“Thanks awfully. I should be delighted—another time. Not to-day, I think, if you don’t mind. I have rather a sore throat.”
Viva opened her eyes and stared at the Adam’s apple which showed above the white necktie. She was trying to puzzle out the connection between Mr O’Shaughnessy’s throat and the Pied Piper, but the difficulty was too great. She heaved a sigh, and hazarded another suggestion.
“You tell me a story!”
“That would never do. I should be entertaining you, and it ought to be the other way about.”
“I’ll tell you a story!”
“That’s better. Go ahead, then. What is it to be about? Fairies?”
“No, it’s not going to be about fairies,—fairies is silly. Giants are more sensibler than fairies, because there was a giant once. There was Golosher!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Golosher!”
“Don’t know the gentleman.”