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 “Anthony Rowley, appear before the Court of the Grand Panjandrum!”

“What’s A. Rowley got to do with it?” asked the Carpenter.

“Here he comes, with his three imps,” whispered Mr. Snip to the Fraction, as they peeped through the hedge. “Lucy persuaded him to come.”

Anthony himself looked rather sad and depressed; he sighed, and said “Heigho!” But Rowley-Powley, Gammon, and Spinach were three of the liveliest imps you ever saw. Anthony Rowley bowed to the Grand Panjandrum, his three imps only set faces.

“Go on, tell all you know, and don’t ‘Heigho’ more than you can help,” whispered the Young Man.

“Heigho,” sighed Anthony Rowley. “Life is a tragedy, and I, poor, miserable creature that I am, know only too well the discomfort of uncongenial surroundings.”

“Spell it,” said the Young Man.

“Do they bite?” asked the Carpenter.

“What’s the gentleman talking about?” asked the Pussy Cat.

Lucy jumped to her feet.

“I know what he means,” she said, “he means it is very miserable to be with people you don’t want to be with, and I quite agree with him.”

“Order! Order! Order!” called the Young Man, looking at the Grand Panjandrum’s little button, which was bobbing up and down faster and faster every minute, a sure sign that he was getting angry.

Lucy sat down suddenly. Someone from behind pulled her dress hard, and she was too much astonished to object.

Anthony Rowley bowed once more, and began again. “I know myself,” he said, “the great discomfort of uncongenial surroundings.”

“He is calling us names,” whispered Rowley-Powley to Gammon and Spinach.

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