dly feeling
for old 'Moretons,' who had a kindly feeling for them!" Back to
all that? A dream! Sirs! A dream! There was nothing for it now,
but--progress! Progress! On with the dance! Let engines rip, and the
little, squash-headed fellows with them! Commerce, literature, religion,
science, politics, all taking a hand; what a glorious chance had money,
ugliness, and ill will! Such were the reflections of Felix before the
brass tablet:

"IN LOVING MEMORY OF
EDMUND MORTON
AND
HIS DEVOTED WIFE
CATHERINE.

AT REST IN THE LORD. A.D., 1816."

From the church they went about their proper business, to interview a
Mr. Pogram, of the firm of Pogram & Collet, solicitors, in whose hands
the interests of many citizens of Transham and the country round were
almost securely deposited. He occupied, curiously enough, the house
where Edmund Morton himself had lived, conducting his works on the one
hand and the squirearchy of the parish on the other. Incorporated now
into the line of a long, loose street, it still stood rather apart
from its neighbors, behind some large shrubs and trees of the holmoak
variety.

Mr. Pogram, who was finishing his Sunday after-lunch cigar, was a short,
clean-shaved man with strong cheeks and those rather lustful gray-blue
eyes which accompany a sturdy figure. He rose when they were introduced,
and, uncrossing his fat little thighs, asked what he could do for them.

Felix propounded the story of the arrest, so far as might be, in words
of one syllable, avoiding the sentimental aspect of the question, and
finding it hard to be on the side of disorder, as any modern writer
might. There was something, however, about Mr. Pogram that reassured
him. The small fellow looked a fighter--looked as if he would sympathize
with Tryst's want of a woman about him. The tusky but soft-hearted
little brute kept nodding his round, sparsely covered head while he
listened, exuding a smell of lavender-water, cigars, and gutta-percha.
When Felix ceased he said, rather dryly:

"Sir Gerald Malloring? Yes. Sir Gerald's country agents, I rather think,
are Messrs. Porter of Worcester. Quite so."

And a conviction that Mr. Pogram thought they should have been Messrs.
Pogram & Collet of Transham confirmed in Felix the feeling that they had
come to the right man.

"I gather," Mr. Pogram said, and he looked at N