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I say, this is where I get out.” “Good-bye,” said Sletherby.“You’ve forgotten the three quid,” said the young man, opening the carriage-door and pitching his suit-case on to the platform.
The Saltpen-Jago influence was not an item which could be left out of consideration, and the political aspirant had been delighted at meeting Honoria at a small and friendly luncheon-party, still more gratified when she had asked him down to her country house for the following Friday-to-Tuesday.He was still telling his adventure in imagination to an attentive audience of dinner guests when the train drew up at his destination. Its graceful lines and symmetrical design masked the fact that it was an enormous wheeled structure, combining the features of a hotel lounge and an engine-room.On the platform he was greeted sedately by a tall footman, and noisily by Claude People, K. “Different sort of vehicle to the post-chaise in which our grandfathers used to travel, eh? And for Sletherby’s benefit he began running over the chief points of perfection in the fitting and mechanism of the car.(performer: "Where We Lived", "Marine Radio", "Like Organza", "Garden Recalled" - as Eno) / (writer: "Where We Lived", "Marine Radio", "Like Organza", "Garden Recalled" - as Eno) Får jag lov: Till den sista dansen?Philip Sletherby settled himself down in an almost empty railway carriage, with the pleasant consciousness of being embarked on an agreeable and profitable pilgrimage.C., who had apparently travelled down by the same train. Sletherby heard not a single word, noted not one of the details that were being expounded to him. was not the sort of man to notice an absorbed silence on the part of a companion.
His eyes were fixed on the door panel, on which were displayed two crests: a greyhound courant and a demi-lion holding in its paw a cross-crosslet. He had been silent himself for nearly an hour in the train, and his tongue was making up for lost time.
I’m stopping at a little country inn near Brondquay for three days’ fishing; not a soul knows me there, and my week-end bill, and tips, and cab to and from the station, and my ticket on to Brill, that will mount up to two or three quid, won’t it?
If you wouldn’t mind lending me two pound ten, or three for preference, I shall be awfully obliged. What a lucky thing for me that I should have chanced across one of the mater’s friends.
Still, when a sovereign-purse has your crest on it–” “What is your crest, by the way? “Not a very common one,” said the youth; “a demi-lion holding a cross-crosslet in its paw.” “When your mother wrote to me, giving me a list of trains, she had, if I remember rightly, a greyhound courant on her notepaper,” observed Sletherby. “That is the Jago crest,” responded the youth promptly; “the demi-lion is the Saltpen crest.
We have the right to use both, but I always use the demi-lion, because, after all, we are really Saltpens.” There was silence for a moment or two, and the young man began to collect his fishing tackle and other belongings from the rack. “I’ve never met your mother,” said Sletherby suddenly, “though we’ve corresponded several times.
Then I laid a trap for you; I told you that I had never met Mrs. As a matter of fact I met her at lunch on Monday last.