"That bowl of punch!" : what it did, and how it did it : six Christmas stories . m to the lady, he led her from the room,and banged the door to with an explosion like the discharge of a park ofartillery. Poor Dr. Winsom ? He feels that the brightness of his respectabilityis dimmed for ever. At every knock that comes to the door his heartbeats, every policeman he meets he thinks is looking suspiciously at him,and he goes about in a daily dread of exposure. But up to this period he has received no notice of an action, nor thereturn of his rubies, but he has been much cheered by a report that has
"That bowl of punch!" : what it did, and how it did it : six Christmas stories . m to the lady, he led her from the room,and banged the door to with an explosion like the discharge of a park ofartillery. Poor Dr. Winsom ? He feels that the brightness of his respectabilityis dimmed for ever. At every knock that comes to the door his heartbeats, every policeman he meets he thinks is looking suspiciously at him,and he goes about in a daily dread of exposure. But up to this period he has received no notice of an action, nor thereturn of his rubies, but he has been much cheered by a report that hasjust reached his ears, that Miss Euphemia Dodd is going to bless with herheart and hand a Baptist missionary lately returned from a ten years resi-dence in Africa, and of strange, ancient-maidism proclivities. Frank Barrington was the only one who hesitated to begin a story, but atlast he overcame his innate modesty and said My life has been eventfulenough but at the moment I can think of nothing more interesting thanan incident of my boyhood which I shall entitle THE T the age of fifteen I left the grammar school of my nativevillage to take my place at the desk of a distant relation ofour vicar, one Arthur Grindley, who traded in a dingy, slip-pery, bye-street of the City of London, under the style andtitle of Grindley and Co., Accountants. It was very littleaccountancy that I saw carried on during the two years thatT was there, for the truth is that old Grab, as we calledhim, was neither more nor less than a bill discounter and moneylender. I say as we called him, and by we I mean Mr. Archibald Hare,Sneaking Jemmy, and myself. Mr. Archibald Hare was old Grabs chief clerk and cashier, and wasabout the last man you would have expected to find occupying uch aplace. He was young, handsome, genial, and open-handed, and but ill-ada ptedby nature for the unclean ways of usury, but, as Fate had driven him intosuch muddy paths, he trod over the mire as gingerly as he could, a
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