mean it is actually surviving from the Roman period? How old would it be?”
“The Saxon pirates were in the Channel around A.D. 280. It would be more than fifteen hundred years old.”
“Just to think!” I said, becoming excited now. “And it looks as good as new.”
“Better than the stonework done today. Well, their roads still survive, and they are some of our better roads, too, straight and smooth-surfaced. They built them to last—a bed of gravel, then flint laid in cement. We have had nothing to approach them till Telford and Macadam came along just recently.”
“It is only because of that wall in the basement you think my house would be suitable?”
“I said poetic justice. My family destroyed one of the old Saxon Forts. I would like to do something to repay our debt to historians and collect in one spot such material as I can find relating to the period. Why, at Seaview even the cellars would be of interest, you see.”
“Surely the city itself would be a better location— more easily accessible to everyone. Seaview is a long walk from Pevensey, and not everyone has a horse or carriage. Then, too,” I added with a significant voice, “the roads are flooded every spring.”
“Not every spring,” he admitted sheepishly.
“No, not since the last century, according to Lady Inglewood. But my objection still stands, and I think it is a valid one. The city itself would be the better location.”
“The old Roman fort was actually standing there, you know. It would give a great sense of being there, to realize that where you stood looking at the artifacts Roman soldiers actually once looked out at the invaders.”
“I see your point. A great sense of immediacy would be gained," Slack took it up, nodding her head at his every word. It infuriated me to see her make up to him so.
“You speak of fifteen hundred years ago or more, Your Grace. Nineteen years will be as a drop in the bucket when you are speaking of millennia. In nineteen years you can set up your museum. Meanwhile, I see no reason why I should give up my home for your hobby.”
"To benefit the community,” he said simply.
“I doubt the community at large has much interest in Roman remains. I suggest if you feel this wild passion in benefiting the community, you rid your lands of mantraps before you maim anyone else.”
“Ah, you have met Leo Milkin.”
“I heard from the servant at the Lighthouse what happened to him. Kind of you not to prosecute!”
“That’s Milkin.”
“I wasn’t sure he wasn’t another of your victims.”
“There has been only one victim.”
“So far! One is one too many—to see that poor man crippled for life because you..."
“He fell into the..." he began suddenly, then stopped as suddenly, as if he disliked to do so, as if he wanted to say more, give some excuse for his behavior.
I had determined to bring the matter to Clavering’s attention and I had done it. It pretty effectually ruined the tea party, and I saw Slack was unhappy with me, but I was glad I had done it nevertheless. I would have felt morally negligent had I not.
“You are not at all interested in my project then?” he asked stiffly.
“It sounds an excellent project, but I suggest you find yourself another location.”
“I mean, as I think you realize, you will not sell Seaview to me?”
“Prove to me you really care about benefiting the community,” I suggested. “Remove the mantraps, and we’ll discuss the matter.”
“Impossible!” he said, without even giving it a moment’s thought.
One word revealed him for the hypocrite he was—the arrogant, overbearing, selfish hypocrite. He no more cared for truly benefiting the people than I cared for his old museum. He had a hobby that amused him for the present while. The choice of Seaview as its location told me it was for his personal pleasure. No thought to the convenience of the visitors occurred to him.
“Also impossible for me to sell my house, which,
“The Saxon pirates were in the Channel around A.D. 280. It would be more than fifteen hundred years old.”
“Just to think!” I said, becoming excited now. “And it looks as good as new.”
“Better than the stonework done today. Well, their roads still survive, and they are some of our better roads, too, straight and smooth-surfaced. They built them to last—a bed of gravel, then flint laid in cement. We have had nothing to approach them till Telford and Macadam came along just recently.”
“It is only because of that wall in the basement you think my house would be suitable?”
“I said poetic justice. My family destroyed one of the old Saxon Forts. I would like to do something to repay our debt to historians and collect in one spot such material as I can find relating to the period. Why, at Seaview even the cellars would be of interest, you see.”
“Surely the city itself would be a better location— more easily accessible to everyone. Seaview is a long walk from Pevensey, and not everyone has a horse or carriage. Then, too,” I added with a significant voice, “the roads are flooded every spring.”
“Not every spring,” he admitted sheepishly.
“No, not since the last century, according to Lady Inglewood. But my objection still stands, and I think it is a valid one. The city itself would be the better location.”
“The old Roman fort was actually standing there, you know. It would give a great sense of being there, to realize that where you stood looking at the artifacts Roman soldiers actually once looked out at the invaders.”
“I see your point. A great sense of immediacy would be gained," Slack took it up, nodding her head at his every word. It infuriated me to see her make up to him so.
“You speak of fifteen hundred years ago or more, Your Grace. Nineteen years will be as a drop in the bucket when you are speaking of millennia. In nineteen years you can set up your museum. Meanwhile, I see no reason why I should give up my home for your hobby.”
"To benefit the community,” he said simply.
“I doubt the community at large has much interest in Roman remains. I suggest if you feel this wild passion in benefiting the community, you rid your lands of mantraps before you maim anyone else.”
“Ah, you have met Leo Milkin.”
“I heard from the servant at the Lighthouse what happened to him. Kind of you not to prosecute!”
“That’s Milkin.”
“I wasn’t sure he wasn’t another of your victims.”
“There has been only one victim.”
“So far! One is one too many—to see that poor man crippled for life because you..."
“He fell into the..." he began suddenly, then stopped as suddenly, as if he disliked to do so, as if he wanted to say more, give some excuse for his behavior.
I had determined to bring the matter to Clavering’s attention and I had done it. It pretty effectually ruined the tea party, and I saw Slack was unhappy with me, but I was glad I had done it nevertheless. I would have felt morally negligent had I not.
“You are not at all interested in my project then?” he asked stiffly.
“It sounds an excellent project, but I suggest you find yourself another location.”
“I mean, as I think you realize, you will not sell Seaview to me?”
“Prove to me you really care about benefiting the community,” I suggested. “Remove the mantraps, and we’ll discuss the matter.”
“Impossible!” he said, without even giving it a moment’s thought.
One word revealed him for the hypocrite he was—the arrogant, overbearing, selfish hypocrite. He no more cared for truly benefiting the people than I cared for his old museum. He had a hobby that amused him for the present while. The choice of Seaview as its location told me it was for his personal pleasure. No thought to the convenience of the visitors occurred to him.
“Also impossible for me to sell my house, which,
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