The Astonishing History of Troy Town

by Arthur Quiller-Couch

"Says the beer's falling off, sir. It did, once upon a time, taste of the barrel, but now he'll be hanged if it tastes of anything at all. It ought—"

"Don't be a fool, sir! I mean in that poem of his from 'Ivy Leaves: or, Tendrils from Troy.'"

"Beg pardon, sir, I'm sure. Let me see—"

Before he could recall it, Sophia finished the quotation, timidly. "I think, papa, I can remember it:—"

'And thou,
Quaint hostel! 'neath whose mould'ring gable ends
In amber draught I slake my noonday thirst…'

'And thou,
Quaint hostel! 'neath whose mould'ring gable ends
In amber draught I slake my noonday thirst…'

"Something like that, I think, papa."

"Ah, to be sure: 'mould'ring gable ends,' a most accurate description. It used to belong to—" and the Admiral plunged again into a flood of conversation.

"You must bring this Mr. Moggridge and introduce him," said Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys to Sam. "He is a Collector of Customs, is he not? Do you think he would recite any of his verses to me?"

"By the hour. But I shouldn't advise you to ask him. It's all about my sister."