" Here Adele declined a second vegetable. "There,
now. I've gone and frightened you. And marrow's wonderful for the spine.
Affords instant relief. And you needn't eat the seeds. Spit them over
your left shoulder. That'll bring you luck."
There was an outraged clamour of feminine protest.
"I won't have it," said Daphne. "Disgusting brute!"
"And that," said Jonah, "is the sodden mountebank who dares to cast a
stone into the limpid pool of my character. That is the overfed
sluggard----"
"Take this down, somebody," said Berry. "The words'll scorch up the
paper, but never mind. Record the blasphemy. Capital 'M' for
'mountebank.' 'Sluggard' with an 'H.' And I'm not overfed."
"You're getting fatter every day," said Jill, gurgling.
"That's right," said my brother-in-law. "Bay the old lion. And bring
down these grey hairs in----"
"Talking of mountebanks," said I, "who's going to Fallow Hill Fair?"
"Adele ought to see it," said Daphne. "Why don't you run her over in the
car?"
"I will, if she'd like to go. It's a real bit of old England."
"I agree," said Berry. "What with the cocoa-nut shies and the steam
roundabouts, you'd think you were back in the Middle Ages. I think I'll
come, too.
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