It is impossible that every one should be fully informed on all points even in so enlightened a community as Broadminster; but there is one clergyman who has a reputation for being the most artful fisherman in the Close, and of being always able to answer any question that may be put to him by the most casual inquirer. I heard him discussing the origin of a fire that had taken place in the town a few days before, and, as is usual in these days, it was said to have been due to a short circuit in the electric wires.

“I have often wondered what a short circuit is,” said a lady. “Can you tell me what it is, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“A short circuit? Oh, it's very simple,” said the fully informed parson. “A short circuit is when—when—oh yes, when it is only a very short way from the electric lamp to where the wire is joined on to the cable.”

“And that causes the fire?” she asked.

“Oh, of course—it is bound to, sooner or later.”

“I wonder why they don't make it longer then.”

“Oh, that's the way they scamp everything nowadays.”

Only a few days had passed before I heard him telling another lady of the good luck that had attended the pottering about bookstalls indulged in by a brother parson in a neighbouring town.

“He wrote to me a few days ago, to tell me that he had picked up a genuine 'Breeches' Bible for sixpence,” he said; “and only a short time before he bought a fine Aldine for fourpence. What luck!”

“Extraordinary,” said the lady. “I'm afraid that I forget what a 'Breeches' Bible is, Mr. Tomlinson.” He laughed good-naturedly.

“Pray, what is a 'Breeches' Bible?” she asked coaxingly.

He was quite ready for her.

“A 'Breeches' Bible?” he cried. “Oh, a 'Breeches' Bible is the one that was carried by Cromwell's troopers in their pockets; it was made specially for carrying about—small, you know, and compact. I remember reading that several of the soldiers had their lives saved owing to the bullets having lodged in the volume in their breeches pocket.”

“Not really?” said the lady. “How very interesting! I do believe that I heard something like that having happened, I forget where.”

I wondered if the Reverend Mr. Tomlinson was not, after all, something of a humourist—if he was not engaged in that delicate dynamic operation known as “pulling her leg.” I had good reason to know some time afterwards, however, that there was no foundation for my suspicion in this direction. He spoke what he imagined must be true, and he was too lazy to verify his own conclusions.

When the lady asked him—

“And what might be the real value of one of those Bibles?” he replied—

“Anything from a thousand pounds up. I believe that one was bought by an American a short time ago for over four thousand pounds.”

“What! Not really? A thousand pounds?” she cried. “Will you kindly give me his address? I must write to him for a subscription for our new bells.”

“For goodness' sake don't tell him that you heard of his good luck from me,” cried Mr. Tomlinson.