Other fish, other fish, Fish I fry.
Stately Johnson, come and buy!"
"How can you," asked Kathleen, "be so aggravating?"
"I don't know," said Gerald, returning to prose.
"Want of sleep or intoxication of success, I mean. Come where no
one can hear us.
'Oh, come to some island where no one can hear,
And beware of the keyhole that's glued to an ear,'"
he whispered, opened the door suddenly, and there, sure enough,
was Eliza, stooping without. She flicked feebly at the wainscot
with a duster, but concealment was vain.
"You know what listeners never hear," said Jimmy severely.
"I didn't, then so there!" said Eliza, whose listening ears were
crimson. So they passed out, and up the High Street, to sit on the
churchyard wall and dangle their legs. And all the way Gerald's
lips were shut into a thin, obstinate line.
"Now," said Kathleen. "Oh, Jerry, don't be a goat! I'm simply dying
to hear what happened."
"That's better," said Gerald, and he told his story. As he told it
some of the white mystery and magic of the moonlit gardens got
into his voice and his words, so that when he told of the statues
that came alive, and the great beast that was alive through all its
stone, Kathleen thrilled responsive, clutching his arm, and even
Jimmy ceased to kick the wall with his boot heels, and listened
open-mouthed.
Then came the thrilling tale of the burglars, and the warning letter
flung into the peaceful company of Mabel, her aunt, and the
bread-and-butter pudding.
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