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Updated: June 13, 2025
Instead of going on with his poem, he hastily rolled up the manuscript, thrust it into his desk, and hastening to a small cracked mirror, which hung over the fire-place, there commenced arranging his somewhat disordered locks and apparel, with scrupulous care. As he finished this hasty toilette, the Apple Orchard carriage drew up and stopped at the door, and Mr. Roundjacket rushed forth.
He thrust the pen he had been using behind his ear, and bade the intruder "come in!" One of the clients of Mr. Rushton made his appearance, and inquired for that gentleman. Mr. Roundjacket said that Mr. Rushton was "within," and rose to go and summon him, the visitor meanwhile having seated himself. Mr. Roundjacket tapped at the door of Mr. Rushton's sanctum, but received no answer.
Verty turned round, and interrogated Mr. Roundjacket with a look. He had evidently not heard the question. "There, you are dreaming again, sir," said Mr. Rushton; "this will never do come, write away. The idleness of this world is revolting!" he growled, returning to his sanctum, and closing the door with a bang. Roundjacket pointed after him with his ruler.
Roundjacket say, in a low and thoughtful voice: "You need not work any to-day, Verty you can go home if you like. Mr. Rushton is unwell, and wishes to be quiet." "Unwell?" said the boy, "you don't mean sick?" "Not precisely, but indisposed." "I will go and see him," said the boy, moving towards the door. Mr.
"Poetry is a thing for school-boys and bread and butter Misses, who fancy themselves in love not for men!" Roundjacket groaned. "There you are," he said, "with your heretical doctrines doctrines which are astonishing in a man of your sense. You prefer law to poetry divine poetry!" cried Roundjacket, flourishing his ruler. "Roundjacket," said Mr. Rushton. "Judge?" "Don't be a ninny." "No danger.
"Who's he?" asked Mr. Roundjacket, staring. "What!" cried Verty, "don't you know old Scowley?" "No." "She's Redbud's school-master I mean school-mistress, of course; and Mr. Jinks goes to see Miss Sallianna." Roundjacket muttered: "Really, a very extraordinary young man." Then he added, aloud "Why do you think you are in love with Redbud?"
Come, let us dismiss the subject. I don't think Mr. Roundjacket, however, will turn out a murderer, which would be a horrible blow to me, as I knew his worthy father well, and often visited him at 'Flowery Lane, over yonder. But the discussion is unprofitable hey! what do you think, Verty, and you, Miss Redbud?" Verty raises his head and smiles. "I am very fond of Mr. Roundjacket," he says.
"An Indian hum an Indian?" he said; "but are you an Indian, my young friend?" "You know ma mere is, and I am her son." Roundjacket shook his head. "You are a Saxon, not an Aboriginal," he said; "and to tell you the truth, your origin has been the great puzzle of my life, sir." "Has it?" "It has, indeed." Verty looked thoughtful, and his dreamy gaze was fixed upon vacancy.
Young men will be fools to the end go and see your sweetheart!" And with a grim smile, the shaggy lawyer entered his sanctum, and banged the door, just as Roundjacket, still irate about the slur cast upon his poetry, had commenced reading in a loud voice the fine introductory stanzas his hair sticking up, his eyes rolling, his ruler breaking the skulls of invisible foes.
Roundjacket looked at the young man. "Redbud Summers?" he said. Verty nodded. Roundjacket's face was suddenly illuminated with a smile; and he looked more intently still at Verty. "Tell me all about it," he said, with the interest of a lover himself; "have you had any moonlight, any flowers, music, and that sort of things?" "Oh, yes! we had the flowers!" said Verty. "Where?" "At old Scowley's."
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