"I've got it," he said, briskly; "apologize humbly for all your candour,
and I will give you a piece of information which shall brighten your dull
eyes, raise the corners of your drooping mouth, and renew once more the
pink and cream in your youthful cheeks."
"Look here--" said the overwrought Hardy.
"Samson Wilks," interrupted Mr. Swann, "number three, Fullalove Alley,
at home Fridays, seven to nine, to the daughter of his late skipper, who
always visits him on that day. Don't thank me, Hardy, in case you break
down. She's a very nice girl, and if she had been born twenty years
earlier, or I had been born twenty years later, or you hadn't been born
at all, there's no saying what might not have happened."
"When I want you to interfere in my business," said Hardy, working
sedulously, "I'll let you know."
"Very good," replied Swann; "still, remember Thursdays, seven to nine."
"Thursdays," said Hardy, incautiously; "why, you said Fridays just now."
Mr. Swann made no reply. His nose was immersed in the folds of a large
handkerchief, and his eyes watered profusely behind his glasses. It was
some minutes before he had regained his normal composure, and even then
the sensitive nerves of his partner were offended by an occasional
belated chuckle.
Although by dint of casual and cautious inquiries Mr.
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