Giới thiệu truyện
DRY GOODS
By FLORA ANNIE STEEL
"MR. BLOOKER, sir," said the head clerk severely, "no one whose chest measurement is under thirty-two inches has any right to beat time to 'Rule, Britannia!' even when it is played by a German band in the street."
A small man, whose desk stood nearest the office window, against which a City fog lay like yellow cotton-wool, blushed, apologised incoherently, and returned to fair general averages.
The other clerks tittered, since this was a recurring criticism. For though Alexander Blocker's chest measurement made active patriotism impossible, the heart within it was full of that sentiment. This was unmistakable when he boomed forth solid songs of the past, such as "The Death of Nelson" and "The Soldier's Tear" in his big, solid, bass voice; the more modern ditties about "beggars" and "gurls" and "kids" and "khaki" being, he assured his club, "unsuitable to his organ." And Alexander Blooker was very proud of his organ.
"Never, never, never will be slaves."
Quite unconsciously his dutiful pen punctuated each quaver and semi-quaver, though in his heart of hearts he knew that he himself had been a slave all his life. First to an old aunt who had lately
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