For the first time in his life
he wore a mask before his companions, and prevaricated, and became, on a
small scale, a humbug.
The sharp ringing of the doorbell broke in upon the quiet reflections of
the three bachelors. Mash, the cook, who was at that moment reading the
fifteenth chapter of "The Buttery and the Boudoir: A Tale of Real Life,"
in her favorite weekly, threw down the paper in a passion, bounded up
stairs, and admitted John Wesley Tiffles, or Wesley Tiffles, as he
always subscribed himself on promissory notes and other worthless paper.
Mr. Tiffles chucked Mash familiarly under the chin (resented with a
scornful look by Mash, who had learned from "The Buttery and the
Boudoir" to set a proper value on herself), and then walked straight to
the parlor, like one who knew he was a welcome guest.
And he was right. For when he opened the door, and disclosed to the
three bachelors the well-known laughing eyes, hopeful face, and spare
figure of Wesley Tiffles, they hailed him with enthusiasm. He was a
walking cure for despondency, although he sometimes charged too high, in
the shape of borrowed money, for his professional services.
Pages:
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252