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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"Arms and the Woman"

Had Gretchen resembled any one but Phyllis I never should
have been in such a predicament. I should have gone away the day after
my arrival. Here I was going into my second week. My assistant in
London was probably worrying, having heard nothing from me during that
time. As matters stood it was evident that I could not be true either
to Phyllis or Gretchen, since I did not know positively which I loved.
I knew that I loved one. So much was gained. I wanted to throw up a
coin, heads for Phyllis, tails for Gretchen, but I couldn't bring
myself to gamble on the matter. I threw a stick at his squirrelship,
and he scurried into the hole in the crotch of the tree. A moment
later he peered at me, and, seeing that nothing was going to follow the
stick, crept out on the limb again, his tail bristling with indignation.
"If it hadn't been for Gretchen," said I, "you would have been a potpie
long ago."
He must have understood my impotence, for he winked at me jeeringly.
A steamer came along then, puffing importantly, sending a wash almost
at my feet. I followed it with my eye till it became lost around the
bend.


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