e of them ceased in the
soft roadway, Froyle jumped off the table again. Gradually his body,
like a stopping pendulum, came to rest under the hook, and hung
twitching, with strange disconnected movements. The horse in the stable,
hearing unaccustomed noises, rattled his chain and stamped about in the
straw of his box.

Furtive steps came down the yard again, and Daft Jimmy peeped into the
coach-house.

'He done it! he done it!' the idiot cried gleefully. 'Damned if he
hasna'.' He slapped his leg and almost danced. The body still twitched
occasionally. 'He done it!'

'Done what, Daft Jimmy? You're making a fine noise there! Done what?'

The idiot ran out of the stable. At the side-entrance to the hotel stood
the barmaid, the outline of her fine figure distinct against the light
from within.

The idiot continued to laugh.

'Done what?' the girl repeated, calling out across the dark yard in
clear, pleasant tones of amused inquiry. 'Done what?'

'What's that to you, Miss Tucker?'

'Now, none of your sauce, Daft Jimmy! Is Willie Froyle in there?'

The idiot roared with laughter.

'Yes, he is, miss.'

'Well, tell him his master wants him. I don't want to cross this mucky,
messy yard.'

'Yes, miss.'

The girl closed the door.

The idiot went into the coach-house, and, slapping William's body in a
friendly way so that it trembled on the rope, he spluttered out between
his laughs:

'Master wants ye, Mr. Froyle.'

Then he walked out into the village street, and stood looking up the
muddy road, still laughing quietly. It was quite dark, but the moon
aloft in the clear sky showed the highway with its shining ruts leading
in a straight line over the hill to Bursley.

'Them shoes!' the idiot ejaculated suddenly. 'Well, I be an idiot, and
that's true! They can take the measure from my feet, and I never thought
on it till this minute!'

Laughing again, he set off at a run up the hill.

* * * * *

PART II

ABROAD

* * * * *

THE HUNGARIAN RHAPSODY

I

After a honeymoon of five weeks in the shining cities of the
Mediterranean and in Paris, they re-entered the British Empire by the
august portals of the Chatham and Dover Railway. They stood impatiently
waiting, part of a well-dressed, querulous crowd, while a few officials
performed their daily task of improvising a Custom-house for registered
luggage on a narrow platform of Vi