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Updated: April 30, 2025
Grindley junior rather admired dark, level brows and finely cut, tremulous lips, especially when combined with a mass of soft, brown hair, and a rich olive complexion that flushed and paled as one looked at it. "Might send that telegram off if you've nothing else to do, and there's no particular reason for keeping it back," suggested Mrs. Postwhistle.
"A bit more wholesome, I should say, from the look of him," thought Mrs. Postwhistle. The question of a post office to meet its growing need had long been under discussion by the neighbourhood. Mrs. Postwhistle was approached upon the subject. Grindley junior, eager for anything that might bring variety into his new, cramped existence, undertook to qualify himself.
Meanwhile, if I were you, I should spread a mattress underneath that perch of his before I went to bed. I should like him handed over to me in reasonable repair." "It will deaden the sound a bit, any'ow," agreed Mrs. Postwhistle. "Success to temperance," drank Mr. Clodd, and rose to go. "I take it you've fixed things up all right for yourself," said Mrs.
"It's only just been handed in," explained Grindley junior, somewhat hurt. "You've been looking at it for the last five minutes by the clock," said Mrs. Postwhistle. Grindley junior sat down to the machine. The name and address of the sender was Helvetia Appleyard, Nevill's Court. Three days passed singularly empty days they appeared to Grindley junior.
Postwhistle was desirous for the arrival of a gentleman not usually awaited with impatience by the ladies of Rolls Court to wit, one William Clodd, rent-collector, whose day for St. Dunstan-in-the-West was Tuesday. "At last," said Mrs. Postwhistle, though without hope that Mr. Clodd, who had just appeared at the other end of the court, could possibly hear her.
"The post office 'as been a great 'elp to me," admitted Mrs. Postwhistle; "and I'm not forgetting that I owe it to you." "Don't mention it," murmured Jack Herring. They brought her presents nothing very expensive, more as tokens of regard: dainty packets of sweets, nosegays of simple flowers, bottles of scent.
Had Johnny's mind been less intent upon his own troubles, he might have been suspicious. As it was, and after all that had happened, nothing now could astonish Johnny. "Thank Heaven," murmured Johnny, as he blew out the light, "this Mrs. Postwhistle appears to be a reliable woman."
"If I had my way, I'd put an end to landlordism, root and branch. Curse of the country." "Just the very thing I wanted to talk to you about," returned the lady "that lodger o' mine." "Ah! don't pay, don't he? You just hand him over to me. I'll soon have it out of him." "It's not that," explained Mrs. Postwhistle.
Postwhistle, of a bulk not to be moved quickly, had, after mature consideration, conquering a natural disinclination to change, decided to seek assistance. Young Grindley, alighting from a four-wheeled cab in Fetter Lane, marched up the court, followed by a weak-kneed wastrel staggering under the weight of a small box. In the doorway of the little shop, young Grindley paused and raised his hat.
The little shop, over the lintel of which ran: "Timothy Postwhistle, Grocer and Provision Merchant," she had left behind her in the shadow. Old inhabitants of St. Dunstan-in-the-West retained recollection of a gentlemanly figure, always in a very gorgeous waistcoat, with Dundreary whiskers, to be seen occasionally there behind the counter.
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