So a goodly library of amazing rubbish was stored by degrees under the scullery slab, until it outgrew safe accommodation; whereupon Paul transferred the bulk of it to a hole in a bit of waste ground, a deserted brickfield on the ragged outskirts of the town.

At last misfortune befell him.

One dreary afternoon of rain he dropped his new bundle of papers in the mud of the roadway.

To avoid death he had to spring from the path of a thundering tramcar.

A heavy cart ran over the bundle.