Again he assumed the stuffed air which indicated that he was now dictating.
"I unscrewed the big mirror from over my mother's dressing table. I took this out on the roof, among the chimneys, on a fine sunny day when I knew George Byron Merrivale would be driving along the road in his fine trap. I caught the reflection of the sun in the four-foot mirror, and I sent the beam from it smack into his eyes."
(Courtney tried to picture his host, as a malignant small boy in large spectacles, sitting cross-legged among the chimneystacks with the mirror.)
"The louse had to pull up. He couldn't move. Forward, sideways, or back, wherever he tried to go I kept him blinded. This did not please him. Always noted for the vileness of his language, he now outdid himself. I could endure this no longer. Revolted by the bastard's profanity, I moved my mirror and sent its beam straight into the off-side eye of the horse."
"Of the what?"
"Of the horse," said H.M., coming off his dignity suddenly and just as suddenly resuming his pose again.
"This was effective. The noble animal took fright and bolted down the road at a speed only equaled by George Merrivale himself when pursued by his creditors. George Merrivale, taken off guard, went behind-over-ears into the road.
"He was not, I assure my readers, hurt in the least. Yet for this innocent escapade, which they will agree could've offended nobody with a sense of humor, I was chased three times round the stables before receivin' the worst walloping I had ever got prior to this date. Was that justice?"
He paused.
"Candidly," replied Courtney, since an answer seemed to be expected of him, "I should say yes." "Oh? You think so, hey?"