e.

"Now," cried Smith, "let's be off!"

"Out this way," said the tramp, opening a side door. "You others go
first, and I'll wait here till I sees you're all safe."

"Not if I know it," said Cecil. "You go first, or you'll get kicked."

The tramp looked longingly at the crisp note, and led the way,
remarking:

"Thee castest thy pearls before swine, friend."

"Ah, that's just what I'm trying to avoid," said Banborough cheerfully,
bringing up the rear.

CHAPTER VI.

IN WHICH THE BISHOP OF BLANFORD RECEIVES A BLACK EYE.

"The Bishop of Blanford!" announced the page, as he threw open the door
of Sir Joseph Westmoreland's private consulting-room.

Sir Joseph came forward to meet his distinguished patient, and said a
few tactful words about having long known his Lordship by reputation.
The Bishop smiled amiably, and surveyed the great London physician
through his glasses. The two men were of thoroughly opposite types: Sir
Joseph tall, thin, wiry, his high forehead and piercing blue eye
proclaiming a powerful mind well trained for the purposes of science;
the Bishop short and broad of stature, with an amiable, rounded, ruddy
face, and the low forehead which is typical of a complacent dogmatism.

An ecclesiastic had come to humbug a man of science. Could he do it? Not
really, he told himself; but then Sir Joseph was so courteous.

"I ventured to consult you," said his Lordship, in reply to the
physician's questions, "because I feel the need of rest, absolute rest.
The duties of my diocese are so onerous--and--er--in short--you
understand."

"Quite so, quite so," said Sir Joseph, who understood that there was
nothing whatever the matter with his patient.

"To be entirely alone," continued the Bishop, "for a space of time,
without any distractions--not even letters."

"Most certainly not letters, your Lordship."

"How wonderful you men of science are!" murmured the ecclesiastic. "You
understand me exactly. Now if I could have six weeks--or even a month."

"A month, I should say," replied Sir Joseph. "After that you might begin
to receive your correspondence."

"Yes, a month would do--that is--er--where would you advise me to go?"

"What climate generally suits you best?"

"I--er--was thinking of Scotland."

"In May?" queried the physician.

"A friend would lend me his country place--and I--er--should be so
entirely alone."

"Quite so. Nothing could be better," replied his adviser, who, like al