Mr. Howard

Now, remember, when we're inside and I yell, Merry Christmas at the top of my voice, you bring out your truncheons and get Luther Lisper and his gang out of there as quickly as possible.

Don't arrest them until you get them outside again, Mr. Howard.

I don't want to frighten the children.

Right, Mr. Holmes, we're ready.

After some minutes of extraordinary bustle without and watchful curiosity within, the important party, preceded by the attentive master of the inn to open a door which was never shut, made their appearance.

They consisted of Lady Osborne, her son Lord Osborne, her daughter Miss Osborne, Miss Carr, her daughter's friend, Mr. Howard, formerly tutor to Lord Osborne, now clergyman of the parish in which the castle stood, Mrs. Blake, a widow sister who lived with him, her son, a fine boy of ten years old, and Mr. Tom Musgrave, who, probably imprisoned within his own room, had been listening in bitter impatience to the sound of music for the last half hour.

In their progress up the room, they paused almost immediately behind Emma to receive the compliments of some acquaintance, and she heard Lady Osborne observe that they had made a point of coming early for the gratification of Mrs. Blake's little boy, who was uncommonly fond of dancing.

Emma looked at them all as they passed, but chiefly and with most interest on Tom Musgrave, who was certainly a genteel, good-looking young man.

He came, in fact, only because it was judged expedient for him to please the borough.

He was not fond of women's company, and he never danced.

Mr. Howard was an agreeable-looking man, a little more than thirty.

At the conclusion of the two dances, Emma found herself, she knew not how, seated amongst the Osbornes' set, and she was immediately struck with the fine countenance and animated gestures of the little boy as he was standing before his mother, considering when they should begin.

and Andrew.

We're Mr. Howard and the Big Guy,

sir.

Mr. Howard and the Big Guy.

That's what it is.

Mr. Howard and the Big Guy.

And then,

so Eric's on camera, but he's not supposed to be.

Well, uh...

You ain't Mr. Howard.

I'm Mrs. Howard.

Oh, you are, are you? Well...

I'm waiting.

I'm sure...

Mr.

Howard, there's a sweet soul.

What's that? Go on, Mr.

Howard.

No, it's too loud.

The ground's beginning to shake.

I stared at his thick trench coat and knew the answer had to be hidden somewhere inside.

Mr. Howard was so shocked that he set down his marker and walked to Doug's desk.

He lifted the hair off his ears to check if someone was talking to him with AirPods.

Nothing.

"Open the coat, magic man." Doug grabbed the front and pulled it tight.

"No." Mr.

Howard reached over and pulled it open.

Strapped to his chest in a baby carrier sat his little brother, maybe six, holding flashcards in his tiny fists.

After some minutes of extraordinary bustle without and watchful curiosity within, the important party, preceded by the attentive master of the inn to open a door which was never shut, made their appearance.

They consisted of Lady Osborne, her son, Lord Osborne, her daughter, Miss Osborne, Miss Carr, her daughter's friend, Mr. Howard, formerly tutor to Lord Osborne, now clergyman of the parish in which the castle stood, Mrs. Blake, a widow sister who lived with him, her son, a fine boy of ten years old, and Mr. Tom Musgrave, who, probably imprisoned within his own room, had been listening in bitter impatience to the sound of music for the last half hour.

In their progress up the room, they paused almost immediately behind Emma to receive the compliments of some acquaintance, and she heard Lady Osborne observe that they had made a point of coming early for the gratification of Mrs. Blake's little boy, who was uncommonly fond of dancing.

Emma looked at them all as they passed, but chiefly and with most interest on Tom Musgrave, who was certainly a genteel, good-looking young man.

He came, in fact, only because it was judged expedient for him to please the borough.

He was not fond of women's company, and he never danced.

Mr. Howard was an agreeable-looking man, a little more than thirty.

At the conclusion of the two dances, Emma found herself, she knew not how, seated amongst the Osbornes' set, and she was immediately struck with the fine countenance and animated gestures of the little boy as he was standing before his mother, considering when they should begin.