"Very well," he said. "I like to do business."
"I beg pardon," said a voice behind me, which, in turning, I discovered to belong to the assistant, "but that dresser's sold. The gentleman who's just left bought it."
As I was looking for the ticket (which had disappeared), I couldn't help overhearing the assistant's aside to his employer.
"Thirty-five guineas cash," he said.
There is something, after all, to be said for direct action.
"OLD FOLKS' TEA.
On the day of the party the Chief Constable has arranged for a staff of Special Constables to escort home any person requiring assistance."—Provincial Paper.
This bears out what has recently appeared about the terrible results of the tea-drinking habit.