Too Mutk of a Good Tkmg 329 



feast, which these careless epicures were leaving 

 to rot unheeded The Poet's face grew dark. 



"Confound it all," he broke out. with quite 

 unusual vehemence, "they can't have every- 

 thing!" And he looked about the room the 

 truth must out for something to throw at his 

 darlings. But if he threw his boots or his soap, 

 he might have to go and pick them up again, 

 with Joseph Bates looking on sardonically ; and 

 then another thought, a wicked thought, came 

 into his head and prevailed over him. He crept 

 softly downstairs, found the air-gun and the box 

 of little bullets lying on the hall table, and carried 

 them guiltily upstairs. The gun was loaded. 

 the indignant Poet leant out of the window 

 and took a trembling aim at one black robber. 

 His finger was on the trigger, and in another 

 moment he might have been a conscience-stricken 

 man for life, when a bright metallic sound sud- 

 denly broke upon his ear and held his hand 



Tac-tac-tac! Tac! Ta-tac! 



What was it that seemed so familiar to hb 

 Yorkshire ears, bringing up mental visions of 

 long rambles over bracing moors ? Softly as a 



