Laughing Gas Read Online Free PDF

waved cordially at someone behind me. I turned. A slimmish sort of girl was coming towards us across the lawn. I couldn't see if she was pretty or not, because her face was in the shadow. She waved back at him.
    'Hello, Eggy. There you are. I thought you would be.'
    Something in her voice caused me to start and gaze narrowly at her as she came into the light. And at the same moment something in the cut of my jib caused her to start and gaze narrowly at me. And in half a tick we were gazing narrowly at each other—she at me, I at her. And in half a tick after that our last doubts were dispelled.
    Reading from left to right, we were myself and Ann Bannister.
    Chapter 4
    ' A nn—! ' I cried.
    '— Bannister I' cried Eggy, slapping his forehead. 'I knew it would come back. It was on the tip of my tongue all along. Hullo, Ann. This is my cousin, Reggie.'
    'We have met.'
    'You mean before this moment?'
    'A long time before this moment. We're old friends.'
    'Old friends?'
    'Very old friends.'
    'Then, obviously, a small drink is indicated. Bar-bloke —'
    'No,' said Ann. 'You get right away from that bar.'
    'But aren't we going to celebrate?'
    'No.'
    'Oh?'
    'You go and take a walk round the block, Egremont Mannering, and don't come back till your brain is like a razor.'
    'My brain is like a razor.' 'Two razors, then. Off you go.'
    There had always been something compelling about Ann. I had noticed it myself in the old days. She was one of those small, brisk, energetic girls, abundantly supplied with buck and ginger, who have a way of making the populace step around a bit. Eggy trotted off like a lamb in a his-not-to-reason-why manner, and we were alone together.
    We stood in silence for a moment. I was brooding on the past, and I suppose she was, too.
    Just to keep the record straight, I'd better tell you about this past that we were brooding on. This Ann Bannister, as I said, was a newspaper girl, and I had met her when she was taking a holiday at Cannes. We became chummy. I asked her to marry me. She right-hoed. So far so good.
    And then, quite unexpectedly, the engagement went and busted itself up. One moment, it was buzzing along like a two-year-old, and was all gas and gaiters. The next, it had come a stinker.
    What happened was this. One night, we were sitting side by side on the terrace of the Palm Beach Casino, watching the silver moon flood the rippling Mediterranean, and she squeezed my hand, and I leaned towards her tenderly, and she leaned towards me, waiting for the loving observation which she had every reason to suppose would emerge, and I said:
    ‘ Gosh! My feet hurt!'
    Well, they did, I mean to say. Even as I leaned towards her, they had given me a sudden twinge of acute agony. I was trying out a new pair of dress shoes that night, and you know what patent leather can do to the extremities. But, undoubtedly, I should have chosen another moment for introducing the topic. She took it rather hard. She seemed upset. In fact, she turned away, and petulantly, at that. So, thinking to heal the breach, I bent forward to plant a gentle kiss on the back of her neck.
    Well, that was all right, of course - I mean to say, as an idea. The trouble was that I forgot that I had a lighted cigar in my mouth, and when the fact was drawn to my attention, it was too late. Leaping like a scalded kitten, she began calling me a soulless plug - ugly and breaking off the engagement. And next day, when I called at her hotel with flowers to take the matter up again, I found that she had left. Yes, she had gone out of my life.
    And here she was, two years later, back again.
    I'm bound to say I was a bit embarrassed at finding myself vis-a-vis with this chunk of the days that were no more. It's always embarrassing to run unexpectedly into a girl you used to be engaged to. I mean, you don't quite know how to comport yourself. If you look chirpy, that's not much of a compliment to her. Whereas, if you look mouldy, you feel that she's patting