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"Ay, ay!" said Roger Buggins, who as 'mine host' stood in his shirt sleeves at the entrance of his bar, surveying his customers and mentally counting up their reckonings "Cohesion would never do cohesion government would send the country to pieces. You're right, Mr. Netlips, you're right! Props must be kep' up!"
That's Netlips all over, it's in the shape of his 'ed, he was born like it. I don't like his style myself, but he'd make a grand cab-nit minister!" "Ay, so he would!" acquiesced Buggins, as he drew the little red curtains across the windows of the tap-room and extinguished the hanging lamp "Easy rest ye, Dan!" "Same to you, Mr.
Frost threw up her hands "You're a fine sort of man for a grocer, with your reversibles and your gastritis! What in the world are you talking about?" Mr. Netlips, busy with the unpacking of a special Stilton cheese which he was about to send 'up to the Manor, waved her away with one hand. "I am talking above your head altogther, Mrs. Frost," he said, placidly "I know it!
Harmless cards!" rejoined Bennett "Only you can chuck away a few thousands or so on 'em if you like!" Mr. Netlips here pushed aside his emptied ale-glass and raised his fat head unctuously out of his stiff shirt-collar. "Are we to understand," he began ponderously, "that Miss Vancourt is addicted to this fashion of procrastinating the Lord's Day?" Bennett straightened his dapper figure suddenly.
'Leeze majestas' in all its dark incomprehensibility had fallen like a weight upon the tavern company, and effectually checked any further conversation. It was one of those successful efforts of Mr. Netlips, which, by its ponderous vagueness and inscrutability, produced an overwhelming effect. There was nothing to be said after it.
I'm afraid it will make a difference to your trade, Mr. Netlips! How about your Petrol storage?" Mr. Netlips smiled, with a comfortable air of self-conscious wisdom. "It has been absorbed quite absorbed," he said, complacently "The board of announcement was prospective, not penetrative. Orders were consumed in rotation, and his lordship Charlemont was the last applicant on the formula."
I am aware that my consonances do not tympanise on your brain. Good afternoon!" "Petrol Stored Here!" said Bainton, standing squat before the announcement, as he returned from his day's work "Hor-hor-hor! Hor- hor! I say, Mr. Netlips, don't blow us all into the middle of next week. Where does ye store it? Out in the coal-shed? It's awful 'spensive, ain't it?" "It is costly," admitted Mr.
An' it's all we could do to keep from comin' up outside 'ere an' givin' ye a rousin' cheer 'fore goin' to bed, onny Mr. Netlips 'e said it wouldn't be 'commensurate, wotever that is, so we just left it. Howsomever, I made up my mind I'd be the first to wish ye joy, Passon! an' I wish it true!" Silently Walden held out his hand. Bainton grasped it with affectionate respect in his own horny palm.
"You'll be settin' the 'ouse on fire, Mr. Netlips, I'm afraid," said Mrs. Frost, severely, putting her arms akimbo, and sniffing at the board as though she could smell the spirit it proclaimed "You don't know nothink about petrol! An' we ain't goin' to have motor-cars often 'ere, please the Lord's goodness!" Mr. Netlips smiled a superior smile.
Rest to those wider spheres of fashion, the splendours of which, mere country-folk are not expected to have more than the very faintest glimmering conception. Even in that independent corner of opinion, the tap-room of the 'Mother Huff, her name was spoken with almost bated breath, though Mr. Netlips was not by any means loth to spare any flow of oratorical eloquence on the subject.
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