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Updated: June 10, 2025
Britt enquired, while her face turned suddenly pale. "Has anything happened to him? Tell me quick." "Yes, I'm afraid so. It's awful. I didn't know he was that way. Has he been troubled long? You should take him away at once. I always knew he was queer, but I had no idea he was so bad." "Will you please tell me what is the matter?" Mrs. Britt demanded. "I don't understand you.
He had just been talking to the landlord about the tavern diet. His language was vitriolic. Even Vaniman could not have used more bitter words to express his detestation for soap as a comestible. Britt's heat in the matter, the manner in which he had plunged into the diatribe all of a sudden, astonished Mr. Files tremendously. Britt seemed to be acting out a part, he was so violent.
"We're sending a good man to the next legislature." But Britt, in that new mood of his, was refusing to be baited. He began to look about. "Where is that person who calls himself a Prophet?" The others joined with Britt in making a survey of the landscape. Nobody had been paying any attention to Elias, whose voice had been stilled since the one-sided affair with Britt.
Vaniman whirled from Britt, for the impulse was in him to smash his doubled fist into that hateful visage; his palm still itched; the open-handed buffet had not satisfied the tingling nerves of that hand. Usial Britt had not hurried about raising himself from his crouching position. He was standing with his apron over his head and faced the citizens.
It was promptly opened so promptly that Mr. Britt was fairly caught at what he was about. He was standing up, shaking both fists at the door and cursing roundly. Vona was gazing at him in alarm. "I was waiting in the corridor, sir, till you till your business till Mr. Orne went away," she stammered. "Come in!" muttered Britt, even more disconcerted than the girl.
"And I've been through hell's torments in the last few hours," declared Britt; ire succeeded his dolor. "You must try and forget how those ingrates have abused you, Mr. Britt. This is a beautiful story I have just finished. You must take it with you and read it. The love sentiment is simply elegant. And it speaks of the sheltering walls of the home making a haven for the wounded heart.
Half a dozen officers from the yacht, as many men in civilian flannels, and a small army of servants were being borne in the palanquins. In the rear seat of the victoria sat Lady Deppingham and one who evidently was the Princess. Opposite to them sat two older but no less smart-looking women. Britt and the Enemy moved over to the open space in front of the mosque.
To stay with Britt in that bank would be intolerable punishment. He decided that he might as well talk back to Egypt as Egypt deserved to be talked to, considering what line of contumely had been passed in through that bank wicket. He was obliged to speak loudly in order to be heard over the trombone and the drums.
In this fashion, with the rout and rabble behind and Vaniman close on his heels, Tasper Britt arrived at Britt Block and even the statue in its niche seemed to goggle with amazed stare. Britt did not stop to lift the loop of the leather thong over his head; with a fierce tug he broke the cord. He unlocked the door and rushed in. After Vaniman followed, the men outside hesitated only momentarily.
Vaniman knew that appeal and protest would be futile realizing the full extent of Britt's effrontery. However, in his amazement he began to rail at the president. Britt broke in on the anathema. "I was not nigh the bank that night. I was asleep in my own house. You'd better not try any such ridiculous story in court it will spoil any defense Hexter may manage to put up for you.
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