The Astonishing History of Troy Town. Arthur Quiller-Couch

      "Sutt'nly, sir," said Caleb with a stifled grin, as he recognised the hero of the morning. "I generally patronises the 'King o' Prooshia' for beer. It won't make your hair curl, nor yet prevent your seein' a hole dro' a ladder: but perhaps neither o' these is your objec'."

      Mr. Fogo, a little bewildered, replied modestly that he pursued neither of these aims. Caleb led the way across the quay, and they ascended 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 draught, "though 'tes what my gal said afore she desarted me for a Rooshan."

      "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, though my experience of this morning—"

      Fig4.

      "Never mind, sir. Accidents will happen even in the best reggylated families. You was took for another, which has happened even to Bible characters afore this—though Jacob's the only one I can call to mind just now."

      "Still, I should be sorry to go back with the knowledge that my journey has been in vain. But I must have solitude at any price, and the reason why I am 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, 'tes hard to say. Troy's a powerful place for knowin' what your neighbour's got for dinner, and they do say as the Admiral's telescope will carry dro' a brick wall."

      Mr. Fogo's face fell.

      "Stop a bit," said Caleb more brightly. "About livin' inside o' the town, now—es that a shiny cannon?"

      "A what?"

      "A shiny cannon—which es the same as to say, won't et do elst?"

      "Oh, a sine-qua-non," said Mr. Fogo; "no, I am not particularly anxious to live in the town itself."

      "Wud the matter of a mile up the river be out o' the way?"

      "Not at all."

      "An' about rent?"

      "Within reasonable limits, that would not matter."

      "Then my advice to you, sir, es to see the Twins about et."

      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 am 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.

      "Babbies! Well I—ho! ho!—'scuse me, sir—but aw dear, aw dear! Babbies! Bab—" Here he slapped his thigh and broke into another roar, at the end of which he grew fairly black in the face.

      "Bless yer innocent heart, sir! They'm a matter o' six foot high, the both—and risin' forty. Dearlove's their name—and lives up the river 'long wi' their sister—Peter an' Paul an' Tamsin (which es short for Thom-a-si-na), an' I've heerd tell as the boys came nigh to bein' chrisn'd Sihon an' Og, on'y the old Vicar said he'd be blowed fust—very free wi' his langwidge was th' ould Vicar."

      "I should fancy so," said Mr. Fogo; "but you'll excuse me if I don't quite see, yet, why you advise me to call on these people."

      "No offence, sir. On'y they owns Kit's House, that's all."

      "I see; and Kit's House is the place you have in your mind."

      "That's et, sir."

      "And these Dearloves, where do they live?"

      "Furder 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.

      "Wi' all the pleasure in life, sir, as Uncle Zachy said when he gi'ed his da'ter in marriage."

      In less than ten minutes Caleb had brought his boat round to the quay. Mr. Fogo stepped in, and was presently seated in the stern and meditatively listening while Caleb rowed—and talked—"like a Trojan."

      Here we may leave them for a while and return 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, "Em-i-ly, I say! Come down this instant."

      The three Misses Buzza at the parlour window knew the tone, and shuddered: Mrs. Buzza, up-stairs, heard, trembled, and obeyed.

      "Yes, darling. What is it?"

      "Fill the warming-pan at once. I'm going to bed."

      "To bed, love!"

      "Yes, to bed. Don't I speak plainly enough? To bed, ma'am, to bed, and at once."

      "You are upset, dearest; be cool, I implore you."

      "Be cool! Be coo'—Don't hector me, ma'am, but fetch that warming-pan at once. I'll teach you about being cool! Sophy, 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 bed-clothes were not on fire.

      "Pull down the blind, and bring me something to eat!"

      "Yes, love."

      "And be quick about it. Can't you see I'm starving?"

      It is true that the Admiral's excitement had interfered with his breakfast that morning, but it was none the less difficult to read starvation upon his face. Mrs. Buzza obeyed, however; 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."

      "Confound it, ma'am! 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 is for dinner to-day?"