Many's the good yarn we
would have together. I hope you left him very well, sir?" "In excellent health, thank you, Jack," said the stranger. "He desired
to be remembered to you." "Thank you, sir," said the host. "Yes; those slippers will do," said the new guest. "Draw near to the table, my friend," said Mr. Oldstone, "for I must
introduce you to the other members and guests here to-night." "My friends," said the chairman, "this gentleman is Mr. Vandyke McGuilp,
an artist from Rome, great friend of my old chum Rustcoin, whom most of
you knew. Mr. McGuilp, this gentleman on my right is Mr. Hardcase, the
lawyer, who will be the first to relate a story to-night. On his right
is Dr. Bleedem, one of our celebrated physicians; next to him is Mr.
Cyanite, professor of geology, and then comes Mr. Blackdeed, one of our
eminent tragedians; next to him is Mr. Parnassus, a young poet of great
promise; after him is Mr. Crucible, analytical chemist, one of the
oldest members of our club; next to him, as guest to-night, is Captain
Toughyarn, commander of Her Majesty's good ship the _Dreadnought_; then,
next door neighbour to yourself is Mr. Jollytoast, celebrated low
comedian." The new visitor bowed to each guest at the table with urbanity, and the
guests returned the salute cordially. "Well, gentlemen," began the president, "what do you say to a bumper to
the health of our new guest?" "Hear, hear!" cried the guests, unanimously. Each filled up his glass from the punch-bowl, and our artist's health
was drunk with cheers, to which he responded in a short and modest
speech. (Applause.) "And now, Mr. Hardcase," said the chairman, after the formalities were
gone through, "I think it was arranged that you should tell the first
story. I hope you have one ready. I am anxious for my young friend to
hear a specimen of our far-famed recitals. In this club," said Mr.
Oldstone, addressing the artist, "we always esteem those stories the
highest that are true, and especially if they are facts coming under the
experience of the relater. What sort of story may we expect from you
to-night, Mr. Hardcase?" "The story I intended to start the club with to-night is one that I
myself took part in in my younger days, and which, although I never
related to any of the club before, I have been upon the point of
relating a hundred times, when I have been invariably interrupted by
someone else who had some other tale to relate. The story I have in
store for you this evening, gentlemen, I propose to entitle 'The Phantom
Flea.'" "Ha, Bravo!" laughed the guests. "The Phantom Flea! Ha! ha! ha!" "I assure you, gentlemen," said the lawyer, gravely, "that the narrative
I am about to relate is not one to provoke mirth. It is of a solemn
character, I can promise you. No one felt less inclined to laugh than I
did when I was reluctantly compelled to take part in this tragedy. Though by no means a timid man, I, nevertheless, experienced a sort of
cold shiver all down my back when----"

"Exactly so," said the doctor. "And each particular hair to stand on end like quills upon the fretful
porcupine," quoted Mr. Blackdeed, the tragedian. "Belay that," roared Captain Toughyarn, from the depths of his
stentorian lungs, "and make room on board for the 'Phantom Flea.'" "Bedad, and sure I feel myself itching all over alriddy," broke in Mr.
Jollytoast, assuming an Irish brogue, and scratching himself. "Order, order! Chair, chair!" called out other guests. "Silence! gentlemen," said Mr. Oldstone, with authority, thumping on the
table; "the story is just about to commence." "The performance is just a-goin' to begin," broke in the incorrigible
little comedian, assuming the air of a showman. "Valk up, valk up,
ladies and gentlemen." "Hush! Mr. Jollytoast," said the antiquary. "Hush! gentlemen, for the
'Phantom Flea.'" "Tremulous music, lights half down," muttered the tragedian; but he was
instantly silenced by the chairman. Mr. Oldstone gave one final authoritative thump on the table, and
glanced severely at all the guests. The silence that ensued was awful,
while Mr. Hardcase, after a sip at his glass and a puff at his long
churchwarden, began his story in the following manner:




[Illustration]


CHAPTER I. THE PHANTOM FLEA.--THE LAWYER'S STORY. [1]


One morning, many years ago, whilst sitting idly in my chambers in town,
I received a letter from Baron ---- to come down for a few days to his
country seat in ----shire. It was on business he wanted me; he had got
involved in some quarrel. The case was about to be brought before the
court, and the Baron wanted a legal adviser. [1] In the spirit world all those who have been bloodthirsty to
    excess inhabit the forms of fleas.--WILLIAM BLAKE, _Poet and
    Visionary_. (_Quoted from memory._)

Having heard much of my abilities, as he said, he thought he could not
do better than write to me at once. He regretted that business would
prevent him from being at the Hall on my arrival, but he hoped to return
home some time the next day. In the meantime he had told his housekeeper
to make up a bed for me at the Hall, and had left open his bookcase,
lest the time might hang heavy on my hands. Glad of an excuse to leave town, as it was getting very hot and I had
nothing to do, I took the stage, and towards the middle of the next day
found myself in front of the Baron's country seat. It was a fine, stately mansion, surrounded by a moat. I crossed the
drawbridge, and inquired whether the Baron was at home. A respectable
matron answered the door. She replied in the negative to my question. Then, asking if I were Mr. Hardcase, the lawyer, and learning that I
was, she said "The Baron left word that he would be at home some time
to-morrow, or the day after for certain; that in the meantime you were
to make yourself quite at home, sir." "Oh, very well," said I; "I am rather tired just at present. Leave me
here among the Baron's books. When I have sufficiently rested I should
like to look over the house. It seems a curious old place." "Yes, sir, it is a _very_ old place," said the housekeeper. "But
wouldn't you like to take a little refreshment first?" Being then past one o'clock, and having had but a hurried breakfast, I
thanked her and said I thought I could manage a little light
refreshment. She then left me alone, but soon returned with a tray
containing what seemed to be the fag end of a sumptuous banquet. There
was venison pasty, a boiled leg of turkey, some ham, vegetables, bread
and cheese, salad, raspberry and currant tart, a bottle of good old
crusted port, some sherry, Burgundy, etc. Having done justice to this light repast, I rang the bell for the things
to be cleared away; after which I took down a great number of volumes
from the bookcase, and throwing myself into an easy-chair, I deposited
the books in a heap upon the floor, and began examining their titles,
and occasionally reading a passage here and there when it interested me.