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"I never thought that there was any doubt about it at all," Tavernake declared deliberately. Pritchard stroked his moustache meditatively. "Well," he remarked, "you are certainly green, and yet I don't know why you shouldn't be. Americans are always up to games of that sort.
Tavernake, and you may find this knowledge useful to you when you have made a fortune in America and have become a man of pleasure; there is no wine equal to it. Veuve Clicquot, sir, if possible of the year 1899, though the year 1900 is quite drinkable." "Veuve Clicquot," Tavernake repeated. "I'll remember it for this evening." The professor beamed. "My dear," he said to Beatrice, "Mr.
Soon a message came that Mr. Tavernake was to go up. He ascended in the lift and knocked at the door of her suite. Her maid opened it grudgingly. She scarcely took the pains to conceal her disapproval of this young man so ordinary, so gauche. Why Madame should waste her time upon such a one, she could not imagine! "Mrs. Gardner will see you directly," she told him.
He stayed at a cheap hotel in the Strand and made purchases under Pritchard's supervision. For the first few days he was too busy for reflection. Then Pritchard let him alone while he ran over to Paris, and Tavernake suddenly realized that he was in the city to which he had thought never to return.
She didn't care what became of me. She was watching the door all the time before he came. Who is he, Pritchard?" "That sounds a simple question," Pritchard answered gravely, "but it means a good deal. There's mischief afoot to-night, Tavernake." "You seem to thrive on it," Tavernake retorted, drily. "Any more bunkum?" Pritchard smiled. "Come," he said, "you're a sensible chap.
One day Tavernake sat poring over the weekly local paper, reading it more out of curiosity than from any real interest. Suddenly a familiar name caught his eye. His heart seemed to stop beating for a moment, and the page swam before his eyes. PROFESSOR FRANKLIN Can be CONSULTED PRIVATELY, by letter or by appointment. Address for this week The Golden Cow, Bell's Lane, Norwich.
"The man sprang upon my friend from behind. He had a knife in his hand I saw it. My friend threw him over and he escaped into that house. They are both there now. "Which house is it, sir?" the policeman inquired. They were standing almost in front of it. The gate was open and Tavernake beat against the panels with the flat of his hand.
She laid her hand suddenly upon his, and raising herself a little on the couch, leaned towards him. Her eyes and her lips both pleaded with him. "Mr. Tavernake," she said slowly, "Beatrice is such a dear, obstinate creature, but she does not quite appreciate my position. Do me a favor, please.
"Well, then, I do," he said firmly. "Will you marry me, Beatrice?" She threw her head back and laughed, laughed long and softly, and Tavernake, simple and unversed in the ways of women, believed that she was indeed amused. "Neither you nor any one else, dear Leonard!" she exclaimed. "But I want you to," he persisted. "I think that you will."
"Yes," he said, "I am on the war-path again. I tried resting but I got fat and lazy, and the people wouldn't have it, sir," he continued, recovering very quickly something of his former manner. "The number of offers I got through my agents by every post was simply astounding astounding!" "I am looking forward to seeing your performance this evening," Tavernake said politely. "In the meantime "
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