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Updated: June 18, 2025
As usual, the lowest bid for a certain kind of blanket had been accepted, and the Secretary was determined to see whether the articles furnished actually corresponded with the requirements of the contract. It chanced that he had as his appointment clerk Mr. J. J. S. Hassler, a former manufacturer of woolen goods. Mr.
On one occasion the Hassler encountered one of those sudden and startling flaws of wind common to the Strait. The breeze, which had been strong all day, increased with sudden fury just as the vessel was passing through a rather narrow channel, which gave the wind the additional force of compression.
On the walls were a few impressionist paintings and some gallant French engravings of the eighteenth century: for Hassler pretended to some knowledge of all the arts, and Manet and Watteau were joined together in his taste in accordance with the prescription of his coterie.
Hassler bowed slightly, with a certain haughty and bored distinction, coldly held out his hand politely, and accompanied him to the door without a word of suggestion that he should stay or come again. Christophe found himself in the street once more, absolutely crushed. He walked at random; he did not know where he was going.
The recall gun from the Hassler brought this strange scene to a close, and the party hastened down to the beach, closely followed by their guests, who still clamorously demanded tobacco. Meanwhile the women had brought the boat close to that of the Hassler at the landing.
Christophe, too sane to understand the sudden change, felt that he had lost. But he could not resign himself to losing after seeming to be so near victory. He made desperate efforts to excite Hassler's attention once more. He took up his music book and tried to explain the reason, for the irregularities which Hassler had remarked. Hassler lay back on the sofa and preserved a gloomy silence.
It is not their fault that we are not crushed out of existence. It will not be our fault if that does not happen to them. That is why the toast I propose is that there are people whose health ... we will not drink!" Everybody applauded and laughed at this original toast. Hassler had laughed with the others and his good-humored expression had returned. But Jean-Christophe was put off by it.
Although several barometers were thus constantly observed, no other use of these was made but to determine their comparisons with each other, except one of the barometers of Mr. Hassler, Superintendent of the Coast Survey.
One of them had taken upon himself to attack the most gifted of living composers, the most advanced representative of the new school, Hassler, the writer of programme symphonies, extravagant in truth, but full of genius.
Hassler laughed, and wiped the boy's nose himself, a little self-consciously, though he was quite jolly. He put him down, then took him by the hand and led him to a table, where he filled his pockets with cake, and left him, saying: "Good-bye! Remember your promise." Jean-Christophe swam in happiness. The rest of the world had ceased to exist for him.
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