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From south to north the allied front was commanded by General Maud'huy from Albert to Vermelles; General Smith-Dorrien from Vermelles to Laventie, opposite Lille; General Poultney, from Laventie to Messines; General Haig from Messines to Bixschoote; General de Mitry had French and Belgian mixed troops defending the line from Bixschoote to Nieuport and the sea, supported by an English and French fleet.
Stephen Allardyce Poultney has lately done me the honour to call; and " "Lord Strathay's cousin?" I thought he could hear the thrumming of my heart. This was why he had beaten so long about the bush! "Was he was he speaking about me?" I felt a sudden chill of apprehension, and almost feared to hear the answer.
Not only were his own needs imperative, but if Poultney Illis had come from London to confer with his rivals there was little time to spare. Remembering the Englishman's habits, O'Neil turned up the Avenue to the Waldorf, where he asked for the manager, whom he well knew. "Yes, Mr. Illis is here," he was informed, "but he's registered under a different name.
Five minutes after tattoo Yearlings Davis and Poultney sauntered down the company street. "Suzz-zz! suzz-zz! Horwack!" came sonorously from the tent solely occupied by Plebe Holmes. "Great Washington!" muttered Poultney. "Who smuggled a sawmill into camp?" "The disturbance of the peace comes from this abode of beasts," declared Mr. Davis, halting and thrusting his head into the tent.
I accepted this reproof and the accompanying verdict with becoming meekness. I remember that when we first went to house-keeping Poultney Briggs was in the van of artistic progress, and that no one was to be mentioned in the same breath with him; yet now, apparently, he was of the sere-and-yellow-leaf order, professionally speaking. And I was old fogy enough not to have been aware of it.
You see I know her pretty well after all these years. "I should never have forgiven you, Fred never!" said my better-half, emphatically, when I told her how near I had come to the crucial act. "I should have hated everything. Besides, no one nowadays thinks anything of Poultney Briggs as a decorator. He is terribly behind the times."
"What are you up to; making trouble with that editorial screed of yours?" he growled at the younger man. Banneker smiled. He accepted that growl from Poultney Masters, not because Masters was a great and formidable figure in the big world, but because beneath the snarl there was a quality of no, not of friendliness, but of man-to-man approach. "No. I'm trying to cure trouble, not make it." "Umph!
I might as well have scanned with feverish expectation the big audience that turns to me more eagerly than to the singers, searching oh, I'm mad to think that Ned might come there again to look upon me. I didn't even escape the Earl. Meg and her husband came home early, bringing him and Poultney; we had the supper, and, for my sins, I made myself so agreeable that Meg forgave me, almost.
Up for membership at The Retreat. Dines with Poultney Masters, Jr., at his club. Can't you hear him running home to wifie all het up and puffed like a toad, and telling her about it?" "Who's all this, Bunny?" inquired Banneker, who had taken in only the last few words.
He was supposed to be the only man who could handle that bull-elephant of finance, ruler of Wall Street, and, when he chose to give it his contemptuous attention, dictator, through his son and daughters, of the club and social world of New York, old Poultney Masters, in the apoplectic rages into which the slightest thwart to his will plunged him.
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