Oh, is it? Laundry is a nice place for a desk. Plenty of
starch handy to stiffen up a writer's nerve, and scrubbing-boards
galore to polish up his wits. And I suppose my papers are up in the
attic?
Mrs. Perkins. No; they're stowed away safely in the nursery. Now
please don't complain!
Perkins. Me? Complain? I never complain. I didn't say a word when
Yardsley had my Cruikshanks torn from their shelves and chucked into
a clothes-basket and carried into the butler's pantry, did I? Did I
say as much as one little word? I wanted to say one little word, I
admit, but I didn't. Did I? If I did, I withdraw it. I'm fond of
this sort of thing. The greatest joy in life is to be found in
arranging and rearranging a library, and I seem to be in for joy
enough to kill. What time are the--these amateur Thespians coming?
Mrs. Perkins (looking at her watch). They're due now; it's half-past
four. (Sits down and opens play-book. Rehearses.) No, not for all
the world would I do this thing, Lord Muddleton. There is no need to
ask it of me. I am firm. I shall--
Perkins, Oh, let up, my dear! I've been getting that for breakfast,
dinner, and tea for two weeks now, and I'm awfully tired of it.
Pages:
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70