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A sandwich presently, and a glass of "fizz," if you please; but time is precious. A tall bishop strolls up one of the pillars of the Church, an eloquent preacher, and an autocrat in his diocese. Most people regard him with awe. The Rev. Sep greets him with a scandalous slap on the back, and addresses him, the apostolic one, as Lamper. And the Lord Bishop of Dudley says, like the others
"Hullo, Sep! We used to think you a slogger, but you never came anywhere near that smite of Scaife's." "I thought his smite was coming too near me," says the Rev. Sep, with a shrewd glance at the pavilion. "Lamper, old chap, I am glad to see your 'phiz' again." And so they stroll off together, mighty prelate and humble country parson, once again happy Harrow boys.
In the parish of Overstrand, there used to be a lane called "Shuck's Lane," named after this phantasm. Round about Leeds the spectre dog is called "Padfoot," and is about the size of a donkey, with shaggy hair and large eyes like saucers. My friend Mr. Barker tells me there was, at one time, a ghost in the Hebrides called the Lamper, which was like a very big, white dog with no tail.
"I think she will," replied Denny; and I found the boys were pretty nearly right. I tried them on a point of natural history. I had observed, coming along, a great many dead eels lying on the bottom of the river, that I supposed had died from spear wounds. "No," said Johnny, "they are lamper eels. They die as soon as they have built their nests and laid their eggs." "Are you sure?"
It ran sometimes straight ahead, but usually in circles, and to see it was a prognostication of death. Mr. Barker, going home by the sea-coast, saw the Lamper in the hedge. He struck at it, and his stick passed right through it. The Lamper rushed away, whining and howling alternately, and disappeared. Mr. Barker was so scared that he ran all the way home.
"How's that?" The appeal comes from every part of the ground. And then, clearly and unmistakably, the umpire's fiat is spoken "Out!" The Rev. Sep rises and rushes off, upsetting chairs, treading on toes, bent only upon being the first to tell Warde that Harrow has won. "Io! Io! Io!" The blue of the Harrow colours. Lamper, i.e. Lamp-post.
You see, the people who had them were at their wits' end to know where to stow them away for safe keeping, and some one who was motoring through the village was struck by the snug loneliness of the cottage and thought it would be just the thing. Mrs. Lamper arranged the matter with Betsy and smuggled the things in." "Mrs. Lamper?" "Yes; she does a lot of district visiting, you know."
Lamper has always had the reputation of being a very conscientious woman." "Of course she was screening some one else," said Vera. "A remarkable feature of the affair is the extraordinary number of quite respectable people who have involved themselves in its meshes by trying to shield others.
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