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Updated: June 18, 2025
We hearn afterwards that Deacon Sypher and Deacon Henzy wanted to go into the North Woods a-fishin' and a-huntin' for 2 or 3 days, and it has always been spozed by me that that accounted for their religeus advice to Josiah Allen. Howsumever, I don't know that.
You think they are going to whip creation?" "They'll make warfare too dangerous to be carried on. At present, however, I'm more interested in my railway carriages." "Which will make railway traveling too dangerous to be carried on!" laughed Sypher, extending his hand. "Good-by." When he had gone, Septimus mused for some time in happy contentment over his pipe.
I buried it in the front garden." A vague smile passed on his face like a pale gleam of light over water on a cloudy day. "Wiggleswick is deaf. He couldn't hear it." "He's a lazy scoundrel," said Sypher. "I wonder you don't sack him." Septimus licked a hanging strip of cigar-end into position he could never smoke a cigar properly and lit it for the third time.
The turns of the road brought into sight view after magic view, causing her to catch her breath: purple rock laughing in the sea, far-off townlets flashing white against the mountain flank, gardens of paradise. Yet Clem Sypher sang of his cure. First it was a salve for all external ills that flesh is heir to. It spared humanity its heritage of epidermatous suffering. It could not fail.
Sypher ordered two more bocks for the good of the house, while Septimus, still lost in thought, brought his hair to its highest pitch of Struwel Peterdom. Passers-by turned round to look at them, for well-dressed Englishmen do not often sit outside a Marchand des vins, especially one with such hair. But passers-by are polite in France and do not salute the unfamiliar with ribaldry.
"What has really happened?" Sypher drew a long breath and pulled himself up. "I'm on the verge of a collapse. The Cure hasn't paid for the last two years. I hoped against hope. I flung thousands and thousands into the concern. The Jebusa Jones people and others out-advertised me, out-manoeuvered me at every turn. Now every bit of capital is gone, and I can't raise any more. I must go under."
"After all," said Rattenden, "I can speak freely. I am a pariah among my kind." Sypher asked why. "Because I don't play golf. In London it is impossible to be seriously regarded as a literary man unless you play golf." He found Sypher a good listener.
The two foreign deacons from 'way beyond Jonesville, Deacon Keeler and Deacon Huffer, and our own three Jonesvillians Deacon Henzy, Deacon Sypher, and my own particular Deacon, Josiah Allen.
You speak as if you're finding fault with me for not doing anything useful. Isn't what I do enough? What else can I do?" "I don't know," said Sypher, looking at the back of his gloves; then he turned his head and met her eyes in one of his quick glances.
Middlemist, if I didn't believe that," said Sypher solemnly, "do you think I would have devoted my life to it?" "I thought people ran these things to make money," said Zora. It was then that Sypher entered on the exordium of the speech which convinced her of the diabolical noisomeness of the Jebusa Jones unguent. His peroration summed up the contest as that between Mithra and Ahriman.
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