274 ANGEL PAVEMENT

your tea out somewhere and amuse yourself for once—"

"Now then, George/' his father cried down the tele-
phone sharply, "that's enough of that."

'I'm only telling you what she says/' George's voice
explained. "Keep cool, Dad. Nothing to do with me.
You can either have your tea out and amuse your-
self—"

"I don't want to amuse myself. As I've told some of
you before/' he added, rather grimly, "I like a quiet
life."

"All right then, she can leave something for you.
You'll only have to warm it up yourself. I shan't be in
and Edna won't be either."

"Here, all right," said Mr. Smeeth, who was not fond
of warming things up for himself. "I'll stop out for
once. Tell your mother that's all right. And tell her
I hope she enjoys herself with Mr. Mitty."

He had heard his wife talk about her cousin, Fred
Mitty—she was rather given to talking about her rela-
tions—but he had never met him. Mitty had been living
in one of the big provincial towns, Birmingham or Man-
chester for the last few years. He could have stopped
there, for all Mr. Smeeth cared, However, his wife would
enjoy herself. She liked nothing better than going out
for the evening and having a good old gas with some-
body fairly lively, and Mr. Smeeth remembered now that
Fred Mitty—what a name!—was supposed to be very
lively, one of the dashing members of his wife's family,
the chief comedian at all the weddings, and all the
funerals, too, for that matter. So long as Mrs. Smeeth's
lot could all get together and eat and drink and gas
and kiss one another, they didn't much care whether
they were marrying them or burying them. The Smeeths,