"O--oof!" panted Sir Felix, gaining the cool passage and mopping his
brow. "A veritable haven of rest after the dust and din! Hallo, my
good man, are you the caretaker for the day? I don't seem to
recollect your face. . . . Eh? No? Well, show us round, please.
These ladies are curious to know something of our local hero."
The Major, his wooden leg trembling, opened the door of the Museum.
The ladies put up their eye-glasses and gazed around, while Sir Felix
dusted his coat.
"Hymen, his name was. That's his bust yonder," Sir Felix explained,
flicking at his collar with his handkerchief. "A very decent body; a
retired linen-draper, if I remember, from somewhere in the City,
where he put together quite a tidy sum of money. Came home and spent
it in his native town, where for years he was quite a big-wig.
But our friend here has a book about him, written up by the
apothecary of the place. Isn't that so?" he appealed to the Major,
who drew the document from his pocket with shaking fingers.
"Eh? I thought so," went on Sir Felix. "But spare us the
long-winded passages, my friend. Just a few particulars to satisfy
the ladies, who, on this their first visit to Cornwall, are good
enough to be inquisitive _a folie_ about us--about Troy especially."
"But it is ravishing--quite ravishing!" declared one of the ladies.
"A duck of a place!" cried the other, inspecting the bust.
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