mind.
‘Don’t look so dazed,’ she complained, drawing at her cigarette. ‘You can take it from me, Bill. It’s a fact.’
‘It is a fact,’ said Cartwright, ‘of which I am not altogether persuaded. How do you know this? Did she tell you?’
‘ Sh-h ! No! She’d kill me if she thought I was talking about it. But that’s how she feels. That is, except when she gets a letter from her family, and then she tries to think she hates your innards.’
‘Why? Are her family against me?’
‘No; that’s the trouble: they’re for you. You know them, don’t you?’
Cartwright stared at her.
‘To the best of my knowledge, I never set eyes on any member of her family in my life.’
‘Well, you must have met them somewhere. Her old man’s a parson; and he wouldn’t lie, would he?’ Tilly sighed, and then looked sour. ‘Anyway, I wish you luck. Monica’s a nice kid. She’s what I’d call a ginch: sweet voice, and big eyes, and sort of hesitate-and-wonder manner. If I was a man, that’s the sort of thing I’d go for.’
Cartwright sat down, the pipe clamped between his teeth. He put his elbows on the desk, and ruffled the hair at his temples. As a matter of philosophical fact he was merely confused; his feeling was the one for which Bovril is so notoriously recommended. At any other time he would have been astounded at the platitudes he heard himself uttering.
‘It’s a funny world, Tilly.’
‘It sure is. But what are you going to do ?’
‘Do?’
‘Yes, do! I know what you ought to do, Bill Cartwright.You take my tip: you just walk straight in there now, and grab her.’
‘So?’
‘Certainly. Give her the old cave-man stuff.’ Tilly’s expression grew very earnest; she opened her eyes wide. ‘But I’m warning you, honey. There’s one thing you’ve got to do first. Take off that spinach.’
‘What spinach?’
‘ That . Those whiskers,’ hissed Tilly, with a touch of impatience. She blew out smoke with a broad nervous movement of her shoulders, and stubbed out the cigarette in the ash-tray. ‘Otherwise she’d only wallop you. What’s the matter with you, anyway? Do you think any woman wants to be grabbed by the inside of a mattress?’
Inspiration came to Tilly. Her eye was forever applied to the range-finder of a camera; she saw all life as box-office. She bent closer.
‘ Sh-h ! Listen. I’ve got a pair of nail-scissors in my room. I’ll sneak down there, and get ’em, and sneak back. You cut the beard close with the scissors, and shave it off in the cloakroom there. I know you’ve got shaving things here, because you spent the night on that sofa when you forgot your flashlight. Off comes the spinach. And you’re then set. You just walk in the other room, and – ’ She made a triumphant gesture towards the door.
‘You want me to –’
‘ Sh-h !’
‘All right, all right. But it’s getting late, Tilly. She’ll be leaving.’
‘No, she won’t. She’s all full of inspiration and orneriness. She’s got a bottle of milk and some crackers in there, and she says she’s going to work half the night. Besides –’ Tilly stopped abruptly. She studied him. Her eyes opened still wider. ‘Bill Cartwright, where’s the old fight? What’s wrong with you? You haven’t used a six-syllable word since I’ve been in here. Great suffering catfish, I believe you’re AFRAID .’
‘ Sh-h !’ hissed Cartwright.
‘Well, aren’t you?’
‘Certainly not,’ he returned, telling as much truth as he knew. ‘If you will kindly close those delicate lips of yours for five seconds, and allow me to get a word in edgeways, I will endeavour to explain my position in the matter.’
‘Now that’s more like you,’ cried Tilly admiringly. ‘Go on, honey. I’m listening.’
He put down his pipe in the ash-tray. ‘In the first place, Tilly, let’s establish something. I’m not the one who’s uneasy: that is, not much. You are.’
‘I am?’
‘Yes. I want to know the
‘Don’t look so dazed,’ she complained, drawing at her cigarette. ‘You can take it from me, Bill. It’s a fact.’
‘It is a fact,’ said Cartwright, ‘of which I am not altogether persuaded. How do you know this? Did she tell you?’
‘ Sh-h ! No! She’d kill me if she thought I was talking about it. But that’s how she feels. That is, except when she gets a letter from her family, and then she tries to think she hates your innards.’
‘Why? Are her family against me?’
‘No; that’s the trouble: they’re for you. You know them, don’t you?’
Cartwright stared at her.
‘To the best of my knowledge, I never set eyes on any member of her family in my life.’
‘Well, you must have met them somewhere. Her old man’s a parson; and he wouldn’t lie, would he?’ Tilly sighed, and then looked sour. ‘Anyway, I wish you luck. Monica’s a nice kid. She’s what I’d call a ginch: sweet voice, and big eyes, and sort of hesitate-and-wonder manner. If I was a man, that’s the sort of thing I’d go for.’
Cartwright sat down, the pipe clamped between his teeth. He put his elbows on the desk, and ruffled the hair at his temples. As a matter of philosophical fact he was merely confused; his feeling was the one for which Bovril is so notoriously recommended. At any other time he would have been astounded at the platitudes he heard himself uttering.
‘It’s a funny world, Tilly.’
‘It sure is. But what are you going to do ?’
‘Do?’
‘Yes, do! I know what you ought to do, Bill Cartwright.You take my tip: you just walk straight in there now, and grab her.’
‘So?’
‘Certainly. Give her the old cave-man stuff.’ Tilly’s expression grew very earnest; she opened her eyes wide. ‘But I’m warning you, honey. There’s one thing you’ve got to do first. Take off that spinach.’
‘What spinach?’
‘ That . Those whiskers,’ hissed Tilly, with a touch of impatience. She blew out smoke with a broad nervous movement of her shoulders, and stubbed out the cigarette in the ash-tray. ‘Otherwise she’d only wallop you. What’s the matter with you, anyway? Do you think any woman wants to be grabbed by the inside of a mattress?’
Inspiration came to Tilly. Her eye was forever applied to the range-finder of a camera; she saw all life as box-office. She bent closer.
‘ Sh-h ! Listen. I’ve got a pair of nail-scissors in my room. I’ll sneak down there, and get ’em, and sneak back. You cut the beard close with the scissors, and shave it off in the cloakroom there. I know you’ve got shaving things here, because you spent the night on that sofa when you forgot your flashlight. Off comes the spinach. And you’re then set. You just walk in the other room, and – ’ She made a triumphant gesture towards the door.
‘You want me to –’
‘ Sh-h !’
‘All right, all right. But it’s getting late, Tilly. She’ll be leaving.’
‘No, she won’t. She’s all full of inspiration and orneriness. She’s got a bottle of milk and some crackers in there, and she says she’s going to work half the night. Besides –’ Tilly stopped abruptly. She studied him. Her eyes opened still wider. ‘Bill Cartwright, where’s the old fight? What’s wrong with you? You haven’t used a six-syllable word since I’ve been in here. Great suffering catfish, I believe you’re AFRAID .’
‘ Sh-h !’ hissed Cartwright.
‘Well, aren’t you?’
‘Certainly not,’ he returned, telling as much truth as he knew. ‘If you will kindly close those delicate lips of yours for five seconds, and allow me to get a word in edgeways, I will endeavour to explain my position in the matter.’
‘Now that’s more like you,’ cried Tilly admiringly. ‘Go on, honey. I’m listening.’
He put down his pipe in the ash-tray. ‘In the first place, Tilly, let’s establish something. I’m not the one who’s uneasy: that is, not much. You are.’
‘I am?’
‘Yes. I want to know the
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