"That's the place," said I. "It's somewhere round here." And I led him unostentatiously in the right direction.
"There it is," he cried. "It all comes back to me. Got a flash-lamp?"
He disappeared below and I sat down and waited—waited for sounds of astonishment and joy from the bowels of the earth. But I waited in vain. Silence reigned. Then Joshua's head was thrust upwards.
"Biermeister!" he called. "You, Biermeister of the 3rd Prussian Guard, come away below here! There is one, Sir Joshua Reynolds, an artist, would have a word with you."
I shook my head sadly. Another of my little jokes had proved a dud. But I did not go below. Joshua is so rough sometimes.
Siccis Oculis.
To weep for the fallen who saved us is meet,
But it causes no kind of surprise
That RAMSAY MacDONALD'S and SNOWDEN'S defeat