G. A. Birmingham

“ XXVI.—THE FATE OF JOHN GOODENOUGH I THINK very kindly of John Goodenough now that he is gone. He was a man of many virtues. No one was ever more imperturbably good-tempered than John. Neither disappointment nor prolonged ill-luck dimmed the smiles with which he faced life. Insults which would have driven other men into frenzies of passion did not move John in the slightest. ”

“ At ten o'clock I defiantly refused to eat another oyster. John sat there with his bandaged hands on his knees and talked to me. At eleven o'clock I stopped answering him. At twelve I yawned and continued to yawn until half-past twelve. Then I said I wanted to go to bed. John pleaded for another half-hour. He said that he enjoyed talking to me more than anything else in the world. At a quarter to two I took the poker, a strong, heavy one, and killed John Goodenough. It was the only thing to do. . . .
I have managed to escape being hanged or even tried, but my conscience sometimes troubles me. ”

“ I do not know which I disliked more, listening to a rhapsody about the moon when I was shivering with cold, or hearing Kingsley's poem about the north-east wind declaimed when I was crouching under the lee of a wall with my umbrella blown inside out. ”