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Updated: June 27, 2025
The others flash by.... Van's out of the race! ... An', Bostil an', gentlemen, there ain't anythin' more to this race but a red hoss!" Bostil's heart gave a great leap and then seemed to stand still. He was half cold, half hot. What a horrible, sickening disappointment. Bostil rolled out a cursing query. Holley's answer was short and sharp. The King was out! Bostil raved. He could not see.
"'Rainbow's the chap who deserves your approval, says Mr. Van, pointin' to the hoss. "'Indeed, he does the old precious! she says, 'n' rubs her face against Rainbow's nose. Just then Ferguson rides up with a English gink who's a friend of Mr. Van's, 'n' the dame beats it into the club-house. This Englishman is a lord or a duke or somethin', 'n' he's visitin' Mr. Van's brother.
Old Van's possible confidant, instead of immediately answering, again assumed the pince-nez. "Is that what you call him?" "In general, I think for shortness." "And also" the speaker hesitated "for esteem?" Mitchy laughed out. "For veneration!
Two Segantinis, a drawing in chalk and pastel; Storm Van's Gravesande; seven Troyons, one, Le retour du Marché, a masterpiece; Vollon, still-life, fish, ivory goblets, violets; Weissenbruchs; Zilcken etchings and two De Zwarts.
Ah it wasn't my cleverness," Mitchy said. "There's a greater than mine. There's a greater even than Van's. That's the whole point," he went on while his friend looked at him hard. "You don't even like it just a little?" Mr. Longdon wondered. "The existence of such an element ?" "No; the existence simply of my knowledge of your idea."
"It's the King with Van up," said Lucy, from the door. "Dad, Van's jumped off he's coming in ... he's running. Something has happened.... There are other horses coming riders Indians." Bostil knew what was coming and prepared himself. Rapid footsteps sounded without. "Hello, Miss Lucy! Where's Bostil?" A lean, supple rider appeared before the door. It was Van, greatly excited.
"What I'm wonderin' is if Bob Street and his girl got married or not and when they're coming home," she remarked as she sat down. One of Mrs. Van's little peculiarities, saved probably from the wreck of her theatrical career, was a tendency toward calling people by their first names when they were not there to protect themselves and sometimes even when they were.
"Do you think him like Apollo?" "The very image. Ask any of the women!" "But do I know ?" "How Apollo must look?" Mitchy considered. "Why the way it works is that it's just from Van's appearance they get the tip, and that then, don't you see? they've their term of comparison. Isn't it what you call a vicious circle? I borrow a little their vice." Mr.
We're simply a collection of natural affinities," Mitchy explained; "meeting perhaps principally in Mrs. Brook's drawing-room though sometimes also in old Van's, as you see, sometimes even in mine and governed at any rate everywhere by Mrs. Brook, in our mysterious ebbs and flows, very much as the tides are governed by the moon. As I say," Mitchy pursued, "you must join.
At two in the morning, at McCoppet's gambling hall, where Van perhaps expected to encounter the jumpers of his claim, the little cashier succeeded at last in commanding Van's attention. Van had a glass of stuff in his hand stuff too strong to be scathed by all the pure food enactments in the world.
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