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Updated: May 6, 2025
David Chapple. Fern Torr was absolute perfection in her eyes; and had the household at Oakworthy been of superior excellence, she would have found fault with everything in which it differed from the Manor House. Her heart was full; and to Miss Marian, her young lady, a Fern Torrite, a Devonian like herself, she must needs pour it out, where she had no other friend.
Chapple in his turn resented this contemptuous dismissal of tissue as matter of no agricultural significance. The old men went wrangling home; Miller Lyddon and Billy retired to their beds; the moon departed behind the distant moors; and all the darkened valley slept in snow and starlight.
Conscience had but a poor time when it tried to bully Chapple. He had it weak in the first round. But there was one more powerful than Conscience Mr. Seymour. He had marked the constant lateness of our hero, and disapproved of it.
Chapple, and one Abraham Chown, the police inspector of Chagford, a thin, black-bearded man, oppressed with the cares of his office. "They be arranging the programme of festive delights," explained Phoebe. "My heart sinks in me every way I turn now. All the world seems thinking about what's to come; an' I knaw it never will." "'T is a wonnerful straange thing to fall out.
The conversation was getting quite intellectual. "You will write out " "Sir, please, sir " interrupted Chapple in an "I-represent-the defendant-m'lud" tone of voice. "Well?" "It's awfully hard to hear the bell from where I sleep, sir." Owing to the increased numbers of the house this term Chapple had been removed from his dormitory proper to a small room some distance away. "Nonsense.
Go into Seymour's at eight sharp any morning and look down the table, and you will see the face of G. M. Chapple obscured every now and then, perhaps, by a coffee cup or a slice of bread and marmalade. He has not been late for three weeks. The spare room is now occupied by Postlethwaite, of the Upper Fourth, whose place in Milton's dormitory has been taken by Chapple.
Lyddon snuffled, steadied himself, wiped his face with a cotton handkerchief, and felt feebly for a pair of spectacles in his pocket. Mr. Chapple, meantime, had made bold to scan the paper with round eyes, and Billy, now seeing the miller in some part recovered, essayed to comfort him. "Theer, theer, maister, doan't let this black come-along-o't quench 'e quite. That's better!
Dexter, towards the end of the address. "You will do me a hundred lines." "Oo-o-o, sir-r," said Chapple. But he felt at the time that it was not much of a repartee. After dinner there was the usual interview with Mr. Seymour. "You were late again this morning," he said. "Yes, sir," said Chapple. "Two hundred lines." "Yes, sir." The thing was becoming monotonous. Chapple pulled himself together.
Dr Chapple has taken it for granted that a criminal's rate of increase is at least equal to the average if not indeed, for certain reasons, considerably greater, and that he in all cases transmits an hereditary taint to his offspring.
So that the least that may be said for the criminal descendants of drunken ancestors is that a better way exists and should, by all moral laws, be first adopted. Further difficulties, of a physical, rather than moral nature, also exist. And here again Dr Chapple has assumed another fundamental position.
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