W. Pett Ridge

“ My mother called round that morning with the baby. I don't believe in women-folk coming into the City at all, but mother was so excited about father having got a good berth that she said (you know what women are) that she felt as though she must come straight down and tell me the news. I knocked at the door of Mr. Kershaw's office, and he unlocked it.
"Beg pardon, sir, for troubling you, but my mother and the baby—anything the matter, sir?" ”

“ And that's a boy, too."
"Fine boy, sir, may I ask?"
"As fine a little man," said Mr. Kershaw, enthusiastically, "as ever came into this world. Bright-eyed, healthy, chubby—perfect picture of a boy. I don't suppose, as a matter of fact, that such a perfect youngster is often seen. ”

“ One July Mr, Kershaw went away for his three weeks' holiday, and when he came back, the first news was that he was married.
"Now," I said to Linkson, who copies the letters, "now you mark my words. Old K. 'll change his manner."
"For better or for worse?" asked Linkson. "There's something wrong with our copying-ink. This letter hasn't come out a bit clear."
"Whether for better or worse," I answered, "I can't tell you. Sometimes getting spliced has one effect; sometimes the other. But I'll bet you as much as three'apence that we shall notice an alteration." ”