“ ‘Sit down, Dog-face,’ she ordered, ‘and have a liqueur.’
“So I sat down and had a liqueur. And it was just as I was going that she looked at me with her wonderful smile, and said, very softly: ‘Thank God! dear old Giles never knew; and now, if he does, he’ll understand.’ ”
The Soldier got up and stretched himself.
“A big result for a bit of yellow peel.”
| VI | The Writer’s Story, being The House at Appledore |
“I’m not certain, strictly speaking, that my story can be said to concern my trade,” began the Writer, after he had seen his guests were comfortable. “But it happened—this little adventure of mine—as the direct result of pursuing my trade, so I will interpret the rule accordingly.
“My starting-point is the Largest Pumpkin Ever Produced in Kent. It was the sort of pumpkin which gets a photograph all to itself in the illustrated papers—the type of atrocity which is utterly useless to any human being. And yet that large and unpleasant vegetable proved the starting-point of the most exciting episode in my somewhat prosaic life. In fact, but for very distinct luck, that pumpkin would have been responsible for my equally prosaic funeral.’ The Writer smiled reminiscently.