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Updated: May 6, 2025
Whereupon George, impatient and genuinely annoyed, had retorted upon him quite curtly, and had remembered what many persons had said about Mr. Enwright's wrong-headed jealous sensitiveness animadversions which he, as a worshipper of Mr. Enwright, had been accustomed to rebut. Further, Lucas himself had not erred by the extravagance of his enthusiasm for George's earth-shaking success.
The hour was Mr. Enwright's customary hour of arrival, but he had no fair excuse for passing through that room instead of proceeding along the corridor direct to the principals' room. His aspect, as he gazed at George's hair and at the revealed sateen back of George's waistcoat, was unusual. Mr.
His life was now saved, and he was a convalescent, and passed several hours daily in giving to friends tragi-farcical accounts of existence in a nursing home. Mr. Enwright's career was one unending romance. "I was just looking at that town hall affair," said John Orgreave. "What town hall?" his partner snapped. "The town hall," answered the imperturbable John. "George here has got an idea."
At three o'clock they were still not ready, for buttons had to be altered on the breeches; another hour was needed. George went to call at Lucas & Enwright's. That office seemed to function as usual, for Everard Lucas alone had left it for the profession of arms.
And upon this Mr. Haim slouched off quite calmly. Often he had assisted at the advent of such vital news in the office news obtained in advance by the principals through secret channels and often the news had been bad. But the firm's calamities seemed never to affect the smoothness of Mr. Haim's earthly passage. The door into the principals' room opened, and Mr. Enwright's head showed.
He wanted to walk out. But nobody else appeared to be disturbed. George, who had never before attended an inauguration, was simply not aware that the toast 'architect and contractor' was the classic British toast, invariably drunk on such occasions, and never criticised. He thought: "What a country!" and remembered hundreds of Mr. Enwright's remarks.... Phrases of the orator wandered into his ear.
Haim at Lucas & Enwright's. When the factotum came back into the pupils' room, George stood up straight and smoothed his trousers and gazed admiringly at his elegant bright socks. "Let me see," said George in a very friendly manner. "You live somewhere in Chelsea, don't you?" "Yes," answered Mr. Haim. "Whereabouts, if it isn't a rude question?" "Well," said Mr.
The thought swept through George's brain like a fierce flare, lighting it up vividly to its darkest corners, and incidentally producing upon his skin phenomena similar to those produced by uncanny sounds on the staircase. He had caught admiration and benevolence in Mr. Enwright's voice. He was intensely happy, encouraged, and proud. He began to talk eagerly; he babbled, entrusting himself to Mr.
Enwright also was going to the Orgreave luncheon. He was in what the office called 'one of his moods. The other occupants of the compartment had a stiff and self-conscious air: some apparently were proud of being abroad on Sunday morning; some apparently were ashamed. Mr. Enwright's demeanour was as free and natural as that of a child.
Dressed richly as she was, and assisted by the rejuvenating magic of jewels, she produced, in the shadow of the screen, a notable effect of youthful vivacity, which only the insult of close inspection could destroy. With sinuous gestures she waved Mr. Enwright's metaphorical palm before the approaching George. Her smile flattered him; her frail, dinging hand flattered him.
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