“My time will come one of these days,” said Gustavius. “Just let me catch that chap alone once, that’s all!” And he began industriously sharpening his horns on the stone fence.
It was nothing short of wonderful, the influence unconsciously exerted by the Poet’s sister over these four-legged comrades whom she had captivated on the very day of her arrival, as you cannot fail to remember. Now Mrs. Cowslip, Cleopatra, Clarence, Reginald, and William, who ordinarily prided himself on his independence of action, left the grateful shade of the willows, and, with perfunctory nibblings at grass, of which they were already over-full, slowly approached the scene of preparations for that ancient and honorable game called croquet. Soon that influence was too powerful even to be resisted by Gustavius, notwithstanding the hated presence of the Artist, and he moved sulkily after the others.
The Artist was pensive, and occasionally, as his adoring glance rested on Galatea’s graceful figure, he sighed. His attention being thus divided, it was not strange that he should miss the second arch.
“How foolish of you!” she said. “I can now save you further exertions by taking your ball around with me.”
Being already past the first side arch and in position for the middle one, with the Artist’s ball an easy victim, she was able to make good her promise. The Artist could not regret his inevitable defeat; it left him free to follow Galatea about and pour into her ears a lover’s woes.
“Sweetheart, why do you continue so cold and distant to me? One would suppose that when a girl is engaged—”
“Arthur, take your foot away from that arch!”
With beautiful precision she made the long “split” stroke, and was safe for the first stake.
“As I was saying, dear, when a girl is engaged—”
“Arthur! you are trying to make me miss the stake! Can’t you play fair?”