very rich, and the mystery that surrounded him piqued my curiosity.




CHAPTER II.

TICKLE-ME-QUICK.


Being naturally of a retiring disposition, and in no sense the hero of the
tale which I am about to tell, I shall say no more concerning myself than
is absolutely necessary. At the same time, it is essential to a right
comprehension of what follows that I say something about myself, and
better that I should say it now than interrupt the even flow of my
narrative later on.

My name is Geoffrey Bacon, and I have reason to believe that I was born at
a place in Essex called (appropriately enough) Dedham. My family is one of
the oldest in the county, and (of course) highly respectable; but as the
question is often put to me by friends, and will naturally suggest itself
to my readers, I may as well observe, once for all, that I am _not_ a
descendent of the Lord Keeper Bacon, albeit, if he had had any children, I
have no doubt I should have been.

My poor mother died in giving me birth; my father followed her when I was
ten years old, leaving me with his blessing (nothing else), to the care of
his aunt, Miss Ophelia Bacon, by whom I was brought up and educated. She
was very good to me, but though I was far from being intentionally
ungrateful, I fear that I did not repay her goodness as it deserved. The