He was a poltroon in all these things; a poltroon.

No use arguing! He could not do it.
"I thought it was Mr.Parker's!" Good heavens! To what depths can a great artist fall.
That evening he received a cold letter from Duncan Farll, with a nave-ticket for the funeral.

Duncan Farll did not venture to be sure that Mr.Henry Leek would think proper to attend his master's interment; but he enclosed a ticket.

He also stated that the pound a week would be paid to him in due course.

Lastly he stated that several newspaper representatives had demanded Mr.Henry Leek's address, but he had not thought fit to gratify this curiosity.
Priam was glad of that.
"Well, I'm dashed!" he reflected, handling the ticket for the nave.
There it was, large, glossy, real as life.
_In the Valhalla_ In the vast nave there were relatively few people--that is to say, a few hundred, who had sufficient room to move easily to and fro under the eyes of officials.