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Updated: May 11, 2025
Vickers, in a voice husky with astonishment; "a bean-feast?" Miss Vickers, who was doing up a glove which possessed more buttons than his own waistcoat, looked up and eyed him calmly. "New clothes and not before they wanted'em," she replied, tartly. "New clothes?" repeated her father, in a scandalized voice. "Where'd they get'em?" "Shop," said his daughter, briefly. Mr.
"Wot d'yer want with 'eaving bricks for, anyway," he continued irately after a long inspection which revealed nothing. "This 'ere ain't a bean-feast where you gets the bag of nuts." "Watch this time, Ginger." Once again a large fragment came down in the neighbourhood of the dock leaves followed by an unmistakable groan. "Lumme, mate," said Ginger hoarsely, "wot is it?"
His feeling for external nature was twofold; he enjoyed colour and form but especially colour as a feast for the eye, and returned thanks for his meal as the Pope of his poem did for the bean-feast. This was far removed from that passionate spiritual contemplation of nature of the Wordsworthian mood.
He looked at Elizabeth as he spoke. It struck him that she was a little embarrassed. Her colour rose, and there was a slight pucker in her brow, as though something perplexed her; but the next minute it was gone. "In that case we must fix the date for the Templeton Bean-feast," she remarked briskly. "Mr.
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