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Updated: May 27, 2025
"Talking of plots," he said, hitching his chair a little nearer the table, "that puts me in mind. Did I ever tell you about that dog we had when we lived in Norwood?" "It's not that one about the bull-dog, is it?" queried Jephson anxiously. "Well, it was a bull-dog," admitted MacShaughnassy, "but I don't think I've ever told it you before."
To an empty-headed woman I can imagine the soldier type proving vapid and uninteresting; to the woman of mind he represents her ideal of man a creature strong, handsome, well-dressed, and not too clever." "That gives us two votes for the army," remarked MacShaughnassy, as Brown tore his sister's letter in two, and threw the pieces into the waste-paper basket. "What says the common-sensed girl?"
Having regard to the phenomena we are compelled to admit, I think it illogical to disbelieve anything we are unable to disprove." "For my part," remarked MacShaughnassy, "I can believe in the ability of our spirit friends to give the quaint entertainments credited to them much easier than I can in their desire to do so."
Suppressing sin is much the same sort of task that suppressing a volcano would be plugging one vent merely opens another. Evil will last our time." "I cannot take your optimistic view of the case," answered MacShaughnassy. "It seems to me that crime at all events, interesting crime is being slowly driven out of our existence. Pirates and highwaymen have been practically abolished.
They are the ladder by which we climb into heaven." There was silence for a few moments, while MacShaughnassy puffed away vigorously, and almost savagely, at his pipe, and then Brown said: "I can tell you rather a quaint incident, bearing very aptly on the subject.
But at this there were present only "Jephson, MacShaughnassy, and Self"; and of Brown's name I find henceforth no further trace. On Christmas eve we three met again, and my notes inform me that MacShaughnassy brewed some whiskey-punch, according to a recipe of his own, a record suggestive of a sad Christmas for all three of us.
"Bad," responded MacShaughnassy emphatically. "What do you say, Jephson?" "Well," replied Jephson, taking the pipe from between his lips, and speaking in that soothingly melancholy tone of voice that he never varies, whether telling a joke about a wedding or an anecdote relating to a funeral, "not altogether bad. Bad, with good instincts, the good instincts well under control."
The truth of this story I cannot vouch for. Myself, I can believe it. Brown and MacShaughnassy made no attempt to do so, which seemed unfriendly. Jephson excused himself on the plea of a headache. I admit there are points in it presenting difficulties to the average intellect.
Each thing, from the farthest fixed star to the smallest insect crawling on the earth, fighting for itself according to its strength; and brooding over all, the Eternal, working for Himself: that is the universe." "Have some whisky," said MacShaughnassy; "and don't be so complicatedly metaphysical. You make my head ache."
Brown was opposed at first to my going down to this houseboat at all. He thought that none of us should leave town while the novel was still on hand. MacShaughnassy, on the contrary, was of opinion that we should work better on a houseboat.
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