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Slowly and cautiously he turned the box on end, but its contents did not appear to move. "I believe the blessed thing's empty!" cried the boy. "I fancied I heard something sort of trickle about inside," said Elsie. "Oh, you're always fancying something," said her brother. "You'll say the grindstone's in there next." "I thought I heard something too," exclaimed Brian.
This grindstone's so confoundedly hard to turn, too. If only that handle-turner hadn't been broken!" Pelle pricked up his ears. "Handle-turner? What's that?" he asked. Gustav sprang round the grindstone, and slapped his thigh in enjoyment of the joke. "My goodness, how stupid you are! Don't you even know what a handle-turner is?
This grindstone's so confoundedly hard to turn, too. If only that handle-turner hadn't been broken!" Pelle pricked up his ears. "Handle-turner? What's that?" he asked. Gustav sprang round the grindstone, and slapped his thigh in enjoyment of the joke. "My goodness, how stupid you are! Don't you even know what a handle-turner is?
While Richard Morrell charmed the ears of the Grindstone's directors with his tuneful periods, and dazzled their eyes by the slow waving to and fro of certain elegantly engraved certificates of stock, and made his determined chin and his big round shoulders say to the assembled body that there was no chance of his going away before he had carried his point, Eudoxia Pence was taking tea at the Temple of Art.
Such trifles as these could be foreseen and allowed for; but not one of the Grindstone's devoted little band had ever grappled with a general decorative scheme for the embellishment of a great edifice raised to the greater glory of Six-per-cent, or had attempted to adjust the rival claims of a horde of painters, sculptors, modellers, and mosaickers all eager for a chance to distinguish themselves and to cut down the surplus and the undivided profits.
Grindstone's face was all tears and contortions; and Rosamond, recollecting her last words with poor Cecil, sprang forward, both men opening a way for her. Cecil was sitting up in bed, very thin, but with eager eyes and flushed cheeks, as she held out her hands. "Rosamond! Oh! But aren't you afraid?"
Can't you get together a little party and give her a sort of lunch out at the Whip and Spur? Then one of us, I suppose, might call on her mother if she's got one." "Whatever you suggest," said Virgilia, with a suppressed sob. "You may think I'm a perpetual fount of ideas, but I'm not." The Grindstone's rejection of her second scheme had hurt her cruelly.
When O'Grady fully realized what he he had done his breast heaved proudly. He ran over to see the fatal placard fastened on one of the Grindstone's great polished columns, and then tramped on down the avenue of ruin with the step and mien of a conqueror. All this devastation was due to him whatever the foolish newspapers, groping in the dark, might say.
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