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Updated: June 28, 2025
She hesitated a moment. "'Tis a hard thing for a woman to say. . . . But maybe 'tis turnin' out you are?" she suggested brightly. "Turnin' out?" "That would simplify things, o' course. And everybody knowin' that Pamphlett's served you with a notice to quit " But thereupon Nicky-Nan exploded. "Served me with a notice, did he? Pamphlett! . . . Well, yes he did, if you want to know.
He received Mr Pamphlett's top-hat and walking-stick, helped him off with his black frock-coat, helped him on with the light alpaca jacket in which during the hot weather Mr Pamphlett combined banking with comfort. "Business as usual!" said Mr Pamphlett, slipping into the alpaca. "That's the motto. Old England's sound, Hendy!" "Yes, sir: leastways, I hope so." "Sound as a bell.
He opened his eyes and groaned. "The money where's the money?" he muttered. His eyes opened wider. Then of a sudden his brain cleared. He sat up with a wild cry, almost a scream; and, thrusting Rat-it-all backwards with all the force of one hand, with the other groped on the floor for his walking-staff which lay, however, a couple of yards from him and close by Mr Pamphlett's feet. "My money!
"Here, run downstairs and fetch up some more water, if you want to be useful." 'Beida stared at the ewer. She transferred her gaze to Rat-it-all and his patient: then, after a shiver, to Mr Pamphlett. She had courage. Her eyes grew hard and fierce. "Is that why Mr Pamphlett's pokin' his nose into a cupboard?"
"And I suppose Best and the Vicar, as Managers yes, and Mrs Pamphlett's another just put their heads together on the spot and gave leave to use the schoolroom, without consulting the Head Teacher at all. I don't suppose it ever crossed their minds. . . . No: on the whole that poor little man is right. Nobody in England ever does take any truck in schoolmasters. They're just left out of account.
Here we be, with orders to clear out before Michaelmas: and how be I to do that, with my man away? An' sixteen steps up to the door, with a turn in 'em! Do 'ee mind what a Dover-to-pay there was gettin' out the poor soul's coffin? An' then look at the size of my dresser. . . ." "I can't think why you turn out, for my part. Pamphlett's served me with notice to quit by to-morra.
She said she'd seen the doctor calling at your house almost every day with a little black bag, and made sure there must have been an operation. She mistook Mr Pamphlett for the doctor, if you ever heard tell of such simple-mindedness." "And the awkward part of it was," Miss Oliver continued in a musing voice, searching her memory "the awkward part was, poor Mrs Pamphlett's being present."
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