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If it's going to take six weeks what's to become of the Lump?" "Yes: there's certainly the Lump to be considered," said the Honourable John Ruffin, frowning. "I couldn't go away for six whole weeks and leave the Lump," said Pollyooly. "And who, or what, is the Lump?" said the duke somewhat impatiently. "The Lump's her little brother. She mothers him," explained the Honourable John Ruffin.
"Man in the lump's a hateful animal," she said to herself, hoarsely. "Come indoors, Jonathan, an' let 'em go by." "Come an' rule over us," the crowd invited him, and a gleam of proud delight woke in his silly face. "The heat his head won't stand it." The woman looked up at the cloudless sky. "For God's sake take your fun elsewhere!" she cried.
"And that's quite as long as I like to leave him," she said in a tone of complete satisfaction; and she ran briskly up-stairs to their attic for the Lump's sleeping-suit. She was not long taking him to Mrs. Brown, who lived in the little slum, the last remnant of Alsatia, behind the King's Bench Walk; and she welcomed him warmly.
Hilary Vance took the Lump on his knee, gave him a lump of sugar, poured out the tea, and began to drink it with an air of gloomy resignation. Presently he patted the Lump's bright red curls and said: "Let this be a warning to you, red cherub, never to trust a woman never as long as you live." The Lump grunted peacefully.
Rawlings was of the opinion that the redness of the Lump's hair was evidence that either his father or his mother had been a relation of the duke, since there was so much red hair in the Osterley family. His suggestion met with general approval. "It certainly makes his adopting him more natural-like," said the second housemaid.
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