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Updated: June 29, 2025
For three-inch lettering and to that I restricted myself five shillings can only be called dirt cheap. Listen " Reserved Seats, One Shilling. Unreserved, Sixpence. "Why carriages?" asked Mr. Bossom. "It's the usual thing," answered Mr. Mortimer. "You bet it isn't, at Tizzer's Green.
"Six locks we've passed while you was asleep, not countin' the stop-lock. But maybe you 're not used to travel by canal?" "I thank the Lord, no; or I'd never 'ave put Mr. 'Ucks up to it. Why, I'd walk it quicker, crutch an' all." "What'd you call a reas'nable price for eggs, now at this time o' year?" asked Mr. Bossom, abstractedly sucking the stump of a pencil and frowning at his notebook.
I promised to write in my own 'and; but time is pressin', as I am goin' to tell you. So you must please put up with Mr. Bossom, and excuse mistakes. I will sign this to let you know there is no fake. We are at Stratford-on-Avon: w'ich for slow goin' must be a record: but all well and 'earty. Mr. M. 'as 'ad luck with 'is actin' 'Ow much?" "Six-seven-nine," answered Sam as he caught up with her.
Bossom. "So we're in love, are we?" He cast a guilty look around. "There's Mortimer, comin' down the path, an' only two fields away." "And it's a long story, is it? Well, I'll let you off this time," said Tilda. "But listen to this, an' don't you fergit it. If along o' your dawdlin' they lay hands on Arthur Miles here, I'll never fergive you no, never." "You leave that to me, missie.
I give Sam Bossom instructions to take the boat down to Stratford with three passengers aboard you and the Mortimers as a business speckilation; and it may so happen I don't say it will, mind you that sooner or later Mortimer'll want to pick up an extry hand to strengthen his company. Well, he knows his own business, and inside o' limits I don't interfere.
"Why if you 'ad Bill aboard this boat, in less'n a workin' day he'd 'ave her fixed up with boiler an' engine complete, an' be drivin' her like a train." Mr. Bossom grinned. "I'd like to see 'im twenty minutes later, just to congratilate 'im. You see, missie, a boat can't go faster than the water travels past 'er which is rhyme, though I made it myself, an' likewise reason. Can she, now?"
"Down below the Weir Brake Journeys end in lovers' meeting: You and I our way must take, You and I our way will wend Farther on, my only friend Farther on, my more than friend My sweet sweeting." In a private apartment of the Red Cow Public-house Sam Bossom sat doggedly pulling at a short pipe while Mr. Mortimer harangued him.
Christopher Hucks stood at the head of the basin, within a stone's-throw of the Weigh Dock, and but two doors away from the Canal Company's office. It was approached through folding-doors, in one of which a smaller opening had been cut for pedestrians, and through this, on his way to the stables in the rear, Mr. Sam Bossom entered.
Tilda took a turn at considering. "The further I go on this v'yage," she announced, "w'ich, per'aps, 'twould be truthfuller to say the longer it takes the more I seems to get mixed up in other folks' business. But you've done me a good turn, Sam Bossom; an' you've been open with me; an' I reckon I got to keep you straight in this 'ere. There! put up yer verses while I sit an' think it out."
"Sam Bossom might take down the Success to Commerce for it, and he's as well out o' the way wi' the rest o' you." Tilda clapped her hands. "Mind you," he went on, "I'm not includin' any orphan. I got no consarn with one. I haven't so much as seen him." He paused, with his eyes fixed severely on Tilda's. She nodded. "O' course not."
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