' Permit me to remark that the port has now remained
opposite you for exactly four minutes of time, for three of which my
goblet has been empty."
"I think it's cruel," said Jill, passing on the decanter. "I think----"
"Hush," said Berry. "That wonderful organ, my brain, is working."
Rapidly he began to write upon the back of a _menu_. "We must inform the
world through the medium of the Press. An attractive paragraph must
appear in _The Times_. What could be more appropriate than an epitaph?
Ply me with wine, child. The sage is in labour with a song." Jill filled
his glass and he drank. "Another instant, and you shall hear the
deathless words. I always felt I should be buried in the Abbey. Anybody
give me a rhyme for 'bilge'? No, it doesn't matter. I have ingeniously
circumvented the crisis."
He added one line, held the card at arm's length, regarded it as a
painter a canvas, sighed, and began to read.
_A painful tale I must relate.
We used to live at thirty-eight,
But as we hope to go to heaven,
We've come to live at number seven.
Now, if we'd lived at number nine,
I'd got a simply priceless line--
I didn't want to drag in heaven,
But nothing else will rhyme with seven._
"Soldier, mountebank, and rhymester too!" said Jonah.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154