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Updated: June 22, 2025
Superior in manner, but deeply dejected, Mr. Wrenn rang the down-stairs bell long enough to wake Charley, pantingly got himself up the interminable stairs, and kicked the door till Charley's voice quavered inside: "Who zhat?" "It's me, Charley. Wrenn." "You're in Yurp. Can't fool me. G' 'way from there."
He'd be glad to write over to Mr. Guilfogle about it. Anyway, she seemed willing to have him stick here. Yet when dear Carson had jauntily departed, leaving the room still loud with the smack of his grin, Istra seemed to have forgotten that Mr. Wrenn was alive. She was scowling at a book on the bed as though it had said things to her.
Wrenn, who was proven a scholar by the reading of real bound books an English history and a second-hand copy of Haunts of Historic English Writers, purchased in Liverpool and who was willing to listen to the steward's serial story of how his woman, Mrs.
Wrenn and I will exploit this contest in our newspapers let the whole universe know that it is coming off; advise the people that the aviators are to be provided with the most modern airplanes, and equipped with wireless by means of which they will keep us informed frequently of their whereabouts; that they will have cameras and send us pictures; that these bulletins shall be issued in extra editions of our newspapers at least three or four times a day; and to cap the climax, we will put up large bulletin boards in front of our buildings, on which there will be painted a chart of the trip, showing every scheduled stop, country, and ocean crossed.
To all these Mr. Wrenn had been indifferent, for they showed no imagination. But when he saw Big Business glorified by a humorous melodrama, then The Job appeared to him as picaresque adventure, and he was in peril of his imagination. The eight-o'clock sun, which usually found a wildly shaving Mr. Wrenn, discovered him dreaming that he was the manager of the Souvenir Company.
Wrenn laughed and pounded his knee and agreed: "Yes, Tom's an awfully fine fellow, isn't he!... I love to get out some place by myself, too. I like to wander round places and make up the doggondest fool little stories to myself about them; just as bad as a kiddy, that way." "And you read such an awful lot, Mr. Wrenn! My!
Zapp did not expect her gennulman lodgers to entertain. So Mr. Wrenn had given up asking even Charley Carpenter, the assistant bookkeeper at the Souvenir Company, to call. That left him the books, which he now caressed with small eager finger-tips. He picked out a P. & O. circular, and hastily left for fairyland. The April skies glowed with benevolence this Saturday morning.
He probably dines on the left ear of a South-African millionaire every evening before exercise at the barricades.... I say, look over there; there's a real artist going across the green. You can tell he's a real artist because he's dressed like a navvy and " Mr. Wrenn was walking away, across the common room, quite sure that every one was eying him with amusement.
"Nothing, I told you. No one needed." "Look here; can I see somebody in authority or not?" The porter was privately esteemed a wit at his motherin-law's. Waddling away, he answered, "Or not." Mr. Wrenn drooped out of the corridor. He had planned to see the Tate Gallery, but now he hadn't the courage to face the difficulties of enjoying pictures. He zig-zagged home, mourning: "What's the use.
Morton hastened on, protectively, a bit critically: "You fellows sport around a good deal, don't you?... I can't afford to.... Well, good night. Glad to met you, Mr. Poppins. G' night, old Wr " "Going to the ferry? For Jersey? I'll walk over with you," said Mr. Wrenn. Their walk was quiet and, for Mr. Wrenn, tragically sad.
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