Marrapit clutched at this. George was
given money for expenses; at eight o'clock left the house. There had
been no opportunity for words with his Mary. She did not even know
that Mr. Marrapit had refused the money that was to mean marriage and
Runnygate; she had not even danced with her George upon his success in
his examination. Leaving the household upon his desperate clue, George
could do no more than before them all bid her formal farewell. At
half-past eight he is cramming the peerless Rose of Sharon into a
basket taken from Mr. Fletcher's outhouses; at nine the villain is
tramping the railway platform, in agony lest his burden shall mi-aow;
at ten the monster is at Dippleford Admiral; at eleven the traitor is
asleep in the bedroom of an inn, the agitated Rose uneasily slumbering
upon his bed.
CHAPTER VII.
Terror At Dippleford Admiral.
I.
"Impress your client," was the maxim of Mr. David Brunger. "Make a
splash and keep splashing," was that of Mr. Henry T. Bitt, editor of
Fleet Street's new organ, the _Daily_.
Muddy pools were Mr. Bitt's speciality. His idea of the greatest
possible splash was some stream, pure and beautiful to the casual eye,
into which he could force his young men and set them trampling the
bottom till the thick, unpleasant mud came clouding up whence it had
long lain unsuspected.
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