At precisely half-past eight o'clock, on a grey February morning, two amiable-looking, middle-aged gentlemen left a medium-sized house of comfortable appearance, in the neighbourhood of Hampstead, and commenced a walk undertaken by them daily, in the interests of health, with the exception of Sundays, public holidays and a fortnight in August. There was sufficient resemblance between the two to proclaim them brothers- at first sight, indeed, they might have been taken for twins. They were both about five feet five inches in ...
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At precisely half-past eight o'clock, on a grey February morning, two amiable-looking, middle-aged gentlemen left a medium-sized house of comfortable appearance, in the neighbourhood of Hampstead, and commenced a walk undertaken by them daily, in the interests of health, with the exception of Sundays, public holidays and a fortnight in August. There was sufficient resemblance between the two to proclaim them brothers- at first sight, indeed, they might have been taken for twins. They were both about five feet five inches in height, they both had kindly, if somewhat insignificant faces, shrewd grey eyes, and tight, firm lips. Their names were Stephen and George Henry Underwood, and their ages respectively fifty-one and forty-eight. There were many who professed to be unable to tell them apart, and the differences between them were, in fact, scarcely noticeable. Stephen's brown moustache was, perhaps, a little scantier than his brother's and the obtruding note of grey was more obvious; the hair around his ears was a little more grizzled and there was a trifle less colour in his somewhat thinner cheeks. Otherwise the likeness between them was almost remarkable. They both wore broad-toed shoes, hand-sewn to order by a bootmaker in a remote alley situated in one of the backwaters of the City, dark business suits of unfashionable cut, differing only slightly in pattern and material, collars of antiquated shape, inoffensive ties and black bowler hats. They avoided in their attire both the flamboyant splendours of the professional City man and the sporting note affected by the stockbroker and his mate. They were City merchants, and they desired to dress as such.
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Seller's Description:
NEAR FINE WITHOUT D.J. GREEN CLOTH COVERED BOARDS WITH BLACK TITLES AND DECORATIONS TO THE SPINE AND FRONT COVER. OTHER THAN SOME VERY FAINT SPOTS TO THE FRONT COVER AND A TOUCH OF CORNER RUB, AN EXCELLENT CLEAN COPY WITH SPINE SLIGHTLY DARKENED.
This book, very Oppenheim-ish, is light-hearted and
unlikely, but extremely enjoyable. A fantasy for all of us: being enjoined by decree to spend, instead of save money ,and all the improbability that springs from it. A sort of, be careful what you wish for, and you'll find that you can be hard put to it to find ways of spending. The moral is that, as in saving, so in spending: there is a limit to how much a person can handle.
