BOTCHAN
Hubbard Squash, appearing much awe-struck, said; “Don’t mind me, Sir,” and whether out of polite reluctance or I don’t know what, remained standing.
“You have to wait for a little while before the next train starts; sit down; you’ll be tired,” I persuaded him again. In fact, I was so sympathetic for him that I wished to have him sit down by me somehow. Then with a “Thank you, Sir,” he at last sat down. A fellow like Clown, always fresh, butts in where he is not wanted; or like Porcupine swaggers about with a face which says “Japan would be hard up without me,” or like Red Shirt, self-satisfied in the belief of being the wholesaler of gallantry and of cosmetics. Or like Badger who appears to say; “If ‘Education’ were alive and put on a frockcoat, it would look like me.” One and all in one way or other have bravado, but I have never seen any one like this Hubbard Squash, so quiet and resigned, like a doll taken for a ransom. His face is rather
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