The party was in full swing, the pianist thumping out honky-tonk tuneless, but well-known songs, and the ribald, equally disharmonic singing rocked the rafters. The real crumpet had been returned and ceremonially placed in its rightful place, on the back bar, under the glass dome of the display case. The decibel levels of the partying increased proportionately as the beer flowed freely, and it was some time before anyone heard the phone ringing. Eventually young Bessie, irritated at the incessant ringing, answered. She listened, then rolled out a peeling laugh which was lost in the atmosphere of genuine rejoicing and those phony, fractured whoops, from people who knew they would rue this day, the day the real crumpet had been returned. Ritzy took the ten bob note from Madge, excused hersel
