Part 4 (1/2)

”I beg your pardon?” The Vicar, not for the first time, found it difficult to follow Miss Marty's train of thought.

”Scipio never repeats what he hears at table: I'll say that for him.

And I believe in feeding people up.”

The Vicar turned to Major Hymen, who had pushed back his chair and was staring at the tablecloth from under a puckered brow.

”I fear this has come upon you somewhat suddenly: but my first thought, as soon as I had convinced myself--”

”Thank you, Vicar. I appreciate that, of course.”

”And, after all--when you come to think of it--an event of this magnitude, happening in your mayoralty--”

”Will they knight him, do you think?” asked Miss Marty.

While the Vicar considered his answer, on top of this interruption came another--Scipio entering with the omelet. Now the entrance of the Major's omelet was a daily ritual. It came on a silver dish, heated by a small silver spirit-lamp, on a tray covered by a spotless linen cloth. Scipio, its cook and compounder, bore it with professional pride, supporting the dish on one palm bent backwards, and held accurately level with his shoulder; whence, by a curious and quite indescribable turn of the wrist (Scipio was double-jointed), during which for one fearful tenth of a second they seemed to hang upside down, he would bring tray, lamp, dish and omelet down with a sweep, and deposit them accurately in front of the Major's plate, at the same instant bringing his heels together and standing at attention for his master's approval.

”Well done, Scipio!” the Major would say, nine days out of ten.

But to-day he pushed the tray from him pettishly, ignoring Scipio.

”You'll excuse me”--he turned to the Vicar--”but if what you say is correct (you may go, Scipio) it puts me in a position of some responsibility.”

”I felt sure you would see it in that light. It's a responsibility for me, too.”

”To-day is the twenty-fifth. We have little more than a month.”

”What am I to say in church next Sunday?”

”Why, as for that, you must say nothing. Good Heavens! is this a time for adding to the disquietude of men's minds?”

”I had thought,” the Vicar confessed, ”of memorialising the Government.”

”Addington!” The Major's tone whenever he had occasion to mention Mr.

Addington was a study in scornful expression. He himself had once memorialised the Prime Minister for a couple of nineteen-pounders which, with the two on the Old Fort, would have made our harbour impregnable. ”Addington! It's hard on you, I know,” he went on sympathetically, ”to keep a discovery like this to yourself. But we might tell Hansombody.”

”Why Hansombody?” For the second time a suspicion crossed the Vicar's mind that his hearers were confusing the Millennium with some infectious ailment.

”It is bound to affect his practice,” suggested Miss Marty.

”To be sure,” the Major chimed in. As a matter of fact, he attached great importance to the apothecary's judgment, and was wont to lean on it, though not too ostentatiously. ”It can hardly fail to affect his practice. I think, in common justice, Hansombody ought to be told; that is, if you are quite sure of your ground.”

”Sure?” The Vicar opened his Testament afresh and plunged into an explanation. ”And forty-two months,” he wound up, ”are forty-two months, unless you prefer to fly in the face of Revelation.”

His demonstration fairly staggered the Major. ”My good sir, _where_ did you say? Patmos? Now, if anyone had come to me a week ago and told me--Martha, ring for Scipio, please, and tell him to fetch me my hat.”

Although the Major and the Vicar had as good as made solemn agreement to impart their discovery to no one but Mr. Hansombody; and, although Miss Marty admittedly (and because, as she explained, no one had forbidden her) imparted it to Scipio and again to Cai Tamblyn in the course of the morning; yet, knowing Troy, I hesitate to blame her that before noon the whole town was discussing the Millennium, notice of which (it appeared) had come down to the Mayor by a private advice and in Government cipher.

”But what _is_ a Millennium?” asked someone of Gunner Sobey (our readiest man).