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Updated: May 15, 2025
Linyard did not often read the papers; and there was therefore a special significance in her approaching her husband one evening after dinner with a copy of the New York Investigator in her hand. Her expression lent solemnity to the act: Mrs. Linyard had a limited but distinctive set of expressions, and she now looked as she did when the President of the University came to dine.
Good care and nursing had done wonders for the man, and when Richard looked at him he could hardly realize that this was the miserable wretch he had visited in the garret at Frying Pan Court. "Here's Mr. Dare come to see you," said Doc Linyard, by way of an introduction. Tom Clover grasped Richard's hand tightly. "Betty and Doc have told me all about you," he said in a somewhat feeble voice.
"It's a pity that such letters should cause you so much trouble," went on the old sailor; "but that's the way of the world." "Have you had any other letters?" asked Richard, for he had not seen Doc Linyard for several days, and thought it possible that something might have turned up in the meantime. "Nary a word.
It used to be Barnum's Museum years ago. Way down at the head of Frankfort Street is the World, and nearly all the rest of the great dailies are strung along between the two. Here we are." As Doc Linyard finished he led the way into the outer office of a newspaper about midway down the Row.
Linyard had cared about entomology, or had taken sides in the war over the transmission of acquired characteristics, he might have had a less impersonal notion of marriage; but he was unconscious of any deficiency in their relation, and if consulted would probably have declared that he didn't want any woman bothering with his beetles.
"God grant it may be the beginning of a more prosperous one in the city." At the close of the week came visitors Frank, Doc Linyard, and a strange gentleman, who was introduced as Mr. Styles, the old sailor's lawyer friend. "Mr. Styles says your claim is all right," said Doc Linyard, when introductions all round were over.
"Not much may be, but if there's trouble for him I want to know it. He saved my life down in the smash-up, and I intend to stand by him," returned the old tar decidedly. "They think I'm trying to steal this valise," explained Richard. "What!" roared Doc Linyard. "Confound you for a pair of landlubbers! Don't you know an honest figurehead when you see it? Look at him!
The Professor, on presenting his card, had imagined that it would command prompt access to the publisher's sanctuary; but the young man who read his name was not moved to immediate action. It was clear that Professor Linyard of Hillbridge University was not a specific figure to the purveyors of popular literature.
"Oh, I didn't do as much as all that," he exclaimed. "I only helped him out of the car, just as I would have helped any one." "No sech thing, he did lots." And sitting down near the counter, Doc Linyard gave a graphic account of all that had transpired. "I thank you very much," said Mrs. Linyard, when her husband had finished.
After he had eaten the time hung heavy upon Richard's hands. He put on his hat and sauntered down the street, and finally concluded to pay a visit to his friends at the Watch Below. He had not seen Doc Linyard since that visit to Frying Pan Court, and he was curious to know how Tom Clover was, and if the property in England had been heard from further.
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