Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 19, 2025
Two men sat smoking and talking with Paul Lathrop in the hook-littered sitting-room of his cottage. One was a young journalist, Roger Blaydes, whose thin, close-shaven face wore the knowing fool's look of one to whom the world's his oyster, and all the bricks for opening it familiar.
"I say, Lathrop why should you try and play up to that cynic there? As if he ever had an illusion about anything!" "Well, but one may have faith without illusions," protested Blaydes, with hard good temper. "I doubt whether Lathrop has an ounce of either!" Lathrop reached out for a match. "What's the good of 'faith' and what does anyone mean by it?
What about her guardian, for instance who is the sole trustee of the property who has a thousand chances with her to my one and holds, I venture to say if he knows anything about me the strongest views on the subject of my moral character?" "Who is her guardian?" "Mark Wilmington. Does that convey anything to you?" Blaydes whistled. "Great Scott!" "Yes.
"I hope you will let me come and see you again, Mr. Blaydes," he exclaimed heartily, as he grasped the old man's hand. "Here you will commonly find me, Mr. Lashmar, after eight o'clock, and if you bear with my whimsies I shall thank you for your company. This ale, I try to believe, will last my time.
"My word! that is a house!" cried Blaydes, stopping to survey it and get his townsman's breath, after the steep pitch of hill. "Not bad?" "Is it shown?" "Used to be. It has been shut lately for fear of the militants." "But they keep somebody in it?" "Yes in some room at the back. A keeper, and his three children. The wife's dead. Shall I go and see if he'll let us in? But he won't.
The little room contained many books, mostly old and such as had seen long service. As his habit was when a friend sat with him, Mr. Blaydes presently reached down a volume, and, on opening it, became aware of a passage which sent him into crowing laughter. "Ha, ha, friend Breakspeare, here's something for thee! Thou art the Sophist of our time, and list how the old wise man spoke of thy kind.
"We shall find him smoking his pipe, with a jug of beer at his elbow. Martin is homely, but a man of original ideas, and he will appreciate your visit." So they set forth, and walked for a quarter of an hour towards the outskirts of the town. Mr. Blaydes, who held a small municipal office, lived alone in a very modest dwelling, his attendant a woman of discreet years.
He'll have seen my name at that meeting, in the Latchford paper." "No, no. I shall miss my train. Let's walk round. Why, you'd think it was on fire already!" said Blaydes, with a start, gazing at the house.
"You get so much pleasure out of it?" For answer, Lathrop murmured a few words as though to himself, a sudden lightening in his sleepy eyes L'univers si liquide, si pur! Une belle eau qu'on voudrait boire. "I don't understand French" said Blaydes, with a shrug "not French verse, anyway." "That's a pity," was the dry reply "because you can't read Madame de Noailles.
"But I think I had better decide which is to be my hotel, when I have need of one. Will you advise me in that matter?" Breakspeare recommended the house which Lashmar already knew, and added hints concerning the political colour of leading trades-folk. When they rose, the host reminded Dyce of his suggestion that they should go and see an old friend of his, one Martin Blaydes.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking