''Cant help it. I'm a lone, lorn grass-widow, dear, but I will not
sleep in my stays. And such news too! Oh, do unlace me, there's a
darling! The Dowd The Dancing Master I and the Hawley Boy
You know the North verandah?'
'How can I do anything if you spin round like this?' protested Mrs.
Mallowe, fumbling with the knot of the laces.
'Oh, I forget. I must tell my tale without the aid of your eyes. Do
you know you've lovely eyes, dear? Well, to begin with, I took the
Hawley Boy to a kala juggah.'
'Did he want much taking?'
'Lots! There was an arrangement of loose-boxes in kanats, and she
was in the next one talking to him.'
'Which? How? Explain.'
'You know what I mean The Dowd and The Dancing Master. We
could hear every word, and we listened shamelessly 'specially the
Hawley Boy. Polly, I quite love that woman!'
'This is interesting. There! Now turn round. What happened?'
'One moment. Ah h! Blessed relief. I've been looking forward to
taking them off for the last half-hour which is ominous at my time
of life. But, as I was saying, we listened and heard The Dowd
drawl worse than ever. She drops her final g's like a barmaid or a
blue-blooded Aide-de-Camp. ''Look he-ere, you're gettin' too fond
o' me," she said, and The Dancing Master owned it was so in
language that nearly made me ill. The Dowd reflected for a while.
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