anded.

'In my official capacity I think that these deathless words are the
last utterance of wisdom on the subject of the influence of the liberal
arts on life. And I should advise you, in your official capacity, to
think the same, unless you happen to have a fancy for having your teeth
knocked down your throat.'

'I see,' I said, not sure how to take him.

'Lest you should go away with the idea that you have been visiting a
rude and barbaric people, I'd better explain that that was a joke. As a
matter of fact, we're rather enlightened here. The only man who stands
a chance of getting his teeth knocked down his throat here is the
ingenious person who started the celebrated legend of the man-and-dog
fight at Hanbridge. It's a long time ago, a very long time ago; but his
grey hairs won't save him from horrible tortures if we catch him. We
don't mind being called immoral, we're above a bit flattered when
London newspapers come out with shocking details of debauchery in the
Five Towns, but we pride ourselves on our manners. I say, Aked!' His
voice rose commandingly, threateningly, to an old bent, spectacled man
who was ascending a broad white staircase in front of us.

'Sir!' The man turned.

'Don't turn the lights out yet in the museum.'

'No, sir! Are you coming up?' The accents were slow and tremulous.

'Yes. I have a gentleman here from the British Museum who wants to look
round.'

The oldish man came deliberately down the steps, and approached us.
Then his gaze, beginning at my waist, gradually rose to my hat.

'From the British Museum?' he drawled. 'I'm sure I'm very glad to meet
you, sir. I'm sure it's a very great honour.'

He held out a wrinkled hand, which I shook.

'Mr Aked,' said Mr Brindley, by way of introduction. 'Been caretaker
here for pretty near forty years.'

'Ever since it opened, sir,' said Aked.

We went up the white stone stairway, rather a grandiose construction
for a little industrial town. It divided itself into doubling curving
flights at the first landing, and its walls were covered with pictures
and designs. The museum itself, a series of three communicating rooms,
was about as large as a pocket-handkerchief.

'Quite small,' I said.

I gave my impression candidly, because I had already judged Mr Brindley
to be the rare and precious individual who is worthy of the high honour
of frankness.

'Do you think so?' he demanded quickly. I had shocked him, that was
clear. His tone