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Updated: May 24, 2025
"Well, then," resumed Drake, "there's strong likelihood o' him prowlin' about here, and comin' across the tracks o' young Brixton; so, as I said before, he must be looked after, and I'll take upon myself to do it." "Well, I'll jine ye," said Paul, "for of course ye'll have to make up a party." "Not at all," returned the trapper, with decision.
The work on which he is now engaged, which will bear the title of The Browns of Brixton, is a tender sketch of English domesticity. This new vein of Mr. Hatton's will, doubtless, be distinguished by the naturalness of dialogue and sanity of characterisation of his first novel. Messrs. Prodder and Way are to publish it in the autumn. "He's running the Reverend again, is he?" said I to myself.
This he put into his mouth, and returned the packet to its resting-place. A slim, trim figure, he stood looking round him reflectively. "Now," he muttered, "what about it?" The clock of Brixton Town Hall was striking the hour of 1 a.m. as Chief Inspector Kerry inserted his key in the lock of the door of his house in Spenser Road.
Heldon Foyle put on his hat and coat and ordered a taxi. "Brixton Prison," he said to the driver. There are many people who pass Brixton Prison everyday who have no conception of its whereabouts. The main entrance is tucked away a hundred yards or so down an unobtrusive turning off Brixton Hill. Within a little gate-house inside the barred gates a principal warder sits on duty.
"'Twould add thirty years to your life and think what a blessing that would be to me; not that I shall live a tenth part of the time thirty years, if you'd take a nice little house somewhere at Brixton. "I must say it, Caudle, that's so like you: any place that's really genteel you can't abide. Now Brixton and Baalam Hill I think delightful. So select!
You are endeavouring to trace some geese which were sold by Mrs. Oakshott, of Brixton Road, to a salesman named Breckinridge, by him in turn to Mr. Windigate, of the Alpha, and by him to his club, of which Mr. Henry Baker is a member." "Oh, sir, you are the very man whom I have longed to meet," cried the little fellow with outstretched hands and quivering fingers.
"They were making straight for my father's camp," continued the lad, bending a stern look on the trail, "but they turned sharp round, like the swallow, on coming to the trail of the white man Brixton, and followed it." "How d'ye know that, lad?" asked the trapper.
The modern millionaire, when engaged in the agreeable and typical task of sacking his own father, will certainly not refer to him as the right honorable clerk from the Laburnum Road, Brixton. Therefore there has arisen in modern life a literary fashion devoting itself to the romance of business, to great demigods of greed and to fairyland of finance.
Surprised, annoyed, and puzzled, Tom Brixton thrust both hands into his trousers pockets, turned round on his heel, and, without uttering a word, sauntered slowly away. Fred Westly, in a bewildered frame of mind, followed his example, and the two friends were soon lost to view swallowed up, as it were, by the Oregon wilderness.
When Tom Brixton sternly set his face like a flint to what he believed to be his duty, he wandered, as we have said, into the mountains, with a heavy heart and without any definite intentions as to what he intended to do. If his thoughts had taken the form of words they would probably have run somewhat as follows: "Farewell for ever, sweet Rose of Oregon! Dear Betty!
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