By that time Miss Rockett had all but recovered her
self-respect, and was so busy in her secretaryship that she could only
scribble a line of congratulation. She felt that she had done rather a
meritorious thing, but, for the first time in her life, did not care to
boast of it.
THE RIDING-WHIP
It was not easy for Mr. Daffy to leave his shop for the whole day, but an
urgent affair called him to London, and he breakfasted early in order to
catch the 8.30 train. On account of his asthma he had to allow himself
plenty of time for the walk to the station; and all would have been well,
but that, just as he was polishing his silk hat and giving final directions
to his assistant, in stepped a customer, who came to grumble about the fit
of a new coat. Ten good minutes were thus consumed, and with a painful
glance at his watch the breathless tailor at length started. The walk was
uphill; the sun was already powerful; Mr. Daffy reached the station with
dripping forehead and panting as if his sides would burst. There stood the
train; he had barely time to take his ticket and to rush across the
platform. As a porter slammed the carriage-door behind him, he sank upon
the seat in a lamentable condition, gasping, coughing, writhing; his eyes
all but started from his head, and his respectable top-hat tumbled to the
floor, where unconsciously he gave it a kick.
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