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Below in the wide, shallow pools, all the stock had taken refuge carthorses and cows, sheep and pigs, all huddled together, wild-eyed and panting, but safe. They stared up at Wally, dumbly bewildered. "Poor brutes," said Wally. "Well, you chose a good spot, anyhow. I say, what a jolly good thing Bob let his pigs out. Poor old chap he's not broke yet."
Wally disentangled his hook gravely, while the others would have laughed more heartily but for fear of frightening the fish. "Well, I'm blessed!" said the captor at length, surveying the prize with his nose in the air. "A blooming old boot! Been there since the year one, I should think, by the look of it." "I thought you had a whale at the very least," grinned Harry.
"I wouldn't part with it for all Mrs Waddesleigh Peagrim's millions," said Wally with sudden and startling vehemence, "if she offered me them." He paused. "She hasn't, as a matter of fact." There was a silence. Jill looked at Wally furtively, as he returned to his seat. She was seeing him with new eyes. It was as if this trifling incident had removed some sort of a veil.
I have eaten rose-leaves and am no more a golden ass, so to speak! What shall we talk about?" "Tell me about yourself." Wally beamed. "There is no nobler topic! But what aspect of myself do you wish me to touch on? My thoughts, my tastes, my amusements, my career, or what? I can talk about myself for hours. My friends in New York often complain about it bitterly." "New York?" said Jill.
"I was right in the midst of such an interesting book," deplored her Father. "And Uncle Wally wouldn't lend it." "So we borrowed Uncle Wally's new automobile and started right for home!" explained her Mother. "It was at the Junction that we made connections with the Constable and his prisoner." "His victim," intercepted the Lay Reader coldly.
"I think you will find that Omar Khayyam is the ah generally accepted version of the poet's name," said the portrayer of Lord Finchley, adding beneath his breath. "You silly ass!" "You say Omar of Khayyam," bellowed Mr Goble. "Who's running this show, anyway?" "Just as you please." Mr Goble turned to Wally. "These actors . . ." he began, when Mr Pilkington appeared again at his elbow. "Mr Goble!
The eyes looked at her long and steadily, and then closed flutteringly and hesitatingly. "We're coming near it," she said, "although he didn't seem sure about that 'Yes." "Look 'ere," said the other, with a sudden inspiration, "there's no good o' this 'Yes' and 'No' guessin' game; Wally and me was both in the flag-wagging class, and we knows enough to there you are."
Jill perceived that an opening for those tedious explanations had been granted her. "Uncle Chris thinks so," she said demurely. Wally looked puzzled. "Uncle Chris? Oh, your uncle?" "Yes." "But he has never been here." "Oh, yes. He's giving a dinner party here tonight!" "He's . . . what did you say?" "It's all right. I only began at the end of the story instead of the beginning.
Five minutes of "The Rose of America" had sent him back to the normal: and at ten minutes past eleven he was chewing his cigar and glowering at the stage with all the sweetness gone from his soul. When Wally Mason arrived at a quarter past eleven and dropped into the seat beside him, the manager received him with a grunt and even omitted to offer him a cigar.
I'm off to bed again for a bit besides, young Wally's bursting to know how you liked your sock. Go to sleep again, old chap." "I'll try," said Norah, obediently, snuggling down, "Take some chocolates to Wally and the castor oil!"
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