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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Changing Numbers, by W.W. Jacobs This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: The Changing Numbers Odd Craft, Part 8. Author: W.W. Jacobs Release Date: April 29, 2004 [EBook #12208] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHANGING NUMBERS *** Produced by David Widger ODD CRAFT By W.W. Jacobs THE CHANGING NUMBERS The tall clock in the corner of the small living-room had just struck eight as Mr. Samuel Gunnill came stealthily down the winding staircase and, opening the door at the foot, stepped with an appearance of great care and humility into the room. He noticed with some anxiety that his daughter Selina was apparently engrossed in her task of attending to the plants in the window, and that no preparations whatever had been made for breakfast. [Illustration: "Mr. Samuel Gunnill came stealthily down the winding staircase."] Miss Gunnill's horticultural duties seemed interminable. She snipped off dead leaves with painstaking precision, and administered water with the jealous care of a druggist compounding a prescription; then, with her back still toward him, she gave vent to a sigh far too intense in its nature to have reference to such trivialities as plants. She repeated it twice, and at the second time Mr. Gunnill, almost without his knowledge, uttered a deprecatory cough. His daughter turned with alarming swiftness and, holding herself very upright, favoured him with a glance in which indignation and surprise were very fairly mingled. "That white one--that one at the end," said Mr. Gunnill, with an appearance of concentrated interest, "that's my fav'rite." Miss Gunnill put her hands together, and a look of infinite long-suffering came upon her face, but she made no reply. "Always has been," continued Mr. Gunnill, feverishly, "from a--from a cutting." "Bailed out," said Miss Gunnill, in a deep and thrilling voice; "bailed out at one o'clock in the morning, brought home singing loud enough for half-a-dozen, and then talking about flowers!" Mr. Gunnill coughed again. "I was dreaming," pursued Miss Gunnill, plaintively, "sleeping peacefully, when I
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