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 bowed, and finally got away with Millie before her aunt could tell what was happening, or who I was or what I was doing or anything."

"And what's the moral?" I said.

"Why, go in hard. Rush 'em. Bustle 'em. Don't give 'em a moment's rest."

"Don't play the goose game," I said with that curious thrill we feel when somebody's independent view of a matter coincides with one's own.

"That's it. Don't play the goose game. Don't give 'em time to think. Why, if I'd given Millie's aunt time to think, where should we have been? Not at Lyme Regis together, I'll bet."

"Ukridge," I said, "you inspire me. You would inspire a caterpillar. I will go to the professor—I was going anyhow—but now I shall go aggressively, and bustle him. I will surprise a father's blessing out of him, if I have to do it with a crowbar!"