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Updated: May 19, 2025
Which said, he stooped suddenly above his plate and began to eat, that is to say he swallowed one or two mouthfuls with a nervous haste that was very like voracity, checked himself, and glancing guiltily from unconscious Barnabas to equally unconscious Peterby, sighed and thereafter ate his food as deliberately as might be expected of one who had lately dined upon duck and green peas.
But now, as Peterby withdrew, and Barnabas turned to greet him, gravely polite he hesitated, frowned, and seemed a little at a loss. "Egad!" said he ruefully, "it seems a deuce of a time since we saw each other, Beverley." "A fortnight!" said Barnabas. "And it's been a busy fortnight for both of us, from what I hear." "Yes, Viscount." "Especially for you." "Yes, Viscount."
And so, with a prodigious flourish of the hat, Mr. Smivvle bowed, smiled, and swaggered off. Then, as he turned to follow Peterby into the inn, Barnabas must needs pause to glance towards the spot where lay the Viscount's torn glove.
But, just now, John Peterby was utterly serious as he glanced across to where, bowed down across the writing-table, his head pillowed upon his arms, his whole attitude one of weary, hopeless dejection, sat Barnabas Beverley, Esquire.
"We are all going to Hawkhurst, at once, John," continued Barnabas, "so pack up whatever you think necessary a couple of valises will do, and tell Martin I'll have the phaeton, it's roomier; and I'll drive the bays. And hurry things, will you, John?" So John Peterby bowed, solemn and sedate as ever, and went upon his errand.
Here Peterby took himself by the chin again, and looked at Barnabas with thoughtful eyes and gloomy brow. "Sir," said he, "the World of Fashion is a trivial world where all must appear trivial; it is a place where all must act a part, and where those are most regarded who are most affected; it is a world of shams and insincerity, and very jealously guarded." "So I have heard," nodded Barnabas.
"That settles it, Barry," said Peterby with a grim nod, "you must take them in at least a quarter of an inch." "Take 'em in?" exclaimed Barnabas, aghast, "no, I'll be shot if you do, not a fraction! I can scarcely manage 'em as it is." Peterby shook his head in grave doubt, but at this juncture they were interrupted by a discreet knock, and the door opening, a Gentleman-in-Powder appeared.
Peterby Paul saw them start on over the now badly rutted road. Helen drove the smaller car with Ruth sitting beside her. Henri Marchand took the wheel of the touring car, and the run to Boston was resumed. "But we must not over-run Tom," said Ruth to her chum. "No knowing what by-path he might have tried in search of the elusive gasoline."
So, for a moment their hands met, and then John Peterby turned sharp about and strode away down the lane, his step grown light and his head held high.
Then, as he lay watching it, sleepy-eyed, it opened again, slowly and noiselessly, and John Peterby entered softly, took a step towards the bed, but, seeing Barnabas was awake, stopped, and so stood there very still. Suddenly Barnabas smiled, and held out a hand to him. "Why, John," said he, "my faithful John is it you?"
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