The Sunny Side | Page 6

rather lovely," said Myra thoughtfully.
"Yes," I agreed; "but have you considered that--Come over this way a
moment, where Thomas and Simpson can't hear, while I tell you some
of the disadvantages."
I led her into a quiet corner and suggested a few things to her which I
hoped would not occur to the other two.
Item: That if it was raining hard at night, it would be beastly. Item: That
if you suddenly found you'd left your pipe behind, it would be rotten.
Item: That if, as was probable, there wasn't a proper bathroom in the
little house, it would be sickening. Item: That if she had to walk on
muddy paths in her evening shoes, it would be--
At this point Myra suddenly caught the thread of the argument. We
went back to the others.
"We think," said Myra, "it would be perfectly heavenly in the little
house; but--" She hesitated.
"But at the same time," I said, "we think it's up to Simpson and Thomas
to be English gentlemen. Samuel, it's your honour."
There was a moment's silence.
"Come along," said Thomas to Simpson, "let's go and look at it."
* * * * *
After lunch, clean and well-fed and happy, we lay in deck-chairs on the
loggia and looked lazily down at the Mediterranean.
"Thank you, Samuel, for bringing us," said Dahlia gently. "Your
friends must be very fond of you to have lent you this lovely place."
"Not fonder than we are," said Myra, smiling at him.

IV.
BEFORE LUNCH
I found Myra in the hammock at the end of the loggia.
"Hallo," I said.
"Hallo." She looked up from her book and waved her hand. "Mentone
on the left, Monte Carlo on the right," she said, and returned to her
book again. Simpson had mentioned the situation so many times that it
had become a catch-phrase with us.
"Fancy reading on a lovely morning like this," I complained.
"But that's why. It's a very gloomy play by Ibsen, and whenever it's
simply more than I can bear, I look up and see Mentone on the left,
Monte Carlo on the right--I mean, I see all the loveliness round me, and
then I know the world isn't so bad after all." She put her book down.
"Are you alone?"
I gripped her wrist suddenly and put the paper-knife to her throat.
"We are alone," I hissed--or whatever you do to a sentence without any
"s's" in it to make it dramatic. "Your friends cannot save you now.
Prepare to--er--come a walk up the hill with me."
"Help! Help!" Whispered Myra. She hesitated a moment; then swung
herself out of the hammock and went in for her hat.
We climbed up a steep path which led to the rock-village above us.
Simpson had told us that we must see the village; still more earnestly
he had begged us to see Corsica. The view of Corsica was to be
obtained from a point some miles up--too far to go before lunch.
"However, we can always say we saw it," I reassured Myra. "From this
distance you can't be certain of recognizing an island you don't know.
Any small cloud on the horizon will do."

"I know it on the map."
"Yes, but it looks quite different in real life. The great thing is to be
able to assure Simpson at lunch that the Corsican question is now
closed. When we're a little higher up, I shall say, 'Surely that's Corsica?'
and you'll say, 'Not Corsica?' as though you'd rather expected the Isle
of Wight; and then it'll be all over. Hallo!"
We had just passed the narrow archway leading into the courtyard of
the village and were following the path up the hill. But in that moment
of passing we had been observed. Behind us a dozen village children
now trailed eagerly.
"Oh, the dears!" cried Myra.
"But I think we made a mistake to bring them," I said severely. "No one
is fonder of our--one, two, three ... I make it eleven--our eleven
children than I am, but there are times when Father and Mother want to
be alone."
"I'm sorry, dear. I thought you'd be so proud to have them all with
you."
"I am proud of them. To reflect that all the--one, two ... I make it
thirteen--all these thirteen are ours, is very inspiring. But I don't like
people to think that we cannot afford our youngest, our little Philomene,
shoes and stockings. And Giuseppe should have washed his face since
last Friday. These are small matters, but they are very trying to a
father."
"Have you any coppers?" asked Myra suddenly. "You forget their
pocket-money last week."
"One, two, three--I cannot possibly afford--one, two, three, four--Myra,
I do wish you'd count them definitely