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This little speech was made to half-a-dozen persons in the course of the evening persons, for the most part, connected with the public journals or the theatrical world. There was Mr. Squinny, the editor of the Flowers of Fashion; Mr. Desmond Mulligan, the poet, and reporter for a morning paper; and other worthies of their calling.
"What if a poor fat squinny rogue, a low-born fellow even as I am, whom you had baffled and made a laughing-stock, had come to me in my loneliness and sworn before God that if you honorable gentlemen would not keep your words, he the clown would?" "John Brimblecombe?"
But Dot possessed neither age nor experience, and so she only lost her patience. "Oh, but you are absurd!" she exclaimed, shaking his arm with characteristic vigour. "How can you be so disgustingly flabby? You're worse than old Squinny, who sends for Dad or me every other day to see him die. He's fearfully keen on going to heaven, but that's all he ever does to get there."
Squinny is of exactly the opposite school, as delicate as milk-and-water, harmless in his habits, fond of the flute when the state of his chest will allow him, a great practiser of waltzing and dancing in general, and in his journal mildly malicious.
For a moral man, was not the little knight a clever fellow? He had bought Mr. Squinny for a dinner worth ten shillings, and for a ride in a carriage with a lord's son. Squinny was carried to Brompton, and set down at his aunts' door, delighted with his new friends, and exceedingly sick with a cigar they had made him smoke.
Squinny, red-cheeked little old party, he was; thin as a herring, and chilly, always chilly, sitting over the fire in the bar-parlour winter and summer too small squeaky voice he had minding any one of a penny whistle. But a warm man and a close one oh! very secret. Anybody must breakfast overnight and hurry at that eat with their loins girded, as you may say, to get upsides with old Lemuel."
After a while it began to open its eyes. Dame Goody saw that it had squinny eyes just like its father. So she took the box of ointment and stroked its two eyelids with it. But she couldn't help wondering what it was for, as she had never seen such a thing done before.
As I came into the playgrounds this morning, I saw a dashing young fellow, with a tanned face and a blond moustache, who was walking up and down the green arm-in-arm with Champion Major, and followed by a little crowd of boys. They were talking of old times evidently. "What had become of Irvine and Smith?" "Where was Bill Harris and Jones: not Squinny Jones, but Cocky Jones?" and so forth.
It was very seldom that her equanimity was disturbed, only in fact when her deepest feelings were concerned, and this made her breakdown the more complete. She apologised tearfully for her foolishness at rehearsal, which she set down to bodily fatigue. She had been to see poor Squinny that morning, and she thought he really was dying at last.
Dad won't be able to take him anyhow, for old Squinny is bad again and sent for him in a hurry." "That wretched old humbug! That means more beef-tea, not approaching dissolution. Old Squinny will never dissolve in the ordinary way." "Well, I must go." Dot reached the door and began to swing it to and fro, gathering impetus for departure. "By the way, was Bertie there?" she asked. "Bertie who?"