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

"The Man Upstairs and Other Stories"

And he had told her to be back at two sharp,
and it was now nearly a quarter past.
The outer office was empty. She went on into the inner room.
She had speculated as she went on Joe's probable attitude. She had
pictured him as annoyed, even rude. What she was not prepared for was
to find him on all fours, grunting and rooting about in a pile of
papers. She stopped short.
'What _are_ you doing?' she gasped.
'I can't think what you meant,' he said. 'There must be some mistake.
I'm not even a passable pig. I couldn't deceive a novice.'
He rose and dusted his knees.
'Yet you seemed absolutely certain in the restaurant just now. Did you
notice that you were sitting near to a sort of jungle of potted palms?
I was lunching immediately on the other side of the forest.'
Mary drew herself up and fixed him with an eye that shone with rage and
scorn.
'Eavesdropper!' she cried.
'Not guilty,' he said, cheerfully. 'I hadn't a notion that you were
there till you shouted, "That pig Joe, I hate him!" and almost directly
afterwards I left.'
'I did not shout.'
'My dear girl, you cracked a wine-glass at my table. The man I was
lunching with jumped clean out of his seat and swallowed his cigar. You
ought to be more careful!'
Mary bit her lip.
'And now, I suppose, you are going to dismiss me?'
'Dismiss you? Not much.


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