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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Golden Scarecrow"

Pidgen,
saw the hurt look in his eyes deepen.
"Come now, Lasher," he said at last. "Let's be honest one with another;
that's your line, and you say it ought to be mine. Come now, as man to
man, you think me a damnable failure now--beg pardon--complete
failure--don't you? Don't be afraid of hurting me. I want to know!"
Mr. Lasher was really a kindly man, and when his eyes beheld
things--there were of course many things that they never beheld--he
would do his best to help anybody. He wanted to help Mr. Pidgen now;
but he was also a truthful man.
"My dear Pidgen! Ha, ha! What a question! I'm sure many, many people
enjoy your books immensely. I'm sure they do, oh, yes!"
"Come, now, Lasher, the truth. You won't hurt my feelings. If you were
discussing me with a third person you'd say, wouldn't you? 'Ah, poor
Pidgen might have done something if he hadn't let his fancy run away
with him. I was with him at Cambridge. He promised well, but I'm afraid
one must admit that he's failed--he would never stick to anything.'"
Now this was so exactly what Mr. Lasher had, on several occasions, said
about his friend that he was really for the moment at a loss.


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