Certainly, pins were called in as weapons to the attack;
but what of that? Compromises are often only stuck together with pins.
In any case Cuckoo was not entirely in despair with the new aspect of
an old friend, and when she was ready was able at least to hope that
things might have been worse.
Putting on over the dress a black jacket, she went out into the passage
and called down to Mrs. Brigg, who, as usual, was wandering to and fro in
her kitchen, like an uneasy shade in nethermost Hades.
"Mrs. Brigg! Mrs. Brigg, I say!"
"Well?"
"Where's the whistle?"
Mrs. Brigg came to the bottom of the kitchen stairs.
"What d' yer want it for?"
"A cab, of course," cried Cuckoo, in the narrow voice of one in a hurry.
"A cab!" rejoined Mrs. Brigg, ascending the dark stairs all the time she
was speaking. "And what do you want with cabs, I should like to know? Who
pays for 'em, that's what I say; who's to do it?"
Her grey head hove in sight.
"Where are you going? Piccadilly?"
"No; get the whistle."
"What--and no hat!"
She was evidently impressed.
"A toff is it?" she ejaculated, obviously appeased. "Well! so long as I
get the rent I--"
With a white glare Cuckoo seized the whistle from her claw, and in a
moment was driving away through the snow.
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