"I want to go and see the Governor of Princetown. He's a pal o' mine, old Marshall is. He'd be cut up something horrid if he heard I'd gone away without looking him up." At the mention of Colonel Marshall's name the landlord's respect for his unconventional visitor visibly increased. "I'll s-s-send out and order the victoria at once, sir," he said. "It's only about half a mile to the Governor's house, but I expect you've had enough walking for to-day." "You're right," said Mr. Bascombe. "Driving's more my mark this afternoon." "And w-what train shall we meet your luggage by, sir? The six-thirty?" This seemed as good a train as any other to the owner of this imaginary encumbrance, so he nodded his head. "Tell 'em to be careful with it, won't you?" he added. "Oh, yes, sir! That will be all right. You'll be wanting d-d-dinner, I suppose, sir?" A sad, prophetic smile flitted across Mr. Bascombe's face. "I expect I shall," he said simply. An interval of about seven minutes ensued between the landlord's departure and the clatter of the victoria as it drew up at the front door. That this time was not wholly wasted by Mr. Bascombe might have been gathered either from the reduced weight of the port bottle or the increased unsteadiness of his own gait as he crossed the hall. He managed to reach the vehicle without disaster, however, and climbing in smiled a dignified farewell at the landlord, who had come out to see him off. The latter watched his guest drive away with a slightly puzzled expression. "Blessed if I don't b-believe his Reverence had a d-drop too much," he muttered. His Reverence certainly had. He lay back in the victoria as it rolled up the main street feeling immeasurably at peace with mankind. A gracious haze blurred the animated little groups of women that still clustered in front of the doorways and mellowed their excited chatter into a drowsy and not unpleasing murmur. Had the drive been a few hundred yards longer he would probably have arrived in a state of slumber, but the jerk of the carriage as it drew up in front of the Governor's gate just saved him from this social solecism. He blinked doubtfully for a moment, and then, recognizing his surroundings, clambered cautiously out. "Am I to wait, sir?" inquired the driver. The question seemed to afford Mr. Bascombe some amusement. "Yes, you wait, old sport," he replied; "shan't be longer than I can help." Then, before the astonished driver had recovered from the shock of this unexpected address, he pushed open the wooden gate that led into the Governor's garden and advanced in graceful spirals up the well-kept drive. A vigorous pull at the front-door bell resulted in the appearance of a neat, dark-eyed housemaid. Mr. Bascombe gazed at her with approval. "Good morning, my dear," he remarked affably, holding on to the doorpost to steady himself. "Is the Colonel at home?" "Yes, sir," said the maid.