I can see now the smile that lighted up his rather
handsome face when he told me. He was "monkeying with a buzz-saw"
all the same if he did but know it, and yet he always professed to
follow the metaphor that he could "throw off the belt" that drove
the pulley at his own good pleasure and so stop the connecting
machinery before the teeth of the whirling blade could reach his
fingers. Should it get beyond his control--of which there was not
the remotest possibility--he would, of course, rent his house,
sell his books and curtail. "In the meantime, my dear fellow,
there is some of the old Madeira left and a game of whist will
only help to drive dull care away."
Garry never whimpered when the crash came. The dear mother died--
how patient and uncomplaining she was in all their ups and downs--
and Garry was all that was left. What he had gained since in life
he had worked for; first as office boy, then as draughtsman and
then in charge of special work, earning his Chief's approval, as
the Scribe has duly set forth.
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