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Treloar, ex-Captain in the Coldstream Guards, a soldier of fortune, now serving in Wrangel's army from pure devotion to the Russians. Appalled at the tragedy of the Russians, here is a man who does not mind speaking out.
"Where is David Treloar?" he asked. "If it had not been for him I should have been washed off the spar, but he held me on till I was hauled on board." "David! poor fellow! he is among those who are gone," was the answer. "If it was he who was on the spar with you, he would not, it seems, quit it till he thought you were safe; and meantime his strength must have gone before help could reach him."
I was asked by Count Tolstoy, the aide-de-camp, and also by Treloar, if I would see the General, and accordingly did so, boarding a caique at Galata, and being rowed to his yacht "Luculle." First I saw the Baroness Wrangel, a bright, bird-like lady, trim and neat and cheerful, speaking English like one of us. Baron Wrangel is a tall, gaunt, and very remarkable-looking personage.
Able now to use his nets, Michael could look forward to the pilchard season, when he might hope to reap a rich harvest from the sea. Soon after this he fell in with Eban Cowan. "So I see you have got that dolt David Treloar as your mate," observed Eban. "If you had asked me, I would have advised you to take a chap worth two of him. He is big and strong enough, but he has no sense.
Treloar, can any man call any woman a pig?" Treloar, who happened to be sitting next to him, was startled by the abruptness of the attack, and wondered what grounds he had ever given the little man to believe that he could call a woman a pig. "I should say," he began his hesitant answer, "that it er depends on the er the lady." The little man was aghast. "You mean...?" he quavered.
Michael and David Treloar succeeded together better even than at first expected. David was always ready to do the hard work, and, placing perfect confidence in Michael's skill and judgment, readily obeyed him. It was the height of summer-time. The pilchards in vast schools began to visit the coast of Cornwall, and the fishermen in all directions were preparing for their capture.
Alderman Sir W. P. Treloar, in his excellent little book on "Ludgate Hill," puts forth another idea. "As the inn," he says, "was the mansion of the Savage family, and near to Bailey or Ballium, it is at least conceivable that it would come to be known as the Bail or Bailey Savage Inn, and afterward the Old Bail or Bailey Inn."
Twenty feet away, she swayed and thrust a hand against the wall to save herself. And so she went on, supporting herself against the cabins and walking very slowly." Treloar ceased. He turned his head and favored the little man with a look of cold inquiry. "Well," he said finally. "Classify her." The little man gulped and swallowed. "I have nothing to say," he said.
He then referred to the visit of the Lord Mayor, Sir William Treloar, to Berlin the year previous, and promised a similar hearty welcome to any deputation from the City of London to his capital. "In this place sixteen years ago," continued the Emperor, "I said that all my efforts would be directed to the preservation of peace.
J.H. PEARCE. JACO TRELOAR. By J.H. PEARCE, Author of 'Esther Pentreath. New Edition. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. The 'Spectator' speaks of Mr. Pearce as 'a writer of exceptional power'; the 'Daily Telegraph' calls the book 'powerful and picturesque'; the 'Birmingham Post' asserts that it is 'a novel of high quality. X.L. AUT DIABOLUS AUT NIHIL, and Other Stories. By X.L. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
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