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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"Beyond the City"

'Pon my word, I hardly know what to say
to it. I thank you for having spoken so plainly. From what you say,
this is a poor sort of consort for a man to sail with. Perhaps Harold
would do well to cut himself adrift."
"Without losing a day."
"Well, we shall talk it over. You may be sure of that. But here we are
at the station, so I will just see you into your carriage and then home
to see what my wife says to the matter."
As he trudged homewards, thoughtful and perplexed, he was surprised to
hear a shout behind him, and to see Harold running down the road after
him.
"Why, dad," he cried, "I have just come from town, and the first thing I
saw was your back as you marched away. But you are such a quick walker
that I had to run to catch you."
The Admiral's smile of pleasure had broken his stern face into a
thousand wrinkles. "You are early to-day," said he.
"Yes, I wanted to consult you."
"Nothing wrong?"
"Oh no, only an inconvenience."
"What is it, then?"
"How much have we in our private account?"
"Pretty fair. Some eight hundred, I think."
"Oh, half that will be ample. It was rather thoughtless of Pearson."
"What then?"
"Well, you see, dad, when he went away upon this little holiday to Havre
he left me to pay accounts and so on.


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