"Bad eggs, the brace of them!" had been his
own verdict, after a week's trial of the lads. One would not, the other
apparently could not work. Johnny, the elder, was dull and liverish from
intemperance; and the round-faced adolescent, the news of whose
fatherhood had raced the wind, was so sheep-faced, so craven, in the
presence of his elders, that he could not say bo to a battledore. There
was something unnatural about this fierce timidity--and the doctor in
Mahony caught a quick glimpse of the probable reverse of the picture.
But it was cold, in face of all this rain-soaked clay; cold blue-grey
clouds drove across a washed-out sky; and he still felt unwell.
Returning to his living-room where a small American stove was burning,
he prepared for a quiet evening. In a corner by the fire stood an old
packing-case. He lifted the lid and thrust his hand in: it was here he
kept his books. He needed no light to see by; he knew each volume by the
feel. And after fumbling for a little among the tumbled contents, he
drew forth a work on natural science and sat down to read. But he did
not get far; his brain was tired, intractable. Lighting his pipe, he
tilted back his chair, laid the VESTIGES face downwards, and put his
feet on the table.
How differently bashfulness impressed one in the case of the weaker sex!
There, it was altogether pleasing. Young Ocock's gaucherie had recalled
the little maid Polly's ingenuous confusion, at finding herself the
subject of conversation.
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