On wet days he wore a mackintosh. This, as he did not yet possess a
great-coat, he wore also, but with less glory, on cold days. He had
hoped there might be rain on Christmas morning. But there was no rain.
"Like my luck," he said as he came out of his lodgings and turned
his steps to that corner of Jubilee Avenue from which the
Hanbridge-Bursley trams start every half-hour.
Since Jos Wrackgarth had introduced him to his sister at the Hanbridge
Oddfellows' Biennial Hop, when he danced two quadrilles with her, he
had seen her but once. He had nodded to her, Five Towns fashion, and
she had nodded back at him, but with a look that seemed to say "You
needn't nod next time you see me. I can get along well enough without
your nods." A frightening girl! And yet her brother had since told him
she seemed "a bit gone, like" on him. Impossible! He, Albert Grapp,
make an impression on the brilliant Miss Wrackgarth! Yet she had sent
him a verbal invite to spend Christmas in her own home. And the time
had come. He was on his way. Incredible that he should arrive! The
tram must surely overturn, or be struck by lightning. And yet no! He
arrived safely.
The small servant who opened the door gave him another verbal message
from Miss Wrackgarth.
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