How about you, Mr. Samuel?"
"Never further West than the Marble Arch. But a friend of mine kept a
ranch somewhere down there. One day he shot a skunk. Yes, Mr. White, a
skunk."
"A skunk? I'm blowed. What on earth ever for did he do that? What did
he want with a skunk? I thought they were protected by law to keep down
rattlesnakes. That's so, isn't it, Charlie?"
"Snakes. You should see them in Trinidad. Snakes. Great Scot! It's a
queer place, is Trinidad. All angles and things--"
"I don't think one can talk about a place being all angles and things,
unless--"
"Tell me, Charlie, what did the fellow on the ranch want to do with
that rattlesnake?"
"Couldn't say, my son. Maybe he thought of sending it to his mother. Or
perhaps he didn't want the skunk to get hold of its tail: see?"
"I see."
"They're very sensitive about their tails. As ticklish as any young
girl, I'm told."
"As bad as all that, are they?"
"I don't think one can talk about angles when describing an island or
even a continent, except in a figurative and flowery fashion.
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