The Strand Magazine: Volume VII, Issue 37. January, 1894. - An Illustrated Monthly by Unknown
page 71 of 174 (40%)
page 71 of 174 (40%)
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regularly from father to son, and my uncle--his neighbours said--could
not but be the possessor of a nice little fortune. Held in esteem by all, a Municipal Councillor, impressed by the importance and gravity of his office, short, fat, highly choleric and headstrong, but at bottom not in the least degree an unkind sort of man--such was my uncle Cornubert, my only living male relative, who, as soon as I left school, had elevated me to the dignity of chief and only clerk and shopman of the "Maltese Cross." But my uncle was not only a dealer in antiquities and a Municipal Councillor, he was yet more, and above all, the father of my cousin Rose, with whom I was naturally in love. To come back to the point at which I digressed. Without paying any attention to the sighs which exhaled from my bosom while scouring the rust from my long, two-handed sword, my uncle, magnifying glass in hand, was engaged in the examination of a lot of medals which he had purchased that morning. Suddenly he raised his head; five o'clock was striking. "The Council!" he cried. When my uncle pronounced that august word, it made a mouthful; for a pin, he would have saluted it bare-headed. But, this time, after a moment's consideration, he tapped his forehead and added, in a tone of supreme relief:-- "No, the sitting does not take place before to-morrow--and I am forgetting that I have to go to the railway station to get the |
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