They usually pertain to sordid business affairs,
presenting little that is of interest to a man who, in his time, has
dealt with subtle questions of diplomacy upon which the welfare of
nations sometimes turned.
The name of Bentham Gibbes is familiar to everyone, connected as it is
with the much-advertised pickles, whose glaring announcements in crude
crimson and green strike the eye throughout Great Britain, and shock
the artistic sense wherever seen. Me! I have never tasted them, and
shall not so long as a French restaurant remains open in London. But I
doubt not they are as pronounced to the palate as their advertisement
is distressing to the eye. If then, this gross pickle manufacturer
expected me to track down those who were infringing upon the recipes
for making his so-called sauces, chutneys, and the like, he would find
himself mistaken, for I was now in a position to pick and choose my
cases, and a case of pickles did not allure me. 'Beware of
imitations,' said the advertisement; 'none genuine without a facsimile
of the signature of Bentham Gibbes.' Ah, well, not for me were either
the pickles or the tracking of imitators. A forged cheque! yes, if you
like, but the forged signature of Mr.
Pages:
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126