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Updated: June 6, 2025
When it appeared it possessed all the practical characteristics of its parent. "In that case," he retorted, "you had better clear out of my house as quick as you can." Heriot regarded him with extreme composure. "Do you actually imagine you are going to get off as easy as this?" he inquired, "Man Andrew, I haven't been senior partner in Walkingshaw & Gilliflower for nothing.
To complete the confusion of his more creditable daughter, this improbable announcement was accompanied by an unabashed wink, directed at his less creditable child apparently for the superfluous purpose of assuring her he jested. That evening Mr. Walkingshaw began to be discussed by his fellow-citizens in earnest. "You're not drinking, Andrew," said Mr. Walkingshaw. "Go on, fill up your glass.
Walkingshaw was now standing in front of the fire, alternately rising on tiptoe and thumping down on his heels. "Don't I just! When shall we start to-morrow morning?" "To-morrow! But I haven't done any packing." "Well, no more have I. We'll just chuck in a few things and buy anything else we want in London. I need practically a new outfit myself. Can you introduce me to a good tailor?"
His strong, pleasant face became a mirror reflecting the very truth; his blue eyes were filled with a light brighter even than the inspiration of art; his mellow voice burst out abruptly "I love Jean!" The effect was rather like discharging a cannon and bringing down a scrap of plaster. "Oh, indeed," said Mr. Walkingshaw. "You mean my daughter?" "I should think I do!"
He stopped and let her wind the muffler round his neck, while his son regarded the performance with a curiously captious eye. "Thanks, Jean," said Mr. Walkingshaw. He threw the girl a brief nod, and the two resumed their walk.
There was a knock upon the studio door. "Hullo! A patron?" said Hillary. "A dun more probably," muttered Lucas. He opened the door and found himself confronting the rubicund countenance and imposing form of Heriot Walkingshaw. Over the shoulder of this apparition he looked into the clear eyes of Frank.
Surely nothing disconcerting could happen to a man who owned such a house as this. But alas! regrettable episodes have a habit, like migrant birds, of arriving in companies. Mrs. Walkingshaw had been dead for many years, and in her stead Heriot's maiden sister, a thin, elderly lady of exemplary views and conduct, ruled her household.
"Well, well," said Mr. Walkingshaw, "there are my keys on the dressing-table: you know where to find the will." Andrew went downstairs as solemnly as he had come up, and with the same faint squeak. It never occurred to Frank and Jean to blame their father in any way for electing so boisterous a day for his probable decease.
I hear he owes a couple of hundred pounds in the town, one way and another. That's your Professor for you!" Mr. Walkingshaw groaned. His son thought it well to improve the occasion, since he did not expect to have many more. "Him and his radio-electricity! What was it he was going to do renew the cells of the body?" "Well, why shouldn't cells be renewed?" protested the invalid weakly.
"Oh, she's all that." "Then what on earth do you mean?" Mr. Walkingshaw leant confidentially over the arm of his easy-chair. "Between ourselves, Frank, I'm rather doubtful whether she thinks Andrew the nicest man in the world." "But but surely she er I mean, they are engaged." "Frank, my boy, not a word of this to a soul not even to Jean or Lucas.
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