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The patient declared that he was not yet capable of attending to details, but he wanted to see the check signed by Herresford and presented by Dick Swinton. "Which check?" asked Mr. Barnby; "the one for two thousand or the one for five thousand? I have them both." "There are two, then?" Ormsby's eyes glistened. "Yes, with the same strange discoloration of the ink.
The duties inherent to the post of "music taster" to the house of Novello, Ewer, & Co., he hopefully acquitted for many years, succeeding to that office on the retirement of my once, in a choral sense, esteemed conductor, Sir Joseph Barnby.
On reaching the rectory, she bade the chauffeur wait, and then entered the house with faltering steps. She found Netty just ready to go out. "Where is your father, Netty?" Mrs. Swinton demanded. "Gone to the church, mother. He seems very strange." "Did he leave no message?" "No, but Mr. Barnby was here a few moments ago, and Mr.
"Did I? No no; certainly not! You misunderstood me." "Mr. Herresford and his family are fond of misunderstandings," said the manager stiffly, with a flash of scorn. He shrewdly guessed who the real forger was; but, in the face of the miser's declaration, he was powerless. "This means, Mr. Barnby, that now my son will not be arrested, that the impudent affront put upon us by Mr.
They recognise the fact that a beautiful vestment uplifts the soul far more than a dozen bad chants by Stainer, or Barnby, or any other unmusical Christian. The average Anglican chant is one of the most unimaginative, unpoetical things in the world. It always reminds me of the cart-horse parade on Whit Monday. A brown Gregorian is so much more devotional." "I beg your pardon," said Mr.
The news of Dick's death had already spread over the town; and those who knew of the affair at the club dinner and the taunt of cowardice did not fail to comment on the glorious end of the brave young officer who had died a hero. A splendid coward they called him, ironically. Mr. Barnby asked to see her ladyship, and not the rector.
With the tears streaming down his cheeks, the stricken man turned once more to the telegram, and muttered the vital purport of its message: "Died nobly rendering special service to his country. Captured and shot as a spy having courageously volunteered to carry dispatches through the enemy's lines." Mr. Barnby took his leave, feeling very wretched.
Swinton's ear, and she listened in some surprise. "Why are so many people arriving here at this hour?" she demanded, curiously. Mr. Barnby shrugged his shoulders, to signify that it was no affair of his. The front door was opened by Mr. Trimmer, who had hurriedly descended the stairs. Mrs. Swinton emerged from the library at the same moment, impatient to see her father.
The rector parted from his candid friend, still unable to grasp the situation thoroughly. That the bank had spread abroad the false report seemed certain. He hurried, fuming with indignation, to call on Mr. Barnby and have the matter out with him. But it was past three, and the doors of the bank were shut. If his wife had seen Barnby, there must have been some misunderstanding.
Dora, as it chanced, heard nothing; but Vivian Ormsby who thought that he alone shared the colonel's secret heard the gossip circulating through the city. "Dick Swinton is not dead," said the report, "he is hiding in New York." Mr. Barnby spoke of this as laughable. But Ormsby knew that the truth must out sooner or later, and it was necessary that he should be ready.
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