Realising, perhaps, that her
tirades were something of an anticlimax, Mrs. Hoopington broke
suddenly into some rather necessary tears and marched out of the
room, leaving behind her a silence almost as terrible as the turmoil
which had preceded it.
"What shall I do with--THAT?" asked Vladimir at last.
"Bury it," said Norah.
"Just plain burial?" said Vladimir, rather relieved. He had almost
expected that some of the local clergy would have insisted on being
present, or that a salute might have to be fired over the grave.
And thus it came to pass that in the dusk of a November evening the
Russian boy, murmuring a few of the prayers of his Church for luck,
gave hasty but decent burial to a large polecat under the lilac
trees at Hoopington.
THE STRATEGIST
Mrs. Jallatt's young people's parties were severely exclusive; it
came cheaper that way, because you could ask fewer to them. Mrs.
Jallatt didn't study cheapness, but somehow she generally attained
it.
"There'll be about ten girls," speculated Rollo, as he drove to the
function, "and I suppose four fellows, unless the Wrotsleys bring
their cousin, which Heaven forbid. That would mean Jack and me
against three of them."
Rollo and the Wrotsley brethren had maintained an undying feud
almost from nursery days. They only met now and then in the
holidays, and the meeting was usually tragic for whichever happened
to have the fewest backers on hand. Rollo was counting to-night on
the presence of a devoted and muscular partisan to hold an even
balance.
Pages:
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75