h about china clay," said 'Bias reflectively.
"But I never met twenty thousand tons of anything where it wasn' time
for somebody to protect the public."

"There's a Harbour Commission here, o' course--bye-laws an' all that
sort o' thing."

"Ay; there's one openin' for ye. We'll find others."

They resumed their way. The street--Troy has but one street, but makes
up for this by calling various lengths of it by various names--was in
places so narrow that to avoid passing vehicles they were forced to take
refuge in handy doorways. In three out of four the door stood open, and
Captain Cai, popping his head in at kitchen or small parlour, would beg
pardon for intruding, pass the time of day with the mistress of the
house, inquire for her husband's health--"Do I remember him, I wonder?"
--and how many children there were, and what might be their ages?
He always wound up by introducing his friend. Nobody resented these
salutations, these questions. Indeed how was it possible to be morose
with Captain Cai?--he bubbled such transparent gaiety, kindliness,
innocence.

"'Tis our way in Troy, you see," he told 'Bias as they dived into a
cobbler's shop to escape the omnibus. "You have to be neighbourly if
you don't want to be run over. . . . In London, now, you'd waste a lot
o' time explainin' that you didn' want your boots mended."

"It's like what I've heard about canvassin' for Parlyment," said 'Bias.
"And that's another suggestion fur ye."

Of the most important shops in the length of thoroughfare known as Fore
Street and in Church Square (which is the same street with a corkscrew
twist in it) 'Bias showed much appreciation. He was especially allured
by the rainbow-tinted goods in Mr Shake Benny's window, and by the cards
recommending them for sale. _If you admire Lord Rosebery, Now is Your
Time_--He studied this for some moments.

"Time for what?" he asked, rubbing his ear softly.

"Drinks," suggested Cai, and laughed in pure pleasure of heart.
"Come along, man--or you'll be makin' me Prime Minister before we get to
the Ship. . . Yes, yon's the church--Established. You can tell by the
four spikes an' the weathercock; like-wise by the tombstones. But they
bury folks up the hill nowadays." He paused--"That reminds me"--he
paused again.

"What of?"

"Oh--er--nothing; nothing particular. . . . Well, if you must know, I
was thinkin' about that old hat o' mine."

"You don't tell me you've buried it?"

"No."