|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 91
Inside, he found the waster interestedly poking with his stick at a
roundish object on the floor.
"Dog's been at it," explained the waster brightly. "What's the idea?
Private theatricals?"
"Yes," said Bean, "private theatricals," and resumed his place on the
couch, staring dully at the closet door.
"But, look here, old chap, you must liven up. She would have it I should
come for you. My word! I believe you're funking! You look absurdly
rotten like it, you know."
"Toothache, right across here," muttered Bean. "Have to put it off."
"But that's not done, old top; really it's not done, you know.
It ... it ... one doesn't do it at all, you know."
"Never?" asked Bean, brightening a little with alarm.
"Jolly well never," insisted the waster; "not for anything a
dentist-fellow could manage. Come now!"
Bean was listless once more, deaf, unseeing.
"Righto," said the waster. "Bachelor dinner last night ... yes?"
The situation had become intelligible to him. He found the bathroom, and
from it came the sound of running water. He had the air of a Master of
Revels.
"Into it--only thing to do!"
He led Bean to the brink of the icy pool and skilfully flayed him of the
flowered gown. He was thorough, the waster. He'd known chaps to pretend
to get in by making a great splashing with one hand, after they were
left alone. He overcame a few of the earlier exercises in jiu-jitsu and
committed Bean's form to the deep.
"Righto!" he exclaimed. "Does it every time. Shiver all you like. Good
for you! Now then--clothes! Clothes and things, Man! Oh, here they are
to be sure! How stupid of me! Feel better already, yes? Knew it. Studs
in shirt. My word! Studs! Studs! There! Let me tie it. Here! Look alive
man! She would have it. She must have known you. There!"
He had finished by clamping Bean's hat tightly about his head. Bean was
thinking that the waster possessed more executive talent than Grandma
had given him credit for; also that he would find an excuse to break
away once they were outside; also that Balthasar was keenly witty.
Balthasar had _said_ it would disintegrate if handled.
He would leave Nap with Cassidy. He would return for him that night,
then flee. He would go back to Wellsville, which he should never have
left.
The waster had him in the car outside, a firm grasp on one of his arms.
"I'll allow you only one," said the waster judicially as the car moved
off. "I know where the chap makes them perfectly--brings a mummy back to
life--"
"A mum--what mummy?" asked Bean dreamily.
"Your own, if you had one, you silly juggins!"
Bean winced, but made no reply.
The car halted before an uptown hotel.
"Come on!" said the waster.
"Bring it out," suggested Bean, devising flight.
The waster prepared to use force.
"Quit. I'll go," said Bean.
He was before a polished bar, the white-jacketed attendant of which not
only recognized the waster but seemed to divine his errand.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|