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Updated: June 27, 2025
The Sol skilfully carries a vein of the prevailing interest through the Harmonic nights. Little Swills, in what are professionally known as "patter" allusions to the subject, is received with loud applause; and the same vocalist "gags" in the regular business like a man inspired. Smallweed loves to find money, and is nightly honoured with a double encore.
Grandmother Smallweed, who has been mumbling and shaking her head at the trivets, hearing figures mentioned, connects them with money and screeches like a horrible old parrot without any plumage, "Ten ten-pound notes!" Grandfather Smallweed immediately throws the cushion at her. "Drat you, be quiet!" says the good old man. The effect of this act of jaculation is twofold.
Here's my friend Bagnet, and here am I. We'll settle the matter on the spot, if you please, Mr. Smallweed, in the usual way. And you'll ease my friend Bagnet's mind, and his family's mind, a good deal if you'll just mention to him what our understanding is." Here some shrill spectre cries out in a mocking manner, "Oh, good gracious! Oh!"
Smallweed's friend in the city the one solitary flight of that esteemed old gentleman's imagination. "So you think he might be hard upon me, eh?" "I think he might I am afraid he would. I have known him do it," says Grandfather Smallweed incautiously, "twenty times."
George sits, with his arms folded, consuming the family and the parlour while Grandfather Smallweed is assisted by Judy to two black leathern cases out of a locked bureau, in one of which he secures the document he has just received, and from the other takes another similar document which he hands to Mr. George, who twists it up for a pipelight.
Going out early in life and marrying late, as his father had done before him, he too begat a lean and anxious- minded son, who in his turn, going out early in life and marrying late, became the father of Bartholomew and Judith Smallweed, twins.
You ain't in the habit of conversing with a deaf person, are you?" "Yes," snarls Mr. Smallweed, "my wife's deaf." "That accounts for your pitching your voice so high. But as she ain't here; just pitch it an octave or two lower, will you, and I'll not only be obliged to you, but it'll do you more credit," says Mr. Bucket. "This other gentleman is in the preaching line, I think?"
Smallweed while away the rosy hours. On the stove are a couple of trivets for the pots and kettles which it is Grandfather Smallweed's usual occupation to watch, and projecting from the chimney-piece between them is a sort of brass gallows for roasting, which he also superintends when it is in action. Under the venerable Mr.
"Do you mean what business have we come upon?" Mr. Smallweed asks, a little dashed by the suddenness of this turn. "Ah! You know what I mean. Let us hear what it's all about in presence of Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet. Come." Mr. Smallweed, beckoning Mr. Chadband, takes a moment's counsel with him in a whisper. Mr.
Resisting the temptation, but agitating him violently enough to make his head roll like a harlequin's, he puts him smartly down in his chair again and adjusts his skull-cap with such a rub that the old man winks with both eyes for a minute afterwards. "O Lord!" gasps Mr. Smallweed. "That'll do. Thank you, my dear friend, that'll do. Oh, dear me, I'm out of breath. O Lord!" And Mr.
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