Read Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) Online
Authors: Travelers In Time
"I'm
ready.
I
should
like
my
stick,
though,
and
have
you
got
any field-glasses?
I
lent
mine
to
a
man
a
week
ago,
and
he's
gone
off
Lord knows
where
and
taken
them
with
him."
Mr.
Richards
pondered.
"Yes,"
he
said,
"I
have,
but
they're
not things
I
use
myself,
and
I
don't
know
whether
the
ones
I
have
will suit
you.
They're
old-fashioned,
and
about
twice
as
heavy
as
they
make 'em
now.
You're
welcome
to
have
them,
but
I
won't
carry
them.
By the
way,
what
do
you
want
to
drink
after
dinner?"
Protestations
that
anything
would
do
were
overruled,
and
a
satisfactory
settlement
was
reached
on
the
way
to
the
front
hall,
where
Mr. Fanshawe
found
his
stick,
and
Mr.
Richards,
after
thoughtful
pinching
of
his
lower
lip,
resorted
to
a
drawer
in
the
hall-table,
extracted
a key,
crossed
to
a
cupboard
in
the
panelling,
opened
it,
took
a
box from
the
shelf,
and
put
it
on
the
table.
"The
glasses
are
in
there,"
he said,
"and
there's
some
dodge
of
opening
it,
but
I've
forgotten
what
it is.
You
try."
Mr.
Fanshawe
accordingly
tried.
There
was
no
keyhole, and
the
box
was
solid,
heavy
and
smooth:
it
seemed
obvious
that some
part
of
it
would
have
to
be
pressed
before
anything
could
happen.
"The
comers,"
said
he
to
himself,
"are
the
likely
places;
and
infernally
sharp
comers
they
are
too,"
he
added,
as
he
put
his
thumb
in his
mouth
after
exerting
force
on
a
lower
comer.
"What's
the
matter?"
said
the
Squire.
"Why,
your
disgusting
Borgia
box
has
scratched
me,
drat
it,"
said Fanshawe.
The
Squire
chuckled
unfeelingly.
"Well,
you've
got
it open,
anyway,"
he
said.
"So
I
have!
Well,
I
don't
begrudge
a
drop
of
blood
in
a
good
cause, and
here
are
the
glasses.
They
are
pretty
heavy,
as
you
said,
but
I
think I'm
equal
to
carrying
them."
"Ready?"
said
the
Squire.
"Come
on
then;
we
go
out
by
the garden."
So
they
did,
and
passed
out
into
the
park,
which
sloped
decidedly upwards
to
the
hill
which,
as
Fanshawe
had
seen
from
the
train,
dominated
the
country.
It
was
a
spur
of
a
larger
range
that
lay
behind.
On the
way,
the
Squire,
who
was
great
on
earthworks,
pointed
out
various spots
where
he
detected
or
imagined
traces
of
war-ditches
and
the like.
"And
here,"
he
said,
stopping
on
a
more
or
less
level
plot
with
a
ring
of
large
trees,
"is
Baxter's
Roman
villa."
"Baxter?"
said
Mr.
Fanshawe.
"I
forgot;
you
don't
know
about
him.
He
was
the
old
chap
I
got those
glasses
from.
I
believe
he
made
them.
He
was
an
old
watchmaker
down
in
the
village,
a
great
antiquary.
My
father
gave
him
leave to
grub
about
where
he
liked;
and
when
he
made
a
find
he
used
to lend
him
a
man
or
two
to
help
him
with
the
digging.
He
got
a
surprising
lot
of
things
together,
and
when
he
died—I
dare
say
it's
ten
or fifteen
years
ago—I
bought
the
whole
lot
and
gave
them
to
the
town museum.
We'll
run
in
one
of
these
days,
and
look
over
them.
The glasses
came
to
me
with
the
rest,
but
of
course
I
kept
them.
If
you look
at
them,
you'll
see
they're
more
or
less
amateur
work—the
body of
them;
naturally
the
lenses
weren't
his
making."