Dialstone Lane, Complete eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 237 pages of information about Dialstone Lane, Complete.

“Ah,” said the captain, regarding him thoughtfully; “perhaps you ought to ha’ made it eighty.  He’s asking eight hundred for it, I understand.”

Mr. Tredgold turned sharply.  “Eight hundred?” he gasped.

The captain nodded.  “And I’m not saying it’s not worth it,” he said, “but I might be able to get it for you for six.  You’d better leave it to me now.”

[Illustration:  “Captain Brisket waving farewells from the quay as they embarked.”]

Mr. Tredgold at first said he would have nothing more to do with it, but under the softening influence of a pipe and a glass was induced to reconsider his decision.  Captain Brisket, waving farewells from the quay as they embarked on the ferryboat later on in the afternoon, bore in his pocket the cards of all three gentlemen, together with a commission entrusting him with the preliminary negotiations for the purchase of the Fair Emily.


The church bells were ringing for morning service as Mr. Vickers, who had been for a stroll with Mr. William Russell and a couple of ferrets, returned home to breakfast.  Contrary to custom, the small front room and the kitchen were both empty, and breakfast, with the exception of a cold herring and the bitter remains of a pot of tea, had been cleared away.

[Illustration:  “Mr. Vickers had been for a stroll with Mr. William Russell.”]

“I’ve known men afore now,” murmured Mr. Vickers, eyeing the herring disdainfully,” as would take it by the tail and smack’em acrost the face with it.”

He cut himself a slice of bread, and, pouring out a cup of cold tea, began his meal, ever and anon stopping to listen, with a puzzled face, to a continuous squeaking overhead.  It sounded like several pairs of new boots all squeaking at once, but Mr. Vickers, who was a reasonable man and past the age of self-deception, sought for a more probable cause.

A particularly aggressive squeak detached itself from the others and sounded on the stairs.  The resemblance to the noise made by new boots was stronger than ever.  It was new boots.  The door opened, and Mr. Vickers, with a slice of bread arrested half-way to his mouth, sat gazing in astonishment at Charles Vickers, clad for the first time in his life in new raiment from top to toe.  Ere he could voice inquiries, an avalanche of squeaks descended the stairs, and the rest of the children, all smartly clad, with Selina bringing up the rear, burst into the room.

“What is it?” demanded Mr. Vickers, in a voice husky with astonishment; “a bean-feast?”

Miss Vickers, who was doing up a glove which possessed more buttons than his own waistcoat, looked up and eyed him calmly.  “New clothes—­and not before they wanted’em,” she replied, tartly.

“New clothes?” repeated her father, in a scandalized voice.  “Where’d they get’em?”

“Shop,” said his daughter, briefly.

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Dialstone Lane, Complete from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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