“I’ve had the feather for years,” she remarked.  “This is the fourth hat it has been on—­but, then, I’ve taken care of it.”

Mr. Teak grunted, and, opening the door, ushered her into the street.  A sense of adventure, and the hope of a profitable afternoon made his spirits rise.  He paid a compliment to the hat, and then, to the surprise of both, followed it up with another—­a very little one—­to his wife.

They took a tram at the end of the street, and for the sake of the air mounted to the top.  Mrs. Teak leaned back in her seat with placid enjoyment, and for the first ten minutes amused herself with the life in the streets.  Then she turned suddenly to her husband and declared that she had felt a spot of rain.

“’Magination,” he said, shortly.

Something cold touched him lightly on the eyelid, a tiny pattering sounded from the seats, and then swish, down came the rain.  With an angry exclamation he sprang up and followed his wife below.

“Just our luck,” she said, mournfully.  “Best thing we can do is to stay in the car and go back with it.”

“Nonsense!” said her husband, in a startled’ voice; “it’ll be over in a minute.”

Events proved the contrary.  By the time the car reached the terminus it was coming down heavily.  Mrs. Teak settled herself squarely in her seat, and patches of blue sky, visible only to the eye of faith and her husband, failed to move her.  Even his reckless reference to a cab failed.

“It’s no good,” she said, tartly.  “We can’t go about the grounds in a cab, and I’m not going to slop about in the wet to please anybody.  We must go another time.  It’s hard luck, but there’s worse things in life.”

Mr. Teak, wondering as to the operations of Mr. Chase, agreed dumbly.  He stopped the car at the corner of their road, and, holding his head down against the rain, sprinted towards home.  Mrs. Teak, anxious for her hat, passed him.

“What on earth’s the matter?” she inquired, fumbling in her pocket for the key as her husband executed a clumsy but noisy breakdown on the front step.

“Chill,” replied Mr. Teak.  “I’ve got wet.”

He resumed his lumberings and, the door being opened, gave vent to his relief at being home again in the dry, in a voice that made the windows rattle.  Then with anxious eyes he watched his wife pass upstairs.

“Wonder what excuse old Alf’ll make for being in?” he thought.

He stood with one foot on the bottom stair, listening acutely.  He heard a door open above, and then a wild, ear-splitting shriek rang through the house.  Instinctively he dashed upstairs and, following his wife into their bedroom, stood by her side gaping stupidly at a pair of legs standing on the hearthstone.  As he watched they came backwards into the room, the upper part of a body materialized from the chimney, and turning round revealed the soot-stained face of Mr. Alfred Chase.  Another wild shriek from Mrs. Teak greeted its appearance.