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Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One

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Год написания книги
2017
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And like a lamb Barney helped to bear his late lodger’s impedimenta downstairs, and then to place them on the cab, as Mrs Jenkles led Netta half fainting from the room.

Five minutes after, Sam had banged-to the rattling door, shutting in the little party, climbed to his box, and settled himself in his place, with a good-humoured nod to the policeman, who stood beating his gloves together, while Barney stood at the side of his wife.

“Here’s the price of a pint for you, Barney,” said Sam, throwing him a couple of pence – money which Barney instantly secured; and then, vowing vengeance against the donor, he slunk off in the opposite direction; but only to double round by a back street, and track the cab like a dog, till he saw it set down its inmates at the humble little home of Mrs Jenkles.

Frank Pratt’s Cross-Examination, and Après

Captain Vanleigh had declared solemnly that Penreife was “the deucedest dullest place” he ever saw in his life; and Sir Felix said it was “’nough to kill ’fler;” but, all the same, there was no talk to Trevor of moving; they lounged about the house chatting to each other, and consumed their host’s cigars to a wonderful extent; they ate his dinners and drank his wine; and Vanleigh generally contrived to go to bed a few guineas richer every night from the whist table.

Pratt protested against the play, but Trevor laughed at him.

“My dear boy,” he said, “why not let such matters take their course? Van is my guest; surely I should be a bad host if I did not let him win a little spare cash. Have you anything else to grumble about?”

“Heaps,” said Pratt, trying to put his little legs on a chair in front of the garden seat where he and his friend were having a morning cigar; but they were too short, and he gave up the attempt.

“Go on, then,” said Trevor, lazily, “have your grumble out.”

“Hadn’t I better go back to town?” said Pratt, sharply.

“Why, are you not comfortable?”

“Yes – no – yes – no. I’m precious uncomfortable. I see too much,” said Pratt.

“Well, let’s hear what you see that makes you so uncomfortable,” said Trevor, carelessly.

“Dick, old boy,” said Pratt, “you won’t be offended with me for what I say?”

“Not I,” was the answer.

“What are you thinking about?” said Pratt, watching the other’s face.

“I was only thinking about you, and wondering why, if you don’t like what you see, you can’t close your eyes.”

“That’s what you are doing, Dick!” said Pratt, eagerly.

“My dear Frank, have you discovered powder barrels beneath the house – is there a new plot?”

“Don’t be so foolish, Dick. Why don’t you let those two fellows go?”

“Because they are my guests, and stay as long as they like.”

“And are doing their very best to undermine your happiness.”

“Nonsense, man.”

“Dick, old fellow, answer me honestly. Don’t you care a great deal for that little girl up at Tolcarne?”

There was a few moments’ pause, during which the colour came into Trevor’s cheek.

“Honestly, I do,” he said at last. “Well, and what of that?”

“Well, Dick, are you blind? Van’s making all the play that he can, and father and aunt favour him. He’s there nearly every day. He’s there now.”

Trevor gave a start, and turned round to face his friend, his lips twitching and fingers working; but he burst out laughing the next moment.

“Anything else, Franky?”

“Laugh away,” said Pratt, who looked nettled – “only give me credit for my warning when you find I am right.”

“That I will,” said Trevor. “Now then, go on! What’s the next plot against my peace of mind?”

“Suppose I ask you a question or two!”

“All right – go on!”

“Have you noticed anything wrong with Humphrey?”

“Been precious sulky lately.”

“Sulky! The fellow’s looked daggers at you, and has barely answered you civilly.”

“Well, he has been queer, certainly.”

“Why is it?” said Pratt.

“Bilious – out of order – how should I know?”

“The poor fellow’s in love!”

“Poor Strephon,” said Trevor, idly.

“And he sees a powerful rival in the path,” continued Pratt.

“The deuce he does!” said Trevor, laughing. “Is that Van, too? But hang it, Frank!” he cried, starting up, “seriously, I won’t stand any nonsense of that kind. If Van’s been making love to that little lass, I’ll put a stop to it. Why, now I think of it, I did see him looking at her!”

“No!” said Pratt, quietly. “It isn’t Van – he’s too busy at Tolcarne!”

“Silence, croaker!” cried, Trevor, laughing in a constrained fashion. “But, come – who is the powerful rival?”

“Dick, old fellow, I’m one of those, and no humbug, who have a habit of trying to ferret out other people’s motives.”

“Don’t preach, Franky. Is it Flick? because if it is, the girl’s laughing at him.”

“No,” said Pratt; “it isn’t Flick.”

“Then who the deuce is it?”

“You!”
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