human
Unable to procure his beastly book--our copy cannot be found--we have forgotten the incident. It comes to our ears that he has bought The Lawn and is in possession. What more natural than that some of us should repair thither, to congratulate him upon becoming our neighbour? We shall roll up quite casually--by way of the door in the wall--and, when we find him labouring, affect the utmost surprise. Of our good nature we might even offer to help him to--er--relay the lawn or tackle the drains, or whatever he's doing. In any event we shall enact the _rôle_ of the village idiot, till between the respective gadflies of suspicion--which he dare not voice--and impatience--which he dare not reveal--he will be goaded into a condition of frenzy. What about it?