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Updated: June 16, 2025
'Sackcloth! Mr Colclough whispered. I could not estimate the length of the symphony; but my impression was one of extreme length. Halfway through it the players both took their coats off. There was no other surcease. 'What dost think of it, Bob? asked Mr Colclough in the weird silence that reigned after they had finished. They were standing up and putting on their coats and wiping their faces.
Mr Colclough, throwing the score of the Sinfonia Domestica into the tonneau of the immense car, put on a pair of gloves and began to circulate round the machine, tapping here, screwing there, as chauffeurs will. Then he bent down in front to start the engine. 'By the way, Ol, Mr Brindley shouted from the doorway, 'it seems Simon Fuge is dead.
Shove along. 'I want to play the top part because it's easiest, Mr Colclough grumbled. 'How often have I told you the top part is never easiest? Who do you suppose is going to keep this symphony together you or me? 'Sorry I spoke. They arranged themselves on the bench, and Mr Brindley turned up the lower corners of every alternate leaf of the music. 'Now, said he. 'Ready?
A grand piano, covered with music, stood in a corner, and behind was a cabinet full of bound music. Mr Brindley, seated on one corner of the bench in front of the piano, cut the leaves of the Sinfonia Domestica. 'It's the devil! he observed. 'Aye, lad! agreed Mr Colclough, standing over him. 'It's difficult. 'Come on, said Mr. Brindley, when he had finished cutting.
You think he might keep the other sister? Well, he might. But suppose his wife had half-a-dozen sisters, should he keep them all! I can tell you we're just like the rest of the world, we find no difficulty whatever in spending all the money we make. I dare say Colclough would be ready enough to keep his sister-in-law. I've never asked him.
Certainly there was a resemblance between the two, in the general formation of the face, and the shape of the shoulders; but it is astonishing that two sisters can differ as these did, with a profound and vital difference. In Mrs Colclough there was no coquetterie, no trace of that more-than-half-suspicious challenge to a man that one feels always in the type to which her sister belonged.
Mr Colclough had succeeded in starting his engine, and the air was rent with gun-shots. He jumped lightly into the driver's seat. 'Well, see you later, he cried, and was off, persuading the enormous beast under him to describe a semicircle in the narrow street backing, forcing forward, and backing again, to the accompaniment of the continuous fusillade.
'So glad to meet you, she said, beaming on me with all her husband's pleasure. 'Come and sit between Mrs Brindley and me, near the window, and keep us in order. Don't you find it very close? There are at least a hundred cats in the garden. One instantly perceived that ceremonial stiffness could not exist in the same atmosphere with Mrs Oliver Colclough.
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.
It's HER. Either you like her or you don't like her. Now Colclough thinks she's all right. In fact, he admires her. 'There's one thing, I said, 'she jolly nearly cried tonight. 'Purely mechanical! said Mr Brindley with cruel curtness.
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