But nobody knew anything
for certain.
INTERLUDE
We had some more punch, and then the curate told us a story.
I could not make head or tail of the curate's story, so I cannot
retail it to you. We none of us could make head or tail of that
story. It was a good story enough, so far as material went. There
seemed to be an enormous amount of plot, and enough incident to
have made a dozen novels. I never before heard a story containing
so much incident, nor one dealing with so many varied characters.
I should say that every human being our curate had ever known or
met, or heard of, was brought into that story. There were simply
hundreds of them. Every five seconds he would introduce into the
tale a completely fresh collection of characters accompanied by a
brand new set of incidents.
This was the sort of story it was:-
"Well, then, my uncle went into the garden, and got his gun, but,
of course, it wasn't there, and Scroggins said he didn't believe
it."
"Didn't believe what? Who's Scroggins?"
"Scroggins! Oh, why he was the other man, you know--it was wife."
"WHAT was his wife--what's SHE got to do with it?"
"Why, that's what I'm telling you. It was she that found the hat.
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