A Damsel in Distress

George raised the letter to his lips and kissed it vigorously.

"Hey, mister!"

George started guiltily. The blush of shame overspread his cheeks.

The room seemed to echo with the sound of that fatuous kiss.

"Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" he called, snapping his fingers, and

repeating the incriminating noise. "I was just calling my cat," he

explained with dignity. "You didn't see her in there, did you?"

Albert's blue eyes met his in a derisive stare. The lid of the left

one fluttered. It was but too plain that Albert was not convinced.

"A little black cat with white shirt-front," babbled George

perseveringly. "She's usually either here or there, or--or

somewhere. Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!"

The cupid's bow of Albert's mouth parted. He uttered one word.

"Swank!"

There was a tense silence. What Albert was thinking one cannot say.

The thoughts of Youth are long, long thoughts. What George was

thinking was that the late King Herod had been unjustly blamed for

a policy which had been both statesmanlike and in the interests of

the public. He was blaming the mawkish sentimentality of the modern

legal system which ranks the evisceration and secret burial of

small boys as a crime.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"I've a good mind to--"

Albert waved a deprecating hand.

"It's all right, mister. I'm yer friend."

"You are, are you? Well, don't let it about. I've got a reputation

to keep up."

"I'm yer friend, I tell you. I can help yer. I want to help yer!"

George's views on infanticide underwent a slight modification.

After all, he felt, much must be excused to Youth. Youth thinks it

funny to see a man kissing a letter. It is not funny, of course; it

is beautiful; but it's no good arguing the point. Let Youth have

its snigger, provided, after it has finished sniggering, it intends

to buckle to and be of practical assistance. Albert, as an ally,

was not to be despised. George did not know what Albert's duties as

a page-boy were, but they seemed to be of a nature that gave him

plenty of leisure and freedom; and a friendly resident of the

castle with leisure and freedom was just what he needed.

"That's very good of you," he said, twisting his reluctant

features into a fairly benevolent smile.

"I can 'elp!" persisted Albert. "Got a cigaroot?"

"Do you smoke, child?"

"When I get 'old of a cigaroot I do."

"I'm sorry I can't oblige you. I don't smoke cigarettes."

"Then I'll 'ave to 'ave one of my own," said Albert moodily.

He reached into the mysteries of his pocket and produced a piece of

string, a knife, the wishbone of a fowl, two marbles, a crushed

cigarette, and a match. Replacing the string, the knife, the

wishbone and the marbles, he ignited the match against the tightest

part of his person and lit the cigarette.