Page:The woman, the man, and the monster (IA womanmanmonster00dawe).pdf/213

 “That’s ’er with the red ’air. She’s in the bar now. You ’aven’t seen ’er?”

“Nor don’t want to,” said Smales.

“Oh, she’s a bit out of your class,” replied George consolingly. “Brother a clergyman up in London; father a rural dean in Norfolk.”

“What’s her blooming mother?” asked John sourly.

“A angel,” said George. “She’s class. Red though, your guvnor. I like ’im.”
 * air, too. No flies on red ’air. ’E’s a nice gent,

“Jolly kind of you.”

“Mr. Carey Vermont,” continued the in- sinuating Ganymedes, “an’ Miss Carey Vermont. But she calls ’im Percyhus.”

“Well, can’t she call him that if she likes?”

“Ye-es. Come an ’ave a drain.”

“No, thanks. I’m just off to the garage.”

“°F calls ’er Dromedary,” continued the voice in the same sing-song, insinuating tone. “That’s a rum name, now.”

“Very appropriate when you’re about.”

“Why?”

“It suggests the ump,” snapped Smales.

But as he walked round to the garage his mind was full of strange conjectures. Miss