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Clodd; "don't let me influence you. I only want the truth." "You see," explained the person at the desk, "everybody calls me Tommy, because that used to be my name. But now it's Jane." "I see," said Mr. Clodd. "And which am I to call you?" The person at the desk pondered. "Well, if this scheme you and Mr.
Clodd, remarking upon this fact, adds: "Thus, then, is explained the tawny color of the larger animals that inhabit the desert; the stripes upon the tiger, which parallel with the vertical stems of bamboo, conceal him as he stealthily nears his prey; the brilliant green of tropical birds; the leaf-like form and colors of certain insects; the dried, twig-like form of many caterpillars; the bark-like appearance of tree-frogs; the harmony of the ptarmigan's summer plumage with the lichen-colored stones upon which it sits; the dusky color of creatures that haunt the night; the bluish transparency of animals which live on the surface of the sea; the gravel-like color of flat-fish that live at the bottom; and the gorgeous tints of those that swim among the coral reefs."
Postwhistle; "and nobody can blame you if you 'ave. 'Eaven bless you, is what I say." "We shall get on together," prophesied Mr. Clodd. "I'm fond of animals." Postwhistle found difficulty for a time in comprehending; and that is why one sometimes meets to-day worshippers of Kail Yard literature wandering disconsolately about St.
Postwhistle was desirous for the arrival of a gentleman not usually awaited with impatience by the ladies of Rolls Court to wit, one William Clodd, rent-collector, whose day for St. Dunstan-in-the-West was Tuesday. "At last," said Mrs. Postwhistle, though without hope that Mr. Clodd, who had just appeared at the other end of the court, could possibly hear her.
"If there is one thing, so far as I have noticed," said William Clodd, "that the public are inclined to pay less for than another, it is for being educated." "What are we to do?" asked Peter Hope. "What you want," answered William Clodd, "is an office-boy." "How will our having an office-boy increase our circulation?" demanded Peter Hope.
Clodd. Mr. Gladman laughed, but without much lightening the atmosphere. "Upon my word, Clodd, you amuse me you quite amuse me," repeated Mr. Gladman. "You always had a sense of humour," commented Mr. Clodd. "You villain! You double-dyed villain!" screamed Mr. Gladman, suddenly changing his tone. "You think the law is going to allow you to swindle honest men!
No one can say of Clodd that he did not deserve whatever profit his unlicensed lunatic asylum may have brought him. A kindly man was William Clodd when indulgence in sentiment did not interfere with business. "There's no harm in him," asserted Mr. Clodd, talking the matter over with one Mr. Peter Hope, journalist, of Gough Square.
They talked a little longer, till there came a whistle, and Clodd put his ear to the tube. "I have to see her on business," said Clodd, rising; "you may as well come with me. They are still in the old place, Gough Square." Tommy was out, but Peter was expecting her every minute. Peter did not know Dick, but would not admit it. Forgetfulness was a sign of age, and Peter still felt young.
"I can quite believe it," commented Peter Hope. "It was a shop where people came and practised, paying sixpence an hour, and he had got to like it said it made a cheerful background to his thoughts. Wonderful what you can get accustomed to." "What's the good of it?" demanded Peter Hope. "What's the good of it!" retorted William Clodd indignantly. "Every girl ought to know how to play the piano.
I've done with it." Clodd took up his hat. "I'm sorry I'm very sorry," sighed Peter. "But I couldn't conscientiously " Clodd put down his hat again with a bang. "Oh! confound that conscience of yours! Don't it ever think of your creditors? What's the use of my working out my lungs for you, when all you do is to hamper me at every step?"
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