'
'Indeed,' observed Mr. Sponge, chuckling at the sensation he was creating.
'The Miss Shapsets, there be five on 'em, have had a game at fly loo for
you,' continued Leather, 'at least so their little maid tells me.'
'Fly _what_?' inquired Mr. Sponge.
'Fly loo,' repeated Leather, 'fly loo.'
Mr. Sponge shook his head. For once he was not 'fly.'
'You see,' continued Leather, in explanation, 'their father is one of them
tight-laced candlestick priests wot abhors all sorts of wice and
himmorality, and won't stand card playin', or gamblin', or nothin' o' that
sort, so the young ladies when they want to settle a point, who's to be
married first, or who's to have the richest 'usband, play fly loo. 'Sposing
it's at breakfast time, they all sit quiet and sober like round the table,
lookin' as if butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, and each has a lump o'
sugar on her plate, or by her cup, or somewhere, and whoever can 'tice a
fly to come to her sugar first, wins the wager, or whatever it is they play
for.'
'Five on 'em,' as Leather said, being a hopeless number to extract any good
from, Mr.
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