Page 100 - Universal

Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall door, the gravel drive, and the
front gate were dimly noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the
road had to run into the hedge to avoid imminent collision.

“Here we are, my dear,” said the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming in through
the window, “fairly muddy, but most of it’s dry. Who was that who bolted out as we

came up?”

“A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel,” said Mrs. Sappleton; “could only talk
about his illnesses, and dashed off without a word of goodbye or apology when you
arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost.”

“I expect it was the spaniel,” said the niece calmly; “he told me he had a horror of
dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges
by a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the

creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make anyone
lose their nerve.”

Romance at short notice was her speciality.

–H.H. Munro (SAKI)

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