please can anybody help me..its urgent...please give me some points on bertie and saltpen jago character sketch in chapter a shot in dark....please....
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nted to seal a letter, and the sovereign-purse happens to have my crest on it, so I whipped it out to stamp the seal with, and, like a double-distilled idiot, I must have left it on the table. I had some silver loose in my pocket, but after I’d paid for a taxi and my ticket I’d only got this forlorn little sixpence left. I’m stopping at a little country inn near Brondquay for three days’ fishing; not a soul knows me there, and my week-end bill, and tips, and cab to and from the station, and my ticket on to Brill, that will mount up to two or three quid, won’t it? If you wouldn’t mind lending me two pound ten, or three for preference, I shall be awfully obliged. It will pull me out of no end of a hole.”
“I think I can manage that,” said Sletherby, after a moment’s hesitation.
“Thanks awfully. It’s jolly good of you. What a lucky thing for me that I should have chanced across one of the mater’s friends. It will be a lesson to me not to leave my exchequer lying about anywhere, when it ought to be in my pocket. I suppose the moral of the whole thing is don’t try and convert things to purposes for which they weren’t intended. Still, when a sovereign-purse has your crest on it—”
“What is your crest, by the way?” Sletherby asked, carelessly.
“Not a very common one,” said the youth; “a demi-lion holding a cross-crosslet in its paw.”
“When your mother wrote to me, giving me a list of trains, she had, if I remember rightly, a greyhound courant on her notepaper,” observed Sletherby. There was a tinge of coldness in his voice.
“That is the Jago crest,” responded the youth promptly; “the demi-lion is the Saltpen crest. We have the right to use both, but I always use the demi-lion, because, after all, we are really Saltpens.”
There was silence for a moment or two, and the young man began to collect his fishing tackle and other belongings from the rack.
“My station is the next one,” he announced.
“I’ve never met your mother,” said Sletherby suddenly, “though we’ve corresponded several times. My introduction to her was through political friends. Does she resemble you at all in feature? I should rather like to be able to pick her out if she happened to be on the platform to meet me.”
“She’s supposed to be like me. She has the same dark brown hair and high colour; it runs in her family. I say, this is where I get out.”
“Good-bye,” said Sletherby.
“You’ve forgotten the three quid,” said the young man, opening the carriage-door and pitching his suit-case on to the platform.
“I’ve no intention of lending you three pounds, or three shillings,” said Sletherby severely.
“But you said—”
“I know I did. My suspicions hadn’t been roused then, though I hadn’t necessarily swallowed your story. The discrepancy about the crests put me on my guard, notwithstanding the really brilliant way in which you accounted for it. Then I laid a trap for you; I told you that I had never met Mrs. Saltpen-Jago. As a matter of fact I met her at lunch on Monday last. She is a pronounced blonde.”
The train moved on, leaving the soi-disantcadet of the Saltpen-Jago family cursing furiously on the platform.
“Well, he hasn’t opened his fishing expedition by catching a flat,” chuckled Sletherby. He would have an entertaining story to recount at dinner that evening, and his clever little trap would earn him applause as a man of resource and astuteness. He was still telling his adventure in imagination to an attentive audience of dinner guests when the train drew up at his destination. On the platform he was greeted sedately by a tall footman, and noisily by Claude People, K.C., who had apparently travelled down by the same train.
“I think I can manage that,” said Sletherby, after a moment’s hesitation.
“Thanks awfully. It’s jolly good of you. What a lucky thing for me that I should have chanced across one of the mater’s friends. It will be a lesson to me not to leave my exchequer lying about anywhere, when it ought to be in my pocket. I suppose the moral of the whole thing is don’t try and convert things to purposes for which they weren’t intended. Still, when a sovereign-purse has your crest on it—”
“What is your crest, by the way?” Sletherby asked, carelessly.
“Not a very common one,” said the youth; “a demi-lion holding a cross-crosslet in its paw.”
“When your mother wrote to me, giving me a list of trains, she had, if I remember rightly, a greyhound courant on her notepaper,” observed Sletherby. There was a tinge of coldness in his voice.
“That is the Jago crest,” responded the youth promptly; “the demi-lion is the Saltpen crest. We have the right to use both, but I always use the demi-lion, because, after all, we are really Saltpens.”
There was silence for a moment or two, and the young man began to collect his fishing tackle and other belongings from the rack.
“My station is the next one,” he announced.
“I’ve never met your mother,” said Sletherby suddenly, “though we’ve corresponded several times. My introduction to her was through political friends. Does she resemble you at all in feature? I should rather like to be able to pick her out if she happened to be on the platform to meet me.”
“She’s supposed to be like me. She has the same dark brown hair and high colour; it runs in her family. I say, this is where I get out.”
“Good-bye,” said Sletherby.
“You’ve forgotten the three quid,” said the young man, opening the carriage-door and pitching his suit-case on to the platform.
“I’ve no intention of lending you three pounds, or three shillings,” said Sletherby severely.
“But you said—”
“I know I did. My suspicions hadn’t been roused then, though I hadn’t necessarily swallowed your story. The discrepancy about the crests put me on my guard, notwithstanding the really brilliant way in which you accounted for it. Then I laid a trap for you; I told you that I had never met Mrs. Saltpen-Jago. As a matter of fact I met her at lunch on Monday last. She is a pronounced blonde.”
The train moved on, leaving the soi-disantcadet of the Saltpen-Jago family cursing furiously on the platform.
“Well, he hasn’t opened his fishing expedition by catching a flat,” chuckled Sletherby. He would have an entertaining story to recount at dinner that evening, and his clever little trap would earn him applause as a man of resource and astuteness. He was still telling his adventure in imagination to an attentive audience of dinner guests when the train drew up at his destination. On the platform he was greeted sedately by a tall footman, and noisily by Claude People, K.C., who had apparently travelled down by the same train.
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Why is brainly so bad? ........
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