Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 19, 2025
Stay, there was another item, Sir Paul's invariable courtesy to the club servants, which courtesy he somehow contrived to combine with continual grumbling. The club servants held him in affection. It was probably this sixth item that outweighed any of the others in Mr. Prohack's favourable estimate of the financier. And then Mr.
He was also a close friend of Prohack, of Sir Paul, and of several others at the table, and a member of Prohack's secondary club, though not of his primary club. "That's strange," said Mr. Prohack. "I hear he's in London." "He most positively isn't in London," said Sir Paul. "He's not coming back until November."
Prohack's whole demeanour changed at the mention of Mr. Bishop's name. His ridiculous snobbish pride reared itself up within him. He simply could not bear the idea of Softly Bishop having anything 'against' a member of his family.
Under ordinary circumstances he would have been worried by his sense of fatigue, but now, as he had nothing whatever to do, he did not much care whether he was tired or not. Neither the office nor the State would suffer through his lack of tone. The events of the night had happened exclusively inside Mr. Prohack's head.
Prohack, decidedly impressed by the ingenuity of the musical arrangement and by the promptness of the orchestral director in obeying the signal of the bell. "My name is Prohack," said he. "I'm Miss Prohack's father." This important announcement ought to have startled the sangfroid of the guardian, but it did not.
Prohack's head with a steam-hammer, or to intoxicate him with a heady vapour of superlatives. In a quarter of an hour Mr. Prohack learnt that Sir Paul was promoting a strictly private syndicate as a preliminary to the formation of a big company for the exploitation of certain options on Roumanian oil-territory which Sir Paul held. He learnt about the reports of the trial borings.
The two men, by means of their eyes, transmitted to each other a unanimous judgment upon the whole female sex, and sat down to dine alone in the stricken house. The dinner was extremely frugal, this being the opening day of Mrs. Prohack's new era of intensive economy, but the obvious pleasure of Machin in serving only men brightened up somewhat its brief course.
That evening, soon after dark, the Eagle, dusty and unkempt from a journey which had not been free from mishaps, rolled up to the front-door of Mr. Prohack's original modest residence behind Hyde Park; and Mr. Prohack jumped out; and Carthew came after him with two bags. The house was as dark as the owner's soul; not a gleam of light in any window. Mr.
"Well," said he. "You can get some more tea for Machin. Give me that." And he took the tray. "No, you can keep the newspaper." The paper was The Daily Picture. As he held the tray with one hand and gave the paper back to Selina with the other, his eye caught the headlines: "West End Sensation. Mrs. Prohack's Pearls Pinched." He paled; but he was too proud a man to withdraw the paper again.
And to himself, leading Mr. Bishop to the strangers' dining-room, he said: "Why should I further my own execution in this way?" He ordered a lunch as copious and as costly as he would have ordered for the other, the real Bishop. Powerful and vigorous in some directions, Mr. Prohack's mentality was deplorably weak in at least one other. Mr. Softly Bishop was delighted with his reception, and Mr.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking