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Updated: June 20, 2025
At Cheltenham he had been home on leave; and it was not until this year that he had got his job at Woolwich teaching gunnery, while he waited for a bigger job in the Ordnance Department. Ferdie Cameron had always said that Frank Drayton would be worth watching. He would be part of the brains of the Army some day. Nicky watched him.
"If the child is a boy Ferdie will have something to say and as for Amaryllis I hate her! I'd like to kill her with my own hands." Verisschenzko rose and stood before her and there was a look in his eyes which made her suddenly grow cold. "Listen," he said icily. "I have warned you once and you know me well enough to decide whether I ever speak lightly.
Ferdie, dispiritedly. "I think you're very mean!" The bedrooms of the Ferdies' house opened in charming Southern fashion upon open balconies, over whose slender rails one could look straight into the hall below. Sally listened intently. "What a horrible plan this house is built upon!" she said heartily.
Some of it was sunburn, and some of it was rye, I expect, but he was glad to see all of us. He patted Marjorie on the cheek, pinched Vee by the ear, and slapped Ferdie on the back so hearty he near knocked the breath out of him. So far as our genial host could make it, it was a gay and festive scene.
"Besides, that porch light is on." Which was one of the reasons why I turned it off, and maybe accounts for our sudden break when Marjorie comes out to tell us it's near twelve o'clock. Yes, indeed, though he may not look it, Ferdie is more or less of a help. There's one thing about bein' a private sec, you stand somewhere on the social list.
"Ah, mooshwaw!" says I. "You don't want Marjorie grumpin' around for the next week, do you, wishin' she'd gone, and layin' it all to you?" Ferdie blinks a couple of times as the picture forms on the screen. "That's so," says he. "She would." "Then gimme that blank," says I. "Now here, how's this, 'Have at last arranged things so we can come. Charmed to accept'? Eh?"
But outside of that, and furnishin' a comic relief to the rest of the fam'ly, blamed if he don't come in real handy now and then. Last Friday was a week, for a sample. I meets up with him as he's driftin' aimless through the arcade, sort of caromin' round and round, bein' bumped by the elevator rushers and watched suspicious by the floor detective. "What ho, Ferdie!"
You should have seen Ferdie, though, with a tow-colored wig clapped down over his ears and his spindle shanks revealed to a cold and cruel world in a pair of faded pink ballet trousers. For the Reverend Percy they dug out a fuzzy brown bathrobe with a hood, and tied a rope around his waist. Me, I'm dolled up in green tights and a leather coat, and get a bugle to carry.
Ferdie was still dazed. And anyhow she had said it herself. So that's how it happens I'm one of the chosen few to be landed under the Cedarholm porte-cochère that Saturday afternoon. Course the Pulsifers ain't reg'lar old fam'ly people, like Ferdie's folks.
"You don't think a bunch of works like that could be twins, do you?" says I. "But but I'm sure I don't remember having met him, you know," says Ferdie, rubbin' his chin thoughtful. "Then maybe you ain't," says I. When they comes on for a third time, though, and prances through about as flossy a half-and-half as I've ever seen pulled at a private dance, Ferdie is some agitated in the mind.
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