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Updated: May 6, 2025
He laughed genially, and this argument at last seemed to convince the young man that he was not the victim of a strange delusion. "I am sorry for being a little hasty " he began, with a candid smile. "Not at all," interrupted Mr. Walkingshaw good-humoredly. "Don't mention it. There was a lady in the case; that's excuse enough for any two men quarreling.
Down the steep street where stands the office of Walkingshaw & Gilliflower, careers a hat. It is a silk hat and of a large size, the hat of a professional man of the most dignified standing and evident brain capacity. Nothing could show better the innate depravity of March winds than their choice of such a hat to play with.
And now, what else have you got for sale? What do you recommend, Hillary, eh?" That young man displayed a sudden aptitude for business which had never characterized his own efforts to make a livelihood. "As a work of art likely to rise enormously in value, I conscientiously recommend that," he said, pointing to another canvas. "A nice head," commented Mr. Walkingshaw.
"It's quite remarkable how well I'm keeping quite astonishing," said Mr. Walkingshaw to himself, as he continued his walk with his recovered hat perched at the angle that had so surprised his acquaintances. A month had passed since the stormy afternoon when he had said farewell to his family, and he now looked back upon that adieu as the rashest and most premature act of his life.
"It's amazing positively amazing!" they murmured together as they watched their elderly friend not only replace his trophy on his head, but cock it at an angle that breathed reckless defiance to the March winds. "Did you ever see Heriot Walkingshaw with his hat at that angle before?" "As often as I've seen him do even time chasing it!"
Rivington is going to sing." Hector opened the piano, and Mrs. Rivington sat down and touched the keyboard. Then she looked around for silence, and it fell completely. All the eye-witnesses present are agreed that it was in the moment of this pause that the drawing-room door opened, and they heard the butler announce the name of Mr. Walkingshaw.
"Poor old Lucas is working himself to death," he said, with his gentle and insinuating air. "Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Walkingshaw, and surveyed the artist with increased respect. "Hillary is inclined to talk " began Lucas, but was silenced by a ferocious stamp of Frank's boot. "Hush, you idiot!" he murmured.
Yet, on the other hand, he judged himself ill-used by his betrothed, and when he had any ground of grievance, he had the pleasant habit of venting his complaints as long as his audience would listen to him. To-night the habit proved even stronger than his distaste for his high-spirited parent. "She was queer," said he. "They're all that," replied Mr. Walkingshaw knowingly.
The monastic atmosphere was completed by the Victorian upholstery and the hushed voices of the four ladies, so that even the young soldier instinctively trod more like a burglar than a Cromarty Highlander as he advanced towards one of the groups of two. Near the fireplace sat Miss Walkingshaw and Mrs.
Miss Walkingshaw thought that an odd kind of phrase for Heriot to be using. Andrew no longer walked to the office with his father in the mornings. Not that he had anything to do with the altered custom: in fact, he was always most careful to assure his friends that he had more than once waited as long as five minutes to give his father the opportunity of having his company if he was wishing it.
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