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You've been loyal to poor Simcox to the end. This business is your own now. We want it. We want you. We want you in Lombard Street." This, cut and dried, glowingly enlarged in long interviews with Mr. Sturgiss and Mr.
A man's weekly salary! A man's office hours! The ecstasy of it! The ecstasy! The matter with Mr. Simcox was that, in India a man of affairs, in England he found himself a man of no affairs and a man who had "lost touch." He owned and occupied one of those enormous houses in Bayswater.
"And that He loves good girls, and will watch over them." "Bravo! You beat Plato." "No, sir, I never beat any one, except little Jack Turner; but he is a dunce." "Bah! What else do you teach her?" "That the devil runs away with bad girls, and " "Stop there, Mr. Simcox. Never mind the devil yet a while. Let her first learn to do good, that God may love her; the rest will follow.
Simcox the full range of the mysteries, the luxuries and the necessities of every trade and profession and pursuit, from shipbuilding to cycling and from ironmongery to the ownership of castles, moors, steam yachts and salmon fisheries. Mr. Simcox, entirely happy, one of the busiest men that might be found in the metropolis, struck out new lines.
Well, for the next two days that wood wasn't healthy for either side. The Germans couldn't get back, because we were sprinkling the whole place with shrapnel. We couldn't advance for similar reasons. Simcox just lay in his shell hole. He tied up his leg somehow. He had some brandy in a flask as well as his iron rations. But he hadn't much tobacco. There were only two cigarettes in his own case.
The stretcher-bearers found Simcox in his hole and they lugged him down to a Casualty Clearing Station. From that he went to a hospital the usual round, He had a pretty bad time, first over there, and then, when they could move him, in London. By degrees he got more sane about the photo.
"I suggested that," said Daintree, "but my wife simply won't hear of it. She says the story as it stands is a great romance and that it would be utterly spoiled if Simcox switched off after another girl. I can't see that, can you?" "In a case like this," I said, "when the original girl wasn't a girl at all "
"Plans and particulars of the sole agents." "Superbly printed art volume on receipt of postcard." The advertisement columns of every paper are stuffed with them and soon the letter-box of Mr. Simcox was stuffed with them. The postman who never stopped at Mr. Simcox's house now never missed Mr. Simcox's house. He went on a lighter and a brisker man after having dealt with Mr. Simcox's house.
Pyke Pounce's delightful drawing-room, most certainly he had been there less than a month ago and most certainly he would present himself again on the very next opportunity. To-morrow, was it? He would without fail present himself there tomorrow, "and I hope," said Mr. Simcox, taking his leave, "I hope I may have the pleasure of seeing my postmistress there again."
Looked at you out of the photo as if she was a poor, lonely, but uncommonly fetching little thing, who wanted a strong, true man to shelter her from the evil world. She was got up in some sort of fancy dress which kind of heightened the effect. I don't altogether profess to understand what happened, though my wife says she does. But Simcox in a sort of way fell in love with her.
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