must have been you that sent the Hercules.'

'Believe me,' cried the young man, 'I admire you too much to send you
such an infamous work of art..'

Julia was beginning to reply, when they were both startled by a knocking
at the door.

'O, Mr Forsyth!'

'Don't be afraid, my dear girl,' said Gideon, laying his hand tenderly
on her arm.

'I know it's the police,' she whispered. 'They are coming to complain
about the statue.'

The knock was repeated. It was louder than before, and more impatient.

'It's Morris,' cried Julia, in a startled voice, and she ran to the door
and opened it.

It was indeed Morris that stood before them; not the Morris of ordinary
days, but a wild-looking fellow, pale and haggard, with bloodshot eyes,
and a two-days' beard upon his chin.

'The barrel!' he cried. 'Where's the barrel that came this morning?'
And he stared about the lobby, his eyes, as they fell upon the legs of
Hercules, literally goggling in his head. 'What is that?' he screamed.
'What is that waxwork? Speak, you fool! What is that? And where's the
barrel--the water-butt?'