Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
On the whole, the Doctor decided faithful to his habit of looking questions in the face and so passing on that these things worked out pretty well as they were. His reflections carried him to the bridge-end, where, in the porch of the Old Doctor's house, he encountered Mrs Polsue. "Ah! Good morning, ma'am! We are bound for the same door, it appears?
"He called this morning to ask me if I'd add to my public duties by allowing him to nominate me on the Relief Committee, which wants strengthening." "Did he say that?" Mrs Polsue sat bolt erect. "Well, I won't swear to the words. . . . Let me see. No, his actual words were that it wanted a little new blood to give it tact.
In point of fact," she added, "I'm not seeing Nicholas Nanjivell, but a woman called Penhaligon who lives in the other tenement here. Her husband was called up last Saturday." "What, are you ladies at work already?" "Oh, I don't let the grass grow under my feet," said Mrs Polsue. "Damn the woman, I suppose that's a slap at me," muttered Dr Mant to himself.
The noise had attracted a group of women to the porchway; among them, Mrs Climoe "good at the war-cry," as Homer says of Diomede. They huddled forward, obscuring the light. Mrs Polsue, feeling the wall firm against her back, collected her dignity. "I wish all respectable people here," she appealed to Dr Mant, as he came hurrying up the passage, "to take note of this woman's language."
'Kind Action? says he. 'I don't want you to do him no kinder action than to catch him out for a German spy. I name no names, says he, 'but from information received, he's in the Germans' pay, an' Mrs Polsue is ready to swear to it." Nicky-Nan gripped his walking-staff and stood erect, as if to spring on Mr Pamphlett.
There was old Squire Martin, as wicked as a buck rat in a sink; and his son Bob that had lately taken over the Duke's agency; and his brother Ned, the drunken Vicar of Trancells; and his second cousin John Martin, otherwise John a Hall, all wit and no character; and old Parson Polsue, with his curate, old Mr.
I take a glass of ale myself, under medical advice, because cold water disagrees with me, and I've never yet had the aerated drink recommended that wasn't followed by flatulence." "There's neither mirth nor music in 'em" agreed Mr Latter. "I do not seek either mirth or music in the little I make use of," Mrs Polsue corrected him; "and on general grounds I agree with total abstinence."
Word Of The Day