‘Team, of half-a-dozen, from The Mussuck to the Hawley Boy, you gain nothing by it. Not even amusement.’ ‘And you?’ ‘Try my recipe. Take a man, not a boy, mind, but an almost mature, unattached man, and be his guide, philosopher, and friend. You’ll find it the most interesting occupation that you ever embarked on. It can be done you needn’t look like that because I’ve done it.’ ‘There’s an element of risk about it that makes the notion attractive. I’ll get such a man and say to him, “Now, understand that there must be no flirtation. Do exactly what I tell you, profit by my instruction and counsels, and all will yet be well.” Is that the idea?’ ‘More or less,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, with an unfathomable smile. ‘But be sure he understands.’ II Dribble-dribble trickle-trickle What a lot of raw dust! My dollie’s had an accident And out came all the sawdust! Nursery Rhyme. So Mrs. Hauksbee, in ‘The Foundry’ which overlooks Simla Mall, sat at the feet of Mrs. Mallowe and gathered wisdom. The end of the Conference was the Great Idea upon which Mrs. Hauksbee so plumed herself. ‘I warn you,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, beginning to repent of her suggestion, ‘that the matter is not half so easy as it looks. Any woman even the Topsham Girl can catch a man, but very, very few know how to manage him when caught.’ ‘My child,’ was the answer, ‘I’ve been a female St. Simon Stylites looking down upon men for these these years past. Ask The Mussuck whether I can manage them.’ Mrs. Hauksbee departed humming, ‘I’ll go to him and say to him in manner most ironical.’ Mrs. Mallowe laughed to herself. Then she grew suddenly sober. ‘I wonder whether I’ve done well in advising that amusement? Lucy’s a clever woman, but a thought too careless.’ A week later the two met at a Monday Pop. ‘Well?’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘I’ve caught him!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee: her eyes were dancing with merriment. ‘Who is it, mad woman? I’m sorry I ever spoke to you about it.’ ‘Look between the pillars. In the third row; fourth from the end. You can see his face now. Look!’ ‘Otis Yeere! Of all the improbable and impossible people! I don’t believe you.’ ‘Hsh! Wait till Mrs. Tarkass begins murdering Milton Wellings; and I’ll tell you all about it. S-s-ss! That woman’s voice always reminds me of an Underground train coming into Earl’s Court with the brakes on. Now listen. It is really Otis Yeere.’ ‘So I see, but does it follow that he is your property!’ ‘He is! By right of trove. I found him, lonely and unbefriended, the very next night after our talk, at the Dugald Delanes’ burra-khana. I liked his eyes, and I talked to him. Next day he called. Next day we went for a ride together, and to-day he’s tied to my ‘richshaw-wheels hand and foot. You’ll see when the concert’s over. He doesn’t know I’m here yet.’ ‘Thank goodness you haven’t chosen a boy. What are you going to do with him, assuming that you’ve got him?’