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Jukesbury had dined somewhat injudiciously. You are not to stretch the phrase; he was merely prepared to accord the universe his approval, to pat Destiny upon the head, and his thoughts ran clear enough, but with Aprilian counter-changes of the jovial and the lachrymose. "Ah, Miss Hugonin," he greeted her, with a genial smile, "I am indeed fortunate.
Still, he was a good man; and she endeavoured to persuade herself that she considered his goodness to atone for his flabbiness and his fleshiness and his interminable verbosity which she didn't. Mr. Jukesbury sighed. "A naughty world," said he, with pathos "a very naughty world, which really does not deserve the honour of including you in its census reports.
Margaret thought this very nice of him; it was a delicate tribute to her that he ate nothing; and the fact that Hugh Van Orden and Petheridge Jukesbury as she believed acted in precisely the same way for precisely the same reason, merely demonstrated, of course, their overwhelming conceit and presumption.
I erected a tomb to her at considerable personal expense, but I don't begrudge it no, I don't begrudge it, Miss Hugonin. She was very hard to live with. But she was an angel, and angels are rare. Miss Hugonin," said Petheridge Jukesbury, with emphasis, "you are an angel." "Oh, dear, dear!" said Margaret, to herself; "I do wish I'd gone to bed directly after dinner!" Above them the Eagle brooded.
Kennaston's fault, she assured a pricking conscience, as she went out on the terrace before Selwoode. He had bothered her dreadfully. There she found Petheridge Jukesbury smoking placidly in the effulgence of the moonlight; and the rotund, pasty countenance he turned toward her was ludicrously like the moon's counterfeit in muddy water. I am sorry to admit it, but Mr.
Margaret was filled with a vague alarm. But she was brave, was Margaret. "No," said she, very decidedly, "I shan't give you another cent. So you climb right over that wall and go straight back where you belong." The methods of Mr. Flinks, I regret to say, were somewhat more crude than those of Mesdames Haggage and Saumarez and Messieurs Kennaston and Jukesbury. "Cheese it!" said Mr.
The Colonel had seen dead men and dying men before this; and as he bent over the boy he loved he gave a convulsive sob, and afterward buried his face in his hands. Then of all unlikely persons in the world it was Petheridge Jukesbury who rose to meet the occasion. His suavity and blandness forgotten in the presence of death, he mounted with confident alacrity to heights of greatness.
Thanks," he added, "to Mr. er Jukesbury here whose prompt action was, under Heaven, undoubtedly the means of staving off meningitis and probably indeed, more than probably the means of saving Mr. Woods's life. It was splendid, sir, splendid! No doctor why, God bless my soul!" For Miss Hugonin had thrown her arms about Petheridge Jukesbury's neck and had kissed him vigorously.
But, "The rats always desert a sinking ship," said Miss Hugonin, with the air of one delivering a particularly original sentiment. "They make me awfully tired, and I don't care for them in the least. But Petheridge Jukesbury is a dear, and I may be poor now, but I did try to do good with the money when I had it, and anyhow, Billy is going to get well."
Jukesbury, kissing his finger-tips, with gallantry; "let us say a worm who has burst its cocoon and become a butterfly a butterfly with a charming face and a most charitable disposition and considerable property!" Margaret thanked him with a smile, and began to think wistfully of the Ladies' League accounts.
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