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Updated: May 5, 2025
That's the funny part of it. I've enjoyed it more than you ever will, Lasher. At least, I'm never lonely. I like my food, too, and one's head's always full of jolly ideas, if only they seemed jolly to other people." "Upon my word, Pidgen," said Mr. Lasher. At this moment Mrs. Lasher opened the door. "Well, well. Fancy! Sitting over the fire talking! Oh, you men! Tea! tea! Tea, Will!
Pidgen, "that's more than any one else has ever done." "I'd rather be with you," said the boy very confidently, "than Mr. Lasher. I'd rather write stories than preach sermons that no one wants to listen to." Then more timidly he continued: "I know what you meant about the man who comes when you're a baby. I remember him quite well, but I never can say anything because they'd say I was silly.
He pulled at his pipe, looked very grave, and then said: "My dear Pidgen, you must remember our lives have followed such different courses. I can only give you my point of view. I don't myself care greatly for romances fairy tales and so on.
Hugh dropped his voice. "I understood all that you meant. I'd like to read your books if I may. We haven't any in the house." "Bless my soul! Here's some one wants to read my books!" Mr. Pidgen was undoubtedly pleased. "I'll send you some. I'll send you them all!" Hugh gasped with pleasure. "I'll read them all, however many there are!" he said excitedly. "Every word." "Well," said Mr.
The first thing about him that struck Hugh was his amazing difference from Mr. Lasher. It seemed strange that any two people so different could be in the same house. Mr. Lasher never gleamed or shone, he would not break with however violent an action you dropped him, he would certainly never wear white spats. Hugh liked Mr. Pidgen at once.
"Ah! Genius! If you or I were geniuses, Pidgen, that would be another affair. But we're not; we're plain, common-place humdrum human beings with souls to be saved and work to do work to do!" There was a little pause after that, and Hugh, looking at Mr. Pidgen, saw the hurt look in his eyes deepen. "Come now, Lasher," he said at last.
'Ah, poor Pidgen might have done something if he hadn't let his fancy run away with him. I was with him at Cambridge. He promised well, but I'm afraid one must admit that he's failed he would never stick to anything." Now this was so exactly what Mr. Lasher had, on several occasions, said about his friend that he was really for the moment at a loss.
It seems to me that for a grown-up man.... However, I don't pretend to be a literary fellow; I have other work, other duties, picturesque, but nevertheless necessary." "Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Pidgen, who, considering that he had invited his host's honest opinion, should not have become irritated because he had obtained it; "that's just it. You people all think only you know what is necessary.
After that visit he was never lonely again. Mr. Pidgen came on a visit to the vicarage three days before Christmas. Hugh Seymour saw him first from the garden. Mr. Pidgen was standing at the window of Mr. Hugh had never before seen any one in the least like Mr. Pidgen. He was short and round, and his head was covered with tight little curls.
They walked a little, and then Hugh said: "I was there yesterday, in the study, when you talked all that about your books, and everything." The words came from him in little breathless gusts because he was excited. Mr. Pidgen stopped and looked upon him. "Thunder and sunshine! You don't say so! What under heaven were you doing?" "I was reading, and you came in and then I was interested." "Well?"
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