“I couldn’t, sir,” Jimmy answered, “I was so queer.  Mother made me go to bed.”

“You seemed all right in the morning,” I said; “what’s made you queer?”

“What Mr. Jones give me, sir:  it upset me awful.”

A light broke in upon me.

“What did you say, Jimmy, when you got to Mr. Jones’s shop?” I asked.

“I told ’im what you said, sir, that ’e was to give me something to counteract the effects of vegetable poisoning.  And that it was to be very strong, and enough for four.”

“And what did he say?”

“’E said that was only your nonsense, sir, and that I’d better have enough for one to begin with; and then ’e asked me if I’d been eating green apples again.”

“And you told him?”

“Yees, sir, I told ’im I’d ’ad a few, and ’e said it served me right, and that ’e ’oped it would be a warning to me.  And then ’e put something fizzy in a glass and told me to drink it.”

“And you drank it?”

“Yees, sir.”

“It never occurred to you, Jimmy, that there was nothing the matter with you—­that you were never feeling better in your life, and that you did not require any medicine?”

“No, sir.”

“Did one single scintilla of thought of any kind occur to you in connection with the matter, Jimmy, from beginning to end?”

“No, sir.”

People who never met Jimmy disbelieve this story.  They argue that its premises are in disaccord with the known laws governing human nature, that its details do not square with the average of probability.  People who have seen and conversed with Jimmy accept it with simple faith.

The advent of Jephson—­which I trust the reader has not entirely forgotten—­cheered us up considerably.  Jephson was always at his best when all other things were at their worst.  It was not that he struggled in Mark Tapley fashion to appear most cheerful when most depressed; it was that petty misfortunes and mishaps genuinely amused and inspirited him.  Most of us can recall our unpleasant experiences with amused affection; Jephson possessed the robuster philosophy that enabled him to enjoy his during their actual progress.  He arrived drenched to the skin, chuckling hugely at the idea of having come down on a visit to a houseboat in such weather.

Under his warming influence, the hard lines on our faces thawed, and by supper time we were, as all Englishmen and women who wish to enjoy life should be, independent of the weather.

Later on, as if disheartened by our indifference, the rain ceased, and we took our chairs out on the deck, and sat watching the lightning, which still played incessantly.  Then, not unnaturally, the talk drifted into a sombre channel, and we began recounting stories, dealing with the gloomy and mysterious side of life.

Some of these were worth remembering, and some were not.  The one that left the strongest impression on my mind was a tale that Jephson told us.