In short, matters
had reached a crisis.
Tom looked up from his reading.
"Do you know, Jasper, I could wish that our wash-stand had not a
hole cut in it to receive the basin. It sounds hyper-critical.
But really it prejudices me in the eyes of the managers. There's a
suspicious bulge in the middle of the paper that is damning."
I was absorbed in my own thoughts, and took no notice. Presently he
continued--
"Whittington is an overrated character, don't you think? After all
he owed his success to his name. It's a great thing for struggling
youth to have a three-syllabled name with a proparoxyton accent.
I've been listening to the bells to-night and they can make nothing
of Loveday, while as for Trenoweth, it's hopeless."
As I still remained silent, Tom proceeded to announce--
"The House will now go into the Question of Supply."
"The Exchequer," I reported, "contains exactly sixteen and eightpence
halfpenny."
"Rent having been duly paid to-day and receipt given."
"Receipt given," I echoed.
"Really, when one comes to think of it, the situation is striking.
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