"One bird in glass case, bird's leg broke—four orments, all crack—one ormlu clock (won't go)"—could transparent honesty go further than this?
Moreover Mr. Scorer asked me casually, "Did you know Mr. William Henry Sawyer, Esquire, of the 'Ome Office?"
I did not. My acquaintance does not as a rule extend to the Home Office.
"A nice gentleman, 'e is. Been 'ere in this 'ouse every year for the last five years. 'E comes early, about May, and sometimes again in October."
"I WAS SURPRISED TO SEE A HEAP OF LUGGAGE."
"It is good to be Mr. William Henry Sawyer, Esquire, of the Home Office," I said. I am a fairly truthful man as men go, and I never spoke a truer word than that, but that knowledge only came to me later.
I was delighted with Mr. Joseph Scorer, and with his receipt in my pocket and my two pounds in his, I went home on the Monday morning triumphant, and on the Monday evening whistled myself into the bosom of my family to the tune of "See, the conquering hero comes."
I gave a detailed description of my adventures to my receptive family circle, and when my wife heard Mr. Scorer's last message, "I will come over the day before you are coming in, and have the place put in order, and will have a fire on in the kitchen for you," she labelled him "treasure," and vowed we would keep on going there every year.
"I wish I had remembered to ask you to tell him to get in some coals, and milk, and bread," she said, regretfully.