{"product_id":"2940013613058","title":"Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume III","description":"PREFACE TO VOL. III.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBefore taking leave of his readers, the author would inform them that at\u003cbr\u003ethe commencement of these \"Tales,\" the earlier ones dating some thirty\u003cbr\u003eyears back, nothing was further from his intentions than rushing into\u003cbr\u003eprint, although repeatedly persuaded to do so by certain well-meaning\u003cbr\u003efriends, who from time to time were permitted to peruse the hidden MSS.\u003cbr\u003eThe tales, nearly all of them, were written when the author was living\u003cbr\u003eabroad, and to beguile a period of enforced idleness, which otherwise\u003cbr\u003ewould have been intolerable.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNever in his wildest dreams did he meditate inflicting them on the\u003cbr\u003epublic mind. Partly, it may be, that he thought with Lord Tennyson, that\u003cbr\u003e\"fame is half disfame,\" and that \"in making many books there is no end,\"\u003cbr\u003eas Solomon teaches. Or it may be that he didn't care to augment that\u003cbr\u003ealready numerous class who are said \"to rush on where angels fear to\u003cbr\u003etread.\" However this might be, time passed and the tales began to\u003cbr\u003eaccumulate, when the author conceived the idea of stringing them\u003cbr\u003etogether in a decameron, and later still of illustrating them with his\u003cbr\u003eown designs. Still years rolled on, and the tales, long abandoned, were\u003cbr\u003econsigned to the limbo of a mysterious black box, where they remained\u003cbr\u003eall but forgotten till many years later.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Why on earth don't you publish them?\" was the constant cry of those few\u003cbr\u003ewho were taken into the writer's confidence.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe author answered by a modest shrug of self-depreciation, and still\u003cbr\u003ethe unfinished MSS. lay at the bottom of the black box. The fact was\u003cbr\u003ethat a weight of inertia oppressed him, added to a total lack of\u003cbr\u003eexperience in business matters of this kind, which prevented him from\u003cbr\u003etaking the first step. He recoiled from the thought of calling on a\u003cbr\u003epublisher and presenting his own MSS., and being occupied in other ways\u003cbr\u003ebesides writing, he begrudged the time lost in hunting up printers,\u003cbr\u003epublishers, and engravers, together with all the delays _contretemps_,\u003cbr\u003eand disappointments attendant on red tape.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat he wanted was a factotum, \"an all round man,\" who would take, so to\u003cbr\u003espeak, the dirty work off his hands. Where was such a man to be found?\u003cbr\u003eHe knew of none. The author is a man of unusually retired habits, and\u003cbr\u003eassociates with but few of his kind. By proclaiming his want openly,\u003cbr\u003edoubtless, many would have presented themselves for the task, but in\u003cbr\u003ematters of this sort a certain amount of intimacy with the person\u003cbr\u003eemployed seems to be necessary; at least, so the author thought, and\u003cbr\u003ethus time rolled on, and the \"Tales\" were no nearer publication than\u003cbr\u003ethey were years ago, and might still have remained in this state for\u003cbr\u003eyears longer but for an unforeseen incident. One morning, whilst taking\u003cbr\u003ea constitutional in a neighbouring suburb, the author's attention was\u003cbr\u003eattracted by a strange-looking stringed instrument of undoubted\u003cbr\u003eantiquity, in the window of an old curiosity shop. He would enquire the\u003cbr\u003eprice of it. The proprietor, a weasel-faced little man, with a polished\u003cbr\u003ebald head, foxy beard streaked with grey, and a nose rather red at the\u003cbr\u003etip, stood at the door of his shop. His ferret eyes spotted a customer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What is the price of that instrument?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"One guinea.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I'll take it. Wrap it up in paper.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Right you are, sir. Good morning, sir. Thank you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd off trudged the author with this new acquisition to his collection\u003cbr\u003eof curios.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLittle did he imagine at the time what an important part this same\u003cbr\u003eweasely little man was destined to play in the drama of his every day\u003cbr\u003elife. Soon after this a second visit was paid to the shop. It was a\u003cbr\u003estrange place, choked with odd lumber, where any curio might be\u003cbr\u003eobtained, from a mermaid to a mummy. A stuffed crocodile hung in the\u003cbr\u003ewindow. There were cases of stuffed birds and animals, dummies in\u003cbr\u003ecostume, old pictures, antique furniture, armour, weapons, coins, and\u003cbr\u003epostage stamps. A third and fourth visit succeeded, and after almost\u003cbr\u003eevery visit the author's collection was enriched by some new curio. At\u003cbr\u003elength, so frequent became these visits to the curio shop, that hardly a\u003cbr\u003eday passed without the author putting in an appearance. Some two years\u003cbr\u003emay thus have passed away, during which time the author had ample\u003cbr\u003eopportunity of studying this human weasel. He learned that he was a\u003cbr\u003ebum-bailiff, a commission agent, etc., ready to undertake any odd job\u003cbr\u003efor money.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHere, then, at last, was the very man. The author accordingly propounded\u003cbr\u003ehis plan of publishing the \"Tales.\"","brand":"SAP","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47145763143920,"sku":"2940013613058","price":0.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940013613058_p0.jpg?v=1763583568","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940013613058","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}