a man
once by the name of Nanjivell--a fish-dealer; but he was called
Daniel, an' he's dead, what's more. I remember him all the better,
because once upon a time, in my young days, I made a joke upon him,
so clever it surprised myself. It began with my sendin' in a bill
'Account rendered' that he'd already paid. I started by tellin' 'ee
that I was young at the time. 'Twas before I married my wife to look
after the books, an' I won't say that I wasn' a bit love-struck an'
careless. Anyway, in went that dam bill; and he'd kep' the receipt,
which made him fair furious. Mad as fire he was, an' wrote me a
letter about it. Such a saucy letter! 'Twas only last Christmas or
thereabouts I found it in my desk an' tore it up. But I got even
with him. 'Dear sir,'--I wrote back, 'your favour of the 5th instant
received an' unchristian spirit of the same duly noted. On inquiry I
find the 3 lb. of sausages to esteemed order was paid for on
Lady-day: which on cooler thoughts you will see in the light of a
slip as might have happened to anybody. Which in fact it did in this
case. P.S.--Nanjivell ought to rhyme with _civil_. What a mistake
when it rhymes with D--!--Yours faithfully'--and I signed my name.
Then, on second thoughts, I tacked on another pos'script. At this
distance o' time I can't be sure if 'twas 'Flee from the Wrath to
Come' or 'The Wages o' Sin is Death'--but I think the latter, as
bein' less easily twisted into a threat. . . . That," added the
corporal after a pause, "closed the correspondence."

"And where," Nicky-Nan asked, "might all this have happened?"

"At Penryn: which, for electoral purposes, is one borough with
Falmouth. . . . I hoped as you would ha' laughed: but I'm glad to
find you interested, anyway. Sandercock is my name, if you can make
anything o' that,--Eli Sandercock, Fore Street, Penryn, pork and
family butcher. You've heard o' Sandercock's hogs-puddin's I don't
doubt?"

"Never."

"Haven't travelled much, maybe?"

"Knocked about a little. . . . Mostly on the China station an' South
Pacific."

"Ah, they're hot climates, by all accounts. They wouldn't--no, o'
course they wouldn't--"

"Wouldn't _what?_"

"Bring you into contact, so to speak. . . . You should see my
vi'lets, too."

"Violets?"

"They go together. You may notice the same thing in Truro: everybody
that sells pork sells vi'lets."

"Damme if I can see the connexion--"

"You wouldn't--not at first. Vi'