I met all his protests with a sullen persistence. "The thing's too mad,"

I said, "and I won't come. The thing's too mad."

I would not go with him to the laboratory. I fretted bout my bungalow for

a time, and then took hat and stick and set out alone, I knew not whither.

It chanced to be a glorious morning: a warm wind and deep blue sky, the

first green of spring abroad, and multitudes of birds singing. I lunched

on beef and beer in a little public-house near Elham, and startled the

landlord by remarking apropos of the weather, "A man who leaves the world

when days of this sort are about is a fool!"

"That's what I says when I heerd on it!" said the landlord, and I found

that for one poor soul at least this world had proved excessive, and there

had been a throat-cutting. I went on with a new twist to my thoughts.

In the afternoon I had a pleasant sleep in a sunny place, and went on my

way refreshed. I came to a comfortable-looking inn near Canterbury. It

was bright with creepers, and the landlady was a clean old woman and took

my eye. I found I had just enough money to pay for my lodging with her. I

decided to stop the night there. She was a talkative body, and among many

other particulars learnt she had never been to London. "Canterbury's as

far as ever I been," she said. "I'm not one of your gad-about sort."

How would you like a trip to the moon?" I cried.

I never did hold with them ballooneys," she said evidently under the

The First Men In The Moon