KIPPS
in which he should own and manage what he called "weekly" property in the less conspicuous streets of Hythe. The cream of that was to be a weekly collection of rents in person, the nearest approach to feudal splendour left in this democratised country. He gave no hint of the source of the capital he designed for this investment, and at times it would appear he intended it as an occupation for his nephew rather than himself.
But there remained something in his manner towards Ann, in the glances of scrutiny he gave her unawares, that kept Kipps alertly expansive whenever he was about. And in all sorts of ways. It was on account of old Kipps, for example, that our Kipps plunged one day, a golden plunge, and brought home a box of cummerbundy ninepenny cigars, and substituted blue label old Methusaleh Three Stars for the common and generally satisfactory white brand.
"Some of this is whiskey, my boy," said old Kipps when he tasted it, smacking critical lips.
"Saw a lot of young officery fellers coming along," said old Kipps. "You ought to join the volunteers, my boy, and get to know a few."
"I dessay I shall," said Kipps. "Later."
"They'd make you an officer, you know, 'n no time. They want officers," said old Kipps. "It isn't everyone can afford it. They'd be regular glad to 'ave you. . . . Ain't bort a dog yet?"
"Not yet, Uncle. 'Ave a segar?"
"Nor a moty-car?"
"Not yet, Uncle."
"There's no 'urry 'bout that. And don't get one
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