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Updated: May 22, 2025
"My dear Spinky, it's perfectly fair to me; but is it you won't mind me suggesting it is it perfectly fair to yourself?" Spinks sat silent for a minute, laying his hand upon the place of, thought, as if trying to take that idea in. "Yes," he said deliberately. "That's all right. In fact, nothing else will do my business. It sounds queer; but that's the only way to get her out of my head.
That, and the dejection, was too much for Rickman's gravity. "If you want the truth, Spinky, the pity was you ever kept it in." And his laughter, held in, piled up, monstrous, insane, ungovernable, broke forth, dispersing the last scruple that clouded the beatitude of Spinks.
"All right, Spinky, you shall have the best truth I can give you at such uncommonly short notice. I can't say I don't want to marry Miss Walker, because that wouldn't be very polite to the lady. But I can say I think she's shown most admirable judgement, and that I'm perfectly satisfied with her decision. I wouldn't have her go back, on it for worlds. Will that satisfy you?"
I'm not the sort of man a girl like Flossie ought to marry. I ought never to have asked her." "Upon my soul, Rickets, I believe you're right there. That's not saying anything against you, or against her either." "No. Certainly not against her. She's all right, Spinky " "I know, I know."
Nothing could have been more demoralizing than the spectacle of Spinks's face as he delivered himself of his immense confession; so fantastically did it endeavour to chasten rapture with remorse. Rickman controlled himself the better to enjoy it; for Spinks, taken seriously, yielded an inexhaustible vein of purest comedy. "Oh, Spinky," he said with grave reproach, "how could you?"
"It's all righ'. At nine o'clock to-morrow morning, no at a quar'er pas' nine, I mean three quar'ers pas' nine, I shall be drunk. Not disgustingly and ridicklelously, as you are, Spinky, at this minute, but soo-p-p-perbubbly, loominously, divinely drunk! You don' know what I could do if I was only drunk." "Oh, come, I shouldn't complain, if I was you. You'll do pretty well as you are, I think."
"And you've come to me to know if it's true, is that it?" "Well no, why should I? Of course it's true if she says so." Rickman reflected for a moment; the situation, he perceived, was delicate in the extreme, delicate beyond his power to deal with it. But the god did not forsake his own, and inspiration came to him. "You're right there, Spinky. Of course it's true if she says so."
The poet lay face downwards across the body of his friend, and was crooning into his ear the great chorus from the third act of Helen in Leuce. He said that nobody but Spinky understood it. And Spinky couldn't understand it if he wasn't drunk. Whereupon Spinks was most curiously uplifted and consoled.
She's decent to the baby, but she's positively brutal to Muriel Maud. How Spinky He protests and there are horrid scenes; but through them all I believe the poor chap's in love with her." "Curious illusion." Curious indeed. It had seemed incredible to Rickman when he had seen the Beaver pushing her first-born from her knee. "Good Heavens, Rickman, what a deliverance for you."
For Flossie had realized her dream, and her little hand clung passionately to the purse that provided for Muriel Maud. He couldn't borrow from Spinky. From Jewdwine? Never. From Hanson? Hardly. From Vaughan? Possibly. Vaughan was considering the expediency of publishing his tragedy, and might be induced to advance him a little on account.
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