United States or North Korea ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
He probably started later than he intended. You may be sure he wouldn't start unless the engine was in thorough good order. Let us go in and play patience." "No, no; I must move. Let us walk down the road." Barracombe was more perturbed than he would admit. It was unlike Smith to miscalculate. His telegram was probably sent off at the moment of starting, or even after he had started, from Toronto.
Accordingly he steered in that direction, hoping that having safely landed his aeroplane he might find some means of reaching the merchant whose name Mr. Barracombe had cabled to him. It happened that, just as the aeroplane swooped down upon the golf course, an open vehicle like a victoria was driving slowly along a road that crossed it from the railway towards the city.
But the other side of the drive lay in full view of the open landscape; rolling grass slopes stretching down to the orchards and the valley. Violets, white and blue, scented the air, and the primroses clustered at the roots of the forest trees. The gnarled and twisted stems of giant creepers testified to the age of Barracombe House.
Taking up a piece of string, he made certain measurements on the globe, jotting down sundry names and rows of figures on a piece of paper. Then he went to a telephone box in a corner of the shed, and rang up a certain club in London, asking if Mr. William Barracombe was there. After the interval usual in trunk calls, he began "That you, Billy? Good! Thought I'd catch you.
That is her harp which stands in the corner of the hall. Her daughter once tinkled a little, I believe; but the prejudices of the ruling monarch were religiously obeyed. Music was taboo at Barracombe. Dancing was against their principles, and theatres they regard with horror, and have never been inside one in their lives.
Smith?" The lady had just entered. "You'll forgive my presumption?" "Not at all that is, an old friend like you doesn't presume, Mr. Barracombe. Have you heard from Charley lately?" "A word or two. He's coming home to-night. He asked me to meet him here." "How vexing! I mean, I wish I had known before; I can tell you what I couldn't tell a stranger: we've fish for only three.
On a perfect summer afternoon in mid-July, Lady Mary sat in the terrace garden at Barracombe, before the open windows of the silent house, in the shade of the great ilex; sometimes glancing at the book she held, and sometimes watching the haymakers in the valley, whose voices and laughter reached her faintly across the distance. Some boys were playing cricket in a field below.
It had just turned half-past twelve on Friday morning when Smith said good-bye to his friend William Barracombe on Epsom Downs. The sky was clear; the moon shone so brightly that by its light alone he could read the compass at his elbow, without the aid of the small electric lamp that hung above it.
Dropping to the ground within a few feet of the fire, which turned out to be of considerable dimensions, he found a motor-car standing near it, and Barracombe walking up and down. "Well, old man," said Barracombe, as Smith alighted; "they call me a hustler, but you've hustled me this time. What in the world are you after?"
Come, it's time to dress for dinner." The time between dinner and eleven passed all too slowly. Mrs. Smith and Barracombe played cribbage; Kate was restless, opening a book, laying it down, touching the piano, going to the window and peering out into the dark. "Why are you so restless to-night, Kate?" asked her mother. "One would think that Charley had been away for months instead of a week."
Word Of The Day