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"What would be the good of telling her, with her little nun's schoolgirl mind? She would only make no end of a fuss about a mere bit of fun and nonsense." "I think if Wilfred Merrifield was afraid to meet his father, it showed a sense of wrong." "Sir Jasper is a horrid old martineau, who never gives them any peace at home, but is always after them." "A martinet, I suppose you mean.
Only Wilfred, at sight of his cousin again, getting up a violent mock cough, declaring that he thought she had gone to bed with congealed lungs or else Brown Titus, as the old women called it.
But in an instant Colonel Bohun had recovered his own cruel good humour and laughed, showing two dog-like front teeth under his yellow moustache. "In that case, my dear Wilfred," he said quite carelessly, "it was wise for the last of the Bohuns to come out partially in armour." And he took off the queer round hat covered with green, showing that it was lined within with steel.
Ah!" and Wilfred's eyes lighted up, "the solving of all riddles touching Christ's being, is only to talk with Christ." Bertram could not see that Wilfred had offered Hugh the faintest shadow of comfort; but in some manner inexplicable to him, Hugh seemed comforted thenceforward.
Wilfred Wimp the little boy who stole the jam was in great form at the Christmas dinner. The only drawback to his enjoyment was that its sweets needed no stealing. His mother presided over the platters, and thought how much cleverer Grodman was than her husband. When the pretty servant who waited on them was momentarily out of the room, Grodman had remarked that she seemed very inquisitive.
"You stand in danger of becoming the most cordially hated man in New York hated by the most powerful combinations in New York." Wilfred Horton leaned back in a swivel chair, and put his feet up on his desk. For a while, he seemed interested in his own silk socks. "It's very kind of you to warn me," he said, quietly. The Honorable Mr. Wickliffe rose in exasperation, and paced the floor.
And as she spoke she squeezed the spinster's little hand between her own. "We are delighted to see you here," said Miss Thorne; "you give us no trouble at all, and we think it a great favour conferred by you to come and see us don't we, Wilfred?" "A very great favour indeed," said Mr. Thorne with a gallant bow but of a somewhat less cordial welcome than that conceded by his sister. Mr.
"But I must say that Alonzo didn't seem to mutter any, from all I could hear. Pathetic, the way that little man will believe right up to the bitter end. He said that for a hobo Wilfred wrote very good poetry, better than most hobos could write, he thought, and that Henrietta always knew what she was doing.
And it was funny to see how every husband there bucked up when Ben came forward, as if all they had wanted was some one to make medicine for 'em before they begun the war dance. They mooched right up round Ben when he trampled a way into the flushed group about Wilfred. "'At last the well-known stranger! says Ben cordially, seizing one of Wilfred's pale, beautiful hands.
If Wilfred had not been a simple visitor, he would have had no time for thought; but now he could look on the life of which he had for a few years been a part, and study it as related to the future. It was as if his boyhood and youth had not been passed in Chicago the West had blotted out the past as it ever does with relentless hand, and every thought-channel led toward the light of the future.
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