Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. The Town Traveller by George Gissing CONTENTS I MR. GAMMON BREAKFASTS IN BED II A MISSING UNCLE III THE CHINA SHOP IV POLLY AND MR. PARISH V A NONDESCRIPT VI THE HEAD WAITER AT CHAFFEY'S VII POLLY'S WRATH VIII MR. GAMMON'S RESOLVE IX POLLY'S DEFIANCE X THE STORMING OF THE FORT XI THE NOSE OF THE TREFOYLES XII POLLY CONDESCENDS XIII GAMMON THE CRAFTY XIV MR. PARISH PURSUES A BROUGHAM XV THE NAME OF GILDERSLEEVE XVI AN ALLY IN THE QUEST XVII POLLY SHOWS WEAKNESS XVIII LORD POLPERRO'S REPRESENTATIVE XIX NOT IN THE SECRET XX THE HUSBAND'S RETURN XXI HIS LORDSHIP'S WILL XXII NEW YEAR'S EVE XXIII HIS LORDSHIP RETIRES XXIV THE TRAVELLER'S FICKLENESS AND FRAUD XXV THE MISSING WORD XXVI A DOUBLE EVENT XXVII THE TRAVELLER AT REST CHAPTER I MR. GAMMON BREAKFASTS IN BED Moggie, the general, knocked at Mr. Gammon's door, and was answered by a sleepy "Hallo?" "Mrs. Bubb wants to know if you know what time it is, sir? 'Cos it's half-past eight an' more." "All right!" sounded cheerfully from within. "Any letters for me?" "Yes, sir; a 'eap." "Bring 'em up, and put 'em under the door. And tell Mrs. Bubb I'll have breakfast in bed; you can put it down outside and shout. And I say, Moggie, ask somebody to run across and get me a 'Police News' and 'Clippings' and 'The Kennel'--understand? Two eggs, Moggie, and three rashers, toasted crisp--understand?" As the girl turned to descend a voice called to her from another room on the same floor, a voice very distinctly feminine, rather shrill, and a trifle imperative. "Moggie, I want my hot water-sharp!" "It ain't nine yet, miss," answered Moggie in a tone of remonstrance. "I know that--none of your cheek! If you come up here hollering at people's doors, how can anyone sleep? Bring the hot water at once, and mind it _is_ hot." "You'll have to wait till it _gits_ 'ot, miss." "_Shall_ I? If it wasn't too much trouble I'd come out and smack your face for you, you dirty little wretch!" The servant--she was about sixteen, and no dirtier than became her position--scampered down the stairs, burst into the cellar kitchen, and in a high, tearful wail complained to her mistress of the indignity she had suffered. There was no living in the house with that Miss Sparkes, who treated everybody like dirt under her feet. Smack her face, would she? What next? And all because she said the water would have to be '_otted_. And Mr. Gammon wanted his breakfast in bed, and--and--why, there now, it had all been drove out of her mind by that Miss Sparkes.