"Take them away, Jevons," says Mr. Robert, smotherin' a sarcastic smile.
"Huh!" grumbles Mr. Robert. "What a rotter you are, Forsythe. If I could only get you aboard the Narcissus for a ten-day cruise! I'd introduce you to perfumes, the sort you could lean up against. You know, when a boat has carried mature fish for—— "
"Please, Bob!" protests Forsythe. "We admit you're a hero, and that you've been saving the country, but don't let's have the disgusting details; at least, not when the salad dressing is at its most critical stage."
Havin' said which, Forsythe proceeds to finish what was for him a hard day's work.
Discussin' his likes and dislikes was Forsythe's strong hold, and, if you could believe him, he had more finicky notions than a sanatorium full of nervous wrecks. He positively couldn't bear the sight of this, the touch of that, and the sound of the other thing. The rustle of a newspaper made him so fidgety he could hardly sit still. The smell of boiled cabbage made him faint. Someone had sent him a plaid necktie for Christmas. He had ordered his man to pick it up with the fire-tongs and throw it in the ash-can. Things like that.
All through luncheon we listened while Forsythe described the awful agonies he'd gone through. We had to listen. You can guess what a joy it was. And, all the time, I could watch Mr. Robert gettin' sorer and sorer.
"Entertainin' party, eh?" I remarks on the side, as we escapes from the dinin'-room.
"Forsythe," says Mr. Robert, "is one of those persons you're always wanting to kick and never do. I could generally avoid him at the club, but here—— "
Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders. Then he adds:
"I say, Torchy, you have clever ideas now and then."