cat's. He has the slit of a letter-box mouth of the Irishman in
caricature, and only half a dozen teeth spaced like a skeleton
company. Nothing will induce him to procure false ones. It is a
matter of principle. Between the wearing of false hair and the
wearing of false teeth he makes a distinction of unfathomable
subtlety. He is an obstinate beast. If he wasn't he would not,
with four fingers of his right hand shot away, have remained with
me on that gun. In the same way, neither tears nor entreaties nor
abuse have induced him to wear a glass eye. On high days and
holidays, whenever he desires to look smart and dashing, he covers
the unpleasing orifice with a black shade. In ordinary workaday
life he cares not how much he offends the aesthetic sense. But the
other eye, the sound left eye, is a wonder--the precious jewel set
in the head of the ugly toad. It is large, of ultra-marine blue,
steady, fearless, humorous, tender--everything heroic and
beautiful and romantic you can imagine about eyes. Let him clap a
hand over that eye and you will hold him the most dreadful ogre
that ever escaped out of a fairy tale. Let him clap a hand over
the other eye and look full at you out of the good one and you
will think him the Knightliest man that ever was--and in my poor
opinion, you would not be far wrong.

So, out of this nightmare of a face, the one beautiful eye of
Sergeant Marigold was bent on me, as he delivered his message.

I thrust back my chair from the writing-table.

"Is Sir Anthony ill?"

"He rode by the gate an hour ago looking as well as either you or