I didn't get this for a moment.

"Put him up? For my clubs?"

"No, no! Darling Motty is essentially a home bird. Aren't you, Motty
darling?"

Motty, who was sucking the knob of his stick, uncorked himself.

"Yes, mother," he said, and corked himself up again.

"I should not like him to belong to clubs. I mean put him up here. Have
him to live with you while I am away."

These frightful words trickled out of her like honey. The woman simply
didn't seem to understand the ghastly nature of her proposal. I gave
Motty the swift east-to-west. He was sitting with his mouth nuzzling
the stick, blinking at the wall. The thought of having this planted on
me for an indefinite period appalled me. Absolutely appalled me, don't
you know. I was just starting to say that the shot wasn't on the board
at any price, and that the first sign Motty gave of trying to nestle
into my little home I would yell for the police, when she went on,
rolling placidly over me, as it were.

There was something about this woman that sapped a chappie's will-power.

"I am leaving New York by the midday train, as I have to pay a visit to
Sing-Sing prison. I am extremely interested in prison conditions in
America. After that I work my way gradually across to the coast,