." "Right you are, sir." In the act of entering the cab, Staff started back with bitter imprecations. Mrs. Gigg, who had not quite closed the front door, opened it wide to his remonstrant voice. "I say, what's this bandbox doing in my cab? I thought I told Milly--" "Sorry, sir; I forgot," Mrs. Gigg interposed--"bein' that flustered--" "Well?"