“So you’ve come at last!” cried she.  “Well, what have you got to say to this?  Is it against the law to go round a corner at more than four miles an hour?”

Now, whereas Mr. Wilfred Edgerton could have told Mrs. Pumpelly the “rule in Shelly’s case” or explained the doctrine of cy pres, he had never read the building code or the health ordinances or the traffic regulations, and in the present instance the latter were to the point while the former were not.  Thus he was confronted with the disagreeable alternative of admitting his ignorance or bluffing it through.  He chose the latter, unwisely.

“Of course not!  Utter nonsense!” replied he blithely.  “The lawful rate of speed is at least fifteen miles an hour.”

“Excuse me, madam,” said James, appearing once more in the doorway.  “A man has just left this—­er—­paper at the area doorway.”

Mrs. Pumpelly snatched it out of his hand.

“Well, of all things!” she gasped.

“To ‘Bridget’ Pumpelly,” it began, “said first name ‘Bridget’ being fictitious: 

“You are hereby summoned to appear ... for violating Section Two Hundred and Forty-eight of Article Twelve of Chapter Twenty of the Health Ordinances in that you did upon the seventh day of May, 1920, fail to keep a certain tin receptacle used for swill or garbage, in shape and form a barrel, within the building occupied and owned by you until proper time for its removal and failed to securely bundle, tie up and pack the newspapers and other light refuse and rubbish contained therein, and, further, that you caused and permitted certain tin receptacles, in the shape and form of barrels, containing such swill or garbage, to be filled to a greater height with such swill or garbage than a line within such receptacle four inches from the top thereof.”

“Now what do you know about that?” remarked the vice president of Cuban Crucible to the senior partner of Edgerton & Edgerton.

“I don’t know anything about it!” answered the elegant Wilfred miserably.  “I don’t know the law of garbage, and there’s no use pretending that I do.  You’d better get a garbage lawyer.”

“I thought all lawyers were supposed to know the law!” sniffed Mrs. Pumpelly.  “What’s that you got in your hand?”

“It’s another summons, for keeping a bird,” answered the attorney.

“A bird?  You don’t suppose it’s Moses?” she exclaimed indignantly.

“The name of the bird isn’t mentioned,” said Wilfred.  “But very likely it is Moses if Moses belongs to you.”

“But I’ve had Moses ever since I was a little girl!” she protested.  “And no one ever complained of him before.”

“Beg pardon, madam,” interposed Simmons, parting the Flemish arras, upon which was depicted the sinking of the Spanish Armada.  “Officer Roony is back again with two more papers.  ’E says it isn’t necessary for him to see you again, as once is enough, but ’e was wondering whether being as it was rather chilly—­”