“But egad, sir,” laughed Sir John, “sure never was net lost to better purpose! You’ll stay to crack a bottle, I hope? You’ll do me the honour, sir?” “Thank’ee, no, Mr. Derwent. I must be up and away early to-morrow.” “To paint, sir?” “To prawn!” answered the painter, his eyes twinkling. “An occupation less lofty, mayhap, but equally absorbing, and often bringing more ultimate comfort and satisfaction.” “But, sir—surely a picture——” “May be good or bad,” sighed the painter, “but a prawn is ever and always—a prawn! Have ye ever tried ’em—fresh boiled ... warm from the pot, sir?” “Never!” “Ah,” quoth Mr. Pym, “there is, sir, to your man of delicate perception and fine sentiment, in the strains of music, the glory of dawn, the glow of sunset, the chaste beauty of evening, there is, I say, a tender glamour, a joy inexpressible, but ... prawns ... warm from the pot may reach the soul just as surely though by a different avenue. Perchance to-morrow you may learn this—if you will?” So saying, the painter laughed suddenly, shook hands and strode away. “And now, sirs,” sighed Mr. Bunkle, carefully uncocking Mr. Oxham’s pistol, “mindin’ that theer jugged-’are o’ mine as ha’ been a-juggin’ of itself a sight too long, if you’ll gimme your orders an’ lemme go, I’ll be obleeged.” “Can you give us accommodation here, Mr. Bunkle?” “Why, sir, that arl depends on how much, what-like and when?” “Two rooms. Now.” “Was you a-thinkin’ o’ stayin’ ’ere, sirs? For long?” “Some weeks.” “Think o’ that, now! Dunno as oi bean’t that upset to tell you as arl my rooms be took, sir. But theer be ‘The Star’ down the street, comfortable and very ’ome-like——” “Then you won’t take us, Mr. Bunkle?” “Caan’t, sir! It bean’t nowise possible nohow or——” Mr. Bunkle paused suddenly, for in the circumambient air was a dull yet persistent knocking, a noise very difficult to locate, that seemed now overhead, now under foot, now behind the walls; hearkening to which elusive sound, Mr. Bunkle’s eye grew dreamy, he stroked his clean-shaven chin, he smoothed his neat apron and, the knocks having subsided, coughed and spoke: “Two rooms, oi think you said, sir? Only two?” “Two, Mr. Bunkle.” “Why, then, if two’ll be enough, I think ... p’r’aps ... maybe we might ... manage it.” Here three raps louder then before. “Yes ... I be purty sure we can, sir.” Here two raps. “We will, sir.” Here a single sharp rap and silence. “Mr. Bunkle,” said Sir John, smiling, “we thank you, and I can promise that you will find us very quiet lodgers—full of sympathy and understanding.” “Why, then, gen’elmen, if ye’ll trouble to step this way, my mist’us will show ye your rooms.” CHAPTER XXIV OF MR. BUNKLE AND THE ROOM WITH FIVE DOORS