says I, making signs as if I was explaining everything. It was tip-top

as long as it lasted. "Well," he said, "I'm deaf, worse luck, but I

bet the constable can hear you." And off he started one way, and I the

other. They got a spirit-lamp and the Pink Un, and that old religious

paper, and another periodical you sent me. I think you must have been

drunk--it had a name like one of those spots that Uncle Joseph used to

hold forth at, and it was all full of the most awful swipes about poetry

and the use of the globes. It was the kind of thing that nobody could

read out of a lunatic asylum. The Athaeneum, that was the name! Golly,

what a paper!'

'Athenaeum, you mean,' said Morris.

'I don't care what you call it,' said John, 'so as I don't require to

take it in! There, I feel better. Now I'm going to sit by the fire in

the easy-chair; pass me the cheese, and the celery, and the bottle of

port--no, a champagne glass, it holds more. And now you can pitch in;

there's some of the fish left and a chop, and some fizz. Ah,' sighed the

refreshed pedestrian, 'Michael was right about that port; there's old

and vatted for you! Michael's a man I like; he's clever and reads books,

and the Athaeneum, and all that; but he's not dreary to meet, he don't

talk Athaeneum like the other parties; why, the most of them would throw

a blight over a skittle alley! Talking of Michael, I ain't bored myself

to put the question, because of course I knew it from the first. You've

made a hash of it, eh?'

253

The Wrong Box