Lives in Cricket No 26 - HV Hesketh-Prichard

132 The Legacy And the reply: ‘Go ahead. Start in if you like on his left toes and take the lot. We don’t want them. Toes at a discount with artists anyway. Wiring you English money five shillings. Our full valuation for artist mentioned. He’s a cheap one and can only draw with one hand. Post him on receipt of this or forward him as an empty. Will be pleased to run you as a serial but do not pay for interviews.’ So through the tobacco haze I said: ‘No. Your Castle in Spain won’t be occupied this quarter by yours truly.’ ‘Well, well,’ said he, shrivelling up a stuffed wolf with his stony glare. ‘If you won’t be captured by brigands will you fight a fourteen-stone half-breed at Klondyke for my sake? Do think of my reputation.’ ‘If every phase of that fight,’ said I, ‘could be a double page.’ ‘Oh, go to Hayti!’ he yelled, leaping into a Jessop attitude. I went. Not to Hayti, where, as the MAN has told us, black and white rules colour, but onto the cool and sloppy midnight London streets, there to reflect on how a young author, dealing in brigands and cricket, could keep his head sufficiently to acquire those of big game, and could shoot straight enough to catch the head of the wicked wicket and the heart of the wicked public and yet keep any signs of swelling from his own especial cranium.