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We children had gone all over the place before sunrise and touched everything, in token of good-by; from some instinct tarrying longest at the flagpole, where we threw kisses to the great, beautiful banner high above us. Now, at the moment of leaving all these familiar things of all our years, a choking pain came to our throats. Mat's eyes filled with tears and she looked resolutely forward.
Mat's deplorable ignorance of Painting in general, and grossly illiterate misunderstanding of the subject represented by Columbus in particular, seemed to mark him out as the last man in the world who could possibly be associated with Art Mystic in the character of guardian genius. Yet such was the proud position which he was now selected by Fate to occupy. In plain words, Mr.
It was a fine clear day, and the bright sky showed signs of a return of the frost. He was in high spirits as he walked along, thinking of Mat's wild adventures. What was the happiest painter's life, after all, compared to such a life as he had just heard described? Zack was hardly in the Laburnum Road before he began to doubt whether he had really made up his mind to be guided entirely by Mr.
Mat's foible was not servility, and he always showed true English independence in all houses where he was not invited to take his ale in the servants' hall. Mat might offend Signor Riccabocca, and spoil all. An animated altercation ensued, in the midst of which the squire and his wife entered the yard, with the intention of driving in the conjugal gig to the market town.
Every man has a raw place about him somewhere: that's Blyth's raw place, and if you hit him on it, you won't get inside of his house again in a hurry, I can tell you." Still, Mat's attention fastened greedily on every word still, his eyes fixed eagerly on his informant's face still, he repeated to himself what Zack was telling him.
"Why," said Mat, "if the gintleman's not afther bein' sacked clane, I'm not here." "Are you a mathematician?" inquired Mat's friend, determined to follow up his victory; "do you know Mensuration?" "Come, I do know Mensuration," said the Englishman, with confidence. "And how would you find the solid contents of a load of thorns?" "Ay, or how will you consther and parse me this sintince?" said Mat
Some men who are bashful in a young lady's presence show it by blushing Mat's color sank instead of rising. Other men, similarly affected, betray their burdensome modesty by fidgeting incessantly. Mat was as still as a statue.
There was a moment's silence. "He's the most generous fellow in the world," continued Zack, lighting a cigar; "and the best pay: ask any of his tradespeople." This remark suspended the conjecture that was just forming in Mat's mind. He gave up pursuing it quite readily, and went on at once with his questions to Zack.
Far back in the Dark Ages, when his body was more on a par with his legs, it was rumoured that Mat had himself won hunt-races. "Then my body went on, or rayther spread out," he would tell his intimates, "while me legs stayed where they was. So Mat become a trainer 'stead of a jockey." And Mat's legs were not the only part of him that had stayed as they were in those remote days.
As the right foot of the Sampson of Kirk Street hoisted him up slowly, the key swung temptingly backwards and forwards between them. "Come take me! come take me!" it seemed to say, as Mat's eyes fixed greedily on it every time it dangled towards him. "Wonderful! wonderful!" cried Mr. Blyth, looking excessively relieved when he found himself safely set down on the floor again.
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