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Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville), 1881-1975

"The Clicking of Cuthbert"

Then he hit it with his
driver. Finally, as if feeling that the time for half measures had
passed, he took a little run and kicked it strongly into the long
grass.
He turned to Alexander, who had been an impassive spectator of the
scene.
"I'm through!" he said. "I concede the match. Good-bye. You'll find me
in the bay!"
"Going swimming?"
"No. Drowning myself."
A gentle smile broke out over my old friend's usually grave face. He
patted Mitchell's shoulder affectionately.
"Don't do that, my boy," he said. "I was hoping you would stick around
the office awhile as treasurer of the company."
Mitchell tottered. He grasped my arm for support. Everything was very
still. Nothing broke the stillness but the humming of the bees, the
murmur of the distant wavelets, and the sound of Mitchell's caddie
going on with his apple.
"What!" cried Mitchell.
"The position," said Alexander, "will be falling vacant very shortly,
as no doubt you know. It is yours, if you care to accept it."
"You mean--you mean--you're going to give me the job?"
"You have interpreted me exactly.


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