“Rather! . . . I don’t suppose anything could be done about his legs. They’re as curved as hoops. If he ever tries to make a goal he’ll have to stand facing the side-lines and kick sideways like a crab.”
Louise buried her nose in the monkey’s fragrant dress and shook him into laughter. She was languidly wondering where her own goal was, whether it was still ahead or whether, as Walter had so discouragingly predicted, she would find it at her starting post. She was happy; but she suspected that she was happy only for the moment. The complacence with which Keble had accepted their revival of interest in each other was already stirring a little singing restlessness of nerves within her. He so had the air of having won the race. Perhaps he had, and perhaps he always would. But she was none the less hare-like, for all that! She looked into the monkey’s eyes. “Tell your daddy,” she said, “the important thing is to make the goal,—whether you do it sideways or frontways or whatever old ways!”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.
Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.