What Ho!
"Farewell, cruel world," you think, gazing with helpless dignity at the cruelly guffawing Cuddy on the pond bank. You start to sink slowly under the waves, with a mere modicum of necessary arm flailing.
Then your feet hit the bottom and you discover that the pond is only up to your shoulders here.
"Oh, I say Cuddy. Can I trouble you for a hand out?"
"Petey, you are such a cut up! Grab my hand, you silly boy." She sticks out her welcoming mitt.
Seizing it with a fond, if surprised, gratitude, you hold her hand firmly and give a gentle pull to ease yourself out.
"D---- it Petey!" cries Cuddy as she flies into the pond. She then starts her giggling again and the two of you trudge to the beach. You grab her about the midsection and lift her up to shore.
"AHA!" cries the inconvienently appearing Fatty. "I leave you for but a moment, and I find you in the arms of the nearest rakehell! I should have known that you two were conspiring to oust me from the way Postletwaite was having sport of me in there."
"What ho, Fatty" you say, waving from the watery depths.
"Oh yeah?" ripostes the infernal Cuddy. "Petey is a real gentleman, one who knows how to treat a girl right."
"Oh yeah?" Fatty isn't always good at the dialectic "Maybe there's some women who know how to treat a man, who care about HIS needs and also know how to make a decent cup of tea, not to mention breakfast pastry!"
"Oh, it's back to your stomach again, huh? Well I wish whoever the girl is good luck, 'cause your food bill would bankrupt Rockerfeller himself!"
"Fine! I'm off!"
"Good riddance, you big lug! Petey and I will be happy together!" she sticks out her tongue.
You clear your throat "Um, Cuddy, actually, I wanted to tell you....."
"Stuff it sweety, we'll tell Daddy about our engagement tomorrow."
You swallow manfully. There's a code of honour about these things, after all. Cuddy may be a wretched, troublemaking shrimp, but she is a lady. And to back down from an engagement is trifling with a lady's affections, and won't do, not for a Postletwaite. Sadly, you realize that you are now truly doomed. But there's nothing to be done, really.
Fighting back bitter tears of remorse, you
Then your feet hit the bottom and you discover that the pond is only up to your shoulders here.
"Oh, I say Cuddy. Can I trouble you for a hand out?"
"Petey, you are such a cut up! Grab my hand, you silly boy." She sticks out her welcoming mitt.
Seizing it with a fond, if surprised, gratitude, you hold her hand firmly and give a gentle pull to ease yourself out.
"D---- it Petey!" cries Cuddy as she flies into the pond. She then starts her giggling again and the two of you trudge to the beach. You grab her about the midsection and lift her up to shore.
"AHA!" cries the inconvienently appearing Fatty. "I leave you for but a moment, and I find you in the arms of the nearest rakehell! I should have known that you two were conspiring to oust me from the way Postletwaite was having sport of me in there."
"What ho, Fatty" you say, waving from the watery depths.
"Oh yeah?" ripostes the infernal Cuddy. "Petey is a real gentleman, one who knows how to treat a girl right."
"Oh yeah?" Fatty isn't always good at the dialectic "Maybe there's some women who know how to treat a man, who care about HIS needs and also know how to make a decent cup of tea, not to mention breakfast pastry!"
"Oh, it's back to your stomach again, huh? Well I wish whoever the girl is good luck, 'cause your food bill would bankrupt Rockerfeller himself!"
"Fine! I'm off!"
"Good riddance, you big lug! Petey and I will be happy together!" she sticks out her tongue.
You clear your throat "Um, Cuddy, actually, I wanted to tell you....."
"Stuff it sweety, we'll tell Daddy about our engagement tomorrow."
You swallow manfully. There's a code of honour about these things, after all. Cuddy may be a wretched, troublemaking shrimp, but she is a lady. And to back down from an engagement is trifling with a lady's affections, and won't do, not for a Postletwaite. Sadly, you realize that you are now truly doomed. But there's nothing to be done, really.
Fighting back bitter tears of remorse, you