The Humorist
gave him up for me, she has, I believe, put down to his blighted hopes at that time—a time I have every reason to believe to be firmly forgotten by Georgie.
"Matthew Arnold," said I, "the mere fact of your being my son is no reason why you should lick all the polish from my shoe."
Drusilla picked up the boy indignantly.
"He is kissing it!" she cried. "He thought it would please you. It is one of his pretty ways. And what am I to do about Georgie's wire?"
"Wire back and ask if he is ill," I suggested sensibly.
She looked doubtful.
"If it is anything serious, won't it be an awful waste of time?" she asked.
I sat up lazily.
"Do you want to go?"
She shook the sand out of Matthew Arnold's thin hair.
"Nurse can be left with Baby quite well for one night. You see—if anything serious happened before we got there, we
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