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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"The Prince of Graustark"

He was prepared to be very
patient. For a long time she continued to read, her warm, rosy cheek
half-averted, her eyes applied to their task with irritating
constancy. He did not despair. Some wise person once had told him
that it was only necessary to give a woman sufficient time and she
would be the one to despair.
A few passengers possessed of proud sea-legs, staggered past the snug
couple on their ridiculous rounds of the ship. If they thought of
Miss Guile and R. Schmidt at all it was with the scorn that is
usually devoted to youth at its very best. There could be no doubt in
the passing mind that these two were sweethearts who managed to
thrive on the smallest of comforts.
At last his patience was rewarded. She lowered the magazine and
stifled a yawn--but not a real one.
"Have you read it?" she inquired composedly.
"A part of it," he said. "Over your shoulder."
"Is that considered polite in Vienna?"
"If you only knew what a bump I've got on the back of my head you
wouldn't be so ungracious." he said.
"I couldn't possibly know, could I?"
He leaned forward and indicated the spot on the back of his head,
first removing his cap.


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