The stout man passed in silence, and with a great show of dignity.  Nickie had a busy afternoon.  Evidently it was the dignified lady’s “day.”  Quite a crowd of people drove up to the gates during the afternoon, and Nickie entrusted each with an affectionate and familiar message to Jinny.  All were horrified at the insolence of the disgusting man, and one young fellow kicked Mr. Crips, but our’ hero did not seem to mind.  He merely warned his assailant that he would issue a County Court writ for any damages done to his trousers.

On the following morning at about 11 o’clock Nickie entered the grounds, his rags fluttering in the breeze, marched to the door and rang the bell.  To the Napoleonic man-servant who opened to him, he gravely presented a tomato can half-full of water, and said: 

“Will yer please arsk Bill or Jinny if they’ll be so good as to bile my billy at the drorin’-room fire.  Tell ’em it’s Nicholas Crips what makes the request.  No, thanks, I won’t come in, I’m afraid my motor car might bolt.”

The Napoleonic man-servant threw Nickie off the verandah, and threw his billy after him, but this did not deter Nicholas from an attempt to enter into familiar conversation bearing on family matters, when he found the dignified lady in a summer house.

The lady glared at him in stony horror.  “How dare you?” she ejaculated.  “How dare you?”

“Why, what’s wrong, Jinny, old girl.” asked Crips innocently, assuming a lounging attitude in the doorway.  “You find the togs I’m wearin’ a trifle too negligee, so to speak.  They’re quite the thing in our set.”

“Let me pass!” ejaculated the lady with crushing hauteur.

Nickie was not impressed.  He smiled, and continued dreamily:  “My word, things have moved with you, Jinny.  You’re gone up like er rocket in er reg’lar blaze iv glory, but I can still see yeh in the old shop days.  You blazed then too, old girl.  It wasn’t with di’monds, ’twas fish scales, but you blazed.  You could alwiz put on dog.  You sold flathead, Jinny, but I give the devil his due—­you did it like a duchess.”

At this point the Napoleonic footman intervened again.  He took Nickie by his rags and the nape of his neck, and running him tip-toe out of the garden, tumbled him headlong on the grass-grown roadside.  Nickie rejoined Stub McGuire quite unconcerned.

“That’s a new society game, my friend,” he said.  “The flunkey scored ten points.”

A few hours later the proprietor of the cement mansion came to his gate, and beckoned Nicholas Crips off the heap.  Nickie the Kid responded with alacrity, and Stub McGuire gazed in cow-like wonder while the two discussed matters in the gateway.

Nickie was calling him “Bill,” “Billy,” and “Willyum,” indiscriminately.  Stub nearly fainted when he saw the gentleman draw a bank-note from his pocket, and hand it to Nicholas Crips.  Nickie lifted his deplorable hat, and said: