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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Stark Munro Letters"

I caught a quinsy walking up and down
Avonmouth pier before I saw my opportunity. He was
rather a stolid fat boy, and he was sitting on the very
edge, fishing. I got the sole of my foot on to the small
of his back, and shot him an incredible distance. I had
some little difficulty in getting him out, for his
fishing line got twice round my legs, but it all ended
well, and the witnesses were as staunch as possible. The
boy came up to thank me next day, and said that he was
quite uninjured save for a bruise on the back. His
parents always send me a brace of fowls every Christmas."
I was sitting with my finger in the hot water
listening to this rigmarole. When he had finished he ran
off to get his tobacco box, and we could hear the
bellowing of his laughter dwindling up the stair. I was
still looking at the medal, which, from the dents all
over it, had evidently been often used as a target, when
I felt a timid touch upon my sleeve; it was Mrs.
Cullingworth, who was looking earnestly at me with a very
distressed expression upon her face.
"You believe far too much what James says," said she.
"You don't know him in the least, Mr. Munro. You don't
look at a thing from his point of view, and you will
never understand him until you do. It is not, of course,
that he means to say anything that is untrue; but his
fancy is excited, and he is quite carried away by the
humour of any idea, whether it tells against himself or
not.


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