Intrepid explorers have failed in such tasks previously, but one of the Society's taller associates scored a famous victory just recently.
Suitably attired in the Rambler's summer friend, the cotton lined hemp twine hat, an exploration of damp and humid climes was to reveal the whereabouts of Wee Davy's lair.
With trepidation, and treacle tart in hand, the sequoia framed body of the Rambler stooped and tapped gently on the oak door.
A creaking and squeaking ensued and the tall fellow stood up. The door was then opened to reveal that Wee Davey was not at home.
Perhaps he was out with his chums eating hot pikelets and marmalade. Who knows?
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