a peer. To them I'm a fishmonger's clerk in Billingsgate, badly used by my employers, yet given two months each year, during which time I am supposed to win over the fishers of Pebblesdale to the sending of their catch to the great London fish-market, which they steadfastly refuse to do."
That's all very delightful. Lord Stranleigh, and I should like, if I had the time"
"Again you're interrupting. I dropped in to-day to my friends, Hatchards', the booksellers, of Piccadilly, and I said to them, 'Send down at once all the scientific books that have been published this year. Send the bale to Professor Marlow, c/o Mrs. Simpson, Shrimp Cottage, Pebblesdale.' These choice books have gone, Professor, and they are waiting for you; at least, they'll be waiting for you when you arrive, because we can't travel to-morrow, being it's Bank Holiday. Although my friends now and then notice deplorable democratic tendencies in me, there's one democratic institution I hate, and that is our four Bank Holidays, which make travel impossible for a man who likes his comfort as well as I do. So to-morrow you and I will take a stroll through deserted London, and next day we'll set off for Pebblesdale."
The books did the trick. The Professor's eyes sparkled at the very mention of them. "Well," he said, "I suppose it wouldn't do me
