with a kitchen knife. Edward calls it his "garden coat,"
and swears he only wears it on dirty jobs, to save his new mackintosh, but
nevertheless he is sincerely attached to the rag, and once attempted to
travel to London to a Royal Society beano in it, and was only frustrated in
the nick of time.

So the oft-threatened "Limit" had been reached at last. I laughed heartily
for a moment, then a sudden cold dread gripped me, and I raced upstairs and
tore open my wardrobe. Gregory, the glory of Gopherville, had gone too!

A word as to Gregory. If you look at a map of Montana and follow a line due
North through from Fort Custer you will not find Gopherville, because a
cyclone removed it some eight years ago. Nine years ago, however, Gregory
and I first met in the "Bon Ton Parisian Clothing Store," in the main (and
only) street of Gopherville, and I secured him for ten dollars cash. He is
a mauve satin waistcoat, embroidered with a chaste design of anchors and
forget-me-nots, subtly suggesting perennial fidelity. The combination of
Gregory and me proved irresistible at all Gopherville's social events.

Wishing to create a favourable atmosphere, I wore Gregory at my first party
in England. I learn that Aunt Angela disclaimed all knowledge of me during
that evening.

Subsequently she made several determined attempts to present Gregory to the
gardener, the butcher's boy and to an itinerant musician as an overcoat for
his simian colleague. Had I foiled her in all of these to be beaten in the
end? No, not without a struggle. I scampered downstairs again and, wresting
Harriet's bicycle from its owner's hands (Harriet is the housemaid and it
was her night out), was soon pedalling furiously after Edward.

The jumble sale was being held in the schools and all St. Gwithian was
there, fighting tooth and nail over the bargains. A jumble sale is to _rus_
what remnant sales are to _urbs_. I battled my way round to each table in
turn, but nowhere could I find my poor dear old Gregory. Then I saw Etta,
the presiding genius, and butted my way towards her.

"Look here," I gasped--"have you by any chance seen--?" I gave her a full
description of the lost one.

Etta nodded. "Sort of illuminated horse-blanket? Oh, yes, I should say I
have."

"Tell me," I panted--"tell me, is it sold yet? Who bought it? Where is--?"

"It's not sold _yet_," said Etta calmly. "There was such rivalry over it
that it's going to be raffled. Tickets half-a-crown