Indeed, the very same
cigarette was held by his evil-looking fingers, and it was clear that
he waited for the word which would signify acceptance of his contract.
"Good heavens," thought Ambrose, "I must have imagined it all."
He returned to his chair and tossed the paper across the table.
"I refuse to sign it," he said curtly, "you had better call on Alderman
Karlbard; he's a church-warden, a justice of the peace and a
philanthropist. He's your man and he's pretty sure to end in prison
anyway."
"Thank you for your introduction," said the Count quietly, and, bowing,
he withdrew with the same nonchalant air as he had entered. Trust the
devil to know when he is beaten.
Ambrose watched him go and then calling John, he asked what time it
was.
"A quarter to one, sir," said that worthy.
"Just in time to lunch with Kitty," Ambrose thought. And then jumping
up as a man who comes by a joyous idea, he cried: "By Gad, what a row I
mean to have with her--the darling!"
EMPTY ARMS
By ROLAND PERTWEE
(From _The Ladies' Home Journal_)
1922
There was a maroon wall paper in the dining-room, abundantly decorated
with sweeping curves unlike any known kind of vegetation.
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