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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
220
Having
struck
an
average
of
Mrs.
Batch’s
weekly
charges,
and
a
similar
average
of
his
own
reductions,
he
had
a
basis
on
which
to
reckon
his
board
for
the
rest
of
the
term.
This
amount
he
added
to
Mrs.
Batch’s
amended
total,
plus
the
full
term’s
rent,
and
accordingly
drew
a
cheque
on
the
local
bank
where
he
had
an
account.
Mrs.
Batch
said
she
would
bring
up
a
stamped
receipt
directly;
but
this
the
Duke
waived,
saying
that
the
cashed
cheque
itself
would
be
a
sufficient
receipt.
Accordingly,
he
reduced
by
one
penny
the
amount
written
on
the
cheque.
Remembering
to
initial
the
correction,
he
remembered
also,
with
a
melancholy
smile,
that
to-morrow
the
cheque
would
not
be
negotiable.
Handing
it,
and
the
sonnet,
to
Mrs.
Batch,
he
bade
her
cash
it
before
the
bank
closed.
“And,”
he
said,
with
a
glance
at
his
watch,
“you
have
no
time
to
lose.
It
is
a
quarter
to
four.”
Only
two
hours
and
a
quarter
before
the
final
races!
How
quickly
the
sands
were
running
out!
Mrs.
Batch
paused
on
the
threshold,
wanted
to
know
if
she
could
“help
with
the
packing.”
The
Duke
replied
that
he
was
taking
nothing
with
him:
his
various
things
would
be
sent
for,
packed,
and
removed,
within
a
few
days.
No,
he
did
not
want
her
to
order
a
cab.
He
was
going
to
walk.
And
“Good-bye,
Mrs.
Batch,”
he
said.
“For
legal
reasons
with
which
I
won’t
burden
you,
you
really
must
cash
that
cheque
at
once.”
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