Deaf House Agent
That deaf old
With his hand to his ear—His hand to hi head stood out like a shell,
Horny and hollow. He said, "I can't hear,"He muttered, "Don't shout,
I can hear very well!"He mumbled, "I can't catch a word;
I can't follow."Then Jack with a voice like a Protestant
Roared—"Particulars!
Farmhouse!
At quid a year!""I dunno wot place you are talking about."Said the deaf old man.
Said Jack, "What the Hell!" But the deaf old man took a pin from his desk, picked a piece of wool the size of a hen's egg from his ear, had a good look at it, decided in its favour and re- placed it in the aforementioned organ.
Katherine Mansfield
Other author posts
Winter Song
Rain and wind, and wind and rain Will the Summer come again Rain on houses, on the street, Wetting all the people's feet,
When I was a Bird
I climbed up the karaka Into a nest all made of But soft as feathers I made up a song that went on singing all by
Sanary
Her little hot room looked over the Through a stiff palisade of glinting palms, And there she would lie in the heat of the day, Her dark head resting upon her arms,
The Storm
I Ran to the forest for shelter, Breathless, half sobbing; I put my arms round a tree, Pillowed my head against the rough bark