'_Non, je n'avais guere le coeur a manger_.'"

Well, that's easy enough. But I doubt if it is one of the most characteristic pa.s.sages. It doesn't give you a clue to Laforgue's manner, any more than "'Must I sit here, mother?' 'Yes, without a doubt you must,'" tells you all that you want to know about Meredith. There's more in it than that.

And I've got to tell him.

But fancy holding forth on an author's style after reading him laboriously with a dictionary!

However, I must do my best; and in my more hopeful moments I see the conversation going like this:--

"Well?"

"Oh, wonderful." (_With emotion_) "Really wonderful."

"You see them all there?"

"Yes, yes. It's really--wonderful. Meredith--I mean--well, it's simply--(_after a pause_) wonderful."

"You see Meredith there most?"

"Y-yes. Sometimes. And then (_with truth_) sometimes I--I don't. It's difficult to say. Sometimes I--er--Shaw--er--well, it's--" (_with a gesture somewhat Gallic_) "How can I put it?"

"Not Thackeray at all?" he says, watching me eagerly.

I decide to risk it.

"Oh, but of course! I mean--Thackeray! When I said Meredith I was thinking of the _others_. But Thackeray--I mean Thackeray _is_--er--" (_I've forgotten the author's name for the moment and go on hastily_) "I mean--er--Thackeray, obviously."

He shakes me by the hand. I am his friend.

But this conversation only takes place in my more hopeful moments. In my less hopeful ones I see myself going into the country for quite a long time.

III. SUMMER DAYS

A SONG FOR THE SUMMER

_Is it raining_? Never mind-- Think how much the birdies love it!

See them in their dozens drawn, Dancing, to the croquet lawn-- Could our little friends have dined If there'd been no worms above it?

_Is it murky_? What of that, If the Owls are fairly perky?

Just imagine you were one-- Wouldn't you _detest_ the sun?

I'm pretending I'm a Bat, And I know I _like_ it murky.

_Is it chilly_? After all, We must not forget the Poodle.

If the days were really hot, Could he wear _one_ woolly spot?

Could he even keep his shawl?

No, he'd shave the whole caboodle.

THE SEASON'S PROSPECTS

The great question in the Mallory family just now is whether d.i.c.k will get into the eleven this year. Confident as he is himself, he is taking no risks.

"We're going to put the net up to-morrow," he said to me as soon as I arrived, "and then you'll be able to bowl to me. How long are you staying?"

"Till to-night," I said quickly.

"Rot! You're fixed up here till Tuesday any how."

"My dear d.i.c.k, I've come down for a few days' rest. If the weather permits, I may have the croquet things out one afternoon and try a round, or possibly--"

"I don't believe you _can_ bowl," said Bobby rudely. Bobby is twelve--five years younger than d.i.c.k. It is not my place to smack Bobby's head, but _somebody_ might do it for him.

"Then that just shows how little you know about it," I retorted. "In a match last September I went on to bowl--"

"Why?"

"I knew the captain," I explained. "Well, as I say, he asked me to go on to bowl, and I took four wickets for thirteen runs. There!"

"Good man," said d.i.c.k.

"Was it against a girls' school?" said Bobby. (You know, Bobby is simply _asking_ for it.)

"It was not. Nor were children of twelve allowed in without their perambulators."

"Well, anyhow," said Bobby, "I bet Phyllis can bowl better than you."

"Is this true?" I said to Phyllis. I asked her, because in a general way my bowling is held to be superior to that of girls of fifteen. Of course, she might be something special.

"I can bowl Bobby out," she said modestly.

I looked at Bobby in surprise and then shook my head sadly.

"You jolly well shut up," he said, turning indignantly to his sister.

"Just because you did it once when the sun was in my eyes--"

"Bobby, Bobby," I said, "this is painful hearing. Let us be thankful that we don't have to play against girls' schools. Let us--"

But Bobby was gone. Goaded to anger, he had put his hands in his pockets and made the general observation "Rice-pudding"--an observation inoffensive enough to a stranger, but evidently of such deep, private significance to Phyllis that it was necessary for him to head a pursuit into the shrubbery without further delay.

"The children are gone," I said to d.i.c.k. "Now we can discuss the prospects for the season in peace." I took up "The Sportsman" again. "I see that Kent is going to--"