“Poor Emily,” went on Aunt Agatha, “being one of those doting mothers who are the ruin of their children, wished to keep the boys in London. She suggested that they might cram for the Army. But I was firm. The Colonies are the only place for wild youths like Eustace and Claude. So they sail on Friday. They have been staying for the last two weeks with your Uncle Clive in Worcestershire. They will spend tomorrow night in London and catch the boat-train on Friday morning.”

“Bit risky, isn’t it? I mean, aren’t they apt to cut loose a bit tomorrow night if they’re left all alone in London?”

“They will not be alone. They will be in your charge.”

“Mine!”

“Yes. I wish you to put them up in your flat for the night, and see that they do not miss the train in the morning.”

“Oh, I say, no!”