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Updated: June 27, 2025
"I think this young gentleman rides the handsomest animal in the town, Miss Bessie. I'm a great admirer of handsome animals, Mr. Forcus." "Is that so? Really?" said Reggie, supremely indifferent. He had no objection whatever to make the acquaintance of old Boult, the linen-draper although, of course, that difference between a successful draper and a successful brewer which Mr.
In his spare hours he occupied himself in looking for such a retreat, and when the ideal one was found he left his rooms in Bridge Street and went to live there. George Boult took the trouble to walk out one Sunday afternoon to the little trellis-covered house, a mile and a half away from the town, and discovered the junior partner in his shirt-sleeves rolling the gravel of the back-garden.
All that was desirable he had seemed to her; she had never thought of wishing him to change! "Let him know he is on his trial," George Boult said. "He is being carefully watched and reported on. Tell him he is having the chance of his life; warn him not to abuse it."
But even if the tendency of criticism had run the other way, this ballad would have gone far to prove itself. I can well understand the reluctance of worthy persons in this matter; for of course it is unpleasant to think of a man of genius as one who held, in the words of Marina to Boult "A place, for which the pained'st fiend Of hell would not in reputation change."
Bessie's eyes glinted: "But if he likes it and he has always acted as if he did then why? why? why ?" She spread out the palms of her plump, white little hands, making the dramatic inquiry of Emily, who, with a black rag dipped in whitening, was polishing the "brights," as she called her tin and pewter ware. "Ah," Emily said; "he's one of your cautious ones, Boult is.
"As soon as the shop is closed I shall go to Mr. Boult and beg of him to help me to buy him off," Mrs. Day persisted. She rose up stiffly from her chair and stood beside it, her hand grasping its back, waiting for the strength to come to her to take up the burthen of business again.
"That depends on how you look at these things," said Deleah, for the first time in her life feeling the desire to be unpleasant. "We sprang a surprise on you, eh?" "We were not at all surprised, Mr. Boult." "It will have to be 'George' now, won't it? We can't have Sister Deleah 'Mr. Boult-ing' me. Eh, Bess?" "You may call him 'George, Deda," said a magnanimous Bessie.
George Boult had assumed for years the habit of dropping in at Queen Anne Street on Sunday afternoons to smoke a cigar and drink a glass of wine with the lawyer, but it was a function the men had enjoyed tete-a-tete: as an intimate in the family circle he had not been admitted.
Then, shutting the door hastily upon the pair, she went to Emily, in the kitchen. "How long has Mr. Boult been here?" Emily had not looked at the clock. "Is he going to stay to tea?" Emily would set an extra cup, on the chance of it. "You'd best go and find your ma, Miss Deleah; she's gone to the cemetery, and have no right to be there alone."
" four five six seven " "Pray on, brother Boult! 'Tis workin', 'tis workin'," squeaked up a mock-religious voice from the back. Some one tittered audibly, and the strain broke in a general shout of laughter. Old men, up to now profoundly serious, lay back and held their sides. Old women leaned forward and searched for their handkerchiefs, their bonnets nodding.
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