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They went first to Pettitt's, the little hair-dresser, where Tom was marvellously taken with the two Penates, and could hardly be dragged into the innermost recesses, where in the middle of a sheet, with a peignoir on his shoulders, he submitted to the clipping of his raven-black locks, as Mr. Pettitt called them, on the condition of his sister looking on.
But it does seem as if the water at the well at Pettitt's houses had done much of the harm. Terry was drinking it all that hot day, and to-day we hear that Lady Tyrrell and two of the servants are ill, besides poor little Joe Reynolds." "It is very terrible," said Herbert. "Lady Tyrrell, did you say?" "Yes. She was there constantly, like Raymond's wife.
"I think it is due to one's self." "Ah! but then I don't care what is due to myself. I saw a friend of yours, Cecil." "Who?" "Mrs. Duncombe," said Rosamond. "I went to Pettitt's the little perfumer, you know, that Julius did so much for at the fire; and there she was, leaning on the counter, haranguing him confidentially upon setting an example with sanatory measures."
His method of technical teaching. Simplicity of his philosophy of art. Incidents of his life. Rapid progress under Pettitt's direction. On August 8, 1853, the writer of this book, who had promised and vowed never to visit London again, went there to see the Royal Academy Exhibition, and of course found it closed.
Whitlock he met Herbert Bowater returning from the cemetery in search of him, with tidings of some cases where he was especially needed. As they walked on together Mrs. Duncombe overtook them with a basket on her arm. She held out her hand with an imploring gesture. "Mr. Charnock, it can't be true, can it? they only say so out of ignorance that it was Pettitt's well, I mean?"
Briggs, the ex-mayor, was at the bedside of his son, and there were hardly enough present to make decisions. The focus of the disease was in Pettitt's well.
The charade which Rosamond had expected was the inoffensive, if commonplace, Inspector, and the window she beheld, when the curtain drew up, was, she supposed, the bar of an inn. But no; on the board were two heads, ideals of male and female beauty, one with a waxed moustache, the other with a huge chignon, vividly recalling Mr. Pettitt's Penates.
"Very low and oppressed," he said. "M'Vie does not give us reason to expect a change just yet. Do they tell you the same? Worth attends you, I think?" "He seems to think it must run on for at least three weeks," said Julius. "You've been to the meeting, eh? Was it that well of Pettitt's? Really that meddling wife of Duncombe's ought to be prosecuted.
When he had a little time to spare, Mead would come and work on Pettitt's great picture of the Golden Image. He once drew my portrait, and I drew his. My guardian was not quite pleased that I should know an actor, but Mead attracted me by the superior tone of his conversation.
Poynsett and Miles. Rosamond seized the opportunity of bringing Julius in to pay his farewell visit, and presently Cecil said, "Julius, I should be much obliged if you would tell me the real facts about this illness." "Do," said Rosamond. "Her half knowledge is most wearing." He gently told her what science had pronounced. "Then it was Pettitt's well?" she said.
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