"
"Can't be helped. I've got me instructions."
"You always were game," said Keggs admiringly. "I used to see that
quick enough before you retired from active work. Well, good luck to
you, Mr. Dingle."
Steve gathered up William Bannister, the wheelbarrow, the box of
bricks, and the dying pig and made his way to the gymnasium.
The worst of these pre-arranged scenes is that they never happen just
as one figured them in one's mind. Steve had expected to have to wait a
few minutes in the gymnasium, then there would be a step outside and
the old man would enter. The beauty of this, to Steve's mind, was that
he himself would be "discovered," as the stage term is; the onus of
entering and opening the conversation would be on Mr. Bannister. And,
as everybody who has ever had an awkward interview knows, this makes
all the difference.
But the minutes passed, and still no grandfather. The nervousness which
he had with difficulty expelled began to return to Steve. This was
exactly like having to wait in the ring while one's opponent tried to
get one's goat by dawdling in the dressing room.
An attempt to relieve himself by punching the ball was a dismal
failure. At the first bang of the leather against the wood William
Bannister, who had been working in a pre-occupied way at the dying pig,
threw his head back and howled, and would not be comforted till Steve
took out the rope and skipped before him, much as dancers used to dance
before oriental monarchs in the old days.
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