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Updated: May 27, 2025
He was annoyed by Klinker's presence and irritated by his conversation; he wanted nothing in the world so much as to be let alone. But honest Buck Klinker remained unresponsive to his mood. All the way to Mrs. Paynter's he told his new pupil grisly stories of men he had known who had thought that they could work all day and all night, and never take any exercise.
You're all tarred with the same pitch, s' I. 'Everything you touch turns corrupt and rotten. Look at Henry G. Surface, s' I. 'The finest fellow God ever made, till the palsied hand of Republicanism fell upon him, and now cankering and rotting in jail " "But Henry G. Surface wasn't rotting in jail in 1875," said William Klinker, and boldly winked at the little Doctor.
A man can't stand it, I tell you, playing both ends against the middle that away. You got to pull up, or it's out the door feet first for you." Queed said uneasily: "One important fact escapes you, Mr. Klinker. I shall never let matters progress so far. When I feel my health giving way " "Needn't finish heard it all before. They think they're going to stop in time, but they never do.
Yet an hour a day is not pried out of a sacred schedule of work without pains and anguish, and it was with a grim face that the Doc turned back to William Klinker. "Very well, Mr. Klinker, I will agree to make the experiment, tentatively an hour a day for thirty days only." "Right for you, Doc! You'll never be sorry take it from me." Klinker was a brisk, efficient young man.
Bylash, who had been thinking of doing that very thing, said rather shortly that the ladies present quite satisfied him. "And who do you think brought her around and right up to the door?" continued William Klinker, taking no notice of their blandishments. "Hon. West Charles Gardenia West " A scream from Miss Miller applauded the witty hit. "Oh, it ain't mine," said Mr. Klinker modestly.
To say all this, Cousin Robert had to yell above the roar of traffic on the stone pavements; but by-and-by, as town changed into country, we left the stones behind and came into the strangest road I have ever seen. It ran beside a little river the Schie which looked like a canal, and it was made of neat, purplish-brown bricks, laid edge to edge. "Klinker, we call it," said Cousin Robert.
Klinker had offered him this material, Klinker had advised him to write an editorial about it, Klinker had pointed out for him, in almost a superior way, just where the trouble lay. Nor was this all. Of late everybody seemed to be giving him advice. Only the other week it was Fifi; and that same day, the young lady Charles Weyland.
Whatever the matter was, it clearly concerned Buck Klinker. Equally clearly, it did not concern him. People had a right to scream if they felt that way, without having a horde of boarders hurry out and call them to book. However, his scientist's fondness for getting at the underlying causes or as some call it, curiosity presently obtained control of him, and he went downstairs.
Never had a social problem come so close home to him as this: not a thing of text-book theories, but a burning issue working out around the corner on people that Klinker knew. And Klinker's question had been an acute one, challenging the immediate value of social science itself. His thought veered, swept out of its channel by an unwonted wave of bitterness.
It was Queed's privilege to tell Klinker that he must keep away from the Scriptorium; but in that case Klinker might fairly retort that he would no longer give the Doc free physical culture. Did he care to bring that issue to the touch? No, he did not. In fact, he must admit that he had a distinct need of Buck, a distinct dependence upon him, for awhile yet at any rate.
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