The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. "Marry, come up! Mightn't he just as reasonably complain of your being a Hanoverian and a Presbyterian? It's all matter of opinion. I’ve had a headache all day. Then he sat down and filled his pipe slowly and thoughtfully. ‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted. ‘Why do you think I want a man ready to run to me with every move she makes?’ countered Gerald. My lads," he continued, addressing the partners; "when you've finished this job give that fellow a fresh set of darbies. Nature is a mother; her sympathies have always been feminist, and she has tempered the man to the shorn woman. “I saw—they knocked off your fetters yesterday.
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