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Crewe had contributed to the stream of bills; and Mr. Botcher, in a Delphic whisper, invited Mr. Crewe to visit him in room forty-eight of the Pelican that evening. To tell the truth, Mr. Crewe returned the feeling of his companions warmly, and he had even entertained the idea of asking them both to dine with him that evening. No three knocks and a password before you turn the key here.
Botcher and Bascom were, when all was said, mere train despatchers of the Northeastern, who might some day bring on a wreck the like of which the State had never seen. Mr. Crewe was in a receptive mood; indeed his nature, like Nebuchadnezzar's, seemed to have experienced some indefinable and vital change. Was this the Mr. Crewe the humble rural members had pictured to themselves? Was this the Mr.
And during its progress the two principal lieutenants of the People's Champion were observed going about the hall apparently exchanging the time of day with various holders of credentials. Mr. Jane, too, is going about the hall, and Postmaster Burrows, and Postmaster Bill Fleeting of Brampton, and the Honourable Nat Billings, and Messrs. Bascom and Botcher, and Mr.
Botcher extracted himself from the nooks and crannies of his armchair. "How are you, Crewe?" he said hospitably; "we're all friends here eh, Painter? We don't carry our quarrels outside the swinging doors. You know Mr. Crewe by sight, of course. Do you know these other gentlemen, Crewe? I didn't expect you so early."
“What are you trying to do? Are you trying to teach me something about this poisoner of wells?” shouted Herr Carovius, and his face took on the enraged expression of a hunchback who has just been taunted about his deformity. “Does the professor imagine that he knows better than I do who this Richard Wagner is, this comedian, this Jew who goes about masked as the Germanic Messiah, this cacaphonist, this bungler, botcher, and bully, this court sycophant, this Pulchinello who pokes fun at the whole German Empire and the rest of Europe led about by the nose, this Richard Wagner?
"What's the matter with seeing him now?" Mr. Crewe demanded. "I know Manning. He's the division superintendent, isn't he?" Mr. Botcher and Mr. Bascom exchanged glances. "Why, yes " said Mr. Bascom, "yes, he is. He's a great friend of General Doby's, and their wives are great friends." "Intimate friends, sir," said the Honourable Jake "Well," said Mr. Crewe, "we won't bother 'em but a moment."
What can he teach me?" "He's a very good gardener," Miss Percival began, but the rest was drowned. "Gardener he! He's a botcher. He measures his melons by the pound. It's money he wants, money-value. So much dung so much meat. He says, 'Be careful, you, of the water-pot; go steady with your syringe. You'll damp off those plants it you're not handy, he tells me. To me, this!
Bascom, Botcher, and Ridout had done enough of blocking and hacking and hewing to satisfy those doughty defenders of the bridge, that a slight, unprepossessing-looking young man with spectacles arose to make a motion. The Honourable Jacob Botcher, with his books and papers under his arm, was already picking his way up the aisle, nodding genially to such of the faithful as he saw; Mr.
The Honourable Adam B. Hunt is the first, and walks up the hill from the station escorted by such prominent figures as the Honourables Brush Bascom and Jacob Botcher, and surrounded by enthusiastic supporters who wear buttons with the image of their leader goatee and all and the singularly prophetic superscription, 'To the Last Ditch! Only veterans and experts like Mr. Bascom and Mr.
I know what I'm talkin' about, and I tell you that Ridout and Jake Botcher and Brush Bascom haven't any more notion of lettin' your bills out of committee than they have Gaylord's. Why? Because they've got orders not to." "You're making some serious charges, Mr. Tooting," said Mr. Crewe. "And what's more, I can prove 'em.
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