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Updated: May 29, 2025
There were only four of us; two specials, Wallis and myself, a news-agency reporter, and a local man. "Stott takes first over," remarked Wallis, sharpening his pencil and arranging his watch and score-sheet he was very meticulous in his methods. "They've put him to bowl against the wind. He's medium right, isn't he?" "Haven't the least idea," I said.
Stott, stepping briskly and carrying his Gladstone bag, raincoat, and umbrella in a jaunty manner, came into camp announcing breezily that he had decided, upon reflection, not to "bite off his nose to spite his face."
"'Cos 'e'd look at you that's why not," replied Stott, "and you can't no more face 'im than a dog can face a man. I shan't stand it much longer." "Curious," I said, "very curious." "Oh! he's a blarsted freak, that's what 'e is," said Stott, getting to his feet and beginning to pace moodily up and down. I did not interrupt him.
"Let him find out whether the child is safe at home." Jessop reported an hour afterwards that Master Stott had arrived home quite safely, and Mrs. Stott was much obliged. Altogether the Wonder spent five days, or about forty hours, on his study of the dictionary, and in the evening of his last day's work he left again by the open window.
It seemed so absurd a question to ask, yet it was essentially a natural question in the circumstances. "He can, but he won't." This was startling enough, and I pressed my enquiry. "How do you know? Are you sure he can?" "Ah!" Only that irritating, monosyllabic assent. "Look here, Stott," I said, "don't you want to talk about the child?"
"No one 'asn't let Master Stott hout, sir," Heathcote reported on his return. "Are you sure?" "Quite sure, sir. I've made full hinquiries," said Heathcote with dignity. "Well, we'd better find him," said Challis. "The window is open," suggested Lewes.
Here, in Stoke, I admit, they have been under a complete misapprehension, but I fancy that there were special reasons for that. In Pym you will have few neighbours, and you need not, I'm sure, fear their criticism." "They got one idiot there, already," Stott remarked somewhat sulkily. "You surely do not regard your own child as likely to develop into an idiot, Stott!"
"That reminds me that I was wondering this morning how deep the snow would be at that point where Mr. Stott slid down the glacier in the gold-pan. By the way, Mr. Cone, have you heard that story? It's a good one." Edging toward the doorway, Mr. Cone fairly chattered in his vehemence: "Oh, yes yes yes!" Mr.
There was a phrase I had coined as I had walked out from Ailesworth to Stoke-Underhill; a chapter I had roughed out the day I went to see Ginger Stott at Pym. It seemed to me that the whole conception of the book was associated in some way with that neighbourhood.
When it came to altered looks, Wallie had no monopoly on surprise. The Happy Family found it difficult to reconcile this rather tough-looking young man with the nice, neat boy who had blown them kisses from the motor bus. "Now, what sort of a conveyance have you provided?" inquired Mr. Stott, who had taken the initiative in such matters during the trip.
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