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Updated: June 23, 2025
Nevertheless, as he sat looking out of the omnibus window, on his journey home to Putney, he was not altogether comfortable in his mind. Mrs Butterwell was a very prudent woman. But Crosbie was very comfortable in his mind on that afternoon. He had hardly dared to hope for success, but he had been successful.
"Of course it's disagreeable," said Crosbie; "but it's better to put up with it. Fellows do tell such horrid lies if a man isn't seen for a day or two. I believe it's best to put a good face upon it." "That's more than you can do just at present, eh, Crosbie?" And then Mr Butterwell tittered. "But how on earth did it happen? The paper says that you pretty well killed the fellow who did it."
I don't know why I should trouble you with all this Butterwell. Oh, about the money; yes; that's just how I stand. I owed Gazebee something over a thousand pounds, which is arranged as I have told you. Then there were debts, due by my wife, at least some of them were, I suppose, and that horrid, ghastly funeral, and debts, I don't doubt, due by the cursed old countess.
Then Butterwell shook him very cordially by the hand, having offered him no such special testimony of approval when under the belief that he was going to marry a Bell, a Tait, or a Ball. All the same, Mr Butterwell began to think that there was something wrong.
By-the-by, will you come down to Putney to-morrow? Mrs Butterwell will be delighted to see the new secretary. There's nobody in town now, so you can have no ground for refusing." But Mr Crosbie did find some ground for refusing. It would have been impossible for him to have sat and smiled at Mrs Butterwell's table in his present frame of mind.
"Butterwell," said Crosbie, "I'm eternally obliged to you. It's hardly too much to say that you've saved me from ruin." "Of course I was joking about interest," said Butterwell. "Five per cent. is the proper thing. You'd better let me have a little acknowledgement. I'll give you the first half to-morrow."
The first which came to hand, though official, was small, and marked private, and it was addressed in the handwriting of his old friend, Butterwell, the outgoing secretary. "I shall see you in the morning, nearly as soon as you get this," said the semi-official note; "but I must be the first to congratulate you on the acquisition of my old shoes.
When he shall once have had his wings so smeared with mud as to give him even the appearance of adversity, no other cock will ever respect him again. Mr Optimist and Mr Butterwell knew very well that their secretary had been cudgelled, and they could not submit themselves to a secretary who had been so treated.
Butterwell would shrug his shoulders, and laugh gently, and say that, upon his word, he didn't think the world so bad as Fiasco made it out to be. Nor did he; for Butterwell believed in many things. He believed in his Putney villa on this earth, and he believed also that he might achieve some sort of Putney villa in the world beyond without undergoing present martyrdom.
But what do you mean to do?" "Nothing." "Nothing! Won't that look queer? I think I should have him before the magistrates." "You see, Butterwell, I am bound to spare that girl's name. I know I have behaved badly." "Well, yes; I fear you have."
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