man on
her knee. The gentleman's face was indistinct, and he was dressed in a
costume which, upon a man of his size--one would have estimated him as
rising 6 ft. 4 in.--appeared absurdly juvenile. He had one arm round her
neck, and she was holding his other hand and smirking.

I, knowing something of Begglely's machine, willingly accepted the lady's
explanation, which was to the effect that the male in question was her
nephew, aged eleven; but the uncharitable ridiculed this statement, and
appearances were certainly against her.

It was in the early days of the photographic craze, and an inexperienced
world was rather pleased with the idea of being taken on the cheap. The
consequence was that nearly everyone for three miles round sat or stood
or leant or laid to Begglely at one time or another, with the result that
a less conceited parish than ours it would have been difficult to
discover. No one who had once looked upon a photograph of himself taken
by Begglely ever again felt any pride in his personal appearance. The
picture was invariably a revelation to him.

Later, some evil-disposed person invented Kodaks, and Begglely went
everywhere slung on to a thing that looked like an overgrown missionary
box, and that bore a legend to the effect that if Begglely would pull the
button, a shameless Company would do the rest. Life became a misery to
Begglely's friends. Nobody dared to do anything for fear of being taken
in the act. He took an instantaneous photograph of his own father
swearing at the gardener, and snapped his youngest sister and her lover
at the exact moment of farewell at the garden gate. Nothing was sacred
to him. He Kodaked his aunt's funeral from behind, and showed the chief
mourner but one whispering a funny story into the ear of the third cousin
as they stood behind their hats beside the grave.

Public indignation was at its highest when a new comer to the
neighbourhood, a young fellow named Haynoth, suggested the getting
together of a party for a summer's tour in Turkey. Everybody took up the
idea with enthusiasm, and recommended Begglely as the "party." We had
great hopes from that tour. Our idea was that Begglely would pull his
button outside a harem or behind a sultana, and that a Bashi Bazouk or a
Janissary would do the rest for us.

We were, however, partly doomed to disappointment--I say, "partly,"
because, although Begglely returned alive, he came back entirely cured of
his phot