“Very good, sir. You’re a wizard. Perhaps you have no objection to tell me what I had for [[55]]dinner to-day!” ejaculated Tom, when he found the use of his tongue.
“Not in the least. You hadn’t anything, my friend. Your mind was not upon eating to-day, but rather the consideration of where boots for the children are to come from—a bonnet for Mrs. B. likewise, the cash for your business, eh? Care has taken away your appetite, Tom. Ha, ha! I know. No one knows better than Thimble. That’s me.”
The comb and scissors fell from the barber’s hand to the floor.
“Want to know anything else, Tom Brock?” asked the visitor.
“Nothing more, thank ye,” replied the barber in a bewildered tone.
“Listen to me, then.” And the little fellow faced about in the chair. “I am Baron Thimble, of Faydell Twilight. Ours is a vast kingdom in the centre of Australia, of which very little is known by man. The Anglo-Saxon has penetrated into every corner of the known globe, and thrust his inquisitive nose into the socket of the North Pole, but he has never set foot in the land of Twilight. Now I need your services, Tom Brock, and if you will promise to go with me, I will reward you handsomely.” [[56]]
“Twilight,” repeated Brock thoughtfully. “I never heard mention of such a country before.”
“I trow not,” replied Baron Thimble, smiling. “Nevertheless, it is a great realm, whose people have often visited these cities, reared on the sea border. Thou art poor, and in need, and faith, I repeat, I have need of thee.”
“How long will you require me?”
“For just one moon. No more.”