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"Anstey!" called Prescott softly across the company street. "Oh, was it you idiots?" demanded the Virginian, showing his wrathful looking face. "No," replied Dick. "Come over as quickly as you can." It took Anstey a few minutes to dry himself, and to rearray himself, for the Virginian's sense of dignity would not permit him to go visiting in the drenched garments in which he had awakened.
He said you were built with unusual strength in the back, and that many a hard tug in the football scrimmages had made you strong where you most need to be strong now." "Now let's get back to work with our old ramrod, Anstey," cautioned Greg. "Surely, suh, with all my heart," nodded Anstey. "But by day after to-morrow he'll have caught up with us, and be coaching us along for the general review."
"If that noise is repeated," said the judge, with a stony stare at the horrified offender who had shrunk into the very smallest space that I have ever seen a human being occupy "I shall cause the person who made it to be removed from the court." "I understand, then," pursued Anstey, "that you consider the thumb-print, which has been sworn to as the prisoner's, to be a forgery?" "Yes.
The meeting in Anstey's room lasted for more than an hour. When the meeting broke up Anstey and some of his advisers felt convinced that to call a class meeting would be merely to bring about a vote that Prescott was to be kept in Coventry for all time to come. Anstey told Greg the result of the meeting, but Holmes did not tell his chum.
Jacob admitted at the outset that he was a smack-master's apprentice, and that he bad been "hired out" by his master to one Mr. Jezzard as deck-hand and cabin-boy of the yacht Otter. "Now, Gummer," said Anstey, "do you remember the prisoner coming on board the yacht?" "Yes. He has been on board twice. The first time was about a month ago. He went for a sail with us then.
Robert Louis Stevenson, of Mr. Walter Besant, and of Mr. Anstey would rise up to contradict me: it is merely that it is an accidental growth, and not a staple of production. As a rule, in England the artist in fiction does not care to hide his light under a bushel, and he puts his best work where it will be seen of all men, that is to say, not in a Short-story.
During that afternoon Anstey pounced in upon them. The Virginian said little, as usual, but the length and fervor of the handclasp that he gave Dick and Greg was enough. With evening came the color-line entertainment. Dick and Anstey walked on the outskirts of the throng of visitors.
It ran: "Dear Dick: What stupid ideas they have of comedy here at West Point!" And, as Belle knew that she wasn't and couldn't be Dick's sweetheart, she had not hesitated to sign herself, "Lovingly, Belle." Dick passed each note in turn to Anstey. "Your town suhtinly raises real girls!" was the southerner's quiet comment. Dick felt like a new being.
No, I just looked in to ask a question about the case of your friend Hornby. You know it comes on for trial next week?" "Yes; Thorndyke told me. What do you think of Hornby's prospects? Is he going to be convicted, or will he get an acquittal?" "He will be entirely passive," replied Anstey, "but we" here he slapped his chest impressively "are going to secure an acquittal.
One of them, a grey-haired spectacled man, was a stranger to me, and for some reason I failed to recall his name, Copland, though I was sure I had heard it before. The other was Anstey, the barrister who usually worked with Thorndyke in cases that went into Court.