s. (Who in Troy could keep Mr Philp for long
off the scent of a secret?) But, as luck would have it, Cai in pure
innocence routed Mr Philp at the first encounter.

It happened in this way. Towards the end of the first week of
estrangement Cai, who bore up pretty well in the day time with the help
of Mr Rogers, Barber Toy, and other gossips, began to find his evenings
intolerably slow. He reasoned that autumn was drawing in, that the
hours of darkness were lengthening, and that anyway, albeit the weather
had not turned chilly as yet, a fire would be companionable. He ordered
a fire therefore (more work for Mrs Bowldler). But somehow, after a
brief defeat, his _ennui_ returned. Then of a sudden, one night at
bed-time, he bethought him of the musical box, and that John Peter
Nanjulian needed hurrying-up.

Accordingly the next morning, as the church clock struck ten, found him
climbing the narrow ascent to On the Wall: where, at the garden gate, he
encountered Mr Philp in the act of leaving the house with a bulging
carpet-bag.

"Eh? Good mornin', Mr Philp."

"Good mornin' to you, Cap'n Hocken." Mr Philp was hurrying by, but his
besetting temptation held him to a halt. "How's Cap'n Hunken in these
days?" he inquired.

"Nicely, thank you," answered Cai, using the formula of Troy.

"I ha'n't see you two together o' late."

"No?" Cai, casting about to change the subject, let fall a casual remark
on the weather, and asked, "What's that you're carryin', if one may make
so bold?"

"It's--it's a little commission for John Peter," stammered Mr Philp.
"Nothin' to mention."

He beat a hasty retreat down the hill.

"'Tis curious now," said Cai to John Peter ten minutes later, "how your
inquisitive man hates a question, just as your joker can't never face a
joke that goes against him. I met Philp, just outside, with a carpet
bag: and I no sooner asked what he was carryin' than he bolted like a
hare."

"There's no secret about it, either," said John Peter. "He tells me
that, for occupation, he has opened an agency for the Plymouth Dye and
Cleanin' Works."

"And you've given him some clothes to be cleaned? Well, I don't see why
he need be ashamed o' that."

"Well, I haven't, to tell you the truth. For my part, I like my clothes
the better the more I'm used to 'em. But my sister's laid up with
bronchitis."

"Miss Susan? . . . Nothin' serious, I hope?"

"She always gets it, in the fall o' the year. No,