“I will, if she’d like to go.  It’s a real bit of old England.”

“I agree,” said Berry.  “What with the cocoa-nut shies and the steam roundabouts, you’d think you were back in the Middle Ages.  I think I’ll come, too.”

“Then you go alone,” said I.  “I don’t forget the last time you went.”

“What happened?” said Adele, her eyes lighted with expectation.

Berry sighed.

“It was most unfortunate,” he said.  “You see, it was like this.  B-behind a b-barrier there was a b-booth with a lot of b-bottles, at which you were b-bothered to throw b-balls.  If you b-broke three b-bottles——­”

“This nervous alliteration,” interposed Adele, “is more than I can b-bear.”

“—­you received a guerdon which you were encouraged to select from a revolting collection of bric-a-brac which was displayed in all its glory upon an adjacent stall.  Laden with munitions, I advanced to the rails....  Unhappily, in the excitement of the moment, I mistook my objective....  It was a most natural error.  Both were arranged in tiers, both were pleading for destruction.”

“Nonsense,” said Daphne.  “You did it on purpose.  You know you did.  I never saw anything more deliberate in all my life.”

“Not at all,” replied her husband.  “I was confused.  A large and critical crowd had collected to watch my prowess, and I was pardonably nervous.”

“But what happened?” said Adele.

“Well,” said I, “naturally nobody was expecting such a move, with the result that the brute got off about six balls before they could stop him.  The execution among the prizes was too awful.  You see, they were only about six feet away.  The owner excepted, the assembled populace thought it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen.”

“Yes,” chimed in Jill.  “And then he turned round and asked the man how many bottles he’d won.”

“I never was so ashamed,” said Daphne.  “Of course the poor man was nearly off his head.”

“And I paid for the damage,” said Jonah.

I looked across at Adele.

“So, if he comes with us,” I said, “you know what to expect.”

My lady threw back her head and laughed.

“I suppose you’re to be trusted,” she said.

“Once past the pub,” said Berry, “he’ll be all right.  But if he says he feels faint outside the saloon-bar, don’t argue with him, but come straight home.”

“At any rate,” said Adele, “I shall have Nobby.”

The reference brought us back to Mr. Bason with a rush.

In spite of our resolution to eschew the subject, that gentleman’s letter was heatedly discussed for the remainder of dinner.

To-day was the third of September, and on the eleventh a dog-show was to be held at Brooch.  I had not entered Nobby, because I felt that his exhibition would probably cause us more trouble than the proceeding was worth.  It now occurred to us that Mr. Bason would almost certainly enter—­had probably long ago entered his precious Chow.  Any local triumph, however petty and easy for a man of means to procure, would be sure to appeal to one of his calibre, and the chance, which the show would afford, of encountering, if not accosting, one or two County people would be greatly to his relish.  Supposing we did enter Nobby....