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Updated: May 8, 2025
Clodd and Bonner's clerk, at Clodd's expense. The residue worked out at eleven hundred and sixty-nine pounds and a few shillings. Postwhistle, of Rolls Court, of ten, presented by the promoter; Mr. Postwhistle's first floor front, of one, paid for by poem published in the first number: "The Song of the Pen." Choosing a title for the paper cost much thought.
"Very odd," mused Peter; "asked the old idiot for it myself only last week. He refused it point-blank." Clodd snorted reproof. "You know I don't like your doing that sort of thing. It isn't proper for a young girl " "It's all right," assured him Tommy; "he's bald!" "That makes no difference," was Clodd's opinion. "Yes it does," was Tommy's. "I like them bald."
You know the proverb: 'Good mothers make bad daughters. Clodd's right; you've spoilt me, dad. Do you remember, dad, when I first came to you, seven years ago, a ragged little brat out of the streets, that didn't know itself whether 'twas a boy or a girl? Do you know what I thought to myself the moment I set eyes on you?
Then, on the other hand, Clodd, don't you think that hearing the effect they are producing may sometimes discourage the beginner?" Clodd's opinion was that such discouragement was a thing to be battled with. Tommy, who had seated herself, commenced a scale in contrary motion. "Well, I'm going across to the printer's now," explained Clodd, taking up his hat.
"Clodd's a good sort a good sort," said Peter Hope, who, having in his time lived much alone, had fallen into the habit of speaking his thoughts aloud; "but he's not the man to waste his time. I wonder." With the winter Clodd's Lunatic fell ill. Clodd bustled round to Chancery Lane. "To tell you the truth," confessed Mr. Gladman, "we never thought he would live so long as he has."
E. B. Tyler's Primitive Culture and Anthropology; Lord Avebury's Prehistoric Times, The Origin of Civilization, and The Primitive Condition of Man; W. Boyd Dawkin's Cave-Hunting and Early Man in Britain; and Edward Clodd's Childhood of the World and Story of Primitive Man are deservedly popular.
No one could say no one ever did say that Clodd, under the circumstances, did not do his best. Perhaps, after all, nothing could have helped. The little old gentleman, at Clodd's suggestion, played at being a dormouse and lay very still. If he grew restless, thereby bringing on his cough, Clodd, as a terrible black cat, was watching to pounce upon him.
"The more we are out in the open air, and the more we have to do and think about, the better for us eh?" The mild-looking little old gentleman hanging on Clodd's arm smiled and nodded. "Between ourselves," added Mr. Clodd, sinking his voice, "we are not half as foolish as folks think we are." Peter Hope went his way down the Strand.
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