Life — December 1, 1921 — page 45: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

shan’t finish the book this week! Have you ever Balfour?” “IT saw him in a Restaurant once.” “Did he try to kiss a waitress?” “I don't think so.” “Did he eat peas with his knife?” “There weren’t any peas. It was in January.” Miss Green snorted violently. “Don’t waste my time, please. Have you any evidence that he does not eat peas with a knife?” “No.” “Very well, then.” There was silence. Miss Green began to write. At last she read: “Mr. Balfour eats peas with a knife. This is not known. To those who only know the ex- Prime Minister by reputation, it may seem strange that an of such refinement should be guilty of such a But there is a curious strain of coarseness in many of our most respected governors. If I would, I could give many a strange example. Mr. Curzon never washes his ears. Mr. Winston Churchill leaves the soap in the bath (you may ask how I know that, but that’s “You've said it now” another story, and one that would well repay the tell- ing); the Bishop of —— has a wart on his left thumb, as a certain titled lady who lives not a thou- sand miles from Charing Cross has reason to know—” “Stop—stop!” cried Lady Victoria. —did 1?” “You've said it now,” said Miss Green grimly. “Is this your first boo! she added kindly. “Oh, well, you'll soon get into it. You have a racy style.” “You're very kind,” said the gifted authores: “Now then, I want a few amusing anecdotes—about country house parties and so on. Thin Lady Victoria looked like a sheep for several minutes. She was thinking. Miss Green wrote another chapter. Suddenly a faint flicker of intelligence passed over Lady Victori face and was gone, as when on a clouds night a single is suddenly revealed and instantly obscured again. She had nearly remembered a reminiscence. She was silent. She had forgotten it again. Miss Green wrote another chapter. Night fell. The book was only three-parts completed. At last Lady Victoria gave a loud laugh, and was overcome with a paroxysm of mirth. She buried her face in a cushion; she wiped her eyes; she blew her nose; she coughed; she sneezed. “T’ve just remembered an awfully funny thing that happened,” she blurted through her tears. “It happened at Bins. The Duke of Drum’s place, you know.” “Describe Bins.” “Oh, it’s one of those large houses, you know, with a garden, and trees and so on. And they've got goldfish.” “Right—go on.” “Well, one day—it was on a Sunday morning and there were sausages for breakfast—and Lottie Pipp-Squeake—you know, the Glanders girl—handed the old Duke a plate of sausages across the table.” Lady Victoria began to have another paroxysm. “And the plate was hot—and—and—the old Duke dropped the whole thing on the table! It was screamingly funny Lady Victoria slid off the sofa on to the floor, screaming. “Right,” said Miss Green, and she wrote: “T never said that “How they come back, those days! What jinks we used to hav. ins, the splendid seat of the Drums, with its terraced gardens and noble trees. I shall never forget that jolly Christmas morning when Lottie Pipp- Squeake, the naughty child, threw a sau- sage at the Duke. If I am asked how the Duke retaliated I purse my lips, and say nothing; but perhaps I hum to myself ‘Under the Mistletoe Bough—la, la!’ Along the great lake, where the golden carp are said to rival the famous fish of Fontaine- bleau, there is a veritable forest _of mistle- toe-trees. And people do say—But I must not tell tales.” “A rattling good book,” said Miss Green. “I congratulate you. You shall have the proofs in a few days. You'll be a rich woman. Good- night.” Lady Victoria Gush sat among her bills, col- lecting her thoughts. comicbooks.com