He enjoyed his cigar gingerly for a moment.
“ We shall look to you to liven things up,” he said, poor man!
My uncle c****d his cigar and removed it from his mouth.
“ What you think the place wants?” he asked.
He did not wait for an answer. “I been thinking while you been talking—things one might do. Cricket—a good English game—sports. Build the chaps a pavilion perhaps. Then every village ought to have a miniature rifle range.”
“ Ye-ees,” said the vicar. “Provided, of course, there isn’t a constant popping.”...
“ Manage that all right,” said my uncle. “Thing’d be a sort of long shed. Paint it red. British colour. Then there’s a Union Jack for the church and the village school. Paint the school red, too, p’raps. Not enough colour about now. Too grey. Then a maypole.”
“ How far o
