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Updated: May 1, 2025
The adjective "metropolitan," applied to Hanbridge, is just. "London?" questioned Edward Henry, "I understood London when we were chatting over there." With his elbow he indicated the music-hall, somewhere vaguely outside the room. "London," said Mr. Bryany. And Edward Henry thought: "What on earth am I meddling with London for? What use should I be in London?" "You see the plot marked in red?"
Bryany," he interrupted with that ferocity which in the Five Towns is regarded as mere directness, "I wonder why the devil you want to sell your half of the option if you do want to sell it. Do you want to sell it?" "To tell you the truth," said Mr. Bryany, as if up to that moment he had told naught but lies, "I do." "Why?" "Oh, I'm always travelling about, you see.
"But has your child been bitten by a dog?" asked Mr. Bryany, acutely perplexed. "You'd almost think so, wouldn't you?" Edward Henry replied, carefully non-committal. "What price going to the Turk's Head now?" He remembered with satisfaction, and yet with misgiving, a remark made to him, a judgment passed on him, by a very old woman very many years before.
For all the time he was cogitating the question whether the presence of Dr Stirling in the audience ought or ought not to be regarded as providential. "Now, I've got the option on a little affair in London," said Mr. Bryany, while Edward Henry glanced quickly at him in the darkness. "And can I get anybody to go into it? I can't." "What sort of a little affair?"
Seven Sachs, and then obtained from Mr. Bryany all remaining papers and trifles of information concerning the affair of the option. Whereupon Mr. Bryany, apparently much elated by the honour of an informal reception, effusively retired.
"Could you slip round to your bank and meet me at the station in the morning with the cash?" suggested Mr. Bryany. "No, I couldn't," said Edward Henry. "Well, then, what ?" "Here, you'd better take this," the "Card," reborn, soothed his host and, blowing out the spill which he had just ignited at the gas, he offered it to Mr. Bryany. "What?" "This, man!" Mr.
"You can't buy land in the West End of London," said Mr. Bryany, sagely. "You can only lease it." "Well, of course!" Edward Henry concurred. "The freehold belongs to Lord Woldo, now aged six months." "Really!" murmured Edward Henry. "I've got an option to take up the remainder of the lease, with sixty-four years to run, on the condition I put up a theatre.
In the meantime he had had some correspondence with Mr. Bryany, more poetic than precise, about the option, and had informed Mr. Bryany that he would arrive in London several days before the option expired. But he had not given a definite date.
"Well, it's like this," said Mr.. Bryany, sitting down opposite Edward Henry at the centre table, and reaching with obsequious liveliness for the dispatch-box. He drew from the dispatch-box, which was lettered "W.C.B.," first a cut-glass flask of whisky with a patent stopper, and then a spacious box of cigarettes.
Bryany, ceremoniously attired, was received by a sort of jolly king who happened to be trimming his beard in the royal bathroom but who was too good-natured to keep Mr. Bryany waiting. It is remarkable how the habit of royalty, having once taken root, will flourish in the minds of quite unmonarchical persons. Edward Henry first inquired after the health of Mr.
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