I
opened the door and found my sister Agatha smiling on the threshold.
"Hallo!" said I, gazing at her stupidly.
"You're not effusive in your welcome, my dear Simon," she remarked.
"Won't you ask me to come in?"
"By all means," said I. "Come in!"
She entered and looked round my little sitting-room. "What a pill-box in
the sky! I had no idea it was as tiny as this. I think I shall call you
Saint Simon Stylites."
I was in no mood for Agatha. I bowed ironically and inquired to what I
owed the honour of the visit.
"I want you to do me a favour--a great favour. I'm dying to see the new
dances at the Palace Theatre. They say they dance on everything except
their feet. I've got a box. Tom promised to take me. Now he finds he
can't. I've telephoned all over the place for something uncompromising
in or out of trousers to accompany me and I can't get hold of anybody.
So I've come to you."
"I'm vastly flattered!" said I.
She dismissed my sarcasm with bird-like impatience.
"Don't be silly.
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