Village books

Clayson had a vinous nose and a tedious habit of saying brilliant things.
With his twinkling eyes, red cheeks, and fair, pointed beard, he looked
exactly like a Franz Hals; but he was dressed like the caricature of a
Frenchman in a comic paper. He spoke English with a Parisian accent.
Miss Boyd was beginning to tear him gaily limb from limb, when the door
was flung open, and a large person entered. He threw off his cloak with a
dramatic gesture.
'Marie, disembarrass me of this coat of frieze. Hang my sombrero upon a
convenient peg.'
He spoke execrable French, but there was a grandiloquence about his
vocabulary which set everyone laughing.
'Here is somebody I don't know,' said Susie.
'But I do, at least, by sight,' answered Burdon. He leaned over to Dr
Porhoet who was sitting opposite, quietly eating his dinner and enjoying
the nonsense which everyone talked. 'Is not that your magician?'
'Oliver Haddo,' said Dr Porhoet, with a little nod of amusement.
The new arrival stood at the end of the room with all eyes upon him.


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