"Did I do it?" I whispered, as I sat on the floor and pressed a cushion against my shins.
"Rather!"
"Then," I said, massaging my ankles, "next time I shall try to miss."
THE CONTINENTAL MANNER
OF course I should recognize Simpson anywhere, even at a masked ball. Besides, who but Simpson would go to a fancy-dress dance as a short-sighted executioner, and wear his spectacles outside his mask? But it was a surprise to me to see him there at all.
"Samuel," I said gravely, tapping him on the shoulder, "I shall have to write home about this."
He turned round with a start.
"Hallo!" he said eagerly. "How splendid! But, my dear old chap, why aren't you in costume?"
"I am," I explained. "I've come as an architect. Luckily the evening clothes of an architect are similar to my own. Excuse me, sir, but do you want a house built?"
"How do you like my dress? I am an executioner. I left my axe in the cloak-room."