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Updated: June 6, 2025
Roars of laughter from the three bachelors had formed the chorus of "Wesley Tiffles's closing sentences. Marcus Wilkeson, as became his age, was the first to recover himself. "The idea is a splendid one. None better. But there is one slight difficulty in the way. Where are you to find your country that has no dogs?
It was because of these evidences of antiquity, although the house was in good preservation and vastly comfortable, that it had been picked out and rented by the three men, two weeks previously. Yet the three men exhibited no marks of age, past or coming, upon them. The oldest, Mr. Marcus Wilkeson, looked no more than thirty-two; but frankly owned to thirty-six.
Why should not the inhabitants of a block be regarded as a distinct settlement, or tribe, whose members owe kindness and goodwill to each other before the rest of the world? Looking at it in the light of humanity, is it not our duty to know our neighbors?" "And Matt would say, To love them too that is, the young and pretty ones," observed "Wilkeson. "Precisely," said Maltboy.
Skimmerhorn recognized, in one of the clergymen, his beloved pastor, and proceeded, in a pleasant, off-hand manner, and a loud voice, to give a few of the reasons which inclined him to pronounce the panorama a humbug. "Being deadheads," sarcastically observed Tiffles to Marcus Wilkeson, "of course they come early, and take the best seats."
"No idea," said Wilkeson. "Perhaps mending a teakettle." "Or repairing an umbrella," suggested Maltboy. Overtop smiled, and said: "A person with the slightest powers of observation, would see that that man has genius in his face; that his thin arm is not used to hard mechanical labor; that his brain is so heated with great ideas, that he tries to cool it by opening the window.
What I mean what you two are so dull as not to see is to put this unreliable Maltboy on a moderate allowance of flirtation; to keep him, for example, within the limits of this block. D'ye see? D'ye catch the idea?" "It begins to dawn on me," said Wilkeson. "And I catch a ray or two of it," added Maltboy. But "
But he said I must not disturb him, and I will not. Mr. Wilkeson must have gone home a long time ago; and dear father is thinking, as he calls it, with his hand on his forehead, in the old corner. Let me take one little peep through the keyhole, and go to bed again." Pet stooped, and looked through the keyhole.
Every afternoon, about three o'clock, the young man sat at the table with his bottle, cigars, and writing materials, and pursued his pleasant labors. Marcus Wilkeson would never have pretended that it was not highly improper to watch one's neighbors. He would have denounced it as deserving of the severest reprobation.
Patching, the artist, was then interrogated, to the extent of two minutes, and corroborated Tiffles's testimony as to the sad and strange appearance of Mr. Wilkeson on the day after the supposed murder. Patching was then informed by the coroner that his further attendance at the inquest would not be required.
But you must understand that a single mis-stroke of the brush would have spoiled all the harmony in the desert, or reduced the sky to a mere inexpressive field of blue vapor. Why? Genius alone can achieve such grand results by such apparently simple means. You comprehend?" "Perfectly," said Marcus Wilkeson.
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