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"You are hard-worked, I take for granted?" said Barbox Brothers, when the subject of the rounder came out of it much dirtier than be went into it. Lamps was beginning, "Not particular so" when his daughter took him up. "Oh yes, sir, he is very hard-worked. Fourteen, fifteen, eighteen hours a day. Sometimes twenty-four hours at a time."
I may say that I am well and happy." "That's brave," said Barbox. "Tresham, I have a fancy Can you make room for me beside you here?" He sat down on the sofa as he said the words, cherishing the plump peachey cheek that lay uppermost on his shoulder. Will you take her from me?" As the father held out his arms for the child, each of the two men looked steadily at the other.
After this gathering of herself together, Polly, by that time a mere heap of dimples, asked in a wheedling manner: "What are we going to do, you dear old thing?" "Why, I was thinking," said Barbox Brothers, " but are you fond of horses, Polly?" "Ponies, I am," said Polly, "especially when their tails are long. But horses n-no too big, you know."
And they shook hands, to the greatest admiration and surprise of Lamp's daughter. "I have looked you up half-a-dozen times since that night," said Barbox Brothers, "but have never found you." "So I've heerd on, sir, so I've heerd on," returned Lamps.
The legend "Barbox Brothers," in large white letters on two black surfaces, was very soon afterwards trundling on a truck through a silent street, and, when the owner of the legend had shivered on the pavement half an hour, what time the porter's knocks at the Inn Door knocked up the whole town first, and the Inn last, he groped his way into the close air of a shut-up house, and so groped between the sheets of a shut-up bed that seemed to have been expressly refrigerated for him when last made.
"I find I must stick for a time to Mugby Junction," said Barbox Brothers with much gravity, after once more stopping on his return road to look at the Lines where they went their several ways so quietly. "I can't make up my mind yet which iron road to take. In fact, I must get a little accustomed to the Junction before I can decide."
" To composing little Comic-Songs-like and what was more hard to singing 'em afterwards," said Lamps, "it went against the grain at that time, it did indeed." Something that was not all oil here shining in Lamps's eye, Barbox Brothers withdrew his own a little disconcerted, looked at the fire, and put a foot on the top bar.
"That was an impertinent observation on my part. Be what you like." "Some people, sir," remarked Lamps in a tone of apology, "are sometimes what they don't like." "Nobody knows that better than I do," sighed the other. "I have been what I don't like, all my life." "When I first took, sir," resumed Lamps, "to composing little Comic-Songs like " Barbox Brothers eyed him with great disfavour.
For his reserve took the alarm at a step upon the stairs, and he distrusted that he would be set down for a troublesome intruder. "This is my father coming." The door opened, and the father paused there. "Why, Lamps!" exclaimed Barbox Brothers, starting from his chair. "How do you do, Lamps?" To which Lamps responded: "The gentleman for Nowhere! How do you DO, sir?"
So he went into the building trade as a journeyman under Polly, and they built three stories high, four stories high; even five. "I say! Who do you think is coming?" asked Polly, rubbing her eyes after tea. He guessed: "The waiter?" "No," said Polly, "the dustman. I am getting sleepy." A new embarrassment for Barbox Brothers! "I don't think I am going to be fetched to-night," said Polly.
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