In another
moment my legs must have been off, had not one of the officers of the
ship thrown out a rope, which I clutched eagerly, and being speedily
hauled on deck, the monster was baulked of its prey. Whilst yet dangling in air, before my feet had time to touch the deck, I
heard a "bang," and, looking behind me, to my intense relief, I saw the
corpse of my dread foe bobbing up and down in the waves, and staining
the water with his blood. "So much for Thomas," thought I. The sailors were just about to lug it on board, when at this juncture I
awoke. Lucky for me that my flight was so precipitate. If _she_ had crossed my
path at the last moment I thoroughly believe the very sight of her sweet
face would have made me consent to the operation. Poor Lurline! But what
is the use of giving way to sensibility, gentlemen? And, as to losing
one's legs, it is bad enough to lose them in an engagement for the
honour and glory of one's country, but to have them bitten off by a
shark, or amputated by a mer-surgeon, at the caprice of a mer-king, and
a fish's tail substituted in lieu thereof, is a thing that Toughyarn
can't quite stomach. Supposing me to have been weak enough to have submitted to the operation
at the tears and entreaties of Lurline, it becomes a very different
matter when my limbs are exacted as a forfeiture, and imperiously
demanded by an infuriated parent. Toughyarn may be as weak as a child in the hands of a pretty woman, but
he won't be _forced_ to anything by the greatest tyrant that ever
existed. *       *       *       *       *

"Bravo, Toughyarn!" cried all the company, with one voice. This enthusiasm was as much in praise of the sentiment that the captain
had wound up with as for the story itself. "I knew the captain wouldn't be beaten in a yarn by the best of us,"
said Hardcase, "although he did find mine rather difficult to swallow." Cheers and rattling of glasses followed, and the captain's health was
drunk with due honours, after which the chairman rose and addressed the
company thus:

"Most honourable and august members and guests of the Wonder Club, you
will all allow that the gallant captain has amply expiated his offence. There is, however, an individual present who has been guilty of the same
offence as the captain, and who has not yet undergone the penance
expected from him by our club." All eyes were turned towards the little comedian who blushed and
laughed. "Need I point out that individual, gentlemen?" Cries of "No, no!" "Now, Jollytoast, for your turn, old boy," said the tragedian. "Hear, hear!" cried other members. "Gentlemen," continued Mr. Oldstone, "our time is short; the clock has
already struck two, and I have observed more than one yawn from amongst
the company. It will be my painful duty to dismiss this genial meeting,
but I cannot conscientiously do so without first performing an act of
justice to the company. I, therefore, sentence Mr. Jollytoast to a comic
song before our meeting breaks up." (Cheers and laughter. Cries of
"Hear, hear," and "Now then Jollytoast; a song, a song--Jollytoast for a
song!") The little gentleman, thus addressed, begged for a moment's reflection,
and then broke into a very merry ditty with a chorus, in which all had
to join. There was plenty of acting and grimace in it, with here and
there a part spoken, and any amount of "tooral-looral" in the chorus. The song being ended, our comic friend was much applauded, and the
chairman, in a short speech, expressed himself satisfied with the
expiation, and, wishing all the company a "good night," and many more
such genial meetings, was about to retire, when Captain Toughyarn called
out, "Avast! there, chairman. You are never going to dismiss the crew
without splicing the main brace first!" "True, true, captain," said the president; "besides the health of our
sublime warbler, Mr. Jollytoast, has not been drunk yet. Fill your
glasses, gentlemen, and drink to the health of Mr. Jollytoast." Shouts and yells ensued, during which our comic guest's health was drunk
with three times three, to which he responded in a short and laughable
speech that called forth more cheering. "And now, gentlemen," said the chairman, "after having spent the tenth
anniversary of our club in the company of mermaids, sea monsters,
ghouls, spirits, and phantom fleas, how can we do better than wind up
this honourable meeting by joining hands and singing that song composed
by one of our members--now, alas! no more--to be sung at the
inauguration of the Wonder Club?" The proposal was received with applause, and all the company joining
hands, our host included, sung the following ditty:--


SONG OF THE WONDER CLUB. As we join hand in hand
    Let us sing to our band,
      And lift up our voice in a ditty;
    May memories well stored
    E'er enliven our board
      With the wondrous, the weird, and the witty. Let each thirsty soul
    Round the merry punch bowl
      Drink deep to our brotherhood's founding,
    And loud be the cheers
    That resound in the ears
      Of the member with tale most astounding. Round the merry Yule flame
    May our band of the same
      Meet year after year in their niches,
    And list as of yore
    To our tales by the score
      Of phantoms, wraiths, goblins, and witches. Then our song's jocund sound,
    When our nectar flows round,
      Sure Olympus was never so merry. Right jovial our crew,
    Whate'er be the brew,
      Whether brandy, port, whisky or sherry. Now whate'er befall,
    Here's a "good-night" to all,
      May Queen Mab with her train cheer our slumber;
    And with one last toast,
    Let us drown every ghost,
      Or goblin, or ghoul, in a bumper. The song at an end, a last bumper was drunk by way of a nightcap, and
each gallant member or guest walked, or staggered, as the case might be,
off to bed. "Ho, steward!" cried the captain, to the landlord; "douse the glims, and
show the passengers to their cabins. Where have you slung my hammock?" Our host provided candles for each of his guests, and bidding them all
"good-night," gave a yawn, and followed the example of the rest. CHAPTER V.

THE HEADLESS LADY.--THE ARTIST'S FIRST STORY. The morning following the saturnalia was cold and bleak. Without it was
snowing hard, and the windows of the old inn were covered with frost
crystals. Breakfast was late, few of the members of the club having yet
risen, apparently not yet recovered from the effects of the previous
evening. The landlord exerted himself to make the interior of his inn as cheerful
as the gloomy state of the weather would permit. A large log crackled on
the hearth, and the breakfast table teemed with all the delicacies that
the inn could boast of; coffee, toast, hot rolls, eggs and bacon, ham,
chicken, tongue, and fresh butter. One by one the guests made their
appearance. They seemed to have slept well, for they looked none the
worse for their last night's carousal.