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His remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud hubbub which broke

out from the stall which we had just left. Turning round we saw a

little rat-faced fellow standing in the centre of the circle of

yellow light which was thrown by the swinging lamp, while

Breckinridge, the salesman, framed in the door of his stall, was

shaking his fists fiercely at the cringing figure.

"I've had enough of you and your geese," he shouted. "I wish you

were all at the devil together. If you come pestering me any more

with your silly talk I'll set the dog at you. You bring Mrs.

Oakshott here and I'll answer her, but what have you to do with

it? Did I buy the geese off you?"

"No; but one of them was mine all the same," whined the little

man.

"Well, then, ask Mrs. Oakshott for it."

"She told me to ask you."

"Well, you can ask the King of Proosia, for all I care. I've had

enough of it. Get out of this!" He rushed fiercely forward, and

the inquirer flitted away into the darkness.