Chapter VII The Episode of the Barrel

culatedfromthelengthofhisstride,andweknowthathewasbearded.HishairinesswastheonepointwhichimpresseditselfuponThaddeusSholtowhenhesawhimatthewindow.Idon’tknowthatthereisanythingelse.” “Theassociate?” “Ah,well,thereisnogreatmysteryinthat.Butyouwillknowallaboutitsoonenough.Howsweetthemorningairis!Seehowthatonelittlecloudfloatslikeapinkfeatherfromsomegiganticflamingo.NowtheredrimofthesunpushesitselfovertheLondoncloud-bank.Itshinesonagoodmanyfolk,butonnone,Idarebet,whoareonastrangererrandthanyouandI.Howsmallwefeelwithourpettyambitionsandstrivingsinthepresenceofthegreatelementalforcesofnature!AreyouwellupinyourJeanPaul?” “Fairlyso.IworkedbacktohimthroughCarlyle.” “Thatwaslikefollowingthebrooktotheparentlake.Hemakesonecuriousbutprofoundremark.Itisthatthechiefproofofman’srealgreatnessliesinhisperceptionofhisownsmallness.Itargues,yousee,apowerofcomparisonandofappreciationwhichisinitselfaproofofnobility.ThereismuchfoodforthoughtinRichter.Youhavenotapistol,haveyou?” “Ihavemystick.” “Itisjustpossiblethatwemayneedsomethingofthesortifwegettotheirlair.JonathanIshallleavetoyou,butiftheotherturnsnastyIshallshoothimdead.”Hetookouthisrevolverashespoke,and,havingloadedtwoofthechambers,heputitbackintotheright-handpocketofhisjacket. WehadduringthistimebeenfollowingtheguidanceofTobydownthehalf-ruralvilla-linedroadswhichleadtothemetropolis.Now,however,wewerebeginningtocomeamongcontinuousstreets,wherelabourersanddockmenwerealreadyastir,andslatternlywomenweretakingdownshuttersandbrushingdoor-steps.Atthesquare-toppedcornerpublichousesbusinesswasjustbeginning,andrough-lookingmenwereemerging,rubbingtheirsleevesacrosstheirbeardsaftertheirmorningwet.Strangedogssaunteredupandstaredwonderinglyatusaswepassed,butourinimitableTobylookedneithertotherightnortotheleft,buttrottedonwardswithhisnosetothegroundandanoccasionaleagerwhinewhichspokeofahotscent. WehadtraversedStreatham,Brixton,Camberwell,andnowfoundourselvesinKenningtonLane,havingborneawaythroughtheside-streetstotheeastoftheOval.Themenwhomwepursuedseemedtohavetakenacuriouslyzigzagroad,withtheideaprobablyofescapingobservation.Theyhadneverkepttothemainroadifaparallelside-streetwouldservetheirturn.AtthefootofKenningtonLanetheyhadedgedawaytotheleftthroughBondStreetandMilesStreet.WherethelatterstreetturnsintoKnight’sPlace,Tobyceasedtoadvance,butbegantorunbackwardsandforwardswithoneearcockedandtheotherdrooping,theverypictureofcanineindecision.Thenhewaddledroundincircles,lookinguptousfromtimetotime,asiftoaskforsympathyinhisembarrassment. “Whatthedeuceisthematterwiththedog?”growledHolmes.“Theysurelywouldnottakeacab,orgooffinaballoon.” “Perhapstheystoodhereforsometime,”Isuggested. “Ah!it’sallright.He’soffagain,”saidmycompanion,inatoneofrelief. Hewasindeedoff,foraftersniffingroundagainhesuddenlymadeuphismind,anddartedawaywithanenergyanddeterminationsuchashehadnotyetshown.Thescentappearedtobemuchhotterthanbefore,forhehadnoteventoputhisnoseontheground,buttuggedathisleashandtriedtobreakintoarun.IcouldseebythegleaminHolmes’seyesthathethoughtwewerenearingtheendofourjourney. OurcoursenowrandownNineElmsuntilwecametoBroderickandNelson’slargetimber-yard,justpasttheWhiteEagletavern.Herethedog,franticwithexcitement,turneddownthroughtheside-gateintotheenclosure,wherethesawyerswerealreadyatwork.Onthedogracedthroughsawdustandshavings,downanalley,roundapassage,betweentwowood-piles,andfinally,withatriumphantyelp,spranguponalargebarrelwhichstillstooduponthehand-trolleyonwhichithadbeenbrought.Withlollingtongueandblinkingeyes,Tobystooduponthecask,lookingfromonetotheotherofusforsomesignofappreciation.Thestavesofthebarrelandthewheelsofthetrolleyweresmearedwithadarkliquid,andthewholeairwasheavywiththesmellofcreasote. SherlockHolmesandIlookedblanklyateachother,andthenburstsimultaneouslyintoanuncontrollablefitoflaughter.