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Updated: June 10, 2025
Then, when they had established their camp in a grove of sycamores which bordered the little river Ept, Clifford, the acknowledged master of all that pertained to sportsmanship, took command. "You, Rowden," he said, "divide your flies with Elliott and keep an eye on him or else he'll be trying to put on a float and sinker. Prevent him by force from grubbing about for worms."
She had been taught by a good master and her voice was pure and pliant, although as yet only half developed. The little concerts they gave their friends were really charming with Clifford's banjo, Gethryn's guitar, Thaxton's violin, Yvonne's voice and piano. Clifford made the programs. In Rowden, Yvonne was delighted to find a cultivated musician.
Discretion is a virtue. The Latin Quarter possesses few, and discretion seldom figures on the list. They sat down and began to whistle. Presently Rowden called out, "I smell flowers. They feast within!" "You ought to know Selby better than that," growled Clifford behind the door, while the other hurriedly exchanged his torn trousers for others. "We know Selby," said Elliott with emphasis.
Clifford drank numerous bottles of double X with Rowden, and Rowden consumed uncounted egg-flips with Clifford. They were inseparable; in fact, the triumvirate, Clifford, Elliott and Rowden, even went so far as to dress alike, and mean-natured people hinted that they had but one common style in painting. But they did not make the remark to any of the triumvirate.
Rowden thought it wise and well to say to me, as she bade me good-night, "Ah, my dear, I don't think your parents need ever anticipate your going on the stage; you would make but a poor actress." And she was right enough. I did make but a poor actress, certainly, though that was not for want of natural talent for the purpose, but for want of cultivating it with due care and industry.
Then he raised his voice in a plaintive howl, "Are you there, Colette, while I'm kicking my heels on these tiles?" "Clifford is capable of anything," said Rowden; "his nature is soured since Rue Barree sat on him." Elliott raised his voice: "I say, you fellows, we saw some flowers carried into Rue Barree's house at noon." "Posies and roses," specified Rowden.
"Hullo!" said the boy sharply, "what d' ye want?" "I want to see Mr. Rowden or Mr. Owlett," he replied. "Right y' are!" and the boy promptly seized the cage containing the white mice and hid it in a cupboard. "You're our first caller to-day. Mr. Rowden's gone to Dawlish, but Mr. Owlett's in. Wait a minute."
A little house near the Parc Monceau, my studio there, Clifford, Elliott, Rowden Bra all of them coming again! And it will be my wife who will receive them!" She placed a little soft palm across his lips. "Taisez-vous, mon ami! It is too soon! See the morning! I must go. There! yes one more! my love, Adieu!" Sixteen
Elliott, undecided, examined his rod and reel. "You've got your reel on wrong side up," observed Rowden. Elliott wavered, and stole a glance at Colette. "I I have almost decided to er not to flip the flies about just now," he began. "There's the pole that Cecile left " "Don't call it a pole," corrected Rowden.
Rowden always appeared in the highest state of elation, and generally received distinguished notice from the clerical hero of the evening. I remember accompanying her to hear Mr. Lewis Wade, a celebrated missionary preacher, who had been to Syria and the Holy Land, and brought thence observations on subjects sacred and profane that made his discourses peculiarly interesting and edifying.
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