A COUP FOR "THE DAILY TRAIL."
We all knew at the office that Micklebrown had gone to Cocklesea for his holiday. If anyone had offered him a free pass to the Italian lakes or any other delectable spot Micklebrown would have declined it and taken his third return to Cocklesea. Like Sir Walter Raleigh when he started for South America to find a gold-mine, Micklebrown had an object in view. He hoped to discover a topaz in Cocklesea. We knew the reason for this optimism. We had been shown the lizard-brooch, a dazzling thing of gold and precious stones, which Micklebrown had picked up last Bank Holiday on the cliff at Cocklesea and presented to his fiancée, Miss Twitter, after inquiry at the police-station had failed to discover its owner.
Most people would have been satisfied to leave well alone, but Micklebrown is a man who hankers after the little more. The lizard's tail was composed of topaz stones, and from its tip one topaz was obviously missing. "My firm impression is that I did the damage when I trod on it," Micklebrown said. "You see I put my foot right slap on the thing. I can't get it out of my head that that topaz stuck in the mud and it's sticking there to this day. Anyway I go to Cocklesea for my holiday to look. I know the very identical spot." He closed his eyes the better to visualize it. "You go up a little path behind the mixed-bathing boxes, turn sharp to the right at the top of the cliff, past two pine-trees and a clump of gorse, go a trifle inland through a lot of thistles until you come on three blackberry bushes; the topaz should be ten inches south-west of the middle one."
"The colour'll be a bit washed out, won't it?" young Lister said; "we've had a lot of rain since Bank Holiday."
Micklebrown's lip curled but he said nothing. Only to us, his intimates, did he confide that he had no expectation of finding the topaz on the surface; he expected to search through several strata of mud, and he was taking a magnifying-glass and a gravy-strainer with him.
We heard nothing further until I had a postcard from him saying that the rain had caused the blackberries so to multiply that he found it impossible to identify the particular bush near which he had stepped on the lizard; he was therefore making a general search over the area. After that we followed the tale in The Daily Trail:—
Seaside Visitor's Strange Conduct.
Much curiosity has been aroused at Cocklesea by the behaviour of a visitor who spends his days on the cliff burrowing in the earth in all weathers. Speculation is rife as to the object of his occupation. It is generally concluded that he is the victim of shell-shock.
Romantic Disclosure by Cocklesea Cliff Burrower.
In conversation with our representative yesterday Mr. Micklebrown, whose burrowing on the cliff at Cocklesea has been observed with such interest, indignantly denied the imputation of shell-shock. Mr. Micklebrown, it appears, is spending his vacation at Cocklesea in the hope of recovering a topaz which formed part of a valuable piece of jewellery which he had the good fortune to pick up on the cliff on Bank Holiday. Being anxious to notify his discovery without delay to the police (who however failed to trace the owner) and being bound to catch the return steamer, Mr. Micklebrown had no opportunity to prosecute a search at the time. He therefore determined to visit Cocklesea again at the earliest opportunity to do so.
In the meanwhile Miss Rosalind Twitter, Mr. Micklebrown's fiancée, is the happy possessor of the ornament. Interviewed by a correspondent, Miss Twitter, a winsome dark-eyed brunette in a cretonne chemise frock, said, "Yes, it is quite true that I sleep with it under my pillow. I hope Dinky (Rosalind's pet name for her lover) will find the topaz; he is a dear painstaking boy. I have never had such a lovely piece of jewellery in my life and I am going to be married in it." (Photo of Miss Twitter on back page. Inset (1) The brooch; (2) Mr. Micklebrown.)
Search for Missing Topaz at Cocklesea.
Owing to the publicity given to his story by The Daily Trail hundreds of willing hands assisted Mr. Micklebrown in his search yesterday. Pickaxes, shovels and wooden spades were being freely wielded on the cliff. Miss Twitter writes to us: "Every moment I expect a telegram from Dinky that the topaz is found. I can never be grateful enough to The Daily Trail for the interest it has taken in my brooch."
Dramatic Sequel To Search For Cocklesea Topaz.
As a result of the wide circulation of The Daily Trail the brooch picked up by Mr. Micklebrown on the cliff on Bank Holiday has been claimed by Miss Ivy Peckaby, of Wimbledon. Miss Peckaby identified the brooch from the photograph which appeared in our issue of Friday. Conversing with our representative, Miss Peckaby, a slim, golden-haired girl in hand-knitted cerise jumper with cream collar and cuffs, said, "I jumped for joy when I recognised my darling brooch on your picture page. I must have lost it at Cocklesea on Bank Holiday, but I didn't miss it until two Sundays afterwards. I shall never forget what I owe to The Daily Trail."
Questioned as to the missing topaz Miss Peckaby sighed. "It has always been missing," she said. "You see, Clarence" (Miss Peckaby's affianced husband) "bought the brooch second-hand; he is going to have another topaz put in when he can afford it; but topazes are so dreadfully dear." (Photo of Miss Peckaby recognising her brooch on the back page of The Daily Trail.)
Last Chapter in Cocklesea Romance.
Free Gift of a Topaz by The Daily Trail.
Yesterday Miss Ivy Peckaby was the happy recipient of a topaz at the hands of a representative of The Daily Trail. The stone, which is of magnificent colour and quality, is the free gift of The Daily Trail. The Daily Trail is also defraying the entire cost of setting the gem in Miss Peckaby's brooch. Photo on back page of Miss Peckaby acknowledging The Daily Trail's free gift of a topaz. Inset: The topaz.)
I have heard nothing further from Micklebrown.
RARA AVIS.
Many birds there be that bards delight in;
I to one my tribute verse would bring;
Patience, reader! no, it's not the nightin-
gale I'm going to sing.
Sweet to lie at ease and for a while hark
To a "spirit that was never bird;"
Still I don't propose to sing the skylark,
As perhaps inferred.
I'm content to leave it to a fitter
Tongue than mine to hymn the "moan of doves,"
Or the swallow, apt to "cheep and twitter
Twenty million loves."
I'm intrigued by no precocious rook, who
Haunts the high hall garden calling "Maud;"
Mine's no "blithe newcomer" like the cuckoo
Wordsworth used to laud.
Never could the blackbird or the throstle
(From the poet each has had his due)
Win from me such perfectly colossal
Gratitude as you.
You, I mean, accommodating partridge,
By some lucky chance (the only one,
Spite of much expenditure of cartridge)
Fallen to my gun.
