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"Meekins," he said, "look at me." The man turned and faced his master. His aspect of dogged civility had never been more apparent. "Now listen," Mr. Fentolin went on. "I want to remind you of certain things, Meekins. We are among friends here no secrecy, you understand, or anything of that sort. You need not be afraid! You know how you came to me?
Are you prepared, may I ask, for the consequences of my disappointing ten thousand readers?" "It's little I care for one of them. I never knew much of reading myself." "If you think to make a jest of me " interposed Mr. Meekins, reddening with passion. "A jest of you! Troth, it's little fun I can get out of you; you're as tiresome a creature as ever I spent an evening with.
There are the hungry hours which nothing will satisfy." His head sank, his chin rested upon his chest. He had all the appearance now of a man who talks in bitter earnest. Yet Hamel wondered. He looked towards the Tower; there was no sign of Meekins. The sea-gulls went screaming above their heads. Mr. Fentolin never moved. His eyes seemed half closed.
Then it was obvious that there was something between those two, some memory or some living thing, seldom, if ever, to be spoken of, and yet always present. The boy began to tremble. "You're a little overwrought, Gerald," Mr. Fentolin declared. "Sit quietly in my easy-chair for a few moments. Walt until I have examined Mr. Dunster's belongings. Ah! Meekins has been prompt, indeed."
His eyes were fixed upon a black speck at the end of the level roadway which led to the Tower. Only a few minutes before, Mr. Fentolin, in his little carriage, had shot out from the passage beneath the terrace, on his way to the Tower. Behind him came Meekins, bending over his bicycle. Hamel watched them both with thoughtful eyes.
You will succeed. You do not mean to end your days amid objectionable surroundings." With the air of a man temporarily mad, Meekins went back to his task. He was sobbing to himself now. His clothes had burst away from him. Suddenly there was a crash, the hinges of the trap-door had parted. With the blood streaming from a wound in his forehead, Meekins staggered back to his feet. Mr.
See now, I told you before not to provoke me; we'll have a little more drink; ring the bell. Who knows but you'll turn out better by-and-by?" As Mike rose at these words to summon the waiter, Mr. Meekins seized the opportunity to make his escape.
It is very important, Meekins, for you as well as for us, that you succeed." The man turned doggedly back to his task. The eyes of the three men watched him Mr. Dunster on the bed; Doctor Sarson, pale and gloomy, with something of fear in his dark eyes; and Mr. Fentolin himself, whose expression seemed to be one of purely benevolent and encouraging interest.
"But what can you do?" she demanded, her voice shaking with fear. "Meekins will come with him, and Doctor Sarson, unless he is here already. What can you do against them? Meekins can break any ordinary man's back, and Mr. Fentolin will have a revolver." Hamel threw another log on to the fire and drew her chair closer to it. "Never mind about," he declared cheerfully. "Mr.
Once more the face of the man became almost unrecognisable. There was a great crack, the trap-door had shifted. Meekins, with a little cry, reeled and sank backwards. Mr. Fentolin clapped his hands lightly. "Really, Meekins," he declared, "I do not know when I have enjoyed any performance so much. I feel as if I were back in the days of the Roman gladiators. I can see that you mean to succeed.
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