CHAPTER XXVII

MRS. TRAPES UPON THE MILLENNIUM


Mulligan's was in a ferment. Bare-armed women talked in every doorway;
they talked from open windows, they talked leaning over banisters, they
congregated on landings and in passageways--but everywhere they talked;
while men and youths newly returned from work, lunch-can and basket in
hand, listened in wide-eyed astonishment, shook incredulous heads,
puffed thoughtfully at pipes or cigarettes, and questioned in guttural
wonderment.

But Ravenslee, lost in his own happy thoughts, sped up the stairs all
unheeding, abstractedly returning such neighbourly salutes as he
happened to notice; reaching his lofty habitation in due course he let
himself in, and was in the act of filling his pipe when Mrs. Trapes
appeared. In one hand she grasped a meat skewer and in the other an open
testament, and it was to be noted that her bright eyes, usually so keen
and steady, roved here and there, from pink rug to green and yellow
tablecloth, thence to the parrot-owl, and at last to her lodger. Finally
she spoke.

"Mr. Geoffrey, are ye saved?" she demanded in awe-struck tones.

"Why, really, Mrs. Trapes, I--"