Mr. Wallace

“ He went to the telephone, gave a number, and while he was waiting for the call to be put through he asked: "What is the name of your boy-scout parson?"
"The Reverend Vincent Lock," replied Mr. Minute.
"I suppose you don't know the name of your glass peddler?"
Minute shook his head.
"They call him 'Waxy' in the village," he said.
"And the lady's name is Miss Paines, I think?" asked the commissioner, jotting down the names as he repeated them. "Well, we shall—Hello! Is that Saul Arthur Mann? This is Sir George Fuller. Connect me with Mr. Mann, will you?" ”

“ Wallace was a nice, kind boy, but he couldn’t compare for interest with—Jim Carstairs, for instance, dear, silent, loyal, patient Jim, who gives all, and asks nothing in return, or even jolly little Mr Nash, who is always happy and smiling, and trying to make other people happy. I like them both better than Wallace, to say nothing of— And then a picture rose before me of a tall, lean figure dressed in a tweed shooting-suit, of a sunburnt face, out of which looked blue eyes, which at one moment would twinkle with laughter, and at the next grow stern and grave and cold. ”

“ The police pensioner was indeed in a mournful and pathetic mood.
“I don’t know what you’ll think of me, Mr. Manfred——” he began.
“I’ve already expressed a view on that subject.” George smiled faintly. “I’m not blaming you, Digby. To leave a man who has been knocked about as you have been without an opposite number, was the height of folly. I didn’t expect them back so soon. As a matter of fact, I intended putting four men on from to-day. You’ve been making inquiries?”
“Yes, sir. The car went through Gloucester very early in the morning and took the Swindon road. ”

“ Wallace felt that this would be fatal—and it was so. He knew the condign contempt Ecclesiastical Registrars entertained for the literary world, from the little circumstance of hearing only the week before in another Registry, the most eminent historian of the present day, and our best archaic topographer, designated as “contemptible penny-a-liners.” Mr. Wallace was therefore not at all astonished when the Deputy-Registrar folded up his smiling countenance into a frown. He evidently knew what was coming. Literary men never pay, and Mr. William Wallace wanted to consult “his” registers gratis. ”

“ The Rev. Mr. Dean got up from the table, put his hand in his pocket and took out some money.
"You lost the rubber, but I think you win on points," he said. "What do I owe you, Mr. Reeder?"
"What you can never pay me," said Mr. Reeder, shaking his head. "Believe me, Gregory, your score and mine will never be wholly settled to your satisfaction!"
With a shrug of his shoulders and a smile, the hard-faced clergyman strolled away. Mr. Reeder watched him out of the corner of his eye and saw him disappear toward the vestibule.
"Are all your knaves masculine?" asked Olga Crewe.
Reeder nodded gravely. ”

“ But what about Wallace? Have you exacted the attention from him that you should have? Does he owe you nothing? Why shouldn't he spend what he earns in caring for his mother, instead of spending every penny as he pleases? Is there one set of rules for daughters, and another for sons? Why haven't you tied him up? Are you sure he's capable, when he reaches Peru, of supporting a wife? Or will he simply draw on Mr. Balcome—the way he's lived on me. ”

“ The Sun.—Graced by a good humor that no annoyance can ruffle, but occasionally inclined to mischief. Carelessly giving a whack, regardless of consequences, and forgetting it at the same instant. We regard Mr. Wallace as a most able man in any paper; enduring, persevering, and always on the alert. We know of no one in his department of a newspaper who can for so long a time continue to perform downright hard, honest good labor. His nerves and his temper are equally enduring. ”

“ He lurched forward, caught the lapels of the other's immaculate frock-coat and held himself erect thereby.
"My dear old Whitey," he said.
"I don't know you, sir," cried Mr. White, "will you please unhand me?"
"Don't know me, Whitey? Why you astonishing old thing!"
He slipped his arm over the other's shoulder in an attitude of affectionate regard. "Don't know old Beale?" ”

“ Heavytree Farm, Daynham, near Gloucester . . . yes, yes, it is Mr. Johnson speaking. I wanted to ask you if you would take a message to Miss Leicester . . . oh, she isn’t at home?” Leon listened attentively, and, after a few minutes: “Thank you very much. She is staying at Doughty Court? She wired you . . . oh, nothing very important. I—er—am her old science master and I saw an advertisement . . . oh, she has seen it, has she?”
He hung up the receiver.
“Nothing to go on,” he said. “The girl has wired to say she is delighted with her job. ”

“ He went down the corridor, retrieved his rubber truncheon, and came back to her. She was half standing, half leaning against the door-post, rubbing her arm. She was staring past him so intently that he looked round, though there was nothing to be seen.
"You hurt me," she said simply.
"Did I? I'm sorry."
The mark on the white flesh had gone blue, and Mr. Reeder was naturally a sympathetic man. Yet, if the truth be told, there was nothing of sorrow in his mind at that moment. Regret, yes. But the regret had nothing to do with her hurt.
"I think you'd better go to your bed, young lady. ”

“ H. Vose of Fitchburg. These facts speak for themselves, and show the esteem in which Mr. Wallace is held by his fellow citizens, as a wise counsellor, and as a man of integrity and uprightness of character, as well as of rare good judgment in all matters pertaining to the transaction of business. Another says, "In whatever enterprise Mr. Wallace has been engaged, he has not only been fortunate in its pecuniary interests, but also in the speedy command of the confidence and respect of his associates. ”

“ The housekeeper lets me into the house. It is rather early for Mr. Meister: he doesn't usually come down before ten unless he has a case in the courts."
"I'll risk the shock of seeing him in his pajamas," said Alan gravely, and they both laughed.
Mr. Meister was, indeed, in bed. The room on the first floor which overlooked the garden and the leaded roof of a small room built on to the house in the eighteenth century for no apparent reason, since it was never occupied, was close and fusty with the faintly sour nidor of stale cigar smoke. But Mr. Meister was not there. ”

“ Mr. Haggitt at that precise moment was tugging gently at one of the locked drawers in Mr. Meister's desk. He spun round violently, the seventh sense of the crook told him that he was overlooked and he made a quick but unconvincing pretence of polishing the face of the desk.
"Hullo, Nose," he said violently, "got your creepers on? There ought to be a law to make people like you carry bells round your necks."
"Just come up to see the governor," said Peter. ”

“ Bones heard it—Bones, standing on the bridge of the Zaire pounding away upstream, steaming past the Akasava city in a sheet of rain.
"Wonder what the jolly old row is?" he muttered to himself, and summoned his sergeant. "Ali," said he, in faultless Arabic, "what beating of drums are these?"
"Lord," said the sergeant, uneasily, "I do not know, unless they be to warn us not to travel at night. I am your man, Master," said he in a fret, "yet never have I travelled with so great a fear: even our Lord Sandi does not move by night, though the river is his own child." ”

“ Mr. Meister was genuinely annoyed at his servant's munificence, for the lawyer was as mean in little as he was in great matters.
At first he thought that the letter was from a client. The handwriting was big and more or less illiterate. But he had a shock when he tore open the envelope and read the first words:
I want you to come to Graydon Hall Mansions, Battersea. Come as soon as you can. I've got something important to say to you. Maybe I'm being a life-saver. I'll expect you at one o'clock. It was signed "Cora Milton."
Meister's hand went up to his mouth. A trap? It could hardly be that. ”

“ Ahead of them the green tongue of Cap Martin jutted out into the sea.
"I think I'll take you to Nice," he said. "We'll attract less attention there, and probably I'll be able to get into touch with your old Mr. Jaggs. You've no idea where I can find him? At any rate, I can go to the Villa Casa and discover what sort of a yarn is being told."
"And probably I can get my clothes dry," she said with a little grimace. "I wonder if you know how uncomfortable I am?"
"Pretty well," he said calmly. "Every time I move a new stream of water runs down my back." ”

“ He had passed from the pleasantly old to the painfully old, but he was as straight and held his head as high as ever, and when he spoke there was no break in his rasping, menacing tone.
“You would not keep out of this, Mr. Blake, and you have yourself to thank for your serious position. I was afraid this would happen.” ”

“ The caller shot a suspicious glance at his interrogator.
“Are you the boss?” he demanded.
“No—I’m Mr. Manfred’s butler. What name shall I tell him?”
“Barberton—Mister Samuel Barberton. Tell him I want certain things found out. The address of a young lady by the name of Miss Mirabelle Leicester. And I’ll tell your governor something too. This Portugoose got drunk one night, and spilled it about the fort they’ve got in England. Looks like a house but it’s a fort: he went there. . . .”
No, he was not drunk; stooping to pick up an imaginary match-stalk, the butler’s head had come near the visitor ”

“ It is not that one never disagrees with Mr. Wallace. He would scorn the flattery which yields convictions to attempt to please. Even when we differ he is none the less congenial. If I have ever had the feeling that in any respect I should like to make him over it has generally yielded to the conviction that on the whole I could not hope to do better than has been done. Among all the men with whom I have come in contact in places of business responsibility and honor I do not know another to whom I give more unqualified respect and esteem than I do to Mr. Wallace. Cordially,
HENRY M. TYLER."
Mr. ”

“ Is there a ball or something?”
“There will be something livelier than a ball,” he said grimly, “if I find anybody in your garden to-night. And Miss Maxell, if you look out of your window and you see a solitary figure on sentry-go don’t shoot, because it will be me.”
“But you mustn’t,” she gasped. “Please don’t do it, Mr. Anderson. Uncle would be——”
He stopped her with a gesture.
“Possibly nobody will come to-night,” he said, “and as likely as not I shall be pinched by the police as a suspicious character. But there’s a chance that somebody will come, and that’s the chance I’m going to take.” ”

“ In half an hour more he came back, and ran direct to his master with the halfpenny in his mouth.
Since, Mr. John had sent the dog for his stick, his cap, or his handkerchief, often considerable distances; but Wallace always brought the thing safe back, whatever it was, and laid it at his master’s feet. Mr. John was very proud of Wallace, and very fond of him.
Sunny was not old enough to understand these clevernesses of the creature, but she fully appreciated one trick of his. ”

“ That's the whole story from beginning to end. I accidentally happened to meet the young lady, Miss Holland—Miss Bartholomew as she is—and followed her to her house in Portman Place. That was the night you were there."
T. X. found himself to his intense annoyance going very red.
"And you know no more?" he asked.
"No more, sir—and if I may be struck dead—"
"Keep all that sabbath talk for the chaplain," commended T. X., and they took away Mr. Fisher, not an especially dissatisfied man.
That night T. X. interviewed his prisoner at Cannon Row police station and made a few more enquiries. ”

“ After a consultation which had lasted most of the night they had brought Washington from Rath Hall, and on the way Leon hinted gently that the Three had a mission for him and hoped he would accept.
“You’re much too good a fellow to be put into an unnecessarily dangerous position,” he said; “and even if you weren’t, we wouldn’t lightly risk your blessed life; but the job we should ask you to do isn’t exactly a picnic.”
“Listen!” said Mr. Washington with sudden energy. “I don’t want any more snakes—not that kind of snake! ”

“ The salary is terribly generous."
"'Terribly generous,'" repeated the man, in a murmur. "How curious those words sound in juxtaposition! My housekeeper. How kind of you to bring the tea, Mrs. Burton!"
The door opened and a woman bearing a silver tray came in. She was dressed very neatly in black. The faded eyes scarcely looked at Margaret as she stood meekly waiting while Mr. Daver spoke.
Mrs. Burton, this is the new secretary to the company. She must have the best room in the Keep—the Blue Room. But—ah!"—he pinched his lip anxiously—"blue may not be your colour?"
Again Margaret laughed. ”

“ Mr. Dean and Olga Crewe passed out of the main gate, evidently bound for Siltbury. He rang the bell and, to his satisfaction, the aggrieved waitress came and took his order for tea.
"This is a nice place," said Mr. Reeder conversationally.
The girl's "Yes, sir" was snappy.
"I suppose," mused Mr. Reeder, looking out of the window, "that this is the sort of situation that a lot of girls would give their heads to get and break their hearts to lose?"
Evidently she did not agree.
"The upstairs work isn't so bad," she said, "and there's not much to do in the dining-room. But it's too slow for me. ”