Are you
good at riddles, Comrade Parker? How much wood would a wood-chuck
chuck, assuming for purposes of argument that it was in the power
of a wood-chuck to chuck wood?"
Mr. Parker did not attempt to solve this problem. He was sitting
in the same attitude of watchfulness, the revolver resting on his
knee. He seemed mistrustful of Psmith's right hand, which was
hanging limply at his side. It was from this quarter that he seemed
to expect attack. The cab was bowling easily up the broad street,
past rows on rows of high houses, all looking exactly the same.
Occasionally, to the right, through a break in the line of
buildings, a glimpse of the river could be seen.
Psmith resumed the conversation.
"You are not interested in wood-chucks, Comrade Parker? Well, well,
many people are not. A passion for the flora and fauna of our
forests is innate rather than acquired. Let us talk of something
else. Tell me about your home-life, Comrade Parker. Are you
married? Are there any little Parkers running about the house? When
you return from this very pleasant excursion will baby voices crow
gleefully, 'Fahzer's come home'?"
Mr. Parker said nothing.
"I see," said Psmith with ready sympathy. "I understand. Say no
more. You are unmarried. She wouldn't have you. Alas, Comrade
Parker! However, thus it is! We look around us, and what do we
see? A solid phalanx of the girls we have loved and lost.
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