XXXII
Reading edition
It was, I imagine, the presence of the cuspidor which tickled Mr. Barclay Corbet's fancy and provoked him to the series of telegrams which he despatched to Ben. They came at intervals for a day or so. I can remember a few, with the replies:
Corbet Bibury to Beckancal London: Please explain curious article by library fire-place. Beckancal London to Corbet Bibury: Sorry if I have been over-zealous. —— Corbet Bibury to Beckancal London: Do not seem to have any bellows. Beckancal London to Corbet Bibury: Look in oak chest in hall. —— Corbet Bibury to Beckancal London: Gardener clamouring for secateur. Beckancal London to Corbet Bibury: In cupboard in summer-house. —— Corbet Bibury to Beckancal London: Cannot find any shaving paper. Beckancal London to Corbet Bibury: Tear up "Times."
And then came Mr. Barclay Corbet in person to express his absolute satisfaction and to make Ben and her staff a handsome present, and then to spend some hours downstairs in fixing up his shelves properly.
"Whoever thought I wanted an 'Encyclopædia Britannica,'" he said, "is the world's worst clairvoyant. What I want is the works of A. Trollope. They're good to read and they're good to send you to sleep."