His
laughter, which had sounded to him like the wailing of a demon, struck
Miss Milliken as exhilarating.
"On behalf of our client, Mr. Wibblesley Eggshaw," said Sir Mallaby,
swooping back to duty once more, "we beg to state that we are prepared
to accept service ... sounds like a tennis match, eh, Sam? It isn't,
though. This young ass, Eggshaw ... what time did you dock this
morning?"
"I landed nearly a week ago."
"A week ago! Then what the deuce have you been doing with yourself?
Why haven't I seen you?"
"I've been down at Bingley-on-the-Sea."
"Bingley! What on earth were you doing at that Godforsaken place?"
"Wrestling with myself," said Sam with simple dignity.
Sir Mallaby's agile mind had leaped back to the letter which he was
answering.
"We should be glad to meet you.... Wrestling, eh! Well, I like a boy to
be fond of manly sports. Still, life isn't all athletics. Don't forget
that. Life is real! Life is ... how does it go, Miss Milliken?"
Miss Milliken folded her hands and shut her eyes, her invariable habit
when called upon to recite.
Pages:
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162