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With a whoop of pure joy Jock McChesney turned and fled. They dined together at one o'clock, Emma McChesney and her son Jock. Suddenly Jock stopped eating. His eyes were on the door. "There's that fathead now," he said, excitedly. "The nerve of him! He's coming over here." Ed Meyers was waddling toward them with the quick light step of the fat man. His pink, full-jowled face was glowing.
And because I was aching to express my candid opinion of Major Lessard and all his works to some one who would understand my point of view, I told Bat all about it omitting any mention of the gold-dust. Only four men, Dobson the fathead, Lessard, MacRae and myself, knew what little was known of that, and I felt that I had no license to spread the knowledge further.
"Say Bill," he called to his pal, "pay up from my cash if I 'go West." "Shut up, fathead; we have to kill Huns, 'strafe' them." I turned away to speak to an officer as to the prospects. "Very good," he said. "I hope they don't plaster our trenches before all the men get out. They are as keen as mustard. Never known them so bright. Look at them now; all smoking."
When we had recovered a little: "Will you have the matches?" said I, standing beneath the window, "or shall I send for the battering ram?" "Throw them in, fathead," said my brother-in-law. "Ask nicely, then." "I'll see you " "Please, Boy, dear," cried Jill. I laughed and pitched the box into the kitchen. The next second we heard a match struck, and the groping sounds recommenced.
"Some one was telling me the other day that there's a curve in the middle." "Hadn't we better go back?" faltered Mugford. "No, you fathead; shut up." The darkness seemed to increase, and the silence grew oppressive. The boys were walking in single file, Diggory leading, and Jack Vance bringing up the rear.
"Oh, you mentioned it to Louise, did you?" says I. "I expect that was the lovely lady who carted you off in the taxi?" He nods and springs another one of them silly smiles. "Tha's ri'," says he. "The lovely Louishe." "Tell me, Ernie," says I, "how long has this been going on?" And what do you suppose this fathead has the front to spring on me? That this was the first time he'd ever seen her.
But above the general murmur the shrill voice of the sharp youth rent the air: "Fathead," he cried, "you've broke her neck. Can't you see how her head's goin' round and round?" At this the emotional woman dropped to the sidewalk. "Lady fainted here, officer," cried a gentleman.
You're discharged." "Barney, too?" "Hmp! He's a horse of another color. Think we'll send him over the plains." "Why make two bites of a cherry, sir? He can't be guilty if I'm not," the released prisoner said. "Did I say you weren't?" Inspector MacLean countered. "Not worth the powder, is he, sir?" Tom insinuated nonchalantly. "Rather a fathead, Barney is. If he's guilty, it's not as a principal.
"Nor have I. Or I could swear I hadn't. Gandhi, my left foot." I saw that it might be best to let the Gandhi motif slide. I went back to where we had started. "She's probably looking for you now." "Who is? Angela?" "Yes. She must have noticed your supreme sacrifice." "I don't suppose she noticed it at all, the little fathead. I'll bet it didn't register in any way whatsoever."
"What's the matter?" "Uh? Matter?" echoed Alderson vacuously. Then he pounded the desk with his fat fist while his face grew red. "Matter!" he shouted. "You're a heluva detective, you are! That's what's the matter. The mon I mean the papers in the satchel, you fathead! stolen right under your nose!" Swearing fervently, Alderson grabbed the telephone and called for Podmore at the Queen's Hotel.
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