ut it was in his own domestic circle that Constable
Wiseman--appropriately named, as all agreed--shone with an effulgence
that was almost dazzling, and was a source of irritation to the male
relatives on his wife's side, one of whom had unfortunately come within
the grasp of the law over a matter of a snared rabbit and was in
consequence predisposed to anarchy in so far as the abolition of law and
order affected the police force.

Constable Wiseman sat at tea one summer evening, and about the spotless
white cloth which covered the table was grouped all that Constable
Wiseman might legally call his. Tea was a function, and to the younger
members of the family meant just tea and bread and butter. To Constable
Wiseman it meant luxuries of a varied and costly nature. His taste
ranged from rump steak to Yarmouth bloaters, and once he had introduced
a foreign delicacy--foreign to the village, which had never known
before the reason for their existence--sweetbreads.

The conversation, which was well sustained by Mr. Wiseman, was usually
of himself, his wife being content to punctuate his autobiography with
such encouraging phrases as, "Dear, dear!" "Well, whatever next!" the
children doing no more than ask in a whisper for more food. This they
did at regular and frequent intervals, but because of their whispers
they were supposed to be unheard.

Constable Wiseman spoke about himself because he knew of nothing more
interesting to talk about. His evening conversation usually took the
form of a very full resume of his previous day's experience. He left the
impression upon his wife--and glad enough she was to have such an
impression--that Eastbourne was a well-conducted town mainly as a result
of P. C. Wiseman's ceaseless and tireless efforts.

"I never had a clew yet that I never follered to the bitter end," said
the preening constable.

"You remember when Raggett's orchard was robbed--who found the
thieves?"

"You did, of course; I'm sure you did," said Mrs. Wiseman, jigging her
youngest on her knee, the youngest not having arrived at the age where
he recognized the necessity for expressing his desires in whispers.

"Who caught them three-card-trick men after the Lewes races last year?"
went on Constable Wiseman passionately. "Who has had more summonses for
smoking chimneys than any other man in the force? Some people," he
added, as he rose heavily and took down his tunic, which hung on the
wall--"some people would ask f