s own saddles. And there's the
tobacconist. You should see the plugs he keeps. I've got one I use as
a paper-weight. We used to think it was a piece of the original
Atlantic cable. I've had it years now, and it's still going
strong--very strong. It makes rather a good paperweight, imparts a
homely soupcon of farmyard life into one's correspondence, you know.
The P.M. had to give up reading my letters--said they made him feel as
if he'd gone to the country. Ah, we are now within a stone's throw of
the church--a noble edifice, complete with one bell. Hullo! Stand by
with that ankle, lass; we're going to the doctor's. You'll like him
rather. Incompetent, but genial. Shouldn't wonder if he wants to
paint your foot. He is a bit of an artist in his way. When I cut my
head open last year, he painted the place all over with some of his
stuff. It certainly healed all right, but the way the wasps followed
me--I might have been a private view. Now for it. You stand on the
steps quite naturally, and I'll manage the driver."

As we drew up to the porch, I opened the door of the vehicle and handed
her out. Then I closed the door very carefully and looked at the
coachman. His eyes were protruding from his head, and he recoiled as I
laid a hand the box.

"How much?" I said carelessly.

A choking sound came from between his lips, and the the next moment he
had flung off the opposite side and was peering into the depths of the
brougham. When he had felt all over the cushions, he shut the door and
came and looked at me over the back of the horse.

"Well, I'm drat--"

"Not yet," I said. "Don't anticipate. How much?"

"Six months' 'ard, I should say," he replied slowly, "and let down easy
at that, gettin' into a private broom wiv yeller wheels an' frightenin'
an honest man out of his blooming life. Look at the perspiration on my
forehead."

He took off his hat, and bent his head toward the lamp, that my view
might be the better.

"I had already noticed that you were rather hot," I said shortly, "but
had in error attributed it to the clemency of the weather. But pray be
covered. I would not have your blood also upon my soul. The air
strikes cold."

"Go hon," he said with ponderous sarcasm. "Go hon. Hi am all ears."

"No, no," I said hastily, "not all. Do yourself justice, man."

"Justice," he said bitterly. "Justice. I wonder you 'ave the face to--"

"Be thankful that one of us has a face to have