I began in great fear, but having, I suppose, an instinctive appreciation of letters, I mouthed the rolling lines not too brokenly.
"What's a Heavenly Muse?" asked Paragot, as soon as I paused. I had not the faintest idea.
"Do you think it's a Paradisiacal back yard where they keep the Horse of the Apocalypse?"
I caught a twinkle in the blue eyes which he bent fiercely upon me.
"If you please, Sir," said I, "I think it is the Bird of Paradise."
Then we both laughed; and Paragot bidding me sit on the wreck of a cane-bottomed chair, gave me my first lesson in Greek Mythology. He talked for nearly an hour, and I, ragged urchin of the London streets, my wits sharpened by hunger and ill-usage, sat spell-bound on my comfortless perch, while he unfolded the tale of Gods and Goddesses, and unveiled Olympus before my enraptured vision.
"Boy," said he suddenly, "can you cook a herring?"
I came down to earth with a bang. Stunned I stared at him. I distinctly remember wondering where I was.
"Can you cook a herring?" he shouted.
"Yes, Sir," I cried, jumping to my feet.