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Updated: May 8, 2025
Jobling. "Pay for it?" inquired his wife, with a trace of anxiety. "Yes," said Mr. Jobling again. Mrs. Jobling's face relaxed. "I shouldn't like to lose it at the last moment," she said. "You 'ave been good to me lately, Bill; buying all these nice things. There's not many women have got such a thoughtful husband as what I have." "Have you gone dotty? or what?" enquired her bewildered husband.
Jobling. "Pay for it?" inquired his wife, with a trace of anxiety. "Yes," said Mr. Jobling again. Mrs. Jobling's face relaxed. "I shouldn't like to lose it at the last moment," she said. "You 'ave been good to me lately, Bill; buying all these nice things. There's not many women have got such a thoughtful husband as what I have." "Have you gone dotty? or what?" inquired her bewildered husband.
He came straight up to Scarlett. "Is your name William Scarlett?" he said, "and do you live at Mrs. Jobling's, No. 10 Quay Street?" "Yes," said Will, in surprise. "I'm a sailor, and my name's Will Scarlet. I have a bedroom at Mrs. Jobling's." "Yes, just so," replied the man. "Oh, come now, young woman I've a word to say to this party by himself.
Jobling's only consolation for the next few days. Neighboring matrons, exchanging sympathy for information, wished, strangely enough, that Mr. Jobling was their husband. Failing that they offered Mrs. Jobling her choice of at least a hundred plans for bringing him to his senses. Mr.
Jobling's earnest request soon after their marriage. By dint of considerable self-control, aided by an occasional glance from her husband, she managed to preserve her calm until he returned from accompaning the visitor to her tram. Then her pent-up feelings found vent. Quietly scornful at first, she soon waxed hysterical over his age and figure.
"Oh, Will, do write," whispered Bet; and so urged, Will did dip his pen in the ink, and scrawled his name in a somewhat uncertain calligraphy on the back of each note. Mrs. Jobling's address was further added. He then received his change, and he and Bet hurried out of the shop. "Sold!" whispered Higgins to himself; and an ugly grin appeared upon his face.
But fashion is Mr. Weevle's, as it was Tony Jobling's, weakness. To borrow yesterday's paper from the Sol's Arms of an evening and read about the brilliant and distinguished meteors that are shooting across the fashionable sky in every direction is unspeakable consolation to him.
"It'll never look much till we get a new hearthrug," she said, shaking her head. "They've got one at Jackson's that would be just the thing; and they've got a couple of tall pink vases that would brighten up the fireplace wonderful. They're going for next to nothing, too." Mr. Jobling's reply took the form of uncouth and disagreeable growlings.
Jobling's only consolation for the next few days. Neighboring matrons, exchanging sympathy for information, wished, strangely enough, that Mr. Jobling was their husband. Failing that they offered Mrs. Jobling her choice of at least a hundred plans for bringing him to his senses. Mr.
He was delivered over to Jobling upon this representation; and though Jobling could not find out where his liver was wrong, wrong Mr Nadgett said it was; observing that it was his own liver, and he hoped he ought to know. Accordingly, he became Mr Jobling's patient; and detailing his symptoms in his slow and secret way, was in and out of that gentleman's room a dozen times a day.
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