Classic Audiobook Collection - The Astonishing History of Troy Town by Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch ~ Full Audiobook [comedy]

Episode Date: December 12, 2023

The Astonishing History of Troy Town by Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch audiobook. Genre: comedy In the genteel Cornish harbor town of Troy - a thinly veiled portrait of Fowey - respectability is measured by a single shibboleth: being 'cumeelfo' (as Troy pronounces comme il faut). Into this snug world of drawing-room evenings, gossip, and small tyrannies comes a thrilling disturbance: the arrival of the apparently aristocratic Frederic and Geraldine Goodwyn-Sandys, tenants of the house called The Bower across from the prim Misses Limpenny and the blustering Admiral Hornaby Buzza. Their glamour dazzles the town's self-appointed elite, even as quiet rivalries, infatuations, and moral posturing begin to surface. Meanwhile Philip Fogo - absent-minded, wounded by an old love, and seeking solitude - arrives by train and is promptly mistaken for the newcomer, only to slip away upriver to rent the secluded Kit's House with the help of the dockworker Caleb Trotter and the plainspoken Dearlove family. As Troy's 'best' society strains to imitate its fashionable guests, Fogo is drawn back toward community and conscience, and a darker undercurrent gathers around the visitors' secrets and a dangerous cargo expected in the harbor. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 00 (00:01:44) Chapter 01 (00:12:40) Chapter 02 (00:24:59) Chapter 03 (00:37:29) Chapter 04 (00:53:39) Chapter 05 (01:05:07) Chapter 06 (01:22:11) Chapter 07 (01:36:33) Chapter 08 (01:51:59) Chapter 09 (02:10:42) Chapter 10 (02:28:54) Chapter 11 (02:56:18) Chapter 12 (03:16:29) Chapter 13 (03:33:57) Chapter 14 (03:56:18) Chapter 15 (04:14:00) Chapter 16 (04:26:05) Chapter 17 (04:40:34) Chapter 18 (05:00:56) Chapter 19 (05:21:49) Chapter 20 (05:36:56) Chapter 21 (05:49:02) Chapter 22 (06:01:49) Chapter 23 (06:15:31) Chapter 24 (06:33:59) Chapter 25 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Chapter 1 of the astonishing history of Troytown by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch. Chapter 1. In which the reader is made acquainted with a state of innocence, and the meaning of the word, Kumilfo. Any news to-night? asked Admiral Buzzer, leading a trump. Hush, my love, interposed his wife timidly with a glance at the vicar. She liked to sit at her husband's left, and laid her small cards before him as so many tributes to his greatness. "'I will not, hush, Emily. I repeat, is there any news to-night?' Miss Limpony, his hostess and vis-a-vis, finding the Admiral's eye fierce upon her,

coughed modestly, and announced that twins had just arrived to the postmistress. Her manner, as she said this, implied that, for all she knew, they'd come with the letters. The vicar took the trick and gathered it up in silence. He was a portly antique gentleman, with a fine taste for scandal in its proper place, but disliked a conversation during her rubber. "'Twince, eh?' growled the amble. "'Just what I expected. She always was a wasteful woman.' "'My love,' expostulated his wife.

Miss Limpony blushed. "'They'll come to the workhouse,' he went on, "'and serve him right for making such a marriage.' "'I have heard that his heart is in the right place,' pitted Miss Limponay, but he used—' "'A, ma'am?' "'It is of no consequence,' said Miss Limponie, with becoming bashfulness. It's only that he always used in sorting his cards to sit upon his trumps.

That always seemed to be, Oh, does so, replied the Emperor, a knight's twins. Bless the man, what next? It was in the golden age, before Troy became demoralised, as you shall hear. At present, you ought to picture the drawing-room of the Mrs. Limpony, arranged for an evening. The green rep curtains drawn, the Book of Beauty disposed upon the central table, the ballad music on the piano, and the Admiral's double bass in the corner.

Six wax candles were beaming graciously on cards, tea cakes and ratafias, on the pictures of the first drive and the orphan's dream, the photographic views of Troy from the harbour, the opposite hill, and one or two other points, and finally the noted oil painting of Miss Limponis' papa as he appeared shortly after preaching in Assai's sermon. Above all, the tea surface was there, the famous set in real silver presented to the late Reverend Limpony by his flock, and miss priscilla she at the card-table wore her best brooch with the lock of his hair arranged therein as a fleur-de-lie i wish i could convey to you some of the innocent mirth of those evenings in troy those noctstays those noctase limpenny and i when the ladies brought their cap-boxes though the buzzers and limpenies were but semi-detached neighbours and the admiral and his wife insisted on playing against each other so that the threeperny points never affected their weekly accounts those were happy days when the young men were not above singing the death of nelson or joining in a glee and arming the young ladies home afterwards in those days hockens's lip had not yet become the victoria key and we talked of the rope walk when we now say marim parade alas our tastes have altered with troy yet we were vastly genteel we even had our shibboleth a verdict to be passed before anything could hope for toleration in Troy. The word to be pronounced was Camillefo, and all that was not Camillefo was anathema. So often did I hear this word from Miss Limpon his lips that I grew in time to

clothe it with an awful meaning. It meant to me, as nearly as I can explain, all things sanctioned by the principles of the great exhibition of 1851, and included, as time went on, crochet anti-Mocassas, art in the style of the Greek slave. Elegant extracts and the British poets as edited by Gilfillon. Corkscrew curls and prunella boots. Album verses. Quadrille dancing and the de tourteau. Popular science?

Proposals on the bended knee. Cundering and variety entertainments. The sentimental ballad. The proprieties. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. The very spirit of this word breathed over the limpenny drawing room tonight. and Miss Priscilla's lips seemed to murmur it as she gazed across to where her sister, Lavinia,

was engaged in a round game with the young people. These were Admiral Buzzer's three daughters, Sophie, Jane and Calypso, the last named after her father's old ship, and young Mr. Moggridge, the amusing collector of customs. They were playing with Rataphias for counters, ratafias were Camille foe,

and peals of gireless laughter from time to time broken upon the grave silence of the whist table. For always on such occasions, in the glow of Miss Limpany's wax candles, youth and age held opposite camps, with the centre table as debatable ground. Nor, until the rubble was finished, and the round game had ended in a seemly scramble for ratafiers, would the two recognise each other's presence, save now and then by a, hush if you please, young people, from the elder sister, followed by, whispered, "'What spirits your dear girls enjoy?'

"'For Mrs. Buzzers' ear.' "'But at length the signal will be given by Miss Priscilla. "'Come, a little music, perhaps, might leave a pleasant taste. "'What do you say, Vicar?' "'Upon myth of Vicar would regularly murmur, "'say rather would gild refined gold, Miss Limpony.' "'And the admiral has invariably broke him with, "'Come, Sophie, remember the proverb about little birds that can sing and won't sing?'

this prelude having been duly recited the mrs buzzer would together trip to the piano on which the two younger girls in duet were used to accompany sophia's artless ballads the performance gained a character of its own from a habit to which calypso clung of counting the time in an audible aside as thus sophia singing oh breathe but a whispered command calypso one two three four fear i'll lay down my life for thee Clipso, one, two, three, four. The effect of which upon strangers has been known to be paralysing, though we who were Camille Foe pretended not to notice it. But Sophie could also accompany her own songs, such as, Would you love me then as now, and I'd rather be a daisy, with much feeling. She was clever, too, with the watercolour brush, and to her we owe that picture of HMS Calypso in a storm, which hangs to this day over the Admiral's mantelpiece. I could dwell on this evening forever, not that the company was so large as usual, but because it was the last night of our simplicity.

With the next morning we passed out of our golden age, and then the foolishness of our hearts welcomed the change. It was announced to us in this manner. The duets had been beaten out of Miss Limponis piano, an early collard with a top like a cupboard, fluted in pink silk and wearing a rosette in front. The performers, on retiring, had curtsied in acknowledgement. of the vicar's customary remark about the Three Graces. The Admiral had rung from his double-base the sounds we had learnt to identify with Elfin Merriment, though suggestive rather, of seasick mutineers under hatches, and our literary collector, Mr. Moggridge, was standing up to recite a trifle of his own,

flung off, as he explained, not pruned or polished. The hush in the drawing-room was almost painful, for in those days we all admire Mr. Moggridge, as the poet tossed back a stray lock from his forehead, flung an arm suddenly out at right angles to his person, and began sepulcharily. Maiden! Here he looked very hard at Miss Lavinilimpenny. Maiden, what does thou in the chill churchyard,

beside young grassy mound? The night hath fallen, the rain is raining hard, damp is the ground. Mrs. Buzer shivered and began to weep quietly. Maiden, white claspest thou that cold, cold stone against thy straining breast. Tell me what does thou at this hour alone? The lambs have gone to rest. The maiden lifted up her tearful gaze, and thus she made reply. My mother, sir, is—' But the secret of her conduct remains, with Mr. Mogridge,

for at this moment the door opened, and the excited head of Sam Buzzer the Admiral's son was thrust into the room. "'I say, have you heard the news? The Bucer! "'The buzzer!' "'The power is let.' "'What?' All eyes were fixed on the newcomer. The vicar woke up. Even the poet with his arm still at right angles,

and the verse are rested on his lips, turned to stare incredulously. "'It's a fact! I heard it down at the Man O' War Club meeting, you know,' he exclaimed. "'Goodwin Sandys is his name. The Honourable Goodwin Sandys, "'Bother to Lord Sinkport. "'And what's more, he's coming by the midday train to-morrow.'

"'The poet's arm dropped like a railway-sink, There was a long pause, and then the voices broke out altogether. "'Only fancy!' "'There now! The Bower let at last—an honourable, too! What's he like?' "'Are you sure? Well, I never did.'

"'Miss Tempani,' gasped the Admiral at length. "'Where is your burke?' It lay between the Cathedrals of England and Gems of Modern Art, under the stereoscope. Miss Lavignor produced it. "'Let me see,' said the Admiral, turning the pages. Syncboard. Singport. Ah, here we are.

George St. Leonard's, Goodwin, Sands, fourth Baron. Hmm. Here it is. Only brother, Frederick Augustus Hyth, Goodwin, Sand is. Born 1842. Married? Married? 1876.

Geraldine, eighth, daughter of Sheel O'Halloron of Kilmacotty Court County Kerry. Blank space for issue. Arms, ghouls, a bar since... Well, upon my word. I'm sure. sighed Mrs. Buzzer, after the excitement to cool to a little, "'I'm sure I only hope they would settle down to our humble ways.' "'Emily,' snapped her husband,

"'you speak like a fool. "'Poh! Let me tell you, ma'am, that our ways in Troy are not humble.' Outside, in Miss Limpon's back garden, the Lorestina's bushes sighed as they caught those ominous words. So might Eden have sighed, aware of its serpent. End of Chapter 1. Chapter 2 of The Astonishing History of Troy Town By Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch

This Librevox recording is in the public domain Recording by Simon Evers Chapter 2 How an Admiral took one gentleman for another And was told the day of the month Next morning, almost before the sun was up All Troy was in possession of the news And in Troy, all that is personal, has a public interest

It is this local spirit that marks off the Trojan from all other minds. In consequence, long before ten o'clock struck, it was clear that some popular movement was afoot, and by half-past eleven the road to the railway station was crowded with Trojans of all sorts and conditions, boatmen, pilots, fishermen, sailors out of employ, the local photographer, men from the ship-building yards, makers of ship's biscuit, of ropes, of sails, chandlers, block-and-pump manufacturers, loafers, representatives in short of all the staple industries women with baskets women with babies women with both even a few farmers in light gigs with their wives or in carts with their families a spring-le-ling from pen-poodle across the carbour high and low church and descent with children by the hundred some even proposed to ring the church bells and fire the cannon at the harbour's mouth but the ringers and artillery men preferred to come and see the sight as it was the george floated proud from the church tower, and the fife and drum temperance band stood ready at the corner of East Street.

All Troy, in fact, was on tiptoe. Meanwhile, as few in the crowd possessed Burke or de Brett, the information that passed from mouth to mouth was diverse and peculiar. But, as was remarked by a laundress in the crowd to a friend, he may be the Popo Rome, me dear, and he may be the Duke of Wellington, and not the soul here would have known t'other from which no more than if he were at them. all I says is The Lord Send he's a professional Christian and has it linen wash regular

My what a crush On in which my boy Jam was here to see But he's staying at home my dear Because his father means to kill the pig today And the dear child do so love to hear him screech The Admiral, who happened by the merest chance To be sauntering along the station road this morning In his best blue frock coat with a flower in the buttonhole

corrected some of the rumours But without much success finding the frong so thick he held a long debate between curiosity and dignity the latter won and he returned to number two alma villas in a flutter some ten minutes before the train was due by noon the crowd was growing impatient but hardly had the church clock chimed the hour when the shriek of a whistle was heard from up the valley amid wild excitement a puff of white smoke appeared then another and finally the midday train steamed serenely into the station as it drew up a mild spectacle face appeared at the window of a first-class carriage and asked is this Troy yes sir terminus any luggage sir the mild face got out it belonged to the only stranger in the train there is only a black portmanteau said he ah that is it i should want it to put into the cloak-room for an hour or two while i go into the town the stranger gave up his ticket a single ticket and stepped outside the station He was a mild, thin man, slightly above middle heights, with vacant eyes and a hesitating manner. He wore a black suit, a rather rusty top hat, and carried a silk umbrella. Here he comes. Ooh, that's him.

Give on a cheer, boys! Ippie-Beroy! The sound burst upon the clear sky in a deafening peal. The stranger paused and looked confused. "'Dear me,' he murmured to himself, "'the population here seems to be excited about something. then bless myself what a lot of it there is. He might well say so.

Along the road, arms, sticks, baskets and handkerchiefs were frantically waving, men shouting and children harrowing with might and mane. Windows were flung up, heads protruded, flags waved in frenzied welcome. The tumult was stupendous. There was not a man, woman or child in Troy, but felt the demonstration must be hearty and determined to make it a success. What a can of cause this riot? The stranger paused with a half-timid air,

but after a while resumed his walk. The shouts broke out again, and louder than ever. Welcome, welcome to Troy. Hooray! Once more, lads, hooray! And all the handkerchiefs waved anew. Bless my soul, what is the matter? And suddenly he became aware that all this frantic display

was meant for him. How he first learnt it, he could never afterwards explain but the shock of it brought a deathly faintness. There is some horrible mistake, he murmured hoarsely, and turned to run. He was too late. The crowd had closed around him and swept him on, cheering, yelling, vociferating towards the town. He feebly put up a hand for silence. My friends, he shouted, you are.

Yes, yes, we know, welcome, welcome, hippiparay! My friends, I assure you, boom, boom, triggering boom. It was at a cursed fart. fief and drum temperance band. In a moment five-and-twenty fifers were blowing, see the conquering hero comes, with all their breath, and marching to the beat of a deafening drum. Behind them came a serried crowd with the stranger in its midst, and a straggling train of farmers' gigs and screaming urchins closed the procession. Miss Limpony, at the first-story window of No. 1, Alma Villas, heard the yet distant din. With trembling fingers she hung out of the window a loyal, pocket

a tankerchief worn by her mother at the Jubilee of King George III, shut down the sash upon it, and discreetly retired again behind her white blind to watch. The cheering grew louder, and Miss Limpin's heart beat faster. I hope, she thought to herself, I hope that their high connections will not have given them a distaste for our hearty ways. Well as I know, Troy, I think I might be frightened at this display of public feeling. She peeped out over the white blinds. door, the Admiral was fuming nervously up and down his gravel walk. He was debating the propriety of his costume. Even yet there was time to run upstairs and don his cocked hat and gold-laced coat before the procession arrived. Between the claims of his civil and official positions,

the poor man was in a ferment. As a man of the world, Miss Limpini soliloquized, the Honourable Frederick Goodwin's End is cannot fail to appreciate our sterling admiral. Dear dear, dear, here they come. I do trust Dierry Slavina has not put herself in too conspicuous a position at the parlour window. What a lot of people to be sure!' The crowd had gathered volume during its passage to the town, and the conquering hero was more distractingly strill than ever. The goal was almost reached, for the barrow stood next door to Armour Villas, and was to divide from them only by a road which led down to the water's edge and the pen-poodle ferry-boat.

"'Why, everybody is here,' said Miss Limponie. except of course the vicar. There's Farrow Gedgy, waving a flag, and blind Sam Hockin, and Mrs. Hawking with him, I declare, and Bathsheba, Merrifield, and Jim the Dustman and Seth Udy in the band, he must have taken the pledge lately, and Walter Sibley, and a score I don't even know by sight.

And bless my heart, that's old Cobbledick, wooden leg and all. I thought he was bedridden for life. But I don't see the arrivals yet. I wonder who that poor man is in the crowd. It can't be. and yet, What, whatever is the Admiral doing? For Admiral Buzzer had opened his front gate

and deliberately stepped out into the road. The stranger, disheveled, haggard and bewildered, had long since abandoned all attempts at explanation and fallen into a desperate apathy, and all at once a dozen voices in front cried, hush! The band broke off suddenly, and the cheering died away. My wife for the Admiral!

Out of the Royal there! The Admiral's got to speak. Silence for the Admiral. The stranger looked up and saw through the opening of the crowd a little man advancing hat in hand. He had a red face, and the importance of his mission had lent it even a deeper tint than is usually wore. His bald head was fringed with stiff grey hair. He was clothed in pepper and salt trousers, a blue frock coat and waistcoat, and carried a large bunch of primroses in his buttonhole.

His step was full of dignity and his voice of grave politeness as he began with a bow. "'Though not the accredited spokesman of my fellow citizens here, "'I'm sure I shall not be deemed presumptuous,' cries of, "'no, if I venture to give expression to some of the kindly sentiments, "'which I'm sure we one and all entertain upon this auspicious occasion.' "'Loud cheers. "'For upstance of twenty years I have now resided in this beautiful and prosperous—' "'I think I may use these words.

"'Here I are, this beautiful and prosperous little town, "'and it is therefore with a more sincere pleasure, "'Here the Arbral laid his hand upon his waistcoat, "'that I bid you welcome to Troy.' "'Frantic cheering. "'We had hoped, I say, we had hoped, "'to have seen your good lady also among us today. "'But doubtless when the bower is prepared,

"'the bird will fly thither.' "'Pras applause followed this impromptu troop, "'and for some moments the Admiral's voice was completely drowned. "'I hope and trust,' he went on "'as soon as silence was restored, "'that she enjoyed. good health. The stranger looked more perplexed than ever. But be that as it may, be that as I say as it may, my pleasant duty is now discharged. In the name of my fellow Trojans, in my own name,

I bid you a hearty welcome to the bower. Loud and continuous cheering, during which the Admiral handed his cart with a flourish and mopped his brow. "'I can assure you,' replied the stranger after pause, that I am deeply sensible of your kindness.' The cheering was renewed. "'While conscious,' he went on, "'that I have done nothing to deserve it, "'in point of fact, I think you must all be laboring "'under some ridiculous delusion.'

"'What do you mean, sir?' asked the aramble. "'Do you mean to say that you are not the new tenant "'of this delightful residence?' "'Then the speaker waved his hand in the direction of the bar. "'Certainly I am not.' "'Then, dam me, sir, who are you?' cried the admiral whose temper was as we know short my name is fogo replied the stranger here is my carb philip fogo at your service even miss limpenny with the first-floor window of number one timidly lifted to admit the admiral's eloquence even the three mrs buzzers arranged in a row behind the parlour lines of number two and gazing with fond pride upon the papa but mrs buzzer nervously clasping her hands on the upper story could not but perceive that something dreadful was happening

The Admiral's face turned from crimson to purple He positively choked The situation needed a solution A wag-up one the crowd hit upon it Tell the Admiral somebody, what day is it? First of April, quite a voice, then another And then Then the throng broke into roar upon roar

Of inextinguishable laughter The whole deluded town turned And cast its April folly as a garment Upon the Admiral's shoulders It was in vain that he stamped and raved and swore. They only held their sides and laughed the louder. The credit of Trojan humour was saved, with a final oath the Admiral dashed through his front gate and into the house. The vulgous infidom formed in procession again and marched back with shouts of merriment.

The popularis aura of the five-and-twenty fiefers resumed the conquering hero, and Mr Fogo was left standing alone in the middle of the road. end of chapter two chapter three of the astonishing history of troy town by sir arthur thomas quillacuch this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by simon evers chapter three of a blue jersey man that would hoist no more bricks and a nightcap that had no business to be where it was no one acquainted with the character of that extraordinary town will be surprised when i say that within an hour after their currencies related in the last chapter, Troy had resumed its workday quiet. By two o'clock nothing was to be heard but the tick-tack of mallets in the ship-building yards, the puffing of the steam tug, the rattle of hawsers among the vessels out in the harbour, and the belodious woo-hoo of a crew at Capston or windlass.

Troy in Carnival and Troy Sober are as opposite, you must know, as the Poles. Fun is all very well, but business is business, and Troy is a trading-pearl. with a character to keep up, for who has not heard the byword, working like a Trojan. At two o'clock on this same day a little schooner lay alongside the town key, busily discharging bricks. That is to say, a sunburnt man, blue-jurzed and red with brick-dust, leisurely turned a windlass which let down an empty bucket and brought it up full. Another blue-jurzied man, also sun-burnt and red with brick-dust, then pulled it on shore, emptied and returned it.

and the operation was repeated. A collared little man of about fifty, presumably the proprietor of the bricks, stood on the edge of the key, and swore eternally at the man with the windlass, and the man ashore. "'Look here,' said the man at the windlass after a bit, "'stop cussing,

"'this ain't a ruddy-goody. "'If you expects music, you'll have to toss up a copper.' The owner of the bricks swore worse than ever. Round went the windlass as leisurely as might be, and another bucket-full was hoisted ashore. man on deck spat on his hands and broke into cheerful song. Was you ever to Quebec, body laddie, highland laddie? Was you ever to Quebec rising timber over the deck?

Hey, my body laddie. Waroo me arts! The rage of the little man found an extra vent. Look here, Caleb Trotter, he concluded, after a full minute of profanity. How do you think I'm to get my living and pay a set of lubbered adults like you? Caleb paused with his hand on the windlass, and suggested retrenchment of the hapernere week, hitherto spout. bent in manners. "'Cause you see all this politeness of urine is a run in a waste,' he explained

with fine irony. But before the next lead was more than three parts hoisted, Caleb's patience was exhausted. What he did was simple but decisive. He removed his hold. The handle whizzed violently round and the bucket of bricks descended to the hold with a crash. Now I'd tell you straight, enough's enough, and I haven't got time at my time of life to be polite to every red-fam face chap I meets. You can pay me or know as you likes, but I'm off to get a drink, and that's all about it. And when's over, it's over, as Joan said at her wedding. With this, Kelleb stepped ashore, spat good-naturedly, put his hands in his pockets, and went off whistling. At this moment, Mr. Fogo, who'd been on the key long enough to hear this

altercation, touched him softly by the arm. You said you were going to have a drink, I believe. "'May I go with you? I wish to ask you a few questions.' "'Certainly, sir,' said Caleb with a stifled grin, "'as he recognised the hero of the morning. "'I generally patronise you's the King of Prussia for beer. "'It won't make your hair, Carl, nor yet prevent you seeing a whole draw a ladder. "'But perhaps neither of these is your object.' "'Mr Fogo, a little bewildered, replied modestly that he pursued neither of these aims.

"'Kaleb led the way across the key, and they're sent it to the steps of the King of Prussia together. "'My object,' said Mr. Fogo timidly, "'as they were seated together in the low-roofed parlour "'before two foaming mugs. "'My object was this. "'In the first place, I like your look.' "'Same to you, sir,' said Caleb,

"'and acknowledged the compliment with a draft, "'though tis what my gull said afore she deserted me for a russian.' "'Are you a single man, then?' "'To be sure, sir.' "'So much the better, but I will talk of that presently. I, too, am a single man with rather peculiar tastes. One of these is solitude. I had heard of Troy as a place where I was likely to find this. They're my experience of this morning. Never mind, sir. accidents will happen even in the best regulated families. You was took for another,

which has happened even to Bible characterism for this, though Jacob's the only one I can call to mine just now. Still, I should be sorry to go back with the knowledge that my journey has been in vain, but I must have have solitude at any price, and the reason why I'm consulting you is that you might possibly know of a house to let in this neighbourhood, where I could be alone and secure against visitors.' Caleb scratched his head. "'I'm sure, sir, it is hard to say. Troy's a powerful place for knowing what your neighbour's got for dinner, and they do say, as the Admiral's telescope, will carry through a brick wall.' Mr. Fogo's face fell.

"'Stop a bit,' said Caleb more brightly, "'about living inside of the time.' now. Is that a shiny cannon? A what? A shiny cannon, which is the same as to say, why, did you dwellest? Oh, sine qua non, said Mr. Fogo. Now, I'm not particularly anxious to live in the town itself. Would the matter of a mile up the rubber be out of the way? Not at all. And about red, within reasonable limits, that would not matter. There my advice to you, sir, is to see the twins about it. Mr. Fogo's mild face looked more puzzled than ever. He removed his spectacles, wiped, and resumed them.

For any reasonable object, he said, I'm ready to see any number of twins, much as I dislike babies. But here Caleb interrupted him by bursting into a roar of laughter which lasted for half a minute. Babies! Well, excuse me, sir, but oh dear, oh dear, babies! Here he slapped his thigh and broke into another roar, at the end of which he grew fairly black in the face. "'Bless your innocent heart, sir. "'They're a matter of six-foot-eye, the both, and rising forty. "'Dear loves their name, and lives up the river along with their sister. "'Peter and Paul and Tams him, which is short for Tomasina,

"'and I've heard tellers the boys came nigh to being christened Sino and Og. "'Only the old vicar said he'd be blowed first. "'Very fee with his language was the old vicar.' "'I should fancy, sir,' said Mr. Fogo. "'But you excuse me, I don't quite see yet why you advise me to call on them.' these people. Oh, no offence, sir. Only they own Kitt's house, that's all. I see, and Kitt's house is the place you have in your mind? That's it, sir. And these dear loves, where do they live? Further up the river by two mile. Could you row me up this afternoon to see them?

Caleb Trotter rose, and drew the back of his hand across his mouth. Well, all the pleasure in life, sir, as Uncle Zaki said when he gave his daughter-in-marriage. in less than ten minutes keel had brought his boat round to the key mr fogo stepped in and was present deceded in the stern and meditatively listening while caleb rode and talked like a trojan here we may leave them for a while and returned to the admiral whom we left in the act of plunging furiously into his own house it was not the habit of that fiery little tar to hide his emotions from the wife of his bosom emily he bellowed emily i say come down this instant The three Mrs. Buzzer at the parlour window knew the tone and shuddered. Mrs. Buzzer upstairs, heard, trembled, and obeyed. Yes, darling. What is it? Fill the warming-pan at once. I go to bed.

To bed, love? Yes, to bed. Don't I speak plain enough? To bed, ma'am, to bed, and at once. You're upset, dearest. Be cool, I implore you. Be cool, be cool, don't heck to me, ma'am. Fetch that warming-pan. once. I'll teach you about being cool. Sophie, pull off my boots.

They obeyed. The warming pan was brought, an enormous engine big enough to hold the Admiral himself, and the bed heated. The Admiral undressed, and himself a warming pan of rage, plunged between the sheets. It was a wonder the bedclothes were not on fire.

Pull down the blind and bring me something to eat. Yes, love. And be quick about it. God, you see, I'm starving. It is true that the Admiral's excitement had interfered with his breakfast that morning, but it was nonetheless difficult to read starvation upon his face. Mrs. Buzzer obeyed, and presently returned with the liver-wing of a fowl. "'You call that a dinner for a hungry man, I suppose? Bring me some more.' "'My dear, I didn't know you wanted a dinner.'

"'Confoutly it, man! Must I put dress studs in my night-shirt to convince you I want to dine? Bring me some more.' "'There is no more, fowl, dear. I kept this from yesterday's as a tit-bit for you.' "'What's for dinner today?' "'Boiled beef, but you said expressly that dinner must be late today in consequence of the arrivals, "'and it is not nearly done yet.' "'I don't care. Bring it!' "'The mention of the arrivals said the admiral up to a white heat again.

"'But my—' "'Bring it!' "'It was brought. The Admiral had two helpings, and then at last of Grog. "'Go!' "'Mrs. Buzzard withdrew. "'Left her himself the Admiral tossed and turned and fumed, and swore, lay still for a while, and then repeated the process backwards. After a time the bedclothes began to prick him, and the heat to become a positive torture.

He leapt out and tore at the bell-rope until it came away in his hand, just as his wife reappeared. Would you kindly inform me what the devil's wrong with this bed? Who made it? Celina, dear. Then would you kindly give Selina a month's notice on the spot? Do you hear, on the spot? What's that? The Admiral rushed to the window and pulled up the blind. It was just in time to see a close carriage and pair dashed past and pull up at the bar. A moment afterwards, Miss Limpony, from the first-floor story of No. 1, saw the carriage door open, and a tall gentleman emerge. The tall gentleman was followed by a lady, whom even at that distance Miss Limpany could see to possess a remarkably graceful figure.

A small youth in livery sprang down from beside the coachman and helped to lower the boxes, whilst the new arrivals passed into the house, where the childwoman, Mrs. Snell, stood smearing her face with her apron and ducking in frenzied welcome. The Honourable Frederick Augustus Hythe Goodwin Sandys and his wife, instead of arriving by train, had posted from five lanes junction.

There was no public demonstration. They might as well have come in the dead of night. Miss Limpany was almost the sole witness of their arrival, and Miss Limpon's observations were cut short by a terrible occurrence. She'd taken stock of the Honourable Frederick and pronounced him aristocratic-looking,

of the Honourable Mrs. Frederick's travelling dress and decided it to be Camille foe. She'd cutted the boxes twice and made them seven each time. She was about to count the buttons on the liverid youth when... To this day she sinks her voice as she narrates it.

She saw the unseemliness, the monstrous in delicacy of it. She saw the lestowness the nightcap and shoulders of Admiral Buzzer craning out of the next door window. What happened next? Whether she actually fainted or merely kept her eyes shut, she cannot clearly remember, but for weeks afterwards, as she declares, the sight of a man caused her to turn all colours. It was significant, this nightcap of Admiral Buzzer, as the ram's horn to Jericho the mother carries chicken to the doomed ship. It announced, even as it struck,

The first blow at the old morality of Troy. End of chapter three. Chapter 4 of the astonishing history of Troy Town by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Simon Evers. Chapter 4 of certain lepers and two brothers who, being much alike, loved their sister and recommended the use of globes. I must here clear myself on a point which has no doubt caused the reader some indignation.

We remarked, he or she will say, that some chapters back the Admiral described Troy as a beautiful little town. Why then have we had no description of it, no digressions on scenery, no word painting? To this I answer, dear sir or madam, no one who has known Troy was ever yet capable of describing it. If you doubt me, visit the town and see for yourself. I will for the the moment suppose you'd do to do so. What happens? On the first day you take a boat and row about the harbour. Scenery, you exclaim. Why? What could you have more? Here is a lovely little harbour flanked by bold hills to right and left. Here are the ruined castles, witnesses of the great days when Troy sent ships to carry the English army to Agincourt. Here are grey houses, huddled

at the water's edge, hoary, battered walls and key doors coated with ooze and green weed. such is Troy And on the further shore Quaint Pen-Poodle faces it Where a silver creek Dividing runs up to Landbeg Further up the harbour melts into a river Where the old ferry-boat plies to and fro

From the foot of a tiny village straggling up the hill Further yet And the jetties mingle with the steep woods Beside the roads Where the vessels lie thickest Ships of all builds and of all nations From the trim Canadian timber ship To the corpulent billy-boy

Why, the very heart of the picturesque is here, what more can you want? On the second day you will see all this from the harbour again, or perhaps you will cross the ferry and climb the king's walk on the opposite bank. You will see it all, but with a change. It is more lovely, but not the same. On the third day you'll cast about in your mind to explain this, and so in time you will come to find that it is the spirit of Troy that plays this trick upon you, for you will have learnt to love the place, and love, as you know, dear sir or madam,

is apt to affect the eyesight. The eyes of Mr Fogo, as Caleb pulled sturdily up with the tide, were passing through the first of these stages. This, he said at length reflectively, is one of the lovely spots I have looked on. Caleb, in whom humanity and trogenity were nicely compounded, flushed a bright copper-colour with pleasure. "'Tis reckon a tidy spot,' he answered modestly, "'by them as cares for vows and such like.' "'There now,' he went on after a pause, and turning round.

"'Yonder's Kitt's house with Kitt's cottage next door. "'You can't see the house so plain because tis behind the trees. "'But there tis right enough.' "'Is the cottage uninhabited to?' "'Both of them. Haunt it they do say. "'By the way, I never asked you whether you mighty ghosties.' "'Ghosts? "'Yes, ghosties. This year place was a Lazarus one time, where they kept leopards.'

"'Leopards? A very singular,' murmured Mr. Fagher. "'Aye, leopards as white as snow, as the saying goes.' "'Oh, I see,' said Mr. Fago, suddenly enlightened. "'You mean this was a Lazarus?' "'That's all about Lazarus. "'Leopards used to live there together, and when they died they were buried at Denonite down at thickest bit, you see, yonder. "'No one had dealings where them all nor went nigh them, except they were allowed to make ropes.

It isn't so many years that the rope walk was moved down to the arbor mouth. Khaled stopped drying and led forward on his paddles. These year leopards in time got to be quite a happy family, except of course they weren't happy, because nobody wouldn't have nothing to say to them. Well, the story goes, as one of them got folded in love would buy a very nice girl down in Troy. And one fine day, she ups and tells her sorrowing parents

that she's going to marry a leopard. "'Not if we knows her,' says they. "'We forbids the band.' "'With that, they went off to bed, "'thigger they settled it.' "'But,' says Parson Lasky, "'who is he?' interrupted Mr. Fogo. "'Wold your figure of speech, sir,

"'nothing to do with the yarn, "'as the strode-actor said when his theatre "'coached a fire. "'What I mean was, "'that very night the girl gets a boat "'and rolls up to Kit's house "'after leaving her letters to say she's drowned herself. "'And there she's lived in Aydon,

"'long with the leopards for the rest of her days, which by the tail weren't many, and she and her sweetheart was buried in one grave. Caleb paused for breath. "'And the ghosts?' said Mr. Fogo, much interested. Some have seen her rowing about here at a bolt, or dark nights, and others swear to see all the leopards are marching down with her corpse to the burying ground. He swears, that's the tale. Jan Spettigue was the last to see them, but as he mailed three devils and his own jimbley piece the week after,

along or too much rum. Perhaps he made a mistake. Anyways, it was a moral yarn and true to nature. These young women is a very determined sex, whether to the leopard in the case or a russian. Mr Fager had fallen into a reflective silence. "'Tas a thousand pities this year a place should be empty, "'leen to Crystal Palace, by which I mean a conservatory, sir, "'and gardens, room for a cow, and a parlouette-swown?'

"'A-oh, what? Bile, sir, otherwise a creek. C R-E-K An Arm of the Sea, as the spelling-book says. A curious fascination stole over Mr. Fogo as he looked earnestly at the house round which these memories hung. Standing on an angle formed by the bending river and the little creek

and behind a screen of trees, elms, almost too old to feel the sap of spring, a chestnut or two, and a few laurels and sombre furs that had cracked with their roots, the grey garden wall, and sprawled down to the beach below. The stained and yellow frontage looked

down towards the busy harbour, as it seemed with a sense of serene decay, haunted but without disquietude, like the face of an old lady whose memories and lives in them, though she deigns to contemplate a life from which her hopes with her old friends and lovers have dropped out. Perhaps Mr Fogar had some sympathy with this mood, for Caleb, after waiting some time for his reply, took to his paddles again with a will, and presently the boat, sweeping round a projecting rock, passed into a very different scene. Here the river shut in on the other side with budding trees to the water's edge, on the other with bracken and patches of ploughed land to where the cliffs broke sheer away,

stretched for some miles without bend or break. Far ahead a blue bank of woodland closed the view. Not a sound disturbed with the stillness, not a sail broke the placid expense of water. But a true Trojan must still be talking. presently Caleb resumed. "'There's a lovely spot as you said, sir. Mr. Mogridge down at the customs.

He's a poet, as maybe you know, has written a mint of verses about this year place. Nature, he says. Nature is here assumed a softest garb. Here would I live and die. Which I call a very touching sentiment, like what they say is in a nigger song.' With such conversation Mr. Trotter beguiled the way,

until they came abreast of a tiny village almost buried in apple trees and elms. On the opposite bank, a thin column of blue smoke was curling up from among the dense woodland. Caleb headed the boast for this smoke, ran her nose on the pebbles beneath a low cliff, and stepped out. Here we are, sir. But I don't see any house, said Mr. Fogo, perplexed. Or in good time, sir, replied Mr. Trotter, and having fastened up the boat led the way.

A narrow flight of steps hewn out of the rock led up to the a little cliff. At the top, and almost hidden by bushes, stood a low gate. Thence the path wound for a space between walls of budding hazel, and at its end, quite unexpectedly, a tiny cottage burst upon Mr. Fogo's view. Little dreaming that the owner of Kit's house could live in such humility, he was considerably surprised when Caleb stepped up and struck a rising knock upon the door. It was opened by a comely girl with a white apron pinned before her neat stuff gown, and a face as fresh and healthful as a spring day. "'Why, Caleb!' she cried.

"'Who would have thwarted? "'Come inside you're as welcome as flowers in May.' "'And you,' replied Caleb gallantly, "'are looking so sweet as blossom. "'Here's a gentleman come to call upon you, me dear. "'Now is Peter and Paul, brave, I hopes.' "'Ball, thank you, Caleb,' said the maiden, "'curtseen without embarrassment to Mr. Fogo.

"'Wall you come in, sir?' "'It was noticeable that Mr. Fogo at this point became very nervous, but he crossed the shawl in answer to this invitation. Mr Trotter followed. The fragrant smoke of a wood fire filled the room in which Mr. Fogo found himself. It was a rude kitchen with white lime ash floor, and for sealing a few whitewashed beams and the planching of the bedroom above. All was scrupulously clean.

In the flickering obscurity of the chimney depended a line of black pot-hooks and hangars, a trivet and a pair of bellows furnished the hearth. From the capacious rack hung a rich stock of hams and sides of bacon curing in the smoke. An English clock stood in one corner, a tall cupboard in another, and a uranium in the window seat. Along the side opposite the door, and parallel to a dresser of shiny crockery, ran a strong deal table. Some high-backed chairs, a pair of brass candlesticks with snuffers, a book or two, a few old hats and a lanthan on various pegs. completed the furniture of the place.

But Mr. Fogo's gaze was riveted on two men who rose together at his entrance from the table where they were seated side by side at their tea. Both tall, both adorned with crisp curls of black hair, with clean-shaven mahogany faces and the gentlest of possible smiles, the twins came forward to greet the stranger. So appallingly alike were they, that Mr. Fogo felt a ridiculous desire to run away,

nor could help fancying himself the victim of a disordered dream. The twins advanced upon him simultaneously with outstretched, horny palms. He noticed that even their dress was precisely similar, with a single exception that one wore a red, the other a yellow bandana and handkerchief loosely knotted about his throat. "'You kindly welcome, sir,' said the twin with the red bandana, and the twin with the yellow neckcloth murmured, "'Carnly welcome, like an echo.'

"'Stop a bit.' "'Imptoposed Caleb. "'Let's do a bit of introducing. "'This here is Mr. Fogel, gent, "'as he's thinking of renting Kit's house, "'and he's come for that purpose. "'That there is Peter, dear love, "'in with a red-neck-chief.

"' Likewise, Paul, dear love, "'in with the yellow one. "'I'm begging your pardon for passing over the ladies. "'This is Tamzin, dear Love, "'christened Domazina, "'dearly beloved sister are the same,' "'concluded Caleb, "'with a sudden recollation

"'of having read something like this on a tombstone. "'Tamsin, curtisied, and the two horny palms were again presented. "'Not knowing which to take first, Mr. Fogo held his umbrella between his knees, "'and gave them a hand apiece. "'I am afraid Mr.' he hesitated, with a suspicion that you ought to say, messers. "'Dear love,' suggested Caleb, "'I'm reckon a pretty name, too.' "'I'm afraid, Mr. Dear Love,' repeated Mr. Fogo, "'compromising matters by staring hard between the twins,

"'that we have interrupted you.' "'Nard all, sir,' said Peter. "'Sit aren't, sir, if you're not proud. "'Tam'sin bring a cup for the gentleman. "'A piece of pasty, sir. "'Tamsey says famous for pasties.' "'Mr. Fogo, remembering that, with the exception of the mug of beer at the King of Prussia, "'he had not broken his fast since the morning,

"'and seeing also that the hospitality was anxiously sincere, "'complied. "'In a few moments both he and Caleb were seated before a steaming pasty. "'Tamsin poured out the tea. she was a full twenty years younger than her brothers, as could be seen notwithstanding their boyish look, which came from innocence and clean-shaven faces. It was pleasant to see their almost fatherly pride in her. Mr. Fogo noted it vaguely, but an inexplicable nervousness seemed to have overtaken him since entering the cottage. I came, he said at last, to inquire about Kit's house which I hear is to let.

Thank you kindly, sir, answered Peter, and I won't say but what shall we be glad to lay it. but Paul and I have been putting our heads together. We allowed his Fratamsin to say. Here he looked at Paul, who nodded gravely and repeated in his former mechanical tome, for Tamsin to say. Mr. Fogo looked more distressed than ever. I beg your pardon, I'm sure, he began with a quick glance of the girl, who was quietly pouring tea. I did not know. No offence, sir. On it all you see, tis this way. "'Kitt's house is a grand place with a slaty roof and an Italian garden "'and a mighty deal too fine for the likes of Paul and me,

"'but with Tamsin, tis another thing. "'We worth agree she ought to be a lady, "'not but what she's a better girl than tens or thousands of ladies. "'More than once we've wanted to get her learnt the piano and calisthenics "'and the use of dwarves and all such things which we know to be useful in grand society, "'only she sticks to it to bide along with we. "'God bless her. "'I say in a rough life it must be for her.'

tamsin turned away towards the far place and became very busy among the pothooks and hangars her brother pulled out a red handkerchief a fellow to the one around his neck mopped his face and proceeded well as i were saying seeing she was bent on being withers paul and me aloud to each other that we'd set up in fine style at kit's house so as not to rob her of what is her do that is to say one of us would live down here with a carriage and a pair of hosses and cut a swell with dinner parties and what not while they'll thereby it here until tatties turn and turn about. But he wouldn't hear of that, neither. He's a terrible, stubborn girl, bless her. We shouldn't have been slow at learning the roads just at first, he resumed after a moment's silence, not being scollards, particular at the use of globes,

which I have heard is difficult, though very entertaining in company when you know how it is done, but we was ready to try and, only she wouldn't have it, and so it has gone on. But begging your pardon, sir, and hoping no affair, she shall give her answer, our thought is too late, eh, Paul? "'You have spoken, Peter,' said the other twin very slowly, "'like a printed book. Let Tamzin speak her mind about it.'

The girl came forward from the far place, and Mr. Fogo, as he still atlant at her, could see that her eyes were red. "'What do he say, Tamzin? Must you like Kit's house? Or shall we leave the old place, and go and make a lady of he?' "'Tamsid's reply was to fall on her knees "'before the speaker and break into a fit of weeping. "'Don't ask me, don't ask me. "'I don't want to be a lady, and I won't leave you.

"'Don't ask you, my dear, dear brothers.' Peter stroked the dark head buried in his lap, while Paul blew his nose violently in a yellow bandana, and replied to Mr. Fogo. "'Very well, sir, so be it. "'There's the key at Kitshouse yonder on the nail. "'He likes to look over the place, one of us will follow you presently, and then, supposing it to be to your liking,

us can talk over terms. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of The Astonishing History of Troy Town by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Simon Evers Chapter 5 How an Absent Minded Man that Hated Women Took a House by the Waterside and lived therein with one servant. "'Well, sir,' said Caleb Trotter,

"'when the boat was pushed off. "'What do you think of him?' "'Mr Fogo, whose wits have been wool-gathering, "'came to himself with a start. "'I think they are very good people.' "'You may say that. "'The likes of those trims you won't see again, "'not have you lived to be a hundred.'

"'Seems to me,' he went on reflectively, "'that nature, when she turned out the first, "'got so pleased with herself "'that she was bound to try a hand "'at a duplicity, just to relieve her feelings. "'Oh, what?' "'A duplicity, sir, "'otherwise another of the same identical.'

"'Oh, I see.' "'Yes, sir. "'Just like that rhyme about the force of nature "'what couldn't know further go, "'and you can't do it again, "'not if you try all you know.' "'You are fond of poetry, I see,' said Mr. Fager with a smile. "'Perfectly dotes on it, sir.'

"'Have you ever composed any yourself?' "'Once upon a time, sir,' said Kedah, pausing in his work and leaning forward very mysteriously. If he cares to hear her, I don't mind telling you. Only you must give me a Davy you won't let out to nobody. Mr Fogo gave the required promise. Walt was in this way. Once upon a time, me and old Joe Bonaday was working a smack round from Bristol.

The Betsyam was her name, number one-0770 Troy. Joe was Skipper, and me, mate. There was a boy aboard for crew, but he don't count. Well, I got off Ilfracum. one afternoon, August month it was, piping hot. When my blessed Parliament, says Molly Frankie, "'Who is she?' Oh, another figure of speech, sir, that's all. Well, as I was saying, on a sudden, lo and behold, the breeze drops dead. If you believe me, sir, t'was calm as the salt gas-o-sea. So there we were stuck, the sale not so much as flapping, for the best part

of two hour, at the end of which time, Joe not being a conversational man beyond saying thanky when he got his vitals. I was getting a bit dumbfounded for topics to talk upon. Because, as for the weather, though, t'was, and as Joe remarked, "'Twasn't going to move any more for our discussing it, not yet cussing for that matter. I see. Well, sir, we was driven at last to sing in an M to keep our spirits up. These ways the boy and me sang, and Joe beat time. Then says Joe's, look here, I'm going to Ali Coochee if it last like this.' "'Well,' says I, for I was getting desperate.

"'Have you ever tried to make poetry?' "'No,' says he, can't say I have. "'Well, I says I've often wanted to. "'Let's have a shy. "'You go aft and think of a verse, "'and I'll go forward to make another, "'and then I'll see which sounds best.' "'Done,' says he, and off he goes.

"'Well, I sit there for more than I are, thinking hard, "'and terrible work I've found it. "'At last, Joe shouts across, "'have he done? Time's up.' "'And I told her I'd done pretty middling. So I steps amid ships And spoke out what was made up Caleb made a long pause

I should like to hear the verses If you remember them said Mr Fogo Should he now? Caleb asked with fine modesty Well I don't mind only you mustn't expect him to be like Master Mogherty's Mine went thick away He recited very slowly with a terrific

rolling of syllables See her gliding draw the water far, far away, many a true arts never to be found.' "'The last line alludes to my girl what had recently elope with Erucian,' Caleb explained. "'Was that all? That was all of mine, sir, but Joe was points better. Just listen. "'Fare thee well, bansible steeple.' He was a bansible man, sir, was Joe. "'Fare thee well, I say. Never shall I see thee once again a long time ago.' "'Well, sir, we was going to step back and have another shy,

when the breeze sprang up almost as sudden as he fell, and the consequence was, sir, that I'd ever made no more poetry from that day to this.' The sun was getting low, as Mr. Fogo and Caleb stepped ashore on the ruined key at Kit's house, not far from the spit of land where the lasers were buried. Kit's cottage took plain to sea at a short distance from the water, but Kit's house lay to the right behind its screen of laurels and elms. a narrow flight of steps and a path along the cliff's edge brought the visitors to the front door it was a long low house with pointed windows on the upper story and a deep verandah shading the ground-floor rooms it faced the south and although few flowers were out the ruined garden was luxuriant with decay one could see where the old lazar house had been overlaid with the taste of more recent inhabitants but as caleb said no one had lived here now for a dozen years or more the wall

The walls were smeared with green vegetation. The iron gate creaked heavily with rust. On the roof the stone crop flourished, and the swallows had built their nests about the chimneys. Indoors it was as bad. Rich papers hung and rotted from the walls. Rats scampered about the floors overhead. A smell of damp and mouldiness pervaded every room.

"'Dear me, sir,' said Caleb in despair, "'I'd no idea was as bad as this. I wouldn't have mentioned the place, do he?' An old barrel stood on end before the French window of the drawing-room. Mr. Fogo seated himself on this, and gazed meditatively out on the mellow glory of the evening. "'Kaleb,' he said very quietly, after a while, "'I think I shall take this house.' "'You will, sir?'

"'I fancy there will be no difficulty in arranging about the rent. And now I wanted to speak with you on another question. "'You are a single man, you say. Have you any employment?' "'Why, sir, I am. mostly picks up my living on this day. Only I thought as how I'd like a spell ashore for a change. But at the end of that you saw for yourself this very afternoon. Do you think that for a pound a week you could look after me? I'd like the chance. That would exclude your food and clothes. Keneb hesitated for a moment, and then said with Trojan independence,

are you better going to rig me out in a yellow waistcoat and small clothes with a stripe down the lake by any chance? I was proposing that you should dress exactly as you do at present. Then done were ye, sir, and thank ye. When be I to enter on my duties? At once. And where, sir? Here. Be you going to sleep the night in this melancholy place?

Certainly. Very well, sir. Please, sir, please, sir, as Dick said to the press-gang. And what be I to do first? Mr. Fogo perhaps did not hear the question, for he was gazing out of the falling shadows, when he spoke again it was upon another subject. "'It is right that you should know,' said he, "'the kind of life you will be wanted to lead.

"'In the first place I am extraordinarily subject to fits of abstraction, "'the absence of mind, in other words. "'It is an affection to which my style of life "'has may be particularly prone. "'It has led me before now into absurd "'and sometimes into dangerous situations.' "'I have heard tell,' said Caleb. "'I have heard tell,' said Caleb,

"'of an old gentleman of careful tucked his umbrella in bed and put his elf in the corner. Is that the style of thing, sir? It is something similar, said his master. And within certain limits, I should expect you to look after me, and as far as possible, prevent such accidents. However, I shall not, of course, expect you to have more than one pair of eyes. My tastes are simple.

I read a little, sketch a little, botan eyes, dabbling chemistry, and fond of carpentering, boat-building especially. "'My very absence of mind makes me indifferent to surroundings. "'In short, I am a mild man.' "'Mr Fogo got off his barrel, went to the window, sighed softly, and returned. "'Something in his manner imposed silence on Caleb. "'We shall live here alone,' he resumed. "'It is even possible that, to ensure, solitude,

"'I shall rent the cottage as well and install you there. "'Above all things remember,' Miss Suttonstone. is that no woman is to come near this house. I should even expect you to do your utmost to prevent their landing on the key below. That, I think, is all. I now wish you to row down to the station and get my portmanteau. After that, with this money, procure a couple of hammocks, besides provisions, and whatever will be necessary for the night, not forgetting soap and candles. Tomorrow we will take in further stock. Kedib was about to make some answer, when the garden gate creaked heavily, and Peter Dielove appeared in the dusk outside the window.

So he merely took the money, touched his forelock by way of acknowledging his new employment, and retired. But it was noticeable that once or twice on his way to the boat, he had to pull himself up and think a bit. Arrived on the key, too, he stood for a moment or so beside the boat in profound meditation. "'Come, Caleb Trotter,' he explained, suddenly jumping in and seizing the pedals. "'This sort of thing won't do, no-how. "'Here you'd be paid for looking after a gentleman as wanders in his wits, "'and first news is you'd be doing the same yourself.

"'Just terrible queer, though,' he added. "'With that began to row towards town "'with an energy that set the boat quivering. "'When he returned in less than two hours' time, "'he found Mr Fogo with a barrelful of water "'and the stump of a decayed broom, "'washing out the back kitchen. "'The twin had gone.

"'Here we be, sir. "'Pine of candles, pint of tea, "'two loaves of bread, knives, forks, two cups, three eggs, one of them are smashed to my drowsy pocket, saucepan, kettle, teapot, a hunk of cold beef as salt as lots wives' elbow. That's the first load. There's more on the boat, but I must ask you to bear a ham with thicky portmintow of you, cause tis mortal ebbie. I see Janix's wife are fishing about 200 yards from the key on my way up, and warn her to keep her distance. There's a well-of-water around the back, and I've fetched a small sack of coal,

and he must don't have a dish-a-tay ready and a brace of shakes, then Tom's killed and Mary's forlorn. With the statement of which gloomy alternative, Mr Caleb Trotter broke into a smile of honest pride. "'Kaleb,' said Mr. Fogo from his hammock in the back kitchen at about eleven o'clock on the same night, "'I, aye, sir. Are you comfortable?' "'Thank you, sir, getting on nicely,

"'just a bit man-fridayish to begin with, "'but as correct as Crocker's mare.' "'What did you say?' "'I'll figure a speech again, sir. That's all. "'Good night, sir.' "'Good night, Caleb.' "'Mr Fogo settled himself in his hammock, "'signed for a second time, and dropped to sleep.

"'Eend of Chapter 5. "'Chapter 6 of the astonishing history of Troytown "'by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch. "'This Libby Box recording is in the public domain. "'Recording by Simon Evers. Chapter 6 How Certain Trojans Climed a Wall out of Curiosity And of a charwoman that could give no information

Meanwhile curiosity in Troy was beating its wings Against the closed doors of The Bower The early morning train next to day Brought three domestics to supplement the youth in buttons And supplant the chairwoman Miss Limpony in Desabee But at a decent distance from the window Saw them arrive

and called Lavigneur to look, with the result that within two minutes the sisters had satisfied themselves as to which was the cook, which the parlour made, and which the kitchen made. Later in the day a van note of furniture arrived, though the bower was already furnished. But as Miss Limpany said, in all these matters of comfort and refinement, there are degrees. On this occasion the Admiral, who had been prevailed upon to leave his bed, executed a manoeuvre, the audacity of which should have commanded success. He crossed the road and opened a conversation with the driver. But success does not always wait on the brave.

The van driver happened to have a temper as short as the Admiral's and far less reverence. Good morning, said the Admiral cheerily. Morning? What's the foot today? Same as yesterday, twelve inches. The Admiral was rather taken aback, but smiled nevertheless, and persevered. Ha, ha, ha, very good. You are a wit, I perceive. for the driver's conversation teamed with the unexpected.

Look here, Rubyface, give me any more of your sass, and I'll punch your head for tuppence. This was conclusive. The Admiral struck his flag, recrossed the street, went indoors, and had it out with Mrs. Buzzer. Indeed, at the end of half an hour, that poor lady's feelings were so overwrought, and in consequence her so sobbs so loud, that the Admiral had perforced to get out his double bass and play a selection of martial music, to prevent Mr. Limponis hearing them on the other side of their partition. All this happened early in the afternoon. Towards five o'clock, Miss Limpony, who had only left her post twice, and on each occasion to snatch a hurried meal, was rewarded for her patience.

The front door of the bower opened, and Mrs. Goodwin Sandies appeared, dressed as Miss Lippity would see for a walk. Now I wonder, reflected that kind soul, which direction they will take. Personally, of course, I should prefer them to pass this window. but I hope I can subdue private inclination to public spirit, and for Troy's sake I hope they will visit the castle first. The salubrity of the air, as well as the expansiveness of the view, would be certain to impress them favourably. Dear, dear, I wish I could advise them. Should they take the direction of the town, I know by experience they will be apt to meet with an effluvium of decaying fish, and I should so like their stay among us to be begun under pleasant auspices.'

But almost before Miss Limpony had concluded these reflections, the strangers had determined on the direction. They turned neither towards the town nor up the hill towards the castle and the harbour's mouth, but down the little road which led to Bower Slip and the Pen Poodle ferry-boat. "'Grecious me!' exclaimed Miss Limpany. "'They're going to take a boat!' The words were scarcely out of her mouth when she was seized with a sudden idea, an idea so alluring, yet so bold withal, that the blood flew, from her cheeks. She made a step forward, paused, took another step, and returned to the window.

The strangers had turned down the road and were out of sight. For a full minute she stood there, tapping her foot. "'I will,' she said with sudden determination. "'I will!' On Miss Limpany's maiden lip the words were as solemn as though she spoke them at the altar. "'I will, and I don't care what happens.' "'Aawful words! Awful in themselves, more awful from her. such lips, but surely most awful as making the second step in the moral decadence of Troy. Yet I would not have my readers too excited. They were words to shudder out indeed, but the immediate consequences were not bloody. They were only to a limited degree tragic.

It must be remembered that the magnificence of all actions is relative to the performer, nor would I seek to exhort Miss Liberty to the level of a Semiramis or a Dido. Only when I say that she bore a great soul and a little body, I say no more, then as she was a Trojan. In short, Miss Limpley did not, as the reader may have expected, take a boat and pursue after the strangers. What she did was simply to descend swiftly to the front hall, take down from its stand an antique brass-browned telescope of enormous proportions,

and with it make her way swiftly to the back door. The back gardens of Almavillers ran parallel to each other, and were terminated by a high wall, with a key door apiece, a tall ladder leading from the door straight down to the water. At the end of the garden, and built against this wall, in each case a stone terrace with a flight of steps allowed anyone who chose to climb and even perform a limited promenade

while enjoying a full view of the harbour beyond. It was to this flight of steps that Miss Limpony, with a prayer on her lips and the telescope under her arm, made her way. Both terrace and steps were rickety to a degree. To help you to estimate her conduct as its full, to Merity, I may mention that Miss Limpany had never attempted the climb before in her life. But whatever qualms she may have felt, they did not appear in her behaviour. Gingerly, but without hesitation, and clutching the telescope which impeded her as an ice-axe,

the rock climber, she assayed all the perils of this maiden ascent. Five minutes stiff climbing, as they say in the Alpine Journal, brought her to a point where she could take breath and look about her. Despite her terror The excitement and the light breeze Now blowing over the arrette of garden wall Had brought a flush to her cheek But scarce she had she resumed

And set her foot upon the summit When the flush suddenly faded And left her blanched as snow For there not a foot to her right And above the crest of the partition wall Rose another telescope The exact counterpart of her own The spectre on the brockham was nothing to this

She clutched to the rottes and stones and panted for breath. Slowly, very slowly, the rival telescope was tilted up against the harbour wall. Very slowly it rose in air. Then came a pair of hands, of blue cuffs, and then the crimson face of Admiral Buzzer soared into view like the child's head in Macbeth. He did not see her yet, being absorbed in adjusting the telescope. Terror smitten, too fearful to advance or retreat, clinging to the telescope with one hand

as a drowning mariner might grasp a spa and clutching with the other at the crumbling wall, Miss Limpany stood arrested, wildly staring, scarce venturing to breathe. The Admiral's telescope was tilted into position, and the Admiral half turned his head before applying his eye to the hole. She could not help it. In spite of all her efforts to repress it, a little gasping squeal of a fright broke from her. The Admiral, with a start, withdrew his eye quickly from the glass and looked over the wall. Damnation! This was the Admiral, by the way.

What happened exactly this moment will never be known, or whether the Admiral's voice brought down a Serak of Rotten Wall is not clear. There was a rumbling sound, an oath or two, and then both Telescope and Admiral disappeared with a crash from view. Miss Limponys screamed, dropped her telescope, which went rattling down the steps, cowered desperately against the wall, shut her eyes, screamed again, trod on a tilting slab, hung from a moment, toppled, clutched wildly in space,

and shot with a rush and shower of stones, straight to the very bottom. Miss Lavendia Limpany, who, startled by the screams, had rushed to the window and witnessed the last stages of the catastrophe, was out in a minute. Tenderly raising her sobbing sister, she assisted her back to the house, and attended to the bruises with a combination of arnica, vinegar and brown paper. On the other side of the wall the Admiral lay for some time and bellowed for help until his frightened family bore him in and attempted to put him to bed. But mark the heroism of the truly great. In spite of his late treatment at the hands of his fellow citizens,

treatment were still rankled. Here was no Coriolanus to depart in a huff to Antium. The Admiral had a duty to perform, a service due to his ungrateful town, and on the subject of going to bed he was adamant. "'Sease, Emily. Your tears, your protestations are in vain. Stop, I tell you. Get me my uniform.' Surely some desperate, some decisive step was contemplated when the Admiral ordered out that gold-laced coat and cocked hat that once had shone in the Blue Squadron of Her Majesty's Navy. What could this stern magnificence portend?

The Admiral had made up his mind. He was going to interview Mrs. Snell, the Charm Woman. It was a pretty fancy, and one not without parallel in the history of famous men, that inspired him at his crisis to assume his bravest attire. There is, to my mind, a flavour in the conceit, her bravado lifting the action above mere intrepidity into actual greatness. Nor in this little Iliad are there many figures that I regard with more affection than that of Admiral Buzzer, at his garden gate waiting for Mrs. Snell. When at length she issued from the bower and came down the road,

the effect of the gold lace was rather striking. She dropped her bundle and her lourge oil together. "'Look, sir, are you defrighted me to be sure? I thought it was the devil!' That was hardly what the Admiral had expected. He beckoned with his forefinger mysteriously. Mrs. Snell advanced as though not quite sure that her first fright was unfounded. "'Mrs. Nell,' inquired the Admiral in a whisper,

"'what are they like?' He pointed melodramatically towards the power, as he asked. the question again the unexpected happened mrs nell burst into loud and hysterical sobbing oh don't ye i can't bear it not a thing can you do to please em and the honourable frederick a damnin about the ouse fit to make your flesh creep and that though he might have ate his dinner off the floor gold studs and all as i told him at last for twasn't it flesh and plunge sir not to be ordered this way and that by a whipper snapper whose grandmother i might have been though he has got three rows of shiny buttons on his stomach which is no cause for a brow carriage toward them as hasn't nor calling em slow coaches and names which i won't soil my tongue with them and so i said oh dear oh dear "'And here Mrs. Nell's passion again found vent in violent sobs and cries. "'Hush! Confounded! Hush! I tell you! You'll have the whole town out!' "'I beg your pardon, sir! But it isn't in nature! It's wickedness in high places.

"'Poor Maria's sick at home with a colic and a leak in the roof you might put your cock-tout through. "'A very funny look, sir, begging your pardon again, "'but it's all vexation or spirit, and a shilling a day, "'and your victual to let alone being sworn out till you'd be upon your head or your eels!' With this, Mrs. Nell picked up her bundle and marched off down the road. She was quite hopeless, the Admiral determined, as he watched her retreating figure, and had her sobs borne back to him on the evening air. Well, well, it had been another reverse, but not a defeat.

His face cleared again as he turned to re-enter the house. "'Ladbyssey, tomorrow is Sunday. They will probably be at church. In the afternoon, though it involved the loss of my usual nap, I will consider. On Monday I will act. Even the strangers themselves, as they walked up the aisle of St. Siforian's Church, Troy, on the following morning, could not perceive something of importance to be in the wind. That the church should be full was not unusual, for in those days Sunday observance was the rule among Trojans. But on this particular day the Wesleyan and Bible Christian chapels must have been sadly depleted, so great was the crush.

And besides, there was the unwonted magnificence of dress. the stir caused by the simultaneous turning of some hundred bonnets as the Goodman Sandes entered, the audible whispering as they took their seats, the nervousness of the vicar who twice dropped his spectacles over the reading-desk and once over the pulpit. On this last occasion one of the glasses was broken, and the sermon in consequence became, towards the end, a trifle involved. All this made the service rather hysterical. Tell me my muse, thou who sittest at the tea-table, and rejoicest in the round.

rattling of cups. Who were they that attended St. Sephorian's Church on this Sunday morning? First, there were the Mrs. Limpany, in black tabinet dresses and lace shawls, a cameo brooch adorned the throat of each, and from her waist a reticule depended. These first directed the gold-bound optic glass at the stranger's pew. Behind them sat the doctor and his wife, the one conspicuous for his black stock, the other for a shawl of paisley workmanship. Next, the harbourmaster, tall Mr. Strip, with his daughter's trifina and trifosa. Nor would Mrs. Strip have been absent had she not been buried some years before.

Yellow-haired were both the daughters, and few knew better the prevailing fashion in dress. These whispered concerning Mrs. Goodwin-Sandy's costume. By them sat Mr. Mugridge, the poet, good at the responses, and Sam Buzzer, his friend, whom few troj had excelled in casting glances at the female conglom. Then, most gorgeous and bravest of all, the Admiral. He wore again his gold-laced coat, but the cocked hat rested underneath the seat, and none could fathom the import of his gaze. By him sat his three daughters, a row in straight-back dresses of like cut and colour, and peeped over their prayer-books, and Mrs. Buzzar, timorous in bright green satin.

But of the throng of Trojan men and women, not though I had a hundred mouths, etc., etc. "'Her dress must have cost nine shillings a yard if it cost a penny,' said Miss Limpany, when they were outside in the open air. She looked at the ground as she said so, for she could forget neither the nightcap nor the telescope. The Arabol was silent. "'She is very lovely,' remarked Mrs. Buzzer, "'and did you remark how the vicar paused in the litany

"'when he came to all the nobility?' "'I was particularly careful to pray for Lord Sinkport,' said Calypso innocently. Still the Admiral was silent. That afternoon Mrs. Buzzer, stealing softly into the back parlor, lest she should disturb her lord, was amazed, in place of the usual recumbent form with a bandana of its face, to find him sitting up, wide awake, and staring gloomily. But my dear, she began in her confusion. The Admiral turned a gorgon stare upon her, but made no answer.

Under its petrifying influence, she backed out without another word, to communicate with the girls upon the portent. This mood of the animals lasted all day. Next morning, at breakfast, he looked up from his bacon, and observed with the air of a man whose mind is made up, "'Emmy, see that the girls have on their best gowns by eleven o'clock sharp. I'm going to pay a call.' Consternation sat on every face.

Sam buzzer paused in the act of breaking an egg. "'At the baller,' he asked. "'At the baller!' Mrs. Mother clasped her hands, nervously. the girls turned pale. Oh, very well, said Sam, tapping his egg. I shouldn't wonder if I turned up while you were there. He was a light-haired, ungaining youth of about twenty,

with a reputation for singing a comic song. It was understood the Admiral designed him for college and holy orders. But meanwhile time was passing, and Sam sat with idle hands at home, or more frequently in the bar of the man-of-war. You? exclaimed his father. Well, I don't see what there is in that to be surprised about,

replied the youth with an aggrieved air. I met the Honourable Frederick smoking a cigar out on the ropewalk last night. His cigars are very good, and he asked me to drop in soon and try another. He isn't a bit stuck up. The Aramor's feelings were divided between annoyance at the easy success of his son, and elation of finding the stranger so unexpectedly affable. He rose. "'Girls, remember to be punctual.

I will show this town of truce of course. Troy that I'm not the man to be laughed at. End of chapter six. Chapter 7 of The Astonishing History of Troytown by Sir Arthur Thomas Qurelacuch. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Simon Evers. Chapter 7 of a lady that had a musical voice but used it to deceive. Many of the advantages that wait upon the readers of this history are, I should hope, by this time,

Among them must be reckoned the privilege of taking precedence of Admiral Buzzer, if paying a visit to the Bower not only several minutes in advance of that great man, but moreover, on terms of the utmost intimacy. Shortly before eleven on Monday morning, the Honourable Frederick Augustus Hithe Goodwin-Sandis was shaving contemplatively. He was a tall, thin man, with light, closely cropped hair, a drooping moustache that hit his mouth, and a nose of the order aqued in order aquauntletively. line and species chiselled. For the present, the lower half of his face was obscured with lava. His dress, I put it thus in case Miss Limpini should read these lines, was that usually worn by gentlemen under similar circumstances. Mr. Goodman Sandys was just taking his first stroke with the razor when the creaking of the garden gate caused him to glance out of the window. The effect of this was to make him cut his cheek, whereupon he both bled and swore simultaneously

and profusely. On the gravel walk stood Admiral Buzzer, with his three daughters. Again, the great man was in full dress. Behind him in Indian file of Vance Sophia, Jane, Calypso, each in a straight frock of vivid yellow, surmounted by a straw hat of such enormous brim as to lend them a fearful lightness to three gigantic fungi. As far as the hats allowed one to see from above, each wore sandal shoes and carried a small green parasol neatly folded. At the sight of this regiment of visitors, Mr. Combin Sand is paused with razor in air and blood trickling down his chin. The admiral marched resolutely up the path and struck three distinct knocks upon the door. He was opened by the youth in buttons. The album

produced a sheaf of visiting cards and handed them to the page as if inviting him to select one noted carefully and restored it to the pack. Is the Honourable Frederick Goodwin Sandys or the Honourable Mrs. Goodwin Sandys at home? Words cannot do justice to the Admiral's tone. The regiment was marched into the drawing-room where Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis rose to receive them. She was undeniably beautiful, not young, but rather in that St. Martin's summer when a woman learns for the first time the value of her charms. Her hair was of a glossy black, her lip and her.

red and full, her figure and grey morning gown, two miracles. But on her eyes and voice you should hear Mr. Moggridge, who subsequently wasted a deal of Her Majesty's time and his own paper upon this subject. From a notebook of his, the early pages of which are constant to a certain Sophia, I select the following. To Graciosa walking and talking, when as abroad to greet the morn, I mark my Graciosa walk, in homage bends the whispering corn. Yet to confess its awkwardness must hang its head upon the stalk. And when she talks her lips do heal, the wound her lightest glances give. In pity then be harsh and deal such wounds that I may hourly die,

and by a word revived live. All this was very shocking, Mr. Moggridge, for Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis was not his Graciosa at all, but it was what we were fated to come to in Troy. And Graciosa's voice and smile was certainly inspiring. Let us return to the bar. The Admiral, having presented his daughters, and arranged them in line again, cleared his throat and began. Well, where that, as judged by the standard of the best society, this visit may be condemned as premature,

I thought right to stifle such apprehensions in my anxiety to assure you of a welcome in Troy, I may say an open-armed welcome. Here the Admiral actually spread his arms abroad. His hostess retreated a step. "'My daughters, Calypso, I perceive an errant curl. "'My daughters, madam, will bear me out "'when I say that only excess of feeling prevents their mother "'from joining in this, I call it so, this ovation.'

"'In point of fact, Mrs. Buzzard had been judged too red in the eyes "'to accompany the Admiral. "'Ever since I beheld you and your husband, whom I do not see,' "'here the Admiral stared ferociously under a table, "'but who I trust is in health, "'for the first time in Church, yesterday? Oh, Admiral Buzzer! I have been forcibly reminded of an expression in one of our British poets which runs, Sophia, how the devil does it run? None of the Mrs. Buzzer had the faintest

idea. Their father's efforts to remember it were interrupted by Mrs. Gubbin-Sandis, who begged them with a charming smile to be seated. "'My husband,' she said, will be down in a minute or two. It is really most kind of you to call, for as strangers we are naturally anxious to hear about the place at its people. Her voice, which was low and musical, came with the prettiest trip upon the tongue. There was just the faintest shade of brogue in it, for instance, she said, me husband, but I cannot attempt to reproduce it. Upon this hinted desire for information, the Admiral bestowed his cocked hat under the chair, and began, "'Our small-town man may be viewed in many aspects, as an emporium of commerce, a holiday centre,

or a health resort. In our trade, you would naturally, with your tastes, find little interest. It is rather our scenic advantages, our romantic fortresses, our river, pronounced by many to equal the Rhine, are mild atmosphere. On the contrary, I take the greatest interest in your trade. The Admiral lifted his brows and smiled, as one who would imply, you're kind enough to say so, but really with your high connections, that can hardly be seriously believed. What he said was, "'It is indeed good of you to interest yourself in our simple tastes.

We are, I confess it, to some degree, mercantile, and as citizens of Troy esteem it our duty to acquaint ourselves, theoretically, with the products of other lands. To this end I have had all my daughters carefully grounded in the child's guide to knowledge. Jane, my dear, what is Gambouge?' "'A vegetable, gummy juice of a most beautiful yellow colour, chiefly brought from Gambodia in the East Indies, repeated Jane with a glance at her gown.

Newseamam, explained her father with a wave of the hand. It is a form of instruction in which the rawness of the material is to some extent veiled by a clothing of picturesque accessories. This will be even more noticeable in the case of Soi. Aclipso informed Mrs. Goodby and Sanders of the humorous illusion under which our seaman lober with regards to soy. But at this point the door opened, and Mr. Samuel Buzzar entered

with Mr. Goodman Sandys himself. The introductions were gone through. The Admiral let off another speech of welcome, and plunged with the Honourable Frederick into a long discussion of Troy, its scenery and neighbourhood. The three girls sat bolt upright, each on the edge of her chair, and their brother took his hostess's extended hand

with a bashful grin. "'Ah, Mr. Buzzar, I'm interested in you already. My husband had been telling me how he met you.' "'I'm proud to hear it,' muttered. at Sam. Oh yes, I hope we should be great friends. It is so kind of you all to call. Sam asked her not to mention it, and looked at his father, whose face by this time was purple with conversation. I say, ain't the old boy enjoying himself, though, he remarked in a sudden burst of confidence. What do you think of him? Mrs. Goodwin-Sadges smiled sweetly, and

replied that the Arab was, so thorough. A thorough old duffer, you mean? Look at him. What with his gold spangles and his talking to Mr. Goodman Sand is, he's as proud as a cock on a wall. His hostess laughed. "'You are very frank,' she said. "'That's me all over,' replied Sam, evidently pleased. "'You see, I ain't polite, not a lady's man in any way.' "'There I am sure you do yourself injustice. "'No, upon my word, I never had any practice.'

"'What, not among all the charming girls I saw in church yesterday?' "'Oh, Mr. Buzer, he mustn't tell me that.' A look from the dark eyes accompanied this sentence. Now very few young men of Sam's stamp greatly mind being considered gay Lafarios, so that when he repeated that, Polly's word he wasn't, he also turned his neck about in his collar for a second or so, smiled meaningly, and altogether looked rather pleased than not. I'm afraid you are a very sad character, Mr. Buzzer.

Oh, no, really now! And are deceiving me horribly. No, really, wouldn't they? think of it. Sam, broke in the Admiral's voice in tones of thunder. Yes, sir. How does Mr. Boggridge describe the Manor Hotel? Says the beer's falling off, sir. It did, once upon a time, taste of the barrel, but now he'll be hanged if it tastes of anything at all. It ought, Don't be a fool, sir. I mean in that perm of his from ivy leaves, or tendrils from Troy. Beg pardon, sir, I'm sure. Let me see. Before he could recall it, Sophia finished the quotation.

timidly. I think, papa, I can remember it. And thou, quaint hostel, neath whose mouldering gable ends, in amber draught, I slate my noonday thirst. Something like that, I think, papa. Ah, to be sure, mouldering gable ends, a most accurate description. It used to belong to—' And the Admiral plunged again into a flood of conversation. You must bring this, Mr. Mogridge, and introduce him, said Mrs. Gubin-Sandis to say. Sam. He is a collector of customs, is he not? Do you think he would recite any of his verses to me? By the hour, but I shouldn't advise you to ask him. It's all about my sister. A witch? The oldest there, Sophie's her name, and don't judge from appearances. The family diet is not hardware.

Hushed, sir, you must not be rude. That reminds me that I ought to go and speak to them. Oh, you won't get anything out of them. If you want a subject, though, I'll give you the straight tip. Lambs. I've heard them talk about lambs by the hour. So they are nice and soft and woolly. That'll draw them out. You're a great quiz, I perceive. No, really now, Mrs. Goodman Sandys. But really, yes, Mr. Buzzer, I shall have to cure you, I see, before I can trust my husband in your company. She rose and left him to his flutter of pleased excitement. Oh, Sam, Sam, to fall from innocence was bad enough, but to fall from innocence. But to fall, thus easily. In a few moments, some with charming tact, Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis had drawn the Mrs.

Buzzard into a lively conversation, had told Sophie of some new songs, and had even promised them all some hints on the very latest gowns, before Sam buzzer, wary of silence, called across the room. I say, Dad, what do you think is the news about the seedy-looking fellow you treated by mistake to all that speechifying? The Admiral looked at daggers, but Sam was imperturbable. "'Ho-ho, I say, Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis, the governor took him for you, and welcomed him to Troy and his best style flower and his buttonhole and all. It was as good as a play. Well, a fellow has taken Kitt's house.' "'Kid's house?' "'Yes, and lives there all alone with Caleb Trotter for servant. I'd advise you to call, now that you've got your Sunday best on. I'm sure he'd like to thank you for that speech you made him.' "'Be quiet, sir.'

"'Oh, very well. Only I thought I'd mentioned it. "'I'm afraid I must be going, Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis.' Sam held out his hand. "'Must you? Goodbye then,' she said. "'But remember, you have to come and be taught innocence.' "'Oh, I remember, never fear,' answered Sam, and departed. The Admiral also rose.

"'I trust,' he said, "'that this may be the beginning of a pleasant intimacy. "'My wife would be most happy to give you any information "'concerning our little town that I may have omitted. "'By the way, how is Lord Sinkpubborn?' I really forgot to ask. Quite well? I'm so glad. I was afraid the gout...

Come, save him, my dear, we have trespass long enough. Good morning! He was gone. Scarcely, however, could his host and hostess exchanged lances, before he reappeared. Oh, Mrs. Goodwin said, is that quotation. I've just remembered it. It was, welcome little strangers. The original, I believe, has the singular little stranger, but the slight change makes it more appropriate.

Welcome, little strangers. Good morning. "'Oh, Troy, Troy, "'scrously had the garden-gate creaked again "'when Mr. Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis looked at each other for a moment, "'then sank into arm-chairs, and broke into peals of the most unaffected laughter. "'Nellie, hammy a cigar, Miss Pete's cock-fighting! "'Whist, my dear!

"'Wist, my dear!' answered the lady, relapsing into honest brogue. "'For Brady is the boy to know the ropes. "'I believe you, Nellie.' "'Outside the garden-gate the Admiral had fallen into a brown study. "'I perceive,' he said at length, very thoughtfully, "'that wine and biscuits have gone out of fashion "'as concomitants of a morning call. "'In some ways I regret it,

"'but they are evidently people of extreme refinement. "'Safie, how badly your gown sits!' "'Why, it was only yesterday, Papa, that you praised it so.' "'Did I? Oh, well, well, now for the boat.' "'The boat, papa?' certainly sophie we're going to call it kit's house end of chapter seven chapter eight of the astonishing history of troytown by sir arthur thomas quillicuch this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by simon evers chapter eight how a crew that would sail on a washing day was shipwrecked with an advertisement against women it was a bright april morning and the admiral's boat as it swept proudly past the little town, cast a wealth of bright reflection on the water. Inhabitants of Troy sitting at their windows and overlooking the harbour

caught sight of the yellow dresses, the blue coat with its gold lace, and the red face beneath the cocked hat, and whispered to each other that something was in the wind. Jane and Calypso rode, for the Trojan maidens in those days were not above pulling an awl and did not mind blisters, while Sophia sat in the boughs her mushroom hat a world too wide, but the little green parasol hoisted above it. The Admiral himself held the tiller ropes, and occasionally gave a word of command. It was a gracious spectacle. But as the boat drew clear of the jetties with their press of vessels and Kit's cottage

hove in sight, the Admiral's eyes, which were fixed ahead, grew suddenly very large and round. "'This is very extraordinary,' he muttered. "'Very extraordinary, indeed.' "'What is it, papa?' said the three Mrs. buzzer, simultaneously turning their mushroom hats to look. I cannot tell, Sophia, but to me it appears as if these people were, not to put too fine a point upon it, washing. It was quite true. On the little beach, Mr. Fogo, with his sleeves turned up and a large apron pinned around him, was standing before a huge tub industriously washing.

The tub rested on a couple of stools. A little to the left, Caleb Trotter, with his back turned to the river was ringing the articles of male costume which his master handed him and disposed them about the shingle to dry. The Admiral had chosen a washing day for his first call at Kit's house. The approach of the boat was at first unperceived, for Caleb, as I said, had his back turned to it, and Mr. Fogo's spectacles were bent over his enjoyment. "'Really!' murmured the Admiral, as his eye travelled over the beach. "'Anything more indelicate! Why, Miss Limpany might be ruined. this way for anything they know.

Hi, sir! Still grasping the tiller lines, the Admiral stood up on the stern seat and shouted. At the sound, Mr. Fogo raised his spectacles and blandly stared through them at the strangers. Caleb started, turned suddenly round, and came rushing down the beach, his right hand frankly waving them back,

his left grasping a pair of— Oh, Miss Limpony! Aye, you must go back! Go away, I tell he! He gesticulated. "'Morton, go away, no females allowed here, off with thee this moment.' "'Put down those—' "'Sir,' yelled the Admiral. "'Say be right, no business to come.

"'Tis bachelor's all this, and I don't want no women kind trespass in here. "'So keep your distance. Go along.' And Caleb began to wave again. "'Sir,' cried the Admiral, appealing to Mr. Fogo, "'what is the meaning of this extraordinary reception?' "'Eh, what?' said that gentleman, who apparently had fallen into a fit of deep abstraction. I beg your pardon, I did not quite catch...

What is the meaning of all this, sir? The Admiral was scarlet with passion. It's quite right, I believe, quite right. Caleb will tell you. As he gave this astonishing answer in a faraway tone, Mr. Fogo's spectacles rested on his visitor for a moment with a smile of deepest benevolence. Then, with a sigh, he resumed his washing.

The Admiral positively danced with rage. "'There, and what did I tell ye?' exclaimed Caleb triumphantly. "'That's your answer, and now you can go along home. Off with he!' The Emperor's reply would probably have contained some strong at words. It was arrested by a catastrophe. Join this altercation the tide had been rising and carried the boat gently up towards the little beach. As the Admiral opened his mouth to retort, the boat's nose jarred upon a sunken heap of pebbles.

The shock was slight, but enough to upset his equilibrium. Without any warning, the herbal's heels shot upwards, and the great man himself with a wild clutch of vacancy soused backwards, a cocked hat and all, into the water. The three Mrs. Buzzard, with one accord, clasped their hands and utter dismal shrieks. The three mushroom hats shook with terror. Mr. Focco looked up from his washing. "'Papa, oh, save him! Save our dear papa!'

there was no danger presently a crimson face rose over the boat's stern blowing like a grampus a pair of dripping epaulettes followed and then the admiral stood up knee-deep in water and swore and spat alternately how different from that glittering hero at sight of whom not an hour before the trojan dames at their lattices had stopped their needlework to whisper down his nose and chin ran a pitiful flood his scanty locks before so warry and obstinate made close against his ears. His gorgeous uniform, tarnished with slime, hung in folds, and from each fold poured a separate cascade. The whole man had become suddenly shrunken. Speechless with rage, the little man clambered over the stern and shook his fist at the wandering spectacles of Mr. Fogo. "'You shall repent this, sir! You shall! James pushed the boat off at once!' But even the dignity of a fine exit was denied, the admiral.

The boat was by this time firmly aground, and he was forced to stand, forming large pools upon the sternboard, while the grinning Caleb pushed her off. And still Mr. Fogo looked mildly on, with his hands in the wash-tub. "'Do you hear me, sir? You shall repent this,' rave the Admiral. "'Now don't he go up setting yourself again, because once is enough, and take no good to be vexed with, maister, because he don't mind he. It is like smooth his wedding all on one side. "'Next time, I'll listen when you're spoken to.' And with a chuckle, Caleb sent the boat spinning into deep water. Scarce daring to look at their father, the Mrs. Buzzard plunged their oars into the brine,

and the Admiral, still shaking his fist, was born slowly out of sight. At last even his language failed upon the breeze. Caleb quietly returned to his work. "'Thicky Admiral,' he observed, contemplatively, after a silence of a minute of a puts me in mind of Humphrey Humbley's ducks, as he said to look larger than they be. He paused in the act of wringing a shirt to look at Mr. Fogo. The next instant the shirt was lying on the shingle, and Caleb had sprung upon his master, taken him by the shoulders,

and was shaking him with might and mane. Come, wake up, do you hear? What bit lazy at? Eh, dear me, stammered Mr. Fogo, as well as he might for the shaking. What's all this? I'm asking your pardon, sir. exclaimed Caleb, continuing the treatment. "'Tas all for your good, like wringing a pig. "'You'm a wool-gathering.

"'Wake up.' Mr. Fogo came to himself and sat down upon a log of timber to rearrange his thoughts and his spectacles. Caleb stood over him and sternly watched his recovery. "'You're quite right, Caleb. My thoughts were wondering. Your treatment is a trifle rough,

but honest. Are those extraordinary people gone?' "'Sir. "'Here they were, but gone.' like Jimmy Rules Larks. I beg a pardon? Ah, figure of speech, sir. They'd be gone right enough,

Admiral buzzer in full fig, and a row of daughters in jealousy buff. I said about their business. Look at here, sir. If you promised to sit quiet and keep your wits at home, I run down to town for a hapata tar. Tar, Caleb? Yes, sir, tar.

And with this, Caleb turned on his heel and strode away across the shingle. In a moment or two he had untied his boat from the little key and was pulling down towards Troytown. When he returned it was with a huge board, a pot of tar and a brush. He looked anxiously about the beach, but Mr Fogo was nowhere to be seen. Drowned in cell, was Kaleb's first thought, but his ear caught the sound of hammering up at the house. He walked indoors to see the door was right.

I'll be feeling, he asked, putting his head in at the dining-room door. Mr. Fogo laid down the mallet with which he had been nailing a loose, plank in the flooring and looked up. All right, Caleb, thank you. I was afraid you might be non-compass again. What? Nun-compass, Greek from mazed. Goodbye for the present, sir.

Caleb borrowed a hammer, a nail or two, and a spade, and descended again to the beach. Here he chose a spot carefully, and began to dig a large hole in the shingle. This finished, he turned to the board, and spent some time with a brush in his hand, and his head on one side, thinking. Then he began to paint vigorously. Half an hour later, a tall post with a board on top stood on the beach at Kit's house. On the board, in letters six inches long, was tarred the following inscription. Take notice.

All women found trespassing on the beach will be dealt with according to the law. Above this notice jauntily rested the animal's cocked hat, which had drifted ashore further up on the shingle, an awful witness to the earnestness of the threat and the vanity of human greatness. Caleb stood in front of his hand-of-work and gazed at it with honest pride for some minutes, then went into the house to fetch Mr Fogo forth to look. He was absent for some minutes. When he returned with his master, their eyes were greeted with a curious sight.

On the spit of shingle, and staring open mouth at the notice, stood the twins, their honest faces expressing the extreme of perplexity. A few yards off the shore, in their boat, waited Tamsin, and leant quietly on her paddles. At the sight of her, Caleb's face fell a full inch, but he led his master down and planted him resolutely in front of the board. Mr. Fogo stared helplessly from it to the twins. "'Mourning, sir,' said Peter, after a long pause. His face wore a deepened colour, and he smiled awkwardly. "'Good morning,' replied Mr. Fogo. "'A fine morning,' repeated.

Peter, with a long gaze at the board, and no mistake. There was another long interval, during which everybody stared hard at the notice. "'It's a powerful fine morning,' Peter reasserted very slowly. "'If so be easier a station in life as in Norway connected with tournaments, "'have as to as the lesser says about the morning the breader.' With this observation Peter looked hard at Mr. Fager, as if the ball of conversation now lay in that gentleman's hands. "'What do you think of this year notice?'

broke in Caleb. Paul twitched his yellow bandana and smiled evasively. "'It is very pretty written, sir, surely,' he replied, addressing Mr Fogo. Nice, thick downstrokes, and all as it should be.' "'Uncommon fashionable, it makes the beach look, sir, already,' added Peter. Some mental reservation seemed to lurk behind this criticism.

Mr. Fogo looked dubiously from the twins to Caleb, who stood with his eyes fixed on his handiwork. "'Asking your pardon, sir, and making so free as to mention it,' began Peter at length, pulling off his hat and twirling the brim between his fingers. But as was a bit taken aback, not understanding as fashionable this was to begin to be so smart, or else wouldn't have intruded, especially Tamsin. Tamsin were singing this morning as a pint of fresh butter might be acceptable to the gentleman down at Kit's house with half a dozen fresh eggs or so,

because I mean or C.M. began to lay again last week, and the spickety hamburgers always lays double yorks. And Paul and me agreed you wouldn't be above accepting a little present of this nature, not seeming proud, and Tamsin should bring her herself, the eggs being hers in a manner of speaking. But us was not wishful to intrude, sir, ever since I've seen the boat here as been keeping her distance in the boat yonder. Only a step to shore to learn there was anything us could do to make things ship-shaped and fitty-for-y.

At the end of this long address, Peter, whose mahogany face was several shapes deeper, pulled up and resumed his hat. "'Ship-shaped and fitting, not wishing for us to intrude, that's all, Peter,' echoed his brother. Mr. Fogo looked at the pair helplessly, and again at Caleb, whose eyes were obstinately averted. "'Caleb?' "'Sir.' "'Ask, Mr. Love, if she would mind stepping ashore?' On a sudden brightening a face, Caleb called her name.

Tamsie looked up. If he pleased, you'd have come ashore to once. The girl rode a couple of strokes, grounded the boat and stepped lightly ashore with a big basket and an unembarrassed glance at the notice. There's a few young potatoes at the bottom, she said with a courtesy, as she handed her gift to Mr. Fogo. They're the earliest and best anywhere in these parts.

Can you cook potatoes? she asked, suddenly turning to Caleb. Beneath her son bonnet her pretty cheek, was flushed, and her chin thrust forward with just a shadow of defiance. "'Yes, to be sure,' grinned Kiddib. "'Why, as does our own washing!' Tams's eyes travelled without bashfulness over the array upon the beach. "'Pretty washing, I expect!' She walked up and took some of the clothes into her hand.

"'Look here, not half-wrung, and some fall in the mud and dirty worse than ever!' With fine contempt she moved among the clothes, wrung them, spreading them out again, and even returned with some to the wash-tub. Like four whipped schoolboys, the males looked on, as she tucked up the sleeves of her neat print gown. Soap, too, left a float in the wash-tub,

and salt water, I declare. Caleb, enter this and get some soft water from the old butt by the back door. Oh, you poor helpless baby! Mr. Fogo, though the words were not spoken to him, winced and turned to stare abstractedly at the river. "'Sir,' said Caleb from his hammock that night, "'could he put in a codicil?'

"'A codicil?' "'Here, just to say, "'No women are loud, but tams in dear love, "'I don't mind she.' "'Wouldn't that do, sir?' "'I'm afraid not, Caleb. "'By the way, how does your notice run? "'All women found trespassing will be—'

"'Don't with according to the law, sir.' "'Dear me, Caleb,' murmured Mr. Fogo. "'But I trust that under note Those circumstances should I deal with a woman otherwise than according to the law. End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of The Astonishing History of Troy Town by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Simon Evers.

Chapter 9 of a town that would laugh at the Great and how a dull company was cured by an Irish song. We left the Mrs. Buzzer engaged in rowing the papa home. The three queens, as they steered King Arthur to Avillion, can have been no sad a pageant. It is true the Mrs. Buzzer grieved for no excalibur, but the Admiral had lost his cocked hat. Picture to yourself that procession. The journey passed to the jetties, the faces that grinned down from overhanging howls, or looked out hurriedly at casements and grew pale, the blue-jurzied Trojan lounging on the key and pausing in his whistle to stare. The Trojan maidens, gazing with a rested needle, the shipwrights dropping mallet and tar-pot,

the ferryman resting on their oars, the makers of ship's biscuit rushing out with aprons flying to see the sight, the butcher of the bake of the candlestick-maker, each and all agog. Then imagine the Olympian mirth that ran along the water-side when Troy saw the joke, and, hand-on-hip, laughed with all its lungs. But even this was not the worst. No, nor the crowd of urchins that followed from the landing-stage and cheered at intervals. It was when Admiral Buzzer looked up and spied the face of Mrs. Goodwin Sanders at an upper window of the bower that the cup of his humiliation indeed brimmed over. Mrs. Buzer, titivating at the mirror, heard the stir, and, presentient of evil, rushed downstairs. She saw her lord restored to her, dear, but damp. Yet she, nor swooned nor uttered cry,

She simply sat violently and suddenly down upon the hall-chair, and piteously stared. "'Hemily, get up!' she did so. "'You are wet, my love,' she vented timorously. "'Wet, woman, is this the time for airy perciflage?' "'My love,' replied Mrs. Butler meekly, "'nothing was further from my thoughts.' The Admiral glared upon her for a moment, but the retort died upon his lips. He flung his hands out with an appealing gesture, and something like a soft.

"'Hemone!' he cried hoarsely. "'Troy has laughed at me again. Put me to bed!' "'Oh, forgiving heart of woman! In a moment her arms were about him, and her tears mingling with the general dabmness of the admiral's costume. Then, having wept her fill, she smiled a little, dried her eyes, and put the admiral to bed. Out of doors, Troy still laughed at the mishap. The whole story was soon related, with infinite humour, by the unfidial Sam. Down at the Man of War, in the Bar-parlour, for seven days it formed the sole topic of discussion. And Mr. Moggridge, who ought to have to respected Sophia's father, even wrote a humorous ode upon the theme beginning, Ye gods and little fishes, and full of the quaintest conceits.

For seven days from dawn to nightfall, the river off Kitt's house was crowded with boatloads of curious gazers, and the steam tugger company, limited, neglected its serious business to run special excursions to the scene of the catastrophe. The Trojan maidens especially would stare at the notice by the half-hour, that being the time allowed by the steam-tong company, and hope with much blushing and giggling to catch a glimpse of Mr. Fogo. But the hermit remained steadily indoors. Meanwhile the Admiral sulked in bed and nursed his ill-humour. On Tuesday he was strangely softened and quiet, but, on Wednesday he recovered and began to bully his wife as fiercely as ever. On Thursday he broke the bell-rope again, and the servant gave warning. On Friday he threatened to make his will and refused his food.

On Saturday he was still fasting. On Sunday he ed voraciously drank four glasses of grog and threw the wash-hand basin out of the window. On Monday, Mrs. Buzzard revolted and took herself off with the girls to Miss Limponny's party. Yes, Miss Limpany had mustered courage to put on her best brooch and call it the Bower with Lavinia, nor did her daring end here it took the form of a little three-cornered note on that very evening on the next morning mr mrs gubwin sandys accepted have great pleasure in accepting read miss limperny to her sister the very words i'm sure it's most affable we must have cheese-cakes the famous cheese-cakes of course pleaded miss lavignia and a dish of trifles and jellies and oh priscilla what lavinia do you think a tipsy cake would be unbecoming? Miss Limpany knit her brows over this bold proposal.

I disapprove of the name, she said. It has always seemed to be a trifle—' Fast, if I may call it so. Still, we need not mention its name at supper, and the taste is undeniably grateful. But, Lavinia, I was thinking of a more important matter. Who are to be asked? Why not everybody, Priscilla Dea? The Simpsons, for instance. It is true his father was a respectable solicitor, and even mayor of Devonport, I've heard, but Mr. Simpson's taste in badinage is such as I cannot always approve. It is very well in Troy here, where everybody knows them,

but the goodman Sandys are certain to be most particular, and Lavinia, that crimson gown of hers. It is bright, I said in Miss Lavinia, and the saunders, what a pity the girls cannot be invited without the boys. The boys have always come before, Priscilla. Miss Limbony groaned. To meet an honourable, Lavinia? The leaven was working.

However, on the following Monday, everybody was assembled in the little drawing-room. The vicar was there in evening dress. The doctor and his wife? Mr. Simpson and Mrs. Simpson in the crimson gown. The saunders boys in carpet slippers, at sight of which Miss Limpany went hot and cold by turns, the Mrs. Buzer in book-muslin with ultramarine satchews, and bronze shoes laced sandalwise,

their mother in green satin and deadly terror, lest the Admiral's voice should penetrate the party wall. Mr. Muggridge was frowning gloomily in a corner at some humorous story of Sam Buzzer's telling. In short, with the exception of their Admiral, all Trojan society had gathered to do honour to the newcomers. Miss Limpony, nervously toying with her best brooch, rose in a flutter as the door opened and admitted them.

"'So sorry we are late, but the clocks at the bower have not yet recovered from their journey.' Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis gazed calmly about her. There was a rustle throughout the room. Two pink spots appeared on Miss Limp and his cheeks. She stumbled in her words of welcome. The vicar frowned and looked puzzled. Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis wore a low-necked gown. It was a shock, but it passed. She was wonderfully pretty, all admitted, in her gown of a rich amber satin, draped with delicate folds of black lace. Around her white throat, a diamond necklace listened. How well I can remember her as she stood there toying with a button of her glove!

And how mean and dowdy we all looked beside this glittering vision! The Honourable Frederick Augustus Hythe Goodwin Sandys, meanwhile, stared at us all calmly but firmly through his eyedlass. I saw young Horatio Saunders meet that gaze and sink into his carpet slippers. I saw Mr. Muggeridge frowned terribly and cross his arms. Sam Buzzer came forward. Ah, how'd you do? How'd you do, Mrs. Goodman Sandis? Looking round for the Governor. He's been in bed for a week.

I think we all envied Samuel Buzzer at this moment. Oh, nothing serious, I hope, drawled Mr. Goodman, Sandys. Serious? Haven't you heard? Sam, dear, expostulated Mrs. Buzzer. All right, mother, he can't hear. And Sam plunged into it. the story. The ice was broken. In a few moments a whist party was made up to include the Honourable

Frederick, and Miss Limpany breathed more freely. Mr. Muggridge was led up by Sam, and introduced. "'Ah, indeed, Mr. Morgridge, I've been so longing to know you!' Sam looked a trifle vexed. The poet simpered that he was happy. Of course I have been reading Ivy Leaves, so mournful I thought them, yet somehow so attractive. How did you write it all?' Mr. Moggridge confessed amiably that he didn't quite know. Let me see. Those lines beginning. Give me wings to—I forget for the moment how it goes on. "'To fly away,' suggested the bard.

"'Ah, exactly. To fly away. So simple. Just what one would wish wings for, you know. Extruct me very much when I read it. When did you think of it, Mr. Moggridge?' The poet blushed and began to look uncomfortable. "'Ah, you are reticent. "'Excuse me, I ought not to probe a poet's soul. "'Still I should like to be able to tell my friends. "'The fact is,' stammered Mr. Muggridge,

"'I thought of them in my bath.' "'Mrs. Goodwin Sandys leaned back and laughed, "'a pretty rippling laugh that shook the diamonds upon her throat. "'Sam guffled, and by this action sprang that little rift "'between the friends that widened before long into a gulf. "'I shall ask you to copy them into my album. I always bick to my zalarm when I meet one.' This was said with a glance full of compensation.

Mr. Moggish tried to look very leonine indeed. Across the room another pair of eyes gently reproached him. Never before had he tarried so long from Sophia's side. Poor little heart, beating so painfully beneath your dowdy muslin bodice, it was early yet for you to ache. Ah, Dick Chedder, knew him well! came in the sonorous tones of the Honourable Frederick from the Whist-table. So you were at college with him, first cousin to Lord Stilton.

Get the title if he only outlives the old man. Good, Faradig, but drinks. Dear me, said the vicar, I am sorry to hear that. He was wild at Christchurch, but nothing out of the way. Why, I remember the Aylesbury Grines? Miss Limpany, who did not know an Aylesbury grind from a Brampton lecture, yet detected an unfamiliar ring in the vicar's voice. "'He fought a Wilshire,' pursued the vicar,

"'just before riding in a race. "'Rolingstone, his horse was, "'and Cheddar's eyes closed before the second fence. "'Tom,' he called for me, "'I was on a mare called barmaid.' "'I asked you to guess the amazement that fell among us. "'He, our vicar, riding a mare called barmaid?' "'Miss Limpon it cast her eyes up to meet the descent of the Thunderbolt.

"'Nor Lord Barat was riding too,' the vicar went on, "'and young Tom Beech. some of the bishop died of d t out of malta with the ninety-ninth interpolated the honourable frederick so i heard poor fellow three-bottle beecham we called him i put into bed many a time when it was too much in the great exhibition of eighteen fifty one began miss priscilla severely but at this moment a dreadful rumbling shook the room the chauldier's rattled the egg-shelled china danced upon the what-not and a jarring sensation suddenly ran up the spine of every person in the company "'It's an earthquake!' shouted the Honourable Frederick, starting up with an oath. Miss Liberty thought an earthquake nothing less than might be expected after such language. Louder and still louder grew the rumbling, until the very walls shook. Everybody turned to a ghastly white.

The Vigar's face bore eloquent witness to the reproach of his conscience. "'I think it must be thunder,' he gasped. "'Or a landslip,' suggested Sam Buzzer. "'Or a perixism of nature,' said Mr. Mugridge. "'The nobody knew what he meant.' "'Or the end of the world,' as is it, Mr. Gubin-Sandis. "'I beg your pardon,' interposed Mrs. Buzzard timidly, "'but I think it may be my husband.'

"'Is your husband a volcano, madam?' snapped Mr. Gubin-Sandis rather sharply. "'Mrs. Buzzer might have answered, "'Yes, with some colour of truth. "'But she may have said, "'I think it may be his double base.' "'My husband is apt in hours of depression "'to seek the consolation of that instrument. "'But, my dear madam, what is the tune?'

"'I think,' she faltered. "'I'm not quite sure, but I rather think it is "'the dead march in Saul.' "'There was no doubt about it. "'The notes by this time vibrated piteously "'through the party wall, "'and with their awful solemnity triumphed over all conversation. "'Tones became hushed, as though in the presence of death,

"'and the vicar in his desperate attempts to talk, found his voice chained without mercy to the slow foot of the dirge. He tried to laugh. This is too absurd. Ha! Tam, tum, tim, tib-tum! The effort ended in ghastly failure. Frum, thrum, titty-thrum, went the admiral's instrument. Miss Limpley grew desperate. Sophia, she pleaded, pray-sing us, one of your cheerful ballads! Sophia looked at Mr. Mugridge. He had always turned over the pages for her, so devotedly. Surely he would make some sign now. Alas, all his eyes were for Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis. I will try, with something dangerously like a sob. She stepped to the collard at a pace remorselessly

timed to the dead march, and chose her ballad, a trifle of Mr. Mogherty's composition. It would reproach him more sharply than words, she thought. A cloud of angry tears blurred her sight as she struck the tinkling prelude. A month ago Lysander prayed. to Jove, to Cupid, and to Venus? Thrum, thrum, thrum, went the double-base next door. Mr. Mogrish looked up. How thin and reedy, Sapphire's voice sounded to-night, he never thought so before. That he might die if he betrayed a single vow that passed between us?

Sweetly touching, murmured Mrs. Goodman Sandys. Sapphire pursued, O careless gods, hear so ill, and cheat the maid on you rely on you, for false Sly Sanders thriving still, and tis Corinna lies a-dying. "'Is that all?' asked Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis, as Sophia with flushed cheeks left the piano. "'That is all a little effort, not worth. Oh, it is yours. But, with a sweet smile, "'I ought to have guessed. You must write a song for me one of these days.' "'Do you sing?' cried the delighted Mr. Mowgridge.

Sam, who'd been waiting for a chance to speak, shouted across the room, "'I say, Miss Limpony, Mrs. Gubin-Sandis will sing if you ask her.' After very little solicitation, and with none of the coyness common to amateurs, she seated herself at the instrument, quietly pulled off her gloves, and dashed without more ado into a rollicking Irish ditty. Be easy and illistered to a tune that the song have borrowed Tim the Ragoon, sure twice he'd never miss to be stale in a kiss or embrace by the light of the moon, Haroon, with a wink at the man in the moon.

Really? said Miss Limpony. The keys of the decorous collard clashed as they had never clashed before. The guests at first shocked and then startled, began to be carried away with the reckless swing of the music. The vicar up stared for a moment, and then began gradually to knot his head to the measure. You must sing the last line in chorus, please,

said Mrs. Goodman Sandis from the piano, were to wink at the man in the moon. It was sung timidly at first. Nothing daunted, the performer plunged into the next verse. Rest his soul in the arms were old Nick, for he's gone from the land or the quick, but he's still making love to the ladies above, and be jabbers, he'll take him the threck.

A-wick, never fear, but he'll take him the thrick. There was no doubt this time. By the spirit of her mad singing, by some demon that rode upon her full and liquid voice, the whole company seemed possessed. Miss Limpany looked furtively towards the vicar. He was actually joining in the chorus. And what a chorus!

She put her middened palms to her ears, such a shout it was that went up. "'Tis by Tim the dear saints will set shore, and he'll freight him to whiskey galore, for they've only to sip but the tip of his lip, and bedad they'll be asking for more ashore, by the piles they'll be shouting encore.' It was no longer an assembly of dull and decent citizens,

It was a room full of lunatics yelling the burden of this frantic Irish song. Laughingly, Mrs. Goodman Sandys rested her fingers on the keys and looked around. These stolid Trojans had caught fire. There was the little doctor purple all above his stock. There was the vicar with inflated cheeks and a hag-ridden stare. There was Mr. Moggridge snapping his fingers and almost capering. There was Miss Limpony, with her under-djaw dropped and her eyes agape. They were charmed, bewitched, crazy.

Mrs. Goodman-Santis saw this and broke into a silvery laugh. The infection spread. In an instant the whole room burst into a peal, a roar. They laughed until the tears rang down their cheeks. They held their sides and laughed again. She had them at her will. There was no more wonder after this. At supper the talk was furious and incessant.

Miss Lavigneur spoke of a tipsy cake and never blushed. The vicar took wine with everybody and told more stories of three bottles. Beecham. Even Sophia laughed with the rest, although her heart was aching, for still her poet neglected her, and hung with her brother on the lips of Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis. I saw him bring the poor girl's cloak in the hall afterwards, and received the most piteous of glances. I doubt if he noticed it. Outside, the Admiral's double base was still droning the dead march to Miss Limpigny's Loristina's Grove. It was the requiem of our decorum. Long after I was in bed that night, I heard, the voice of Mr. Boggridge trolling down the street.

Happy Jabel's here, Takam the Thrick! Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis had taught us the trick, indeed. End of Chapter 9. Chapter 10 of the astonishing history of Troy Town by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Simon Evers. Chapter 10 of one excursion and many alarums. "'Kaleb,' said Mr. Fogo, on the morning after Miss Lipp in his party.

"'Aye, aye, sir.' Caleb paused in his carpentering to look up. "'It is a lovely morning. I think I would take my easel and go for a walk. You are sure that the crowds have gone at last?' "'All gone, sir. Peace and quiet at last,' as Bill said when he was left a widow. "'Do you want me to go along with thee, sir?' "'No, thank you, Caleb. I should go along the hills on this side of the river.' "'You best let me come, sir, or you'd be wool, well.

gathering and wandering and wandering about till goodness knows what time a night. I shall be back by four o'clock. I'll stop a minute, sir, I have it. I'll just put that alarm in clock or urine in your tailpocket and set it to upper three, and that'll put you in mind when tis time to come home. There's a wonderful engine this year clock, reflected Caleb, as he carefully set the alarm. And choked full of sense like Malachi's shield. Oh, what a thing is sirens, as Jennifer said,

when I see the telegraphed Clark in plaity bottoms and red faces in his which is. Up the path, sir, and keep to the left. Goodbye, sir. No, and give a summit, to look at a likewise Caleb as he watched his master's in the hill, to be sure of seeing him back safe and sound afore nightfall. Oh dear, it has a terrible responsible post being teetotum to a babie. With this he walked back to the house, but more than once halted on his way to ponder and shake his head ominously. Mr. Fogo, meanwhile, with easel and umbrella on his arm, climbed the hill slowly and with frequent pauses to turn and admire the landscape. It was the freshest of spring mornings. The short turf was beaded with dew, the firze-bushes,

on either hand festooned with Gossamer and strung with mimic diamonds. As he looked harbourwards, the radiance of sky mingling with the glitter of water, dazzled and bewildered his sight. Below, and at the foot of the steep woods opposite, the river lay cool and shadime, or vanished for a space beneath a cliff, where the red ploughland broke abruptly away with no more warning than a crazy hurdle. Distinct above the dreamy hum of the little town, the ear caught the rattle of anchor chains, the cries of an outward-bound crew at the windlass, the clanking of trucks beside the jetties, the creaking of oars in the thaw-pins of a tiny boat below ascended musically. The very air was quick with all sounds and suggestions of spring and of man going forth to his labour.

The youthfulness of the morning ran in Mr Fogo's veins and lent a buoyancy to his step. By this time the town was lost to view. Next the bend of Kitt's house vanished, and now the broad flood spread in a silver lake full ahead. On the ridge the pure air was simply intoxicating after the languor of the valley. Mr. Fogo began to skip, to snap his fingers,

to tilt at the gossamer with his umbrella, and once even halted to laugh hilariously. at nothing. An old horse grazing on an isolated patch of turf looked up in mild surprise. Mr. Fogo blushed behind his spectacles and hurried on. He'd gone some distance when a granite roller lying on the ploughed slope beneath a clump of bushes invited him to rest. Mr. Fogo accepted the invitation and seated himself to contemplate the scene.

The bush at his back was comfortable, and by degrees the bright intoxication of his senses settled to a drowsy content. He pulled out his pipe and lit it. Through the curls of blue smoke he watched the glitter on the water below, the prismatic dazzle of the clods where they had lost his surface caught the sun, the lazy flap, flap of a heron crossing the valley. And he heard along the uplands the voice, sweetest of raw sounds, and alas now obsolete,

of a farm-boy chanting to his team, Brisk and Speedwell, good luck and lively! And so sank by Dick. degrees into a soothing sleep. When he awoke and looked lazily upwards, at first his eyes encountered gloom. "'Have I been sleeping all day?' was his first thought, not without alarm. But under the darkness a bright ray was stealing. Mr. Fogo put up his hand and encountered his umbrella, carefully spread over his face for shade.

This was mysterious. He could swear the umbrella was folded and lying at his side when he dropped to sleep. It must be Caleb, he thought, and turned around. No Caleb was in sight, but he noticed that the sun was dropping towards the west, and noticed also not 50 yards to the left, and quietly cropping a tuft of bushes, a red bull. Now Mr. Fogo had an extreme horror of bulls, especially red bulls, and this one was not merely red, but looked savage to boot. Mr Fogo peered again round the corner of his umbrella. The brute luckily had not spied him, but neither did it seem in any hurry to move.

For twenty minutes Mr. Fogo waited behind his shelter, and still the bull went on cropping. It was already late, and the brute stood full in the homeward path to Kit's house. It was only possible to make a circuit for around the ridge, as the cliff's edge cut off a detour on the other side. Weary of waiting, Mr. Fogo cautiously rose, pushed his easel under the bushes, began to creep up towards the ridge. holding his umbrella in front of him as a screen. This was rather after the fashion of the ostrich, which, to avoid being seen, buries its head in the sand. Nor was it likely that the beast, if irritated at the sight of a man,

would acquiesce in the phenomenon of an umbrella at large and strolling on its own responsibility. But as yet, the bull's back was towards it. Stealthily Mr. Fogo crept round. He placed about 70 yards between him, and the animal, and had almost gained the summit when a dismal accident befell. Click! It was the alarm in his tail pocket.

The bull looked up, gaze wildly at the umbrella, snorted, lashed out with his tail, and started in pursuit. Quick as thought, Mr. Fogo dropped his screen, and with a startled glance around, dashed at full speed for the ridge, the infernal machine still dinning behind him. Luckily, the bull's onset was directed at the umbrella. There was a thundering of hoofs, a dull roar. and the poor man, as he gained the summit and cast a frantic look behind, saw a vision of jagged silk and flying ribs. With a groan he tore forwards.

There was a hedge about fifty yards away, and for this he made with panting sides and tottering knees, if he could only stop that alarum. But the relentless noise continued, and now he could hear the bull in fresh pursuit. However, the umbrella had diverted the attack. After a few seconds of agony, Mr. Fogo gained the hedge, tore up it, turned, saw the brute appear above the wrist, above the ridge with a wreck of silk and steel upon his horns, and with a sob of thankfulness, dropped over into the next field. But alas, in doing so, Mr. Fogo performed the common feat of leaping out of the frying-pan into the fire, for it happened that on the other side a tramp

was engaged in his illegitimate occupation as sleeping under a hedge, and on his extended body our hero rudely descended. "'Oye,' said the tramp, "'will you be a-comin' to?' Mr Fogo picked himself up and felt for his spectacles. They had tumbled off in his flight, and without them his face presented a curiously naked appearance. The alarm in his pocket had stopped suddenly with the jerk of his descent. "'I beg your pardon,' he mildly apologised, but a pool in the next field.

"'That's no course for selecting your gentleman's stomach to stumble upon,' cried the tramp. "'I beg your pardon, I'm sure,' repeated Mr. Fogo. "'You may be sure that had tired of a child, time for selection been allowed me. Look here, said the tramp with sudden ferocity. Will you fight? Mr. Fogo retreated a step. Really? Come, look sharp. You won't?

There are demands off a crown. With this, the ruffin began to tuck up his ragged cuffs and was grimly at Vancey. Mr. Fogo leapt back and off a pace. Click! Roo! This time the alarm was his salvation. The tramp pulled up, gave a hasty, terrified stare, and with a cry of,

The devil, made off across the field as fast as his legs would carry him. Overcome with the emotions at the last few minutes, Mr. Fogo sat suddenly down, and the alarm ceased.

When he recovered, he found himself in an awkward predicament. He knew of but one way homewards, and that was guarded by the bull. Moreover, if he attempted to find another road, he was hampered by the loss of his spectacles, without which he could not see a yard before his nose.

However, anything was better than facing the bull again, so he arose, picked the brambles out of his clothing, and started cautiously across the field. As luck would have it he found a gate, but another field followed, and a third into which he had to climb by the hedge. And here he suffered from a tendency known to all mountaineers who have lost their way in a mist. Unconsciously he began to trend away towards the left, and as this led him further and further from home, His plight became every moment more desperate. At last he struck into a narrow lane, just as the sun sank. He halted for a moment to consider his direction. Pat, pat, pat.

He looked up. A little girl in an immense sun-monet was toddling up the lane towards him. She swung a satchel in her left hand, and at the sight of the stranger paused with her unoccupied forefinger in mouth. Mr. Fogo advanced straight up to her, stooped with his hands on his knee, and peered into her face. This behaviour, though necessitated by his shortness of sight, worked the most paralysing effect on the child.

"'Little girl, can you tell me the way to Kit's house?' There was no answer. Mr. Fogar appeared more closely. "'Little girl, can you tell me the way to Kit's house?' Still there was no answer. "'Little girl!' Click br-ro!' The effect of the laram was instantaneous.

"'Muh!' yelled the little girl, and broke into a paroxysm of weeping. "'Little girl! "'Moo! Take me home! I want Mammy!' "'Dear me!' cried Mr. Fogo wildly. "'This is the most appalling situation in which I have ever been placed.' He thought of running away, but his humanity forbade it. At length the Eloram ran down, but the child continued to scream, "'I want Mammy! Take me home!'

"'Hush! Hush! She shall go to Mammy! "'Icotootsie shall go to Mammy. "'Titums wantams mammy!' shouted Mr. Fogo, with an idiotic effort to soothe. "'But it was useless, the screams merely increased in volume. "'Mr. Fogo, leaning against the hedge, mopped his brow and looked helplessly around. "'What on earth is to be done!' There was a sudden sound of light footsteps, and then, to his immense relief, "'Tanzim dear love stood before him.

"'She looked as fresh and neat as ever, and carried a small, basket on her arm. "'Wherever is the matter? Why, tis it a little Susie Klemmer? What's the matter, Susie?' She sat down her basket and ran to the child who immediately ceased to yell. "'There now, that's Pillar. Did the big strange gentleman try to frighten her?' Poor little maid. "'I assure you,' said Mr. Fager, "'I tried to do nothing of the kind.'

Tamzin paid no attention. "'There now, we're as good as gold again, and can run along home. "'Give me a kiss first, that's a dearer.' The little maid, still sobbing fitfully, gave the kiss, picked up a satchel, and toddled off, leaving Thames in and Mr. Fogo face to face. "'Why did you frighten her?' the girl asked severely. There was an angry flush on her cheek. "'I did not intentionally. It was the alarm.

First of all, I was chased by a bull, and then—' Mr. Fogo told his story incoherently. The angry red left Thames incess. cheek, and a look of disdain succeeded. "'And you,' she said very slowly, when he had finished, "'think you are able to despise womankind.' "'It was Mr. Fogo's turn to grey red. "'And to put it up a board,' she continued,

"'with that silly notice upon it, "'you and that great baby Caleb Trotler, "'setting all women at North, "'when you never ought to be beyond tether of their apron-strings. "'Why, only this morning you'd have caught a sunstroke "'if I hadn't spread your umbrella over you.' "'Did you do that?' "'And who else do you suppose? A man, perhaps?

"'Why, there isn't a man in the world would have had the sense. "'Yes, it were Peter or Paul,' she added, "'with a sudden softening of the voice, "'and there are women in everything but strength.' "'And now,' she went on, "'as I'm going that way, I suppose you want me to see you home. "'Will you walk in front or behind? "'For doubtly, if you're about walking beside a woman?'

"'I think you are treating me very hardly. "'Maybe I am, and maybe I meant to. "'Maybe you didn't know that. that notice of yours might hurt people's feelings. Don't think I mean mine, she explained quickly and defiantly, but Peters and Paul's. There was a pause as they walked along together. The board shall come down, said he, and now may I carry your basket? My basket! Do you think I trust a man to carry eggs?

She laughed, but with a trace of forgiveness. He did not answer, but seemed to fall into a fit of troubled contemplation. They walked on in silence. Presently she halted. "'Now you've had trouble in your time, and I've heard your feelings, and spoken as I ought to have spoken to my betters, but I've seen that Peter and Paul were hurt in mind, and that may be say more than I meant.

Yonder's your way down to Kit's house. Good night, sir.' Mr. Fogo would have held out his hand, but she was gone quickly down the road. He stood for a moment looking after her, then turned and walked quickly down the path to Kit's house. Caleb met him at the door See him back

And I hope you enjoyed your walk As Sal said when a man came home from France I was just a coming to look for he It moves you easy all in your umbrella Mr Fogo told his story Ha said Caleb And Samson saw Yom Yes and by the way Caleb

He may as well take down that notice tomorrow Huh muttered Caleb again Quite sure thicky coddustle won't do Quite Very well Sir, said Caleb, and began to busy himself with the evening meal. But he looked curiously at his master more than once during the evening.

Mr Fogo spent most of his time in a brown study, smoking and gazing abstractedly into the fire. Caleb also smoked, it was one of his privileges, and finally with an anxious glance and two or three hard puffs at his pike broke the silence. The ball is a useful animal, and when dead supplies us with room steaks and shoe-horns, as the Sunday school book says. But for all that, there's something lacking to a bull. But ain't conviction. You never seen a bull yet as wasn't chucked full of a conviction

and didn't act up to his rights, such as they be. And take consistency. He drill a notion into a bull's head and fix it, and he'll save it up, maybe for six years, and then wrap it out and he till you're fairly sick for your own get-about ways. It's logic, he wants, I reckon. Just logic. A bull, sir, is no more to mind.

mass of blind on reasoning prejudice from orn to tail. Take his sense of colour. He can't abide red. If you press the matter, there ain't no more reason for this than that her father-liddle-pore him couldn't abide it. But how does he act? Aloha, says he. There's a party in red. Don't care of tinkas cuss whether tis a male car or a militia man. I'm bound to stop this here a taste for red if I dies next minute. And at it he goes according. If he seen the scarlet woman about in his part of the country, he'd lay by an Easter, and you'd say, well done, I don't say you'd be wrong.

But yes, you stop and axe his motives, and you'll find taint religion. Lord bless he, sir a bull's got no more use for religion than a toad for side pockets. It is obstinacy, that's what tis. You tells me a jackus, I is obstinate, and that's true in a way, and so's a hog. If you want quiet contrariness, a jackus or a hog will both sit out a bull. and though you may cuss the pair till you sweats like a fuzz bush on a dewy morning, heaving bricks into a bottlerless pit. Put a bull-ups and lets you know, there ain't no looting round and arranging your subject under-eds when he's about.

You don't get no pulpit, and what's more, you don't stop to touch your out when you make your congeys. Tis just pull off foot and thank the law for edges, because he's so full of his own notions as a temperate speaker and bound to convince he if he rams daylight in it to do it. That's a bull. And here's another point. He lays head to ground when his beliefs be crossed,

and he may so well whistle as try the power of the human eye, talking a witch puts me in mind of some curious facts as happened up to Penhillick one time along on this same power of the human eye. Maybe you'd like to hear the yarn. Eh? Mr Fogo roused himself from his abstraction. Yes, certainly I should like to hear it. Caleb knocked his pike meditatively against the bars,

of the Great, filled it again and lit it, took an energetic pull or two, and then, after another hard look at his master across the clouds of smoke, began without more ado. End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 of the astonishing history of Troy Town by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Simon Evers Chapter 11 of a Wesleyan Minister that would improve upon nature and thereby trained a rook to good principles.

Well, sir, it all happened when I lived up to Penelic and worked long with Varma Minir. Old lawyer Manir, as he was nicknamed, a little cribbage-faced man with a dandy-go-Russet wig and only one eye. At least praise, he hasn't but one for Sir long when I knowden. That's what the yarn's about, though, so it'll go slow, if you please,

and hush a bit, as Mary Bezweatherick says, to the engine driver. Now, Loa Manir was a circuit. preacher, or the Wesleyan Methody persuasion, though he'd have got to cross purposes with the rest of the brethren, and run the sect all to himself, which he called the United Free Church, original secedars. They were called original Cedars for short, and the old man had a tolerable decent following, being a first-class mover of souls, and powerful lot again the unregenerate, which

shouldn't prevent his being a miserable old varmit, and sold deep as Garrick in his ordinary dealings. Oh, he was a regular split fig, and he'd go away. the devil can't, and that's between the oak and the rind." "'I see,' said Mr. Fogo. "'Yes, sir. Why, the very first day I took service—' "'I was a tiny attacker, then. He says to me, "'Kale it, my boy, you'd look all skin and bones with the present. "'But there's no knowing what panheleck beef and pudding may do for ye yet,

"'if tis teetan with a thankful art. "'Howsoever, about the work. "'I want you to take the dreid-jackets and go to beach for the oreweed, and as I likes to get a good boy like you a few privileges you'd be busy and carry so many seams as you can and I'll give three pence for every seam more than twenty well sir I worked like a trojan and I've killed their jackasses

and I tell you it was busy all to carry trena twenty seam In the evening out of work I went a lawyer and here and asked about the ninepence I never got ninepence so hard in all my born days When he paid me he looked so sly and says he, You're a nation clever boy, you be, and I don't gridge you the money, but now I sees what you can do,

of course I'd respect thee to carry three and twenty seam every day, regular, for the workman, says he, is worthy of his hour. Darn it, thought I to myself, this won't do. I never see it exactly the beef and pudding the old man talked about. Also, I stayed with the Sama's hunting old cudger, though he made me most amazed at times to hear the way he carry on, down at the meeting-house about the sinner-greed and the like, and all the time looking round to see you an ode to Papney.

"'My brethren,' he called out, "'my poor sinful flock, "'at you clings to your flocks and herds, "'and tents and dyed apparel, like unto Kora should you be, "'and like under Dathan and Ibrahim, "'so sure as I am sole agent for Carnaby's bone manure in this year district?' "'Ot is true, sir.' "'And then he wrap out the im,

"'coma matrector, my brethren, and sister Triscid'll give you the pitch. whatever lord us lends to thee repaid a thousandfold'll be then gladly with us gie to thee and i reckon that was about the size of it oh he was an anointed old rascal all the same lawmeneer was reckoned a powerful rassler and the spirit by the rest of the church membership only there was one thing as went again and that was he hadn't but one eye though maria churgwin as was known to have had experience and was brought under conviction by the old man told me that it made a man luck the more terrifying. Like polyphemus, put in Mr. Fogo. Polly witch? Oh, never mind.

I didn't acknowledge the term name. But never mind, as you say, Sir, feelings as feelings, and the old mania's worn eye went mortal again un. Not but what he wouldn't turn it to account now then. Thomas doubted, he said one day,

and how was he convinced? Why, by oracular demonstration? Ocular, Caleb. I write you are, sir, and thank you for the correction, as the boy said to the pupil teacher, "'By ocular demonstration,' says he, "'perhaps you don't know what ocular demonstration is, my brethren. "'Why, I'll tell ye.

"'That's a wall, in it, and I'm a preacher, aren't I? "'And you be worms, bady. "'Why, I can see it much, though, I hadn't but one eye, "'and that's ocular demonstration.' "'But, as I was saying, one eye is a wished business. "'I'm, so ever you may turn it upwards "'and call it your thorn in the flesh, the likes, and more than a few of the regular

successers fell away from the old man's meeting-house, and became backsliders through fear of being overlooked and ill-wished, so they said. I reckon twas all quick-nogs, but he did look plaguy like the evil eye, and that there's no denying. Well, sir, matters went on this way for a brave time, and the attendants got

less, till lawyer Manair was fairly at his wits' end. He talked to weak-kneed brethren, and putting your hands to the plough and dreshed the Pillum out of cushioned and for him, and kicked up a pretty dido, till you could hear the rendezvous so Sunday mornings way over to the other side of Carn Hill, but twill no matter of good. And as for the chalder at the Sunday school,

that old Rapscallion laid powerful store by his Sunday school, was bare and everyone to get one to face that eye, and you wouldn't claim their faces and grease their ears you would, the mothers told me, and Siemanov put down the road to meet Nouse, but turn you back, and they'd be mitching in a brace of shakes, away to go for Coombie. and playing ID peeping their clain pitifuls among the rocks.

"'Twas Shiva among the church members, and no mistake. "'And how'd would I come round? There's no telling, "'if it hadn't been for what lawyer man air called a vouchsacement o mercy. "'And the way thicky fouch-saceman come about was this. "'The old man was up to Plymouth one day, "'about some shares he took in a trading-scooner, "'for he'd a finger in most pies. "'Nothing in the way of business coming amissed toun.

"'Like Nicholas Kemp, he'd occasion for all. "'Who was Nicholas Kemp?' inquired Mr. Fogo. "'Warnier, Aida, had done a business, "'and was strolling up Union Street long with his misses. "'Aunt Deborah Manier, as her name was. "'Fine, barley-woman, but a bit half-baked in her wits, "'put in with the bread, as they say, and took out with the cakes. "'When he fetches up on a sudden afore a shop windy,

"'there was crutches inside, and jury-legs fastened out of cork "'and plaster heads drawn out in maps with county towns marked in, and bubs to show why different folks broke different commandments, and rolls of teeth, a grizzling, and blue spectacles, and splints enough to Hampshire at a 30-acre field, and ear trumpets, and malignant growths. Malignant growths? Yes, sir, in spirits of wine.

What took the old man's notice, where a tray full of glass eyes put out for sale of the windy, and looking so natural as life, blue eyes, brown eyes, eyes as blacklets are sloan, and others, they told me, as went different colours, cordoned as you looked at them. "'Anyway, old Minier pulled up short "'and clinched Deborah by the elbow.

"'Like onto the fish-pools in Eshpun,' said he. "'With that, he bounces into the shop. "'How much for them eyes?' he asks his. "'Do he want the lot?' says the chap in the shop. "'I regular little dandy sprat and so pert as a J-pie in June. "'Cause makes a reduction on taking a quantity,' says he. "'One'll do for me,' says Lawyer. "'That'll be two pound ten apiece,' says the whippersnapper,

"'and ten shilling for fixing.' well sir you may fancy the old man's face when he heard the prize he sot down like his effort the wind was took out of his sails and says he i'll give ye thirty shillin the shopman wouldn't have this so at it they went igging and agling on till twas agreed at last he should have the eye for two pound five fixings included it was like drawing blood from a storm but the old man had done a stroke of business that day so in the end he pulls out his bag and tells out the money upon the counter and now says the whip-upon the whippers the whip snapper, which shall he have? Greys the colour, I reckon, if he want to match. "'Drat the colour,' says old millionaire. "'I've paid my price, and have the biggest, and it must be red.' "'Well, the shopman laughs, of course, but let's not have his own way, and the old man picked out the biggest. Bright blue it was, something the colour of a hedgey-sparry's egg,

and shiny clear like a glass alley. There was a brave long while getting it fixed, it was so big. He'd have been content and took a smaller one. He'd have done better, but he was bound to be overrich him was the old varmit, and so he'd come to grief, as you shall hear. As many folks in this world be known as Kate Mullet. I never heard of that, lady, said Mr. Fogo. Oh, there's not much to know, sir, except that they say he was saying for a fool. Assoever, to shorten the arm, old Manier got his eye fixed at last, and went home with Aunt Deborah so pleased as punch. Next Sunday, to us amble its ghost among the original successors, and no mistake.

Some of the female members felt a screaming so soon as, ever they clapped eyes on the old man, and sister Trudgeon was taped with a fit, and had to be carried out with two deacons to her head and two to her eels, and kicking so that deacon Oskins couldn't master a vittles for upper a fortnight, he was that irted internally. And the worst was that, what with the rumpers and her singing out Pillarloo and how the devil was amongst men, having great wrath, the lawyer's sermon about a wrecked and adulterous generation seeking out her sign was clean spiled. After the service, too, there was a deal of discussion. Some taste was sinful to interfere with nature in that way, and wrong in a professing Christian like

mania, and all agreed the new eye gave him a Janjansy kind of look, as if, said Dickon Hoskins, he was blinch in fifty ways for grace. There was some talk, too, about axing the old man to resign, and nothing came in it. And after a time when the congregation got a bit reconciled, folks began to allow the new eye improved Meniere's pulpit manner, and guessed that out of all, he might be a powerful engine for effectual salvation. It had a dead appearance. It had a dead appearance, "'Earance, if you understands me, sir, "'he had a sort of gushly weightfulness, "'like a thing on a human,

"'cause, of course, it never winked. "'The old man couldn't have wink, "'not for a five-pound note, "'for the thing was that big, "'it strained his eyelid like a drum. "'Sideswich, it had a way "'a keeping order among the worshippers "'that you couldn't believe unless you seed it.

"'For, let alone the colour out, "'you never knowed whether it was fixed on you "'or ten pews off, "'but somehow felt dead sure "'twas you all the time, "'and couldn't have moved, "'not if you had a blue-tailed fly so the black of your collar. Well, sir, naturally the meeting-house began to fill again,

at first out of curiosity, but by and by, the list of admitted members began to fill up. Folks couldn't hold out when the old lawyer ramped on about Totherworld, and there was that eye fixing him and looking at though he'd been there. I needn't tell you, the old man wore it every Sunday. Indeed, he wore it most days, but took her out at nights, I've heard, for wouldn't shuck when he slept, but used to scare old Deborah Manny, a fairly out of her skinner, moonshine nights when the light coming in upon it. And even when I got it to leave it off, I used always to put a teacup on top of it

for closing an eye. So it went on, sir, till one Sunday morning, when the lawyer was fairly warm into his worker for the wickedness of backsliders and the wrath to come, he waxed the cushion more than ordinary violent. And I reckon that made the eye work loose. Anyway, out it drops, and clatters down along the floor of the meeting house.

Now, Dickin Oxins in them days had charged of the Sunday school boys. He was a short-sightly man, the deacon, though that was his misfortune, but he had faults as well, and one of these was a powerful knack of dropping off to sleep during ceremony time. Also, he managed very tightly,

for he noted he was bound to wake himself so long as he began to snore, and then he'd start up sudden and fetched the nice boy a rising whisk-cuff upon the side of the head to cover the noise he'd made, and cry out, I've a court he again, I have our teacher to interrupt the way,

word of grace with your gamut and may games, and he looked round like as if he'd say, sorry to interrupt, Brevin, but discipline is discipline. Many of the time I've seen him do this, and he may take my word, sir, well, so good as a play. Now this morning, Deacon Oskins was taking Forty Winks as usual, when the clatter made by the old men here as I made him set up, wide awake, and staring. This time, judging by the noise, he took a consulate that the boys had been a-playing marbles, sure enough, so he takes two at a-appazard, knucks their heads together and then looks about.

First thing he sees is the eye lying out upon the aisle and looking for all the world like a big shiny glass alley. I told he, sir, the deacon was short a sight. He had no doubt by this time the boys have been fooling about with marbles, so he reaches out, grabs the eye, and slips it into his drowsy pocket. And then he takes a glance round so much as to say, I reckon the owner of this year Glass Alley'll have to wait before he can see it again. In course, the rest of the Beverin gnawed what had happened,

and one or two felt a titter in a bit. But altogether there was a kind of breathlessness for a moment or two, and then the old Minier sings out from the pulpit, "'Brother Oskins, I'll trouble you to kindly pass up that eye.' Deacon Oskins stared a bit, but was too short a sight to see what the matter was. "'Hey,' says he, "'hand up that eye, if you please.' "'What eye?' says the deacon.

The old Miner stamped and seemed fit to swear. "'Why, my eye, you nation, buffalohead!' The lawyer didn't mind much what he said when his back was up, and not all twirl in a kind of way excusable. "'Look here,' answers back the deacon, "'if you've dropped your eye, and be that fond of the cheap-jack thing that you can't get on without it, "'sent round deacon spitting you to hunt, and not a man as can see six inches afore your nose. "'It's out of reason,' he said, and you ought to know better.' "'In course, though, when he found out his mistake and lug the thing out of his pocket,

"'there was bedlam let loose for up five minutes. "'Every mother's son, chittering and laughing, and the deacon looking like a pig and a fit. He deserted the Cicesters that very week and never darken the meeting-house door again to the day of his death. Well, the fuss got calmed over, but somehow the lawyer could never trust his eyes he used to.

He said twerent fully dependable. Sure enough, within a month it slipped out again, and the old man was forced to go to Plymouth and buy another a bit smaller. So he lost by his mean ways, out of all. He tried to trade back the old eye, but the shopman wouldn't. so he bought it home in his pocket, laid it by the chenna cupboard, longed with the tloom, and there it bided.

And now, Sarahma, coming to the most curious part of my yarn, and he can't believe it or know as he thinks fit, but I'll tell you just what I know as and know more. Some two years out of Lora Mania took a corner out the twenty-acre field, a little patch to the right of the gates as he went in, and planted it with green peas. Six rows he planted, and beautiful peas, too, and if the birds wouldn't let them and have a chance. well at last the old man got mad and stuck me upon the top of the hedge with a clapper to scare the birds away sides which to make sure he rigged up a scarecrow it was a lovely scarecrow two cross-sticks and the varmah's old coat twas the coat he got married in four a year before he gidded to me when the scarecrow had done with it and the tails were so long as an act of parliament the top of this was a whacking big turmint by way of face with a red scarf round the neck for aunt deborice petticoat and one of the old man's left off wigs upon the crown and a high-pulph hat a bit rusted with plenty observance to finish did i say to finish well then i say wrong "'Cause just when I'd are rigged her up, "'down comes Aunt Deborah and cries out,

"'Oh, Kelly, you'll be something more. "'Do ye fix it in, that's a dear? "'And if I don't scare away any bird as ever flyed, "'then,' says she, "'I'm was not any bird. "'And with that she opens around "'and gives me the lawyer's cast off eye. "'So I outs with my pocket-knife

"'and digs it all in the termite face, "'and inside a ten minutes there was the scarecrow "'finished off. "'Oh, sir, it was a beautiful scarecrow. I'm going to stuck it up, I tell you that from the kitchen windows, three hundred yards away, it seemed like life itself. Well, sir, first aid to have stuck there, I sought beside the edge, round the corner, watching,

and when I sought two queer things happened, though the first wasn't so queer neither, but just human nature when he comes to consider it. It was this, I hadn't been in an hour before two score and three women. I know it's, because I kept count, came one hour to another, down to the gate, to make sheep's eyes at that scarecrow, having heard as there was a well-dressed lad down among the bees. And that's true, if I swears it upon the book.

Ah, was Mr. Fogo's any comment. Yes, sir, and well you may say so, for the next thing I noticed was a sight queerie. In fact, I don't know, but it's the queerest girl I ever heard tell about. But you may judge for yourself. I've been setting there for the best part of two-hour, and keeping count to how one bird or to another coming up for their peas and turned tail at sight of the scarecrow, for it didn't seem like no ordinary scarecrow, sir, with that eye had linted in the sunshine.

I couldn't see it from where I stood, and so the birds thought. Well, one after another, steps up and flies off as if very time, when by-man-long comes an old rook. He just sauntered up quite leisureable, did this rook, and lit upon a pea-stick to take a blinch round. Naturally he caught his sight of the scarecrow,

and naturally I looked for him to turn-tail, the rest. But no, sir. Where he was, the scarecrow's back was towards him, and that old bird just looks at him up and down, and this way and that, and cocks his head upon one side, and looks again, and chuckles for all the world, as if to say, he'd look like a man, and tis fixed like a man, but dash my wig, if taint a scarecrow, and no more I ain't fit to go living in an aid of imitations. Well, he just sot and sot and after a while he began for to taste the flavour of the joke, and then he lay back and laughed to that.

bird till he was fit to sweat. I reckon I'd heard a bird's laugh before this, but I made an error. My evidence, sir, but he just clenched on to that pea-stick and shook the enjoyment out of himself like a cundra shelling cannon-balls from my hat. And then he'd stop a bit, and then fall to hoot in again, till I was forced to laugh too, way back behind the edge, for company. And every time he noted a fresh bit of likelihood in the scarecrow, he'd go off in a fresh fit. I thought he'd never have done.

but in a while he hushed and waited a bit to calm his nerves and stepped down off the pea-stick. Think, sir, what's he up to now? And I stood up to see, but quiet like, so I shouldn't scare him. I'd long to wait. He just steps up behind the scarecrow, makes a leg, so grave as you please, and commences for to dance round him, first upon one leg, then upon another, like as twas twas a haven dancing round a graven image. But the flaunting insolence are, sir, the brazen,

fearing abusefulness. Not a feather, if you believe me, but fairly leaped with wibaldry, just leaked. The old bird had gone halfway round, and mincing and japing and throwing out his legs this way and that, and getting more baldacious and indecent with every step, when he cocks his head a skew for a second, just to see how the poor image was at taking it, and that moment he catches the scarecrow's eye. Oh, sir, to see the change has come over that bird. The fourth "'Withiness went out to him like the world like a wind-out and a pricked bladder. "'I reckon next minute there wasn't no meaner sickly-looking critter "'between this and Johnny Groats than that old brook.

"'There was a kind of shiver ran through him, "'and his feathers went roughly like, "'and his legs bowed in, and he just lay flat to ground "'and goggled and gazed up at that eye "'like a dying duck and a thunderthorn. "'It was a rich sight, sir, "'and how I could try not to bust myself with laughing "'is more than I can tell he to this day.'

"'So he lay for up to ten. minutes, and then he staggered up upon his feet and sneaked out of them peas like a chuck-sheep dog, and the repentance were trickling out of every paw. He passed by me that close I could have knucked him over with a stick, but it didn't see him more than if I'd been a piscy man. All his notice, I reckon, were for that ghastly eye, and he looked back every now and again, as if he'd say, I be but worms, and was not that I ever been a scoffing, lying, Sabbath-breaking old worms, but do he's let me off this once, and I'll strive,

and rassel, he seemed to say, and do pretty work all like a rook can do to be gathered to the fold. And with that he slinks over the edge and out of sight. Well, sir, I didn't see it again next day, nor for many days arter. But on Sunday week, as he might be, in the morning I had to took French leave and absented myself from meeting-house, and were quietly smoking my pipe up in the town-place. One of here is a chittering and a chattering like as twere a little way off, and looking down towards the twenty-acre field, I'd see twad black with rooks. Fairly black, sir. Black as the top of you're at. Thinks, I, I reckon there's some new caper, and I loaves down to see the fun.

I steals down the lane, and looks over the gate, and when I takes in, at last, what's they're all about, my, you don't knock me down with a feather. It was a prayer-meeting then, rooks was it holding, sir, as I'm a sinner. The peas was fairly in with the crowd, and twas that thick I counted six upon one pea-stick. And in the middle, chest onto the scarecrow, stood up the old rook and I'd seen a fall, and told his experiences. He ramped and raved and mopped and mowed, and kept a nodding his head towards the scarecrow, to show how his salvation was worked, and all the time the rest of the rook sat still as mice. Only when he pulls up to breathe a bit, they lets out to squalls as if to say,

Amen, t'was working, to his working, pray strong brother, and as he did go again, same as he must. and at last when twas old breath or a bust we on he ups and starts a hymn and they all joins in till he wasn't here the capraised two miles off that were the finish too for arthur the row died away it was a minute of so a silent prayer and then the whole gang gets off of them pesticks and sails away for squatrice orwin's rookery to the side of the hill well in course i tells the tale i must call a liar for my pains but the same thing happened next sunday and the sundayarta and not a pea stolen all the time, and a good few people come down behind the edge to sea, and owned up as I were right. It got to be the talk of the country, and how twould have ended, goodness only knows, if I hadn't as spoiled the sport myself, and how I did so, you shall hear. One day I took a consent as twould be a game to take away the scarecrow's eye, and see what happened. So, late upon a Saturday night, down I goes, and digs out the eye with my jack-knife, and lays it careful down upon the ground beside it, and says,

off to bed. Next morning I were down waiting some time before the rooks was due, and by and by, about eleven in the forenoon, long they comes by the score, and takes the sittings upon the pea-sticks. There is barely settled when outstops me old rook and walks up to the scarecrow to lead off,

same as usual. He gives a shake of the head to see his jawing tacks loose, cast a glance upwards towards the eye, just to feel inspiration, and starts back like it's a big shot. You could see the astonishment clinchon, and the other looks of righteousness melted off his face like snow in an oven. For that bird I give, sir, and one of these was a power of fashful expression.

Well, back he starts, and with the same cut his sight of the eye lying upon the ground, and staring up all heavenly blue and smiling. There was a pause out of this just about so long as you could count twenty, and the rest of the congregation began to fidget and whisper round that something was up, and all upon a sudden my old rook straightens itself up, and begins to cuss and to swathe. "'What's that you say, sir? Rooks don't swear. Oh, don't tell me. Blasphemy? Why, in two minutes the air was stiff with blasphemy. He might have cut it with a knife. An oaths? Why, he could feel the oaths.

And there he soot and cuss it and cuss it and sot and lets the eightfulness run out like water from a pump. In course, it weren't long before the rest gathered round to learn what the mess was, and then there was chiffy chase. They handed round the eye and looked at it this way and that, and explained what had happened one to t'other, and then the ocean stood quiet while their dacevered brother cussed himself out. Not a smile among the lock, sir, not a wink, as I be a truthful man. At last he'd ad adieu, and not too soon for his lungs, and then the lot sat down and considered it out, and still not a word for minutes together. But all to once up starts a young-looking rook and makes a speech. Quite a long speech, sir, and actually I didn't understand

a word, but I catched his drift in a minute. For they rook. started up, walked back to their seats, and what do you think they did? I couldn't pretend to guess, said Mr. Fogo. Then he started that service again, sir, and paralysed it from start to finish. They mixed up all jests with the prayers and flung in fancy yarns with their experiences

and made a mock of this excitation. And what they sung in place of the ear, I don't know. But I don't know this much. It weren't fit for a woman to listen to. Well, I laughed. I was forced to laugh. But after a while it grew a bit too, strong and I runned up to the house to fetch down a few folks to look.

I went away above ten minutes, but when I come to back there was no rook to be seen, nor no eye, neither. They'd have carried it off to squatter-saw and its rook-degree, and it's never been seen for that day to this. There was silence for a few minutes as Caleb finished his story and lit another pipe. Finally Mr. Fogo roused him to ask, what became of your master, Caleb? Dead, sir, dead, answered Caleb, staring into the embers of the fire. "'He lived to a powerful age, though albeit a bit totally in her latter days. "'But for all that, he wouldn't have been like tantrabobos, lived till he died,

"'or at least being a centurion.' "'A what? "'Centurian, sir, otherwise are hundred years old. "'But he went round land at last and was found dead in his bed. "'Or heartbreak,' they did say, "'long after his granddaughter Joanna run away with an army-cappin.' "'Ah,' said Mr. Fogar pensively, "'she was a woman, was she not?'

"'I should be sure, so. What else? A female woman and saw baptised. There was a woman's silence. Then Caleb resumed. But contrary wise, sir, the army captain was a man. Ah, yes, of course. Let us be just, the army captain was a man. Caleb, said Mr. Fogo, with a sudden change from his pensive manner. Has it ever occurred to you to guess why I, not yet an old man, Caleb, am living in this solitude? Begging your pardon, sir, and making so free as to guess, but,

Were you a woman by any chance? Yes, said his master, rising hurriedly and lighting his candle. It was a woman, Caleb. It was a woman. You won't forget that notice tomorrow morning, will you? The first thing, if you please, Caleb. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12 of the astonishing history of Troy Town by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch.

This Librivox recording is in the public domain. recording by Simon Evers Chapter 12 Of Deterioration and a wheelbarrow that contained unexpected things Great events meanwhile were happening in Troy On the eighth morning of his atlips Admiral Buzzer was startled by a brisk step upon the stairs

The Devil's tattoo was neatly struck upon his bedroom door And the head of Mr Goodwin Sandys looked in Ah an Admiral there you are Like what's his names in the ruins of the think of me. You'll pardon me coming up, but my wife is downstairs with Mrs. Buzzer, and I was told I should find you here. Don't rise. No dress, as they say. May I smoke? Thanks. And how are you by this time? I heard something of your mishap, but not the rights of it. I'll sit down, you could tell me all about it. Here was affability indeed. The apple

conquered his first impulse of diving beneath the bedclothes, and, lying back, recounted his misadventure at some length. The Honourable Frederick listened and smoked with perfect gravity. At the close he said, Very dirty treatment upon my word, though I'm not sure I don't sympathise with the fellow in warning off the women, but why stay in bed? There are feelings, began the outlaw.

Ah, to be sure, injured feelings, ungrateful country, blow, blow, that winter ruined, etc. So you take to bed, like the Roman gentleman, who went too, forget the place. Gets rid of the women, too, nuisance women when you're upset. "'Nonsense, that, about pain and anguish playing the deuce, "'and a ministering angel thou, Tommy Rod, I call it, "'can't be bothered, now, in bed, turn round and snore, "'wife has hysterics, snore louder. "'Capital, I've a mind to try the same plan

"'when Geraldine is fussing and fuming. "'These infernal women!' "'I'm sorry to say that the Admiral, "'instead of defending Mrs. Buzzer, "'began to exculpate Mrs. Goodman-Sandis. "'But your wife is so charming, so.' "'Of course, my dear sir, "'So is Mrs. Buzzer.'

"'She was termed the bell of Portsmouth at the ball "'where I proposed to her,' remarked the Admiral, with some complacency. "'To be sure, trust a sailor to catch the pretty girls, eh?' "'The Admiral chuckled feebly. "'But these women—' "'Ah, yes, these women!' "'Batchel life was pleasant, eh, Admiral?' "'Nah!'

"'The two men looked at each other. "'Our smile spread over either countenance. "'I regret to say the Admiral winked and then chuckled again. "'Ambal, you must get up.' The admiral stared interrogatively. His visitor pursued with some inconsequence, "'By the way, is there a club here?' "'There's the jolly Trojans down at the Man of War.

They meet on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and low lot, I suppose.' "'Well, yes,' admitted the Admiral. "'Sertain amount of good fellowship prevails, I understand. "'But low, of course, distinctly low.' "'The Honourable Frederick had tapped his boot reflectively with his Malacca. "'Admiral,' he said at last, "'you ought to found a club here.' "'The rest of my heart, I never thought of it.'

"'It is your duty.' "'You think so?' "'Sure of it.' "'I will get up,' said the Admiral decisively. "'He started out of bed and looked around for his clothes. "'Nice place, the country,' pursued the Honourable Frederick thoughtfully. "'Fresh eggs and grass to clean your pipe with, "'per apt to be dull.

"'Now, a pleasant little society—' "'Cards, billiards, and billiards, and... social reunions. Select, of course. Of course. Do you happen to be sitting on my trousers? Huh? No, I believe no.

Let me see. Limited loo and a modest pool of an evening? Hello, what's the matter? The Admiral had rushed to the door. Emily! he bawled down the stairs. Well, I'll be going. Can't find your trousers.

Hamill hits the last straw. But we'll be revenge, Admiral. We'll found a club, and by George, sir, will call it the inexpressibles. Tartar for the present, said Mr. Gubin-Sandis, retired. But what was being discussed below when the Admiral's voice disturbed his wife? Alas, you shall hear. These men, Mrs. Gubbin-Sandis were saying, are all alike.

But, my dear, why not disregard his absurd humours? I have revolted from Frederick long ago. You don't say so. It is a fact. Take my advice and do the same. It needs courage at first, but they are all cowards. Oh, such cowards, my dear! Revolt!

Cry havoc and let slip! My dear, I should faint. Oh, poor soul, reflect how pretty the domestic virtues are, but how impossible. Besides, how unfashionable! Mrs. Buzzer reflected. I will, she exclaimed at last. Just then her husband's voice detonated in the room above. She arose, trembling like a leaf.

Be firm. said her advisor. I will. Sit down again, it will do no harm to wait. Mrs. Buzzer obeyed, still trembling. It was at this moment that the Honourable Frederick re-entered the room and looked around with a slow smile. Nelly, he observed when they were outside the house,

you're a vastly clever woman, my love. How's the admiral, was the reply? He nibbles, my angel, he bites. I heard him barking, and how long will Brady be given? "'Two months, my treasurer?' Mrs. Gubin's hand is reflected for a moment, and then made the following extraordinary reply. "'Be easy, me dear. In six weeks I'll be ready to elope from years.'

What pass between the Admiral and Mrs. Buzzard when they were left together was never fully known, but it was quickly whispered that in number two Almavillars the worm had turned. Oddly enough, the spread of conjugal estrangement did not end here. It began to be rumoured, that lawyer Pello and his wife had differences, that Mr. Mrs. Simpson dined at different hours, and that the elder Miss Strip had broken off a very suitable match with a young ship's chandler, on the grounds that ship's candles were not genteel. It was about this time, too, that Mrs. Wapshot at the confectionery shop refused to walk with Mr. Wapshot on the ropewalk after Sunday evening service, because domestic bliss was horrid vulgar. A Mrs. Goodwin Sandys dictum that,

one at marat least was no more than a married woman's due only failed of acceptance because the supply of admirers in troy fell short of the demand she had herself an ex samuel buzzer and mr mowgridge meanwhile the admiral was not idle and had anything been needed to wet his desire for a club it would have been found in a dreadful event that happened shortly afterwards it was may morning and the admiral was planted in the sunshine outside number two elmavillars loudly discussing the question of the hour with Mr Goodwin-Sandis, lawyer Pello and the little doctor. "'No, we can't have him,' he was rounded at laring. "'The club must be select, or it is useless to discuss it further.' "'Must draw the line somewhere,' murmured the Honourable Frederick. "'Quite so. At this rate we shall be admitting all the jolly Trojans.' Just then an enormous wheelbarrow was observed approaching, seemingly by supernatural means,

for no driver could be seen. The barrow was piled to a great height and staggered drunkenly from side to side of the road. But the load, whatever it was, lay hidden beneath a large white cloth. "'Oh!' said the little doctor dubiously. "'But of course you know best, but I should have thought that as an old inhabitant of Troy. "'Poh, my dear fellow!' snapped the Admiral. "'It is natural that the feelings of a few will be heard, "'but if once we begin to elect the jolly Trojans!'

"'The barrow had drawn near, meanwhile, and now halted at the Admiral's, from behind it stepped into view an exceeding small boy, a tired madly and a gigantic pair of corduroy's that reached to the armpits and were secured with string around the shoulders. His face was a mask of woe, and he staunched his tears on a very grimy shirt-sleeve as he stood and gazed mutely into the admiral's face. "'Go away, boy,' said Admiral buzzer severely. The boy sobbed loudly, but made no sign of moving. "'Go away, I tell you.'

"'It's just for you, sir.' "'For me, what does the boy mean?' "'Yes, sir. "'Mrs orders that I was to bring it to Admiral Buzzers, "'and if I don't pay out Billy Higgs for this next time, I meet with you on.' "'The child's daft!' roared the animal. "'Damn the boy! What does Billy Higgs to do with me?' "'Poor'd a teacupil of water down the nape of me breeches

"'when I got halfway up the hill, "'and couldn't set the barrel down to fighten. "'The coward!' "'And tears float again at the recollection. "'What is he? "'Cake, sir.' "'Cake? Is sir, cake?' The youth stifled a sob, and removed the white cover from the wheelbarrow.

"'Best my soul,' gasped the Admiral. "'That must be some mistake.' "'Certainly seems to be cake,' observed the Honourable Frederick, examining the low three's eyedlas. "'A very good cake, too, by the smell.' "'He was right. "'High on the barrow, and symmetrically piled, "'rested five-and-twenty huge cakes.

yellow cakes such as all Trojans love, each lard as a millstone, tinctier with saffron, plentifully stowed with currants, and crisps with brown crust, steaming to heaven, and wooing the nostrils of the gods. Best myself, repeated the Admiral,

but I never ordered this. Each member of the group in turn advanced, inspected the cake, sniffed the savour, pronounced it excellent, and looked from the Admiral to the boy for explanation. "'Mrs. Timmon down to the man-of-wall said it, sir, with her compliments to Master Sam, "'and hoping as you'll find it plumb in the bacon as it leaves her at present,

"'and the currency you are picked careful, knowing as he's a sweet tooth.' "'Sam? Do you mean to tell me that Sam, that my son ordered this? "'Upon, my word of all—' "'It isn't actually order it, sir. "'One it, fair and square. "'Bill Rogers come next with seven-and-ninety-gallon, "'but Master Sam topped the lot by a dozen-gallon easy.' "'Gatlins? What the devil is the boy talking about?'

"'Beer, sir, beer. First prize for top score of beer drunk down to the man-of-war since first of November last. He's a one-of-a-beer, is Master Sam,' pursued the relentless urchin, who were this time had forgotten his tears. "'Undrine gallons, sir! A bill-honge is so jealous as far, since he'd have won it same as he did last time, only Master Sam's got the longer purse. Offer to fight him, and the wise man to pay for both next time.' Mr. Goodman Sand is turned aside to conceal a smile. Lawyer Pello rubbed his chin. The Admiral stamped,

Take it away! Where I'll be to take it to, please, sir? Take it away anywhere. Take it to the devil. But worse remained for the little man. Join this conversation that had come unperceived up the road, a gentleman of mild appearance dressed in black, and carrying under his arm a large parcel wrapped about with whitey brown paper. The newcomer, who was indeed our friend Mr. Fogo, now advanced towards the Admiral with a bow.

"'Ambral Buzzer, I believe?' The Admiral turned and faced the speaker. His joy fell like a signal flag, but he drew himself up with fine self-repression. "'Sir, I am Admiral Buzer.' "'I have come,' said Mr. Fogo, quietly pulling the pins out of his parcel, "'to restore what I believe is your property. "'Will someone oblige me by holding this pin? Thank you.' and at the same time to apologise for the circumstances under which it came into my hands. Dear me, what a number of pins to be sure.

I have done what lay in my power with the clothesbrush and emery powder to restore it to its pristine brilliance. The treatment, that's the last, I think, has not, I am bound to admit, answer my expectations. Its results, however, is, as you see. Here Mr. Fogo withdrew the wrapper, and with a pleasant smile held out. A cocked hat. The admiral, purple with fury, bounced back like a shot on a red-hot shovel, stared, tried to speak but could not, gulped, tried again, and finally, shaking his fist in Mr. Fogo's face, flung into the house and slammed the front door.

The cause of this transport turned a pair of bewildered spectacles on the others, and found them convulsed with unseemly mirth. He singled out the Honourable Frederick and addressed himself to that gentleman. I've not had the pleasure to be equated with you, sir, but if you can supply me with any reason for this display of temper, believe me, my name is Goodwin Sandis, sir, at your... What? Mr. Fingo dropped the cock hat and sat down suddenly among the cakes. Are you, he gasped, are you, Mr. Goodman Sandis?

The Honourable Frederick Augustus Hyth, good... Heavens! No, sir, said the Honourable Frederick, who had grown a thought pale. "'Good win, sir. Good win, Sandys. "'What then?' "'I never saw your face before,' murmured Mr. Fogo faintly. "'That, sir, if a misfortune, is one which you share with a number of your fellow men. "'And permit me to tell you, sir,' continue Mr. Goobin-Sandis, with unaccountable change of mood,

"'that I consider your treatment of my friend, Admiral Buzzer, "'unworthy of a gentleman, sir. Unworthy of a gentleman. "'Come, doctor, come, perry, I want a word or two more with you about this club.' And Mr. Goodwin-Sandis ruffled away, followed by his two slightly puzzled companions. For the space of two minutes Mr. Fogo gazed up the road after them. Then he sighed, took off his spectacles, and wiped them carefully. "'So that,' he said Lely, "'is the man she married?' "'Yes, sir.'

Mr. Fogo started, turned round on the barrow, and beheld the urchin from the man of war. "'Little boy,' he said sternly, Your conduct is unworthy of a—I mean, what are you doing here? "'He've been and squashed a cake,' said the boy. Mr Fogo gave him a shilling and hurried away down the road, but stopped once or twice on his homeward way to repeat to himself. So that is the man she married. It took Admiral Buzzer several days to recover his composure,

but when he did, the project of the new club grew with the conjugal disintegration of Troy, and at a rate of progress scarcely inferior. Within a week or two a house was hired in Nelson Row, a brass plate bearing the words Trojan Club affixed to the door, an admiral buzzer installed in the presidential chair. The presidential chair occupied the right-hand side of the reading-room window, which overlooked the harbour, and the presidential duties consisted mainly in conning the morning papers

and discussing their contents with Mr. Goodwin-Sandis, who usually sat with a glass of whiskey and at the club, telescope on the left-hand side of the window. Indeed, it would be hard to say to which of the two, the whiskey or the telescope, the Honourable Frederick more sedulously devoted himself. It is certain at least that under the Admiral's instruction he soon had to develop a most amazing familiarity with nautical terms, was a mine of information, almost as soon as the club invested in a yacht register, on the subject of Lord Sinkport's yacht, the auxiliary screw

Neob, and swept the horizon with a persistence that made his fellow members stare. But the most noticeable feature in this nautical craze was the disproportionate attention which the Honourable Frederick lavished on barks. It was the first rig that he learnt to distinguish, and his early interest had to develop before long into something like a passion. One morning, for instance, Sam Buzzer lounged into the reading room and observed, I say, have you seen that American bar that came in last night, the Meritana? "'What name?' asked Mr. Gubin Sandis, looking up suddenly. "'The Maritana or the Mariana or Marianna or something of the—'

"'Hello, what's wrong?' But the Honourable Frederick had caught up his hat and fled. Half an hour afterwards, when he returned, his usual calm self, the little doctor took occasion to remark, "'Upon my word, you might be a detective you keep such a lookout on the harbour.' A remark which caused Mr. Goodwin Sandis to laugh so consumedly that the doctor without exactly seeing the point, began to think he had perpetrated quite a considerable joke.

But let no one imagine that the disruption of Trojan morals avoided heart-burning or escaped criticism. For the line which Mr. Goodman-Sand is declared must be drawn somewhere was found not only to bisect the domestic half, but to lead to a surprising number of social problems. It fell across the parallels of our small society

and it demonstrated that Mrs. A and Mrs. B could never meet, that one room could not contain the two unequal families X and Y, and that while one rested on the basis of trade and the other on professional skill, it was unreasonable to expect the Apex Mrs. Y to coincide with the Apex Mrs. X. Finally, the new geometry culminated in a triumphant process which proved that while Mrs. Simpson was allowed to imbibe tea and scandal in the company of the Great, her husband must sip his gin and water in solitude at home. We had always been selected in Troy, but then, in the old days, all Troy had been included in the term.

When Mr. Simpson had spoken of the Jack of Oaks, meaning the knave of clubs, or had said finaguing, where others said revoking, we had pretended not to notice it, until at length we actually did not. So that a human, as well as a philological interest, attaches to the date when fashion narrowed the meaning of Cummiel Fo to exclude the Jack of Oaks, and sent Mr. Simpson home to his gin and water. The change was discussed with some asperity in the bar-parlour of the man-of-war. "'You put glasses in Troy is blooming fine nowadays,' remarked Ritchab Giddy,

lately known as Reckob, over his beer on the night when the resignations of Mr. Buzzer Jr. and Mr. Mowgridge had been received by the Jolly Trojans. "'If they get at the least his bit finer, as I'd be able to see him on,' answered Bill Hodges, who was reckoned a whit. "'I've heard tell as Trojans' as cousins and a-fellow well met all the world over, "'but the alia to this place is a getting a bit above itself.' "'That's a true word, Bill,' interposed Mrs. Dimmond from the bar, "'and I say, give this day our daily bread and then turn up a nose a good saffron cake,

"'his flying in the face of Providence, and no less.' "'You don't say that,' exclaimed Rikob, "'who is an admirer of Bill's radical views. "'I do, though. Look at Kinrichard, him the play-acting. I reckon he's one of the upper ten of anybody, and what does he do? Why, throttles, a pair of pappies, puts a gentleman in a gridge again into a cask of wine,

which with the spodiation of both, murders most everyone he could claps eyes on, and then when he's got the jumps and sees the spirits and blue flour, goes off an office to swap his whole blooming kingdom for an oss, a lass, mind you, he hadn't seen, let it know not being in a state of mind to judge yours flesh. What's true of kings, I reckon as true on, They're all reared up to the same eye notions, and I reckon I'll find out before long.

I never said no good in making Troy fashionable myself. End of Chapter 12. Chapter 13 of The Astonishing History of Troy Town by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch. This Lip-Vox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Simon Evers. Chapter 13, The Significance of Pomeroy's Cat, and how the men and women of Troy ensued after pleasure in boats. The historian of Troy here feels at liberty to pass over six weeks with but scanty record.

During that time, the Bankshire rose bloomed over Kit's house, peered in at the windows, and found Mr. Fogo, for the most part, busied in peaceful carpentry, though with a mysterious trouble in his breast that at times drove him a field on venturous perambulations, or to his boat to work off by rowing his too-meditative. fit. From these excursions he would return tired in body but in heart eased and resume his humdrum life tranquilly enough, though Caleb was growing uneasy and felt it necessary more than once to retire apart and have it out, as he put it, with his conscience. The question is, he would repeat, whether I be justified in meddling with the course of nature,

especially when the course of nature is as such as I approves. And supposing I baint, "'Vorda question is, whether I'd be right "'receiving one part a week and a new set of small clothes?' "'This nice point in Casu Estuary "'was settled for the time by his waving claim to the small clothes, "'and inserting in his old pair a patch of blue seat-cloth "'that contrasted extravagantly with the veteran staff, "'so extravagantly as to compel Mr. Fogo's attention.

"'Does it never strike you?' he asked one day, "'as Caleb was stooping over the woodpile, "'that the repair in your trousers, Caleb, "'are a trifle emphatic. "'Purpureus, latte, quesplendiat, "'and suita pandus. "'I mean in the seat of your... "'Conscience, sir,' said Caleb abruptly.

"'Some ties a bit of string round the finger to help the memory. "'I does it this way.' "'Well, well, I should have thought it more apt "'to assist the memory of others. "'Still, of course, you know best.' "'Mr. Fogo resumed his work, "'and thought no more about it. "'But Caleb alternated between moods of pensiveness

"'and fussy enduousness and fussy energy for some days after. In Troy, summer was leading on a train of events not to be classed among periodic phenomena. It stands on record, for instance, that Lou began to be played at the club and the Abba's weekly accounts to grow less satisfactory than the days when he and Mrs. Buzzer were steadfast opponents at Whist.

That Mrs. Simpson discovered her great uncle to have been a baronet on this earth, that Mrs. Payne had prefixed Elycombe to her south, surname, and spoke of the Elicom-Paines, you know, that Mr. Moggridge had been heard to speak of Sam Buzzer as a low fellow,

that Sam had retorted by terming the poet a conceited ass, and that Admiral Buzzer intended a picnic. To measure the importance of this last item, you must know that a Trojan picnic is no ordinary function, to begin with it is essentially patriotic,

devoted, in fact, to the cult of the Troy River, in honour of which it forms a kind of solemn procession. Undeviating tradition has fixed its goal at a sacred rock, haunted of Heron and Kingfisher, and wrapped around with woodland, beside a creek so tortuous as to simulate a series of enchanted lakes. Here, the self-respecting Trojan, as his boat cleaves the solitude, will ask his fellows earnestly, and at regular intervals, whether they ever beheld anything more lovely,

and they, in duty-bound and absolute truthfulness, will answer that they never did. It follows that a Trojan picnic demands for its success to quite a peculiar degree upon the weather. But on the day of the Admiral's merry-making, this was beyond Cavill, kind. Four boats started from the town key. Four boats, alas, could by this time contain the Camille Foe of Troy, for everybody who was anybody had been invited, and nobody, with the exception of the Honourable Frederick who could not leave his telescope, had refused. Sam Buzzer did not start with the rest, but was to follow later, and in his absence Mr. Moggridge paid impressive court to Mrs. Gubbin's hand, though uneasily, for Sophia's saddened eyes were upon him. Yet everybody seemed in the best of spirits and tempers. The Admiral, after bestowing his wife in another boat and glaring vindictively at Kit's house,

where the figure of Mr. Fogo was visible on the beach, grew exceedingly joccos, and cracked his most-ad-mired jokes, including his famous dialogue with the echo just beyond Kit's house, a performance which Miss Limpony declared she had seldom heard him give with such spirit. She herself spurred to emulation, told her favourite story, which began, In the great exhibition of 1851, when Her Majesty, long may she reign, partook of a public luncheon, and contained a most diverting incident, about a cherry pie.

And always at decent intervals she would exclaim, Did you ever see anything more lovely? To which the admiral, as religiously, would reply, Really, I never did? Indeed, the scene was, as Mrs. Gilman Sandys in another boat observed, like a poet's dream, a remark at which Mr. Mugge blushed very much. I wish I could linger and describe with amorous precision,

the bright talk, the glories of the day, each bend and vista of the river which I've loved from childhood. But amid the stress of events now crowing with epic vehemence on Troy, the muse must hasten. Fain would she dally over the disembarkation, the feast, the manner in which Admiral Bussar carved the chicken pie, and his humorous allusioned to the merry thought. Or dwell upon the salad compounded by Mr. Moggage,

the spider that was found in it, and the conundrum composed upon that singular occurrence. Or loiter to tell how Miss Lavinia upset the Tarratt Cup over the vicar as coattails, and in her confusion said it, did not signify, which was very amusing. On this, and more, would she blithely discourse, did not sterner themes invite her. It happened that on this particular morning Mr. Fogar had been restless beyond his wont. For a full hour he had wanted on the beach, as Caleb expressed it, "'Backers and furrows like Boscosal fare!'

He'd taken up, madden chisel, had set them down at the end of half an hour for his paint-box, and ruined a well-meaning sketch of the previous day. Had to deserted this in turn for another ramble on the beach, and finally returned with a helpless look to Caleb, who sat whistling and splicing a rope upon the little key. "'Ary did mine, sir, like Pomeroy's cat,' suggested he sympathetically. "'Now I have no acquaintance with the animal you mention,' said his master. "'I reckon twas she has got killed by care, sir.

"'I never know myself but one animal has got downright put going in that way, and that were an hen. A hen? Yes, sir. It happened up at Penilic, the last year I stayed long with Maloy a manair. It was a regular full body this hen. A black minorses, she were.

But no egg if a laid were fuller of meat than she a good feeling. And principal. It's enough principal to stock a prayer-meeting. But I principal in a buffalo heads like a fish-bone of the throat. Useful, but out of place. Well, sir, the old mania one day brought a baker's dozen of porcelain eggs over to Summercourt Fair. Beautiful eggs they were, and you couldn't tell Mum from Real,

except by the wait. The very next day, finding his Minorsi, were laying for a brood in the loft above the carershed, he takes up the true egg while the old fowl were away, and sets a parson leg in place of it. In course, back comes the end, and being a duffed body, as I told he, are not used to these air refinements of civilisation,

never doubts but twas the same as she laid. To aren't long afford he to lay to six more, and then her sets to work to hatch from now, out. Naturally, after a while the brood was all hitched out, excepting, of course, the porcelain egg. The mother didn't take, no suspicion, twere all right, only a bit stubborn. So I sat down for two days more, and did all the hen good to hatch that chick. No good, it wouldn't budge. He never seen a fowl that hurted in mind. Whenever I thought a given in, no, sir, wasn't her way. I just cocked her to slant, took a long stare at the cusset thing,

and said, so plain as looks could say, laid this egg, and I reckon I've got to hatch it. And if it takes me to the aluminium, I'll see you out. Uh, the millennium, corrected Mr. Fogo, who was much interested. Uh, not being over-educated, sir, said Caleb, with unconscious severity. That old end, I reckon, said aluminium. But never mind, her sot and sat and kept on setting, and neglected the rest of their chicks for what seeming to her was the call of duty, till one by one, they all died. It was pitiful, sir, and the worst was to see her lay so much store by that egg. The old manoeia was for taking it away, but it would have broke our art.

As twas, what with anxiety and too little food, a war to a shadow. I see that I was bound to die anyway, and one afternoon as I was in the couch-head, I had a weekly sort of clucking overhead, and went up to look. It was too late, sir. The old inn was lying beside the egg, glazing at it in a filmy sort of way, and breathing terrible hard. When I comes, she gives a look, same as to say, I reckon I've got to go.

I've been a mother to that there, egg, and I'd never like to see it through before I went, but seemingly it weren't ordained. With that, there was a kind of flutter, and when I turned her over, I seed her troubles were down. That file, sir, had passed. You tell the story with such sympathy, Caleb, that I appeal to you the more readily for advice.

I find it hard to concentrate my attention this morning. if I might make free to shakey again I should prefer any other cure Well very well sir I have heard from trippers as come to Troy To spend the day and get drunk in another parish For Variety's sake As a pennyworth of sea has a common refreshing

A pennyworth of sea That's oh sir A twelve on a boat and a copper and head to the boatman To rouse so far as there and back Which is cheap and empty in the price As a chap told me You advise me to take a row Yes, sir. I reckon you best go up the river if you're going alone.

But whether you prefers the risk of meeting Admiral Busser to being turned topsy-versy outside the arbor mouth is a question I leaves to you. It was a matter of taste, as Monsieur said by the Anna-Frog. Mr. Fogger decided to risk an encounter with the Admiral. In a few minutes he was afloat and briskly rowing in the wake of the picnic party. But black care that clambers aboard the sea-going galley did not disson. stain of seat in the stern of Mr. Fogo's boat. She sat her down there and would not budge for all his pulling. Neither could the smile of the clear sky woo her thence, nor the voices of the day.

But as on shipboard she must still be talking to the man at the wheel, and on horseback importantly whispering to the rider from her pavilion, so now she besieged the ear of Mr. Fogo, to whom her very sex was hateful. Further and further he rode, in vain attempt to shake off this incubus. Passed at some distance the rock where the picnickers had spread their meal, luckily the animal's back was turned to the river, doubled at the next bend, ran to his boat ashore on a little patch of shingle overarched with trees, and stepping out, sat down to smoke a pipe. Secure from observation he could hear the laughter of the picnickers bore melodiously through the trees, and either this, or the tobacco, chased his companion from his side,

for his brow cleared the puffs of smoke came more calmly, and before the pipe was smoked out, Mr Fogo had sunk into a most agreeable fit of abstraction. He was rudely aroused by the sound of voices close at hand. Indeed, the speakers were but a few yards off, on the bank above him. Now Mr. Fogo was the last man to desire to overhear a conversation, but the first words echoed so aptly his late musings, and struck his memory too with so deep a pan.

that before he recovered, it was too late. "'Geraldine? "'Oh, why is it?' "'It was a woman's voice that asked the question, "'they're not the voice that Mr. Focco had half expected to hear, "'and his very relief brought a shudder with it. "'Oh, why is it that a man and a woman cannot talk together except it lies? "'You ask if I am unhappy. Say what you mean.

"'Do I hate my husband? "'Well, then, yes.' "'My dear, Mrs. Is that frank enough?' Oh, yes, I have lied so consistently throughout my married life, that I tell the truth now out of pure weariness. I detest him. Sometimes I feel that I must kill either Fred or myself, and end it all. Bless my soul, murmured Mr. Fogo, carrying more closely.

This country teems with extraordinary people. He held his breath, as the deeper voice answered, "'Had I thought, stop, I know what you would say, and it is untrue. Be frank as I am.' "'You had half-guessed my secret and were bound to convince yourself, and why? "'Shall I tell you, will you copy my candour and speak for yourself?' "'Dead silence followed this question. "'After some seconds the woman's voice resumed.

"'Ah, all men are cowards? "'Well, I will tell you. "'Your question implied yet another, and it was, "'do I, hating my husband, love you?' "'Geraldine, do you still wish that question answered? "'I would do you that first. favor also. Listen, for the life of me, I don't know. And the speaker laughed, a laugh full of amused tolerance, as though her confession had left her as cared a spectator of its results.

Mr. Fogo shuddered. In heaven's name, Geraldine, don't mock me. But it is true, how should I know? You have talked to me, read me your verses, and indeed I think them very beautiful. You have, with comparative propriety, because in verse, invited me to fly with thee to a desolate island in the southern sea, wherever that is, and forgetting my shame and likewise blame, while you do the same with name and fame and its laurel-le-leaf, go to mortal grief on a coral reef? Geraldine, you are torturing me. Do I not quote correctly? My point is this. A woman will listen to talk, but she admires action. Prove that you are ready, not to fly to a coral reef, but to do me one small service and you may have another answer.

Name it! Mr Fogo, peering through the bushes as one fascinated, saw an extremely beautiful woman confronting an extremely pale youth, and fancied also that he saw a curious flash of contempt pass over the woman's features, as she answered. Really, unless you kill the admiral next time he makes a pun, I do not know that just now I need such a service. By to-morrow, though, or the next day,

I may think of one. Until then, she held out her hand, wait patiently, and be kind to Sophia? Mr. Mogridge started as though stung by a snake, but, recollecting himself, imprinted a kiss upon the proffered fingers. Again Mrs. Goodwin Sandys laughed with unaffected mirth, and again the hidden witness saw that curious gleam of scorn, only now, as the young man bent his head, it was not dissembled.

They were gone. Mr. Fogo sank back against the bushes, drew a long breath, and passed his hands nervously over his eyes. But though the scene had passed as a dream, the laugh still rang in his ears. "'It is a judgment on me,' muttered the poor man. "'A judgment! They are all alike!' Curiously enough, his next reflection appeared to contradict this view of the sex. "'An extraordinary woman, but every fresh person I meet in this place is more essential. than the last. Let me see, he continued, checking off the list on his fingers. There's Caleb,

that astounding admiral, and the twins, and Tamsin. Mr. Fogo stared very hard at the water for some seconds. And Tamsin, he repeated slowly. Hello, my feet seemed to be in the water, and bless my soul, what has become of the boat? He might well ask, the tide had been steadily rising as he crouched under the banks, and was now lapping his boots. Worse than this, it had floated off the boat, which he had carelessly forgotten to secure, and drifted it up the river, at first under cover of the trees,

afterwards more ostentatiously into mid-channel. Mr. Fogo rushed up the patch of shingle until brought to a standstill by its sudden declension into deep water. There was no help for it, not a cell was in sight. He divested himself rapidly of his clothes, parled them in a neat little heap

beyond reach of the tide, and then with considerable spirit plunged into the flood and struck out in pursuit of the truant. End of Chapter 13. Chapter 14 of the astonishing history of Troy Town by Sir Arthur Thomas Querecuch. This Librivox recording is in the public domain, recording by Simon Evers. Chapter 14 of a lady of sensibility that, being awkwardly placed, might easily have set matters right, but did not. with much beside. It is hardly necessary by this time to inform my readers that Miss Priscilla Limpony was a lady of

sensibility. We've already seen her obey the impulse of the heart, rather than the cool dictates of judgment. Her admiration of natural beauty she had herself confessed more than once during the voyage up the river. But less than a due share of this admiration should be set down to patriotism, I wish to put it on record that she possessed to an uncommon degree an appreciative sense of the poetic side of nature. She was familiar with the works of Mrs. Heemann's and L-E-L, and had got by heart most of the effusions in affections keepsake and friendship's offering. Nay, she had been in her early youth suspected, more than vaguely,

of contributing fugitive verse to a periodical known as the household packet. She'd even many years ago met the poet Wordsworth, at the dinner table, as she expressed it, of a common friend. and was never tired of relating how the great man had spoken of the prunes as prunes, and said, Would you oblige me with the salt? With such qualifications for communion with nature, it is not wonderful that on this particular afternoon,

Miss Limpany should have wandered pensively along the river's bank, and surrendered herself to its romantic charm. Possessed by the spirit of the place and hour, she even caught herself straying by the extreme brink, and repeating those touching lines from affections keepsake. the eye roams widely over glad nature's face to mark each varied and delightful scene the simple that magnificent we trace while loveliness and brightness intervene oh everywhere is something found to- at this point miss limperny's gaze lost its dreamy expansive drifts and grew rigid with horror immediately before her feet and in delicately confronting her lay a suit of man's clothing It is a curious fact, though, while we need not linger to discuss,

that while clothes are the very simple and first demand of decency, few things become so flagrantly immodest when viewed in themselves and apart from use. The crimson rushed to Miss Lipp in his cheek, shuddered a cry and looked around. Inexorable fate whose compassion directed that gaze, if Raymond apart from its weir would be unseemly, how much more— About thirty yards from her,

wading down the stream and tugging the painter of his recovered boat, advanced Mr. Fogo. To add a final touch of horror, that gentleman, finding that the damp on his spectacles completely dimmed his vision, had to deposit of them in the boat, and was therefore blind to the approaching catastrophe. Unconscious even of his observation, he advanced nearer and nearer. Miss Limpettie's emotion found vent in a squeal.

Mr. Fogo heard, halted, and gazed blankly around. How singular, he murmured, I could have sworn I heard a cry. He made another step. The sound was repeated more shrilly. Again, and, dear me, it sounds human, as of some fellow creature in distress. Go away, go away at once. Bless myself, what can it be? Mr. Fogo stared in the direction whence the voice proceeded. but, of course, without seeing anything.

"'I beg your pardon?' he observed mildly. "'Go away!' "'If you will allow me,' he began courteously addressing vacancy. "'Monster!' The awful truth began to dawn upon him, and was followed by a hasty impulse to dive. "'If he stammered, I am right in supposing myself to address a lady, "'don't talk to me, but go away!'

"'I was about to ask permission to resume my spectacles, which I have unfortunately laid aside. "'No, no, that will be worse. Oh, go away at once.' "'Pardon me, madam. I have aware that spectacles are insufficient as a—I mean, I did not propose to consider them in the light of a costume, but as an assistance to my sight, without which—' "'Oh, I shall faint!' "'Without which it will be impossible for me to extricate myself from this extremely unfortunate situation. I am notoriously short-sighted madam, and at this distance could not tell you from Adam, I should say from Eve, continue of Mr. Fogo, desperately reaching out for his spectacles and adjusting them. By the imperfect glimpse which he obtained through the Darsit, which was still damp,

he was almost moved to adopt his first impasse of deserting the boat and diving. But even if he swam away, the case would be no better, for this unreasonable female stood sentry beside his clothes. "'If I might make a suggestion, madam.' But by this time Miss Limpany had broken forth into a series of sobs and plaintive cries for protection. Alas, the rest of the picnic party were deep within the woods and out of hearing. "'Believe me, my dear madam, I am not your dear madam.' "'I have no other intention than to get out of this. "'He confesses it.

"'I assure you, will no one protect me?' wailed the lady, wringing her hand and sobbing anew. But help was near, and from an unexpected quarter. "'Iwara!' quite a voice on the back above. "'What be all this?' And Peter Dierloff pushed aside the bushes and descended to the shingle, closely followed by Paul. He was just in time, for Miss Limpany with a thankful little cry,

staggered and fell fainting into his arms. "'Mercy upon us!' exclaimed Peter, seeing only the lady and not a first of the cause of her distress. "'Tis Miss Limpony!' "'What arm-jiggered,' ejaculated Paul. "'So tis!' The twins bent over the lady and looked at each other in dismay. To Mr. Fogo the tablo might have borne a ridiculous likeness

to that scene in Symboline, where Giderius and Arviragus stoop over the unconscious image. But Mr. Fogo, as he stood neck high in water, was far beyond drawing any such comparison, and Peter, instead of adjuring Miss Liberty to fear no more the heat of the sun, accringed himself to the practical difficulty. "'Do he ever tell Eve what's best to be done when a ladies took like this?' he asked his brother. "'No,' answered Paul. "'Dams it was never took this way.

"'But that there were a little book I used to study "'when I had a whooping cough and mevels would like to tell all about it. "'I wish it was here.' "'Wait a bit. "'I remembers the instructions for discovering the apparently driving, "'Do you reckon Miss Liberty here is apparently drowned it?' "'Why, no?' "'I don't so, so, neither.'

"'If she was,' added Paul regretfully, "'you'd have to be extra particular not to roll her body upon casks. "'That was a great point.' "'There's a long step round to fetch that book,' sighed Peter. "'And terrible long words in the index when you've got them. "'Stop now. Is it fainting, do you think?' "'Well,' answered Paul thoughtfully, "'it won't be fainting.'

"'because if so, the best way is to hold the sufferer upside down "'and dash cold water over the face.' "'That would be taking too much of validity, wouldn't it, Paul?' "'But at this point the blood came trickling back into Miss Limp at his cheeks. "'The eyelids fluttered, opened. "'She gasped a little, looked up, and—' "'Is he gone?' she asked in a weak whisper. "'Gone? Who, ma'am?'

"'The monster.' "'All right-headed yet,' muttered Peter. But following Miss Limpany's stare, the brothers caught sight of Mr. Fogo simultaneously, and for the first time. Their mahogany faces grew sensibly paler. Well, this beats cock-riding. Would you mind taking that lady away? Petered Mr. Fogo, through his chattering teeth. I am very cold indeed, and I wish to dress.

Oh, that voice again, sobbed Miss Limponie. Please tell him to go away. Being nonplussed by these two appeals, Peter addressed his. his reply to his brother. "'I don't know, Paul, as we got her to the bottom of this, but I reckon Mr. Fogo has been alerting his principles taken too far. As for disliking womankind, tis in a way excusable, perhaps, but notices one thing, and teasing's another.

Oh, that's all, Peter. If tis a matter of fashion, though, I don't know as we've any call to interfere, not knowing what's word. "'If you please, sir,' shouted Peter, "'Paul and me wants to know whether you be able to doing it by way of being fashionable, I don't know what you mean. I only wish to be allowed to get to my clothes. I really am suffering considerably, being quite unused to these long emotions. Peter looked around and caught sight of the neat pile of Mr. Fogo's attire lying underneath the bank. Light began to dawn on him. He turned to Miss Limpany. You'll excuse me, ma'am, but was he present by any chance when, heaven forbid, she cried, and put her hands before her face. then I beg your pardon, but how did you come here?

I was wandering on the bank and lost in thought, and came upon these articles, and then, I cannot, I cannot. Further question is, pursued Peter with an interrogative glance at his brother, who nodded, why not her gone away? Did you hear me? exclaimed Miss Lippany, I never thought of it. She gathered up her skirts, and disdaining the assistance of the gallant-pull, clambered up the bank, and with a formal bow left the twins staring. As she remarked tearfully to Lavinia that evening,

"'One requires in these cases his presence of mind, my dear!' And she heaved a piteous little sigh. "'But consider,' urged the sympathetic Lavinia, "'your feelings at the moment. I'm sure that under similar circumstances,' she shuddered, "'I should have behaved in precisely the same way.' Mr. Fogo emerged in so benumbed a condition, his teeth chattered so loudly and his nose had grown so appallingly blue,

that the twins, who had a delicacy at first retired to a little distance, were forced to return and help him into his clothes. Even then, however, he continued to shiver to such an extent that the pair, after consulting whispers for some moments, took off their coats, wrapped him carefully about, set him in the stern of his boat, and jumping in themselves, pushed off and rode rapidly homewards. Their patient endeavoured to express his thanks, but was gravely desired not to mention it.

For ten minutes or so the twins rode in silence. At the end of this time, Paul suddenly dropped the bow or, then, leaning forward, touched his brother on the shoulder, and whispered one word. "'Schenacrum.' "'Or Sampson,' said Peter. "'I think poorly or Sampson. "'With his air on. "'With the way out, I don't lie no store by Sampson.' Very well, then, Shenachrom.

The rowing was resumed, and Mr. Fogo left to speculate on these dark sayings. But as the boat drew near the column a blue smoke that, rising from the hazels on the left bank, marked the whereabouts of the dear-loves cottage, he grew aware of a picture that, perhaps by mere charm of composition, set his pulse extravagantly beating. At the gate above the low cliff, her frock of pink print distinct against the hazels, stood Thames in Dear Love and looked up the river. She was bareheaded, and the level rays of evening powdered her dark tresses with gold,

and touched the trees behind into bronze. One hand has shielded to her eyes, the other rested on the half-open gate, and swayed softly to and fro upon its hinge. As she stood thus, some happy touch of opportunity, some trick of circumstance or grouping, must, I think, have helped Mr. Fogo to a conclusion he had been seen, seeking for weeks.

Fund and opportunities of studying Thameson, and noting that untaught grace of body in which many still find the secret of her charm, to his last day she will always be for him the woman who stood this summer evening beside the gate and looked up the river. And yet, as the boat drew near, the pleasantest feature in the picture

of the smile with which she welcomed her brothers, though it contained some wonder to see them in Mr. Fogo's boat, and gave place to quick alarm as she remark, to the extreme blueness of that gentleman's nose and the extreme pallor of his other features. "'Damsie, my dear, is the cloth laid?' "'Yes, Peter, and the kettle ready to boil.' "'We was thinking as Shanakram will be suiting Mr. Fogel better. He's met with an accident.'

"'Again.' "'Though something of disdain in her eyes as she curts it to him, but it softened immediately. "'You kindly welcome, sir,' she added, "'and the Shanakram shall be ready in ten minutes.' "'Within five minutes, Mr. Fogger's, Mr. Foggish,' was seated by the corner of the half and watching her as she heated the beer, which, together with rum, sugar and lemon, forms the drink known and loved by Trojans as Shinakrum. The twins had retired to wash in the little outhouse at the back, and their splashing was

audible every now and again, above the crackling of the wood fire, which now, as before, filled the kitchen with fragrance. Its warmth struck kindly into Mr. Fogo's knees, and coloured Tansin's cheeks with a hot red as she bent over the flame. He watched her profile in thoughtful silence for some moments, and then fell to staring at the glowing sticks and the shadows of the pot-hooks and hangars on the chimney-back. So that is Chinakrum, he said at last, to break the silence. Yes.

And what or who is Samson? Samson is brownie and cider and sugar. With his hair on? She laughed. Oh, that means more brandy. "'Sampson was double as strong, you know, with his hair on. "'I see.' The silence was resumed.

Only the tick-tack of the tall clock and the splashing of the twins disturbed it. She turned to glance at him once, and then, seeing his gaze fixed upon the fire that twinkled on the room of his spectacles and emphasised the hollows of his face, I'd look for a moment more boldly before she bent over her task again. "'She is quite beautiful, but—' He spoke in a dreamy, abstracted tone, as they were dressing the pothugs.

Tamsin started, set down the pan with the clatter, and turned sharply round. "'Eh?' said Mr. Fogo, arise by the clatter. "'You were saying?' And then it struck him that he'd spoken aloud. He broke off and looked up with appealing helplessness. There was a second's pause. "'You were saying?'

The words came as if dragged from her by an effort. Her eyes were full of wrath as she stood above him and waited for his reply. I'm very sorry, he's dammered. I never meant you to hear. You were talking of... Of you, he answered simply. He was horribly frightened, but it was not in the man's nature to lie

or even evade the question. The straightforwardness of the reply seemed to buffet her in the face. She put up her hand against the chimney-piece and caught her breath. What is but? She asked with a kind of breathless vehemence. Finish his sentence. What right of you to talk of me? "'She went on, as he did not reply.

"'If I'm not a lady, what is that to you?' "'Oh,' she persisted in answer to the swift remonstrance on his face. "'I can end your sentence. "'She's quite beautiful, but quite low, of course. "'What right have you to call me either? "'To speak of me at all? "'We were content enough before you came, Peter and Paul and I. "'Why can't you let us alone? I hate you.

"'Yes, I hope there is no doubt now that I am low. "'I hate you.' "'She stamped her foot in passion. as two angry tears sparkled in her eyes. "'Why, Tamsin?' cried Paul's voice at the door. "'That's an Arkham not ready yet. I never know he's so long a-for.' She turned sharply, caught up the pan, and stooped over the fire again. But the glow on her cheeks now was hotter than any fire could bring.

"'Tis rare stuff, sir,' said the twain, encouragingly, as Tamsim filled the steaming glass, and handed it without a look to Mr. Fogo. "'Leastways to thwart a deal of these parts by them as, without being polite, as yet reckoned judges. Mr. Fogger took the glass and sipped bravely. The stuff was so hot that tears sprang to his eyes, but he gulped it down, nevertheless. And now, sir, began Peter, who had joined the group and was looking on approvingly, Paul and me was concerning in the back kitchen, and agreed that, making so bored as asked

he, and hoping to won't be thought over free, he must stay the night, seeing you've took this cold, and the night air being, as well-known, terrible nap, to give the inflammation. "'We planned,' put in Paul, "'to go down with a boat to Kit's house "'and fetch up your things and tell Caleb about it, "'say he shouldn't be decomposed. "'And Tamzin had tell there's a room at your service "'and reckon pretty, looking on to the bee-skeptus of the orchard to the back,'

"'he explained, with a meaning glance at Tamzin, who was silent. "'Why, Tamzin, go. "'What's amiss that you don't speak?' asked Peter. "'And then his amazement got the better of his tact, "'as he added in a stage whisper, "'tis only to change rooms. "'Porn to make an easy sleep down here for the far, "'and I'd only offer you a room as being more genteel.'

"'I assure you,' broke him Mr. Fogo, "'that I'm quite recovered from my chill, thanks to your kindness, "'and would rather return, much rather, "'though I thank you all the same.' "'He spoke to the twins, but kept his eyes on Tamsin. "'No kindness at all,' muttered Peter. "'His face fell, and he too looked at the girl. "'Finding their eyes upon her, she was compelled to speak.

"'Mr. Fonlewolder. "'I would not care for the likes of what we could offer him,' she said. "'Then seeing the pain on the men's faces, she added with an effort, to be gracious. "'But if he can put up with us, he knows he should be made welcome.' She did not look up, and her voice, in which the peculiar sing-song of Trojan intonation was intentionally emphasised, sounded so strangely that still greater amazement fell upon the twins. "'Why, Tam's he and I never knowed he in this mood afore?' stammered Paul. "'I assure you,' interposed Mr. Foggo.

that I value your hospitality more than I can say and shall not forget it, but it would be observed to accept him when I am so near home. If one of you were consented to row me down to Kit's house, it would be the exact kindness I should prefer. The twins assented, they're not without regret as his refusal to accept more.

Paul agreed to row him down, and the two started in the early twilight. As he shook Peter's hand, Mr. Fogo looked at Tamsin. Good night, he said. "'Good-night, sir.' She did not offer to shake hands. She scarcely even looked up,

but stood there before the chimney-place, with the firelight outlining her form, and throwing into deep shadow the side of her face that was towards him. One arm was thrown up to grasp the mantelshelf, and against this her head rested. The other hung listlessly at her side. And this was the picture Mr. Fogo carried out

into the grey evening. As the door closed upon him, Peter sank into the stiff-backed chair beside the hearth with a puzzled sigh. "'Why, Tam's in,' he said, as he slowly drew out his pipe and filled in. "'What a oldie girl to behave like that?' Looking up, he saw a tear, and then a second dropped brightly on the hearthstone. "'Little maid!' Before he could say more, she had stepped to him, and sitting on the chair-arm,

had flung her arms around his neck, and drawn his heads towards her, that he might not look into her face. "'I hate him,' she said. sobbed. I ate him. I wish I'd never seen him. He despises us, and I was so happy before he came.' The twin set down his pipe upon his knee, and stared into the far. "'As for a-tating,' Tamsin,' he said gravely. "'Tint right. I should love our neighbours,' scripture says, and I reckon that includes tenants. In a matter of he's despising us, I don't know as you'd be right, thither. He's fashionable, of course, but very conformable,

considering, very conformable. He made sorry as let Kitz-Hare, said Tamsit. Not anchoring. No, no. I doubt, my dear, we poor hands to take care of he, Paul and me. I've talked it over together at times, and agrees it was wrong not to us sent he away to school. I's got a whack a handbills down one time from different places. He wouldn't believe it, my dear.

He went on with something like a laugh, but Paul and me almost came to words over their hand-bles. "'It was a curious fact, but at the places where they allowed most holidays, "'there was most particular about taking your own spoon and fork, "'and Paul was a stickler again that. "'He grew to be a matter of principle with Paul that wherever you went, "'you shouldn't take your own spoon and fork. "'So I's never came to no understanding.' "'A doubt was selfish, and us can't understand maidens in their ways,

"'but same idea if there's anything can be set right and also try. "'No, no, let me sit here beside you, "'and I should be better present. She drew a low stool to his side, and sat with her head against his knee, and her dark eyes watching the fire. Peter laid one hand gently on her hair, and wound the brown locks round his fingers. "'All right now,' he asked her for several minutes past, with no sound but the ticking of the clock. "'All right beside you, brother. It is always a right beside you.' End of Chapter 14.

Chapter 15 of the astonishing history of Troytown by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Simon Evers Chapter 15 How a Lady and a Youth, being separated from their company, visited a ship that held nothing but water. Mr. Foger and Paul performed the journey back to Kit's house in silence, for Paul was yet wondering at his sister's behaviour, and Mr Fogo busy with thoughts he could hardly have interpreted.

As they drew near the little key, they discerned through the darkness, now fast creeping over the river, a boat pushed off by a solitary figure that jumped aboard and began to pull towards them. "'Hoy there!' it was Caleb's voice. "'Oye, Caleb!' shouted Paul in answer. "'Anything wrong? Have you seen, Master? "'This had gotten safe and sound.'

Caleb appeared through the gloom and described, Mr. Fogo. Whatever relief this may have been to his feelings, it called forth no expression beyond a grunt. He turned his boat and pulled back in time to help his master ashore. Paul was dismissed with some words of thanks, which he declared unnecessary. He would row back in Mr. Fogo's boat, he said,

if he might be allowed, and would bring her down in the early morning. With this, and a hearty, good-night! He left the pair to walk up to the house together. Caleb was unusually silent during supper, and when his master grew cheery and related the adventures of the day, offered no comment beyond a series of mysterious sounds expressing mental discontent rather than sympathy. Finally, when Mr Fogo had finished, he looked up and began abruptly, "'If you please, sir, I want to give warning.'

"'Give warning?' "'Yes, sir, notice to go.' Caleb stared fiercely at his master. "'My dear Caleb, you surely don't mean—' "'I do, though. "'Are you dissatisfied with the place or the wages?' "'That's it, sir, the wages. "'If they're too low, they baint there be a darn sight too high.'

"'Mr Fogo leant back in his chair. "'Too high?' he gasped. "'Lookie here, sir. "'Here be I so lazy as Lawrence "'and eating my head off upon a pound a week "'and my small clothes on conditions I look arterly. "'Very well, what happened? "'Tis dear love.'

Dear love, dear love, dear love, all the time. First, Tamzin brings he back, and then Paul, and next time I reckon it'll be Peter's turn. Wherefore, sir, seeing I can't offer to share wages with the twins, much less with Tamzin, I want us to go!' Caleb knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and rising stared at his master for some seconds, and with much determination.

Mr. Fogo argued the case for some time, without effect. But so sincerely did he paint his helplessness, and nervous aversion to new faces, that at length, after many pros and cons, Caleb consented to give him one more chance. But mine, sir, he added, the next time you brought home by a dear love, go is the word.

On this understanding they retired to rest, but it was long before Mr Fogo could shut his memory upon the panorama of the day's experiences. Let us return to the picnickers. After what had passed between Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis and Mr. Mogridge on the river, Bank, it may seem strange that the lady should have chosen Sam Buzzer to row her home, for the two youths were now declared rivals for her goodwill. But I think we may credit her

with a purpose. At any rate, when the lengthening shadows and retreating tide hinted return, Sam, who had arrived late in a designedly small dinghy, asked Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis to accompany him, and she, with little demure, complied. It did not matter greatly, as propriety would be saved by their nearest to the larger boats, and so the party started together. But this arrangement, though excellent, did not last long, for curiously enough the dinghy soon began to take a formidable lead of the next boat in which the traitorous Moggrette was pulling stroke, and gazing with what courage he could summon into Sophia's eyes. Indeed, so quickly was the lead increased that at the end of two miles the larger boats had shrunk to mere spots in the distance.

The declining sun shone in Sam's eyes as he rode, and his companion, with her sunshade so disposed as to throw her face into shadow, observed him in calm silence. The sunshade was of scarlet silk, and in the softened delight stealing through it, her cheek gained all the freshness of maidenhood. Her white gown gathered about the waist with a band of scarlet, not only fitted her figure to perfection, but threw up the colour of her skin into glowing relief. To Sam she appeared a miracle of coolness and warmth And as yet no word was spoken At length and not until they had passed the dear love's cottage She asked why were you late Was I missed

Of course You younger men of Troy seem strangely blind to your duties And your chances The last three words came as if by afterthought Sam looked up quickly Chances You said chances, I believe. I did. Was there not Miss Saunders, for instance? Sam's lip curled.

Miss Saunders is not a chance. She's a certainty. Did she, for instance, announced that the beauty of the day made her sad, that even amid the wealth of summer, something inside her whispered autumn? She did. She always does. I've never picnic with Miss Saunders, but something inside her whispered autumn. A small bore, suggested Mrs. Goodwin Sand is, that never misses fire. Sam tittered and resumed. If it comes to duties, your husband sets the example. He hasn't moved from the club window today. Oh, she exclaimed shortly,

I never asked you to imitate my husband. Sam ceased rowing and looked up. He was familiar with the tone, but had never heard it so emphasised before. Look here, he said. Something's wrong, that's plain. It's a rude question, but does he neglect you? She laughed for some.

and perhaps with a touch of self-contempt. You are right, it is a rude question, but he does not. There was a moment's silence, and then she added, So it's useless, is it not, to wish that he would? The blood about Sam's heart stood still. Were the words a confession or a sneer? Did they refer to her or to him? He would have given worlds to know, but her tone disclosed nothing.

You mean? She gave him no answer, but turned her head to look back. In the distant boats they had fallen to singing Glees. In this they obeyed tradition, for there is one acclumishment which all Trojans possess, a fitting impromptu harmonies to the most difficult air. And still, in the pauses of the music, Miss Limpany would exclaim, "'Did you ever see anything more lovely?'

And the album would reply, "'Really, I never did!' Mrs. Goodwin Sandus could not, of course, hear this, but the voices of the singers stole down the river and touched her, it may be, with some sense of remorse for the part she was playing in this Arcadia. "'We are leaving the others a long way behind,' she said irresolutely. "'Do you wish to wait for them?' For a moment she seemed about to answer, but did not. Sam pulled a dozen vigorous strokes, and the boat shot into the reach opposite Kit's house.

That, she said, resting our eyes on the weather-stained front of Mr. Fogo's dwelling, is where the hermit lives, is it not? I should like to meet this man that hates all women.' Samisayed a gallant speech, but she paid no heed to it. What a charming creek that is beyond the house. Let us row up there and wait for the others. The creek was wrapped in the first quiet of evening. There was still enough tide to mirror the tall trees that bent towards it

and reflect with the grey gleam one gable of the house behind. Two or three boats lay quietly here by their more, moorings. Beside them rested a huge red boy and an anchor protruding one rusty tooth above the water. Where the sad-looking shingle ended, a few long timbers rotted in the ooze. Nothing in this haunted corner spoke of life, unless it were the midges that danced and wheeled over the waveless tide. Yonder lies the leper's burial ground, said Sam, and pointed. I have heard of them, she shivered, and that? She nodded towards the saddest ruin in this sad spot,

the harl of what was once a queenly schooner, now slowly rotting to annihilation beside the further shore. She lay, helplessly canted to starboard, her head pointing up the creek. Her timbers had started, her sides were coated with green weed, her rudder wrenched from its pintel they hopelessly askew. On her stern could be still red, in blistered paint, her name, The Seven Sisters of Troy

There she lay, dismantled with a tangle of useless rigging, not fit for saving, left to dangle from her bulwarks, and a quick fancy might liken her, as the tide left her, and the water in her hold gushed through a dozen gaping seams, to some noble animal that had crept to this corner to bleed to death. Mrs. Gubin Sandys looked towards the wreck with curious interest. I should like to examine it more closely, she said, said. For answer, Sam pulled round the schooner and let the boat drift under her overhanging side. "'You can climb aboard if you like,' he said, as he shipped the scalds, and standing up grasped the schooner's bulwarks.

"'Stop, let me make the painter fast.' He took up the rope, swung himself aboard, and looped it round the stump of a broken david, then bent down and gave a hand to his companion. She was agile, and the step was of no great height, but Sam had to take both her hands before she stood beside him. An hour, but his heart beat cruelly quick. Once on board Mrs. Gubin Sandis displayed the most eager inquisitiveness, almost endangering her beautiful neck as she peered down into the hole where the water lay, black and loomy.

She turned and walked aft with her feet in the scuppers, and her right hand pressed against the deck. So great was the cant of the vessel. It was uphill walking too, for the schooner was sagged in the waist, and the stern tilted up to a considerable height. Nevertheless, she reached the poop at last. Sam followed. I wanted to see the captain's cabin, she explained.

Sam wondered, but led the way. It was no easy matter to descend at the crazy ladder, and in the cabin itself the light was so dim that he struck a match. Its flare revealed a broken table, a horse-haired couch, and a row of cupboards along the walls. On the port side, these had mostly fallen open, and the doors in some cases hung by a single hinge. There was a terrible smell in the place.

Mrs. Goodman Sand has looked round. "'Does the water ever come up here?' she asked. Sam lit another match. "'No,' he said, stooping in examining the floor. "'You're quite sure?' Her tone was so eager that he looked up. "'Yes, I'm quite sure, but why do you ask?' She did not answer, nor in the faint light could he see her face.

After a moment of silence, she said, as if to herself, "'This is just the place.' "'For what?' "'For an Irish jig,' she laughed with sudden merriment. "'Come, try a step upon these old timbers.' "'For heaven's sake, take care,' cried Sam. "'There may be a trap-hatch where you stand, "'and these boards are rotten through and through.

"'Ten minutes ago you were mournful,' he added, "'in wonder at her change of mood. "'Was I?' "'She broke out suddenly into elfish song. "'Och, Patry's for here, but I'm sad, Bidad. "'Ot darling, tis bad to be sad. "'How's this, says he? Why a kiss says she. "'Tis a cure, says he, and that sure says he.

"'Och, Pat, you're a sensible lad, bed-dad. "'Troth, Pat, you're a jewel of a lad.' "'She broke off suddenly and shivered. "'Come, let us go. This place suffocates me.' "'She turned and ran up the crazy ladder. "'At the top she turned and peered down upon the dumbfounded Sam. "'Nobody comes here, I suppose.' "'I should think not.

"'I mean, the owner never comes to—' "'To visit his cargo,' laughed Sam. "'No, the owner is dead. "'He was a wicked old miser, "'and I guess in the place where he is now "'he'd give a deal for the water in this ship. "'But I never heard he was allowed to come back for it.' "'She lent her hands on the taffrail and looked over the stern.

"'Hark, there are the other boats. "'Don't you hear the voices? "'They have passed us by, and we must make haste after them.' "'She turned upon him with a smile. Without well-known what he did, he laid his hand softly on her arm. "'Stop, I want a word before you go.' "'Well?' Her large eyes gleaming on him through the dusk, compelled and yet frightened him.

He trembled and stammered vaguely. "'You said just now—you hinted, I mean, that you were unhappy with your husband. Is that so?' It was the second time she'd been asked the question today. Her faint smile crossed her face. "'Well,' she said again, "'I mean,' he answered with a nervous laugh, "'I don't like to see it, and I meant if I could help you.

"'To run away? Will you help me to run away?' Her eyes suddenly blazed upon him, and as she bent forward and almost hissed the words, he involuntarily drew back of step. "'Well,' he's tampered, "'he's a good fellow, really, is your husband. "'He's been very good to me and all that.' "'Ah!' she exclaimed, turning away.

"'I thought so. "'Come, we're wasting time.' "'Stop!' cried Sam. "'But you pass swiftly down the sleeping deck "'and dropped into the boat without his assistance. "'He followed unsteadily, untied the painter, "'and jumped down after her. "'They rode for some time in silence

"'after the retreating picnickers. "'Before they came abreast of the hindmost boat, however, "'Sam spoke. "'Look here, I can't help myself, and that's the truth. "'If you want to run away, I'll help you.' He groaned inwardly as he said it. She made no reply, but kept her eyes fixed on his face as if weighing his words. Nor, beyond a cool, good night, at a party on the key, did another word pass between them.

"'What luck,' asked the Honourable Frederick as his wife entered the drawing-room of the bower. He was stretched in an armchair before the fire, and turned with a glance of some anxiety at her entrance. She looked about her wearily, took off her hat, tossed it across to a table, and, sinking into the armchair opposite, began to draw off her gloves. "'I'm sick to death of all this, me dear, of the cause, of Brady, of these people of myself.' His face wore a grey look that made her seem a fool ten years older. "'Won't you do me in the list, my love?' asked her husband amiably. "'I would,' she replied.

"'Only I've already said as much twice this very afternoon.' She laughed, a fatigued little laugh, and looked around her again. The drawing-room had greatly changed, since first we visited it with Ambril Buzzer, and the local tradesman regarded Mr. Goodwin's account with some complacency, as they thought of payment after midsummer. For the strangers were not of the class that goes to the metropolis, or to the cooperative stores. From the outset, they had announced a warm desire to benefit the town of Troy. This pretty drawing-room was one of the results,

and only wanted a certain number of checks from the Honourable Frederick to make the excellence of the arrangements complete. Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis took a leisurely survey of the room when her husband awaited information. The poet is hooked, she said at last, and so is Master Sam. The poet is our first card, replied her husband, searching his pocket and producing a letter.

The Maryland should be here tomorrow or next day. On my word, nearly, I don't want to ask questions, but you've done exceedingly well. "'Better than well, me dear, I found a place, an illigant hiding in an old schooner up the river. "'Safe? As a church. I'll take us to do it to-morrow. "'Master Town tells me sorrow a soul goes nigh it. He took me to see it. "'I say me, darling, I'd be letting that young fool down easier than the poet. "'He's a poor little snob, but he's more like a man than Moggridge.'

"'He's a bad ass, his Mogridge,' said to the Honourable Frederick. "'Come, Nelly, we've a day's work before us, remember. A friend of mine, the son of steady-going nihilist parents, and therefore an authority, assures me that the Honourable Frederick cannot have been a conspirator for the simple reason that he shaved his chin regularly. Be that as it may, tonight he smiled mysteriously as he rose, and winked at his wife in a most plebeian way. I regret to say that both smile and wink were returned.

End of Chapter 15 Chapter 16 of the astonishing history of Troytown by Sir Arthur Thomas Krillacuch. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Simon Evers. Chapter 16 of stratagems and spoils, and that the nominalists err who hold a thing to be what it is called. At two o'clock next morning, Mr. Moggridge closed the door of his lodgings behind him, and, stepping out to the street, stood for some moments to ponder. A smile sat upon his lips, witnessed a pleasure that underlies poetic pains.

The collector of customs was in humour this morning and had written 30 lines of Act 4 of Love's Dilemma a Comedy, before breakfast, for it was his custom to rise early and drink regularly of the waters of Helicon before seeking his office. It is curious that the civil service should so often divide its claims with the service of the muse. I remember that the Honourable Frederick once drew my own. attention to this, and supplied me with several instances. There was, what's his name, you know, and t'other joining up in the lakes, and a heap I can't remember at the moment, fancy must have come from the stamps, licked off with the gum, perhaps. Be that as it may. Mr. Muggridge had written

thirty lines this morning, and was even now, as he stood in the street and stared at the opposite house, repeating to himself a song he had just composed for his hero. It is worth quoting, for with slight alteration I know no better clue to the poet's mood at the time. The play has since been destroyed, for reasons of which some hint may be found in the next few chapters, but the unfinished song is still preserved among the author's notes, where it is headed, A hymn of love. Toiling lover, lose your pack, all your sighs and tears unbind. Cares aware may break a back, may not bend a maiden's mind,

loose, and follow to a land where the tyrant's only fee is the kissing of a hand, and the bending of a knee. In that state a man shall need neither priest nor lawgiver. Those same slips that are his creed shall confess their worshipper. All the laws he must obey, now in force and now repealed. Shift in eyes that shift as they— Shift as they, shift as they, shivest they, mused Mr. Murritch. Let me see.

Till alike with kisses sealed. That was it. With another verse and a little polishing, I will take it. to Geraldine and ask her. At this point, the poet danced down the street, and to his surprise, beheld Mrs. Goodwin Sand is advancing towards him. Good morning, she nodded with a charming smile. I was coming to look for you. I have a favour to ask.

A favour? Is it the... Well, it's rather prosaic for the, she laughed. In fact, it's tea. Tea? Yes, it's rather a long story, but it comes to this. You see, Fred is very particular about the tea he drinks. Indeed. It's a fact, I assure you. Well, when we were travelling in the States, Fred happened to come across some tea he liked particularly at Chicago. And the funny thing about this tea is that it is compressed. It is called Wopchot's patent compressed tea. Now, I dare say, added Mrs. Goulden, Sand is to merely, that you wouldn't think it possible for compressed tea to be good. To tell you the truth, said Mr. Moggidge, I have never given the subject a thought.

No, of course, being a poet you wouldn't. But it's very good all the same. You buy it in cakes and have to be very particular that Wapshot and Sons is written on each cake. Of course it isn't really written. Of course not. But you'll excuse me, if I don't yet see... To be sure you don't until I have explained. Well, you see, men are so particular about what they eat and drink and are always thinking about it.

I don't mean poets, of course. I suppose you, for instance, anything about Gossamer and things? "'I don't know that I think much about Gossamer,' said Mr. Mungridge. "'Well, moonbeams, then. But Fred is different. Ever since he left Chicago, he's been talking about that tea. I wonder you never heard him.' "'I have not, to my knowledge. No. Well, at last, finding it couldn't be bought in England, he sent across for a chest. "'We had the invoice a few days ago, and here it is.' Mrs. Gubin-Sand has produced a scrap of paper, and went on, "'you see, it's coming in a ship called the Merrill. Maryland, not to be here about this time. Well, Fred was looking through his telescope before

breakfast this morning. He's always looking through a telescope now, and knows, I believe, every rig of every vessel in the world. When he calls out, Hello, American bark, in his short way. Of course, I didn't know at first what he meant, and mix it up with that stuff. A Peruvian bark, isn't it, that you give to your child, if you have one, and do not let it untimely die, or something of the sort. But afterwards, he shouted, I shouldn't wonder if she's the Maryland. and then I understood, and it struck me that it would be so nice to come to you and pay the duty, or whatever you call it, on the tea, and at the same time, if you were very good, you would take me over to the ship with you and show me how you did your work.

It's very complicated, I dare say, but I'll be as quiet as a mouse and won't interrupt you at all.' She paused for breath. The collector smiled and handed back the invoice. "'It seems all right,' he said. "'Let us hurry to the custom-house. Hour in your company, Geraldine, will transfigure even the dull round of duty." Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis smiled back divinely, she thought it extremely probable. A few minutes later the poet sat by Geraldine's side, sweet proximity, in the stern of one

of Her Majesty's boats, while two minions, a visuant inverse to term his subordinates, rode them towards a shapely bark that had just dropped anchor not far from the bower slip. She flew a yellow flag in sign that she hailed from a far from a far from a far from a far-reux-olyn. She flew a foreign port. And as the customs boat dropped under her quarter, Mr. Moggish shouted, "'Merryland! Ahoy!' "'Ahoi,' answered a gruff voice, and a red face looked over the side. "'A captain?' inquired Mr. Moggridge. "'That's me. You're arty-potter, Captain.' "'Customs, I guess,' said the red-faced man, with a slow look at Mrs. Goodman-Sandis.

"'Clean Bill of Health?' "'Well, two focusal hands down with whooping cough. "'Take it won't keep us in quarantine for that.' The collector helped Mrs. Goodman Sandys up the ship's side. And she lighted on deck a swift glance passed between her and the red-faced man. Quite casually she laid two fingers on her chin. Uriah Tea Potter did the same, but Mr. Mogherst was giving some instructions to his minions at the moment

and did not notice it. "'Anything to declare?' he asked. "'Many corner-board and tim fruits for Port of London. Reasonable deal of tea and backing, though, for you to seal.' "'Ship for the same place. "'By the way, just a tea for party-living hereabouts. "'Goodwin Sandys, friend of owner. "'Gess that's the reason for putting it in this one-horse place.'

"'Wind up Yuri a tea-potter, with a deprecatory glance at the beauties of Troy. "'This is Mrs. Goodwin-Sandies,' said the collector. "'Proud to make your acquaintance, ma'am.' The captain held out his hand to the lady who shook it affably. "'Let's see the cargo,' said Mr. Mogbridge. "'The captain led the way, and they descended. Mrs. Goodman Sand is full of pretty wonder, the arrangements of the ship, and slipping her fingers tippantly into the collector's hand on the dark companion stairs.

He seized and raised them to his lips. "'Oh, you poet!' expostulated she. "'Where the tyrant's only fee?' murmured Mr. Moggridge, "'is the kissing of her hand. "'What, more verses, you shall repeat them to me.' "'I'm afraid that, in the obscurity below, Mr. Moggridge inspected the weighing of ships, stores, and sealing of excisable goods in a very perfunctory manner. There were so many dim corners and passages where Mrs. Goodbin's hand needed guidance,

and after all, the minions were sufficient for the work. They rummaged here and there among the casks and chests, weighing, counting and sealing, while the red-faced Euryas stood over them and occasionally looked from the collector to the lady, with a slow grin of growing intelligence. They were seated together on a cask, and Mr. Moggridge had possessed himself for the twentieth time of his companion's hand. "'You think the verse is obscure?' he was whispering. "'Ah, Gerardine, if I could only speak out from the heart, as it is, Eophilia serves to grace my measure.'

"'Who's she?' asked Mrs. Goodman Sandys, whose slight acquaintance with other poets was perhaps the reason why she rated her companion's verse so highly. "'The merchant to conceal his treasure conveys it in a borrowed name,' Mr. Mogridge began to quote. "'Why, Geraldine, what is the matter? Are you faint?' "'No, it is nothing.' "'I thought you seemed pale. As I was saying, the merchant, to conceal his treasure—' "'Yes, yes, I know,' said she, rising abruptly. "'It is very hot and close down here.'

"'Here's it, yes, ma'am,' called the voice of Uriotty-potter. She turned and walked towards it. It was a large square packing case and bore the legends. Wapshot at Sons. Chicago. Patent compressed tea. Ten prize medals. Stamped here and there about it.

I suppose, she said, telling Mr. Mowgridge, I can have it weighed here and pay you the duty, and then Captain Potter can send it straight to the bower. Certainly, said Mr. Mowgridge. We won't be long opening it, and then opening it. Why, yes, as a matter of form, you know. "'It won't take a minute.' "'But how foolish!' said Mrs. Goodman Sandys.

"'When you know very well by the invoice that it's tea.' "'Of course it's foolish, only it's the rule, you understand, "'before allowing goods to be landed.' "'But I don't understand. It is tea, and I'm ready to pay the duty. "'I never thought you would be so unreasonable.' "'Geraldine!' "'At the utterance of Mrs. Goodman Sand's Christian name, "'the two minions turned aside to conceal their smiles.

"'The red-faced man's appreciation even led him to dive behind the packing case. The collector pulled himself up and looked confused. It was so small a thing I asked, said she, almost to herself, and with a heart-rending break in her voice, so small a test, and with a sigh she half turned to go. The collector's hand arrested her. Do you mean—' she looked at him with reproach in her eyes.

Let me pass, said she, and seeing the conflict between love and duty on his face, "'So small a test!' "'Damn the tea,' said Mr. Mogridge. "'I'm feeling so faint,' said Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis. "'Let me lead you up to the fresh air.' "'No, go and open the tea.' "'I'm not going to open it.' "'Do!' I won't.

"'Here, Sam,' he called to one of the minions. "'Put down that chisel and weigh the chest at once. "'You needn't open it. "'Come, don't stand staring, but look alive. "'I know what's inside.' "'Are you satisfied?' he added, bending over her. "'It frightened me so,' she answered, looking up with swimming eyes,

and I thought I was planning it so nicely. Take me up on deck, please.' "'Come be careful all that chest,' said Captain your eye a teapotter to the minions, as they moved it up to be rowed. "'Avious tea that ever I handled,' groaned the first minion. "'Ah, the more duty for you, sharks. Of course it's heavy being compressed and strong, too. "'I guess you don't often get tea of this strength in your country anyway.

give a man two pinches of Wopshopshot's best properly cooked, I reckon it'll last him. You won't find him coming to complain. No? No, but I ain't saying nothing, added Captain Potter, about his wooder. And his smile, as he regarded his hearers, was both engaging and expansive. End of Chapter 16. Chapter 17 of the astonishing history of Troytown by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch. This Libre of Oxford recording is in the publication.

public domain. Recording by Simon Evers. Chapter 17. How one that was dissatisfied with his past saw a vision, but doubted. Caleb Trotter watched his master's behaviour during the next few days with a growing impatience. I reckon, he says, to us with love, as Sally Bennett said when our old man got caught to the dressing machine. You're in, my dear, and you may so well go through. Nevertheless, he would look up from his work at times with anxiety. Forty sacks. That's a forty sacks time he's got to try to up that blessed beach and back, and five times he's had pulled up to stare at the water. I've kept come with these bits of chip.

And at night it's all round the house like Aaron's dresser with a face, too, as if he'd lost a shilling and found a thrifty bit. This year, pussy venty, may be relive into his mind, but I'm darned if it can be good for shoe-leather. "'It was the wear and tear, that's what tis, as Aunt Luffy said, after he got killing her boy with Wacken.' The fact is, the Mr. Fogo was solving his problem, though the process was painful enough. He was concerned too for Caleb, whose rest was often broken by his master's restlessness. In consequence, he determined to fit up a room for his own use. Caleb opposed to the scheme at first, but finding that the business of changing diverted Mr. Fogo's melancholy gave way at last on a promise that no May games should be indulged in,

a festival term which was found to include somnambulism, suicide and smoking in bed. The room chosen lay on the upper story of the extreme east of the house and looked out between two tall elms upon the creek and the leper's burial ground. It was chosen as being directly over the room occupied by Caleb, so that by stamping his foot, Mr Fogo could summon his servant at any time. the floor was bare of carpet and the chamber of decoration but mr fago hated decoration and after slinging his hammock and pushing the window open for air gazed around on the blistered ceiling and tattered wallpaper rubbed his hands and announced that he should be very comfortable well sir said caleb as he turned to leave him for the night after all come for a matter of comparison as sir laurence said when he turned round upon the gridiron but the room's clay in as water and scarring it'll make me remind "'Me,' he continued with a glance round,

"'and what the contented clerk said by his office stool. "'Chairs is good,' said he, "'and sofas is better, "'but it is a great thing to arbor no dust.' "'Any orders, sir?' "'No, I fancy. "'Stop, is my writing-case here?' "'Kaleb's anxiety took alarm.

"'We ain't going to do it in writing, sir, surely.' "'Mr. Fogo stared. "'Don't he, sir, don't he?' "'Really, Caleb, your behaviour is most extraordinary. "'What is it that I'm not to do?' "'Why, put it in writing, sir. "'They don't like it. "'Go up and ask her like a man.

"'Will he have me? "'Is or no?' "'That was old Dick Jago's way, "'and I reckon he'd-hought, "'having married six wives, "'one time and another. "'But as for a pen of ink.' "'You mistake me,' interrupted Mr. Fogo,

"'with a painful flush.' "'He paused irresolutely, "'and then added in a softer tone, "'would you mind taking a seat in the window here, Caleb? "'I have something to say to you?' Caleb obeyed. For a moment of two there was silence as Mr. Fogar stood up before his servant. The light of the candle on his chest beside him but half revealed his face. When at last he spoke it was in a heavy mechanical tone. You guessed once, he said, and rightly,

that a woman was the cause of my seclusion in this place. In such companionship as ours it would have been difficult, even had I wished it, to keep up the ordinary relations of Master and man, and more than once you've had opportunities of satisfying whatever curiosity you may felt about my past. Beneepi Caleb, I have noted your forbearance, and thank you for it.' Caleb moved uneasily, but was silent. "'But my life has been too lonely for me,' pursued his master wearily. On general grounds one would not imagine the life of a successful hermit to demand any rare

qualifications. It is humiliating. but even as a hermit I am a failure. For instance, you see, I want to talk. His hearer, though puzzled by the words, vaguely understood the smile of self-contempt with which they were closed. As a woman-hater, too, my performances are beneath contempt. I did think, so Mr. Fogo, was something of test-ness in his voice,

I should prove an adequate woman-hater, whereas it happens. He broke off suddenly, and took her turn into up and down the room. Kaleigh could have finished the sentence for him, but refrained. Surely, said Mr. Fogo, pausing suddenly in his walk, surely the conditions were favourable enough, listen, it is not so very long ago since I possessed ambitions, hopes, hopes that I hugged to myself as only a silent man may. With them I meant to move the world, so far as a writer can move the world, which I dare say may be quite an inch. These hopes are put in the keeping of the woman I loved. Can you foresee the rest?' Caleb fumbled in his pocket for his pipe,

found it, held it up between finger and thumb, and looking along the stem, nodded. We were engaged to be married. Two days before the day fixed for our wedding, she came to me, knowing me, I suppose, to be a mild man, who told me she was married, had been married for a week or more to a man I'd never seen, "'Mr. Goodman Sandys. "'Hello, is it broken?' "'For the pipe had dropped from Caleb's fingers "'and lay in pieces upon the floor. "'Quite so,' he went on in answer to the white face confronting him.

"'I know it. She's at this moment living in Troy with her husband. "'I had understood they were in America, "'but the finger of fate is in every pie.' "'Caleb drew out a large handkerchief, "'and, mopping his brow, gasp. "'Well, I love all!' and then broke off to Anne feebly. He is a coincidence, as Bill said when he was hanged upon his birthday.

I have not met her yet, until now have avoided the chance. But now I am curious to see her. Don't he, sir! And tonight intended writing. Don't he, don't he? To ask for an interview, Caleb, pursued Mr. Fogo, drawing himself up suddenly, when his eyes fairly gleamed behind his spectacles. Here I am, my pass wrecked, and all it is a little bit of him.

cargo of ambition scattered on the sands, and yet, and yet I feel tonight that I could thank that woman. Do you understand?' "'I reckon I do,' said Caleb, rising heavily and making for the door. He stopped with his hand on the door, and, turning, observed his master for a minute or so without remark. At last he said abruptly, "'Present dreams, sweet sir, and two knacks upon the floor if I be wanted. Good night, sir.' But this he was gone. Mr. Fogo stood for some moments listening to his footsteps as they shuffled down the stairs. Then, with a sigh, he turned to his writing-case, pulled a straw-bottomed chair before the rickety table, and sat for a while, pen in hand, pondering.

Before he had finished, his candle was low in its socket, and the floor around him littered with scraps of torn paper. He sealed the envelope, blew out the candle, and stepped to the window. "'I wonder if she has changed,' he said to himself. outside the summer moon had risen above the hill facing him and the near half of the creek was a blaze with silver the old schooner still lay in shadow but the water rushing from her hold kept a perpetual music other sounds there were numb but the soft rustling of the swallows in the ease overhead the sucking of the tide upon the beach below and the whisper of night among the elms the air was heavy with the fragrance of climbing roses and all the scents of the garden in such a an hour, nature is half-sad and wholly tender. Mr. Fogo lit a pipe, and watching its fumes as they curled out upon the laden night, fell into a kingly melancholy. He dwelt on his past, but without resentment, on Tamsin,

but with less trouble of heart. After all, what did it matter? Mr. Fago, leaning forward on the window-seat, came to a conclusion to which others have been led before him, that life is a small, thing. Odd enough, this discovery, though he belittled his fellow men considerably, did not belittle the thinker at all, or rather affected him, with a very sublime humility. When one thinks, said he, that the moon will probably rise ten million times over the hill yonder on such a night as this, it strikes one that woman-hating is petty, not to say, a trifle fatuous. He puffed a while in silence, and then went on,

the strange part of it is that the argument does not seem to affect Thameson as much as I should have fancied. He paused for a moment and added, or to prove as conclusively as I should expect that I am a fool. Possibly if I see Geraldine tomorrow she will prove it more satisfied. He broke off to clutch the lattice and stare with rigid eyes across the creek. For the moon was by this time high enough to fling a ray upon the deserted howl, and there, upon the deck, stood a figure, the figure of a woman. She was motionless and leant against the bulwarks with her face toward him, but in black shadow.

A dark hood covered her head, but the cloak was flung back and revealed just a gleam of white, where her bosom and shoulders bent forward over the schooner's side. Mr. Fergus' heart gave a leap, stood still, and then fell to beating with frantic speed. He craned out at the window, straining his eyes. At the same moment the pipe dropped from his lips and tumbled scattering a shower of sparks into the rose-bush below. When he looked up again, the woman had disappeared. Suddenly he remembered Caleb's story of the girl who ages back

and left her home to live among the lepers in this very house, perhaps in the very room he occupied, and of the ghost that haunted the burial ground below. Mr. Fogo was not without courage, but the recollection brought a feeling of so many spiders creeping up his spine. And yet the whole tale was so unlikely, that by degrees, as he gazed at the wreck,

now completely bathed in moonlight, he began to persuade himself that his eyes had played him a trick. "'I would go to bed,' he muttered. "'I've been upset lately, and these fits of mine may well pass into hallucination. "'Once think of these women and—' He stopped as if shot.

From behind the wreck a small boat shot out into the moon's brilliance. Two figures sat in it, a woman and a man, and as the boat dropped swiftly down on the ebb, he had time to notice that both were heavily muffled about the face. This was all he could see, for in a moment they had passed into the gloom, and the next the angle of the house hid them from view, but he could still hear the plash of their oars above the sounds of the night.

The leper and his sweetheart was Mr. Fogo's first thought, but then followed the reflection. Would ghostly oars sound? On the whole he decided against the supernatural, but the mystery remained. More curious than agitated, but nevertheless was little inclination to resume his communing with the night.

Mr. Fogo sought his hammock and fell asleep. The sun was high when he awoke, and as he descended to breakfast, he heard Caleb's manit already at work on the key below. Still, anxious to set his doubts at rest, he made a hasty meal and walked down to take a second opinion on the vision. Caleb, with his back towards the house, was busily fitting a new thwarted to Mr. Fogo's boat, and singing with extreme gaiety,

"'A where be the French dogs, oh, where be they all? They be down in their long-boats, all on the salt sail.' What with the song and the hammering, he did not hear his master's approach. "'Up flies the kite and down flies the larko. "'When hail and toe rumble-o. "'Good morning, Caleb.' "'Oh, morning to you, sir. He took me unawares. "'All for to fetch home the summer and the mail,

"'for summer is a calm and winter is a goal.' "'Caleb, I have seen a ghost.' "'The man had stopped, in mid to descent. "'Caleb looked up again, open mouths. "'Tom twist to Harry Dingle.' "'I beg your pardon. "'A figure repeats, sir, meaning, who'd have thought it?' "'Whose ghosts, sir?'

"'If it ain't a rude question.' Mr Fogo told his story. At its conclusion, Caleb laid down his mallet and whistled. "'Tis the leopards, sure enough, and haunting all the old place. Scripture says they will not change their spots, and I'm blessed if it don't say truth. But dear me, sir, and asking your pardon for saying so, you're my game-cock, and no mistake.' "'I? Yes, sir.

Two knacks upon the floor, and I'd have been up in a jiffy. And never mind, sir, as I wait up for one to-night, and I'll get the lawn of the dear-loves blunderbusting. in case they get palt ruptuous. Mr. Fogo deprecated the blunderbuss, but agreed to sit up for the ghost, and so for the time the matter dropped. But Caleb's eyes followed his master, marrantly for the rest of the day, and more than once he had to express his feelings in vigorous soliloquy.

"'Never to tell me, looks as if he'd no more pluck than a field-mouse, and I'm darned if he takes more kind of a ghost than he would have a circuit preacher. Bless if I don't think of a spirit was to knack at the front door, and he'd tell him to wipe his feet upon the mat and make his... at home. Well, well, seeing he's believing, as Tommy said, when he spied Noah's Ark in the peep show. End of Chapter 17. Chapter 18 of the astonishing history of Troytown by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Simon Evers. Chapter 18 of a young man that would start upon a dark adventure

but had two minds upon it. At ten o'clock on this same morning, Mr. Samuel Buzzer sat by the club window, alternately skimming his morning paper and sipping his morning draft. He was alone, for the habit of early rising was fast following the other virtues of antique Troy, and the members rarely must have enforced before eleven. He had read all the murders and sporting intelligence, and was about to glance at the affairs of Europe, when Mrs Cripps, the caretaker, entered in a hurry and a clean white apron.

"'If you please, sir, let's say there at least little boy below with a note for you. I'd have brought it up, but he says you must give it himself.' Sam, descending with some wonder, encountered Mr. Moggritch in the passage. The rivals drew aside to let each other pass. On the doorstep stood a ragged urchin and waved a letter. "'For you, sir, I'm pleased you to say yes or no as quick as possible.' Sam took the letter, glanced at the neat feminine handwriting of the address, and tore open the envelope.

Dear Mr. Buzzer, if you care to remember what was spoken the other evening, you will tonight help a most unhappy woman. You will go to the captain's cabin of the wreck which we visited together, and find there a small portmanteau. It may be carried in the hand and holds the few necessaries I've hidden for my flight, but please carry it carefully. If you will be waiting with this by the signpost at the five-lane's corner at 11.30 to-night, no words of mine will repay you. Should you refuse, I am a wretched woman, but in any case I know I may trust you to say no word of this. Look out for the closed carriage and pair. A word to the bearer will tell me that I may hope, or that you care nothing for me. G. G. G. S. P. S. Be very careful not to shake the

p.m.' "'What be out of sight, please, sir?' Sam, who had read the letter for a third time, syllable by syllable, looked around helplessly. If you please, what be I'd say? Sam very heartily wished both boy and letter to the devil. He groaned aloud and was about to answer, when he paused suddenly. In the room above, Mr. Moggridge was singing a jointy stave. The sound goaded Sam to madness. He ground his teeth and made up his mind.

Say yes, he answered shortly. The word was no sooner spoken than he wished it recalled, but the urchin had taken to his heels. With an angry sigh, Sam let circumstance decide for him, and returned to the reading-room. No doubt the consciousness that Peake had just betrayed his judgment made him the more inclined to quarrel with the poet. But assuredly the sight that met his eyes

caused his blood to boil, for Mr. Moggridge was calmly in possession of the chair and newspaper which San had but a moment since resigned. "'Excuse me, but that is my chair and my paper.' "'H?' the poet looked up sweetly. "'Surely the club-chair and the club-paper.' "'I have but this moment left them.' "'By a singular coincidence, I have but at this moment taken possession of them.'

"'Give them up, sir.' "'I should do nothing of the kind, sir.' At this point Sam was seized with the unlucky inspiration of quoting from Mr. Mogheridge's published works. "'Fobit the flood to wet thy feet, or bind its wrath in chains, but never seek to quench the heat that fires a poet's veins. This stanza, delivered with nice attention to its author's drawing-room manner, was too much. Sir, you are no gentleman.

You seem, reported Sam, to be an authority on manners as well as on customs. I won't repeat your charge, but I'll be dashed if you're a poet. My muse is in a very pretty pass. Gentlest of her sisterhood, she has wandered from the hum of Miss Limponys Wist Table into the turmoil of Mars. Even as one who, strolling through a smiling champagne, finds suddenly a lion in his path, and to him straight away the topmost bough of the platoness

is dearer than the mother that bear him, in short, I really cannot say how this history would have ended, had not fortune at this juncture descended to the club-room in form and speech like to Admiral Buzzer. The Admiral did not convey his son away in a hollow cloud, or even break the club telescope in Mr. Mogridge's hand. He made a speech instead to this effect. "'My sons attend and cease from strife implacable,

"'n't either be as two ravening whelps "'that having chants on a kid in the dells of the mountain "'disput thereover, dragging this way and that with gnashing jaws. "'For a youth belong anger and biting words, "'but to soothe is the gift of old age.' "'What the admiral actually said was, "'Hello, what the devil are you to young cubs quarrelling about!' "'And now sat his son.

find that no blood is to be spilt, the muse hised gladly to a very different scene. In the drawing-room of the barra, Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis was sitting with a puzzled face and a letter on her lap. She had gone to the front door to learn Sam Buzzer's answer, and having dismissed her messenger was returning when the garden gate creaked, and a blue-jurzied man with a gravely humorous face stood before her. The newcomer had regarded her long and earnestly before asking, "'Be you, Mrs. Goodwin-Sandies?' "'I am.' "'Ansary to name of Geraldine,

"'and lawful wife of party, "'answering to name of Honourable Frederick?' "'Certainly,' she smiled. "'Ah, then this is for you.' "'And the blue-jurzied man handed a letter, "'and looked at her again, searchingly. "'Is there an answer?' "'No, I reckon.'

"'She was turning when the man suddenly laid a finger on her arm. "'Asking pardon, but you let her down, "'He doesn't bear no menace, though he'd have suffered a brave bid. "'Curham, that's what I say. "'Curran, as being a course between you and me. "'And look here,' he continued with a slow nod, "'supposing the party lets on as he's falled in love with another party, "'I reckon you won't be the party to hinder it.

"'Mind, I bain't say you could, but you won't try, will he? "'That's between you and me, of course.' The man winked solemnly and turned down the path. recovered of her astonishment, he had paused again at the gate and was looking back. "'That's understood,' he nodded. "'A cream you and me and the gate-post, of course.' With that he had disappeared. Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis, if bewildered at this, was yet more astonished at the contents of the letter.

"'Fogo?' she repeated with a glance at the signature. "'Fogo? Won't that be the name of the woman-hater up at Kit's house, Middier?' "'Sladly,' answered the Honourable Frederick. "'Then I'll trouble you to listen to this,' she read as follows. "'My dear Mrs. Goodman Sandys, when last you left me, I prayed that we might never meet again, but time is stronger than I fancied, and here I am writing to you. Faith must have been in her most ironical mood to bring us so near in this corner of the world. I thought you were in another continent.

But if you will let me accept the chance which brings us together, and call upon you as an old friend, I shall really be grateful.' for there we may be much to talk about, even if we avoid, as I promised to do, all that is painful, and I am very lonely. I have seen your husband, and hope you are very happy. Believe me, very sincerely yours, Philip Fogo. What does it mean? asked Mrs. Goodwin Sandys helplessly. It means, nearly, that we have had just time enough for none to spare. In other words, that Goodwin Sandys has come near to be in a confoundedly fatal— "'Then he must have known.' "'None, my treasure, where are your wits?

"'Beautiful namesake, jolted lover, "'hens, perjured woman, "'breeding heart, years pass, "'Mary another, finger of fate, good lord!' "'I met the fellow one day, "'and couldn't understand why he stared so, "'gave me the creeps. "'See it all now.'

"'He lay back in his chair and whistled. "'There was a tap at the drawing-room door, "'and the buttoned youth announced "'that Mrs. Buzer was without, and earnestly begged an interview with Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis. The Honourable Frederick obligingly retired to smoke, and the visitor was shown in. Her appearance was extraordinary. Her portly figure shook, her eyes were red.

Her bonnet racially poised over the left eye, had dragged a skew the front under it, as though its wearer had parted her hair on one side in a distracted moment. A sob rent her bosom as she entered. "'My poor soul!' murmured Mrs. Goodman Sandysand. is, you are in trouble. Mrs. Buzzer tried to speak, but dropped into a chair and nodded instead. What is the matter? It's him.

The Admiral? Mrs. Buzer mopped her eyes and nodded again. What has he done now? Said his breakfast was cold this morning and pitched the breakfast set over the key door, she moaned. Oh, what shall I do? Leave him. Mrs. Buzzer clasped her hands and stared. "'You could see the marks quite plain,' she wailed.

"'What, did he strike you? "'I mean, on the bottom of the cups, they were real Worcester. "'Leave him. Oh, I have no patience.' "'A Mrs. Goodwin Sandius stamped her little foot. "'With you, women of Troy? "'Will you always be dolls? "'Dolls with a painted smile for all men's insane caprices? "'Will you never?

"'I don't paint,' put in Mrs. Buzer, "'Revolved, I say. Leave him this very night. Oh, if I could—' "'If you please—' interrupted the page, throwing open the door. "'Ears Mrs. Simpson and says she must see you, particular.' Mrs. Buzzer had bared a time to dry her eyes and set her bonnet straight, before Mrs. Simpson rushed into the room. The newcomer's face was crimson, and her eyes sparkled. "'Oh, Mrs. Couping, Sanchez, I must!' At this point she became aware of Mrs. Buzer, stopped abruptly, sank into a chair,

and began aimlessly to discuss the weather. This was awkward, but the situation became still further strained when Mrs. Pello was announced, and, bursting in with the same eagerness, came to a dead halt with the same in consequence. Mrs. Saunders followed with white face and set teeth, and Mrs. Elcombein in haste and tears. "'Pray come in,' said their hostess blandly,

"'this is quite like a mother's meeting.' The reader has no doubt, right. Though nobody present ever afterwards breathed the word as to their reasons for calling thus at Thubauer, and though the weather, which was serene and settled, alone supplied conversation during their visit, the truth is that the domestic relations of all these ladies had coincidentally reached a climax. It seems incredible, but by no other hypothesis can I explain the facts. If the reader can supply a better, he is entreated to do so. At length finding the constraint past all bearing, Mrs. Buzzer rose to go.

"'You will do it?' whispered her hostess as they shook hands. She could not trust herself to answer, but nodded and hastily left the room. At the front door she almost ran against a thin, mild-faced gentleman. He drew aside with a bow and avoided the collision, but she did not notice him. "'I will do it,' she kept repeated to herself, in spite of the poor girls. A mist swept before her eyes as she passed down the road. She staggered a little, with a vague feeling that the world was ending somehow. But she repeated,

I will do it. I've been a good wife to him, but it's all over now, it's all over tonight. The mild-faced gentleman into whom Mrs. Buzzer had so nearly run in her agitation was Mr. Fogo. A certain air of juvenility sat upon him, to you to a new pair of gloves, and the careful polish which Caleb had coaxed upon his hat and boots. His clothes were brushed, his carriage was more erect, and the page, who opened the door, must, after a scrutiny, have pronounced him presentable, for he was permitted at once. Undoubtedly the page blundered, but the events of the past hour had completely muddled of the poor

boy's wits, and perhaps the sight of one of his own sex was grateful, coming as he did after so many agitated females. At any rate, Mr. Fogo and his card entered the Goodwin Sanchez's drawing-room together. I leave you to imagine his feelings. In one wild instant the scene exploded on his senses. He staggered back against the door, securely pinning the retreating page between it and the doorpost, and denuding the Goodman Sanditie's livery of half a dozen buttons. The four distracted visitors started up as if to escape by the window. Mrs. Goodman Sandy's advanced. She was white to the lips. A close observer might have read the hunted look that for one brief moment swept over her face.

But when she spoke her words were cold and calm. You wish to see my husband, Mr.—' she hesitated over the name. Not in the least, stammered Mr. Fogo. There was an awful silence, join which he stared blankly around on the ladies. Then may I ask, I desire to see Gerald. I mean Mrs. Goodman Sandys, but—I am Mrs. Goodman-Sandis. "'Would you mind stating your business?' "'Mr. Fogo started, dropped his hat,

"'and leant back against the door again. "'You?' "'Certainly.' "'Her mouth worked slightly, but her eyes were steady. "'You are she that was once, Geraldine O'Halloran?' "'Certainly.' "'Excuse me, madam,' said Mr. Fogo, "'picking up his hat and addressing Mrs. Simpson,

"'prolitely. "'But the mole on your chin annoys me.' "'Sir?' "'And noise me excessively. May I ask, was it a birth, Mark?' "'He's mad!' screamed the ladies, starting up and wringing their hands. "'Oh, help! Help!' Mr. Fogo looked from one to another, and passed his hand wearily over his eyes. "'You're right?' he murmured.

"'I fancy, do you know, that I must be slightly mad. "'Pray, excuse me. "'Would one of you mind seeing me home?' he asked with a plaintive smile. His eyes wandered to Mrs. Kuban Sandys, who stood with one hand resting on the table, while the other pointed to the door. "'Help! Help!' screamed to the ladies. Without another word he opened the door and tottered out into the passage. At the foot of the stairs he met the Honourable Frederick, who had been attracted by the screams.

"'It's all right,' said Mr. Fogo. "'Don't trouble. I should be better out in the open air. "'There are women in there,' he pointed towards the draw. drawing-room, and one with a mole. I dare say it's all right, but it seems to me a very big mole.' And leaving the Honourable Frederick to gasp, he staggered from the house. What happened in the drawing-room of the Bower after he left, it will never be known, for the ladies of Troy are silent on the point. It was ten o'clock at night, the hour when men may cull the bloom of sleep. Already the moon rode in a serene heaven, and looking in at the club window, saw the

Admiral and lawyer Pello, male ferriato Stroyas, busy with a mild game of a cut. There were not enough to make up a loo to-night, for Sam and Mr. Moggridge were absent, and so, more unaccountably, was the Honourable Frederick. The moon was silent, and only she, peering through the blinds at the bar, could see Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin-Sandies hastily packing their boxes, or, beneath the ladder, by the Admiral's key door, a figure stealthily unmooring the Admiral's boat. To say that Sam Buzzer did not relish his task

was but feebly to paint his feelings, as with the paddles under one arm and the thawpins in his pocket, he crept down the ladder and pushed off. Never before had the plash of oars seemed so searching a sound, never had the harbour been so crowded with vessels, and as for boys, small craft and floating logs, they bumped against his boat at every stroke. the moon too dogged him with persistent banis or why was it that he rode always in a pool of light the ship's lamps tracked him as so many eyes he carried a bull's-eye lantern at the bottom of his boat and the smell of its oil and heated varnish seemed to smell aloud to heaven

with heart in mouth he crossed the line of the ferry and picked his way among the vessels lying off the jetty's on one of these vessels somebody was playing with concertina and as he crept under its counter a The voice hailed him in German. He gave no answer but pulled quickly on. Now he was clear again, and nearing Kit's house under the left bank. There was no light in any window he noticed with a lance over his shoulder. Still in the shadow, and only pulling out here and there to avoid a jutting rock, he gained the creek's mouth and rode softly up until the bulwarks of the old wreck overhung him. The very silence daunted him now, but it must be gone through, thinking to dead and fear by hurry he caught up the lantern leapt on board with the painter fastened it and crept swiftly towards the poop he gained the hatch and paused to turn the slide of his lantern the shafts of light fell down the companion as into a pitch dark well he could feel his heart thumping against his ribs as he began the descent and jumping with every creek of the rotten boards while always behind his fright lured to sickening sense of the guilty foolishness of his errand At the ladders' foot he put his hand to his damp brow and peered into the cabin.

In a moment his blood froze. A hoarse cry broke from him, for there, straight ahead, a white face with straining eyes stared into his own. And then he saw it was but of his own reflection in a patch of mirror stuck into the panel opposite. But the shock of that padded mask confronting him had already unnerved him utterly. He drew his eyes away. glance around and spied a black portmanteau propped beside a packing case in the angle made by the wall and the flooring. In mad haste to reach the open air, but dimly remembering Geraldine's caution, he grasped the handles, flung a look behind him, and clambered up the ladder again and out upon the deck.

The worst was over, but he could not rest until again in his boat. As he untied the painter, he noticed the ray of his lantern dancing wildly up and down the opposite bank with the shaking of his hand. Cursing his forgetfulness, he turned the slide, slipped the lantern into his pocket, and lowering himself gently with the portmanteau, dropped, seized to the paddles, and rode away as for dear life. He put three boats' lengths between him and the hull, and was drawing a sigh of relief, when a voice hailed him, and then a tongue of flame leapt out, and a loud report rang forth upon the night. He heard something whistle by his ear. Catching up the paddles again. He pulled madly out of the creek and away for the opposite bank of the river,

ran his boat in, and, seizing the portmanteau, without attempting to ship the oars or fasten the painter, leapt out, climbed, slipped, and staggered over the slippery stones, and fled up the hill, though a thousand fiends were at his heels. End of Chapter 18. Chapter 19 of the astonishing history of Troytown by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch. This Librevox recording is in the public domain Recording by Simon Evers Chapter 19 That a silver bullet has virtue

With a warning to Commodores Well sir remarked Caleb at ten o'clock that evening After an hour's watching had passed And brought no sign of a ghost I wish this year's spirit With spirit it be Would put itself out to be punctual

I do say as the queen must wait While our beers are drawing but it strikes me ghost-seeing is apt to be like Bostcastle Fair, which begins twelve, and ends at noon. Caleb caressed a huge blunderbuss which lay across his knee, and caused Mr. Fogo no slight apprehension.

"'It puts me in mind,' he went on, as his master was silent, "'or the old Ludden, as I used to sing when us was tiny mites. "'Riddle me, riddle me, riddle me, right. "'Where was I last Saturday night? "'I send a chimp-champing at his bridle, I see it an old fox working itself idle The trees did shiver and I did shake

To see what a hole this fox did make Now I comes to think upon it It's Saturday night too And that's odd, as Martha said by her love Still Mr Fogoge was silent As for the blunderbar sir There's no call to be a fared Tis only Lordy was shot on a silver shilling

I heard tale That overture sawson one time They had pretty trouble with a leperin big hair, sir. Now the man no wound could catch her, and as for bullets, I took him bullets like so much ballast. Well, sir, the old squire were out with his gun one day, and way to track thicky hair round and round for up ten mile, and the more lady fired the better place there seemed. "'Darn it,' says the old squire at last. "'Tis witchcraft. I'll try a silver bullet.' So he pulls out a crime piece and amazone into a slug to fit his gun. He no sooner

loaded, then out pops the air again, not twenty yards off, and right across the path. The old man blazed away, and this time hitters, sure enough. Howsoever, I weren't too badly wounded to dip round the napper of the hill than I'd aside. "'I'll have he,' cried the squire, and with that, pulls at foot round the hill. And there, sir, clucked in under a bit of rock, and panting for dear life, were old Malley Skag. I tell you, sir, the squire made no more to do, but way to run, and never stopped

till he was safe home to trisorsum. At so, Manly were a witch, like her mother of Forer, and the best proof is her wore a limp out of this till the day of her death. Mr. Fogo raised himself from his abstraction to ask,

Do you serious believe that it was a ghost that I saw last night? All that as may be, if tained, tis folks as has no business hereabouts. I've hard tell, as you winnin the law, if you are else mum three times a four, firing. That's what I means to do, anyway. As for ghosts, I do believe, but I don't believe.

What, that a man's spirit comes back after death to trouble, folks? What about spirit? But I heard a tell once about a man's remains as give to a peck of trouble after death. "'Tas old comrade or trounce, as the remains belong to. And tis a queer yarn, if you never heard it before.' Caleb looked at his master. Mr. Ferger had not yet told the story of his call at the Bower. but Caleb saw that he was suffering and had planned this story as a diversion. The bait took. Mr. Fodo looked up expectant and lit a fresh pipe.

So Caleb sat in himself in his corner of the window-seat, and still keeping an eye on the old schooner began, "'The Commodore's progress. You've heard me speak, sir, old Joe Bonaday. It was made poetry long with me one time when lying was be harmed or filthricum.' "'Certainty.' "'Well, this Joe were a barnstable man,

bred and born. But he had a brother, Sambury's name, as came and settled out Caramway. Old these and thicky, he's used to call him. Sam was a crowder, you must know, and used to play the fiddle over to Tregorick Fair, but he could never play more than two tunes. Which he have, he used to say, which will he have? Thies or Thickie? That's why, though he was Chris and Sam, I used to call him Thieves and Thickie, for short. I see. This year Sam Bonaday, though he came and settled down in these parts, was a bettermost body in some ways, and had a seen a heap of life long with old Commander trouts. Sam was teetotum to the Commodore, and acted courier when the old man travelled, which he did a brave bit, brushing his clothes and shining his boots and taking the tickets, and the rest.

The Commodore were mighty fond of Sam, and as for Sam, he used to say he wouldn't have been the Commodore's brother, and you see he weren't. "'I think I understand,' said Mr. Fogo. "'Yes, sir. "'Well, toward the end of his days, "'the Combeau was stationed out at Gibraltar, "'and our course takes Sam. "'He's been an ailing for a tidy spell at the Commoddle, "'when I reckon that place finished him,

"'for he hadn't been there a month before he took a chill. "'Pertie soon, Sam saw it was only a matter of time "'before the old man would go dead. "'Sam kept his master going on brandy and milk for a while, "'but one day he comes in and finds it set it up in bed, and staring. The Comedore was a little burgy, busteous sort of man, sir, with a squinny eye and mottles upon her face pretty near so thick as the Milky Way. And he scared Sam a bit,

said he up there and glazing. The old man had no more spoil, nor a babby, and a pretty nigh lost to a mouse speech, but he beckoned sands to the bed, and whispers, Sam, if I've been a guide servant to me, could masters make good servants, says Sam, and falls to crime, bitly. You have died in my will, says the Commodore, says he's no call to take on, so. But look ye here, Sam.

There's one thing more I want you to do for your old master. I've been a wandering jewel all my life, says he. Wandering upon the face of the earth, like... Like... Keen, says Sam. Well, not exactly. I've ever, you and me, Sam, have been like Jamtri's eyes as geese,

never happy unless they be where they baint, and that's the truth. And now, says he, "'Iver took a consaint I'd like my old bones to be carried home to Carn, "'and laid to rest, long with me avidge. "'All the trances have been a-buried in Carn, charge here at Sam, "'and I'm thinking I'd like to go back to Mun, like the prodigious son. "'So what I want you to do is this.

"'When I be dead and gone, he must get an handy-box-made, "'so I shall carry easy, and take me back to England. "'You find plenty of money for the way of the skivet in my chest there in the corner?' "'It's a brave long way from here to England,' says Sam. "'I know it's what you'd be thinking about,' says the Commodore. "'You'd be reckoning I'll spiral on the way. "'But I don't mean you to go by say. "'You must take me across the bay and then ship aboard a train

"'as a take he drew Seval and Madrid and Paris to Dover. "'To the fast train,' says he, as trains go with these parts. "'But I'm doubting if it starts every day or only three times a week. "'I reckon, though, if he finds out, "'I can manage so as me dying, shan't interfere with that.' "'Well, Sam was forced to promise, and the Commodores seem mighter relieved and lay still while Sam read to an out of the books that the old man had by him.

There was the Bible and the Pelican's Progress and Philip Qualls and Anna Snell, the female sodger. Sam read a bit from each, and when he comes to that part about Christian crossing the river, the old man sits up sudden and calls, Land, fetch a glass lad. Just like that, sir. And with that, falls back, dead.

Well, sir, Sam was most out of his own. wits, first along, for grief to lose his master. But he wants the man to go back upon his word. So he loses no time, but being an anti-man, rigs up a wooden chest with the help of a ship's carpenter, and a tin case to ship into this, and dresses up the commodore inside, and nails him down proper, and with twenty-four hours in, puts a cross in a bolt, long with his charge, for to catch the train. He hadn't barely set foot on shore and was given orders about carrying the chest up to the station, and thinking upon the oleness are earthly ways, as was natural, when up steps a chap in highly-cutter breeches and axiom if he'd anything to declare.

Sam had disremembered all about the customs, you see, sir. Howsoever, and might have been all right, only Sam, though he could tackle the lingo a bit, just enough to get along with it on a journey, that is, suddenly found that he'd disknowledged the Spanish for corpse. He found out, sir, if all the day was out, but just now he looked at the chap, if the colour breeches, and said, No, I ain't. What's in that box? says the chap.

Now, this was exactly what Sam couldn't tell him. So for lack of anything better, he says, What's that to you? I reckon I must have that chest open, says the chap. I reckon you'll be sorry if you do, says Sam. Tell me what's inside, then. Well, darn your Spanish eyes, cried Sam. Can't you see I've been trying to think upon the word for corpse?

But the chap couldn't, of course. so he called another in breeches just as gay as his own only striper and then for up ten minutes twas dover to pay all talkers and no listeners i reckon twas as sal said to the frenchman the less you talks the better i understand he but sam's blubber up by this time however naturally he was forced to give away and they took the box into the custom-house and sent for hammer and screwdriver seems to me says the chap prising that it open a bit and sniffing it smells on common-like spirits. I'm thinking, says Tam, if you'd be kept going on brandy milk for a week or more, you'd smell like spirits. I guess tis spirits, says

one. Or backy, says another. Or furring fruits, said the third. William wrong, says Sam, because it's a plain British Commodore, and I reckon if you tax is that sort of import, you don't know what's good for he. At last sir, they prizes open the chest and the tin case,

and then, of course, lay the old man, sleeping and smiling so peaceful like he looked half a Commodore and half a cherry bun. I suppose you mean cherubim, Caleb? Corrected Mr. Fogo. I do, sir. For I reckon the old man seemed happier than he were, having been a nation's camp in his young days,

and able to swear to the last so as twould pretty nigh fetch the more out of brickwall. Arsover, that's not to the point here. Or so you may fancy how them pouring-room foreigners left that custom-house. Sam told me afterwards we're like shelling peas, speaking in metaphors, "'Metaphors,' said Mr. Fogo. "'That's it, metaphore is. "'Anyway, they just fetched a yell, and they went, sir.

"'I guess Sam knowed the Spanish for corpse before they was gone. "'And less than a minute, not a pair of colour breeches could you find, "'nor if you wanted them fancy articles ever so.' Sam chuckles a bit to herself, fartens down the lid so well as he could. "'Hits the Commodore aboard a wheelbarrow. and trunds him off to the train. He catches the train just as restarting, sir, and sails away in a first-class carriage all to himself,

with the Camelor laid along the seat opposite. Or, said Sam, drat expense when a funeral is going. And all the way he chuckles and grins to himself, to think of the start he gives the custom-wise rascals, and at last he gets that tickled he bound to lie back and fairly hurt himself with laughing. I reckon, though, he laughed a bit too early, for just then the train slowed down and pulled up

a station. Sam looked out and saw a dapper little man of bustling up and down the platform, like a bee in a bottle, and prying into the carriage windies same as if the train were a beep-shaw. Presently he opens the door of Sam's compartment, an axe is holding up a telegram. Be you the party is his travelling with a dead man? He spoke in Spanish, of course, sir, but not knowing the tongue, I tells it to you in English. I had guessed that to be the reason, replied Mr. Fogo. Well, Sam were a bit took aback, but he answers, "'Yes, I be, why?'

"'Want them buried.' "'Why, no, not particular. Sooner or later, of course, but thank you all the same, I'm thinking to do it a bit further on.' "'Then,' says the dapper man, "'I'll trouble you to hand over the burying fees for this parish.' "'But I'm not going to be buried deceased in this parish.' "'That don't matter, if a corp has use of this parish,

"'he's got to be paid fees.' "'How's that?' "'Why, a corpse is d' dead, says the chap. You'll love that, I suppose. Yes, says Sam, I reckon I'll love that. And if a corpse is in this parish, he's dead in this parish. Likely he is, admitted Sam. Well, according to law, anybody dead in this parish is bound to be buried in this parish, and therefore to pay fees, says the man. And now I hopes you'll hand over the money, because the train's waiting. Well, Sam was for a rating a rumpus, and gathered a crowd round the door,

but they all sided with the dapper man and said t'was Spaniard's law, and if he wouldn't pay, he must get out and bury the commodore there and then. So he gave in and pulled out the money, and off they start, the dapper man standing and bowing upon the platform. Well, Sam leant back and I siphied it out, and couldn't see the sense of it. But, says he, when you're in Turkey, you do as the turkeys do, called it the proverb, so I guess tis all right. And if it appears wrong, it is only that I baint you.

to travelling with corpses. With that, he settles down and goes to sleep. He hadn't been long sleeping when the train pulls up again, and after a minute in comes another chap with a telegram. Deceased? asked the chap, pointed to the chest. Moderately, says Sam. What's burying, perhaps, says the chap. Why, I reckon he'll hold on a bit longer.

Next parish lightly. Why, yes, says Sam, or next after that. And what it is to be rich, says the man. man kind of envious like. What do you mean by that? Sam asks his. If a mind, answers the man, twent no business of mine, would he kindly ammy the fees for this parish? Well, Sam argues the matter again, but in the end he pays up.

Though, says he, I'd a notion of travelling were costly afore this, but darn me, you've got to be dead afore you sizes up. I've heard as a man can't take nothing out of this world, but blessed if I ever got the grip of that text till I travelled with Spain. well sir pretty soon the same thing happened again and to shorten the yarn every time they got into a new parish and pulled up

he even walked a chap with a telegram and asked for burying fees luckily there was money to pay on for the Commodore had left a brave it's sum for travelling and expenses and by and by Sam begins to take a sort of pride in pulling out his purse talk about funeral says he

I reckon this is something like Admiral Nelson Why Admiral Nelson didn't cost us "'and you ain't but a Commodore,' says he. "'Devil fly away with thee, master. "'But so long as the coin lasts, Sam won't cry, woe'er.' "'The words weren't fairly out of his mouth, sir, "'when the train draws up and in steps another man.

"'He comes in so quiet that Sam didn't see him at first, "'but when he turned round there was a man standing and staring at him. "'It was a strange-looking party, dressed in black, "'a better most body-like. "'Oh, good evening,' says Sam. "'Good evening,' says the man in black. and nods towards the chest. I was deceased.

Getting a bit costly, answered Sam, but doing pretty well, considering. You're wanting more fees, I reckon. And with that, he dives his hand into his truzy pocket. I don't want no fees, says the man. Sam has knocked upon him eat with this. Well, then you're the first man I've met in Spain as doesn't, he says. That ain't unlikely, says the man.

And Sam noticed for the first time that he'd been in speaking English all along. "'I be a-travelling same as you,' he adds. "'You'll excuse me, sir, but this compartment is reserved.' "'That's a pity,' says the stranger, "'cause the strains are started.' "'So twas. "'Sam hadn't noticed it, but they was moving on. "'Howers, however, he determined to make the best of it,

"'so he ups and says, polite like. "'Terrible odd weather this ain't it, sir?' "'Somehow, it seemed to Sam, "'as if it had got otter since the stranger had gohamed in. "'I don't feel so mighty hot,' says the man. "'But there I've been a good deal in odd countries.' "'I was deceased taking this journey,' says he. "'He ain't complaining.

"'Then in life he weren't a complaining sort.' "'Oh, sir, but a man must be over-nice, "'if a funeral like this don't satisfy him. "'Phew, but tis awful.' "'What's awful?' "'The eat,' answered Sam, mopping his forehead. "'But I suppose you're a traveller and accustomed to eat.' "'Why, yes,' says the other.

I do travel to pertinent parcel to and throw upon the earth. Few folks travel more than me. Well, it kept getting otter and otter, and Sam cussed and mobbed and mopped and cussed, and all the time the stranger were cool and easy. He kept asking too about the old Commodore and his past life, and appeared to take interest in Sam, and altogether seemed a proper gentleman.

And all the time it kept getting otter and otter, till Sam was fenn in running to waste with sweating. At last he pops his head out the world, windy for fresh air and cries out, "'Allowa, there's a station.' Well, the train pulls up, and Sam says to the stranger, "'Looking here, will you mind keeping your eye

upon the old man while I runs out to get a drink? I reckon I know thirst afore this, he says, but I were mistook.' The stranger was very willing, and away Sam goes. He went away more than a minute, but when he comes back and takes a look at the platform, my sir, there weren't no trace of the train to be seen, not a vestment. You see, they don't blow no whistle in Spain when the train goes.

And there was poor Sam left stranded. Well, he telegraphs, of course, to the next station, and in less than an hour back comes an answer to say as they searched the train when he stopped, and there weren't no corpse there, nor chess, nor nothing. And if you believe me, sir, concluded Caleb, bending forward and touching his master's knee, the old common-law had never been found from that day to this. It almost broke Sam's and as he said to me one time, "'For all I knows, it was the devil. "'For all I knows, the old master

"'be travelling round Spain to this day.' "'But if so,' says he, "'I reckon by this time he's like Paddy Ward's pig, "'no lavender.' "'That's a very curious tale,' said Mr. Fogo, "'as Caleb lent back in the window-seat "'and awaited its effect. "'Ah, it is so true, sir, as I'm here,'

"'or so Sam used to say. "'And the moral goes again talking lightly "'I what a man don't understand.' He added reflectively. But foreboding is so bad as witchcraft, and tis more likely they won't come to-night. But if they does, it is only fair to ask one who they be

three times before a fire-in. What's fair for man is fair— He broke off and clutched his master by the arm. Look, sir, look! About the deck of the old schooner, a shaft of light was dancing fitfully, now here, now there, up and down, and all without visible source of guidance.

The two watchers leapt to their feet and peered out of the window. The strange brilliance flickered to and fro, falling even on the further bank, and threading with a line of yellow the silver grey of the moonlight. Then it ceased suddenly. Caleb and his master waited breathlessly. Half a minute passed without further sign, and they heard a light splash or two, and Mr Fogo pointed frantically at the line of the moon's reflection on the creek.

There, look, the boat! "'Keynep whipped the blunderbuss up to his shoulder and shouted, "'UBoo-Bee! Donny, here goes! "'One, two, three, all to once!' "'He pulled the trigger. "'A tongue of flame left forth and burst upon the night with a terrific explosion, "'and as Caleb fell backwards with a shock, "'the clumsy engine slipped from his fingers

"'and fell with a clatter upon Mr. Fogo's in-step. "'When the pair recovered and looked forth again, "'the echoes had died away, "'and once more the night, was tranquil. End of chapter 19. Chapter 20 of The Astonishing History of Troy Town by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch. This Librevox recording is in the public domain.

Recording by Simon Evers. Chapter 20, how certain characters found themselves at dead of night upon the five lanes road. Panting, slipping with aching sides but terror at his heels, Sam Buzzer tore up the hill. Lights danced before him, imaginary voices shouted after, but he never advanced behind. The portmanteau was monstrously heavy,

and more than once he almost dropped it, but it was tightly packed apparently, for nothing shook inside it. Only the handles creaked in his grasp. He gained the top, shifted the load to his left hand, and raced down the other side of the hill. How he reached the bottom he cannot clearly call to mind,

but he dug his heels well into the turf and arrived without a fall. At the foot of the slope a wire fence had to be crossed, next the railway line, then across the embankment another fence which kept a shred of his clothing. A meadow followed, and then he dropped over the hedge into the high road. Here he stopped, set down the portmanteau and looked about him. All was quiet. So vivid was the moonlight that looking down the road

he could mark every bush, every tuft of grass almost, on the illumined side. Not a soul was in sight. The night was warm and his flight had heated him intolerably. He felt for his handkerchief to mop his brow, but snatched his hand away. His coat was burning. It was the lantern. Like a fool he had forgotten to blow it out, and an abondomal smell of oil and burning cloth now arose from his pocket. He stifled the smouldering fire, pulled out the lantern, and looked at his watch. It wanted twenty minutes to eleven. He had plenty of time. So, having extinguished the lantern and bestowed it in another pocket, he caught up his burden

and began to walk up the road at a leisurely pace. His terrors had cooled, but nevertheless he wished himself well out of the scrape. The report of the gun still rang in his ears, and in fancy he could hear again the buzz of that bullet by his ear. More than once a shadow lying across the white road gave him a twinge of fear, and when a placid cow poked its nose over the hedge above him and loed confidentially, he leapt almost out of his skin. The task before him too gave him no small anxiety. The directions in the letter were plain enough,

not so the intention of Mrs. Goodman Sandys. Did she mean him to elope with her? He did not care to face the question. The Admiral, though an indulgent father, was not extravagant, and Sam had but seven and sixpence in his pocket. This was an excellent sum for long whist at threepenny points, but would hardly defray the cost of an elopement. Besides, he did not want to elope.

No words of mine will repay you. Now he came to consider those words wore an awkward look. Good heavens! He had a mind to drop the pormantor and run home. What had he done to be so tempted? And why had these people ever come to Troy? Ah, Sam, that was the question we should have asked ourselves months ago. Some time before at a concert in the town hall,

I remember that Mr. Moggins sang the line, too late the balm when the heart is broke and a trojan voice at the back assented adorn sight why have we been denied that perspicacity now so with a heavy burden and heavier conscience both of mrs goodwin sandys packing he trudged forward kicking up clouds of dust that sparkled in the moonlight presently this scent grew more gradual the hedges lower and over their tops he could feel the upland air breathing coolly from the sea and now the sign-post hove in sight and the cross-roads stretching whitely into distance. If we take the town of Troy as a base, lying north and south, this sign-post forms the apex of a triangle which has two high roads for its remaining sides, the one road entering Troy from the north by the hill which Sam had just ascended, the other running southwards and ending with a steep declivity at no great distance from the bower. It was by this southern road, of course, that Mrs. Gubin's Andes would come. sam looked along it but all as yet was silent he pulled out his watch again and finding that he had still twenty minutes to spare set down his load at the foot of the sign-post and began to walk to and fro

so gloomy were his reflections that to soothe his nerves he pulled out a cigar lit it and then for lack of anything better to do rekindled his lantern and resumed his walk the cigar was barely half-smoked when he heard a noise in the distance Yes, there was no doubt. It was the sound of horses. Sam caught up the portmanteau and stared down the highway. For a full minute he listened to the advancing clatter, and presently, around an angle of the road, a chase and pair broke into view, and came up at a gallop. Sam advanced a step or two. A white handkerchief was thrust out at the window, and the driver pulled up suddenly. Then the face of Mrs. Goodwin Sandys looked anxiously out. "'Ah, you are there!' she exclaimed with a little cry. I have relief. I have been so afraid. Have you got it?' In the moonlight, and that pretty air of

timidity on her face, she was more ravishing than ever. Her voice called as her sirens. Her eyes drew Sam irresistibly. In a second all his fears, doubts, scruples were flung to the wings. He held up the portmanteau and advanced to the carriage door. "'Here it is, Geraldine.' "'Oh, thanks, thanks. How can I show my thanks?' The perfume of her hair floated out upon the night with the music of her tone until they both fairly intoxicated him. He opened the door of the chase. Where shall I stow it? he asked. Here, opposite me, be very careful of it.

In the darkness he saw a huge bundle of rugs piled by Geraldine's side. Where am I to sit? he asked, as he bestowed the portmanteau carefully. He looked up into her face. The loveliest smile rested on him for one instant from those incommelier. comparable eyes. She did not answer, but held out her hand with the grace of a maiden confessing her first passion. He seized the unloved fingers and kissed them. Geraldine? At this moment a low chuckle issued from the bundle of rugs. Sam dropped the hand and started back as if stung. A hateful thoughts flashed upon him. Mockridge, but no! He seized his lantern

and turned the slide, a stream of light shot into the corner of the chase and revealed, the bland face of Mr. Goodwin Sandys. There was an instant of blank dismay. Then, with a peal of laughter, Geraldine sank back among the cushions. "'Good night,' said the Honourable Frederick, with grim affability. Then popping his head out of the further window, "'Drive on, John!' The post-boy cracked his whip, the horses sprang forward,

and Sam, with that pitiless laugh still pealing in his ears, was left standing on the high road. In the tumult of the moment, beyond a wild sense of injustice, it is my belief that his brain accomplished little. He stared dullly after the retreating chase, until it disappeared in the direction of five lanes, and then he groaned out loud. There was a patch of turf, now heavy with dew, beside the signpost. Upon this he sat down, and with his elbows on his knees, and head between his hands,

strove to still the giddy whirl in his brain. and as his folly in its bitterness found him out, the poor fool rocked himself and cursed the day when he was born. If anyone yet doubt that Mr. Moggitch was an inspired singer, let him turn to that sublime aspiration, sophronia, a tragedy. Did me be criminal, but never weak, for weaklings wear the stunted form of sin without its brave apparel? And considered Sam Buzzer as he writhed beneath the signpost. Pat, pat, pat. It was the muffled sound of footsteps on the dusty road. He looked up.

A dark figure, the figure of a woman, was approaching, its air of timorous alertness and its tendencies to seek the shadow of the hedgerow gave him some confidence. He rose and stepped forward into the broad moonlight. The woman gave a short gasp and came to a halt, shrinking back against the hedge. Something in our outline struck sharply on Sam's sense, though with a flash of doubt and wonder. She carried a small handbag and wore a thick veil over her face.

"'Who are you?' he asked gently. "'Don't be afraid.' The woman made no answer, and he cowered more closely against the hedge, and he heard her breath coming hard and fast. Once more, and for the third time that night, Sam pulled at the slide of his lantern. "'Mother!' "'Oh, Sam, Sam, don't betray me. "'I'll go back. Indeed I'll go back.'

"'In heaven's name, Mother, what are you doing here?' The retort was obvious, but Mrs. Buzzard merely cried, "'Dear Sam, have pity on me, and take me back. I'll go quietly, quite quietly.' The idea of his mother, who weighed eighteen stone, if an ounce, resisting with kicks and struggles, might have caused Sam some amusement, but his brain was over-cried it already. "'It's a judgment,' she went on incoherently ringing her hand. and I thought I had planned it so cleverly. I dressed up his double base, Sam, and put it in the bed.

Oh, I am a wicked woman, and pinned a note to the pincushion to say he had driven me to it, throwing the breakfast things over the key's door, real worse to Sam, and marked at the bottom of each piece, and a carriage from the five-lane's hotel to meet me at twelve o'clock. But I'd rather go home, Sam. I've been longing all the way to go back. It's been haunting me that double-base all the time, with my nightcap, too, the one with the real lace on the head of it. Take me home, Sam. I'm a wicked woman.

Sam, after all, was a Trojan, and I therefore liked to record his graces. He drew his mother's arm within his, with much tenderness, kissed her, and began to lead her homewards quietly and without question. But the poor cell could not be silent, and so very soon the whole story came out. At the mention of Mrs. Goodwin-Sandis, Sam shut his teeth sharply. "'I shall never be able to face her, Sam.' "'I don't think you need trouble about that, Mother,' he answered grimly. "'But I do. It was she.'

But at this moment, from the hedge, a few yards in front, they issued a hollow groan. They halted and questioned each other with frightened eyes. "'Giraldine!' wailed the voice. "'Cruel perjured, Geraldine!' "'He was going on just like this,' Mr. Misty's buzzer, "'When I came along, I shut my eyes and ran past as hard as I could, "'but my head was so full of voices and cries that I didn't know if it was real, "'only my fancy.'

"'Geraldine,' continued the voice, "'Oh, dig my grave, my shroud prepare, for she was false as she was fair. "'Deraldine, my Geraldine!' "'Moggredge by all that's holy,' cried Sam. "'It was, even so. "'They advanced a few yards, and to the right of the road, a gate they saw him. The poet reclined limply against the hedge, with his head propped upon a carpet-bag, gazed dofully into the moon's face. "'Thou bids me,' he began again,

"'Thou bids me think no more about thee, but tell me what is life without thee? A scentless flower, ablighted!' At the sound of their footsteps he looked round, stared blankly into Sam's face, and then, snatching up the carpet-bag, leapt to his feet, and tore down the road as fast as he could go. Sam paused. They reached the brow of the steeper's descent where the road takes a sudden determination and plunges abruptly into the valley. Below the roofs of the little town lay white and sparkling

and straight from a wreath of vapour the graceful tower of St. Siforian leapt into the clearer heaven. Beyond, a network of lights glimmered like fireflies from the vessels at anchor in the harbour. The pen-poodle hill on the farther shore wore a tranquil halo. and to the right outside the harbour's mouth the grey sea was laced with silver did you ever see anything more lovely mrs buzzer murmured the words with no desire to be answered it was the old trojan formula and there was peace in the sound of it do you know she cried turning to sam we were very happy before these people came we shall never be the same again never sam i feel as if our innocence had ended oh i am a wicked woman look below sam dear

"'I've never thought of it before, "'but how sweet it would have been "'to have enclosed the old town in a ring-fence "'and lived our days in quiet. "'It is too late now. "'More will come, and they will build and alter, "'and no one will be able to stop it. "'Even if these people should go,

"'it will never be the same again. "'Oh, I am a sinful woman!' "'Sam looked at his mother. "'Something familiar, but hitherto half-comprehended, "'spoked to him in her words. "'He drew her arm once more within his own, and they descended the hill together. Steenland-like ghosts into the front hall of No. 2 Alma Villas, they were startled to

perceive the dining-room door ajar and a light shining out into the passage. Grieving forward on tiptoe, they peeped in. Beside the table, and with his back towards them, sat the admiral in his dressing-gown. His right hand grasped the throat of the double base, on the top of which nodded Mrs. Buzzer's nightcap. His left fumbled with a large miniature that lay on the table before him, a portrait of Mrs. Buzzer taken in the days when she was still Emily Rogers and the bell of Portsmouth. And from this to the instrument and back again, the Admiral's gaze wandered, as if painfully comparing the likeness. Hornaby? This was the Admiral's Christian name. "'Emily!' He turned and stared at her stupidly. The look was pitiful. She

flung herself before him. "'Forgive me, Hallaby. I never thought. I mean it was all a practical joke,' suggested Sam. "'No, no, I meant to go, but I have come back. "'Hawleby, can you forgive me?' He raised her up and drew her towards him very tenderly. "'I thought it had killed me,' he muttered hoarsely. "'Emily, I have treated you badly.'

Sam discreetly withdrew. End of Chapter 20 Chapter 21 of the astonishing history of Troy Town by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch This Librivox recording is in the public domain Recording by Simon Evers Chapter 21 That a very little tea may suffice to elevate a man Next morning Mr Fogo was aroused from sleep

Byrtle of breakfast cups And the voice of Caleb singing below Or ambled is a fine town with ships in the bay And I wish me out I was only there today I wish me out I was far away from here Sitting in my parlour and talking to my dear This was Caleb's signal for his master to rise And he would pipe out his old sea staves

As long as Mr Foco cared to listen Often of an evening the two would sit by the hour Caleb trolling lustily with red cheeks on his master beat time with his pipe-stem, and joined feebly in the chorus, Then tis home, dearie home, or tis home I want to be, My torpses-s-alls are hoisted, and I must out to sea, Then tis home, dearie, home. Mr Foga arose and looked forth at the window.

The morning was perfect, the air fresh with dew and the scent of awakening roses. Across the creek the old howl lay as peacefully as ever. I would explore it this very morning, thought Mr Fogo to himself. The resolve was still strong as he descended to breakfast. Caleb was still singing, Oh, if it be a lass, she shall wear a golden ring, and if it be a lad he shall live to save her king.

With his buckles and his beutes and his little jacket blue, he shall walk the quarter-deck as his daddy used to do, and his home. "'A morning, sir, and asking your pardon for seeing your Sunday, I'll be feeling out of it,' as Grace said to her shield when it rubbed her in the cough mixture amid a swallow of a lineament. Do you mean after the ghost?

Yes, sir. There's an old dead body about, so ghost it were. I were thinking, with your leave, sir, I go down to Troy to church this morning. I want to be exercised a bit after all this witchcraft. Mr Fogo wondered at this proposal to go to church for exercise, but readily granted leave. Nor was it until Caleb had departed that exercised

occurred to him as a varia lector. Left to himself Mr. Fogus spent a tranquil hour among his roses, and then, remembering his determination, unmoored his boat and prepared to satisfy his doubts. The time was low, so low that on the further side of the old wreck his paddles plunged once or twice into mud. Nor was it easy to swing himself on board, but a rusty chain helped him, and after one or two failures he stood upon deck. All was desolation. He peered down into the hold where the water lay deep and still. and peeped through a shattered deadlight into the forecastle. The water was here, too, though it had drained somewhat, owing to the depression amidsthips,

but nothing to explain the mystery. Mr. Fogo crept aft with better hopes of success, gained the poop, and peered down the companion. The light was too dim to reveal anything. Nothing daunted, he crawled down the ladder and into the captain's cabin. The first thing to catch his eye was an empty packing case with a heap of shavings and cotton wool beside it. On the side of the case was printed in blue letters,

Wapshot and Sons, Chicado, painted, Painted Compressed Tea, with care. Mr Fogo poked his nose inside it. A faint smell of tea still lingered about the wood. Next, he inspected the cupboards. Some were open and all unlocked. He went over them all.

At the end, he found himself the richer by, a watch-class, three brass buttons, one bearing of the little's peatles, and all coated with verdigree, a pair of nutcrackers, several leaves of a devotional work entitled, Where shall I Be Tomorrow, or Thoughts for Mariners? A key, an oidy rag, the cap of a telescope, an empty bottle labelled and bearing and faded ink, poison for Dick Collins when his leg is bad. On the whole this was not encouraging. Mr. Fogo was turning to abandon the search when something upon the cabin floor caught his eye. He stooped and picked it up. It was a lady's glove.

Mr. Foco turned it over in his hand. It was a dainty, six-buttoned glove of a light tan colour, and showed scarcely a trace of wear. "'This is very odd,' muttered he. "'I can hardly fancy a smuggler wearing this, still lesser ghost.' His thoughts are still running on the woman he had seen upon the deck. He advanced to the packing case again and was beginning absently to kick aside the heap of shavings of cotton wool when his foot encountered some hard object. He bent down and drew it forth. It was a small tin case or canister of oblong shape and measured some four inches by two. It was perhaps two inches in depth. On the cover was a label, and on the label the legend, Wop-Shops Patent Compressed Tea. Beware of imitations. The lid was

lightly soldered, and the canister remarkably heavy. Mr. Fogo pulled out his pocket-knife, sat down on the edge of the packing case, and began to open his prize. He broke on one blade in trying to unfasten the solder, and was beginning with the second, when it occurred to him to cut through the soft metal of the canister. In a few minutes he had worked a considerable hole in the lid. "'Bed any curious teth is,' remarked Mr. Fogo. It's a deal more like putty, or "'Californian honey!' The light in the cabin was faint. He determined to carry the canister on deck

and examine it in the sunlight. He picked his way up the ladder and was just emerging from the hatch when the sudden glare of the sun caused him to blink and then sneeze. He caught his toe on the last step, stumbled, dropped his prize, and fell forward onto the deck.

The canister struck the step, jolted twice, plunged to the bottom with a smart thud. There was a flash of jagged flame, a loud roar, a heave and crash of river timbers, and the old howl had passed from decay to annihilation. This would seem a convenient moment for regulating our watches, which have gained considerably, and putting back the hands to half-past ten, at which hour the bells of St. Siforians, Troy, began to summon the town to worship. A few minutes later, the town sadded forth in pairs and a decorous excitement.

It was dying to see Mrs. Gubin's hand his costume, and marched to churchwards in haste. But today it halted for the most part at the church porch and went no further. Who first whispered the news is disputed. It is conjected that Mrs. Tripp, whose cow supplied the bower with milk, learned the facts from the buttoned youth when she paid her professional call at 7.30bam, but none knew for certain. I might here paint Mrs. Tripp full of tongues and dress her up as rumour after the best epic models, but in saying that she had the usual number of lips and hands that her parents were

respectable, and that she never shrieked from a lofty tower in her life, only do her the barest justice. This much is sure, that among the knot of loungers at the church gate, such sentences as the following passed from mouth to mouth. Is it true, do you think? That and carriage and pair from five lanes last night, not a word said. My, if all this town's been pertly robbed, that's a true word. Then this happened. The trod. The Trojan in Broughtcloth heard as he passed the words of the Trojan in Corduroy, inquired, shook his head, and walked on, doubted, turned back to see more, consulted his wife, and decided to go and see.

The consequence was that at ten minutes to eleven, the stream of Church-Curors descending along the parade was met by another stream rolling towards the Bower and every moment gathering volume. As there was no place of worship in this direction, a conference followed the confluence. The churchgoers turned, joined the larger stream, and the whole flood poured uphill. Outside the bower, they halted for a moment. One traceman, her furniture dealer, bolder than the rest, advanced to the front door, and knocked.

The boy in buttons answered with a white face. In a moment, the truth was out. The whisper among the crowd grew to a murmur, the murmur to a roar. In vain the church bell told out the single note that summons. the parson. The dismay of the cheated town waxed to hot indignation. Even Miss Limpony, issuing from her front door, heard the news, and returned in a stupor to watch manners from her bedroom window. She had not missed a morning service for fourteen years. Then, as if by one impulse, passion gave way to action. Like an invading army, the townspeople poured in at the gate, trampling the turf and

crushing the flowerbeds. They forced the front door, as the page fled to hide in the cellar, pushed into the hall, swarmed into the drawing-room, upstairs, all over the house. Only in the bedrooms were their signs of a hasty flight, but they were enough. The strangers had decamped. There was a pause of indecision, but for no long time. Sunday or no Sunday! screamed the colliery cop-holsterer. Every stick of mine will I take off this morning? and flinging open the French window of the drawing-room,

caught up an armchair and began to drag it towards the lawn. A cheer followed. The Trojan blood was up. It was the signal for a general sack. Flinging off his sunday coat, each deluded tradesman seized upon his property or ransacked the house until he found it. The ironmonger caught up his fire-arms, the carpenter pulled down his shelves, the grocer dived into the pantry and emerged with tea and candles. It is said that the coal merchant, who was a dandy, procured a sack, and with his own hand emptied the coal-cellar within half an hour. As each fresh article was confiscated, the crowd cheered anew. Never was such a scene in Troy. Even the local aristocracy, the Camille foe, mingled with the throng and watched the havoc

as curiously as their neighbours. No member of the Buzzer family was there, nor Mr. Moggridge, but few others did Miss Limpony fail to perceive as she sat with hands hanging limply, and mourned to Lavinia. What disgrace! What a lasting blemish upon our society! party. There goes Hancock with the music-stool, to run away just before quarter-day, and they so refined to all appearance. My dear, they will have the house down. Papa told me once that to join the Bristol ruts. I declare there's the doctor looking on. I wonder how he can.'

And the poor lady hid her face in her hands. By half-past twelve, all was over, and the bar stripped of every article of furniture or consumption for which the money was owing. And yet, to the honour of Troy, no single theft or act of wanted destruction was perpetrated. Save for the trampled flowers and marks of dusty boots upon the carpets, the house was left as it stood on the day when Mr. Mrs. Goodman Sandys arrived. It should be mentioned, perhaps, that Seth Udi's little boy was detected with his fist in a jar of moist sugar, but Mrs. Udi, he was remarked, was a pen-poodle woman. The sack was accomplished. and the crowd, heated but conscious of a duty done, was returning with the spoil,

when towards the north a white glare leapt into the heaven, and as suddenly vanished. In a moment or so a dull roar followed, and the earth shuddered underfoot. Troy trembled. It remembered its neglected Sabbath, and trembled again. End of Chapter 21. Chapter 22 of the astonishing history of Troy Town by Sir Arthur Thomas. Quillacuch. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Simon Evers. Chapter 22, in which several attempts are made to put a period to this history. The congregation at Sincifhorians on this memorable Sunday morning numbered nine persons.

Possibly this was the reason why, against all precedent, the Vicar's sermon terminated at thirdly. Woman has been stated so often, and by such capable observers, to be more inquisitive than man, that I will content myself with establishing an exception. Of these nine persons, five were women, and the remainder held that the salaried posts of organist, organ-blower, pew-opener, and parish clerk. Of the women, one was Tamsin dear love. It is noteworthy that Caleb spent his morning at the Bower. Service was over, and Tamsin was rowing homewards. She was alone, for Troy was not the dear-loves' parish, and the twins attended their own church, being indeed a church wardens.

As she pulled quietly upwards, a shade of thought rested on her pretty face. I do not know of what she was thinking, and may add that if I did, I should not tell you, I would as leave for Robert Church. She had passed the jetties and was pulling her left paddle to turn the corner off Kit's house, when a flash crossed the heaven from behind her, and in an instant followed that rending explosion, which at different distances, has been twice presented. to the reader, and with pardonable pride, for the story of Troy has now a catastrophe as well as episodes, and is vindicated as a theme. As soon as the throbbing of the atmosphere and the buzzing

in her ears began to die away, two swift thoughts crossed her brain. Odd enough, the first was for the safety of Kit's house. She glanced over her shoulder. A mere film of smoke hung over the creek, and to the right of this she saw the house standing seemingly unharmed. Then came the second thought. If the explosion came from the creek, the light smoke hung, there would be a wave. She half turned on the fort and looked intently. Yes, it was curling towards her, widening from the creek's mouth and arching with a hateful crest. On it came a dark and glossy wall, and she knew that if it broke or caught her boat in the least a slant,

she must be either swamped or overset. With a sound that was half a sob and half a prayer, she grasped her paddles, and still looking over her shoulder gently moved the boat's nose to face it. A moment, and it rose above her, hissing death. Another, and the boat was caught high in the air, tottered on the summit, and then with a shiver shot swiftly down into the trough beyond,

safe. Her second wave followed, and a third, but with less peril. She was still tossed, but as she saw that mass of water hurled upon the shore and sweeping angrily with broken force towards the harbour, she knew that she could thank heaven for her escape. She pulled towards the creek.

Already the air was clear, but as she glanced again, her eye missed something familiar. And then it struck her that the old schooner had gone. At that instant, as if in confirmation, a shattered board bumped against the boat's side, and noticed that far and near the water was strewn with such fragments. She was pausing for a second to consider when she caught sight of a black object lying on the mud beside the shore.

and with a short cry fell to rowing with all her strength. She guided the boat as nearly up to it as the mud allowed, and then, catching up her skirts, jumped into the ooze and waded. It was Mr. Fogo, but whether dead or alive she could not say. Down on the mud she knelt, and turning him gently over, looked into his face. He was streaked with slime and powdered with a yellowish flake as of sand. His locks were singed most pitifully. She started up, took him by the shoulders,

and tried to drag him up to the firm of. shingle. Mr. Fogo opened his eyes and shut them again feebly. "'Not dead! Oh, thank heaven you are not dead!' The sob she dropped again beside him, and brushed the flaked powder from his eyelashes. He opened his eyes again. "'Would you mind speaking up? I think I am a little deaf.' "'I thought you were dead!' she cried, and a louder tone. "'No, I'm not dead. Oh, no, decidedly I'm not dead. It was the tea I

fancy?' He added this apologetically, much as some gentleman are warned to plead, the salmon. Apparently believing the explanation sufficient, he shut his eyes again, and seemed inclined to go to sleep. "'The tea?' questioned Tams in, shafing his hands. "'Or the honey, perhaps, or the putty,' he answered dryly, then opening his eyes and sitting up with a start. "'Upon my soul, I don't know which—it called itself tea, but about—' to admit. He was nodding again.

Utterly perplexed, Tamsin lent back to regard him. Can you walk if you lean on my arm? Walk. Oh, yes, I can walk. Why not? But it seemed that he was mistaken. For an attempting to start, he groped about for a bit, and then sat down suddenly. Tamsin helped him to his feet. The reader has long ago guessed the cause of the catastrophe.

It was dynamite, conspirators. dynamite and therefore ill-prepared. Now dynamite when it explodes acts we are told with local partiality, and at this term we may remark that it is given as an explanation by men of science without being a scientific explanation, but it is in fact a metaphysical explanation and therefore no explanation at all of the astonishing fact that dynamite hits one thing and does not hit another. In the case of Mr Fogo, his top hat had vanished, but the brim still clung to his. his head like a halo. His spectacles and one boot had gone, the other boot was unlaced. His coat was split up the back and his collar had broken away, but his tie was barely disarranged.

He has since declared that he left the schooner with two in sixpence in his trouser pocket and came ashore with two in a penny, but this was in an account delivered to a scientific audience and is thought to have been a joke. From head to foot he was bespeered with black mud, for the wrong. For the wrongful, he was bespeered to Rotten Stern must have parted and fallen with the first touch of the explosion, so that the wave caught him as he toppled out and flung him at once upon the shadows. But Tamsin's Sunday frock was already ruined. She made him rest his hand on her shoulder, and so, with one arm thrown round him for steadiness,

led him down the beach, and with infinite difficulty got him across the mud and into the boat. She managed to push off at last, and pooled rapidly across for Kit's house. Hitherto Mr. Fogo's condition has slightly resembled. a drunken stupor. But now he shivered violently and looked about him. Where am I? Safe and sound, I hope. He passed his hand over his eyes and shivered again. I remember something blew up, did it not? The canister, I think. She nodded encouragingly. Where did you come from? He asked abruptly. From church. Oh, from church. Do you know, I'm very loud to see you. I am indeed. I am indeed. I am.

I hope you'll come often now that—' "'Excuse me,' he broke off with a weak smile. "'But I fancy I'm talking nonsense.' She nodded again. "'I'm aching all over,' he added with a shiver. She pulled the boat up to the little key. "'Now I want to where Caleb is,' she said to herself, as she stood up and looked around.

"'But he's like most men, always in the way or out of the way?' She turned suddenly with a white face. "'Kaleb's not with you.' To her hearty relief, Mr. Fogelago, understood the question and shook his head. She helped him ashore. Though he walked with pain, he made an obvious effort to lighten his weight on her shoulder, and this returning bashfulness was a good sign, she thought. They passed slowly up the steps. At the top he acknowledged her help with a grateful look, but Nyeth spoke till he was seated in a chair by the kitchen fireplace.

Then she withdrew her attention for a moment to glance round upon the clumsy appliances of masculine untidiness of the place. She noticed that fully half the window panes had been shattered by the explosion, but otherwise the house had barely suffered. Is there any brandy or whiskey in the house? He shook his head. If you wanted to drink, he began,

but stopped hastily and added, I beg your pardon. Is there any tea? He pointed to the cupboard, but dropped his arm with a groan. She was at his side in a moment. Now listen to me. You're not just stir or something.

speak, but only to nod of shaky home when I ask her question. Do you understand? He nodded. That's right. She stepped to the cupboard, produced the tea in a box of matches, then, stooping down, rekindled the fire with the help of some sticks which she found in the oven and put the kettle on the flame. This done, she sought and found the tea things. Milk? She asked. He nodded towards a blue jug on the mantel shelf. Milk on the mantel shelf? Why, it's like a man. But at this point the kettle began to boil. She filled the teapot and replaced the kettle on the hob.

As she turned, she was aware of a clearer look in Mr. Fogo's eyes. She smiled and nodded. You're better. And much. I can remember it all after a fashion. Did I talk nonsense? A little. She smiled again. His eyes followed her as she moved about the kitchen.

Presently he said, "'You are very good to me. "'I think I am.' "'Tamsin?' She turned suddenly to the table and caught up the teapot. "'Do you know,' she asked, "'the tea is worthless if it stands for more than five minutes?' She filled a cup and gave it to him with a hand that trembled slightly.

He sipped and scalded his lip. "'Tamson? "'My name is dear love,' she said shortly, "'and you are spelling the tea?' "'There was silence for a minute or so.' Mr. Fogo stirred his tea abstractedly. Tamsin, whose shoes were soaked, put one foot upon the fender, and bent her gaze upon the fire. "'I would give something,' observed Mr. Fogo suddenly, in desperate reverie,

"'to know how other people manage it. It was moon-night when I proposed to Geraldine. I began by squeezing her hand, if I remember—' He looked up, and found her regarding him with eyes ablaze. But luckily at this moment of the moment of the moment of the room, The door opened, and Caleb appeared. He was evidently much agitated, but at sight of Tamsin and the woeful figure in the armchair, he halted on the threshold and stared dumbly. "'I think,' said Tamsin, "'you better put your mouth at the bed.' "'Murty upon us, what's been doing?'

Briefly, she told as much as she knew. With each successive sentence, Caleb's mouth and eyes opened wider. "'And now she ended, as Peter and Paul have been waiting for their dinner this hour of hour, I'll be going. Don't trouble to come with me. Put attention to your master. Good morning, sir. She dropped him a low curtsey, and was gone. He started up. Be going, sir. Sit down. You're not fit to stir. But Mr. Foga had passed him, and was out of the room in a moment. In spite of the pain that racked every limb, he overtook Tams in the porch. What are you doing? She cried. Go back to bed. As she faced him, he could see that her eyes were full of angry tears. The sight checked him.

"'It's of no consequence,' he stammered. "'I was going to ask you to be my wife.' For answer, she turned on her heel and walked resolutely down the steps. Mr. Fogo stood and watched her until she disappeared, and then crawled painfully back into the house. "'Now, sir,' said Caleb, as he led his master to bed, warning it is. This day-month I goes, unless—' "'Unless what, Caleb?'

"'Well, sir, sir, I reckon there'll be only one way out it, as the cat said by the sausage was seen, and that is to marry Tams in Dalove. My dear Caleb, wrote Mr. Fago, only wish I could, but I will try again tomorrow. End of Chapter 22. Chapter 23 of the astonishing history of Troy Town by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Simon Evers. Chapter 23

How One Lover Took Leave of His Wits And Two came to their senses But Mr Fogo was not to try again on the morrow For Caleb, stealing up in the grey dawn To assure himself that his master was comfortably asleep found him tossing in a high fever And rode down to Troy for dear life and the doctor

Returning he found that the fever had become delirium Fogo indeed was sitting up in bed and rattling off proposals of marriage at the rate of some six a minute, without break or pause. He was very red and earnest, rolled his eyes most strangely, and wandered in his address from Tamsin to Geraldine and back again, with a vehement that gravelled all logic. "'Lord a mercy!' cried Caleb at last. "'Do ye hush, that's a dear.

"'Tis sinful all these gallons of true affection are running to waste. "'You'm too loving by half,' as Sand said when his wife got hug by a bear. "'What do ye think, sir?' The last sentence was addressed to the little doctor, who, after staring at the patient for some minutes without noticeable result, nodded his head, announced that the fever must run its course, and promised to send a capable nurse up to Kit's house without delay. "'Begging your pardon, doctor,' interposed Caleb with firmness, "'but I've got me orders.'

"'Hah? "'I've got me orders. "'Please, God, and with plenty of doctors trade,' I'll have to pull it around. "'But nobody in a-asties-marsher, except you and me, least for you, he's no woman kind. This is nonsensical. Nonsensical, do he say? Look, ye, doctor, do you think I trust a woman up here with master and making

office of marriage sixteen to the dozen? Why, bless you, sir, he'd be down and have the band's quarter for a night, and master not fict to shade his head, much less say as the prayer-book orders, are amounts men all. That's a woman, doctor, and if any other gentile sex set foot on Kit's Beach, I'll stoner. The doctor gave way in the end. and withdrew, promising another visit before evening. When he returned, however, at five in the afternoon,

he found, with some wonder, a woman quietly installed in the sick-room. It happened thus. Barely an hour after the doctor's departure, Caleb, sitting at his master's bedside, heard footsteps on the gravel walk and looked out of the window. Hest, he called softly, and Peter Dear Love, followed by Paul, stepped round the angle of the house into sight. The twins bore a look of the gravest perplexity and a large market basket. "'Hallower,' said Caleb, "'what's up?'

The pair looked at each other. At length, Peter began with a serious face and unwonted formality of tone. "'Is Mr. Fogelwyn?' "'Why, yes,' was Caleb aloud. "'He's inside.' "'We're wishing to a request of the pleasure.' Here Peter looked at Paul, who nodded. "'An interval of five minutes.

"'In interview,' created Paul. I miss doubt, sounded his brother that you are wrong, Paul. I remember the expression upon the programme or a Slater and Entertainment, and there he said an interval, an interval or five minutes. At Seoul, broke in Caleb from above with fine irony, perhaps you wouldn't mind handing up your visiting cards and doing the thing proper. At present, master's busy. Busy?

Yes, I'm making proposal or marriage, which is a serious thing and not to be interrupted. The twins set down the bar. basket and stared at each other. Paul was the first to recover. "'If it is fully allowable to put the question, Peter and me would like to know the young lady's name. It is making bold to ask, but there's a reason.' "'Well,' said Caleb, disappearing for a moment and then poking his head forth again, "'At the present moment it is a party answering to the name of Geraldine.' A minute ago, twas, but made you be better step up and see for yourself.

"'What?' step up and see. Now Peter, said the twin, turning from Caleb to contemplate his brother, put in the case, and par be it from me to say it couldn't be, as you was paying your addresses to a young lady answering to the name of Geraldine, which you wouldn't be called that anyway, and putting in the case as you was a making off as a marriage, and a pair of twin brothers, same as you and me might be,

walked up to the front door, bumped in, before you'd well finished talking of the weather prospects, being a slow man, there was sure. Now what I want to know is, would you like it yourself? No, I shouldn't. Well, I reckon not. And that being so, goes the word. A four Peter talks about getting a wife, reckon Caleb.

You better read about Peter's wife's mother. She was sick with a fever I've heard, and so is master. If you don't believe, walk up and see, because it ain't good for a sick man to have all this palavering outside his windy. The twins stared, whispered. together, took off their boots, and softly entered the house. At the door of the sick room Caleb met them. "'Brain fever,' he whispered,

"'which is only catching for them as has brains to catch it with!' The trio stood together at the foot of the bed on which Mr. Fogo tossed and chattered. Peter and Paul looked from the sick man to their hats and back again in silence. At length the elder twin spoke. "'In the manor-behaving rum, some folks does it with cause, and others not That's all. But a regular viewer allows us there's likely a cause. You're upon the safe side, especially with Mr. Fogall. Well, for, Callie, what's the meaning of this year? Tam's in! The answer came so pat from the sick man's lips that Peter Ferry jumped.

Catoop looked up with his finger-on lip and a curious smile on his weather-tanned face. Don't leave me. Look! There are devils around me. Cold, white devils. Devils with blank faces. No features, only flesh. "'Look, Sunday, Monday, Monday, Tuesday, every day with the devil, every day in the year. "'Look, look, look!' "'Paul's soul,' whispered Paul, at his leap year, too, which makes one extra. "'Don't leave me, Tamsin, don't leave me!' The sick man's voice rose to a scream.

Kelly bent forward and tried to soothe him. The mahogany faces of the twins were blanched. They whispered apart, "'You was right, Peter.' "'A much the pity! I thought the last misleighton, the bigger fool I, "'So only yesterday I guess more was troubling her than I soiled gown and taxed her with it. "'We used to pride herself on knowing her once, afore I spoke. "'And now,' the weakly concluded with the sigh. "'Bring times in down and help me here,' said Caleb from across the room.

"'The pair started. "'That is, he went on, if she'll come. "'You are, master. "'Well, he said pretty much the same to her yesterday, so I won't be frightened. "'Leaseways, go and say you'll come in yourself to help Nuss. "'Cause if you won't hold Nuss. him alone, and if that's the case you're a quare pair of questions, as the devil said to the two black pigs.

"'That is,' hesitated Peter. "'I'd have learned so much last evening from Tamsin, though she remained loath to tell, "'and Paul agreed, as we called this morning, and tell Mr. Fogo, as twere not right for him "'to set his thoughts upon Tamsin, who isn't a lady, nor to put notions in her head, "'as'll give her a pain hereafter.' "'And that's all about it. "'And us brought a whack of vegetable produce along with us, just to show there no ill feelings. But as it turns out, neither argument nor vegetables being acceptable to a party

that's six-bill fever, I've been clean flaw for what to do. Well, now I've told ye, and I don't let the grass grow beneath your feet, because it will grow fast enough over your head some day. The twins, unable to cope with Caleb's determination, stole noiselessly out. And thus it was that, when, later in the afternoon, the little doctor returned, he found Peter and Paul in large blue aprons, busy helping downstairs, and Tamsin, bright-eyed and warm of cheek, seated by the sick man's bedside. Following morning, which the reader, should he care to calculate, will find to be Tuesday, Admiral Buzzer dropped his newspaper with the start,

and glared across the breakfast-table. "'What is it, my love?' inquired his wife. "'Nothing wrong, I hope?' "'Rong! Oh, no!' replied the Admiral grimly. "'Nothing wrong. "'Ablige me by listening to this, madam.' "'He took up the paper and read aloud. "'Another dynamite plot, a whole town deceived extraordinary proceedings,

"'escape of the suspected persons, "'the dynamite fiends still at large. "'The existence of another of these atrocious conspiracies "' aimed at the security of our public buildings "'and the safety of peaceful citizens "'has been brought to light by certain recent occurrences "'of the romantic little seaport town of Troy. "'We have reason to believe that suspicions of the police,

have been for some time aroused, and it is to their unaccountable dilettariness. We owe it that the conspirators have for the time made good their escape, and still continue to menace our lives and property. It appears that some months back a couple, giving the names of the Honourable Mr. and Mrs. Gobind Sandys, Samuel, if you cannot eat an ordinary egg without clattering the spoon in that unseemly manner, I must ask you to suspend your meal until I have finished. appeared at Troy as tenants of one of the most fashionable villa residences in that town. The elite of the neighbourhood, too easily conjoled, a little suspecting their villainous designs,

received the newcomers with out of arms and a lamentable lack of inquisitiveness. "'Well, really,' put in Mrs. Buzzard, "'I don't know what they called inquisitiveness. "'If a brass telescope—' "'Why, Sam dear, how pale you are!' "'Callownessness, we can hardly bring ourselves to save the concesses. knifence of the custom-house officials, they were allowed to land with impunity a considerable quantity of dynamite, with which on Saturday night they decamped. Their disappearance remained

unsuspected up to a late hour on Sunday morning, when the bar was visited, and, to borrow the words of the great master of prose, non-sunt-inventi. The neatness with which the escape was executed points to the disquarting conclusion that they did not want for assistance. I'll ask you to excuse me, said Sam, rising abruptly and leaving the room. A sick terror possessed his heart. Visions of the dock and the felon's cell followed him as he picked up his hat and crept into the street. Outside the morning was serene, with a promise of a broiling noon. But as far as Sam was concerned, this would have been better.

He shivered. At the corner of the street he met the local policeman, and winced. But far, far worse was it with Mr. Moggridge, to whose lodgues. his steps were bent. The poet, as Sam entered, was seated as nearly as possible on the small of his back before the breakfast table. If mental anguish could be expressed by unkempt hair and a disordered cravat, that of Mr. Moggridge was extreme, and the untasted bloater pushed aside and half-concealed by the newspaper, was full of lurid significance. Sam paused at the door. The two friends had barely spoken for more than a month. Three days ago they had all but

fault. All this, however, was forgotten now. Is that you, Sam? Come in. Then, having displayed the olive branch, the poet waved the newspaper feebly, and groaned. "'Moggridge, old man. Sam? What a pair of asses we have been!' The poet moaned and pointed to the paper. "'I know,' nodded Sam. "'Is it true, do you think?' "'What forbodes?' said Mr. Moggridge, collapsing still further. "'My heart forbodes, tis true, tis true.

"'Then deck my shroud about with rue, "'and lay beneath the dismal, pooh!' "'Broken stam, stuff and nonsense, man. "'It's bad for you, I know, but, after all, I'm the sufferer.' "'The collector of customs turned a glassy stare upon him. "'I carried the bag up to five lanes. "'I put the infernal stuff into her very hands. "'I—'

"'You?' Sam nodded desperately. "'She asked me to elope with her, to meet her at five lanes.' Mr. Morgridge staggered up to his feet and fumbled at his waistcoat pocket. "'You're mad!' he gasped. She asked me to elope with her, me to meet her at the top of Troy Hill. Look here!' He held out a crumpled letter. Sam took it, danced at it, produced an exactly similar note, and handed it to his friend.

They read each to the other's letters, sentence by sentence, and in doful antiphon. At the conclusion they looked up and met each other's gaze. whereat Mr. Mogridge smote his brow and cried, "'False! False!' "'While Sam pushed his hands deep into his trouser pockets "'and emitted a long breath, "'as though his cup being full, "'he must needs blow off the froth.

"'Do you mean to say?' he asked her for a pause, "'that you helped her to land the stuff. "'I thought it was tea, and you never examined it? "'She told me it was tea. "'Moggage, you've been given away, as the Yankees put it, "'I have been sold, which is bad, but you have been given away which is worse.' "'You are sold for love, which is pretty much the same, I take it, as being given away,' "'objected the poet testily.

"'Not at all the same mugridge as being given away with half a pound of tea.' "'End of Chapter 23.' "'Chapter 24 of The Astonishing History of Troytown by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch. "'This Librivox recording is in the public domain. recording by Simon Evers Chapter 24 Of the Best Hellebore and an experiment in the entertainment of twins

For three days Mr Fogo continued to propose On the evening of the third day The little doctor shook his head After this for about a week Mr Fogo proposed and the doctor shook his head at intervals Finally and in the middle of a sentence The patient fell into a deep slumber When he awoke it was to the conviction that he, Mr. Fogo, being a bolster,

had been robbed of his rightful stuffing by some person or persons unknown. He lay for some time pondering in this situation with a growing resentment when he was aware of someone sitting between him and the sunshine. "'Who are you?' he asked. "'I am Thames in dear love.' The remark made by Diogenes, under somewhat like circumstances, would have been ungallant. In the process of searching for a better, the sick man fell asleep again. What happened on his next return to consciousness should be given in his own words.

He told me the story last autumn. You see, he exclaimed shyly, I have not, my dear young friend, that ingenuity of phrase which I so admire in you. I protest I have not the heart to suppress this tribute. But seeing that in such a case experience counts for something, and naturally at your age you have yet to learn what it is to propose to a woman, I think I better tell you exactly what happened, the more so as it is a matter which, if, as you assure me, necessary to your chronicle, I desire to be related with accuracy. I am not, you understand, in the least reflecting on your love of truth, but, after all I did, as the obnoxious phrase has it, propose to Tamsin,

whereas you, uh-huh, did not. I am convinced, my friend meant to say, would not have had the infernal impudence, but softened the expression, being habitually careful of the feelings of others. "'When I woke again,' he went on, she was seated in the window knitting. "'I lay for a long while watching her, indeed, this is my first impression, before I made any sign. The sunshine, it was morning, fell on her head as she bent over her needles and emphasised that peculiar bloom of gold which, you may have noticed, her brown locks possess. Her lashes, too, as they drooped upon a cheek pale, as I could perceive beyond its wont, had a glimmer of the same golden tint.

Altogether, I thought her more beautiful than I ever imagined, and to this day, he added in an outburst of confidence, frequently decoy her to a seat in the sunlight that I may taste the renewal of the sensations I enjoyed that morning. Someday, perhaps, you will be better able to sympathise with this caprice. I have been lying thus for some time, luxuriously. drinking in her loveliness when her eyes lifted and met mine. And then, well, I can hardly tell you what happened then, except that I do not believe a word bespoken on either side. I suppose our eyes had told enough. Anyhow, the next thing I remember is that my dear girl's head was on my

breast, and one arm flung across the pillow that supported my head. I have a dim recollection, too of trying to smooth her hair, and finding my strength too feeble even for that. That is all, I think, except that we were ludicrously happy, of course. Tamsin, smiling with moist eyes, while I lay still and let the joy of it trickle in my veins. I'm extremely obliged you, my dear young friend, for not laughing outright at this confession. It encourages me to add, for exactness, that Tamsin kept putting her hand up to the back of her head. She explained that she felt sure her back hair was coming down. Women are curious creatures.

And let me resume. In the midst of what used to be called a love passage, the door opened, and then walked Peter Dear Love with a basin of beef tea. So quietly did he enter that the first stone mount-prints of his presence was a terrific sound, which my experience could compare with nothing unless it be hooping-cough, the whooping cough of a robust adult. This, he remarked, sitting down the tray and eyeing Tams in severely, Ain't nothing properly so-called. I do not think we made any answer to this. "'If an aim is to be found for it, taint so much nothing as goings on.' "'Your sister has promised to be my wife,' I ventured.

"'Beging your pardon, sir, but the catechism has somewhat to say to that.' "'The catechism? That station of life, and not a word about raising it, even by the use of globes, which some considers unequalled.' "'I put out my hand to cover Tamsins, and looked up into her face before I answered him with some heat. "'I won't affect it to misunderstand you. "'You mean that I am marrying beneath me?' "'He hesitated. "'There's two meanings to beneath.' "'Ah!' I cried, I'm glad you see that.'

"'He looked with me slowly and continued. "'Second point. Not so long ago you was talking of a Geraldine.' "'I'd lanced at Tams in again and comprehended. "'I have been talking,' she nodded. "'And you know it all, the whole story?' "'She nodded again, with a world of healing pity in her eyes. Then, with a swift glance at her brother, she stooped and kissed me. "'Oh,' said Peter very shortly, "'I think I best see Paul about this.'

And with that he disappeared. "'Whereupon,' concluded Mr. Fogo, "'I think I must have dropped to sleep again, "'for I remember nothing after this, at least nothing that is worth mention. "'It is quite true that Mr. Fogo dropped to sleep. "'He slept, moreover, for a considerable time, and awoke to find Caleb, seated beside. beside the bed. "'Where is Tam?' Miss Dear Love,' he asked. "'There ain't no dear love, as I know is by called Tamys. The mails was Chris and Peter and Paul, the female Tomasina, and then gone.'

"'Gone? Gone? Gone? And left we like Hawkins' Duck, we aren't mate or fellow.' "'How long?' "'Met row five ar.' There was a long silence. "'Kaleb?' "'Aye, sir.' "'How long do you think it will be before I can get about, be fit to go down "'I reckon it depends on your cell. Try and it will come,' as the doctor said,

when Bill swallowed half a crown and wanted to get up again by Lady Day, rent being due. "'Do you think a week would do it?' "'I'd better say a fortnight, sir.' "'What day is it to-day?' "'Thirty day.' "'Have I been ill for two days?' "'For a fortnight and two days?' "'Bless my soul.'

"'I'm in, sir.' "'Cadip, would you mind writing a letter for me?' Caleb had no objection, and the composition that followed may be given in full, for works have divided authorship have always possessed an interest of their own from the days of Homer, Homer and Homer downwards. On Twins, Mr Foggard's compliments to the power of you, not forgetting Miss Tomasina, and should be glad if you were all to dine with me at 7pm in the evening precisely on this day, Wednesday, 14 night. You'd be glad to hear that I am recovering fast thanks to your care and kindness,

which is his own words and gospel truth, and so no more at present from yours to command, P. Fogo Esquire, per C. Trotter. Knowing what's up with the kitchen range, you won't look for much of our dinner. The answer was brought by Paul Dear Love at the early next morning. It ran. Respected, sir.

It is thanking you for your kind and welcome letter just received, and shall be proud to accept of the invitation, in the spirit of which it is given, to please as between them that knows all about it, having difficulties at times with the beef tea which trust you will overlook we remain. Your abetient servants, Peter dear love, signed poor dear love. Tomasina has gone into Troy would have signed two. To a certain extent this was satisfactory, and Mr. Fogo endeavoured to possess his sole impatience

and recover with all speed. It was weary work at first, but as the sick man really began to mend, he found much interest in discussing with Caleb the preparations for the feast. It must not be too ambitious, Caleb. Let the fare be simple. Persicose, odie, poor apparatus, as long as it is well-cooked and neatly served. I don't know what you mean by pure apparatus, answered Caleb.

There's a flaw in the range, as you know, but it's as so clean as scrubbing and will make it. And indeed, when the evening arrived with the mellow twilight of July, and the twins with a double knock, the arrangement of the table, as well as the smell of cooking which pervaded the front hall, did Caleb all credit. The dining was bare alike of carpets and pictures, but the floor had been scoured until the boards glistened whitely,

and two red-end signs borrowed by Caleb from the British mercantar-marine served to hide certain defects in the wallpaper. Here Mr Fogo sat awaiting his guests, for the preparation of the drawing-room would have overtaxed Caleb's resources. "'Her Miss Thomas Thomas Peter and Paul did all!' Mr Fogo. Mr. Fogo arose with a flat, on his waisted cheek, held Tamsid's hand for a moment, and then, bending, kissed it with grave courtesy. She had removed her hat and cloak in the passage, and now stood before him in a plain

white frock, short-waisted and of antique make, perhaps, but little the worse for that. She wore no ornament but a red rose on her bosom, and if, as I do not believe, a shade of apprehension had troubled Mr. Fogo, he would have taken flight as she stood before him, challenging his eyes. twins. Like the Austrian army they were awfully arrayed. So stiff and shiny indeed was their apparel and such mysterious sounds did the slightest movement draw from their linen, that the beholder grew presently as uneasy as the wearer. Each wore a high stock and a collar that cut the ears. The neckcloth of Peter was crimson, of Paul vivid amber. The waistcoats of both bore floral devices in primary colours, and the hands of both were encased in gloves of white cotton.

Mr Fogo took heart of grace and bade them welcome. "'It's a warm evening,' ventured Paul, rubbing a forefinger around the inside of his collar. "'Uncommon,' responded Peter, addressing his brother. Whereupon, as if by preconcerted signal, they faced about a maid for the two most distant chairs, on the edges of which they took an uneasy rest. Peter had brought his hat into the room, and now, after gazing at it reproachfully for some moments, began to stir it away beneath him, doing violence to its brim with the air of one who does not count the cost. He was relieved by Caleb, who bore it off with a pleasant remark.

"'Now then, remember what the old lady said to make her guest's easy? I'm at home, I wish you all were.' "'Silence, Caleb,' said his master, "'I think as dinner is ready we may as well be seated at once. "'Will you take the head of the table?' he asked, turning to Tamsin. She blushed faintly and moved to her place. The twins leapt up, performed a forced march, and took the table in flank from opposite quarters. Mr. Fogo looked around. If one of you would say grace,

"'Tamson says it at home, I taught him myself,' said Peter. "'Now then, little maid, for what we're about!' She spoke the simple grace, and the company sat down, with the exception of Paul. now paul's position at table faced the fireplace and as he raised his head after grace a large text in red and blue upon the mantelshelf caught his eye and held him spellbound peace on earth and good will to all men he read excuse me sir but nothing more appropriate to the occasion can i imagine it does he credit if i may say so he dropped into his seat and taking off his gloves laid them beside his glasses peter more ceremonious retained his throughout the meal "'I am afraid,' explained their host, "'that the credit belongs to Caleb, "'who insists it upon placing the text there,

"'and as he had obtained it with considerable trouble from the vicar, "'it was used, I believe, to decorate since Sephorian's last Christmas. "'I had not the heart to deny him. "'But for what are we waiting?' "'He was answered by the appearance of Caleb, "'who marched up to Tams him with a woeful face "'and announced in a loud whisper that, "'something was up with a soup.

"'I think,' said she rising, "'if you let me help.' "'Sertainly,' said Peter in a loud tone. "'To be sure, that is—' "'Beging your pardon, sir,' he added apologetically. "'It is very good of you,' said Mr. Fogo. "'I should like to help,' she explained, "'and followed Caleb to the kitchen.

"'Somehow, with her absence, an oppressive silence "'fell of the three men. "'Peter coughed at intervals, "'and once even began a sentence, "'but stopped halfway. Mr Fogo did not heed him But had fallen to drumming softly With his spoon upon the table

A full five minutes passed thus And then he started to his feet Must you really be going It is early yet But I suppose you have some distance to go What? Let me at least help you on with your coats They stare blankly at him

There was a faraway look in his eyes But his speech was quiet and distinct enough like lambs they obeyed and marched out into the hall. I'm afraid I'm too weak to offer much assistance. Oh, don't you mention it. They resumed their coats and groped for hats and sticks. A deep and awful wonder possessed them both. The night is fine, observed their host as he opened the door.

You will have a pleasant journey home. Good night. He shook them by the hand as they staggered out, shut the door upon them, and returned defensively to the dining-room. As the door closed behind them, the brothers looked into each other's eyes. Paul gave a short gasp and leant against a pillar of the veranda. Peter, Paul, will he mind pinched me in the cuff of the leg just to make sure?

I was going to ask the same favour, Paul. Oh, churchwarden, or no churchwarden, I reckon I am damned. What I complains of in this year of fashionable life, said Peter slowly, is this, "'Tis too verious, by a sight, too various.' "'Urater eating next door to nothing all day, "'so's it wouldn't be behind and intently in the victuals.' "'There was an interval of painful stupor. "'Paul, Peter,

"'I'm reckoning out what my hunger's worth at this moment. "'I don't know as I'd take twenty pound for it.' "'Inside the house, Mr. Fager had sunk into an armchair "'and was regarding the ceiling with thoughtful attention. "'He was aroused by steps in the hall. Hall, and Tamsin re-entered the room, followed by Caleb with the soup Turing. "'Alloa, where's the twins?' "'H'er? Is this a round game, or a conjuring trick?'

"'I beg your pardon?' Mr. Fogo turned a dull gaze upon him. Caleb set down the Tureen with a crash, and rushing up shook his master gently, but firmly, by the collar. "'Where be they twins?' "'Oh, the twins! They have gone, gone some five minutes. I have. How are you? I have I saw them out. It's all, bless my soul, how extraordinary to be sure. Caleb did not wait for the end of the sentence, but darting out, discovered the brothers in the porch, and hailed them back. I beg your pardon, most heartily, said Mr. Fogo as they appeared. The fact is, oh, there's no course, sir, I reckon I'll get the grip or it with time of practice, only be new to the ropes, so to speak.

Mr. Fogo looked at Tamsin. She broke into a merry laugh. It snapped the spell. who had been waiting on each other for a lead, with the first spoonful of soup set down their spoons and joined in at first decorously, then with uproar. "'Talk about fun!' gasped Peter at length with tears in his eyes. "'Bill stickles at the market, ordinary can't match it! And he'd reckon a tip-topper for fun! "'And this is fashion. Well, I never did. Ho! Ha! Ha! Ha! From this moment the success of the dinner was assured. All talked and talked with freedom. The brothers threw off. their restraint and were their natural and well-mannered souls. It is true that Peter would pause now and again to slap his thigh and renew his mirth. It is true also that he

continued to wear his white gloves throughout the meal, but he pocketed them when Caleb removed the cloth and the company fell into more easy postures. It was late that evening when the twins consulted their watches and rose to go, and as yet nothing had been said on the subject nearest to Mr. Fogo's heart. He motioned them back to their seats. There is still one more question that I must ask you, he said, rising and stepping to Tamsin's side. You guess what it is?' "'I mourned,' admitted Peter slowly. "'I asked you, then, if Tamsin has your leave to make me happy, knowing what it costs you.'

"'No cost, sir, where our ill-mates happen is his concern.' Tamzin knows that, but it has been harder to talk with her as should have wished, and that there's no denying. I snowed all along she'd be leaving her some day, and often Paul and me ever made up our each other's minds to it. I missed out, sir, I missed out sorely, seen tis you are out as set to marry, meaning no offence, sir.

But as tis said, Thames'n girl'll be going, I reckon. I'm thinking I've a party with enough of me out's blood for one night.' He moved towards the door, but came back again to shake hands with a word of self-reproach for his lack of courtesy. then with a tenderness almost motherly on his mahogany face be gentle with her he said she's quick to learn and takes cold easy which i seem to early a little knight her will almost always prevent come along thams in of chapter twenty four chapter twenty five of the astonishing history of troy town by sir arthur thomas quillacuch this library-vox recording is in the public domain recording by simon evers chapter twenty five

which ends the story of Troy The wedding took place in less than two months after Mr Fogo's dinner party A longer interval would have proved, I believe, fatal to both Peter and Paul who wore themselves thin over small anxieties From the trousseau to the cake Three days before the wedding, for instance,

They rode down to Kit's house And awoke Caleb at 4.30am By throwing gravel against his window Oh, it is you, said Caleb as he thrust open the lattice. What's a miss now? "'We've been considering which of us two is to give times in a way.' "'Toss up.' "'We have tossed up, scores at times.'

"'Well?' "'The results,' said Peter gravely, "'is versified.' "'What?' "'Otherwise, various. The results is various, inclining to Paul. "'Well, let Paul do it.' "'Peter is older,' objected Paul. "'By three minutes, which don't fairly count,' put in Peter.

Peter, observed Caleb, looks the older, by full three minutes. Paul went to school out for me, said Peter, by two days, long a measles. Look here, said Caleb, let Paul gear away, as you being the better spokesman can propose the elf of the bride and bridegroom. This satisfied them, and so was arranged at the wedding. I'm not going to describe the ceremony at which I had the privilege of holding my friend's hat, beyond saying that woman, as is usual on these occasions, was a success, and man a dismal failure. There was one exception. When little Susie Claymo, who at Mr. Fogo's express desire was one of the bridesmaids,

identified the bridegroom with the strange gentleman who had frightened her in the lane, and burst into loud screams in the middle of the surface, I could not sufficiently admire the readiness with which Peter dear love produced a packet of brandy balls from his tall pocket to comfort her, or the presents would tell him to bring such confectionary to a wedding. At the breakfast, too, which aimed the dimensions of the dear love's cottage, was perforce select, Peter again shone. In proposing the health of Mr. Mrs. Fogo, he said, "'On an occasion like the present, it becomes us not a repine. These things have sent us for our good.' Here he looked doubtfully at the cake.

"'And one man's meat, tis another's poison, which alps severely. you know without my telling ye. I shouldn't wonder if Paul and me was to draw lots one of these fine days as to which as I should take the pledge, I mean the plunge, and go and scerify himself upon the eye-menial altar. Immense excitement at this point prevailed among certain elderly spinsters present. That was a joke, the speaker, with sudden and stony solemnity,

and I hopes to be took in the spirit in which it was meant. With that, I guess he dams itself, and that old peev-folk. go a squire, to whom she's been this day made man and wife, and bless them and their dear offspring. At this point he was sitting down when Paul Lendercross and whispered in his ear, "'Now, you're right, Paul,' said the or off-springs, "'bless their dear offspring or off-springs, as the case may be.' As he resumed his seat amid frantic applause. The twins alone escorted the bride and bridegroom to the railway station,

and with the accident that there befell the chronicle of Mr. Fogar's adventures made for the present clothes. While the brothers saw Thames into her carriage, and with her white waistcoats and gigantic favours planted all in the breast of the travelling public, the bridegroom dived into the booking office to take the tickets for London, for Mr and Mrs. Fogo were to spend some days in the metropolis before crossing the channel. Now it so happened that in the booking office there hung a gorgeous advertisement of one of the principal steamship companies representing a painted ship, the SS popper-cutter petal, upon a painted ocean, with a deckload of passengers in all varieties of national and fancy costume. Mr. Fogo, his eye rested on this company, halted and

looked more closely. That Highlander, he said, is out of drawing. Purs in hand, he paused before the advertisement, and slowly yielded to its spell. His eyes grew fixed and glassy. Tickets, train, and waiting bride have passed out of his mind. Mr Fogo's fit was upon him. Meanwhile the twins, unconscious of the flight of time and untutored in the ways of locomotives, were loading their sister with parting advice. "'This hero,' remarked Peter, pulling a bulky parcel from his pocket, contains a variety useful in articles for travelling,

which I've reckoned up during the past week and meant to earn thee the last moment. There's a wax candle and a box of luciferous for the tunnels, and a roll of Dioclompart Leicester in case of injury, and fox's book of martyrs, if you should tarry looking out at the windy, and thought his food for cattle Almanac for the last thirteen year, all done up separate, and addressed to Mr. B, dear love, Juxty Troy. About this last, I want Mr. Fogo to post one at every station as where he stops, so as we may know you've got there safe.

I see, broken Paul, who have been spelling through the notices with which the carriage was adorn, there's a fine not exceeding six-ditch chilling if you communicates with the guard, without reason, and worse, if he cuts the cushions or damages the compartment, you best call Mr. Fogar's attention to that. I'm warning you not to get out while the train's in motion, but you was always thoughtful, times in. God bless thee, little maid. Made my head swim a while's to think upon the times I've danced you upon my knee, and now you're my married woman.

God bless you both, my dear brothers. Amazing, said Paul. I see the company won't hold itself larbable. There was a slamming of doors, a shriek of the whistle, and the train began to move away. At the same moment, Mr. Fogo darted out of the booking office and came tearing up the platform. "'Where's my wife?' he cried. "'Which carriage?' It was too late. The carriage was already beyond the platform, and the train had gathered speed.

But presence of mind belongs not to experience only. At the end of the train was hitched an empty clay truck, bound on a return journey to five-lane's junction. quick as thought the twins, as Mr Fogo rushed up to them, caught him by the coat-collar and seat of his trousers, and with one timely heave sent him flying into this. When he staggered to his feet, hatless, without spectacles, and besmeared with clay from heads to foot, the train was fifty yards beyond the station. And so, staring back mournfully at the little group upon the platform, he vanished from their side. "'That,' said Peter, turning slowly to his brother, was nibby-gibby. "'Tamsey might have communicated with the guard,' responded Paul. "'Only that, without sufficient reason, would have been not exceeding sixty shillin.'

"'Do you think it would have been sold sufficient reason?' "'I don't know. I reckon they might have made a £2.10, all things considered,' said his brother thoughtfully, but there's no knowing. "'It is always hateful to say goodbye to friends, and here, with his leave, the reader should be left to guess on the later fortunes of Tamsin and Mr. Fogo, the twins, and Caleb. "'If he care, and the fate so order it, "'he shall some day follow them through new adventures, "'but it will be far from Troy-Town,

"'and for the present they shall fare as his imagination pleases. "'Of Tamsin, however, who is thus left with her good or sorry fortune before her, "'something shall be hinted. "'Public opinion at Troy condemned her marriage. "'As Miss Limpany neatly asked, "'if we were all to marry beneath us, pray where should we stop?' "'To go on,' replied the arboral, "'ad libidum.'

"'I'm inclined to think he meant "'add infinitum, "'but the argument is quite as cogent as it stands. "'And yet, since they returned to Kit's house, "'which they did, after an absence of three years, "'Mr and Mrs. Fogo have been called upon by the Camille foe. "'Some months ago the arable button-holded me in the street. "'I say, who all those people staying with your friends?

"'I mean, the strangers I saw in church yesterday, very creditable lot upon my word. I'm glad you approve of them, I answered gravely. The lady with the spectacles is Miss Gammergerton, the novelist of agnosticism. The tall man in black, Thomas Daniel, the critic. Oh, literary people. Quite. Then there is Sir Inchcape Bell, the great engineer, and Lady Judy Trichet, her husband, the young man with the bald hat.

Sits for Hawkeborough, you know, and we'll be in the cabinet with the next. But the Admiral was already hurrying. down the street. That very afternoon he took his family up to Kit's house to call, and has been calling at short intervals ever since. The Goodwin-Santis, unless we are sharper than the police, we shall never see again. So close was the pursuit, however, that they were forced to leave the portmanteau in the cloak-room at Paddington Station, where it was discovered and opened. It contained a highly curious clockwork toy, and enough dynamite to raise some Pauls to the ground. Even though out exploding, it converted three statesmen to home rule.

Mr. Moggeridge's resignation of his post in the customs was received without expressed regret. He has since married Sophia, brother, and edits a conservative paper in Wales. I see that another volume of his verse is in the press. It is to be called frobs and other trifles, and will include the epithelamium written by him for his own nuptials, as well as his farewell to Troy. a composition which Mrs. Buzzer said she defied you to read without feeling as if geese were walking over your grave. Sam Buzzer has gone to college. And what of Troytown?

By degrees, the old phrases, old catchwords and old opinions have come to reign again. Troy's unchanged loved-in-list, too, the daily round full of experiences, familiar as old friends, the dear monotony of sights and sound in the little port, all have made for healing and oblivion. If you question us on a certain three months in our life, the chances are you will get no answer.

We have agreed to forget, you see, and so we are beginning to persuade ourselves, almost, that those months have never been. Almost. But as a fact, Mrs. Buzzer had been right. It will never be the same again, never. Something we have lost, and I think that something is Troy.

For strangers have come amongst us and have formed a society of their own. The town is grown out of our knowledge. They have built, and are building mansions of stucco and a hotel of hideous brick. A fifth-rate race-meetings threatens the antique regatta, and before all this the saver of Travegan life is departing. Aillion is down, and by no assault of war.

And yet, The evening before last I passed up the road in front of No. 1 Alma Villas. The air was warm, and through the half-opened window a voice stowlout. In the great exhibition of 1851, my dear, Our Majesty's the Queen, while partaking of luncheon, end of chapter 25. End of the astonishing history of Troytown by Sir Arthur Thomas Quillacuch.