"You pay me a compliment," Mr. Mortimer answered. "Speaking, however, as man to man, let me say that I would gladly waive whatever show my overcoat may contribute to the--er--total effect to which you refer. But"--here he unbuttoned the front of his garment--"I leave it to you to judge if, without it, I shall attract less attention. _Laudatur_, my dear Smiles, _et alget. Paupertas, dura paupertas_--I might, perhaps, satisfy the curious gazer by producing the--er--pawntickets for the missing articles. But it would hardly--eh, I put it to you?" "No, it wouldn'," decided Sam. "But it's unfort'nit all the same, an' in more ways'n one. You see, there's a nasty 'abit folks 'ave in these parts. Anywheres between Warwick an' Birming'am a native can't 'ardly pass a canal-boat without wantin' to arsk, ''Oo stole the rabbit-skin?' I don't know why they arsk it; but when it 'appens, you've got to fight the man--or elst _I_ must." "I would suggest that, you being the younger man--" "Well, I don't mind," said Sam. "On'y the p'int is I don't scarcely never fight without attractin' notice. The last time 'twas five shillin' an' costs or ten days. An' there's the children to be considered." During this debate Tilda and Arthur Miles had wandered ashore with 'Dolph, and the dog, by habit inquisitive, had headed at once for a wooden storehouse that stood a little way back from the waterside-- a large building of two storeys, with a beam and pulley projecting from the upper one, and heavy folding-doors below. One of these doors stood open, and 'Dolph, dashing within, at once set up a frantic barking. "Hullo!" Tilda stepped quickly in front of the boy to cover him. "There's somebody inside." The barking continued for almost half a minute, and then Godolphus emerged, capering absurdly on his hind legs and revolving like a dervish, flung up his head, yapped thrice in a kind of ecstasy, and again plunged into the store. "That's funny, too," mused Tilda. "I never knew 'im be'ave like that 'cept when he met with a friend. Arthur Miles, you stay where you are--" She tiptoed forward and peered within. "Lord sake, come an' look 'ere!" she called after a moment. The boy followed, and stared past her shoulder into the gloom. There, in the centre of the earthen floor, wrapped around with straw bands, stood a wooden horse. It was painted grey, with beautiful dapples, and nostrils of fierce scarlet. It had a tail of real horse-hair and a golden mane, and on its near shoulder a blue scroll with its name _Kitchener_ thereon in letters of gold. Its legs were extended at a gallop. "Gavel's!" said Tilda. "Gavel's, at ten to one an' no takers! . . . But why? 'Ow?"