plunge head and shoulders into a bush and there remain--showing
nothing against the sky-line. Long practice had freed the posture from
irksomeness. As a young man Mr. Fletcher had been employed in a public
tennis-court, and there had learned the little mannerism to which he
now had constant resort. In those days the necessity of freeing
himself from the constant annoyance of nets to be tightened, or of
disputes between rival claims to courts to be settled, had driven him
to devise some means of escape. It was essential to the safety of his
post, upon the other hand, that he must never allow it to be said that
he was constantly absent from his duties. Chance gave him the very
means he sought. Bent double into a bush one day, searching a tennis
ball, he heard his name bawled up and down the courts; he did not
stir. Those who were calling him stumbled almost against his legs; did
not observe him; passed on calling. Thereafter, when unduly pressed,
it became Mr. Fletcher's habit to bury head and arms in a bush either
until the hue and cry for him had lulled, or until exasperated
searchers knocked against his stern; in the latter event he would
explain that he was looking for tennis balls.

The habit had persisted. Whenever irritated or depressed (and this
man's temperament caused such often to be his fate), he would creep to
the most likely bush and there disappear as to his upper half. It is a
fine thing in this turbulent life thus to have some quiet refuge
against the snarlings of adversity.

Mr. Fletcher drew up now and faced Mr. Marrapit; in his hand a snail.

He said gloomily: "Another one"; held it towards his master's face.

Here is an example of how one deception leads to another. This was no