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Updated: May 28, 2025
"The pleasure of lending money to Corky." Courtney's face fell. He had intended to ask his brothers for a small loan, and was ready to argue that they, being strong, healthy beasts, would survive as long on fifteen hundred dollars as he could possibly hope to exist on three thousand. "I'm not asking for alms, confound you." "By Jove!" exclaimed Ripley, with a gleam of joy in his eyes.
Bleecker Van Winkle, an extremely handsome woman of thirty-three. "Good for you, Mother!" shouted Rip, with enthusiasm and every one laughed, Corky the loudest of all. Beppy rose half way out of her seat and peered down the table in the direction of her sister Mary. "Stop holding hands, you silly things!" she cried, shaking her finger at Bleecker Van Winkle and his wife.
To complete the character-study of Mr. Worple, he was a man of extremely uncertain temper, and his general tendency was to think that Corky was a poor chump and that whatever step he took in any direction on his own account, was just another proof of his innate idiocy. I should imagine Jeeves feels very much the same about me.
A fellow has to be ready for that sort of thing. "Oh, ah!" I said, and started to back out. Corky looked over his shoulder. "Halloa, Bertie. Don't go. We're just finishing for the day. That will be all this afternoon," he said to the nurse, who got up with the baby and decanted it into a perambulator which was standing in the fairway. "At the same hour to-morrow, Mr. Corcoran?" "Yes, please."
I've got through the mere outward appearance, and have put the child's soul on canvas." "But could a child of that age have a soul like that? I don't see how he could have managed it in the time. What do you think, Jeeves?" "I doubt it, sir." "It it sorts of leers at you, doesn't it?" "You've noticed that, too?" said Corky. "I don't see how one could help noticing."
He was fifty-one, and it seemed as if he might go to par. It was not this, however, that distressed poor old Corky, for he was not bigoted and had no objection to the man going on living. What Corky kicked at was the way the above Worple used to harry him. Corky's uncle, you see, didn't want him to be an artist. He didn't think he had any talent in that direction.
Corky was starting to say something when the door opened, and the uncle came in. For about three seconds all was joy, jollity, and goodwill. The old boy shook hands with me, slapped Corky on the back, said that he didn't think he had ever seen such a fine day, and whacked his leg with his stick. Jeeves had projected himself into the background, and he didn't notice him.
And for perhaps a minute there was one of the scaliest silences I've ever run up against. "Is this a practical joke?" he said at last, in a way that set about sixteen draughts cutting through the room at once. I thought it was up to me to rally round old Corky. "You want to stand a bit farther away from it," I said. "You're perfectly right!" he snorted. "I do!
Moreover, he ascertained that she frequented half the baths in Europe in the effort to prolong a fast declining sense of humour on the principle, no doubt, that life is a joke and death is not. She had a family of grown children in the States, but even that did not alarm Corky. He felt sure there would be enough to go around.
"I asked you not to call me 'Corky, didn't I?" He glared at his big brother. "How can you stand there grinning like an imbecile with all this hanging over you?" Jefferson's smile expanded. "If dad can make men of all three of his sons, he won't have to die to go to heaven. He'll BE there."
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