I'll be your sweetheart, if you—will be—mine,
All my life, I'll be your valentine.
Bluebells I've gathered—grrhhrh.
The needle of the gramophone, after the manner of its kind, slipped raspingly over the surface of the wax, and the rest of the ballad was lost.
'That,' said Charteris, 'is how I feel with regard to the Old Man. I'd be his sweetheart, if he'd be mine. But he makes no advances, and the stain on my scutcheon is not yet wiped out. I must say I haven't tried gathering bluebells for him yet, nor have I offered my services as a perpetual valentine, but I've been very kind to him in other ways.'
'Is he still down on you?' asked the Babe.
'He hasn't done much lately. We're in a state of truce at present. Did I tell you how I scored about Stapleton?'
'You've only told us about a hundred times,' said the Babe brutally. 'I tell you what, though, he'll score off you if he finds you going to Rutton.'
'Let's hope he won't.'
'He won't,' said Welch suddenly.
'Why?'
'Because you won't go. I'll bet you anything you like that you won't go.'