The scientists then had had the honour of the first view. The clergy came next. They said but little, were a trifle timid, but evidently satisfied.
Then Biffins Lee had set about completing the great show that he felt would draw visitors from all parts of the country. He erected a wire fence a few yards back from the tank, and surrounded the whole with a strong high wooden palisade, and placed a pay-box by the door, at which Mary sat to collect the half-crowns and shillings, and it was between the palisade and the wire fence that the onlookers had to stand.
But wise Biffins made a proviso that no batch of sightseers were to remain longer inside than a quarter of an hour, and that even if the monster did not appear on the surface during that time it was not his—Biffins Lee's—fault, so he would not return the money. However, as the merman usually appeared two or three times during the night, and as when not on the surface he could be seen at the bottom of the tank, the people were content, and the great show became a marvellous success.
But the creature, it soon turned out, would only please to appear once a week, when hungry, and so the merman's night had to be duly advertised. Beyond this, Biffins said, he could not go. Only, strangers from afar could visit the Queerest Show any time by appointment made a day before, and take their chance of seeing the 'great sight of the century,' as Lee called it.
Even in the middle of the summer, when the season was at its height, and everybody went to see the merman once at all events, there were doubters as to the genuineness of the affair. All admitted that Biffins Lee was exceedingly clever, and the show was anyhow worth the money even without the merman.
One individual from the Granite City was known to have stated at a public dinner that the merman, whoever personified it, had no doubt a tube, artfully concealed in the corner of the tank, through which it breathed air. This man was soon sorry he had spoken; because not only were there people at the dinner who had watched the sleeping monster with its face upturned for more than twenty minutes, and could swear that during all that time no tube or pipe that could conduct air was anywhere near to it. 'Besides,' they said, 'the merman and a mermaid had appeared to dozens of fishermen up from the depths of the dark sea itself.' And so the mystery of the merman remained unsolved.
Antony Blake, when he first came on the scene, was duly introduced to the merman, and was so mystified that he became, like everybody else, a believer—for a time. But before the winter passed away he fancied he had discovered a clue. He thought, moreover, that Lotty knew more than she dared reveal. But he had promised never to ask her—never, never, never!
CHAPTER IX.
'THE NEW JENNY WREN.'
ONE beautiful morning in the fa' o' the year Lotty set out soon after breakfast—which, so short were the days, had now to be taken by lamplight—to feed the sea-gulls. Wallace went bounding along with her, and Chops came puffing up behind, carrying the basket. But, do what he could, or pant and blow as he might, the fat boy could not keep pace with the nimble gipsy lass, especially as it was nearly all uphill until they reached the summit of a knoll rising green among the glorious woodlands.
'Wish I wasn't so fat, Miss Lotty,' he said, putting down the basket.