“Very. There were twenty-three people in the mess, consequently he drank twenty-three times more than he ought to.”
“Ven what happened?”
“He was attacked by pink rats and blue spiders and piebald snakes.”
“Did vey bite him?”
“Something frightful. He never said ‘Me too’ again.”
The girl turned from contemplation of the sunlit garden, the tip of her slim forefinger between her teeth as was her habit when deep in thought.
“Bill! Don’t be awful.... Do you think that grey dress looks nice enough ...? We needn’t go anywhere really smart, need we ...?”
The man put his pipe down on the mantelpiece, and crossing the little room took her face between his hard hands. Three times he kissed her: once on the forehead, once on the mouth, and once on the tip of her pretty nose. “Anything’s good enough,” he said, and his voice vibrated on a note she rarely heard. Then abruptly he released her and turned to his son.
“Now then, John Willie, come on outside! I’m going to bowl to you, and if you don’t keep a straight bat you shall never come on board daddy’s ship again.”
. . . . .