The Argosy — page 57: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

44 The Five Mr. Fyttons. ‘ere ; cos if ’ee be, another gentleman as ’ave left ’is dog-cart down at the inn wants to zee ’un,” ‘What sort of gentleman P” “Tall, round man. Dressed shabby like. A looks like a bailiff, or sort of lawyer’s clerk.” Beamish turned ghastly pale. Suddenly in rushed Slanter. ‘‘ He’s coming, sir, he’s coming. No time to lose. Run upstairs. There is an old rickety four-post bed, big enough for ten, upstairs, with some old tapestries thrown over it ; get in or under.” Up we rushed. Scuffling up the creaking staircase, through three or four passages, into a huge room, facing the bow window of which stood an enormous carved oak bed, with some mouldering tapestries thrown over it. “Jump in,” said Slanter. In sprang Beamish. The rags were drawn over his face and body, and there he lay, looking for all the world like a corpse. Slanter and I got into an open cupboard and shut the door. Presently we heard voices. Then a prolonged hum of conversation. As the back of our cupboard had huge cracks in it, the sound was very clear, and we could distinctly hear old Sheppard relating in his usual garrulous way the story of “The Five Mr. Fyttons” to the unknown visitor. After a prolonged talk came a silence; then some mention of a ladder ; then silence again. Five minutes later came a fearful crash upon the window-sill, and —-— A finger tapped upon the casement, a face was pressed upon the glass, and a voice said: “* The Fifth Mr. Fytton.” With a yell that might have raised the dead, Beamish, Slanter, and I sprang from our hiding places, to see—a jolly face. Oh, how well we knew it ; and the owner was knocking for admittance. ‘It’s Smith,” said Beamish. ‘So it is,” said I. ‘*‘ What in the world’s the meaning of it?” However, with a deep sigh of relief, we opened the casement and let him in. ‘* Now, Smith, explain, please. What’s up?” ‘Only, my dear boy, that I have been hunting for you for twenty-four hours to tell you that Williams, Simpson & Co., the publishers, want twenty good wood drawings of this neighbourhood, and will pay any- thing for them. I’ve got you the commission; and as for me, I’m to do the letterpress, and have been taking shorthand notes in my pocket- book ever since I came here. Old Sheppard told me that story, and that you had hidden under the bed ; so I got a ladder, and here | am.” What a war-dance we had of it, and how joyfully we walked home that night! I think we all dreamt ot Che sive {tr. AP yttons, CONMICLMOOOKS. © m