the lawyer, gravely, "that the narrative
I am about to relate is not one to provoke mirth. It is of a solemn
character, I can promise you. No one felt less inclined to laugh than I
did when I was reluctantly compelled to take part in this tragedy.
Though by no means a timid man, I, nevertheless, experienced a sort of
cold shiver all down my back when----"

"Exactly so," said the doctor.

"And each particular hair to stand on end like quills upon the fretful
porcupine," quoted Mr. Blackdeed, the tragedian.

"Belay that," roared Captain Toughyarn, from the depths of his
stentorian lungs, "and make room on board for the 'Phantom Flea.'"

"Bedad, and sure I feel myself itching all over alriddy," broke in Mr.
Jollytoast, assuming an Irish brogue, and scratching himself.

"Order, order! Chair, chair!" called out other guests.

"Silence! gentlemen," said Mr. Oldstone, with authority, thumping on the
table; "the story is just about to commence."

"The performance is just a-goin' to begin," broke in the incorrigible
little comedian, assuming the air of a showman. "Valk up, valk up,
ladies and gentlemen."

"Hush! Mr. Jollytoast," said the antiquary. "Hush! gentlemen, for the
'Phantom Flea.'"

"Tremulous music, lights half down," muttered the tragedian; but he was
instantly silenced by the chairman.

Mr. Oldstone gave one final authoritative thump on the table, and
glanced severely at all the guests. The silence that ensued was awful,
while Mr. Hardcase, after a sip at his glass and a puff at his long
churchwarden, began his story in the following manner:

[Illustration]

CHAPTER I.

THE PHANTOM FLEA.--THE LAWYER'S STORY.[1]

One morning, many years ago, whilst sitting idly in my chambers in town,
I received a letter from Baron ---- to come down for a few days to his
country seat in ----shire. It was on business he wanted me; he had got
involved in some quarrel. The case was about to be brought before the
court, and the Baron wanted a legal adviser.

[1] In the spirit world all those who have been bloodthirsty to
excess inhabit the forms of fleas.--WILLIAM BLAKE, _Poet and
Visionary_. (_Quoted from memory._)

Having heard much of my abilities, as he said, he thought he could not
do better than write to me at once. He regretted that business would
prevent him from being at the Hall on my arrival, but he hoped to return
home some time the next day. In the meantime he had told his housekeepe