'I've been
smoking a pipe. I'm very sorry.'
'What?' said the apparition.
'I'm afraid I haven't.'
'Oh!' A pause. 'Say, got a cigarette?'
The intellectual pressure of the conversation was beginning to be a
little too much for Rutherford. Combined with the heat of the night it
made his head swim.
His visitor advanced into the room. Arriving at the table, she began
fiddling with its contents. The pen seemed to fascinate her. She picked
it up and inspected it closely.
'Say, what d'you call this?' she said.
'That's a pen,' said Rutherford, soothingly. 'A fountain-pen.'
'Oh!' A pause. 'Say, got a cigarette?'
Rutherford clutched a chair with one hand, and his forehead with the
other. He was in sore straits.
At this moment Rescue arrived, not before it was needed. A brisk sound
of footsteps in the passage, and there appeared in the doorway a second
girl.
'What do you think you're doing, Gladys?' demanded the new-comer. 'You
mustn't come butting into folks' rooms this way. Who's your friend?'
'My name is Maxwell,' began Rutherford eagerly.
'What say, Peggy?' said the seeker after cigarettes, dropping a sheet
of manuscript to the floor.
Rutherford looked at the girl in the doorway with interest. So this was
Peggy. She was little, and trim of figure. That was how he had always
imagined her.
Pages:
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402