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Updated: June 22, 2025
"I wish you'd knock," said Bensington, looking vicious over the gold rims. Winkles was apologetic. Then he turned to Redwood. "I'm glad to find you here," he began; "the fact is " "Have you seen about this Royal Commission?" interrupted Redwood. "Yes," said Winkles, thrown out. "Yes." "What do you think of it?" "Excellent thing," said Winkles. "Bound to stop most of this clamour.
As Bensington looked back there came into his jaded brain, and echoed there, a familiar formula. What was it? "You have lit to-day ? You have lit today ?" Then he remembered Latimer's words: "We have lit this day such a candle in England as no man may ever put out again " What a man Cossar was, to be sure! He admired his back view for a space, and was proud to have held that hat. Proud!
He plumbed an abysmal trouser pocket with a vast red hand, paid his cabman, and came panting resolutely up the steps, a copy of the pink paper clutched about the middle, like Jove's thunderbolt, in his hand. "Skinner?" Bensington was saying, regardless of his approach. "Nothing about him," said Redwood. "Bound to be eaten. Both of them. It's too terrible.... Hullo! Cossar!"
Apparently he had no time to aim, or to think of aiming; he ducked a leaping rat, Bensington saw, and then smashed at the back of its head with the butt of his gun. The monster gave one leap and fell over itself. Cossar's form went right down out of sight among the reedy grass, and then he rose again, running towards another of the rats and whirling his gun overhead.
The moon, robbed now of all its meagre night retinue of stars, shone high above the dawn. "Burn everything," said Cossar, going to and fro "burn the ground and make a clean sweep of it. See?" Bensington became aware of him, looking now very gaunt and horrible in the pale beginnings of the daylight, hurrying past with his lower jaw projected and a flaring torch of touchwood in his hand.
"It's too much to hope," said Bensington, "that one of the wasps " "The wasp has no more idea of public utility than a than a House Agent," said Redwood. Bensington had put the most exciting novel conceivable on the little table that carried his electric standard. He joined the fingers of his opposed hands very carefully and regarded them. "Redwood," he said. "Do they say much about Us?"
Then doubting if the carpenter had quite got the point of it, he repeated in a penetrating whisper; "Meathured!" "'E's worse than our old guvnor; I'm dratted if 'e ain't," said the carpenter from Hickleybrow. Bensington before his first dream of enormous possibilities was replaced by a crumb of realisation.
We were soon under way and going at a fair pace through the beautiful reaches of the river, between Bensington and Dorchester.
"You've told us all that," said Redwood. "The thing is, Bensington, what are we to do?" "What are we to do?" said Mr. Skinner. "You'll have to go back to Mrs. Skinner," said Redwood. "You can't leave her there alone all night." "Not alone, Thir, I don't. Not if there wath a dothen Mithith Thkinnerth. Itth Mithter Benthington " "Nonsense," said Redwood. "The wasps will be all right at night.
"I don't like that name," said Bensington, with a glance over his glasses. "It is just so exactly what it is to Winkles." "Why does he keep on about it? It isn't his!" "It's something called Booming," said Redwood. "I don't understand. If it isn't his, everybody is getting to think it is. Not that that matters."
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