"Wire for Mr. Holmes!"
Holmes took the paper, knocking mud off his boots as he and Watson entered the inn.
"Lady residing nearby," he muttered, reading, "Of marriageable age. . .Bah." He crumpled it.
"Will there be a reply, sir?"
"Yes. 'Cannot call on your friend. Pressing case at hand. S.H.'"
"Pressing case?" Watson frowned. "Aren't we on holiday?"
"Anything to avoid calling on my brother's latest prospect for me."
"Not quite up on the marriage gambit, are we Holmes?" Watson had to remark.
"As you say, my dear fellow," Holmes replied, helping Watson out of his coat, "not quite."