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'All that Shakespeare iver wrote an' a dale more that the gallery shouted, said the man of war, carefully lacing his boots. 'Did I not tell you av Silver's theatre in Dublin, whin I was younger than I am now an' a patron av the drama? Ould Silver wud never pay actor-man or woman their just dues, an' by consequince his comp'nies was collapsible at the last minut.
But even in the face of these sartorial deficiencies, he looked like a cricketer. The field spread out respectfully, and Jimmy Silver moved a man from the slips into the country. There were three more balls of Challis's over, for Billy Silver's collapse had occurred at the third delivery. Fenn mistimed the first. Two hours' writing indoors does not improve the eye.
The lad wouldn't 'ave the nerve. Face like a girl." "Monkey ain't the only one," muttered Joses. "Silver's in it, too up to the neck." When Joses left to catch his train Jaggers accompanied him across the yard. "Yes," he said, "if she wins there'll be plenty for all." The tout hovered in the gate. "I'm glad to hear it," he said, with emphasis. "Very glad."
Woodburn took Jim Silver's hand in both of hers, and kneaded it in just the way her daughter would do in moments of deep emotion. She said nothing, but her eyes were beautiful. Old Mat swallowed, touched his hat, and looked away. "That's a little bit o' better," he muttered to himself. A minute later the old man was walking down the hill, Mrs. Woodburn on his arm.
There are places where you see him actively in pursuit of one, as when Markheim stops the clock with 'an interjected finger, or when John Silver's half-shut, cunning, and cruel eye sparkles 'like a crumb of glass. Stevenson has run across the Channel for that crumb, and it is worth the journey. Stevenson certainly had that share of genius which belongs to the man who can take infinite pains.
"A good race. You were giving us a ton of weight." Perhaps the girl was a little paler than her wont; but there was no touch of lyrical excitement about her. Outwardly she was the least-moved person in the Paddock. Jim Silver's eyes were shining down on her. "Well," he said. She led away. He followed at her shoulder, the horse's bridle over his arm. "You've won your hundred thousand," she said.
It was a heartening voice, sounding very sweet to the ears of the Little Doctor just then. She turned eagerly, her arms still clasping Silver's neck. She had come down to the corral to feed him sugar and tell him what a very difficult young man his master was, and how he held her at arm's length with his manner, and yet was nice and friendly and sunny enough like the sun shining on an iceberg.
Does he tell fortunes by tea-leaves or by the colour of your eyes?" "Laugh away, John Boxer," said Mrs. Gimpson, icily; "but I shouldn't have been alive now if it hadn't ha' been for Mr. Silver's warnings." "Mother stayed in bed for the first ten days in July," explained Mrs. Boxer, "to avoid being bit by a mad dog." "Tchee tchee tchee," said the hapless Mr.
"'Eyah! sez the man, 'was you there too? We'll call ut Silver's Theatre. Half the Tyrone, knowin' the ould place, tuk ut up: so we called ut Silver's Theatre. "The little orf'cer bhoy av the Tyrone was thremblin' an' cryin', He had no heart for the Coort-martials that he talked so big upon. 'Ye'll do well later, sez Crook, very quiet, 'for not bein' allowed to kill yourself for amusemint.
Wren and Billy Silver had fallen out over a question of space. It was Silver's opinion that Wren's nest ought to have been built a foot or two further to the left. He stated baldly that he had not room to breathe, and requested the red-headed one to ease off a point or so in the direction of his next-door neighbour.
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