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"Do tell me about Maggie; I hear she is very ill. What is the matter with her? What did you say the young lady won't dress herself?" "My dear Reggie, I will not stay here and listen to scandal. Not a word of it is true, Mr. Escott." "What is not true, Mrs. Horlock?" "What he told you about her walking about the house with her hair down."
Having uttered this threat with deep and significant emphasis Mr. Escott, still muttering, turned and entered the front gate of his boarding house. It was not exactly his boarding house; his wife ran it. But Mr. Escott lived there and voted from there.
I thought she had promised you since she gave up Meason that she would for the future know no one that lived there." "I was thinking for the moment of Willy, not of Sally; she has not been so troublesome lately. But no sooner are we out of one trouble than we are in another. It is, of course, very regrettable that young Escott should have stabbed himself, and in my garden too.
Colonel Savage smiled grimly and suggested, “Perhaps he wants to give the impostor an innings.” “Dr Escott, I think, can tell you,” replied the baronet. “Gentlemen,” said the doctor, “the man whom you have met as the Baron von Blitzenberg is none other than a most cunning and determined lunatic.
“I haf been rude, Bonker; I haf insulted you! You forgif me?” “With all my heart, if you think it’s needed, but——” “And you vill not go now? You vill stay here?” “What, two Barons at once? My dear chap, we’d merely confuse the butler.” “Ach, you vill joke, you hombog! But you most stay!” “And what about my friend, Dr Escott? No, Baron, it would only mean breakfast and the next train to Clankwood.”
As they entered the room Mr Beveridge whispered, “Will you meet a poor lunatic again?” And the Lady Alicia pressed his arm. On the morning after the dance Dr Congleton summoned Dr Escott to his room. “Escott,” he began, “we must keep a little sharper eye on Mr Beveridge.” “Indeed, sir?” said Escott; “he seems to me harmless enough.” “Nevertheless, he must be watched.
At home he grunted "Eh?" across the newspaper to his commentatory wife, and was delighted by Tinka's new red tam o'shanter, and announced, "No class to that corrugated iron garage. Have to build me a nice frame one." Verona and Kenneth Escott appeared really to be engaged. In his newspaper Escott had conducted a pure-food crusade against commission-houses.
In the Temple John had made many acquaintances and friends, and about him were found the contributors to the Pilgrim, a weekly newspaper devoted to young men, their doings, their amusements, their literature, and their art. The editor and proprietor of this organ of amusement was Escott.
Such intention lay dormant in the background of his mind, but he had not seen many Irish Nationalists before he was effervescing with rhetoric suitable for the need of the election, and he was sometimes puzzled to determine whether he was false or true. Driving through Dublin from the steamer, he met Frank Escott. They shouted simultaneously to their carmen to stop. "Home to London.
After luncheon on this same day he gave Escott twelve breaks and a beating at billiards, and then having borrowed and approved of one of his cigars, he strolled into the park.
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