Midshipman Quinn

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THE SMELL FOUND its way along the passages of Linton Abbott Rectory and into the study where the Reverend Theophilus Quinn was composing a sermon. The Reverend Theophilus frowned, sniffed, and addressed himself angrily to the marble bust of his second cousin, Mr. William Pitt the Prime Minister, that stood on the mantelpiece.

"Drat that brat!" said the Reverend Theophilus.

The fact that his exclamation sounded like part of a child's spelling-book made him angrier still. He got up from his desk, a large pompous man in a white wig and black knee-breeches, and tugged the bell-rope that hung in a corner of the study. In a few moments a spotless frilled cap poked itself into the room and the plump body of Mrs. Cattermole the housekeeper followed it. The Rector of Linton Abbott, who had been pacing up and down the study, turned to face her.

"Mrs. Cattermole," he observed solemnly, "there is a smell in this house. I fancy-"

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