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After the repast the replete guests were entertained from the platform, the Mayor being, of course, in the chair. Harry sang 'In Old Madrid, accompanied by his stepmother, with faultless expression. Mr. Duncalf astonished everybody with the famous North-Country recitation, 'The Patent Hair-brushing Mashane. There were also a banjo solo, a skirt dance of discretion, and a campanological turn.
"And I suppose you thought I'd also forgotten to put down that tailor chap, Shillitoe?" So it was all out! Shillitoe must have been chattering. Denry remembered that the classic established tailor of the town, Hatterton, whose trade Shillitoe was getting, was a particular friend of Mr Duncalf's. He saw the whole thing. "Well?" persisted Mr Duncalf, after a judicious silence from Denry.
She never would call him Josiah, much less Jos. Topham came more easily to her lips, and sometimes Top. 'Your husband, said Mr. Duncalf impressively to Clara, 'will, of course, have to step into the Mayor's shoes, and you'll have to fill the place of the Countess. He paused, and added: 'And very well you'll do it, too very well. Nobody better. The Town Clerk frankly admired Clara. 'Mr.
He felt enraged, for Mr Duncalf had only been venting on Denry the annoyance induced in him by Mrs Codleyn. But it is remarkable that he was not depressed at all. No! he went about with songs and whistling, though he had no prospects except starvation or living on his mother.
Duncalf stood revealed to an admiring crew in the character of a true prophet. For three days and three nights the Fortuna ran before the storm, at the mercy of wind and sea. On the fourth morning the gale blew itself out, the sun appeared again toward noon, and the Captain was able to take an observation.
"The fact is, Mr Duncalf and I don't hit it off together." Another procrastinator arrived in the porch, and, by a singular simultaneous impulse, Mrs Codleyn and Denry fell into the silence of the overheard and wandered forth together among the graves. There, among the graves, she eyed him. He was a clerk at eighteen shillings a week, and he looked it. His mother was a sempstress, and he looked it.
Denry, sheltered in the castle of his silence, was not to be tempted out. "I suppose you rather fancy yourself dancing with your betters?" growled Mr Duncalf, menacingly. "Yes," said Denry. "Do you?" He had not meant to say it. The question slipped out of his mouth. He had recently formed the habit of retorting swiftly upon people who put queries to him: "Yes, are you?" or "No, do you?"
Gordon glanced into the eyes of Mrs. Curtenty, and found there his exceeding reward. The mediocrity had blossomed out that evening into something new and strange. Liar, deliberate liar and self-accused gambler as he was, he felt that he had lived during that speech; he felt that it was the supreme moment of his life. 'What a perfectly wonderful man your husband is! said Mrs. Duncalf to Mrs.
Duncalf Mr. Duncalf! She raised a finger at him. 'You are the most shameless flatterer in the town. The flatterer was flattered. Having delivered the weighty news, he had leisure to savour his own importance as the bearer of it. He drank a cup of tea. Josiah was thoughtful, but Clara brimmed over with a fascinating loquacity. Then Mr.
Mr Duncalf, though not affected by its odiousness, deducted 7-1/2 per cent. for the job from the rents. "That'll do," said Mr Duncalf. But as Denry was leaving the room Mr Duncalf called with formidable brusqueness "Machin!" "Yes, sir?" In a flash Denry knew what was coming. He felt sickly that a crisis had supervened with the suddenness of a tidal wave.
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