"
"I haven't any feminine friends."
"None?"
"That's odd."
"Why?"
"You told me in the garden two nights ago that you looked on me as
a pal."
George sat down abruptly. He felt boneless.
"Is--is that you?" he stammered. "It can't be--Maud!"
"How clever of you to guess. George, I want to ask you one or two
things. In the first place, are you fond of butter?"
George blinked. This was not a dream. He had just still hurt most
convincingly. He needed the evidence to assure himself that he was
awake.
"Butter?" he queried. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, well, if you don't even know what butter means, I expect it's
all right. What is your weight, George?"
"About a hundred and eighty pounds. But I don't understand."
"Wait a minute." There was a silence at the other end of the wire.
"About thirteen stone," said Maud's voice. "I've been doing it in
my head. And what was it this time last year?"
"About the same, I think. I always weigh about the same."
"How wonderful! George!"
"Yes?"
"This is very important. Have you ever been in Florida?"
"I was there one winter."
"Do you know a fish called the pompano?"
"Tell me about it.
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