Cuss stopped.

It's incredible, said Cuss incredible.

Bobby Son of a cuss.

I won't argue again, said Cuss.

She'd have made a preacher cuss.

CHAPTER IV MR. CUSS INTERVlEWS THE STRANGER

Cuss went straight up the village to

Cuss, the general practitioner, was devoured by curiosity.

Cuss rapped at the parlour door and entered.

And Please shut that door, said Mr. Cuss, irritably.

Diary! said Cuss, putting the three books on the table.

Cuss turned the pages over with a face suddenly disappointed.

No illustrations throwing light See for yourself, said Mr. Cuss.

In another moment Mr. Cuss was back in the parlour.

Invisible Man, said Cuss, and rushed on to the window.

So they were teaching me cuss word Scrabble at night.

Give me something to drink, said Cuss, and he sat down.

He looked suspiciously at Cuss. It's a most remarkable story, he said.

Then he took the volume Cuss handed him in a leisurely manner.

Who's that speaking now? asked Henfrey. Mr. Cuss, I s'pose, said Hall.

Cuss me if I much care whether he is dead or alive.

Am I mad? Cuss began abruptly, as he entered the shabby little study.

At that precise moment Mr. Cuss and Mr. Bunting were in the parlour.

There wasn't anything there! said Cuss, his voice running up into a shriek at the

Diary, repeated Cuss, sitting down, putting two volumes to support the third, and opening it.

A general impression first, Cuss, and then, you know, we can go looking for clues.

When I hit his cuff, said Cuss, I tell you, it felt exactly like hitting an arm.

A nautical term, referring to his getting back out of the room, I suppose. I daresay so, said Cuss.

Pardon my intrusion, said Cuss, and then the door closed and cut Mrs. Hall off from the rest of the conversation.

Someone sniffed as he did so. One thing is indisputable, said Bunting, drawing up a chair next to that of Cuss.

He looked into the face of Cuss, close to his own, and each saw a horrified reflection of his own sickly astonishment.

And suddenly the parlour door was opened, and Mr. Cuss appeared, and without glancing at her rushed at once down the steps toward the corner.

First it starts with the sexual organs, then it starts with cuss words, then it was Bush slanders and then people actually got to art.

The face of Mr. Cuss was angry and resolute, but his costume was defective, a sort of limp white kilt that could only have passed muster in Greece.

And on the table under the window where the stranger had been wont to work, Cuss had hit almost at once on three big books in manuscript labelled Diary.

Haysman's meadow was gay with a tent, in which Mrs. Bunting and other ladies were preparing tea, while, without, the Sunday school children ran races and played games under the noisy guidance of the curate and the Misses Cuss and Sackbut.

She could hear the murmur of voices for the next ten minutes, then a cry of surprise, a stirring of feet, a chair flung aside, a bark of laughter, quick steps to the door, and Cuss appeared, his face white, his eyes staring over his shoulder.