All
rather stout automobile manufacturers are sad when there is a full
moon. It makes them feel lonely. It stirs their hearts to thoughts
of love. Marriage loses its terrors for them, and they think
wistfully of hooking some fair woman up the back and buying her
hats. Such was the mood of Mr Pickering, when through the dimness
of the porch there appeared a white shape, moving softly toward
him.
'Is that you, Mr Pickering?'
Claire dropped into the seat beside him. From the drawing-room
came the soft tinkle of a piano. The sound blended harmoniously
with the quiet peace of the night. Mr Pickering let his cigar go
out and clutched the sides of his chair.
Oi'll--er--sing thee saw-ongs ov Arrabee,
Und--ah ta-ales of farrr Cash-mee-eere,
Wi-ild tales to che-eat thee ovasigh
Und charrrrm thee to-oo a tear-er.
Claire gave a little sigh.
'What a beautiful voice Mr Sherriff has!'
Dudley Pickering made no reply. He thought Roscoe Sherriff had a
beastly voice. He resented Roscoe Sherriff's voice. He objected to
Roscoe Sherriff's polluting this fair night with his cacophony.
'Don't you think so, Mr Pickering?'
'Uh-huh.'
'That doesn't sound very enthusiastic. Mr Pickering, I want you to
tell me something. Have I done anything to offend you?'
Mr Pickering started violently.
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