Испалец в колесе | страница 27

«You mean she just keeps larfing fer no a parent season?» he said brightly. «Yess that's it fazackerly Vicar,» said Richard, «morning noon and nige, always larfing like a mad thin.» The Vicar looked up from his knitting and opened. his mouths.

«Something will have to be done about that girl larfing all the time. It's not right.»

«I really doughnut see that it is any concervative of thiers whether i larf or nament,» sighed Araminta over a lengthy victim. «The trifle with the peomle around here is that they have forgoden how, I repeat, how to larf, reverend, that's what I think anyhow.»

She was of corset talking to the extremely reverend LIONEL HUGHES. She had gone to see him in case he could help her in any small way, considering he was always spouting off about helping peouple she thought she'd give him a try as it were. «What can I say my dear, I mean what can I say?» Araminta looked at the holy fink with disbelief. «What do you mean — what can I say — don't ask me what to say. I cam here to ask you for help and you have the audacidacidity to ask me what to say — is that all you have to say?» she yellowed. «I know exactly how you feel Samantha, I had a cousin the same way, couldn't see a thin without his glasgows.»

Araminta stood up in a kind of suit, she picked up her own mongels and ran seriously out of the room. «No wonder he only gets three in on Sunday!» she exclaimed to a small group of wellwishers.

A year or more passedover with no changei in Araminta's strange larfing. «Hee! hee! hee!» she went drivan herself and everone around her insane. THERE SEEMED NO END TO THE PROBLEM. This went on for eighty years until Araminta died larfing. This did not help her neighbers much. They had all died first, — which was one of the many things that Araminta died larfing off.

Сколько, я спрашиваю, сколько раз я предупреждал всех насчет моего телефона? Так вот, это случилось опять! Опять я не смог дозвониться до своей тетушки Бесст, и опять чуть было не лишился своей знаменитой колонки в газете с моим собственным портретом, и все из-за энтих проклятых телефонистов! ВЫ знаете, как я ненавижу этих проклятых телефонистов! Вы же все меня знаете. ТРИДЦАТЬ ДВА раза я пытался пробиться со своей знаменитой колонкой, и тридцать два раза получал в ответ: «Асслабади линию, ты, скучный старый пердун!» Когда я поведал об этом паре-тройке своих коллег, они даже не могли поверить мне; в самом деле, разве я не пишу одно и то же вот уже шестьдесят лет? Вы же все меня знаете…