“Don’t you get it, Lucy? I’ve always thought he was an idiot. Schoolgirl. But you will, you will. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. He occupied one of the smaller houses near the station. Funny codgers, aren't they?" he said. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. Why hadn't he admitted that he recognized the photograph? What instinct had impelled him swiftly to assume his Oriental mask? "Why?" asked O'Higgins.
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