John arose with difficulty from the ashes and addressed himself
haughtily to Cecilia.
"I can understand that these two," he said, waving a black but
contemptuous hand at Margery and myself, "should scream with delight.
Their whole conception of humour is bound up with banana-skins and
orange-peel. But may I ask why _you_ should have hysterics because
your husband has fallen into the fireplace?"
"'You seemed to fall into it so naturally,'" I quoted in a shaky
voice.
"Darling," sobbed Cecilia, "I am trying--please--if only you would
take that piece of soot off your nose--" She dabbed her eyes and wept
helplessly.
John rubbed his nose quickly and walked to the door.
"If you want my opinion of dancing," he said bitterly, "I think it's a
low pagan habit."
"'Twinkle, twinkle, little star,'" sang Margery.
"Bah!" said John, and banged the door.
* * * * *
THE NEW UTOPIA.
[Suggested by Mr. J. H. THOMAS'S book, just out, with a Red Flag on the
wrapper.]
O England, with what joy I hail
The master-hand that calms and cools
In THOMAS'S entrancing tale,
_When Labour Rules_.
Pages:
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35