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Alison showed her roses to the wife of the East India man and to a kinsman, Mr. Munro Touris, from Inverness way. Mr. Touris addressed himself with his careful smile to Alexander. "Good day, Glenfernie! This, Mr. Goodworth, is a good neighbor of mine, Mr. Jardine of Glenfernie. Alexander, Mr. Goodworth is art and part of the East India. You have met Mr. Wotherspoon before, I think?
He scattered his aitches as a fountain its sprays in a strong wind. He was very earnest. Comrade Prebble was earnest, too. Perhaps even more so than Comrade Wotherspoon. He was handicapped to some extent, however, by not having a palate. This gave to his profoundest thoughts a certain weirdness, as if they had been uttered in an unknown tongue. The crowd was thickest round his platform.
He's the bank-clerk and a dude. He gives his cuffs a flick, and starts in to make things jolly all round by telling a story about a man he knows named Wotherspoon. Jerry fixes him with his eye, and, half-way through, interrupts. "That waistcoat of yours is fierce," he says. "Pardon?" says Ralph. "That waistcoat of yours," says Jerry. "It hurts me eyes. It's like an electric sign."
"Then he has made it common property that he chose to quarrel with me?" "Oh, chose to " said Mr. Wotherspoon, reflectively. There was a silence. Ian set down his wine-glass, made a movement of drawing together, of determination. "I am sure that there is something of which I have not full understanding. You will much oblige me by attention to what I now say, Mr. Wotherspoon.
In the first of the long string of matches which have been played between Sheffield and Glasgow, dating back to 1874, Mr. Wotherspoon was one of the players; and it may be mentioned that, in the same contest, the Glasgow representatives were made up entirely of Queen's Park and Clydesdale men, and that each city scored a couple of goals. ~James J. Thomson.~
"I am not worrying about what HE is going to get," he answers back. "I am worrying about what I am going to get." I thought he had gone dotty. "What's it got to do with you?" I says. "If old Wotherspoon is in a good humour," he continues, "and the constable's head has gone down a bit between now and Wednesday, I may get off with forty shillings and a public reprimand.
This was more the sort of thing the crowd had come to see. Comrade Wotherspoon found himself deserted, and even Comrade Prebble's shortcomings in the way of palate were insufficient to keep his flock together. The entire strength of the audience gathered in front of the third platform. Mike, separated from Psmith by the movement of the crowd, listened with a growing depression.
But he has been," said the lawyer, "far and wide since those days." "Yes, far and wide." Mr. Wotherspoon with a long forefinger turned a crimson rose seen in profile full toward him. "I met him once when I was in London a year ago. I had not seen him for years." He let the rose swing back. "He has a magnificence! Do you know I study a good deal? They say that so do you.
Peak, Sidwell whispered to her mother, with satisfaction. Buckland kept silence for a few minutes, then muttered: 'There's nothing I care about now till Chemistry and Geology. Here comes old Wotherspoon. Now we shall know who is strongest in second aorists. I shouldn't wonder if Peak takes both Senior Greek and Latin. I heartily hope he'll beat that ass Chilvers.
But the name so offensive to young Warricombe was the first that issued from the Professor's lips. Beginning with the competition for a special classical prize, Professor Wotherspoon announced that the honours had fallen to 'Bruno Leathwaite Chilvers. 'That young man is not badly supplied with brains, say what you will, remarked Mr. Warricombe.