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Updated: May 6, 2025
"At the same time, I gather that whatever your merits, this is one of your lean years, eh?" "Devilish," said Lucas. "That must be discouraging?" "It might be if I let it." "That is a damned good answer, Vernon," said Mr. Walkingshaw emphatically.
He addressed himself entirely to his brother, though he had done no more than approve of the exiling of Lucas, and he spoke with a curious bitterness. Mr. Walkingshaw struck the table with his fist, not passionately, in any disorder of mind, but sternly and effectively. "Hold your tongue," he said, and kept his eyes on him to see that he held it. Frank rose.
At the conclusion of these arrangements he again drew the artist aside. "Would you like a check immediately," he inquired, "or upon delivery of the pictures?" With considerable animation Lucas assured him there was no hurry at all. "There is a distinction between punctuality and hurry," replied Mr. Walkingshaw. "I recommend it to your notice, Vernon.
Walkingshaw, glancing at the pale and pretty youth. Lucas automatically introduced them. "Very happy to meet you, Mr. Hillary," said the W.S. genially. "Let me introduce my son." Leaving the two young men to entertain each other, he walked aside for a few paces with his host.
"What's the matter? That doesn't sound very cheerful." "I assure you I'm as cheerful as er er anything," said Frank heroically. "I was sure of it. But poor Jean she's got her troubles, eh, Frank?" Frank warmed up at his sister's name. "She has," he admitted. Mr. Walkingshaw thoughtfully piled several slices of bacon on his plate. It would have reassured Colonel Munro greatly to have seen him.
"My dear father, you're the best sportsman I know," he replied warmly. Mr. Walkingshaw looked highly gratified at this compliment. "That's what I'm aiming at," he answered. He leaned over the table and continued confidentially "Of course you are happy, Frank. There's really nothing Providence could do for you except put a little money in your pocket, and give you a good time eh?" "Oh er nothing."
Only, there's just one thing I'd like to know you don't mean to let the grass grow under your feet, I take it?" "No fears," said Heriot. "What I mean to do, I'm going to do at once. By Jingo, I'll be under age in a few years! I've got to do things promptly." "Thank you," replied Mr. Brown suavely, "I think that is all I want to know. We needn't detain you any longer, Mr. Walkingshaw."
He paused for a moment, and his lip grew longer and straighter. "So I'll offer you an alternative." "Well?" "If you'll guarantee to clear out of the country and not come back again, I'll take no further proceedings on the strength of this certificate. I don't want to put you in an asylum any more than you want to go, but I've got to protect myself." Mr. Walkingshaw mused.
Walkingshaw had not given the impression that he was worrying about that or any other feeling, but one was bound to take his word for it. "I enjoy the sensation far more myself," he went on. "It produces a kind of mutual confidence and that sort of thing.
It leaps and bumps and slides, propelled by the breeze and the law of gravitation, down the decorously paved hill, in company with a little cloud of dust and some scraps of dirty paper. And behind it, now at a canter, now at a panting trot, ambles the portly form of Mr. Heriot Walkingshaw. The very devil must be in the wind to-day.
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