"
"Adumbrated," suggested Jimmy. "That's a good word. I found it in
yesterday's _Observer_."
"Adumbrated, then," said I. "The Tottenham Court Road--"
"--_And_ two birds with one stone. No moors for me this year: I'm
back on the simple life and the catapult. . . . You just wait."
There really is no resisting Jimmy, nor ever will be. He went up the
Tottenham Court Road next day, walked into Farrell's late place of
business and demanded to see the General Manager; and--if you'll
believe it--that dignitary was fetched amid a hush of awe.
"I dropped in," explained Jimmy, "to see one of those cheap bedroom
suites you advertise, in pickled walnut--or is it _marron glace?_--
suitable for a house-parlourmaid. The fact is, I'm going to get
married--well, you've guessed that--otherwise, of course, I shouldn't
be here. . . . My intended wife--she's a Devonshire lady, by the
way--from near Honiton. Anything wrong about Honiton? . . . No? I
beg your pardon--I thought you smiled. . . . Well, as I was about to
explain, my intended wife, coming as she does from near Honiton--
that's where they make the lace--likes her servants to be
comfortable: at least, so she says.
Pages:
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316