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Updated: May 22, 2025
Crow laughed at me when I appealed to him; and the other fellows reminded me that as they had not the pleasure of knowing my pet gaol-bird they were afraid they couldn't tell him what I had done, much as they would like. Flanagan alone treated it seriously. "Batchelor," said he, "I never believed you were such a fool. Can't you see you're only making things worse by your fuss?
"You'll probably be hanged, whether you put up with it or not," was Mr Doubleday's retort, who, apparently desirous to change the conversation, suddenly rounded on me, as I was looking up and listening to the edifying dialogue. "Now then, young Batchelor, dawdling again. Upon my word I'll speak to Mr Barnacle about you. Mind, I mean what I say."
Yet he was proud of her still; proud even of the notoriety which was a tribute to her beauty. To tell the truth, her notoriety was his protection. Once the elections were over, gossip was too busy with the wife to pay much attention to the husband. He was considered to have extinguished himself for good. Miss Batchelor no longer regretted that he had no profession.
Nevill Tyson was an unmarried man in those days he naturally attracted some attention on his own account, as well as for the sake of the very respectable old man, his uncle. He was first seen at a dinner at the Morleys. Somebody else happened to be the guest of the evening, and somebody else took Lady Morley in to dinner. Tyson took Miss Batchelor, and I don't think he quite liked it.
At day-light in the morning of the 15th, the midshipman and four men went out in the boat to fish: they were returning at nine o'clock, and in passing the point of the reef, the fine weather, and the absence of surf, threw them so much off their guard, that the boat shipped a sea which filled her, and washed John Batchelor, a marine, overboard: the boat, with the rest of the men, drove in among the rocks to the westward of the landing-place, where they were saved with great difficulty, having received violent contusions.
I guess he's come to the wrong shop with those goods. Nobody deals in them here that I know of." "Speak for yourself," retorted Doubleday, sententiously. "No one suspected you of going in for either, but Batchelor and I flatter ourselves we are a little in that line."
The Socialist of course Burrows would say that he and Letty and his mother were merely living, and dressing, and enjoying themselves, paying butlers, and starting carriages out of the labour and pain of others that Jamie Batchelor and his like risked and brutalised their strong young lives that Lady Tressady and her like might "jig and amble" through theirs. Pure ignorant fanaticism, no doubt!
He is an old masher, that's what's the matter with him, and he was going to play himself for a batchelor. O, thunder, I got on to his racket in a minute. He was introduced to some of the girls and Saturday evening he danced till the cows came home.
"You'd call it a game if you had to hand out forty shillings, or take a week," replied Doubleday. "A nice expensive game this of yours, Master Batchelor. It'll cost you more than all your eel-pies, and lobsters, and flash toggery put together." Fancy, reader, my amazement and horror at all this! It might be a joke to all the rest, but it was anything but a joke to me.
"How came it in your desk, Batchelor?" asked Mr Barnacle. I didn't know, and therefore I couldn't say, and consequently said nothing. "Have you any explanation to offer?" repeated Mr Barnacle. "No," I replied. "Then, officer," said Mr Merrett, "we must give him in charge." The bare idea of being walked off to a police-station was enough to drive all my sullenness and reserve to the four winds.
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