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Updated: May 22, 2025
"It was very wrong of her," said Barbox Brothers with a knitted brow, "to marry you, making a secret of her infirmity. "Well, sir!" pleaded Lamps in behalf of the long-deceased. "You see, Phoebe and me, we have talked that over too. And Lord bless us!
"With the children?" she answered, slightly colouring. "Oh yes. I sing with the dear children, if it can be called singing." Barbox Brothers glanced at the two small forms in the room, and hazarded the speculation that she was fond of children, and that she was learned in new systems of teaching them?
"You correct me," returned Barbox Brothers with a blush; "and I must look so like a Brute, that at all events it would be superfluous in me to confess to that infirmity. I wish you would tell me a little more about yourselves. I hardly knew how to ask it of you, for I am conscious that I have a bad stiff manner, a dull discouraging way with me, but I wish you would."
"Tell me. Did you see the puffs of smoke and steam made by the morning fast-train yesterday on road number seven from here?" "Behind the elm-trees and the spire?" "That's the road," said Barbox Brothers, directing his eyes towards it. "Yes. I watched them melt away." "Anything unusual in what they expressed?" "No!" she answered merrily. "Not complimentary to me, for I was in that train.
However, Polly seemed to think it a good idea, and added: "I suppose I must give you a kiss, though you are cool." The kiss given and taken, they sat down to breakfast in a highly conversational tone. "Of course, you are going to amuse me?" said Polly. "Oh, of course!" said Barbox Brothers.
He took up his hat and walked out, just in time to see, passing along on the opposite side of the way, a velveteen man, carrying his day's dinner in a small bundle that might have been larger without suspicion of gluttony, and pelting away towards the Junction at a great pace. "There's Lamps!" said Barbox Brothers. "And by the bye "
And again, as on the previous day, they all turned at the garden-gate, and kissed their hands evidently to the face on the window-sill, though Barbox Brothers from his retired post of disadvantage at the corner could not see it. But, as the children dispersed, he cut off one small straggler a brown- faced boy with flaxen hair and said to him: "Come here, little one. Tell me, whose house is that?"
Ridiculous, surely, that a man so serious, so self-contained, and not yet three days emancipated from a routine of drudgery, should stand rubbing his chin in the street, in a brown study about Comic Songs. "Bedside?" said Barbox Brothers testily. "Sings them at the bedside? Why at the bedside, unless he goes to bed drunk? Does, I shouldn't wonder. But it's no business of mine. Let me see.
Here it is that Barbox Brothers, in the midst of these ghostly apparitions, is eventually extricated from the melancholy plight in which he finds himself saturated and isolated in the middle of a spiderous web of railroads. His extricator is Lamps! A worthy companion portrait to that of cinderous Mr. Toodles, the stoker, familiar to the readers of Dombey.
I have not yet settled, being still perplexed among so many roads. What do you think I mean to do? How many of the branching roads can you see from your window?" Looking out, full of interest, she answered, "Seven." "Seven," said Barbox Brothers, watching her with a grave smile. "Well!
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