What a contrast between this resolute American and his co-heir of a sixth, known by the name of Hermann Titbury, who lived in the commercial quarter traversed from south to north by the long thoroughfare of Robey Street.
When the envoys of the Staats Zeitung rang the bell at No. 77 they were not allowed to cross the threshold.
“Mr. Hermann Titbury” they said through the half-open door, “is he at home?”
“Yes,” replied a sort of giantess of slovenly appearance with her hair in disorder, a kind of female dragon.
“Can we see him?”
“I will tell you when I have asked Mrs. Titbury.”
For there existed a Mrs. Kate Titbury, aged fifty, that is, two years older than her husband. And the reply made by this matron and transmitted faithfully by the servant was:
“Mr. Titbury has no wish to see you
