# The Specimen Case/Once in a Blue Moon

XVII Once in a Blue Moon
With the briefest of introductions, inasmuch as my part is only that of a listener and recorder, I may say that I had left Torford early one morning with the intention of walking some twenty miles and striking the railway again at Ashbridge. Provided with flask and sandwich box and trusting rather to the compass than to the roads, I was reconciled to the possibility of not meeting a human being from morning till night, but a darkening of the sky before the afternoon was far advanced warned me that I should soon be compelled to find a shelter or be drenched to the skin. Of stunted trees there was no scarcity, indeed, but the vivid flashes of lightning which now followed one another with an ever-diminishing interval dashed the thought of seeking such questionable protection. In despair I ran to the top of a small knoll near at hand, expecting at the best to discover a solitary cottage or a cowshed at no great distance. To my relief from this eminence I saw lying almost at my feet a tiny moorland hamlet nestling in a little valley and further concealed by its girdling fringe of oaks. The first house was an inn: I saw its swinging sign and stayed to see no more, for the next moment the deluge came and in the slashing pelt of the rain every vestige of the landscape melted out. I scrambled down the steep decline, took the lane in a few long bounds, and flung myself breathless into the welcome shelter of the nearest room.
​Sudden thunderstorms may be classed among the misfortunes—if misfortune it be—that bring us strange companions. The room in which I found myself, for the outer door opened directly upon it, was apparently the only public apartment which the inn possessed, and as the inn was in turn the only one for miles around, the storm had indiscriminately swept into the limit of a few square yards a chance company which under more ordinary conditions would have been striking in its diversity.
On a bench which extended along one side of the room sat three aged rustics, all wearing the stout and fancifully embroidered smockfrock of the old-time peasant. In his left hand each held a staff upon which he leaned forward: a quart mug of cider occupied each right hand. Their names, I soon learned, were Richard, John and Jasper, but they called one another Urchid, Jan, and Jaffer. The only other occupant of the bench was a youth of studious, melancholy expression and neglected attire. In a city he might have passed at sight as an unsuccessful poet or an out-of-work valet grown slovenly in despair. Actually, he proved to be a harmless enough creature—the village idiot in fact.
I must also anticipate to describe the other occupants of the room. At a point farthest from the door sat an escaped convict, between two warders who had recaptured him on the moor half an hour previously. From a chair near the window an itinerant photographer regarded the weather gloomily. The inn-keeper, standing behind his bar, regarded the weather cheerfully; while two sportsmen who carried the accessories of a fishing expedition completed the tale. The face of one struck me from the first glance with elusive familiarity, but it was not until I heard him addressed by the other that I recognised the well-known democratic peer, Lord Twaddlemuch. His companion, who rode his chair at ​an uneasy angle, proved to be an American millionaire, a gentleman known in his native land as the Tinned-rabbit King, I believe.
"To continue the analogy," the nobleman was saying as I entered, or rather he had said that much, but with the true platform instinct he obligingly repeated the remark for my edification, "To continue the analogy, the various kinds of fish which we pursue furnish exact parallels to the various temperaments into which Mr. Mollentrave, for instance, would classify women."
"Including the kinds of fish that pursue us, Earl?" observed the American millionaire, who did not appear to be treating the subject seriously. I knew him to be an American at once by the painstaking purity of his English accent.
"Urchid," said one of the rustics, delivering himself with an air of natural placidity that one would look for in an Alderney cow if it acquired the faculty of speech, "pass they gen'l'men thickey li'lle barr'l."
Thus instructed, Richard took from a shelf a miniature model of the ordinary hogshead, a felicitous utensil in which the farm labourer carries his day's allowance of cider. On it was neatly painted the following inscription:
Fraternity of the Eleven Streams
    In order to promote harmonious social intercourse, diminish envy, and eradicate a fruitful source of contentious exaggeration, know all men that a fine of one penny is imposed upon any person who shall introduce into his conversation the word "fish" in any connection whatever within any place of public entertainment throughout the above limits; or who shall directly or indirectly refer to any aquatic creature coming within such designation, or who shall by sign, illustration, ​spring-balance, yard measure, word, gesture, allegory, display of printed or written matter, or innuendo, convey such a reference or simulate a colourable imitation thereof; or who shall relate, cause to be related, or in any way publish, diffuse, or circulate any piscatory adventure, experience, incident, dream or prophecy or who shall attain such an end by any means not specifically expressed.
"The proceeds, I observe," remarked the American millionaire, reading on, "are to be devoted to improving the quality of native cider, by creating a larger demand. An interesting survival: take for two," and he dropped a half-crown into the barrel.
"With all deference to your ingenious classification, sir," remarked the itinerant photographer, turning to the earl, "my professional experience ranges me on the side of the aphorist who contended that a woman could be fitly compared to no other created thing—except any other woman."
"A similar remark might be applied with even greater accuracy to a Manx cat." It was the escaped convict who spoke.
"True," admitted the itinerant photographer: "the inference holds. Scratch the Woman and you find the Other Woman."
"Iv ee a-scradch my ode ooman," remarked Jasper thoughtfully, "'twadn't be no huther ode ooman yeu would find but thickey same ode ooman—her what hat man auver drexil only two dree days ago."
"Hat man over drexil?" murmured the American millionaire to the room at large.
"Precipitated the speaker over his own doorstep," explained the village idiot courteously. "The 'man' is practically the equivalent of the colloquial 'one'; as you ​might say, 'It really takes one's breath away,' meaning, 'It really takes my breath away.'"
"Thank you, sir," replied the American millionaire. "It really does."
The escaped convict laughed softly to himself. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he said, looking up, "but I was reminded of an incident connected with a woman and a dialect that struck me as being amusing at the time. Well, well, twenty years ago! How time flies—some time!"
"It is still raining," remarked his lordship. "Perhaps you would gratify our curiosity by relating the story."
"Story—hardly," apologised the escaped convict. "The merest outline of an incident; the gossamer cobweb of a memory. The heroine was called Amao."
"Christian or surname, might I inquire?" interposed the American millionaire. "Or perhaps a daisy play-name of your own?"
"Christian name and surname and all her name," replied the escaped convict severely. "That is, if a poor creature who was not a Christian and who probably had no recognisable sire could have either. As a matter of fact, with the exception of a delicate confection of nutmegs and sharks' teeth it was all in the world that she did have. She was a Polynesian and I found her in Jim Hartleigh's hut on Oahai shore. They told me that there was a white man down with the fever, and putting professional etiquette aside in the sacred cause of humanity (for I hadn't been really sent for), I went. There I found old Hartleigh—once something else of the Guards—bad, very bad, indeed. He knew me and lifted an eyelid and tried to wave a fraternal fin, but only got as far as a shiver. Well, I fixed him up and dosed him and then looked round. 'Now we must get him to drop off to sleep,' I said in native to Amao, hoping that she would ​take the hint and go, for she dressed so loudly, what there was of it, that I didn't like to see her about the place. As I said, I had hoped that she would clear out, but I was surprised to see how tactfully she took it at once. She looked pensively doubtful for half a moment as though wondering whether it was quite right, then smiled acquiescently and picked up a war club to depart. That was my mistake. This was hers: the language in that island is very limited and one word has necessarily to carry several meanings. Thus 'sleep' is the same as 'insensibility,' both really meaning 'half-dead,' and the verb 'to drop'—their verbs have no conjugation, nothing beyond the bare outline—is 'to drop' in all cases: 'to sink,' 'to fall,' 'to fell,' 'to pole-axe,' and so on. You see what happened? Amao, who really was passionately devoted to Jim, actually thought that I said, 'Now we must knock him insensible,' and having a blind faith in my medicineman-ship, and coming of a race which leans towards drastic remedies, she straightened herself up and did it as neatly as an arch-druid might have done before I could raise a finger. You see, very simple and very natural, but it just shows."
"And Jim Hartleigh?" inquired one. "Did he die?"
"No, sir," replied the escaped convict blandly; "he did not. He remained insensible for thirty-six hours and then got up perfectly recovered and married Amao—Polynesian rites, of course, but very swell affair. I danced for three days, wearing a rope of lotus blossom sixteen yards long. Well, well: what blind gropers we men of science are in the stupendous laboratory of Nature's infinite possibilities."
"'Tes wonnerful beyond all imagining the power of language he du have," remarked Jan.
"Ev there be one word 'n dree understandable to us common fellows it be as much," agreed Jaffer.
​"Fvine," assented Urchid, sucking contentedly at his pipe and speaking with the air of a connoisseur.
"It's a fact," said the itinerant photographer reminiscently, "that the exact end-up with which an idea will appeal to a woman is not worth speculating about. On some subjects they have no focal length, so to speak. In my native town there was a prepossessing young lady of seventeen called Irene Violet Maud who suffered extraordinarily from dyspepsia. Her mother took her to a doctor who talked to her all about the subject, explained to her what to do and what not to do, and told her as a particular thing to rest awhile and take it easy after every meal. Now Irene knew that she had indigestion badly and knew that she felt better if she did as he had told her, but because the man had red whiskers and she had wanted to be taken to a certain doctor with a black silky moustache and liquid eyes, she made a point of running briskly up and down three flights of stairs seven times without stopping after breakfast, lunch, tea, dinner and supper. In consequence she's a bit of an apparition now, but when a friend reminded her of those skittish times recently, Irene said that it served Mr. Red Whiskers very well right and she would do it again if there was any occasion."
"Your country has produced some remarkable types, sir," suggested one of the prison warders agreeably, turning to the Tinned-rabbit King.
"Red Indians and—well, buffaloes one used to hear talk of," volunteered the second prison warder with conscious diffidence.
"Why certainly, sir, we have our share," admitted the American millionaire with bluff good-humour. "As far as that goes, there was my own aunt Janet now, as resourceful, matter-of-fact kind of woman, who would shoot a horse-thief in the morning, darn her father's ​socks in the afternoon, and be the belle of the ball in the evening, as you would meet anywhere. I'm speaking of the 'forties now, when she and my grandfather lived in a bit of roughish country down Arizona way. However things had happened Janet had always found that she could make them straight and tidy, until John Baxter Green began to court her. It wasn't that she had any objection to Baxter; quite the opposite, in fact, but the young man was so eternally shy and mistrustful that no amount of encouragement seemed to help him along. At the end of six months, after seeing her every other day on an average, he once ventured to press her hand after bringing her home from a camp meeting, but he got so scared at his boldness that he stayed away from chapel for the next two Sundays. In the second year of their acquaintanceship he accidentally let a 'Janie' slip out and she never caught sight of him for a whole week in consequence. There was no reason on either side why they should not make up and get married within a month, but Janet was mortal sure that if ever he got so far as to give her a kiss he would leave the States for Europe the next day. I don't deny that she was a bit huffed privately at his style, allowed that it did not argue well for the future, and so forth maybe, but she had settled definitely on Baxter, and being a plain, sensible girl she knew that she could not have everything and that there was a quantity of worse faults. However, her father, who was an old-timer, had other ideas. Not that he disliked Baxter either, but he had been a brisk, lively man in his own time and he had notions as to how things ought to be done.
"'Look here, Janet,' he said one day, 'this has been going on for a matter of well over a twelvemonth now and I have no mind to see a daughter of mine trifled with, ​Is there anything definite fixed up between you and Baxter yet?'
"'Not exactly definite perhaps, popper,' replied Janet, combining truth and prudence as she always contrived to do. 'Mr. Green is like old Rock—slow but steady.'
"'Well, I'm thinking of having the old horse shot before long, for that matter,' he replied thoughtfully. 'That's not the point, however. What I'm going to say is this. Young Matt Henrick has been talking to me a sight about you lately, and the two ranches lie mighty convenient. I don't deny that I'm willing to make considerable allowance for your own feelings, but in reason the thing can't go on for ever. When do you expect to see Baxter again?'
"'He talked of dropping in to supper on his way back from Sweet Spring to-morrow,' replied the girl.
"Old Saunders nodded. 'That fits in all right,' he said. 'That new Cantonville minister is coming round to supper to-morrow night also. I'll tote across and ask Matt as well. We'll chance in towards eight o'clock. Then if you and Baxter have fixed things up the minister can say the word; if not, well, the minister will be here all the same and you must put up with Matt. Now run and find me my tobacco-pouch; I put the plaguey thing down somewhere not five minutes ago and it's clean gone.'
"It was rather sudden even for out West in the 'forties, but although an indulgent parent in general, old Saunders had a way with him when he meant a thing. Anyhow, the new minister was coming to supper, so Janet went about seeing that everything should be ready.
"About seven o'clock the next evening Baxter put in an appearance. No one was about but Janet and she was busy in the parlour. Baxter found the room half full of old trunks and boxes, Janet very industriously ​covering them with shiny black cloth. It improved their appearance considerably.
"'Sakes, Miss Janet,' he said, 'whatever in the world are you doing? You're not getting ready for a journey, surely?'
"'Perhaps I may be going one shortly,' replied Janet ambiguously. 'Anyway I had the idea to do up these old boxes while I thought of it. I'm sticking on this cloth and then I shall finish it off with a row of brass nails.'
"'It’s the cutest scheme out; makes them look quite new,' he said admiringly. 'Let me help you.'
"'Certainly you can, if you don't mind stickying your hands,' she said. 'I have an old recipe for making this gum and it is better than anything one can buy. The only trouble is that it dries so quickly that you have to work straight ahead as fast as you can and never mind about your fingers.'
"Baxter made a suitable reply, to the effect that his hands were like the school birch-rod—for use, not for ornament—and fell to work.
"Under her directions he used scissors and paste-pot unremittingly for half-an-hour and then that part of the task was done. Janet's warning had not been uncalled-for; his hands were plentifully smeared with gum, his fingers clung together. The girl herself was in an even worse plight, but half-a-dozen very respectable-looking travelling boxes were ranged before them.
"'It's a great comfort to have enough room for things when you're packing,' she remarked. 'Before, I should not have known what to do for trunks, I'm sure.'
"Janet setting out with all the preparation for a long absence seemed to take a more concrete form in Baxter's imagination. 'Is it any particular journey you have in mind?' he asked anxiously.
​"'Well, Aunt Mary has been asking me to go and stay with her over the winter for two or three years now,' she replied reflectively. 'She thinks that it must be dull for a girl here always and they have pretty lively times over there.'
"Baxter did not doubt it, and the thought made him extremely uncomfortable. Aunt Mary lived in a town a full week's journey away. She had sons; inevitably the sons had friends. It was bad enough to keep away from Janet in an agony of self-torturing diffidence, but for Janet to be a week's journey off, surrounded by smart city beaux and forgetting Creek Fall in a continual round of city gaiety, was unsupportable.
"'Say, Janet——' But Janet said nothing. On the gentleman's side it was certainly one of those occasions when silence is not golden, but Baxter got no further. Nevertheless, with bold abandonment he seized her hand as it lay irresistibly near his own, and then, as she manifested no inclination to run away, he possessed himself of the other and held them fast.
“For perhaps two whole minutes the world stood still. To an outsider the situation required no words, and certainly none were spoken; Baxter even at that moment could not key himself up to the pitch of saying what he wished to say, while Janet sat with quiet, surrendered hands, and face half turned away.
"At the end of those two minutes Baxter's fatal diffidence again possessed him. He thought that he had better go home at once and leave Janet to think things quietly over before they were both committed to an almost irrevocable step. He would have gone, and she, with the unconquerable modesty of the true American maiden, even in a Western State in the 'forties, she could have spoken no word to hold him though her heart was breaking. Doubtless he would have kept away for a ​month; it little mattered how long if he was away when Matt Henrick and the minister arrived, as arrive they would in the next few minutes. She could speak no word if silence killed her, but the genius of a nation destined to the myriad achievements of ingenuity was dancing through her eyes. The gum, her gum, was all she claimed it to be. That two minutes' dalliance on Baxter's part was just enough to develop its adamantine qualities. Briefly, John Baxter Green, squeezing her hands in his, could not go!
"When this remarkable situation dawned upon the embarrassed young man he tried gently to disengage himself, of course without success. Then he tried somewhat harder, then very much harder until Janet gave a little scream. Finding that these efforts did not produce the least effect towards his release he looked helplessly round the room and murmured, 'Well, I swor!' softly beneath his breath.
"So far Janet had been as patient as mortal woman could be. 'You must release me before father comes in, Mr. Green,' she said gently at this point. 'He will be back towards eight o'clock with some neighbours, I expect, and whatever would they think if they found us like this?'
"Baxter was not really a coward when he had to do with men and he had a high esteem for old Saunders, but the thought of meeting him in the circumstances drove him nearly frantic.
"'Release you!' he exclaimed. 'Oh, George Washington! I only wish I could, Miss Janet. What melts this blame stuff, anyhow?'
"'I don't think that anything short of half-an-hour in hot water would do it,' she replied. 'And it would have to be very hot indeed, pretty near boiling.'
"Baxter was pretty nearly that as it was. 'Come ​along, then,' he said heroically. "I'll put my hands underneathmost and perhaps it will soak through to yours without hurting you.'
"He had only half grasped the real inwardness of the position. Two heads may be better than one, but four hands, if inexorably held together at every point by Janet's special gum, are almost worse than none. If you are in doubt about this, take a lady's hands firmly in your own and then without liberating a finger try to manipulate a rather awkward door-handle. You might as well try with your head."
No one ventured to dispute this statement as the narrator paused. Jaffer, indeed, went so far as to corroborate it, for chancing to meet the American millionaire's eye he nodded sagely and murmured, "'Tes true," with the air of one who had recently been in a similar dilemma, while further witness was dutifully supplied by Jan and Urchid.
"So 'tes," assented Urchid.
"Tes so," agreed Jan.
"Escape by the window was as impossible as by the door," continued the speaker, "and the chimney could not occupy a serious thought. With a survey of the room the truth dawned on Baxter; he was as effectually a prisoner as if a chain had bound him to the floor.
"'However can I meet my father?' exclaimed Janet, and she threw up her arms in despair; and being what is termed a fine, strapping young woman she also threw Baxter up somewhat.
"The young man had no suggestion to make. The same speculation from his own point of view was engrossing his attention also.
"'If I were a man,' said Janet with a great show of scorn, 'I'd do something before I would see a girl made ridiculous in the way I shall be.'
​"Tell me what you would do,' replied Baxter reasonably, 'and I'll do it.'
"I don't know,' said Janet. 'But I would cut off my two hands rather than do nothing.'
"Baxter was fairly patient and certainly long-suffering, but he looked at things with the plain horse-sense of the male creature. 'What the plague good would that do?' he demanded warmly. 'I should be no sprier at opening doors without hands, and as far as ridiculous goes you certainly wouldn't be a cent more dignified with my hands hanging on to yours. Besides, how are you going to cut them off in the first place?'
"Janet shook her head dumbly. It was pretty nearly the only thing she could shake without feeling absurd.
"'Now if only we were engaged,' continued Baxter with a ghastly attempt at airiness, 'and the minister was coming to marry us, we might just stand up as we are and the thing would pass off as natural as could be.'
"The footsteps of three sounded on the path outside. Janet turned a bright and affectionate eye on the young man at her side. 'He is coming,' she said, and stood up."
"Is that the end of it?” demanded the itinerant photographer as the American millionaire rose to look out of the window.
"It is the artistic end," he replied. "They were married, of course, and lived happily ever afterwards."
"You don't say how they managed when it came to putting the ring on," remarked the second prison warder, with some dissatisfaction.
"That is one of the many details left to the imagination," replied the narrator good-humouredly. "I might add, however, that they put Janet's gum on the retail market under a fancy name and made a considerable fortune out of it."
​"Gentlemen," said the village idiot, suddenly and unexpectedly, "I have listened to your various stories with great interest, recognising in them sincere if unconscious contributions towards the elucidation of the Eternal Problem. My own life, as you may imagine, is circumscribed and moves completely in a groove, so that, like our friend the knife-grinder, of familiar quotation, 'I have no story.' There is, however, a trifling reminiscence connected with my very early days which I will venture to relate, in the hope that he who otherwise on some future occasion might run, may perhaps, instead, remain.
"My father was a professor of elocution, my mother the daughter of a country clergyman. The nature of the man was romantic, impractical and ambitious; that of the woman narrow and commonplace. On the eve of their wedding day they stood together on the shore of one of the most beautiful bays of this richly-endowed coast, watching the play of the moonlight upon the rippling water—a time and a situation well calculated to bring out, one must admit, all that was stirring and impassioned even in the most sluggish nature. Under the various influences my father's characteristics rose to their highest pitch, and casting all reserve to the winds in the assurance of a responsive sympathy he thus delivered himself:
"'Christabel,' he said, 'I have a feeling, amounting to a most inspired conviction, that I am destined to some great future. Hitherto there has been one thing lacking to fire an ambition that is as illimitable as the space above us, as sure and resistless as the tides beneath. That incentive has been supplied by the magic touch of your proud love, and in that golden future it is only fitting that you should have an equal part. Say, then, to what pinnacles of supremacy your fancy turns? Do ​you covet power? Then in some new and far-off region a gigantic empire shall be founded that will hail you queen. Riches? Such profusion shall be poured into your lap that the name of Crœsus shall wither off the records of the world like a poor and trivial thing. Fame? Then in poem and romance of unrivalled brilliance the name of Christabel shall be enshrined to receive the homage of a thousand generations long after the glories of Petrarch's Laura and Dante's Beatrice have faded from the memory of the age. Ask what you will that I may set the seal of an inviolable promise to your wish.'
"She did not chide him for his reckless flights. She looked thoughtfully out across the splendour of the restless water, seeing dimly, he thought, some faint mirage of those purple visions.
"'Well,' she admitted at length, 'there is one thing certainly that I have always set my mind upon. Promise me, dear, that when we do get a house we shall have venetian blinds—to the front windows, at all events.'
"This palpably inopportune request suddenly revealed to my father, as by a providential flashlight, the utter incongruity of their minds. What prospect of true happiness could he reasonably anticipate when every detail of their lives was antagonistic—his romances bound to her venetian blind cords, his empires brought into line with the restricted vision from her front windows? The newspapers of that period were devoting pages to the views of countless well-meaning people who had discovered marriage to be a failure, who had come to the conclusion that their partners were thriftless on the one side and piggish on the other, who had courageously argued to the conviction that they did not know what they believed in, but fancied that it was in nothing; the newspapers of that period were also devoting columns to reports of conscientious husbands and wives who mur​dered each other, themselves and their entire families, in order to prove to the world at large how passionately and unselfishly attached they were to one another. These things passed quickly through my father's mind as he stood with his betrothed on their wedding eve beneath the gracious moon. A fearful abyss seemed to be instantly revealed about his feet. If he married her——? He took a sudden resolution. He did not marry her."
I imagine that the itinerant photographer dropped some extra sensitive plates. The first prison warder made an observation about the weather, the second one another about the time, and every other person present consulted his watch, looked eagerly out of the window or removed a quite unimportant speck of dust. Out of this conventional group stand Jaffer, Jan and Urchid, who sympathetically remarked:
"'Twan't right."
"'Twasn't."
"'Twadn't."
"It was, perhaps, rather late in the day to draw back, but doubtless my father applied to the case the specious reasoning of Tarquin. 'A little harm, done to a great good end,' and really did convince himself that in the long run less suffering would be inflicted upon Christabel than if she was tied for life to one who, he candidly admitted to himself, would develop into a very objectionable character under her cramping influence. The marriage was to have been a runaway one: in fact they had already run away, and the ceremony had only been postponed from day to day through some mistake in fulfilling one of the necessary formalities. Acting upon his resolve my father now ran away still further, leaving behind him a note in which he frankly explained his position.
"The result of his decision was unfortunate for myself. ​My mother introduced an unforeseen influence into the situation by losing the balance of her mind. Standing with me in her arms upon the anniversary of that ill-fated day, upon the same haunted spot on the coast, she flung out her hands with a gesture of passionate renunciation. I was necessarily included in the gesture, and chancing to alight head downwards upon a boulder of Cornish granite I became what I now am."
"My good fellow," exclaimed the well-meaning earl kindly, "you underrate your capabilities, I am sure. I have some slight influence in Whitehall; if a minor post in the Reconstruction Office——"
The village idiot shook his head with a grateful smile. "I thank you, but you are mistaken, my lord," he replied firmly. "This coherence is only spasmodic. During storms such as the one we have just witnessed I am always subject to fits of sanity. The condition is brought about by the excess of electricity in the air, I imagine, and would doubtless offer a fascinating field for experiment to the specialist. But, as I have said, the phenomenon is only temporary, and already the storm seems to be over——"
It was as he said. Looking through the doorway I saw blue sky among the clouds, though a thin aftermath of rain still drifted in the air and the gutters by the road still poured like open sluices. Birds that had roosted at the approach of the unnatural gloom were again venturing forth and the dripping trees were sparkling beneath the reappearing sun.
Within the room were the sounds of chairs pushed back and feet grinding upon the sanded floor. All were engaged upon departure. I stepped out into the moorland-scented air and without a word to any—for was I not but a listener and recorder?—I resumed my journey.
At the point where the road passed behind the knoll ​I turned for a last look back. Before the rustic porch the itinerant photographer was endeavouring to arrange a group, but at the critical moment the village idiot persistently wandered out of focus. It was then I noticed for the first time that the inn sign was that of "The Blue Moon."
West Hampstead, 1902.