Hickory Dickory Dock

"Throw her into the street." "She is ready to leave of her own accord and she is making full reparation." "What is the good of that? My beautiful Students" Home will now have a bad name. No one will come." Mrs. Nicoletis sat down on the sofa and burst into tears. "Nobody thinks of my feelings," she sobbed. "It is abominable, the way I am treated. Ignored! Thrust aside! If I wete to die tomorrow, who would care?" Wisely leaving this question unanswered, Mrs.

Hubhard left the room.

"May the Almighty give me patience," said Mrs. Hubbard to herself and went down to the kitchen to interview Maria.

Maria was sullen and uncooperative. The word "police" hovered unspoken in the air.

"It is I who WiRather be accused. I and Geronimo-the povero. What justice can you expect in a foreign land?

No, I cannot cook the risotto as you suggesthey send the wrong rice. I make you instead the spaghetti." "We had spaghetti last night." "It does not matter. In my country we eat the spaghetti every day-every single day. The pasta, it is good all the time." "Yes, but you're in England now." "Very well then, I make the stew. The English stew. You will not like it but I make it-pale-palewith the onions boiled in much water instead of cooked in the oil-and pale meat on cracked bones." Maria spoke so menacingly that Mrs. Hubbard felt she was listening to an account of a murder.

"Oh, cook what you like," she said angrily and left the kitchen.

By six o'clock that evening, Mrs. Hubbard was once more her efficient self again. She had put notes in all the students' rooms asking them to come and see her before dinner, and when the various summonses were obeyed, she explained that Celia had asked her to arrange matters. They were all, she comthought, very nice about it.

Even Genevieve, softened by a generous estimate of the value of her compact, said cheerfully that all would be sans rancune and added with a wise air, "One knows that these crises of the nerves occur. She is rich, this Celia, she does not need to steal.

No, it is a storm in her head. M. Mcationabb is right there." Len Bateson drew Mrs. Hubbard aside as she came down when the dinner bell rang.

"I'll wait for Celia out in the hall," he said, "and bring her in. So that she sees it's all right." "That's very nice of you, Len." "That's O.K., Ma." In due course, as soup was being passed round, Len's voice was heard booming from the hall.

"Come along in, Celia. All friends here." Nigel remarked waspishly to his soup plate, "Done his good deed for the day!" but otherwise controlled his tongue and waved a hand of greeting to Celia as she came in with Len's large arm passed round her shoulders.

There was a general outburst of cheerful conversation on various topics and Celia was appealed to by one and the other.

Almost inevitably this manifestation of goodwill died away into a doubtful silence. It was then that MT. Akibombo turned a beaming face towards Celia and leaning across the table said: "They have explained me good now all that I did not understand. You very clever at steal things. Long time nobody know. Very clever." At this point Sally Finch, gasping out, "Akibombo, you'll be the death of me," had such a severe choke that she had to go out in the hall to recover. And the laughter broke out in a thoroughly natural fashion.

Colin Mcationabb came in late. He seemed reserved and even more uncommunicative than usual. At the close of the meal and before the others had finished he got up and said in an embarrassed mumble, "Got to go out and see someone. Like to tell you all first Celia and I-hope to get married next year when I've done my course." The picture of blushing misery, he received the congratulations and jeering cat-calls of his friends and finally escaped, looking terribly sheepish.

Celia, on the other side, was pink and composed.

"Another good man gone West," sighed Len Bateson.

"I'm so glad, Celia," said Patricia.

"I hope you'll be very happy." "Everything in the garden is now perfect," said Nigel.

"Tomorrow we'll bring some chianti in and drink your health. Why is our dear Jean looking so grave?

Do you disapprove of marria e, Jean?" "Of course not, Nigel." "I always think it's so much better than Free Love, don't you? Nicer for the children. Looks better on their passports." "But the mother should not be too young," said Genevieve.