— III —FROM A PEDESTAL
Campion was still gloomily staring at his ill-favoured gift when Bales returned from seeing the errand-boy safely off the premises. “I suppose,” remarked the attendant, with a dubious and inquiring inflexion, “I suppose as that there himage struck you favourable from a ornamental p’int of view, or you wouldn’t have spent your money on it, sir?”
“It was a present, Bales,” said Campion, unconsciously vindicating his own judgement at the expense of Sybil’s.
“A present was it, sir? Well, if the 14th of Febry hadn’t been gone so long I should have thought someone had sent you a walentine, and picked you out a partickler ugly one. It must have been meant comical-like, I should say.”
“Heavy sort of joke, Bales — but it’s a curious thing in its way, as you can see.”
“If
