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Netlips, with a tight smile, buttoning on his overcoat "A heathen is a proscription of the law, and cannot enjoy the rights of the commons." Dan stared. "There ain't no proscription of the law in stayin' away from church," he said "Nobody's bound to go. Lords nor commons can't compel us." Mr.
"I s'pose," said Mr. Buggins, meditatively in reference to this outburst "you means, Mr. Netlips, that Miss Vancourt is a kind of heathen?" Mr. Netlips nodded severely. "'Cos she don't go to church?" suggested Dan Ridley, who as usual was one of the tap-room talkers. Again Mr. Netlips nodded. "Well," said Dan, "she came to church once an' brought her friends " "Late, very late," interposed Mr.
Farmer Thorpe looked impressed, but slightly puzzled. "You sez fine, Mr. Netlips, you sez fine," he observed respectfully. "Not that I altogether understands ye, but that's onny my want of book-larnin' and not spellin' through the dictionary as I oughter when I was a youngster. Howsomever I makes bold to guess wot you're drivin' at and I dessay you may be right.
"I suppose it's quite a business down here, goin' to church, eh?" he queried "Sort of excitement like only bit of fun you've got helps to keep you all alive! That's the country way, but Lord bless you! in town we're not taking any!" Bainton looked up, and Mr. Netlips loosened his collar and lifted his head, as though preparing himself for another flow of 'cohesion' eloquence.
Netlips, the grocer, he confided a few orders for the household supplies during his absence, which that worthy and sapient personage accepted with due attention. "It is a demonstrable dispensation, Mr. Walden, sir," he said, "that you should be preparing yourself for locomotion at the moment when the house-party at the Manor is also severed indistinguishably.
Netlips, solemnly "The tardiness of her entrance was marked by the strongest decorum. The strongest, the most open decorum! Deplorable decorum!" "What's decorum?" enquired Mr. Buggins, anxiously. Mr. Netlips waved one fat hand expressively. "Decorum," he said "is well! decorum." Buggins scratched his head dubiously. Dan Ridley looked perplexed.
Netlips grandiosely, "when the woman who is merely the elevation of the man, exhibits in public a conviction to which her status is unfitted. If the lady who now possesses the Manor were under the submission of a husband, he would naturally assume the control which is govemmentally retaliative and so compel her to include the religious considerations of the minority in her communicative system!"
Netlips calls Cohesion, though I don't myself purfess to understand Government language, it bein' too deep for me." Mr. Netlips smiled condescendingly, and nodded as one who should say 'You do well, my poor fellow, to be humble in my presence! and buried his nose in his tankard of ale.
Them's my sentiments, mates! and you can read 'em how you like, Mr. Netlips. God's in heaven we know, but there's onny churches on earth, an' we 'as to make sure whether there's men or devils inside of 'em 'fore we goes kneelin' and grubbin' in front of 'uman idols Good-night t'ye!"
Netlips would have styled him, was in a somewhat petulant mood, being tired of the constant scolding of the servants that went on around him, and being likewise moved to a sort of loathing repulsion at the contemplation of Miss Tabitha's waxy-clean face lined with wrinkles, and bordered by sternly smooth grey hair.
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