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Updated: June 23, 2025


Frump the fat young lady who also carefully raised herself about two inches from her chair, and lowered herself again, without disarranging a ripple. In compliance with an invitation from Miss Whedell, the three callers sat down. Mr. Maltboy gravitated by a natural instinct to the side of his charmer. Mr. Overtop was drawn by an irresistible impulse into the vicinity of Mrs.

I do declare, we have not had a caller for more than how long is it, Gusty, since Colonel Bigford dropped in?" Maltboy thought her voice had a sweet, metallic ring. "About half an hour," replied Mrs. Frump, after a brief mental calculation. "Why, Gusty!" exclaimed Miss Whedell; "how can you sit there and tell such stories? You know it is not five minutes." "Just as you please, dear," said Mrs.

"Take seats, if you can find them, gentlemen." This with a real smile, for he thought of the arsenic, and the immeasurable relief that it would afford him. "We don't want seats, Mr. Whedell; and, if we did, there isn't enough for all of us. We want our pay, and have got tired of waitin' down stairs for it.

"She is a treasure, sir a perfect treasure!" replied the doting parent. "It cost me many pangs to part with her. I trust that we shall not be separated now. Why should we be? There are but three of us just enough for a happy family." Mr. Whedell was hinting at a home under the future roof of his son-in-law. "I agree with you perfectly," said Mr. Chiffield, with unaffected eagerness.

Whedell twirled the dangerous instrument, and opened and shut it with more than his usual grace, one evening toward the middle of April. He was about to broach a disagreeable subject to his daughter, who, blooming, and exquisitely dressed, sat by the fire and yawned. "My dear Clementina, you are now twenty years old, and ought to be married. Delays are dangerous. What do you think of Chiffield?"

But it suddenly occurred to Matthew that these thoughts were a little irregular; and, besides, he had a fresh recollection of the troubles from which Fayette Overtop had not yet emerged. He therefore pulled out his watch, and informed Mr. Whedell that thirteen of the fifteen minutes were consumed. The creditors were beginning to pace heavily in the entry. Mr.

Whedell hastened down stairs to the front parlor, where his daughter had secluded herself immediately after her entrance into the house. She was lying back on the sofa, with her bonnet on, biting the ends of her gloves, and staring into space. She did not appear to observe her father. Mr.

"Yes, sir," said Chiffield, who, being a fat man, was happily calm; "totally ruined." "You impudent scoundrel! out of this house!" shrieked Mr. Whedell, rising from his chair, and glaring like a wildcat at his son-in-law. "Be calm," said that phlegmatic individual. "I respect your age." "Curse your impudence! what do you mean by my age?"

It is the women who hold back after they are safely engaged." "La, pa! how knowingly you talk!" "I flatter myself I know something of the human species," returned Mr. Whedell. "Ah! another ring. Too faint for a creditor. Mr. Chiffield, perhaps." The conjecture was correct. But with Mr. Chiffield came Matthew Maltboy.

Whedell regretted that his daughter should expatiate with such vivacity upon a subject that must be extremely disagreeable to a gentleman of Mr. Chiffield's large figure and steady habits. Experience had taught Matthew the best kind of cure for this species of female perversity. He determined to leave the house, and thereby show that he was not to be trifled with.

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