Mr. Heathcote, not having his uncle's thirst for information, was
reading a French novel at the time, and did not attempt to defend his
position, knowing it probably to be indefensible.

Before getting to Boston the air turned very chill, and a fine,
penetrating rain set in that for a while disturbed the student of
American history with visions of rheumatism. "God bless my soul! I shall
be laid by the heels here for weeks. Damp is the one thing that I can't
stand up against. And I have not left my coat out!" he exclaimed,
tugging anxiously at his side-whiskers and annoyed to find how dependent
he had grown on his valet. "What shall I do? Ah! I have an idea. Damp.
What resists it and is practically water-proof? _Newspapers_!" With this
he stood up, seized the "Times" supplement, made a hole in the middle of
the central fold, and put it over his head. "Now I have improvised a
South-American _serape_" he observed, in a tone that betrayed the
pleasure it gave him to exercise his ingenuity. He then took two other
sheets and successively wrapped them around his legs, after the fashion
in vogue among gardeners intent upon protecting valuable plants from the
rigors of winter. This done, he smoothed down the _serape_, which showed
a volatile tendency to blow up a good deal, and, with a brief comment to
the effect that "oilskin or india-rubber could not be better," and no
staring about him to observe the effect of his action on the passengers,
replaced his hat, sat down, picked up his book again, readjusted his
eye-glasses, and went on with the episode he had been reading aloud to
his nephew, who, mildly bored by King Philip's war, was mildly amused by
the spectacle the baronet presented, and surprised to see that their
fellow-travellers thought it an excellent joke. A loud "Haw! haw!" and
many convulsive titters testified their appreciation of the absurd
contrast between Sir Robert's highly-respectable head, his grave,