rotter. We drank Kathleen's health a couple of times, and then
the other three sat down to dummy bridge. I slipped away to the
Public Library, partly to get some more of my antiquarian
information about Wolverhampton, and partly because I knew my
absence would disquiet them.

I found the Library after some difficulty. In the large
reading-room I hunted up some books of reference, but to my
disappointment Mr. Kent's volume was out. Looking round for a
place to sit, the first person I saw was the Goblin, bent very
busily over a book and making notes on a pad of paper. I leaned
over him.

"Hello, Goblin," I whispered. "Getting ready for a First?"

He started, and tried to cover his volume with a newspaper, but I
had seen it. It was a cook book.

"That's a queer kind of fiction you're mulling over," I remarked.

"I'm looking up a recipe for stuffed eggs," said the Goblin,
without a quiver. "Our Common Room steward does them so poorly."

"Well, don't let me interrupt you," I said. I sat down in a
corner of the room with a volume of the Britannica. When I next
looked up the Goblin was gone.

As usual, I wasted my time with the encyclopedia. I got
interested in the articles on Wages, Warts, Weather, Wordsworth,
and Worms. By the time I got to Wolverhampton it was closing