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"Supposing," Barbara said, "they insist on discussing it?" "They won't," said Fanny, "once it's printed, especially if it's paid for. You must get Pyecraft to send in his bill at once. And if they do start discussing you can put them off with the date and place of the meeting and the wording of the posters. That'll give them something to talk about. I suppose you'll be chairman."
He wanted to insure its being printed without delay, and to arrange for the posters and handbills; he also wanted to see the impression it would make on Pyecraft and on the young lady in Pyecraft's shop. He liked to think of the stir in the composing room when it was handed in, and of the importance he was conferring on Pyecraft.
They photographed the author sitting in his garden; they photographed him in his park, mounted on his mare, Speedwell; and they photographed him in his motor-car. Then they came in and looked at the library and photographed that, with Mr. Waddington sitting in it at his writing-table. "I suppose, sir," Mr. Pyecraft said, "you'd wish it taken from one end to show the proportions?"
Please make a note of that, Miss Madden. Speech. 'Blackest' or did I say 'darkest'? 'hour before dawn." "You'd better reserve all you can," said Fanny. When Barbara had typed the prospectus, Mr. Waddington insisted on taking it to Pyecraft himself.
"Loss of weight almost complete." And then, of course, I understood. "By Jove, Pyecraft," said I, "what you wanted was a cure for fatness! But you always called it weight. You would call it weight." Somehow I was extremely delighted. I quite liked Pyecraft for the time. "Let me help you!" I said, and took his hand and pulled him down. He kicked about, trying to get foothold somewhere.
Well, you know, he wasn't there! I never had such a shock in my life. There was his sitting-room in a state of untidy disorder, plates and dishes among the books and writing things, and several chairs overturned, but Pyecraft "It's all right, o' man; shut the door," he said, and then I discovered him.
Poor old Pyecraft! Great, uneasy jelly of substance! The fattest clubman in London. He sits at one of the little club tables in the huge bay by the fire, stuffing. What is he stuffing? I glance judiciously and catch him biting at a round of hot buttered tea-cake, with his eyes on me. Confound him! with his eyes on me! That settles it, Pyecraft!
Instead of being a prisoner here you may go abroad again, Pyecraft; you may travel " A still happier idea came to me. "You need never fear a shipwreck. All you need do is just slip off some or all of your clothes, take the necessary amount of luggage in your hand, and float up in the air " In his emotion he dropped the tack-hammer within an ace of my head.
The whole affair was extremely curious and interesting to me, and it was delightful to think of Pyecraft like some great, fat blow-fly, crawling about on his ceiling and clambering round the lintel of his doors from one room to another, and never, never, never coming to the club any more... Then, you know, my fatal ingenuity got the better of me.
And now to elude Pyecraft, occupying, as he does, an admirable strategic position between me and the door.
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