Mr. Heard opened his drooping eyelids from time to time to
take pleasure in their merry play of feature, wondering dreamily what
could be the subject-matter of this endless polite conversation.
CHAPTER XXI
Both the old boatman and Mr. Keith were correct in their surmises.
There was trouble in the market-place, serious trouble; so serious that
for the first time in five years--ever since that deplorable scandal of
the Irish lady and the poodle--the Militia were being called out. And it
was entirely the fault of the Sacred Sixty-three.
The Messiah, personally, was not to blame. That poor old man had much
declined of late; he was enfeebled in health and spirits. A French
artist who was specially despatched from Paris to do an original sketch
of him for the enterprising journal L'ILLUSTRATION had, at the end of
several sittings, uncharitably declared him to be "COMPLEETEMENT
GA-GA." The voluptuous surroundings of Nepenthe, the abundant food,
adoration of disciples, alcoholic and carnal debaucheries, had impaired
his tough Monjik frame and blunted his wit, working havoc with that
energy and peasant craftiness which once ruled an Emperor's Court.
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