Bring the Monkey
I was spread in a deep chair, my feet to the fire with Percy on my chest under my oldest woolly jersey, fast asleep. The lovable face showed complete abandon, the closed eyelids were an eggshell blue that left those of the painted ladies mere "mucky pups."
"You come too. I'll wire Clarice. She'll be delighted. She's a kind old pillow."
"I've just refused the party at Buckhurst because I cannot afford the tips in those private pubs--prefer the regular inns; besides, I've only got one evening gown spry enough."
"I haven't a stitch either; and imagine me in evening dress with Percy! He'd pluck every feather off me, and leave bleeding weals on my most important promontories. The odious little cow never cares a hoot about the side his bread is buttered, and favours all the wrong people. He'll most likely go for old Swith's nose."
"He evidently knows how to annex a faithful coolie," I said, tilting his chin the better to adore him. He made