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Updated: May 29, 2025
"What do you say, My Lord Tom-Noddy" and he slapped Oliver on the back. The sobriquet was one of Jack's pet names for Oliver all the Kennedy Square people were more or less aristocrats to Jack Bedford, the sign-painter all except Oliver. "I think Waller's about half-right, Jack.
In this fashion, or much like it, he held forth tirelessly until, chancing to meet my wide-eyed gaze, he immediately singled me out for his remarks thus: "Wot O, my Lord, wot O! You in the nobby 'at an' patched unmentionables wot O! Walk up, Tom-noddy, my lord, walk up and spend a tanner; never mind your breeches, walk up an' see the stoopendious fat feller as could swaller ye, breeches, patches, 'at an' all, an' never blink a heyelid a man as can swaller 'is wight in meat alone in meat alone!
The day has gone by when a painter must affect a bob-tailed velveteen jacket, long hair, and a slouch hat to help him paint, just as the day has gone by when an artist is not an honored guest in any gentleman's house in town." "Bravo, Tom-Noddy!" shouted Jack and Fred in a breath. "Drink, you dear old pressed brick. Put your nose into this!" and Fred held a mug of beer to Oliver's lips.
I'm no tom-noddy, to be gulled. And, hark 'e, be less glib with that 'rogue' of thine, or I'll baste thy back for thee." "Oh, don't beat Nick!" gasped Cicely. "Do na fret for me," said Nick; "I be na feared of the cowardly rogue!" Crack! the man struck him across the face. Nick's eyes flashed hot as a fire-coal. He set his teeth, but he did not flinch.
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