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Updated: June 8, 2025
They found the body where they had hidden it the night before, and in the shelter of a little grove of larches Grimshaw stripped and then reclothed himself in the pedlar's coarse and soiled under-linen, the worn corduroy trousers, the flannel shirt, short coat, and old black velvet hat. Waram was astounded by the beauty and strength of Grimshaw's body.
No doubt he was eccentric; he possessed a quaint humour which was not unusual in the early Evangelical school; but he never allowed himself to be so far carried away by this spirit as to bring ridicule upon the cause which he had at heart. If it were the object of these sketches to make people laugh, Grimshaw's life would furnish us with a fruitful subject of amusement.
If it is slow in coming, it is because all these things have a bearing on the mysterious, the extraordinary things that happened You probably know about the last phase of Grimshaw's career who doesn't? There is something fascinating about the escapades of a famous man, but when he happens also to be a great poet, we cannot forget his very human sins in them he is akin to us.
The days on which these visits fell were red-letter days to James Dutton. It was a proud moment when he found himself one afternoon sitting, at Schoolmaster Grimshaw's invitation, on the platform in the recitation- room of the Temple Grammar School sitting on the very platform with the green baize-covered table to which he had many a time marched up sideways to take a feruling.
And help she did, protest notwithstanding, so that Jeff, returning from his work in the middle of the day, was surprised to find her flushed and animated in the kitchen, clad in one of Granny Grimshaw's aprons, rolling out pastry with the ready deftness of a practised pastry-cook.
No one but the American Negro understood. The proprietor shouted: "Hi, there, Pilleux no gibberish!" The woman, her eyes on Grimshaw's face, said warningly: "Ssh! He speaks English. He is clever, this poet! Pay attention." And the Negro, startled, jerked his drunken body straight and listened. I don't know what Grimshaw said.
There was very little hard study done in the Temple Grammar School the week preceding the Fourth of July. For my part, my heart and brain were so full of fire-crackers, Roman candles, rockets, pin-wheels, squibs, and gunpowder in various seductive forms, that I wonder I didn't explode under Mr. Grimshaw's very nose.
I remember that a number of men who worked in Grimshaw's saw-mill were passing as he spoke. "Yes, sir," I answered, much elated by the prospect of earning money. I left with a feeling of keen disappointment that I was to see so little of my distinguished friend and a thought of the imperious errands of men which put the broad reaches of the earth between friend and friend.
Then he directed and helped, while two field men started the machine on its forward run. "Look out for telegraph poles, and watch your fuel tank," was Grimshaw's final injunction. Dave knew the Baby Racer just as an engineer understands his locomotive. Daylight or dirk, once aloft the young aviator did not doubt his own powers.
Leaving the two conspirators to improve and perfect their plot, we must return to the breakfast parlor at Luckenough. The family were assembled around the table. Dr. Grimshaw's dark, sombre and lowering looks, enough to have spread a gloom over any circle, effectually banished cheerfulness from the board.
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