"If there was anything like a general observance of the festival," said
Clovis, "Waldo would be in such demand that you would have to bespeak him
weeks beforehand, and even then, if there were an east wind blowing or a
cloud or two in the sky he might be too careful of his precious self to
come out. It would be rather jolly if you could lure him into a hammock
in the orchard, just near the spot where there is a wasps' nest every
summer. A comfortable hammock on a warm afternoon would appeal to his
indolent tastes, and then, when he was getting drowsy, a lighted fusee
thrown into the nest would bring the wasps out in an indignant mass, and
they would soon find a 'home away from home' on Waldo's fat body. It
takes some doing to get out of a hammock in a hurry."
"They might sting him to death," protested Mrs. Thackenbury.
"Waldo is one of those people who would be enormously improved by death,"
said Clovis; "but if you didn't want to go as far as that, you could have
some wet straw ready to hand, and set it alight under the hammock at the
same time that the fusee was thrown into the nest; the smoke would keep
all but the most militant of the wasps just outside the stinging line,
and as long as Waldo remained within its protection he would escape
serious damage, and could be eventually restored to his mother, kippered
all over and swollen in places, but still perfectly recognisable."
"His mother would be my enemy for life," said Mrs. Thackenbury.
Pages:
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141