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"I can't paint in a suffrage office. This is a studio, not the Club's headquarters. If you can't shut these people off and sit rationally, please don't trouble to come again." "I know, my dear boy, it's abominable, but what can I do? Our bill has passed the Legislature; until it is submitted next year I can't be my own or Theodore's, much less yours. As for you, you look a rag.
"I wonder now if old Ram Lal has a hold on my canny friend, Hugh Fraser Johnstone Sir Hugh to be! Perhaps they are like all the rest of us rascals of the same grade, but only in different ways. The old jewel matters! I must look to this and watch Ram Lal!" The returned Anglo-Indian carelessly nodded to the group of men gathered in the club's lounging-room as he entered.
"Why doesn't your club give a series of holiday parties?" suggested Grandfather. "Make each one of them a really appropriate celebration and not just an ordinary party hung on the holiday as an excuse peg. I believe you could have some interesting times and do some good, too, so that it could honestly be brought within the scope of your Club's activities."
He tipped her generously and caught the next subway train going south. Southbound subway trains run fast, especially when the rush of traffic is northward. Within the hour Judson Green sat in the reading room of his club, industriously turning the pages of the club's file of the World for the past month. Presently he found what he was seeking. He read a while, and for a while then he took notes.
And now in my old age I am to lose her. I had a long letter from her by the early mail, speaking of you in the highest terms." He smiled. Riatt rose, and allowed him to return to the question of the club's wines.
Who, it was asked, was this old gentleman with his three daughters of such surprising beauty? In the Jockey Club's box, where I went to hear the gossip, everyone was talking about them, as of some important political event; Mohammed was an American millionaire, according to some, a Russian prince, or a Rajah just arrived from India, according to others.
Here was a representative group, ranging in age from old Peter Pomeroy, who had been one of the club's founders twelve years ago, and at sixty was one of its prominent members to-day, to lovely Vivian Sartoris, a demure, baby-faced little blonde of eighteen, who might be confidently expected to make a brilliant match in a year or two.
But they're not going to have it all their own way in Welch's again. Our club's going ahead like blazes now, and we've challenged them for a return match the day before break-up." "There's Tedbury out," says Telson. "Twenty runs he's made not a bad score. We'd better cheer him, I say."
Byars about the scarlet woman, and, strange to say, this led to the club's being allowed to meet in the town-house. The minister, after many days, discovered who his correspondent was, and succeeded in inveigling the stone-breaker to the manse. There, with the door snibbed, he opened out on Tammas, who, after his usual manner when hard pressed, pretended to be deaf.
Well, these livestock fracases raised such a row that the club's Board of Governors has passed an ordinance, forbidding the keeping of any pet animals in the whole park. Nothing bigger than a canary bird can be harbored here. It's a hard-and-fast rule. It seemed the only way to save our whole summer colony from disruption.
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