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The Wharf by the Docks - A Novel by Florence Warden
page 135 of 286 (47%)

"They ought to reward us for _our_ trouble, papa, don't you think?"
suggested Doreen.

"There! They've begun to reward themselves," said Queenie, as a stone
came through one of the windows.

Mr. Wedmore was furious. He saw the mistake he had made, but he would
not own it. Putting strong constraint upon himself, he assumed a gay
geniality of manner which his looks belied, and boldly advanced to the
door. But Mrs. Wedmore flung her arms round her husband in a capacious
embrace, dragging him backward with an energy there was no use
resisting.

"No, no, no, George! I won't have you expose yourself to those horrid
roughs! Don't open the door, Bartram! Put up the bolt!"

"Nonsense! Nonsense, my dear!" retorted Mr. Wedmore, who was, perhaps,
not so unwilling to be saved from the howling mob as he wished to
appear. "It's only good-humored fun--of a rough sort, perhaps, but quite
harmless. It's some mischievous boy who threw the stone. But, of course,
they must go round to the back."

"Cook won't dare to open the door to 'em, sir," said the butler.

The situation was becoming serious. There was no denying that the house
was besieged. Mrs. Wedmore began to feel like a châtelaine of the
Cavalier party, with the Roundhead army at the doors clamoring for her
husband's blood. The cries of the villagers were becoming more derisive.

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