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Updated: May 4, 2025
Jope cheerfully: "like a cook's galley, small and cosy and no time to chat in it. Now then, my slumb'ring ogre!" The driver, who from the moment of the mishap had remained comatose, shook his reins feebly and we jogged forward. But this was his last effort. At the next sharp bend in the road he lurched suddenly, swayed for a moment, and toppled to earth with a thud. The horse came to a halt. Mr.
"I wouldn't say that, quite," observed Mr. Jope pensively. "To begin with, he'd had the small-pox." "De gustibus nil nisi bonum," Mr. Whitmore observed soothingly. "What's that?" "Latin." "Wonderful! Would ye mind saying it again?" The words were obligingly repeated. "Wonderful! And what might be the meaning of it, making so bold?" "It means 'Speak well of the dead."
Adams surrendered, and tottered to the door. They passed out, and through the vaulted kitchen, and along the slate-flagged corridor very slowly here, for a draught fluttered the candle flame, and Mr. Jope had to shield it with a shaking palm. Once with a hoarse "What's that?" Mr.
For the last two minutes heads had been popping out at these windows heads with dyed ringlets and heads with artificially coloured noses and their owners demanding to know if Ben Jope meant to keep them there all day, if the corpse was expected to lead off the ball, and so on; and I, cowering by the coach step, had shrunk from their gaze as I flinched now under Mr. Whitmore's. "What's this?
Unprepared as she was for a second visitor in the form of a small chimney-sweep, she betrayed no astonishment; but after receiving her brother's kiss on either cheek bent a composed gaze on me, and so eyed me for perhaps half a minute. Her features were not uncomely. "O.P.," she addressed her husband. "Ask him, Who's his friend?" "Who's your friend?" asked the husband, turning to Mr. Jope.
That fool of a Wilkins has made a mistake in the cask. . . ." "An' Eli? oh, Lord!" gasped Mr. Jope. "They'll have returned Eli to the Victuallin' Yard before this," said Bill gloomily. "I overheard Wilkins sayin' as he was to pass over all stores an' accounts at nine-thirty this mornin'." "An', once there, who knows where he's got mixed? . . . He'll go the round o' the Fleet, maybe.
No divine could have been more correctly attired, and yet there was a latent horsiness about his cut. I set him down for a sporting parson from the country, and wondered why he wore clothes so much superior to those of the Plymouth parsons known to me by sight. "Just listen to that now!" exclaimed Mr. Jope.
After a short silence he arose, opened one of the windows, removed a quid from his cheek, laid it carefully on the outer sill, closed the window, and resumed his seat. Mr. Jope had pulled out a cake of tobacco, and was slicing it into small pieces with his clasp-knife. "Goin' to smoke?" asked Mr. Adams, with another glance at the Diana.
Coyne had taken his departure the pair sat a long while in silence, their solitary candle flickering an the table between them. "You spoke out very bold," said Mr. Adams at length. "Did I?" said Mr. Jope. "I didn't feel it." "What cuts me to the quick is the thought o' them adders outside." "Ye dolt! There ain't no real adders outside. They're what the chap invented to frighten the women." "Sure?
"Mightn't liquor accumylate in the same way?" asked Mr. Adams, with sudden and lively interest. "No, you nincom'," began Mr. Jope when a loud knocking on the outer door interrupted him. "Hallo!" he sank his voice. "Callers already!" He went to the door, unlocked and opened it. A heavy-shouldered, bull-necked man stood outside in the dusk. "Good evenin'." "Evenin'," said the stranger.
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