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Updated: June 9, 2025
Phoebe put him on the ground while she busied herself about the coop. The other chicks came out and walked about the dead one again and again, eyeing him curiously. "Poor little chap!" said Phoebe. "'E's never 'ad a mother! 'E was an incubytor chicken, and wherever I took 'im 'e was picked at. There was somethink wrong with 'im; 'e never was a fyvorite!"
Pledge's heart was in the plate-closet at that moment, but his patience was monumental. "I don't know, my lord unless it's because 'e's only just left off being knife-boy they get used to standing at the sink a-washing up, my lord, and William's feet is large, so I dessay he turned 'is toes out in order to get near and not splash."
From one of them came these words of wisdom: 'Lor', 'e's only a gentleman, he don't know nothing! On my second attempt, not seeing well where I was going, I stumbled into an apple-stall; and immediately I, heir to a throne and engaged in a charitable action, found myself regarded as a criminal lunatic by people quite obviously my superiors in all honest ways of earning a living.
I'd ruther 'ave my ole man, down W'itechapel way; 'e can belt yer a fair terror, w'en 'e's drunk, but 'e'll allers tike yer out an' buy yer a kipper arterwards. Thet's on'y decent, fatherly feelin'." "Well, Master don't belt 'er, does 'e?" "No; but 'e don't buy 'er the kipper, neither.
Well, jest as father was speakin' in comes the doctor 'isself, an' father 'e told 'im as 'ow Benny was feelin' the pain in 'is toes. 'In yer toes, Benny? sez the doctor surprised-like. 'Tain't yer toes, Ben. 'Well, I guess it's me as is doin' the feelin', sez Ben quite sharp, 'an' it's in me toes the feelin' is. Then father 'e spoke up. 'E's a terr'ble man fer hargument, is father.
"Sounds like the Guv'nor's voice." "Ah!" said the gardener. "Alf a mo'!" And, drawing in his head, Joe peered through the curtains. The bed was empty and the door open. "Watch it! 'E's loose!" he called to the gardener, and descended the stairs at a run. In fact, Mr. Lavender had come out of his coma at the words, "D'you think we can win this war?"
"You must be glad you didn't say No," suggested Joan. "Yes," she answered, "'E's got on. I always think of that little poem, 'Lord Burleigh," she continued; "whenever I get worrying about myself. Ever read it?" "Yes," answered Joan. "He was a landscape painter, wasn't he?" "That's the one," said Mrs. Phillips.
Smith; "wouldn't ha' done you any good. Besides, I did just wot the cap'n told me." "When's he coming back?" inquired the steward. Mr. Smith shook his head. "Couldn't say," he returned. "He couldn't say 'imself. Between you an' me, I expect 'e's gone up to have a reg'lar fair spree." "Why did you tell me last night he was up-stairs?" inquired the other. "Cap'n's orders," repeated Mr.
"Let us sit down again round the fire. It will take a little time." Glad with eager eyes on him handed the child to Polly and sat down without a moment's hesitance, avid of what was to come. She nudged the thief with friendly elbow and he started up awake. "'E's got somethin' to tell us," she explained. "The curick's come up to 'ear it, too.
And you might try to rescue my saddle from the porter. He's probably got it by now." Three minutes later a figure in a sweater, gray trousers, canvas shoes, Third Trinity blazer and no cap, stood, very inarticulate with breathlessness, at the door of the Senior Dean's rooms, demanding of a scandalized bed-maker to see the official in question. "'E's in his barth, sir!" expostulated the old woman.
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