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Updated: April 30, 2025
Postwhistle. "I am a bit nervous of this new monkey game, I don't mind confessing to you the things that they do according to the picture-books. Up to now, except for imagining 'imself a mole, and taking all his meals underneath the carpet, it's been mostly birds and cats and 'armless sort o' things I 'aven't seemed to mind so much." "How did you get hold of him?" demanded Mr. Clodd.
Postwhistle; "and nobody can blame you if you 'ave. 'Eaven bless you, is what I say." "We shall get on together," prophesied Mr. Clodd. "I'm fond of animals." Postwhistle found difficulty for a time in comprehending; and that is why one sometimes meets to-day worshippers of Kail Yard literature wandering disconsolately about St.
Postwhistle, who was a stylist in her way. "How did you get him? Win him in a raffle?" "Jones, the agent, sent 'im to me all in a 'urry. An assistant is what I really wanted, not an apprentice; but the premium was good, and the references everything one could desire." "Grindley, Grindley," murmured Clodd. "Any relation to the Sauce, I wonder?"
All customers it would refer, with the air of a Lord High Chamberlain introducing debutantes, to Mrs. Postwhistle, evidently regarding itself purely as ornamental. For the last ten years, however, no one had noticed it there, and Mrs. Postwhistle had a facility amounting almost to genius for ignoring or misunderstanding questions it was not to her taste to answer.
"It was merely in the nature of a remark." The Club was of opinion that such quibbling was unworthy of a gentleman. It appeared to be a case for prompt action. Jack Herring sat down and then and there began a letter to Miss Bulstrode, care of Mrs. Postwhistle. "But what I don't understand " said Alexander the Poet. "Oh! take him away somewhere and tell him, someone," moaned Jack Herring.
Postwhistle proved an admirable companion. She asked no questions, and only spoke when spoken to, which, during that walk, was not often. At the end of half an hour, Miss Bulstrode pleaded a headache and thought she would return home and go to bed. Mrs. Postwhistle thought it a reasonable idea.
Clodd a drink. Another thud upon the floor above one suggestive of exceptional velocity arrived at the precise moment when Mrs. Postwhistle, the tumbler level with her eye, was in the act of measuring. "I call this making a disturbance," said Mrs. Postwhistle, regarding the broken fragments. "It's only for another night," comforted her Mr. Clodd. "I'll take him away some time to-morrow.
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