You
must forget me. I'm just a teacher of playing games who hasn't
been successful at any game whatever. Not that it matters.
I don't care. I don't, really. Now, good night."
CHAPTER XVIII
AND FOLLOWS A WANDERING FLAME THROUGH PERILOUS SEAS
They had picnic dinner early up there on the Palisades:
Nelly and Mr. Wrenn, Mrs. Arty and Tom, Miss Proudfoot and Mrs.
Samuel Ebbitt, the last of whom kept ejaculating: "Well! I
ain't run off like this in ten years!" They squatted about a
red-cotton table-cloth spread on a rock, broadly discussing the
sandwiches and cold chicken and lemonade and stuffed olives, and
laughing almost to a point of distress over Tom's accusation
that Miss Proudfoot had secreted about her person a bottle of
rye whisky.
Nelly was very pleasant to Mr. Wrenn, but she called him neither
Billy nor anything else, and mostly she talked to Miss Proudfoot,
smiling at him, but saying nothing when he managed to get out a
jest about Mrs. Arty's chewing-gum. When he moved to her side
with a wooden plate of cream-cheese sandwiches (which Tom
humorously termed "cold-cream wafers") Mr.
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