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Updated: May 19, 2025
On his way to ask news of the group of fishermen at the Quay-head he hurried and almost without observing him past Nicky-Nan; who likewise had hobbled forth to discover the meaning of the uproar, and, having discovered it, had retired to seat himself on the bollard outside the "Three Pilchards" and nurse his leg.
"There's no hurry," stammered Nicky-Nan hastily and in confusion. "Let's have the drink, an' maybe I can fish out something smaller. . . . You keep your parlour very dark," he added, repocketing both coins. "I reckon now," observed Mr Latter thoughtfully as he measured out the two tots of brandy, "that 'taty-patch o' your'n has been a perfect gold-mine this season.
" Rich as Squire Tresawna an' holy Solomon rolled into one," corroborated 'Bert, nodding vigorously. "Pinch it 'tween your fingers, mother, if you won't believe." But to her children's consternation Mrs Penhaligon, after a swift glance at the gold, turned about on Nicky-Nan as he backed shamefacedly to the doorway, and opened on him the vials of unintelligible fury.
That's calkilated to make a man think. . . . But I must say," said Lippity-Libby, eyeing the sky aloft, "the glass is goin' up stiddy, an' that's always a comfort." As the old man took his departure, Nicky-Nan broke the seal of his letter, opened it, and read To Nicholas Nanjivell, R.N.R., Polpier. Troy, August 3rd, 1914.
"I thought I was igsplaining to you," he went on as one who reasons patiently with an infant, "that a man has to think of something above an' beyond self in these days." "I never found time to think out the rights an' wrongs o' warfare, for my part," said Nicky-Nan. "Ah, I daresay not." Policeman Rat-it-all blew out his chest. "It's a deep subject," he added, wagging his head solemnly.
"I find the light spade handier to carry," explained Nicky-Nan in some haste. "But you haven't answered my question." "Well, if you must know, I'm kissin' goodnight to 'Bert here. They've started him upon coast-watchin', and he's given this beat till ten-thirty, from the watch-house half-way to the Cove. I shouldn' wonder if he broke his neck."
"I'd say," answered Nicky-Nan slowly, contemplating the boy who wore a slouch hat, a brown shirt with a loosely tied neckerchief, dark-blue cut-shorts and stockings that exhibited some three inches of bare knee "I'd say, if he came on me sudden, that he was Buffalo Bill or else Baden Powell, or else the pair rolled into one." "You wouldn't be far wrong either. He's a Boy Scout, that's what he is.
At Troy and at St Martin's they will tell you that every Polpier man carries about his home-address on his person, and will rudely indicate where. Mrs Penhaligon put it one day in more delicate proverbial form. While Nicky-Nan who, as we have said, had a fondness for children stood and eyed the weather with approval, Mrs Penhaligon came bustling out, with her bonnet on.
It ran into double figures in pounds sterling. "Business as usual!" repeated Mr Pamphlett to himself complacently, as he pursued his way up the hill. During his interview with Mr Pamphlett, Nicky-Nan had been in a fever to get back to his parlour. It had no lock to the door, and goodness knew what the Penhaligon children might not be up to in these holiday times.
Still had Nicky-Nan known it Mr Pamphlett, like many another bank manager, had been caught and thrown in a heap by the sudden swoop of War. Over the telephone wires he had been in agitated converse all day with his superiors, who had at length managed to explain to him the working of the financial Moratorium.
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