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It is just as I thought, continued Mr. Clodd. The old innocenthes Gladmans brother-in-law, by the wayhas got a small annuity. I couldnt get the actual figure, but I guess its about sufficient to pay for his keep and leave old Gladman, who is running him, a very decent profit. They dont want to send him to an asylum. They cant say hes a pauper, and to put him into a private establishment would swallow up, most likely, the whole of his income. On the other hand, they dont want the bother of looking after him themselves. I talked pretty straight to the old manlet him see I understood the business; andwell, to cut a long story short, Im willing to take on the job, provided you really want to have done with it, and Gladman is willing in that case to let you off your contract. Mrs. Postwhistle went to the cupboard to get Mr. Clodd a drink. Another thud upon the floor aboveone suggestive of exceptional velocityarrived at the precise moment when Mrs. Postwhistle, the tumbler level with her eye, was in the act of measuring. I call this making a disturbance, said Mrs. Postwhistle, regarding the broken fragments. Its only for another night, comforted her Mr. Clodd. Ill take him away some time to-morrow. Meanwhile, if I were you, I should spread a mattress underneath that perch of his before I went to bed. I should like him handed over to me in reasonable repair. It will deaden the sound a bit, anyow, agreed Mrs. Postwhistle. Success to temperance, drank Mr. Clodd, and rose to go. I take it youve fixed things up all right for yourself, said Mrs. Postwhistle; and nobody can blame you if you ave. Eaven bless you, is what I say. We shall get on together, prophesied Mr. Clodd. Im fond of animals. Early the next morning a four-wheeled cab drew up at the entrance to Rolls Court, and in it and upon it went away Clodd and Clodds Lunatic (as afterwards he came to be known), together with all the belongings of Clodds Lunatic, the curtain-pole included; and there appeared again behind the fanlight of the little grocers shop the intimation: Lodgings for a Single Man, which caught the eye a few days later of a weird-looking, lanky, rawboned laddie, whose language Mrs. Postwhistle found difficulty for a time in comprehending; and that is why one sometimes meets to-day worshippers of Kail Yard literature wandering disconsolately about St. Dunstan-in-the-West, seeking Rolls Court, discomforted because it is no more. But that is the history of the Wee Laddie, and this of the beginnings of William Clodd, now Sir William Clodd, Bart., M.P., proprietor of a quarter of a hundred newspapers, magazines, and journals: Truthful Billy we called him then. No one can say of Clodd that he did not deserve whatever profit his unlicensed lunatic asylum may have brought him. A kindly man was William Clodd when indulgence in sentiment did not interfere with business. Theres no harm in him, asserted Mr. Clodd, talking the matter over with one Mr. Peter Hope, journalist, of Gough Square. Hes just a bit dotty, same as you or I might get with nothing to do and all day long to do it in. Kids play, thats all it is. The best plan, I find, is to treat it as a game and take a hand in it. Last week he wanted to be a lion. I could see that was going to be awkward, he roaring for raw meat and thinking to prowl about the house at night. Well, I didnt nag himthats no good. I just got a gun and shot him. Hes a duck now, and Im trying to keep him one: sits for an hour beside his bath on three china eggs Ive bought him. Wish some of the sane ones were as little trouble. The summer came again. Clodd and his Lunatic, a mild-looking little old gentleman of somewhat clerical cut, one often met with arm-in-arm, bustling about the streets and courts that were the scene of Clodds rent-collecting labours. Their evident attachment to one another was curiously displayed; Clodd, the young |
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