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Updated: June 23, 2025
You have set the ball rolling, and I can assure you that the next Member whom Medchester sends here, whether it be you or any one else, will come fully pledged to a certain measure of Protection." Mr. Henslow nodded. "Very well," he said, gloomily. "Where are you staying? "At the Metropole. Mr. Bullsom is there also." "I will call," Mr. Henslow promised, "at three o'clock, if that is convenient."
I want to hear all that Henslow has to say. We must not neglect a single chance whilst that terrible cry is ever in our ears." They parted at the tram terminus, Mr. Bullsom taking a car for his suburban paradise. As usual, he was the centre of a little group of acquaintances. "And how goes the election, Bullsom?" some one asked him. Mr. Bullsom was in no hurry to answer the question.
"You mustn't let the girls bully you, you know." Mr. Bullsom sat bolt upright. "You are quite right, Brooks," he declared. "I will not. But we took on the servants here as well, and they're a bit strange to me. After all, though, I'm the boss. I'll let 'em know it, too." A footman threw open the door and took Brooks' dressing-case.
His behaviour was so singular that Selina commented upon it. "One would think, papa, that you and Mr. Brooks had been quarrelling," she remarked, tartly. "You seem quite odd to-night." Mr. Bullsom raised his glass. He had lately improved his cellar. "Drink your health, Brooks," he said, looking towards him. "We had an interesting chat, but we didn't get quarrelling, did we?"
"We mustn't take too much to ourselves, dear," she said. "Remember that Mr. Brooks walked all the way up from the Secular Hall with Mary." Mr. Bullsom threw down his paper with a little impatient exclamation. "Come, come!" he said. "I want to have a few words with Brooks myself, if you girls'll give me a chance. Heard anything from Henslow lately, eh?" Brooks leaned forward.
"My silly old directors, as you call 'em," he answered, "may not be exactly up to your idea of refinement, but I wouldn't call 'em names if I were you. They've made me one of the richest men in Medchester." "A lot we get out of it," Louise grunted, discontentedly. "You get as much as you deserve," Mr. Bullsom retorted. "Besides, you're so plaguing impatient.
Bullsom said, doubling the paper up and bringing it down viciously upon his knee, "Henslow will never sit again for Medchester. There was none too mulch push about him last session, but he smoothed us all over somehow. He'll not do it again. I'm losing faith in the man, Brooks." Brooks was genuinely disturbed. His own suspicions had been gathering strength during the last few weeks.
A plainly-dressed girl with dark eyes and unusually pale cheeks returned his greeting quietly, and followed them into the dining-room. Mrs. Bullsom spread herself over her seat with a little sigh of relief. Brooks gazed in silent wonder at the gilt-framed oleographs which hung thick upon the walls, and Mr. Bullsom stood up to carve a joint of beef. "Plain fare, Mr.
"You came in after us, I think." She shook her head. "No, I have a class on Wednesday evening." "A class!" he repeated, doubtfully. Mr. Bullsom, who thought he had been out of the conversation long enough, interposed. "Mary calls herself a bit of a philanthropist, you see, Mr. Brooks," he explained. "Goes down into Medchester and teaches factory girls to play the piano on Wednesday evenings.
Selina, who had sandy hair, a slight figure, and was considered by her family the essence of refinement, was struggling with a volume of Cowper, who had been recommended to her by a librarian with a sense of humour, as a poet unlikely to bring a blush into her virginal cheeks. Mr. Bullsom looked in upon his domestic circle with pardonable pride, and with a little flourish introduced his guest.
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