The banker is writing. Enter a lady; a boy,
with turn-down collar and very red ears; a little girl in a nice hat;
a Swiss _bonne_; and a baby, with a blue sash and feather.
_Banker._ (_Advancing cordially._) Ah, Mrs Worryemwell, how do you do?
(_Pats the boy on the head._) And how are you, my fine fellow? (_Gives
the baby an amicable poke in the ribs, whereat it laughs and crows
uproariously._) Take a seat on the sofa, will you, Mrs Worryemwell;
and now, tell me, when did you leave Florence?
_Mrs Worryemwell._ The day before yesterday. We should have been here
sooner, but we missed the train for Lucca, because one of the trunks
was left behind at the Pisa station, and I would not move till it was
found.
_Banker._ (_Anxiously._) But you recovered it, I trust?
_Mrs W._ Yes; but we are in sad trouble now: a canister of arrow-root
must have remained on the Lucca Railway, and baby will get ill without
it. We had a good many small packages, and this one was overlooked in
the confusion; but--
_Banker._ (_Promptly._) I'll write to the clerk in charge at the
station about it at once.
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