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"Aye, sure; but wunna ye come in, Adam? Miss Mary's i' th' house, and Mester Burge 'ull be back anon; he'd be glad t' ha' ye to supper wi'm, I'll be's warrand." "No, Dolly, thank you; I'm off home. Good evening." Adam hastened with long strides, Gyp close to his heels, out of the workyard, and along the highroad leading away from the village and down to the valley.
Joyce Burge stands fast and says nothing; but he screws up his cheeks into a smile at each introduction, and makes his eyes shine in a very winning manner. He is a well-fed man turned fifty, with broad forehead, and grey hair which, his neck being short, falls almost to his collar. FRANKLYN. Mr Haslam, our rector.
BURGE. I don't know whether you have noticed, Lubin, that I am present. Savvy takes advantage of this diversion to slip away to the settee, where she is stealthily joined by Haslam, who sits down on her left. How are you? I am trying to enlist Mr Barnabas's valuable support for my party. LUBIN. Your party, eh? The newspaper party? BURGE. The Liberal Party.
What do you mean? In any case I think a little perfectly idle discussion would do Burge good. After all, we might as well hear about the elixir of life as read novels, or whatever Burge does when he is not playing golf on Walton Heath. What is your elixir, Dr Barnabas? Lemons? Sour milk? Or what is the latest? Good evening. I took sour milk twice a day until Metchnikoff died.
That would be let me see five times three hundred and sixty-five is um twenty-five thirty-two eighteen eighteen hundred and twenty-five ounces a year: just two ounces over the hundredweight. BURGE. Two million tons a year, in round numbers, of stuff that everyone would clamor for: that men would trample down women and children in the streets to get at. You couldnt produce it.
Mester Burge is in the right on't to want him to go partners and marry his daughter, if it's true what they say; the woman as marries him 'ull have a good take, be't Lady day or Michaelmas," a remark which Mrs. Poyser always followed up with her cordial assent.
BURGE. I am, if I mistake not, Joyce Burge, pretty well known throughout Europe, and indeed throughout the world, as the man who unworthily perhaps, but not quite unsuccessfully held the helm when the ship of State weathered the mightiest hurricane that has ever burst with earth-shaking violence on the land of our fathers. FRANKLYN. I know that. I know who you are.
Brother Burge was closing his door softly, and his face when he turned it upon the jeweller was terrible in its wrath. His small eyes snapped with fury, and his huge hands opened and shut convulsively. "What, agin!" he said in a low growl. "After all I told you!" Mr. Higgs backed slowly as he advanced. "No noise," said Mr. Burge in a dreadful whisper.
But as a practical politician hm! Eh, Burge? CONRAD. We are not practical politicians. We are out to get something done. Practical politicians are people who have mastered the art of using parliament to prevent anything being done. FRANKLYN. When we get matured statesmen and citizens Oh! Are the citizens to live three hundred years as well as the statesmen? CONRAD. Of course.
He determined to go to the village, in the first place, attend to his business for an hour, and give notice to Burge of his being obliged to go on a journey, which he must beg him not to mention to any one; for he wished to avoid going to the Hall Farm near breakfast-time, when the children and servants would be in the house-place, and there must be exclamations in their hearing about his having returned without Hetty.
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