If Uncle Arthur had been left on my doorstep in a snow-storm, the melodrama could have had no greater appeal. Dodging an intrusive association with Red Riding Hood, I said : “Oh, Uncle Arthur,” and swept into them, polyanthus and all. “Darlin’” croaked Uncle Arthur the very next day, “when I’m on my feet. I shouldn’t think the Guardian has ever had a correspondent like Uncle Arthur since. I saw this splendid woman, who would herself have gone far in Dawson City, standing over Uncle Arthur.

Source: The Guardian January 16, 2019 05:26 UTC