The lawyer thought me a fool, I fear, sir. And when I came down
here and saw the houses themselves! I'm afraid, Mr. Goldthorpe, I'm really
afraid, sir, I was weak enough to shed a tear.'
They were sitting by the light of a very small lamp, which did not tend to
cheerfulness.
'Come,' cried Goldthorpe, 'after all, the houses are yours for a
twelvemonth. Why shouldn't we both live on here all the time? It'll be a
little breezy in winter, but we could have the fireplaces knocked into
shape, and keep up good fires. When I've sold my book I'll pay a higher
rent, Mr. Spicer. I like the old house, upon my word I do! Come, let us
have a tune before we go to bed.'
Smiling and happy, Mr. Spicer fetched from the cupboard his concertina, and
after the usual apology for what he called his 'imperfect mastery of the
instrument,' sat down to play 'Home, Sweet Home.' He had played it for
years, and evidently would never improve in his execution. After 'Home,
Sweet Home' came 'The Bluebells of Scotland,' after that 'Annie Laurie';
and Mr. Spicer's repertory was at an end. He talked of learning new pieces,
but there was not the slightest hope of this achievement.
Mr. Spicer's mental development had ceased more than twenty years ago,
when, after extreme efforts, he had attained the qualification of chemist's
assistant.
Pages:
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113