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"Well," Mr. Bowley would reply, "it may be so." For however long these gossips sit, and however they stuff out their victims' characters till they are swollen and tender as the livers of geese exposed to a hot fire, they never come to a decision. "That young man, Jacob Flanders," they would say, "so distinguished looking and yet so awkward."
'You'll marry the beautiful ladies, and not murder 'em, eh? said Alderman Cute to the heir of Bowley, aged twelve. 'Sweet boy! We shall have this little gentleman in Parliament now, said the Alderman, holding him by the shoulders, and looking as reflective as he could, 'before we know where we are.
See also the chapter called "Unemployment" in Lord Askwith's "Industrial Problems and Disputes." See A. L. Bowley, "Distribution of Income in the United Kingdom Before the War." H. Clay, "Economics for the General Reader," pages 237-38.
Bowley are talking dreadful gossip, I know," said Clara. "Life is wicked life is detestable!" cried Rose Shaw. "There's not much to be said for this sort of thing, is there?" said Timothy Durrant to Jacob. "Women like it." "Like what?" said Charlotte Wilding, coming up to them. "Where have you come from?" said Timothy. "Dining somewhere, I suppose." "I don't see why not," said Charlotte.
'I am afraid, sir, stammered Trotty, looking meekly at him, 'that I am a a little behind-hand with the world. Behind-hand with the world! repeated Sir Joseph Bowley, in a tone of terrible distinctness. 'I am afraid, sir, faltered Trotty, 'that there's a matter of ten or twelve shillings owing to Mrs. Chickenstalker. 'To Mrs. Chickenstalker! repeated Sir Joseph, in the same tone as before.
"You are neglecting your friends," said Bowley, as some one, going the other way, lifted his hat. She started; acknowledged Mr. Lionel Parry's bow; wasted on him what had sprung for Jacob. "But you'll get run over if I let you go," she said to the dog. "England seems all right," said Mr. Bowley.
'What sort of a night is it, Anne? inquired the former porter of Sir Joseph Bowley, stretching out his legs before the fire, and rubbing as much of them as his short arms could reach; with an air that added, 'Here I am if it's bad, and I don't want to go out if it's good. 'Blowing and sleeting hard, returned his wife; 'and threatening snow. Dark. And very cold.
Colonel Haskell adopted the suggestion, and the mortars being removed to a ditch within a few feet of the 'Crater, they were quickly at work emptying their contents upon the crowded mass of men in this horrible pit." Lieutenant Bowley, a Federal officer, says: "A mortar battery also opened on us. After a few shots they got our range so well that the shells fell directly among us.
The sky was cloudy, and only here and there a few stars gleamed diamond-like in the heavens, but threw insufficient light to aid the eyes which sought to penetrate the surrounding gloom. The old hand threw himself back on his pillow in skeptical irritation. "Thar ain't nothin', young 'un," he said disdainfully. "The beasties is quiet, and Jim Bowley ain't no tenderfoot.
Then they would apply themselves to Jacob and vacillate eternally between the two extremes. He rode to hounds after a fashion, for he hadn't a penny. "Did you ever hear who his father was?" asked Julia Eliot. "His mother, they say, is somehow connected with the Rocksbiers," replied Mr. Bowley. "He doesn't overwork himself anyhow." "His friends are very fond of him." "Dick Bonamy, you mean?"
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