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Updated: May 1, 2025
"That won't do! That won't do!" cried Mr. Bryany. "I absolutely must have the money to-morrow morning in London. I can sell the option in London for eighty pounds I know that." "You must have it?" "Must!" They exchanged glances. And Edward Henry, rapidly acquiring new knowledge of human nature on the threshold of a world strange to him, understood that Mr.
There's no field for speculation on the spot, and as for outside investment, no Englishman will touch anything that really is good." He emphasized the last three words. "What d'ye do yeself, Mr. Bryany?" inquired Dr Stirling. "What do I do with my little bit?" cried Mr. Bryany. "Oh! I know what to do with my little bit.
"I'm a 'clean slate'? Well!... Their notion of business is to begin by discussing the name of the theatre! And they haven't even taken up the option! Ye gods! 'Intellectual'! 'Muses'! 'The Orient Pearl. And she's fifty that I swear! Not a word yet of real business not one word! He may be a poet. I daresay he is. He's a conceited ass. Why, even Bryany was better than that lot.
Bryany, observing the peculiarity of the spill, seized it and unrolled it not without a certain agitation. He stammered: "Do you mean to say it's genuine?" "You'd almost think so, wouldn't you?" said Edward Henry. He was growing fond of this reply, and of the enigmatic, playful tone that he had invented for it. "But " "We may, as you say, look twice at a fiver," continued Edward Henry.
"I might, you knaoo!" said Marrier, brightening to full hope in the fraction of a second. But Rose Euclid only shook her head. "Mr. Seven Sachs, then?" Edward Henry suggested. "I should have been delighted," said Mr. Sachs, with the most perfect gracious tranquillity. "But I cannot find another £2250 to-morrow." "I shall just speak to that Mr. Bryany!" said Rose Euclid, in the accents of homicide.
Bryany went on offering to Edward Henry, in a suitably lowered voice, his views on the great questions of investment and speculation, and Edward Henry made cautious replies. "And even when there is a good thing going at home," Mr. Bryany said, in a wounded tone, "what Englishman'd look at it?" "I would," said Edward Henry with a blandness that was only skin-deep.
And Edward Henry accordingly sat down at the front, with Mr. Bryany by his side, and the other two sat behind. But Edward Henry was not quite comfortable. He faintly resented that speech of Brindley's.
Only Sachs turned Bryany out. I like Sachs. But he won't open his mouth.... 'Capitalist'! Well, they spoilt my appetite, and I hate champagne!... The poet hates money.... No, he 'hates the thought of money. And she's changing her mind the whole blessed time! A month ago she'd have gone over to Pilgrim, and the poet too, like a house-a-fire!...Photographed indeed!
And whereas on a night in the previous week Edward Henry had been entertained by Mr. Bryany in a private parlour at the Turk's Head, Hanbridge, on this night he was in a sort repaying the welcome to Mr. Bryany's master in a private parlour at Wilkins's, London. The sole difference in favour of Mr. Bryany was that while Mr.
Bryany, with his private sitting-room and his investments in Seattle and Calgary, was at his wits' end for a bag of English sovereigns, and had trusted to some chance encounter to save him from a calamity. And his contempt for Mr. Bryany was that of a man to whom his bankers are positively servile. "Here!" Mr. Bryany almost shouted. "Don't light your cigarette with my option!" "I beg pardon!"
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