CHAPTER III

THE THOUSAND AND ONE BOTTLES

So it was that on the twenty-ninth day of February, at the beginning

of the thaw, this singular person fell out of infinity into Iping

village. Next day his luggage arrived through the slush--and very

remarkable luggage it was. There were a couple of trunks indeed,

such as a rational man might need, but in addition there were

a box of books--big, fat books, of which some were just in an

incomprehensible handwriting--and a dozen or more crates, boxes,

and cases, containing objects packed in straw, as it seemed to

Hall, tugging with a casual curiosity at the straw--glass bottles.

The stranger, muffled in hat, coat, gloves, and wrapper, came out

impatiently to meet Fearenside's cart, while Hall was having a word

or so of gossip preparatory to helping being them in. Out he came,

not noticing Fearenside's dog, who was sniffing in a dilettante

spirit at Hall's legs. "Come along with those boxes," he said.

"I've been waiting long enough."

And he came down the steps towards the tail of the cart as if to

lay hands on the smaller crate.

No sooner had Fearenside's dog caught sight of him, however, than

it began to bristle and growl savagely, and when he rushed down the

The Invisible Man