Everybody was very kind to me and made me as comfortable as possible. While I sat in the bar, waiting for the train which never came, I noticed in a corner a couple of men with their heads together, talking very earnestly. One of them was an old squatter, the other an obvious new-comer, and their argument seemed so heated and absorbing that I gradually edged my way along the seat towards them to try and hear what it was they found so engrossing. I half expected it would be sheep, or land values, or old-age pensions, but when I came within hearing distance the squatter was saying:-- "I tell you, sonny, the 'uman race started from monkeys--and don't you forget it!" Darwin's theory in the back-blocks of New Zealand! I went straight to bed after that. To run up against a philosophical tailor, a movable billiard spot, a train with ideas of its own, _and_ Darwin's theory, all in the same afternoon, was putting too severe a strain on a mere perambulating billiardist. Even then, however, I had not finished with Pahiatua. In the small hours of the morning I awoke and saw that the room was filled with a dense, pungent mist. It would clear away for a moment, and the daylight would filter into the room; then down would come the fog, and the same peculiar smell would rise to my nostrils again. I lay still, watching this peculiar phenomenon for some time. I had seen so many strange things happen in the country that I accepted this as another of them. Presently I heard heavy footsteps crossing my room. "Who's that?" I asked. "Only me, Mr. Inman," answered the voice of one of my friends of the previous night. "I've just come along to tell you not to be scared. The fire is nearly out." [Illustration: "FIRE! I JUMPED FROM THE BED AND RACED TO THE WINDOW."] Fire! I jumped from the bed and raced to the window. Immediately opposite the hotel I saw a huge pile of blackened wood, from which thick clouds of smoke were slowly curling. The mournful heap represented all that was left of a huge store, whose proprietor I had met and chatted with some eight hours before. [Illustration: THE GRAND HOTEL, THURSDAY ISLAND, WHERE THEY HAVE EARTHQUAKES "ONLY ABOUT THREE TIMES A WEEK!" _From a Photograph._ ] I turned to my friend and saw that he was fully dressed. "How long have you been up?" I asked. "Three or four hours," he replied. "You see, the flames were coming over this way, and we all lent a hand to get it under." "But, bless my soul," I said, "why on earth did you let me sleep on here?" "Oh, you were all right," he returned, airily. "We didn't want to disturb you till the last minute. You've a long journey before you." I knew that it was kindly meant, but at the time, at least, I did not quite appreciate it. I had been a sort of unconscious Casabianca for the best part of the night, and that "last minute" might have been a very exciting one. Yes, Pahiatua is one of the places I shall _not_ easily forget.