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Updated: May 8, 2025
As Simpson was brushing me off, Miss Trevor came up the path looking cool and pretty in a summer gown, and her face expressed sympathy. I have never denied that sympathy was a good thing. "Oh, Mr. Crocker," she cried, "I am so glad you are back again! We have missed you dreadfully. And you look tired, poor man, quite worn out. It is a shame you have to go over to that hot place to work."
Crocker meant, he had said to himself after a night at Riley's when Cranch had sounded his horn so loud that the proprietor had threatened to turn the whole party into the street. Mr. Crocker's temperament was too restful to be interested in such performances. As for himself, he was tired of it. Nothing of all this did he keep from his mother.
I had suspected that his trip to Asquith that morning was for a purpose at which Mrs. Cooke had hinted. But she, with a woman's tact, had aimed to accomplish by degrees that which her husband would carry by storm. "You've been at Asquith sometime, Crocker," Mr. Cooke began, "long enough to know the people." "I know some of them," I said guardedly. But the rush was not to be stemmed.
It is an outrage to hurt me so. I haven't said anything." But she was incorrigible, and when she had twisted free she began again: "I took it upon myself to speak a few parables to Mr. Crocker the other day. You know, Marian, that he is one of these level-headed old fogies who think women ought to be kept in a menagerie, behind bars, to be inspected on Saturday afternoons.
There's no need to fly off the handle like that." "I'll tell Buck I couldn't get you," said Mr. Crocker, moving another step. "Here, stop! What's the matter with you?" "Are youse comin' wit me?" "Sure, if you get the conditions. Buck's got to slip me half of whatever he gets out of this." "Dat's right. Buck'll slip youse half of anyt'ing he gets." "All right, then.
Crocker and Emma we now instinctively gave him the precedence were inconsiderate enough to remove themselves without making clear the fate of the no longer missing St. Michael. We still speculated indolently as to the nature of the afterpiece in which we assumed this ex-hero of our comedy might yet appear.
The stunning nature of this information had much the same effect on Mr. Crocker as the announcement of his ruin has upon the Good Old Man in melodrama. He sat clutching the arms of his chair and staring into space, saying nothing. Dismay was written upon his anguished countenance. His collapse sobered Jimmy.
You may look like him, but you aren't him he? him? no, 'he' is right. The soul is what counts. If you've got a good, virtuous, Algernonish soul, it doesn't matter if you're so like Jimmy Crocker that his friends come up and talk to you in restaurants. In fact, it's rather an advantage, really.
Oh, by the way, you had better tell Ogden that you represent a gentleman of the name of Buck Maginnis. It was Buck who got away with him last time, and a firm friendship seems to-have sprung up between them. There's nothing like coming with a good introduction." Mr. Crocker took a final survey of himself in the mirror. "Gee I I'd hate to meet myself on a lonely road!"
"Here's a pretty way of seeing the New Year in," said Clara, laughing. "We are quite enough of us for the purpose," said Crocker, "unless we also are expected to go away." But as he spoke he mixed a tumbler of brandy and water, which he divided among two smaller glasses, handing them to the two ladies present. "I declare," said Mrs. Duffer, "I never do anything of the kind, almost never."
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