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Tell Wickersmith or someone to take a gun and an umbrella, and to go out and shoot them. And the wind the strumpet wind," he cried. "All last night it gurgled and howled and hooted in my chimney like a drunken banshee, and nearly frightened me to death. And me a musician. And me the gentlest of God's creatures who never did any harm, but killed the mice in father's barn.
Sellers oh, what men daily do, not knowing what they do! is shut up in the scullery, I suppose, torturing his poor defenceless fiddle. That 's what it is to be a musical boot-and-knife boy. And Wickersmith will be at his devotions. He tells me he never gets leisure for his morning meditation till luncheon 's cleared away. And that's what it is to be a pious butler.
'Well, if you 'll pardon my saying so, sir, I think I see him agoing in the direction of the billiard-room, saving your presence, sir, says Wickersmith to me." Adrian pantomimed the supposed deference of the butler. Then, loftily, "But, 'Shoo' says I. 'An optical delusion, my excellent Wick. A Christian man would be incapable of such a villainy.
"I 've been hunting far and wide for you ransacking the house, turning the park topsy-turvy," said Adrian. "Eh? What?" questioned Anthony, writing on. But Adrian lost patience. "Eh? What? I 'll eh-what you," he threatened, shaking his fist. "Come. Put aside that tiresome letter. 'Do you happen to know where your master is? says I to Wickersmith.
You 've been trying to philander with the Nobil Donna Susanna Torrebianca and she 's sent you about your business. Oh, I 've seen how things were going." He winked and nodded. "Nothing of the sort," said Anthony. "You might tell Wickersmith to pack our things. We 'll take the eight-fifteen up to-morrow morning. That will get us to Victoria in time for the eleven o'clock Continental express." "Oh?
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