CHAPTER EIGHT
Unwelcome Stranger
“T
alking
of poetry,” said Mr. Campion unexpectedly, as the three young men continued thoughtfully across the heath towards the mill, “many a useful thought has burned in verse that Shelley would have spurned. Likewise, the stuff to put your pennies on is not concealed in Tennyson.”
“Interesting, no doubt,” commented Eager-Wright good-humouredly, “but in the circumstances not very helpful. This is no time for blathering, Campion.”
The Hereditary Paladin looked hurt but not offended.
“I’m not blathering,” he said. “I think like that. I spend so long at the movies that I’ve picked up their culture. But if you want more dignity, in the words of the Prime Minister, I have just had a bewtiful thoat which I am about to brodecast—not to the wurrld, but to y
