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All letters for Trevelyan were to be redirected from the house in Curzon Street, and from the chambers in Lincoln's Inn, to the Acrobats' Club; to the porter of the Acrobats' Club had been confided the secret, not of Bozzle's name, but of Bozzle's private address, No. 55, Stony Walk, Union Street, Borough. Thus all letters reaching the Acrobats' were duly sent to Mr. Bozzle's house.
At Salisbury two ladies had left the carriage, no one else had got in, and Bozzle was alone with the Colonel. "I dare say," said the Colonel, who by this time had relinquished his shield, and who had begun to compose himself for sleep, or to pretend to compose himself, as soon as he heard Bozzle's voice.
He knew that he was having recourse to means that were base and low, which could not be other than base or low, let the circumstances be what they might. But Mr. Bozzle's conversation had not been quite so bad as Mr. Bozzle's letters; as it may have been that Mr. Bozzle's successful activity was more insupportable than his futile attempts. But, nevertheless, something must be done.
She had participated in Bozzle's triumph when he had discovered that the Colonel had gone to Devonshire, and again when he had learned that the Lothario had been at St. Diddulph's.
According to her showing, Bozzle was of all husbands the most erratic. He might perhaps come in for an hour or two in the middle of the day on a Wednesday, or perhaps would take a cup of tea at home on Friday evening. But anything so fitful and uncertain as were Bozzle's appearances in the bosom of his family was not to be conceived in the mind of woman.
Thus, when he displayed his document to Mr. Outhouse, he had taught himself at least to desire that that document should be obeyed. Mr. Outhouse read the paper and turned up his nose at it. "You had better go away," said he, as he thrust it back into Bozzle's hand. "Of course I shall go away when I have the child." "Psha!" said Mr. Outhouse. "What does that mean, Mr. Houthouse?
The paternal parent has a right to his infants, no doubt." That was Bozzle's law. "I don't believe it, B." "But he have, I tell you." "He can't suckle 'em; can he? I don't believe a bit of his rights." "When a married woman has followers, and the husband don't go the wrong side of the post too, or it ain't proved again him that he do, they'll never let her have nothing to do with the children.
Diddulph's, whereas the lady could not go down to Wick, unless she were to decide upon throwing herself into her lover's arms, whereby Bozzle's work would be brought to an end. He, therefore, confined his immediate operations to St. Diddulph's. He made acquaintance with one or two important persons in and about Mr. Outhouse's parsonage. He became very familiar with the postman.
The letter was simply directed to Bozzle's house. In what possible way could his wife have found out ought of his dealings with Bozzle, where Bozzle lived, or could have learned that letters intended for him should be sent to the man's own residence? Before, however, we inspect the contents of Mr. Bozzle's dispatch, we will go back and see how Mrs.
His happiness had been shipwrecked. Then he had put himself into the hands of Mr. Bozzle, and Mr. Bozzle had taught him that women very often do go astray. Mr. Bozzle's idea of female virtue was not high, and he had opportunities of implanting his idea on his client's mind. Trevelyan hated the man. He was filled with disgust by Bozzle's words, and was made miserable by Bozzle's presence.
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