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Why, my good sir, there's practically no such thing as class distinction here. Both my grandfathers were working potters. Colclough's father was a joiner who finished up as a builder. If Colclough makes money and chooses to go to Paris and get the best motor-car he can, why in Hades shouldn't his wife ride in it?
But I was back in Bursley before eleven o'clock, I'm sure. I then contrived to discover the Gazette in an unsearched pocket, and I gave it to Mrs Colclough to read. Mrs Brindley looked over her shoulder. There was no slightest movement of depreciation on Mrs Colclough's part. She amiably smiled as she perused the GAZETTE'S version of Fuge's version of the lake episode.
Never buys a book, you know. 'He seems to play the piano very well. 'Well, as to that, he doesn't what you may call PLAY, but he's the best sight-reader in this district, bar me. I never met his equal. When you come across any one who can read a thing like the Domestic Symphony right off and never miss his place, you might send me a telegram. Colclough's got a Steinway. Wish I had.
The infant cried, expressing his own and his mother's grief at losing a guest. It seems as if people are born hospitable in the Five Towns. We had not walked more than a hundred yards up the road when a motor-car thundered down upon us from the opposite direction. It was Mr Colclough's, and Mr Colclough was driving it. Mr Brindley stopped his friend with the authoritative gesture of a policeman.
'Did you get the Sinfonia Domestica, Ol? Mr Brindley inquired. 'Didn't I say as I should get it, Bob? 'You SAID you would. 'Well, I've got it. 'In Manchester? 'Of course. Mr Brindley's face shone with desire and Mr Oliver Colclough's face shone with triumph. 'Where is it? 'In the hall. 'My hall? 'Aye! 'We'll play it, Ol. 'No, really, Bob! I can't stop now. I promised the wife
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