Abouthalf-pastnineJacobleftthehouse,hisdoorslamming,otherdoorsslamming,buyinghispaper,mountinghisomnibus,or,weatherpermitting,walkinghisroadasotherpeopledo.Headbentdown,adesk,atelephone,booksboundingreenleather,electriclight…."Freshcoals,sir?"…"Yourtea,sir."…Talkaboutfootball,theHotspurs,theHarlequinssix-thirtyStarbroughtinbytheofficeboytherooksofGray'sInnpassingoverheadbranchesinthefogthinandbrittleandthroughtheroaroftrafficnowandagainavoiceshouting:"Verdict—verdict—winner—winner,"whilelettersaccumulateinabasket,Jacobsignsthem,andeacheveningfindshim,ashetakeshiscoatdown,withsomemuscleofthebrainnewstretched.
Then,sometimesagameofchessorpicturesinBondStreet,oralongwayhometotaketheairwithBonamyonhisarm,meditativelymarching,headthrownback,theworldaspectacle,theearlymoonabovethesteeplescominginforpraise,thesea-gullsflyinghigh,Nelsononhiscolumnsurveyingthehorizon,andtheworldourship.
Meanwhile,poorBettyFlanders'sletter,havingcaughtthesecondpost,layonthehalltable—poorBettyFlanderswritingherson'sname,JacobAlanFlanders,Esq.,asmothersdo,andtheinkpale,profuse,suggestinghowmothersdownatScarboroughscribbleoverthefirewiththeirfeetonthefender,whentea'sclearedaway,andcannever,neversay,whateveritmaybe—probablythis—Don'tgowithbadwomen,dobeagoodboywearyourthickshirtsandcomeback,comeback,comebacktome.
Butshesaidnothingofthekind."DoyourememberoldMissWargrave,whousedtobesokindwhenyouhadthewhooping-cough?"shewrote"she'sdeadatlast,poorthing.Theywouldlikeitifyouwrote.Ellencameoverandwespentanicedayshopping.OldMousegetsverystiff,andwehavetowalkhimupthesmallesthill.Rebecca,atlast,afterIdon'tknowhowlong,wentintoMr.Adamson's.Threeteeth,hesays,mustcomeout.Suchmildweatherforthetimeofyear,thelittlebudsactuallyonthepeartrees.AndMrs.Jarvistellsme—"Mrs.FlanderslikedMrs.Jarvis,alwayssaidofherthatshewastoogoodforsuchaquietplace,and,thoughsheneverlistenedtoherdiscontentandtoldherattheendofit(lookingup,suckingherthread,ortaki