"It's rot," James had said, with perfect truth, "to see two chaps like
you making idiots of themselves over a house like Kay's. And it's all
your fault, too," he had added frankly. "You know jolly well you
aren't playing the game. You ought to be backing Kennedy up all the
time. Instead of which, you go about trying to look like a Christian
martyr--"
"I don't," said Fenn, indignantly.
"Well, like a stuffed frog, then--it's all the same to me. It's
perfect rot. If I'm walking with Kennedy, you stalk past as if we'd
both got the plague or something. And if I'm with you, Kennedy
suddenly remembers an appointment, and dashes off at a gallop in the
opposite direction. If I had to award the bronze medal for drivelling
lunacy in this place, you would get it by a narrow margin, and Kennedy
would be _proxime_, and honourably mentioned. Silly idiots!"
"Don't stop, Jimmy. Keep it up," said Fenn, settling himself in his
chair. The dialogue was taking place in Silver's study.
"My dear chap, you didn't think I'd finished, surely! I was only
trying to find some description that would suit you. But it's no good.
I can't. Look here, take my advice--the advice," he added, in the
melodramatic voice he was in the habit of using whenever he wished to
conceal the fact that he was speaking seriously, "of an old man who
wishes ye both well.
Pages:
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144