" He had such a
pretty face! and so cute a moustache! and such darling legs! and such a
wonderful smile! For plantonic purposes the smile--which brought two
little dimples into his pink cheeks--was for the most part suppressed.
However it was impossible for this little thing to look stern: the best
he could do was to look poignantly sad. Which he did with great success,
standing like a tragic last piece of uneaten candy in his big box at the
end of the _cour_, and eyeing the sinful _hommes_ with sad pretty eyes.
Won't anyone eat me?--he seemed to ask.--I'm really delicious, you know,
perfectly delicious, really I am.
To resume: everyone being in the _cour_, it was well filled, not only
from the point of view of space but of sound. A barnyard crammed with
pigs, cows, horses, ducks, geese, hens, cats and dogs could not possibly
have produced one-fifth of the racket that emanated, spontaneously and
inevitably, from the _cour_. Above which racket I heard _tout a coup_ a
roar of pain and surprise; and looking up with some interest and also in
some alarm, beheld The Young Pole backing and filling and slipping in the
deep ooze under the strenuous jolts, jabs and even haymakers of The
Fighting Sheeney, who, with his coat off and his cap off and his shirt
open at the neck, was swatting luxuriously and for all he was worth that
round helpless face and that peaches-and-cream complexion.
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