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 PAUWALC CITY UDRARY 
 700 T. rAUIOALE 
 PAIMUAU.CA
 
 ODD ISSUES
 
 ODD ISSUES 
 
 BY 
 
 S. SQUIRE SPRIGGE 
 
 LONDON 
 
 LEONARD SMITHERS AND CO 
 
 6 OLD BOND STREET W 
 1899
 
 PREFACE 
 
 THE ominous number of thirteen short pieces are brought 
 together here under one title. For the most part they 
 tell a tale of wrongs and reprisals where after -events 
 did not order themselves in accordance with anticipa- 
 tion. Four have not been printed before; the rest 
 have been published. I feel that it is importunate to 
 ask the public a second time to read what has been 
 placed before them already ; but I hope that the fact 
 that all the stories have something in common may be 
 allowed to serve me as an excuse for the re-issue of 
 some. 
 
 S. S. S. 
 
 UNITED UNIVERSITY CLUB, 
 S.W.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 MR BONNAMY'S BISHOPRIC . 
 
 Two WOMEN AND A MILLIONAIRE 
 
 THE CANDIDATES . . 
 
 THE LIFE-MEMBER . 
 
 MR FISCHER, THE PHOTOGRAPHER 
 
 WHAT'S IN A NAME? 
 
 AN ELOPEMENT . . . . 
 
 A METHOD OF ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 ERIC AND ROBERT . 
 
 THE VALUE OF THE POSTSCRIPT . 
 
 BAB'S MINISTRATION 
 
 A SCREEN SCENE . 
 
 THE HELPLESSNESS OF Miss PICK
 
 MR BONNAMY'S BISHOPRIC 
 
 MR BONNAMY, the college tutor, was a good man ; and 
 Mr Lawrence, the undergraduate, who lived immediately 
 beneath him in the ancient quadrangle of St Jude's, was 
 not half a bad fellow. But neither appreciated the other. 
 The young man was an abiding source of irritation to his 
 senior, so contemptuous was his attitude towards tutorial 
 authority. He was not vicious, and he was not idle ; 
 but he could not be brought to recognise the necessity 
 for definite rules, or the sinfulness of little sins. Now 
 Mr Bonnamy was orderly to a pitch that would have 
 appeared pedantic in a less single-hearted man, for he 
 treated the missing of a chapel, the keeping of late hours, 
 or the visit to town without a formal exeat, as heinous crimes 
 instead of venial peccadillos. He was, however, no pedant, 
 but rather a zealot, being bound up wholly in the welfare 
 of the college, so that reverence for the standing orders 
 under which that college was conducted came second 
 with him to reverence for his Maker. This high sense 
 of discipline received constant shocks from Mr Lawrence, 
 who regarded all discipline as senseless. The two could 
 never agree, and the inequality of their positions in the 
 limited world of a university prevented either from 
 entertaining any project of agreeing to differ. Conse- 
 quently they annoyed each other without ceasing. 
 
 In truth but Mr Bonnamy did not know it the gulf 
 fixed between himself and his young neighbour was not so 
 very broad or deep. As senior tutor of St Jude's, Mr 
 A
 
 2 Odd Issues 
 
 Bonnamy represented in his own person the disciplinary 
 side of the college as well as the perfected university 
 career; but Mr Lawrence, the undergraduate, as a boat 
 captain, a decent amateur actor, and a clever, masterful 
 youth, represented the social side of current university 
 life. The pious founder of St Jude's had the production 
 and maintenance of Mr Bonnamy in his eye when he 
 made the endowments ; but to many people, especially to 
 people outside the university, Lawrence appeared to be 
 the more important person, as representing the 'varsity in 
 contradistinction to the university. If it had been possible 
 for the tutor to forget how vain and trivial a thing is an 
 undergraduate, and for the undergraduate to recognise the 
 fitness in the scheme of a university of persons to make 
 rules and secure their observance, a compromise might 
 have been effected. But neither could see anything from 
 the other's standpoint. To Mr Bonnamy it seemed 
 monstrous that he, the personification of the great work 
 of St Jude's, behind whose labours lay five centuries of 
 enlightened endeavour, should be thwarted in matters of 
 detail by an idle boy. To the idle boy, Mr Bonnamy's 
 behaviour was irksome and unmeaning. He was conscious 
 of not requiring incessant watchfulness to protect him from 
 moral and material ruin, and he desired to be let alone 
 that he might employ himself according to his own bent, 
 which, he would explain, was not towards the compre- 
 hension of the integral calculus, the corrupt chorus, or the 
 common pump. Modest lad ! he had chosen his part. 
 He was engaged in writing an English Comedie Humaine, 
 and the convenience of the occupation was that whatever 
 he did fell under the denomination of " work," for he 
 persisted in regarding all his actions as having for their 
 object the collection of material. Did he boat athletics
 
 Mr Bonnamy's Bishopric 3 
 
 must be studied closely, seeing their importance in the 
 English educational curriculum ; poker the influence of 
 gambling in the formation of temperament must not be 
 overlooked ; promiscuous reading of fiction Lawrence 
 would own that he did not know everything, and that, 
 like other authors, he was prepared to take whatever 
 seemed good to him wherever he found it. Something 
 of this rodomontade reached Mr Bonnamy's ears, who 
 regarded what he heard as an attempt to set up excuses 
 for idleness which, in a way, was the case but who 
 failed to see that the disciple of Balzac was deceiving 
 himself and not intending to deceive others. Taking 
 this severe view, Mr Bonnamy marked out the under- 
 graduate for rigorous treatment, and harried him hand- 
 somely whenever he exposed himself to attack. Lawrence 
 was quick to perceive the animus against himself and 
 resented it as best he could j and although his attempts 
 at reprisal were not very effective against Mr Bonnamy's 
 well-nigh impregnable position, and recoiled, for the most 
 part, on his own head, he came near on one occasion 
 to a very signal revenge. As will now appear. 
 
 In the course of writing the English Comedie Humatne, 
 an intimate knowledge of certain phases of life became 
 necessary to the young author, or, at any rate, an appear- 
 ance of this knowledge. It should be premised that he 
 had no particular desire to become practically acquainted 
 with the scenes and characters that he proposed to describe, 
 while his opportunities were limited whatever his desire 
 might be by the restrictions imposed upon those still 
 abiding in statu pupillari. But it was his aim to be thor- 
 ough and encyclopaedic, and he was determined not to 
 shirk his just responsibilities. The page of reality being 
 shut to his gaze, he turned to the page of fiction. Over
 
 4 Odd Issues 
 
 against St Jude's College stands the university library, 
 one of the historic libraries of the world, whose shelves 
 are constantly reinforced by the tolls exacted of pub- 
 lishers, and by the open-handed purchases of bibliophilist 
 curators. This is no judicious selection of eminent or 
 excellent works, but an orderly store - house for the 
 literature of the world; and it need hardly be said that 
 it is not a lending library. Members of the senate of 
 the university, in their character of part proprietors, may 
 borrow books; but undergraduates are free to consult 
 the shelves only between certain hours of the day, and 
 in academic attire. Lawrence occasionally used the 
 library in this way; but the regulations, like all regula- 
 tions, were distasteful to him. He wanted to read at 
 night rather than in the daytime, and he believed that 
 he could follow an author more closely in a blazer than in 
 a college gown. He might have asked some friendly don 
 to take out books for him ; but he felt instinctively that 
 the books which he desired to consult were not those that 
 he could procure through the intercession of another man. 
 Yet the idea of going without the books was far from his 
 mind. He wished to have them in his rooms to consult 
 them at his leisure; and so he took them. The college 
 gown, which the bye-laws of the university enjoined upon 
 him during his visits to the library, formed an ideal garb 
 for book-lifting, and whenever he required a volume he 
 went to the library and fetched it out as a matter of 
 course. By this nefarious manoeuvre, he accumulated in 
 a short time some twenty or thirty books belonging to 
 the university, and the trouble, rather than the risk, 
 attendant upon replacing them made him cast about for 
 a method of getting rid of them. He found the method 
 suddenly, while he was sitting in Mr Bonnamy's ante-
 
 Mr Bonnamy's Bishopric 5 
 
 room awaiting an interview upon the subject of an unduly 
 large account at the college kitchen. He observed that 
 many of the books in this ante-room were never shifted 
 from their places upon the shelves, and he bethought 
 himself of secreting the result of his burglaries behind 
 the restful tomes. Some day or another Mr Bonnamy 
 would discover them, and immediately Lawrence experi- 
 enced a pang of regret as he thought that he should 
 not be present to see his ascetic tutor's face on sudden 
 confrontation with maxims of Gyp's duchesses, or the full- 
 blooded sketches of M. Robida. The scene appealed 
 strongly to his sense of the comic, and a severe reprimand 
 for greediness decided him to put the idea into action 
 at once. He felt that it was foolish of Mr Bonnamy to 
 attribute to personal gluttony the size of a bill which was 
 the sequence of a generous habit of playing the' host, and 
 he smarted under the injustice of the view. His rooms 
 being immediately below Mr Bonnamy's, it was easy for 
 him to watch that worthy gentleman's movements, and to 
 select a minute when the ante-room was empty to step 
 up and play the trick. So that evening the memoirs of 
 M. de Casanova hid themselves coyly behind the Photii 
 Graecum Lexicon, and from this time forward whenever 
 Lawrence was summoned to Mr Bonnamy's presence 
 in an official capacity he always carried with him 
 two or three French novels, with a view of secreting them 
 behind his tutor's books. Soon his unamiable joke 
 underwent developments, for if he considered that he had 
 been sent for unnecessarily, or that he had been treated 
 with injustice, he would leave behind him some particularly 
 leprous work, larcenously acquired of set purpose to meet 
 such occasions. In this way Mr Bonnamy's book-shelves, 
 so fine without, became whited sepulchres inwardly full
 
 6 Odd Issues 
 
 of rottenness and corruption. And there this ever- 
 increasing lode of unedifying books lay until the morning, 
 when Viscount Griston discovered it under circumstances 
 that were fraught with the deepest consequence to 
 Mr Bonnamy. 
 
 Mr Bonnamy, during his long connection with St Jude's 
 he had been tutor for no less than thirty years had 
 turned out a large number of very brilliant young men. 
 His resolve to look upon every undergraduate as a unit 
 of collegiate life, whose talents, whether small, respectable, 
 or great, must be cultivated that he might swell the 
 average aggregate of St Jude's men in the Honours list, 
 had borne successful fruit. From a fashionable college 
 St Jude's became under his dispensation a learned college, 
 and one which possessed a great reputation for show- 
 ing no unearned favours. By raising the standard of the 
 tests for a place upon the foundation, and by throwing 
 open to lads throughout the world scholarships that had 
 previously been fenced about by conditions, Mr Bonnamy 
 had succeeded in attracting to St Jude's the best raw 
 material. By making it imperative upon all this material 
 to assist him in the elaboration of itself from crudity 
 into the hall-marked St Jude's article, he brought the 
 finest influences of competition and esprit de corps to his 
 aid. All must try that the best among them might be 
 superlatively good, in which way the lamp of the revered 
 university, through the replenishing offices of the beloved 
 college, would shine forth again with mediaeval splendour 
 as the beacon of learning and culture. 
 
 Among these brilliant young men, and pre-eminent 
 among them, was Viscount Griston, K.G., the Prime 
 Minister of Great Britain. Lord Griston had been an
 
 Mr Bonnamy's Bishopric 7 
 
 apt disciple of Mr Bonnamy ; but had imported into his 
 master's respect for tradition both humour and robustious- 
 ness, which saved him from the appearance of being a 
 prig, and furnished him with the tolerance of spirit 
 necessary for public life. He was not a zealot, and was 
 too human to be unjust to individuals out of deference 
 to some ideal system. Yet he was Mr Bonnamy's very 
 offspring in his deference to the aristocracy of intellect. 
 Gifted with a ready mother-wit, a certain calmness and 
 canniness of judgment, and a long purse, his lordship's 
 political career had been a succession of successes. In 
 the Upper House and on the democratic platform, in 
 modern manufacturing centres and in old-world bucolic 
 capitals, at city banquets, at meetings of scientific as- 
 sociations, at functions of all sorts from the consecration 
 of a cathedral to the unveiling of a medallion, the audience 
 were equally delighted to hear him, and anxious to see 
 things as he saw them. His queer blend of scholarship 
 and frivolity with prudence and audacity, which gave 
 him such a hold on public opinion, had been developed 
 at St Jude's, where he had been a learned scapegrace. 
 No peasant-born prodigy striving for livelihood and 
 social advancement ever worked with a more resolute 
 intent to occupy a high place in the class-list than did 
 this wealthy peer; and no young rowdy got more un- 
 adulterated fun out of college life. But the fervour of 
 his work had condoned his indiscretions in Mr Bonnamy's 
 eyes. 
 
 One morning Lord Griston arrived at the university 
 town on an important mission which he had delegated 
 to himself. He designed to ask his late tutor to accept 
 the bishopric of Dunwich. It had struck him that it 
 would be picturesque to run down to St Jude's and
 
 8 Odd Issues 
 
 make the offer in person, and as he crossed the little 
 grey stone quadrangle to Mr Bonnamy's rooms, he was 
 meditating pleasantly on the surprise that the appoint- 
 ment would cause. 
 
 From time immemorial the big set of rooms on the 
 first landing in the sunny southern corner of the court 
 had belonged to the senior tutor of St Jude's, and Lord 
 Griston sat down in the ante-room to take his turn for 
 an audience with Mr Bonnamy. This waiting outside 
 the door unannounced, in company with lively under- 
 graduates summoned to explain their absence from 
 lecture or chapel, appealed to his lordship's sense of 
 humour as he recalled the errand which had brought him 
 there. He had been wont in this chamber to anticipate 
 Mr Bonnamy's reproofs. He was now sitting there wait- 
 ing, as Prime Minister of Great Britain and a Knight of 
 the Garter, to confer upon Mr Bonnamy a high honour. 
 And Prime Minister though he was, and trustee of a 
 nation's responsibilities, he was not impervious to the 
 prickings of vanity stimulated by the consideration of 
 the contrast. It was impossible for him to mark the 
 difference between then and now without a certain satis- 
 faction at the use he had made of his talents and oppor- 
 tunities. 
 
 Lord Griston was aware that the appointment which 
 he decided to make would create general excitement. 
 Mr Bonnamy was not in anyone's mind as a probable 
 bishop. The Church would not know what to make of 
 the choice, and the political world would be outraged 
 at the preferment of a man who had done nothing that 
 was widely appreciated, and had said nothing that was 
 widely quoted. Lord Griston enjoyed this position. 
 He knew, and everybody did not know it, that the
 
 Mr Bonnamy's Bishopric 9 
 
 Crown would approve ; for Mr Bonnamy's unselfishness, 
 goodness, and influence over men in high political and 
 social positions were appreciated by the Fountain of 
 Honour. Lord Griston's colleagues in the Government 
 owed him an appointment or two, for he had been a 
 generous chief in allowing them to direct much of his 
 patronage. So that in the two directions where he was 
 bound to study other judgments than his own he was 
 free from apprehension. From the rest he was happy to 
 receive censure. 
 
 There were several gowned young men waiting in Mr 
 Bonnamy's ante-room when Lord Griston entered. They 
 were standing in a group chatting, and all looked up at 
 him. All save one looked away immediately, for nothing is 
 more entirely uninteresting to the undergraduate than a 
 middle-aged man of no apparent university standing. 
 Such people may be good company in the vacations, 
 and in their proper environment; but within the walls 
 of a college they become of no consequence. The eye 
 of one lad remained fixed for a time upon his lordship, 
 and a look of recognition seemed to be coming over his 
 face. He was struggling to put a name to the familiar 
 features. Lord Griston sought refuge in a book which 
 he took from a loaded shelf behind him. It was not 
 an interesting work, and his eye soon left the page and 
 roved along the titles of the volumes near him, seeking 
 a congenial exchange. But he could see nothing that 
 was suitable to desultory reading. No poetry, no belles 
 Icttres, no story-books, not even books of history or 
 theology broke the monotony of the serried rows within 
 his reach. Only books of classical criticism, and large 
 editions of Greek and Roman authors were there those 
 editions where on every page three or four lines of text
 
 io Odd Issues 
 
 boldly printed at the top are explained away in minute 
 type below by forty lines of exegesis, variant readings, 
 and crabbed commentary. Lord Griston yawned and 
 pondered. Cordial appreciation of such verbose hair- 
 splitting, such inconsequent bickering over the unim- 
 portant, was one of the most tangible results of a 
 classical education : did this say much for the classical 
 education? He remembered dimly when such questions 
 as were mooted and solved in these footnotes only to 
 be mooted again and solved differently elsewhere had 
 seemed of vital importance to him. Now it was marvel- 
 lous to him that anyone should care anything at all about 
 them. For purposes of examination they had their uses, 
 but not the most ardent passion for truth could justify 
 a man in spending years of adult study over them. He 
 was about to replace the book when he saw, lining the 
 gap whence he had taken it, another volume which had 
 been apparently thrust to the back of the shelf. He 
 put in an inquisitive hand, and withdrew a copy of 
 " Mademoiselle de Maupin," stamped with the university 
 arms. The discovery was a shock, for Mr Bonnamy 
 was known to Lord Griston as an uncompromising 
 puritan. Yet the book was a classic; and no less a 
 critic than Mr Swinburne had labelled it "the golden 
 book of spirit and sense," so that there was no reason 
 why Mr Bonnamy should not read and enjoy it. Lord 
 Griston wished that his old friend had not thought it 
 necessary to conceal the narrative of this curious young 
 lady behind works of classical criticism; but he knew 
 that the undergraduate was a censorious person, and 
 could understand that a man in the position of a tutor 
 might feel it justifiable to take precautions that would 
 have savoured of hypocrisy in more free agents. He
 
 Mr Bonnamy's Bishopric 1 1 
 
 slipped the book back into its recess, and in doing so 
 his fingers impinged upon a second concealed volume. 
 This time the work was without the claims to grace 
 and literary merit that are so strong in Gautier's youthful 
 extravaganza, while the choice of incident was every 
 whit as unrestrained. A third book lay behind this 
 a nightmare by a decadent; and one behind this whose 
 title was a confession of shame. 
 
 The trend of Mr Bonnamy's hoard of secreted books 
 was now quite unmistakable. A voracious novel - reader, 
 and by nature curious as to the moods and manners of 
 his fellow-man, Lord Griston knew something of each of 
 his discoveries, and it seemed to him impossible that he 
 should ask a student of such literature to fill the historic 
 bishopstool of Dunwich. He rose, and slipped out of 
 the room without attempting to see Mr Bonnamy, a 
 proceeding which was quite easy, for at mid-day, when 
 the tutor was holding his official levee, no one marked 
 the goings-out and comings-in of the visitors. The lad 
 who had stared at Lord Griston looked up at the re- 
 treating figure, and said he was a student of Punch 
 "That's just like the pictures of Lord Griston"; but 
 an older undergraduate, one who knew his way about 
 town, and who had been to a debate in the House of 
 Commons, at once contradicted him severely. 
 
 Lord Griston walked to the rooms of an intimate friend, 
 and discovered as he walked that he was deeply chagrined 
 at being unable, with a good conscience, to offer the 
 bishopric of Dunwich to his old tutor. The fitness of 
 the appointment had never been so clear to him as now 
 when he felt that the thing could not be. There was 
 something about the situation of a pupil rewarding a
 
 12 Odd Issues 
 
 master which was sure to catch the fancy of the public, 
 and to become the subject of amiable comment in the 
 journals, and none knew better than Lord Griston the 
 value to a politician of such pleasant advertisement. 
 Again, how annoyed the opposite party would have been 
 at his courage in making such a selection. They dared 
 not have done it ; yet Mr Bonnamy had nothing in common 
 with the political programme of Lord Griston, and as far 
 as he belonged to any school of politics must have been 
 reckoned as Lord Griston's foe. This position of affairs 
 would not have escaped the attention of the champions 
 of the Church, who accordingly would have found them- 
 selves driven to praise the official head of a Government 
 that was strongly suspected of grim designs for disestablish- 
 ment. Besides, old Bonnamy would have looked the part 
 so admirably, the clean-shaven face, high cheek-bones, long 
 thin hands, and wintry smile being so apt for episcopal 
 attire. Nor were better motives wanting for Lord Griston's 
 regrets than the loss of an aesthetic opportunity and an 
 elegant reclame. He was genuinely fond of Mr Bonnamy. 
 He knew himself to owe very much to his tutor ; while the 
 number of prominent public servants whom Mr Bonnamy 
 had moulded stood as a proof of insight and foresight such 
 as might well look for reward at the hands of the country. 
 From every point of view, save one, that presented itself 
 to Lord Griston, it was regrettable that such a man could 
 not be asked to become bishop of Dunwich. 
 
 Lord Griston's great friend, who had been his fellow- 
 student at Eton and also at St Jude's College, was now 
 a university professor. Professor Goring had been the 
 better scholar of the two, though once or twice, in com- 
 petitive examinations, the flexibility of Lord Griston's wit 
 had snatched a prize from superior learning. This gentle-
 
 Mr Bonnamy's Bishopric 13 
 
 man had made scholarship a career, and now pursued 
 knowledge, entirely for its own sake, and with no striving 
 after worldly advancement. He was an authority on periods 
 of history concerning which other men wrote books, but no 
 amount of bumptiousness or ignorance displayed by brother 
 historians had ever moved him to controversy. Now and 
 again he would make a short contribution to current 
 literature, and when he did so his remarks were final. 
 For if there were in them details to correct there was 
 no one who could make the corrections. He had pre- 
 served a close personal friendship with Lord Griston, 
 whom he rarely saw, and to whom he never wrote. But 
 when circumstances threw the two men together, the 
 social gap between the Prime Minister and the professor 
 was always bridged immediately, and the relations of 
 boyhood were re-established. Lord Griston, on the first 
 occasion when he had anything to give away, had hinted 
 that he should like dearly to do something for Mr Goring, 
 to which Mr Goring had replied that he wanted to clear up 
 a few obscure points in Assyrian political economy, and 
 there he did not think Lord Griston could help him. 
 Lord Griston retorted that he had beaten Mr Goring in 
 scholarship before now, and that he would use his first 
 leisure in looking into the matter and providing the in- 
 formation required and never repeated his offer of 
 patronage. 
 
 Professor Goring was at home. 
 
 " Hullo, Alexander ! " said he he had christened Lord 
 Griston "Alexander" because of his lordship's apparent 
 design to conquer all worlds, the worlds of fashion, politics, 
 sport, and scholarship alike " Hullo, Alexander ! What 
 brings you here ? " 
 
 " Well," replied Lord Griston, pushing a heap of maps
 
 14 Odd Issues 
 
 on to the floor, and sitting down in the easy-chair thus 
 cleared, " I 'm rather in a hole." 
 
 " And you have come to me for advice ? It is natural ; 
 it is pleasantly reminiscent of old times ; it is also piquant. 
 I hope you are going to tell me a Cabinet secret, some- 
 thing scabrous about a reigning monarch." 
 
 " I ran up," said Lord Griston, " intending to ask 
 old Bonnamy to be bishop of Dunwich. I thought it 
 would amuse me to offer him the thing personally ; and 
 now I 've weakened on , it. I want to ask him and I 
 don't want to ask him, and I should like to know what 
 you think about it." 
 
 " Um " said Professor Goring, slowly, " I suppose 
 you know that I see a good deal of Bonnamy these 
 days ? " 
 
 "That makes your opinion especially valuable," said 
 Lord Griston. 
 
 "Um " said Professor Goring again, and dwelling for 
 a long time on the interjection; "it makes the thing 
 rather difficult for me. The man is a friend of mine, 
 and I might be prejudiced in his favour, or I might 
 suppress what I ought to say against him." 
 
 " All right," said Lord Griston ; " I know all I want 
 to know. It's clear you do not think the appointment 
 a good one, and that settles the matter. I hoped you 
 might have said something to persuade me the other 
 way, and I 'm sorry, because I should like old Bonnamy 
 to be a bishop." 
 
 " I should like old Bonnamy to be a bishop, principally 
 because old Bonnamy himself would like to be a bishop. 
 But I cannot say honestly that I consider him to be the 
 kind of stuff of which a useful modern bishop would be 
 made. Fifty years ago, Bonnamy would have been the
 
 Mr Bonnamy's Bishopric 15 
 
 ideal ruler of such a see as Dunwich ; but nowadays, 
 as in the Middle Ages, more is wanted of a bishop." 
 
 "Constitutional history?" said the Premier, smiling. 
 
 " Yes," said Professor Goring ; " and very decent 
 authority, too. When bishops were statesmen they were 
 forced to know something of life. And now that the 
 affairs of a diocese are as complicated as the affairs 
 of a mediaeval kingdom, bishops must again be men 
 of the world." 
 
 " I think laymen make better prime ministers," said 
 Lord Griston; "and, for one, I should resist clerical 
 encroachment in that direction." 
 
 "I am serious," said Professor Goring. "Bonnamy 
 is not your man." 
 
 " But doesn't the management of a college require some 
 knowledge of life ? " asked Lord Griston, who remembered 
 that he himself had given Mr Bonnamy frequent cause 
 for anxiety and for the exercise of diplomatic treatment. 
 
 " It 's all work in a settled groove," replied the 
 professor. " Besides, a college tutor is only concerned 
 with men, and, for the most part, with men of one 
 stereotyped class; while a bishop has to deal with both 
 sexes and their countless crosses and blends. They've 
 all got souls to be saved, and he mustn't try to save 
 them in his own way, for he is under a contract with 
 the Crown to work out their salvation according to 
 certain rules. I can't imagine worse training for a bishop 
 than the experiences of a college tutor. The one man 
 has a free hand, in a small sphere ; the other no liberty 
 of action, and an immense field for his exertions." 
 
 " I hate a pragmatical priest," was the Prime Minister's 
 irrelevant comment. 
 
 " Do you ? " said Professor Goring. " Well, the day
 
 1 6 Odd Issues 
 
 of the cultured ascetic and the elegant scholar is gone by. 
 A modern bishop has to marshal the forces of his diocese 
 against social evils, and he ought to know the lie of the 
 ground. Now, consider ! What does old Bonnamy know 
 of sin? No woman ought to be so innocent as old 
 Bonnamy, or so unprotected." 
 
 "I suppose," said Lord Griston, looking at the ash of 
 his cigarette, "that old Bonnamy is really as innocent as 
 all that, eh? One hears of such excellence, but how 
 seldom one meets it ! " 
 
 " I vouch for Bonnamy, absolutely. He is ignorant 
 of all that is meant by passion. He has passed his life 
 untempted, and cannot understand either temptation or 
 fall. The cloistered monk will always take care to learn 
 something of what he has renounced, for how otherwise 
 can he take credit for his acts of renunciation ? But a 
 man like Bonnamy lives all his life as closely immured 
 by circumstances as any monk by walls, with the difference 
 that he never knows his disabilities, and never makes any 
 attempt to learn the vast provinces of life which lie 
 without his ken." 
 
 " By Jove ! Goring," said the Prime Minister, " I wish 
 you 'd let me make you a privy councillor. You are 
 stuffed with precepts, and if they are not good they 
 sound good. But doesn't it strike you that what you have 
 just said could be made, by a little exaggeration, into an 
 argument for the appointment to the episcopacy of men 
 of pleasure ? " 
 
 " Pooh ! " said the professor, " a man of pleasure is 
 always an ignoramus. He spends his time in making 
 mistakes about his own particular subject. If Bonnamy 
 knew things that are obvious to the rake but not one 
 whit less obvious to all who have lived among their
 
 Mr Bonnamy's Bishopric 17 
 
 fellows, mark that ! he would be better equipped for a 
 bishop's position. Of the passion that engrosses half the 
 thoughts of humanity ; that is the last goal of most human 
 endeavour; that enters boldly into the business of states, 
 and glides privily into the manuscripts of philosophers ; 
 that exalts the knave into the hero, and transmutes the 
 saint into the satyr, he knows nothing." 
 
 "Not even by hearsay er or by reading?" 
 
 "Not even so, or there might be hope for him. He 
 reads philology, and he never hears anyone say anything, 
 for his conversation is entirely with the undergraduates, 
 and he does the talking." 
 
 "But you talk to him?" 
 
 "I am not a corrupter of innocence. And now, we 
 will have luncheon, and afterwards you can go over to 
 Bonnamy, and make him bishop of Dunwich. I know 
 you, Alexander, and I know very well that you will not 
 take my advice, although, for some reason or other, you 
 have wanted to hear what I should say. Why was 
 that?" 
 
 "You will see what you will see," returned Lord Griston. 
 "Cease your attempts to pump a minister of the Crown. 
 But you may rest assured of one thing I have listened 
 to every word you have said with the deepest attention. 
 May I wash my hands ? " 
 
 So, after luncheon, Lord Griston returned to Mr 
 Bonnamy's rooms, and finding him there, offered him 
 the bishopric of Dunwich. He was making the appoint- 
 ment, he told himself, on sound gambling principles, as 
 there were double chances in its favour. For, while he 
 considered Mr Bonnamy to be the very man for a 
 bishopric, with the one reservation that he knew too 
 B
 
 1 8 Odd Issues 
 
 much, Professor Goring a shrewd man, surely regarded 
 Mr Bonnamy's total ignorance as an obstacle to his 
 preferment. 
 
 It only remains to add that Mr Bonnamy carried to 
 Dunwich the same relentless ardour for work, the same 
 honesty of purpose, the same unselfishness, and the same 
 lofty ideals that had characterised his labours at St Jude's ; 
 and that these qualities served him, and continue to serve 
 him, well in the absence of an intimate knowledge of 
 the world. He does not bulk largely in politics or in 
 clerical affairs; but when, now and again, his words or 
 his deeds give him public prominence, to Professor Goring 
 the innocence of the man is always revealed, while no less 
 invariably is Lord Griston able to detect his subtlety, 
 and Mr Lawrence his fidgety arrogance.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A MILLIONAIRE 
 
 THE women's surgery at the hospital held out invitations 
 to those who would be comfortable. It was warm, quiet, 
 and brilliantly clean, forming on a bleak November night 
 an agreeable contrast to the dirt and turbulence of the 
 streets without. In the grate a low fire carefully banked 
 burnt ruddily, with no obtrusive crackling or roaring, and 
 the kettle upon the uppermost bar purred with just 
 sufficient vigour to accentuate the cosiness of the room, 
 without arousing any fear of approaching ebullition. The 
 gas was turned down until an uncertain fringe of yellow 
 flame played around the blue core, and its subdued 
 flickering fell on gleaming copper trays and polished 
 porcelain basins, and was thence deflected on to the 
 bright brown teak of the floor, lighting the room with 
 numberless little points and streaks of dancing brightness, 
 yet otherwise respecting its comfortable dimness. 
 
 The surgery contained three people, who were seated 
 close to the hearth, in silence. A high screen, from which 
 depended the formal folds of much coarse linen, was so 
 placed in broad angles round the fireside that an irregularly 
 shaped nook was shut off from the general space, thus 
 securing for the occupants of the hearth the additional 
 comfort of privacy. 
 
 Two of them, seated upon one chair, were mother and 
 
 son, a piece of information which the child volunteered 
 
 now and again by a muttered " Mummy," as some little 
 
 movement of the woman in whose lap he lay aroused him 
 
 19
 
 2O Odd Issues 
 
 from his slumbers. She was a comfortable-looking person, 
 and had readily fallen under the comforting influences 
 of the room. She might have been thirty or fifty, and 
 was really thirty-five. Her broad fat face displayed nothing 
 but that sort of spurious good nature that is born of 
 immediately comfortable circumstances. She bore upon 
 her evident signs of poverty and hard work. The fringe 
 of untidy hair which surmounted her placid and shapeless 
 face was tinged with grey before its time, and on this was 
 perched a large bonnet adorned with fur, feathefs, plush, 
 and flowers in varying proportions, but all alike showing 
 signs of approaching disintegration. The little boy's 
 head, swathed in bandages, was tucked away in the folds 
 of a faded, bead -decorated arrangement which hung 
 around her shoulders. She had drawn her chair, the 
 lower and more restful of the two seats, close to the 
 fire, so that she was able to place her feet on the 
 fender; and her manner and attitude, as she bent over 
 the coals, suggested that there were but three things 
 wanting to complete her perfect comfort something hot 
 to eat, something hot to drink, and a congenial companion 
 with whom to exchange sentiments. 
 
 She looked at the occupant of the opposite chair, but 
 saw in her nothing congenial. 
 
 This woman was much younger and much smarter, 
 although her smartness had an air of being maintained 
 in defiance of her clothes and her youth in defiance of 
 her experiences. She sat stiffly before the fire, as though 
 unwilling to allow, even to herself, that the rest and warmth 
 were grateful to her. She gave the impression, indeed, 
 of being in a general condition of revolt against her 
 surroundings, her life, and her fellow-man, including 
 especially her fellow-woman. She was young and slight,
 
 Two Women and a Millionaire 21 
 
 with a regular profile, transparent nostrils, thin curled lips, 
 and high cheek-bones. Her pursed-up mouth and reckless, 
 abstracted air conveyed no invitation to any one to enter 
 into comfortable chat with her, and even the elder woman's 
 smug obtuseness did not prevent her from arriving at this 
 conclusion. 
 
 Accident, however, broke a silence that might have been 
 indefinitely prolonged, and accident dictated that the 
 younger woman should address the elder. 
 
 " Your dress is scorching," she said. 
 
 For the matron, while musing over the problem of 
 speech or silence, impelled by conviviality to address her 
 neighbour and by the pride of matronhood to ignore that 
 kind of young woman, had succumbed to the forgetful- 
 ness of a muddy reverie. In this state she allowed the 
 stained folds of her dress to fall so near to the fire that 
 the room became filled with the acrid smell of garments 
 in an early stage of burning. The fact did not impress 
 itself upon her broad nostrils quickly. At first the younger 
 woman, having assured herself that it was no property of 
 her own whose dangerous plight was thus making itself 
 apparent, seemed disposed to say nothing, but rather to 
 watch composedly the other's smoking skirts. Kinder 
 counsel, however, suddenly prevailed, and she gave an 
 abrupt warning. 
 
 " Thank you, now," said the elder woman ; " and so it is. 
 I 'm much obliged to you. I 'm that fond of a fire myself that 
 I like to get almost on the top of it. But one can have too 
 much of it, like other good things, as they say. Now, what 
 are you 'ere for, if I may take the liberty of harskin' ? " 
 
 The girl looked at her questioner's face for a moment 
 Evidently, however, the woman was kind-hearted as well 
 as curious, and so an answer was given.
 
 22 Odd Issues 
 
 "Broken rib," she said. 
 
 "That'll be bad for you," went on the stout lady 
 with unction. "You'll feel that all along your back." 
 
 " Yes ; I do if I cough, and I can't help coughing in 
 these foggy nights. But it 's all right keeping still, and 
 nurse does me up so tight I don't want to move. And 
 I should have to sit a long time if I waited till the fog 
 lifted." 
 
 " Well, it 's quiet an' comfortable in 'ere, ain't it now ? " 
 said the stout lady. 
 
 " And pretty dull and slow," said the other, aggressively. 
 " At least I should find it so. I 'm for something more 
 lively." And it is impossible to convey the cold, sad 
 hopelessness with which this bacchanalian sentiment was 
 uttered. 
 
 " I 'ear as how the nurses don't 'ave a slow time at all," 
 said the stout lady, whose blood was beginning to be 
 stirred by the warmth, and whose conversation at once 
 began to flow in its favourite channels. " That one seems 
 to be carrying on with the young doctor pretty gay," she 
 said, looking round the screen significantly at the house- 
 surgeon, who was gossiping languidly with a nurse in the 
 doorway. "I'm told as 'ow " 
 
 "You ought to be ashamed to say such things about 
 her, or any of them ! " said the girl, with the ghost of 
 a blush rising on her cheek. Now it is probable that it 
 would have been difficult to say anything in her presence 
 that could be counted upon with certainty to heighten 
 her colour. 
 
 The matron relapsed into indignant silence under the 
 reproach, and twiddled the little circlet on her knotted 
 ring-finger. Here she sat, a respectable married woman 
 a role she was wont to play with marked emphasis in her
 
 Two Women and a Millionaire 23 
 
 least respectable moments rebuked by a bit of a girl, 
 whose appearance told all to a London eye. 
 
 It was too much, and she woke up the child, shook 
 him, and said angrily : " Lie still, can't yer ? " 
 
 " I should like an operation or something exciting to- 
 night," the house-surgeon was saying, with a listlessness 
 that assorted badly with the ferocity of his desires. "I 
 have not had a good case all my week. I get no luck 
 somehow. Why are those women in here at this time of 
 night? They're looking at us, and speaking of you. 
 Are they ill ? Have they seen anybody ? " 
 
 " Me," said the nurse, calmly ; " could you suggest 
 anybody nicer?" 
 
 "You are certainly a very fascinating young woman," 
 he replied ; " but I can imagine sick people yearning to 
 hear some more authoritative voice. If nothing occurs 
 to relieve the monotony of the evening, I shall take the 
 bandages off that child's head for the pleasure of putting 
 them on again." 
 
 " I suppose you mean," said she, " what 's the matter 
 with them ? Well, the girl 's got a broken rib. I bandage 
 it for her sometimes in the evening. She told you only 
 you 've forgotten her that she did it falling down stairs ; 
 but she told me it was her husband." 
 
 "And that," said the house-surgeon, "was probably a 
 euphemism." 
 
 "The child's got a cut on the head," the nurse con- 
 tinued, disregarding the interruption. " The woman 's his 
 mother. There 's nothing the matter with her to-night ; 
 but, as a general rule, she is a little drunk. She is 
 waiting for a 'bus. They are here because I told them 
 they might sit over the fire if they liked. Is that a
 
 24 Odd Issues 
 
 satisfactory explanation ? " and she dropped him a fraction 
 of a curtsey. 
 
 He walked slowly towards the fire. 
 
 " We 're just a-going," said the stout lady, ingratiatingly. 
 "Nurse said I might stop here till I was rested, for the 
 boy 's no light weight to carry about in yer arms 'arf over 
 London." 
 
 " If you don't live this side of London you 've no 
 business in this hospital," said the house-surgeon. " His 
 head 's going on all right, I suppose ? " laying a finger on 
 the bandage. 
 
 But while the good woman was preparing an answer 
 that should combine dignity with gratitude, he turned to 
 the girl. 
 
 "You look bad/' he said; "are you in pain?" 
 
 "No, sir; not as long as I keep still." 
 
 " How far have you got to go ? " 
 
 "About a mile." 
 
 "Why didn't you come up in the morning, at the right 
 time? This night air makes you cough." 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the girl, vaguely, holding forward her 
 wrist in silent answer to his outstretched finger and 
 thumb. 
 
 "That girl's hungry," he said, returning to the nurse 
 at the door ; " and the woman 's the sort that can always 
 eat. That's why she's not dead of drink. When the 
 other one takes to drink she won't last. Let 'em stay 
 and be happy. See if you can have some beef-tea made, 
 and let 'em drink it in there. It 's strictly against rules 
 and most sensible treatment." 
 
 "Was it yer 'usbin'?" said the stout lady, rocking a 
 little backwards and forwards in her chair, and deciding
 
 Two Women and a Millionaire 25 
 
 to pocket the recent affront. Then, leaning back luxuri- 
 ously, she extended from beneath her mud-bordered gown 
 a shapeless and dilapidated boot the inevitable spring- 
 side boot of the police report surmounted by pendant 
 folds of whitey-brown stocking, and gave a little prod with 
 her toe towards the fire. "Was it yer 'usbin'?" she re- 
 peated, still with the kicking movement of her foot. 
 " It 's 'ow our ribs gets broke mostly." 
 
 "Well, what if it was?" said the girl, hesitatingly. 
 " Anyhow, I haven't got a husband now, thank God ! 
 What 's the good of a husband ? I can get along with- 
 out. That child's yours? I suppose his father's been 
 hitting him. It's how all the children's heads get cut. 
 Thank God ! I 've got no children." 
 
 "You seem to be one of the thankful sort," said the 
 stout lady, "and with all yer so thankful yer don't seem 
 very gay that is, I mean " 
 
 "All right. Go on," said the girl. 
 
 "There's worse things than a 'ome and a 'usbin' and 
 yer kids about the place, I can tell yer. That 's what 
 I mean to say." 
 
 "I've got a home. Mine's a very comfortable little 
 place," said the girl; "and the furniture's all my own. 
 But what's the good of a husband? What's yours 
 done for you ? " 
 
 The owner of the marriage ring paused a little before 
 answering. It was necessary to vindicate her position, 
 and testify to the blessings of conjugality. Yet she was 
 dying to tell the tale of her wrongs; but she was 
 possessed vaguely with the idea that she could not very 
 well do both things together. 
 
 " I 'm a respectable married woman," she said at last, 
 " though I don't mind tellin' yer that my 'usbin' was a
 
 26 Odd Issues 
 
 bad lot. Still, Jhere 's worse about, and I mighter got 
 'old of one o' them. He turned out a bad lot from the 
 first to me, though he mighter 'ad 'is good points towards 
 hothers, if you understand me what I mean. He used 
 me cruel, 'e did. You see, he was on at the 'alls, and 
 that made 'im very popular. Swells used to say 'ow-d' ye-do 
 to him, and so did the swells' gals. And 'e used to 
 'ave to dress 'isself very fine, so 's to keep up the position 
 'e'd got to, and that often made 'im very short of money. 
 Then I 'ad to arst 'im for it, for the 'ouse, for 'e was 
 a particular man, and liked 'is bit of steak and 'is cup 
 of cawfee at all hours if 'e fancied it. And 'e liked to 
 see the boy nicely dressed, and that all cost money. 
 And if I arst 'im for it when 'e 'adn't got it, he used to 
 carry on terrible and 'it me ; and if I arst 'im for it when 
 'e 'ad it in 'is pawket, 'e'd larf, and arsk if I took 'im 
 for a bloomin' milliyonaire. That was one of 'is songs, 
 yer know, ' The Bloomin' Milliyonaire ' was." 
 
 All this was given with much repetition, and with 
 frequent pauses for breath and for encouragement, pre- 
 faced by the questions, " Yer know ? " or " Yer under- 
 stand me what I mean?" The girl's invariable response 
 had been a nod, but here she spoke. 
 
 "Oh! was it?" said she, thoughtfully. "And where 
 is he now?" 
 
 " He 's still singin', and makin' ten quid a week easy. 
 He left me one day, and never said a word about goin'. 
 He were a bad lot. But some girl got 'old of 'im. They 're 
 worse than the men, though the men are bad enough. 
 She were a bad 'un, I '11 lay. He sent a lawyer feller 
 a young bit of a feller round to me to arsk me to 
 let 'im alone so long as 'e give me ten bob a week 
 for myself and the kid, and I told the young feller
 
 Two Women and a Millionaire 27 
 
 I says, 'Oh, d- 'is ten bob a week,' I says, 'an' 'im 
 
 too ; he needn't be afraid I shall come after 'im ! I 
 can make more money than that a-washing and charing. 
 I 've often 'ad to do it afore 'e left me, when 'is screw 
 was as much as ten or fifteen quid a week.' You don't 
 believe it, but it 's true what I say, and I '11 tell yer 
 'is name. You'll know it fast enough. His name is 
 
 " Here ! take hold," said the nurse, offering the beef- 
 tea ; "they're hot. One for you, and one for the boy. 
 You keep your breath to cool them. There never was 
 such a woman to gossip." 
 
 Silence again fell upon the little room, broken only 
 by the clatter of the pewter spoons against the basins. 
 At last this too ceased, and the women looked more 
 confidentially at each other. 
 
 "You look a lot better," said the stout lady, sym- 
 pathetically. 
 
 " It was not my husband who did it," said the girl, 
 putting her hand to her side, and referring to the stout 
 lady's question. " And it wasn't with his foot," she con- 
 tinued communicatively, for there is no better stimulant 
 than strong broth, and it had produced a rapid effect 
 upon this hungry and delicate girl. " It might have been 
 with his foot, and I dare say it would have been, if he 
 couldn't have got me with his hand ; but, as I say, that 's 
 as it might have been. But he pushed me with his hand, 
 and I came up against the banister. He was very sorry 
 afterwards that he hurt me." 
 
 " Does he behave well to yer in general ? " 
 
 " He used to pretty well as well as most of us get 
 treated. You see, like your man was, he's on at the 
 halls, and he has to live well, and spend his money on
 
 28 Odd Issues 
 
 himself. When, he has any over he's all right. But I 
 haven't set eyes on him for some days. He took my 
 gold watch, that I had given to me when I was in better 
 circumstances, and I sha'n't see him again for a week, 
 I dare say." 
 
 "Oh, that's 'is sort, is it? Well, it's a good riddance, 
 I should think," said the stout lady. "But they're all 
 alike, and 'e'll come back to yer when 'e's broke or ill." 
 
 "I hope so," said the girl. 
 
 " I wonder whether I could tell yer his name ! I used 
 to know most of the 'all singers when my 'usbin' was with 
 me. He used to like me to go and sit in the front row 
 with the boy, in 'is black velvet soot and a white hem- 
 broidery collar on 'im, and 'is little bit of 'air curled up 
 in a knob. And I used to put on a sealskin jacket, and 
 sit there, too. And sometimes I 'd have a pint of cham- 
 pagne, and then 'e used to say : ' You keep the bottle 
 in front of you when you've drunk the wine. It looks 
 well to see you in your furs a-drinking fizz in the stalls 
 like a duchess.' For 'e was a proud man, don't yer 
 know ? But what would yer man's name be, now ? I 'm 
 sure I can guess." 
 
 " Don't you bother about him," said the girl. " Maybe 
 you '11 know soon enough." 
 
 " Oh, very well, miss," said the stout lady, emphatically. 
 " I 'm not hanxious to hintrude upon any lydy's confi- 
 dence. I 'm not of the curious sort." The good woman 
 spoke bitterly, for she felt that she had condescended 
 towards this young woman, and that in return she had 
 been snubbed on two occasions. 
 
 The girl looked at her steadily, and began to breathe 
 a little hard. 
 
 " Very well," she said, " I '11 tell you. His name is '
 
 Two Women and a Millionaire 29 
 
 But before she could finish her sentence the quiet of 
 the place was suddenly broken in upon. All the passage 
 outside became vaguely full of sound and bustle. A 
 porter entered hurriedly, and turned his lantern this way 
 and that, flashing its light through the half gloom. 
 Noticing the women behind the screen, he said : " I 
 expect you '11 have to clear out of this, the men's surgery 
 is full"; and began setting the taps running. 
 
 Now, through the various sounds of scurry, through 
 the shuffle of the badly-slippered and the clang of the 
 heavily-booted, there fell on the ear, monotonously, and 
 with regular intervals, the measured tramp of persons 
 carrying a joint burden, and labouring under it. 
 "Policemen," said the girl, with a little shiver. 
 And then the gently impertinent accents of the house- 
 surgeon could be heard above this din. 
 
 " Take him to the women's surgery ; it 's empty. If it 
 isn't, send the women into the passage." 
 
 The nurse came hurriedly back into the room, and 
 turned up all the depressed gas-jets. The little child 
 woke on the fat woman's knee, and, becoming frightened 
 at the noise and bustle, began to sob. 
 And the feet came to the door. 
 
 "You must go out, please," said the nurse to the 
 scared women before the fire. "Make haste!" 
 
 They rose obediently, and made for the door. But 
 they were too late. Before they could reach it, egress 
 was prevented by the advancing crowd, and they crept 
 back to their nook. 
 
 In front came the house-surgeon, with a fidgetiness 
 about his hands and a sparkle in his eye that belied his 
 lounging gait and affectation of hardly knowing what he 
 was there for.
 
 30 Odd Issues 
 
 " Set him down here," he said to the toiling constables, 
 whose tread and breathing betrayed that their burden had 
 been a heavy one. 
 
 And the crowd closed round, and from them arose an 
 indistinct buzz of question and suggestion. For it was 
 not yet late at night, and the various house - surgeons 
 and house-physicians, with their dressers, their clerks, 
 and their friends, were all alert to respond to the exciting 
 summons of the accident-bell. It was a mixed crowd that 
 surrounded the stretcher. Here the flaring and wind- 
 swayed gas-lights fell upon an orthodox evening costume, 
 and here upon a frayed smoking-jacket. On one side they 
 lit up the violet dress, bright brown hair, and gleaming 
 apron of some nurse, devoted, perhaps, to the practice of 
 good works, but by no means blind to the value of good 
 looks ; on the other they lit up the sombre uniform of the 
 policemen. And from all there arose a hum of queries, 
 and as each pressed nearer, or got a view on tiptoe over 
 the shoulder of some one better placed, he would give 
 utterance to a murmur of astonishment. Even the sound 
 of stifled laughter was not absent. 
 
 The two women, who had sat down again on finding the 
 passage to the door barred to them, looked at each other 
 in awe-struck curiosity, and the boy smiled at their solemn 
 faces, in sympathy with the laughter that he could hear. 
 
 " He 's dead," said the house-surgeon, carelessly. " He 
 was dead when he was brought in. Stand aside, you 
 fellows, and let 's see the gas on his face. Pull away that 
 screen. It was an aneurism, I should think." 
 
 The crowd that stood between the stretcher and the 
 fire divided, so that the gas over the mantelpiece might 
 fall unshadowed upon the dead man. And down the 
 defile the two women looked.
 
 Two Women and a Millionaire 3 1 
 
 Upon the stretcher there lay, looking up to the ceiling, 
 an enormous, fat fellow, with swollen, pendulous cheeks, 
 and a big stomach. He was in full evening dress of 
 the extremest sort, and upon the outrageously glossy 
 collar of his coat reposed a hideous circular floral orna- 
 ment, and two yellow medals attached to parti-coloured 
 ribbons. 
 
 "It's 'Big Bill Ridley,'" whispered a scared student, 
 to whom music-hall-land was familiar. A policeman 
 confirmed him. It was that great artist. The wretched 
 man had fallen forwards dead while leading the refrain 
 in the world-famous song : 
 
 I am a gentleman of the town 
 
 And take my brandy-and-soda brown, 
 
 Like a blooming milliyon-haire. 
 
 He had a bottle of soda-water with him, and a broken 
 umbrella. These were supposed to accentuate to dull 
 minds the indisputable truth of the fact that he was 
 a gentleman of the town. He had dropped with his 
 dramatic accessories in his hands, and they had never 
 been removed from his grasp. 
 
 His face was turned away from the light. The young 
 house-surgeon, who was moved almost to the point of 
 sickness, turned the flaccid neck round, bringing the face 
 towards the fire, and remarked callously, as a protest 
 against his own emotion, "Well, you're not exactly 
 a beauty ! " The ground colour of the skin, where the 
 various additions allowed this to be seen at all, was 
 the livid hue of death from haemorrhage. Upon this 
 stood forth in startling contrast the crimson tinting of the 
 cheeks, lips, and nose, added to bear out the accuracy 
 of the death-song. An impossibly blonde moustache, dis-
 
 32 Odd Issues 
 
 placed and ungummed, but not yet removed from his face, 
 added terror by its incongruous comicality. The whole 
 of this horrible face was framed in the tousled mass of 
 tow forming the preposterous wig necessitated by public 
 taste for the enacting of the part of a gentleman of the 
 town. 
 
 " Dada ! " screamed the child, as the face was turned 
 towards him. "Dada!" 
 
 " O Bill ! " said the girl, chokingly, as she threw herself 
 upon him, " O Bill ! " 
 
 " I 'm a respectable married woman, and 'is lawful wedded 
 wife," said the stout lady ; " and 'is clothes, and the money 
 in 'is pocket I claim for this orphing lamb and 'is gold 
 watch." 
 
 " Take these women out," said the house-surgeon.
 
 THE CANDIDATES 
 
 THE MARCHIONESS OF LAUNCESTON, A Great Lady. 
 THE LADY HONORIA TREPOLPEN, Her Daughter. 
 MRS BYWATER, A Friend. 
 
 Scene : The Drawing-room in Trepolpen House, Park Lane. 
 Lady Launceston and Mrs By water conversing ; Lady 
 Honoria is sitting in the background. 
 
 MRS BYWATER : And you have actually selected Mr 
 Wilkinson ? 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : I have. 
 
 MRS BYWATER : And now he will become Sir George's 
 secretary ? 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Well, Sir George has a veto, I 
 suppose, as he has to pay the salary. But it won't be very 
 polite of him to exercise it. It was his own suggestion 
 that I should find a secretary for him, because my house 
 was always full of nice young men. Sir George was kind 
 enough to say that. 
 
 MRS BYWATER : It 's a very lucky thing for Mr 
 Wilkinson. 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON: Very! He's a made man, if he 
 behaves ; Sir George must have a seat in our next reputable 
 Cabinet if we ever get such a thing again. What Mr 
 Wilkinson has to do now is to marry well. Really well ! 
 And then he ought to go very far. With his prospects he 
 is quite a good match for any girl in England. Any girl 
 I mean it. 
 
 c 33
 
 34 Odd Issues 
 
 MRS BYWATER (softly, and lifting her eyebrows as she 
 inclines her heacT towards Lady Honorid) : Any girl ? 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON (softly) : Of course not ! Pre- 
 posterous ! Say almost any, if you like. 
 
 MRS BYWATER : Well, I thought one day, when I saw 
 them together 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Preposterous ! Quite preposterous ! 
 (Raising her voice) Honoria! 
 
 LADY HONORIA : Yes, mamma. 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Remind me to ask your friend 
 Miss Griffiths to meet Mr Wilkinson. (To Mrs Bywater) 
 Immensely rich, my dear and the Merthyr-Tydvil abey- 
 ance might be terminated in her favour at any moment. 
 
 MRS BYWATER : And she 's to give all that to Sir 
 George's secretary? Why, you're quite ridiculous about 
 him, dear Lady Launceston. Having made his political 
 future, are you now going to take his matrimonial future 
 in hand? 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Well, why not ? The two things 
 should go together. He is an exceedingly well-bred and 
 agreeable young man punctual, clever, and sensible in 
 his views (which is not the same thing) ; and although he 
 has all these virtues, he finds time to be pleasant and well- 
 dressed. I thought yesterday his clothes were admirable. 
 
 MRS BYWATER : Considering his origin 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON (interrupting) : Rubbish ! Sheer 
 rubbish, Emma ! You needn't take anything into con- 
 sideration. That sort of way of looking at things is 
 horribly obsolete. Mr Wilkinson is himself a gentleman 
 all over, and that is enough. Do you suppose I don't 
 know the article when I see it ? Remember that Launces- 
 ton was once an ambassador. By the way, everyone has 
 forgotten our embassies, and we spent such a lot of money
 
 The Candidates 35 
 
 on them ! Let me tell you, there 's nothing like an 
 embassy for bringing you into contact with young men, 
 so I know what I 'm talking about. And I say that John 
 Wilkinson is a perfect gentleman, both in thought and 
 manner, though his mother was my maid. 
 
 LADY HONORIA : Governess, mamma. 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Well, nursery-governess. She did 
 my hair, and forgot to sew the buttons on my boots. I 
 was very sorry when she left to get married. Not that she 
 did my hair at all well, but I liked her very much indeed. 
 
 MRS BYWATER : Perhaps the young man takes after his 
 father, and gets his manners that way. 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Perhaps. The father was a clerk. 
 
 LADY HONORIA : A private secretary, mamma. 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Well, a confidential clerk. And 
 when he died the mother asked me to help her son. And 
 Lord Launceston wanted me to put him in a shop, so 
 I sent him to Cambridge 
 
 LADY HONORIA: Where he was a wrangler. 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Was it a wrangler ? Well, every- 
 body said it was very nice of him, whatever it was. And 
 he has been here occasionally a good deal, in fact. And 
 he has perfect manners. Perfect. As distinguished from 
 scrupulous manners, and over-fussiness about opening 
 a door 
 
 LADY HONORIA : Poor Lord Pomeroy. I know mamma 
 means Lord Pomeroy. 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Or polished manners, and over- 
 pronunciation of the consonants 
 
 LADY HONORIA: That's cousin Harry. There's no 
 mistaking him. 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Or careless, easy manners, and 
 slang in the drawing-room
 
 36 Odd Issues 
 
 MRS BYWATER: Oh! That's my boy. Poor Tommie! 
 But you encourage him, dear Lady Launceston. 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Do I ? What of it ? I must be 
 in the movement. It 's chic for an aged marchioness to 
 know all about the music-halls ; but it would be very 
 bad form in Honoria, and you simply can't afford to be 
 vulgar, my dear, in your position. 
 
 MRS BYWATER : And have you selected Mr Wilkinson 
 to be private and confidential secretary to such a man 
 as Sir George Garnett simply because he behaves properly 
 in a room? 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Not at all ! 
 
 LADY HONORIA : Mamma, you might let me hear 
 what you said. (To Mrs Bywater) I suggested four 
 candidates to her, and what she should ask them, and 
 I ought to hear how they came out under examination. 
 Don't you think so, Mrs Bywater? 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON (smiling) : Look in my escritoire. 
 Yes; that's it. Give it to me. (Takes paper from Lady 
 Honoria?) This is the rough draft of my letter to Sir 
 George. It 's rather long (smoothing out half-a-dozen sheets 
 of paper on her lap), but it 's a good letter. 
 
 LADY HONORIA : Shall I read it ? 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON (still smiling) : No ; I '11 read it 
 myself. It's a good letter. (Clearing her throat?) "My 
 dear Sir George, I have executed your commission, and 
 your man is John Wilkinson, who brings this letter as 
 an introduction. Let me know that you cordially 
 endorse my choice. I tried him highly, as Launceston 
 would say, and he proved himself good in good company. 
 I saw little Lord Pomeroy first. He is a martyr to his 
 ideas of behaviour. And like so many martyrs, he 
 refuses to be alone in his martyrdom. All around him
 
 The Candidates 37 
 
 suffer. He came too early, stayed too long, and was 
 too polite to answer any question coherently. Then I 
 saw my nephew, Harry de Beauvoir. I have spelt his 
 name as he spells it, but poor dear old Sir Henry always 
 called himself Beaver. Harry told me that he should 
 be p-r-rofoundly g-r-ratified to work under so capable an 
 administ-r-rator and so r-re-ma-r-rkable a pe-r-rsonality as 
 Sir George Garnett. He rolls his r's entirely out of 
 deference to his Norman name. He congratulated me 
 on having selected him, and you on having secured him, 
 before I had put my test questions to him, and bade 
 me good-bye with a Spanish proverb which I couldn't 
 quite understand, but think was indelicate. I saw also 
 Tommie. 
 
 MRS BYWATER : I had great difficulty in getting him 
 to come to you. 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON (continuing) : " His other name 
 doesn't matter, for I am not sending him to you. He 
 is an Etonian, and, I believe, educated. He said that 
 if the old Johnnie (that's you) didn't want him before 
 October, he would face the music. He fears he is not 
 up to your form, but if you like to put your money on 
 him, he will start in the autumn, and give you a run 
 for it. 
 
 MRS BYWATER (placidly) : That 's not so outrageous, 
 for him. 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON (continuing) : " Then I saw John 
 Wilkinson, whom I have chosen for you. He has been 
 personally known to me for a long time. He had a 
 distinguished career at Cambridge, is earning nothing to 
 speak of in the cleverest way imaginable at the bar, 
 and there is no reason why he should not be equally 
 successful in the world of diplomacy. His views upon
 
 38 Odd Issues 
 
 Church matters, smoking before ladies, the licence of the 
 Press, and the ' House of Lords are admirably sound. 
 His answers to my questions showed me that his opinions 
 were identical with my own and, as you know them, I 
 need say no more." (Pauses.) 
 
 MRS BYWATER : A charming letter, dear Lady Laun- 
 ceston ! 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Oh ! there 's a postscript. It 's a 
 little premature, but I thought I might say it. I have 
 said that he will shortly make a brilliant marriage. 
 
 LADY HONORIA : Mamma ! I don't think you should 
 have done that. 
 
 MRS BYWATER: Do you mean to say that you have 
 settled it all for the poor young fellow already? 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : The girl No. But the fact, as 
 you see Yes. 
 
 (Enter servant with two letters, one for Lady Launceston 
 and one for Lady ffonoria.) 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : From Sir George ! (Running her 
 eye hastily down the note.) He's quite satisfied. So 
 that 's settled, Honoria ! 
 
 LADY HONORIA (without looking up from her letter) : 
 Yes, mamma. 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : You had better write to Miss 
 Griffiths and Mr Wilkinson to-night. Dinner, and a box 
 afterwards at some silly burlesque, I think. Fix the 
 earliest day we have vacant. 
 
 LADY HONORIA : Yes, mamma. 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON (imitating her daughter) : Yes, 
 mamma! Really, Honoria, you say nothing but "Yes, 
 mamma." Don't you take any interest in John Wilkinson's 
 future ?
 
 The Candidates 39 
 
 LADY HONORIA : Yes, mamma. 
 
 MRS BYWATER (rising) : Then I must leave you to hatch 
 your plots together ; lucky young man ! 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Going already ! My dear Mrs 
 Bywater but wait a moment. I must come down and 
 show you my portrait ; we Ve hung it in the dining-room. 
 I should like to hear what you think of it. Tommie recom- 
 mends me to put it in the kitchen to frighten the beetles. 
 
 (Exeunt Lady Launceston and Mrs Bywater .) 
 
 LADY HONORIA (alone, glancing towards door) : Yes, 
 mamma. (Reads letter.} 
 
 "DEAREST LITTLE HONOR, 
 
 " All is fair in love, and I did precisely as you told 
 me. I came punctually, and in my smartest frock. In 
 fact, I was afraid I had rather overdressed the part. I 
 answered your admirable mother's questions quite gravely, 
 in the very words that you advised, and the questions 
 were exactly what you said they would be. Your little 
 quibble that smoking before ladies could not be dis- 
 cussed until a definition of 'ladies' was forthcoming 
 settled the business for me. Sir George could hardly go 
 against Lady Launceston's choice, and I am his secretary. 
 They tell me I am a made man. Now, dearest, you know 
 what that means, don't you? It means that I shall wait 
 no longer for you. No longer. I claim you now. 
 
 "Good-night, sweetheart, J. W." 
 
 (Enter Lady Launceston.) 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Honoria ! If you can tear your- 
 self away from that letter a moment to listen to me, I shall 
 be obliged. I want you to write to Miss Griffiths. 
 
 LADY HONORIA (looking up) : Yes, mamma. I 'm going 
 to and to Mr Wilkinson.
 
 40 Odd Issues 
 
 LADY LAUNCESTON : Not, of course, that I 'm a match- 
 maker. I'm ah honest workman, and I want to make 
 a thoroughly good job of what I Ve begun. I Ve started 
 making John Wilkinson's fortune, and I want to complete 
 it. His present opportunity offers him much, but if he 
 had wealth and aristocratic connections, there is nothing 
 that he might not do. And he must marry them. And 
 I am going to see that he does so. And I believe he 
 will. 
 
 LADY HONORIA (folding up her letter into a very small 
 compass and putting it into a very small purse as she walks 
 to the escritoire) : So do I, mamma.
 
 THE LIFE-MEMBER 
 
 THE Junior Paliadium Club is a flourishing institution 
 now, its Gothico - Victorian fagade, and its cheap house- 
 dinner having gained for it many members to whom its 
 quasi-political origin was a matter of complete indiffer- 
 ence. The Junior Palladium Club at this moment has 
 a long waiting-list, a prohibitive entrance fee, and a nicely 
 selected cellar; while the old Palladium even the dull, 
 stately Palladium, Smirke's masterpiece of imitation is 
 said to have suffered from the popularity of its younger 
 namesake. But matters were different not so very long 
 ago, when the Junior Palladium, at this day so sturdy of 
 growth, was but a sapling, and the story which follows 
 tells of a crisis in its infantine health. 
 
 The Junior Palladium was designed primarily to save 
 the Empire from the machinations of a great political 
 party. Its mission, as defined by its promoters, was to 
 formulate procedures and publish programmes in opposi- 
 tion to this party; to keep the country fully informed as 
 to its short-sightedness, venality, and mendacity; and to 
 provide a convenient rallying spot for those engaged in 
 such salutary labour. These aims, despite their nobility, 
 did not prove immediately attractive, and the total of 
 adherents was at first small; which was a severe blow to 
 the promoters, who had expected a rush of patriots, and 
 who knew perfectly well that if their club was to secure 
 a position of any political importance, it must be by the 
 force of quantity, and not by the intellectual or social 
 41
 
 42 Odd Issues 
 
 quality of its members. How, then, to secure the rush? 
 To induce the necessary crowd to rally in support of the 
 movement, reasons which would commend themselves to 
 prudent pockets must be present. The wise citizen has 
 his stomach to think of as well as his duty to the con- 
 stitution ; nor will he allow his stomach to be feted at too 
 great an expense, but expects a happy blend of luxury 
 and economy. As it is only when great numbers have 
 been enlisted that it is possible for a club to provide 
 first-class club comforts at third-class restaurant prices, 
 the early position of the Junior Palladium was somewhat 
 of a problem. If you had numbers you could have 
 economy, but it was necessary to have the economy before 
 you could secure the numbers. 
 
 After making this point with his usual lucidity at a 
 meeting of the committee, Mr Mark Umfreville, the lead- 
 ing spirit in their preliminary counsels, propounded his 
 scheme for the creation of life-members. Mr Umfreville 
 was a cadet with aspirations. As purely an adventurer 
 as though he had taken his plausibility, his knowledge 
 of men, and his empty purse to a new mining centre, he 
 remained among his friends, and dug into society with his 
 pick-axe. Now in this stratum, now in that, flitting from 
 Throgmorton Avenue to the Bachelors', from a first night 
 at a variety theatre to a luncheon-party in honour of a 
 colonial bishop, from Ranelagh to Cowes, from Homburg 
 to Argyllshire, he contrived to turn up enough ore to 
 enable him to live as befitted one born so near the 
 governing classes as the younger son of a respectable 
 baronet. But he felt the insecurity of his position, and 
 possibly was a little tired of a perpetual digging that had 
 too much in common with begging. He wished to be 
 settled and to have a career, and his desires had fixed
 
 The Life-M ember 43 
 
 themselves upon Parliament. He believed that he had 
 it in him to serve his country so nobly from the back 
 benches that in time he would be rewarded by some 
 little post, some substantial if unimportant permanency, 
 that would permit him to lay aside his pick-axe. But 
 he knew that a good start was imperative, and he had 
 neither money to spend in contesting hopeless seats, nor 
 any particular knowledge of affairs such as might lead 
 a constituency to woo him for his merits. Against these 
 disabilities he ranged his alertness of wit and abundance 
 of self-esteem, and decided that he would become the 
 moving spirit of a political club. For if in this way he 
 could lead certain influential wire-pullers to believe that 
 some five thousand fervent voters would have wavered 
 in their convictions, and even gone over to the foe, had 
 he not swooped down upon them, and, by enrolling them 
 in the Junior Palladium, secured them for the party 
 which alone could bring salvation to the Empire if he 
 could do this, he could establish a claim upon the grati- 
 tude of great leaders. Then he might become that enviable 
 person the man for whom something must be done. And 
 he had determined what that something should be when 
 the time arrived. It should be an introduction, as the 
 choice of the great leaders, to a safe suburban constituency, 
 whose suffrages he could seek at no greater expense to 
 himself than the cost of his hansom cab. 
 
 Such were Mr Umfreville's little ambitions, for the 
 realisation of which the success of the Junior Palladium 
 was the first necessity. And that success he intended to 
 secure by his plan for the enrolling of life-members. Cash, 
 he pointed out to the promoters, with the pathetic con- 
 viction of one who had never possessed it, was the only 
 essential. With it they might succeed; without it they
 
 44 Odd Issues 
 
 must fail. He proposed, therefore, to elect five hundred 
 life-members into the club at the moderate figure of 
 thirty pounds a man, and to spend on current expenses 
 the fifteen thousand pounds thus obtained. With fifteen 
 thousand pounds, judiciously squandered, he calculated 
 that it ought to be easy to snare five thousand gentlemen 
 at five guineas per annum as ordinary members, and that 
 was all that was required to make the club a financial 
 triumph and a powerful factor in imperial politics. With 
 regard to the five hundred life-members, on whom these 
 splendid prospects depended, Mr Umfreville asked his 
 confederates, or, to be more civil, his colleagues on the 
 committee, to leave them to him. "I know a good many 
 fellows," he said; "and some of them are the sort of 
 fellows that what they do, other fellows have to do the 
 same, don't you know? And a good many of these 
 fellows will join, when I put it to them ; and, of course, 
 there '11 be the usual commission just to keep me up to 
 the scratch. Well? So you'd better just leave it all to 
 me ! " When he said that the usual commission was 
 twenty-five per cent., the committee did not know enough 
 to contradict him; and when he brought in by tens and 
 twenties most of the desired life-members, they were too 
 grateful to be critical. For with the addition of these 
 gentlemen to its list, the club gained in numbers in a 
 way that seemed magical to them, until the fears of 
 failure that had lately haunted them gave way to 
 justly roseate hopes. For some few weeks their old 
 apprehensions had power to compel them to wander 
 round the rooms shutting the ink-bottles lest the fluid 
 should evaporate and groaning over the consumption of 
 stationery, but the most timid among them soon saw that 
 serious reason for their fears was gone. And when Mr
 
 The Life-Member 45 
 
 Umfreville noted among his new life-members the name 
 of Major Bradenham, he began to compose exordiums 
 and perorations in preparation for a parliamentary career. 
 For Major Bradenham's good fortune in being associated 
 only with speculations of happy event was proverbial. 
 
 It was just as the trend towards prosperity became so 
 marked, and consequently at the most critical moment 
 in the well-being of the club, that Major Bradenham paid 
 his first visit to its premises. The occasion was memor- 
 able and extraordinary. 
 
 It was about four o'clock on a warm Sunday afternoon 
 early in June that the occupants of the enormous windows 
 in the smoking-room of the Junior Palladium might have 
 seen, slowly sauntering along the southern side of Piccadilly 
 the side where the planes of the Green Park throw a little 
 shadow on a broad pavement a squad of men clad in 
 workhouse garb. For the most part they were old and 
 feeble, and the look on their faces was one of decent 
 resignation. There was no pain if there was no pleasure 
 in their lives, and this neutrality of emotion was reflected 
 in their countenances. Some had fallen far to reach their 
 present plight, while for others life in the workhouse 
 represented the high level of luxury; but for each and all 
 there was nothing left in life worth expecting. For the 
 inhabitant of the workhouse is but rarely in temporary 
 trouble, and it is not usual for him to anticipate future 
 prosperity. Whether old or young, whether sick or 
 strong, one thing is as certain as anything may be in 
 this world that he will remain a social failure, and of 
 this he is usually well assured, and the knowledge of it 
 abides with him and colours, or rather decolorises, his 
 every thought and act.
 
 46 Odd Issues 
 
 Two men walked a few paces ahead of this depressing 
 group, though their costume proved their association with 
 it. One of these was immediately noticeable in that he 
 had not the slouching gait of his companions. Erect 
 and precise, he walked with even measured paces, and 
 surveyed the scene with an eye from which curiosity had 
 not yet disappeared. This was Major Bradenham, a man 
 of unblemished character and unexceptionable lineage, 
 whose recent acceptance of the invitation given to him by 
 the Junior Palladium Club to become a life-member had 
 been so gratifying to Mr Mark Umfreville. There are 
 some people indeed, it is the usual case whose affairs 
 admit of a little mystification. They can cheat them- 
 selves, even if they have no desire to cheat those to 
 whom they are indebted. There are securities to be 
 realised here and there which may result in a better 
 return than could have been anticipated; there are little 
 reversions direct and contingent; there are trustees who 
 may obtain powers to come to the rescue; there are 
 friendly creditors who may withdraw their claims tem- 
 porarily; there are a hundred and one things that may 
 hide from debtors and creditors alike the grim fact that 
 ruin is irretrievable. But with poor Major Bradenham 
 there had been no room for doubt. His story was an 
 exceedingly simple one. He had retired from the army 
 with a pension. Secure in the possession of this he had 
 proceeded to gamble on the Stock Exchange. He met 
 with success, and commuted his pension that he might 
 extend his operations with his increased capital. Soon 
 he possessed a large sum of money, difficult perhaps to 
 realise but none the less a substantial fortune. His 
 investments being mainly in sporting securities, he disre- 
 garded dividends, and lived on his continually augmenting
 
 The Life-Member 47 
 
 capital with great comfort, and made many friends. Sud- 
 denly there came a run against several of his holdings, 
 notably against Wallabys. He was obstinate, and believed 
 in his star. When Wallabys were quite low he sold 
 Hartbeests, and bought more Wallabys with both hands, 
 thinking to recoup himself. But Wallabys went out alto- 
 gether, while Hartbeests rose. Now he had always 
 believed in Hartbeests, so he pledged his credit in every 
 direction, and bought back Hartbeests. They, too, went 
 out, and this repetition of the worst possible luck un- 
 nerved him. He had no experience in losing; for, 
 hitherto, it had been his unvarying lot to win. He got 
 angry and bewildered, and did foolish things. In a month 
 he was a poor man. In two months he was at the end 
 of his tether. The crash was a perfectly honourable 
 one, and his ruin remained entirely unsuspected. He paid 
 his debts as they occurred, and when his stock was value- 
 less he recognised that he was penniless, and ceased from 
 speculating. On a review of the situation, all his liabili- 
 ties being discharged absolutely, he found that there 
 remained to him some twenty pounds in the bank, and 
 three pounds ten in his pocket. A survey of his unas- 
 suming chambers told him that his capital would not be 
 much increased by the sale of his effects. In short, he 
 could pay his way for a month, possibly a little longer. 
 But then? He was not actually friendless, and he pos- 
 sessed numberless club acquaintances and several distant 
 relatives, but there was no one among them to whom he 
 could look for help, and from whom he would have ac- 
 cepted it had it been offered. His many hostesses in London 
 knew nothing more of him than that he had held a com- 
 mission in a good regiment, and had been afterwards very 
 successful in the city to which latter fact he owed their
 
 48 Odd Issues 
 
 invitations. There were country houses at which he would 
 occasionally sojourn for a local race-meeting or a big 
 shoot, but their owners' intimacy with him was limited 
 to their cognizance that he was a member of a first-class 
 service club, and did not swagger or pose as a shikari. 
 Scattered up and down the face of the globe there were 
 a few old soldiers who could have vaguely recalled him, 
 if he had been obtruded upon their memories, as a good 
 fellow. To the rest of the world he was unknown. If 
 he had died he would have left no appreciable gap ; and 
 when he went under financially no man missed him, for 
 he owed no man anything. 
 
 Major Bradenham, as soon as he understood his position, 
 came to the conclusion that there were but two courses 
 open to him to obtain employment as a club secretary, 
 or to apply for admission to the workhouse. A third 
 course, that of living on his excellent credit for a little 
 time, while he tempted fortune again, he resolutely rejected. 
 The workhouse being available at any time he gave prior 
 attention to a search for a secretaryship, and spent his days 
 in answering advertisements, in concocting them, and in 
 keeping appointments. Before the month that remained to 
 him had expired he had discovered that all such posts, as 
 far as he was concerned, could be divided into two classes, 
 the worthless and the valuable. In the former case, capital 
 was demanded of the secretary : he must have money to 
 invest in the club, and the younger the club the more money 
 was required. In the latter case, special experience was ex- 
 pected, and Major Bradenham's experience of club manage- 
 ment was just as long and deep as his purse. So one 
 morning he went quietly to the workhouse, and there he 
 had been for a space of three months, when we find him 
 walking up Piccadilly at the head of his dreary comrades.
 
 The Life-M ember 49 
 
 Hopelessness had bred in him by this time a certain 
 toleration of his environment, and though he had not 
 caught the characteristic crawling gait, he was rapidly 
 sinking into the workhouse apathy. The sight of Piccadilly, 
 however, roused him from his pernicious drowsiness of 
 will. He had never strayed so far west before, for his 
 " house " was some two miles away ; and the sight of the 
 clubs, the park, and the palaces stirred his memory, and 
 painted a flickering spot upon each wan cheek. His 
 whole being was moved, not violently but sadly, as a 
 man may be moved by the sight of the grave of a 
 friend whom he remembers tenderly rather than regrets 
 bitterly. 
 
 "I expect they have the best of everything to smoke 
 in there, sir," said his companion, an over-speculative 
 linen-draper, pointing to one of the clubs. The two had 
 fraternised in common defence against their rougher 
 comrades, and the major had permitted the linen-draper 
 to address him as " sir," while protesting against the 
 absurdity of his doing so. " It makes me think of other 
 and happier days," pleaded the linen-draper, who had 
 led a life of laborious struggle, which was finally crowned 
 with hopeless insolvency, but who loved to recall, with 
 much verbosity, that he had been a tradesman in the 
 city, and had expended vast sums on rent and taxes 
 before his credit had finally perished beneath the burdens 
 laid upon it. 
 
 " Yes," said the major ; " the best." 
 
 "Now, when you were a toff, "continued the linen-draper, 
 with a comprehensive wave of his hand towards the other 
 side of the road, " I suppose you were free of all those 
 places ? " 
 
 "I suppose so," said the major, remembering that at 
 D
 
 50 Odd Issues 
 
 one time or another he had known someone in every club 
 in London that was worth belonging to. 
 
 At this moment they reached the pavement before the 
 Junior Palladium, at whose front of gleaming stone, multi- 
 coloured marble, and shimmering glass, the linen-draper 
 for a moment lost his speech. The great block was the 
 realisation of his wild dreams of the emporium that would 
 be his when energy and enterprise were rewarded by 
 success, and for a moment his fluency deserted him. 
 
 " My word ! " he said at length, and drawing a deep 
 sucking breath ; " my word, sir, there 's a place ! There 
 were only pokey little old houses on that side when I 
 came this way before. What 's that ? I suppose, now, 
 the Prince of Wales would belong to that one what ? " 
 
 " Possibly," replied the major, without much conviction 
 in his voice. "It's the Junior Palladium." Then he 
 smiled, suddenly recalling that the Junior Palladium was 
 his own club still, for he was a life-member. He re- 
 membered meeting a young man in a big country-house 
 who had made a great point of enrolling him as a perpetual 
 supporter of the club, and to whose importunities he had 
 eventually given way ; for in those days the thirty pounds 
 had seemed of infinitely little consequence, while it had 
 been ever difficult for the major to disappoint anyone 
 when the more obliging course was within his means. 
 Undoubtedly he was still a member, and his smile 
 broadened into an involuntary laugh as he assured 
 himself that he had a right to stroll up the delicately 
 mottled staircase, and to expect that when he reached 
 the topmost step the tall footmen would swing open the 
 great doors beside which they lolled, and that the benign 
 person of aristocratic appearance who acted as hall-porter, 
 and whose silver hair and gold spectacles were just visible
 
 The Life-Member 51 
 
 over the mahogany framework of his pen, would give him 
 a kindly greeting. The major was not without humour, 
 and, as he looked up, down, and along the Junior 
 Palladium, he thought it laughable that he, the guest of 
 the workhouse, should be a part proprietor in such a 
 palace, with rights over the magnificent creatures, who, 
 even as he was thinking of them, could be seen bending 
 low at the entrance of a member. He wondered if his 
 life-membership were an available asset, and whether the 
 parish, if the matter came to the ears of the authorities, 
 could make the club disgorge his fee, and use it to defray 
 expenses incurred on his behalf. It seemed to him that 
 this should be possible, as it was clear that he would 
 never be able to get any personal enjoyment out of his 
 membership. That was certain. He would never again 
 have money enough to make it possible for him to enter 
 a club never. 
 
 Now, while the major was thus firmly insisting upon 
 the impossibility that he should again enter any club, 
 he became aware of a crazy impulse rising in his bosom 
 and urging him up the steps of the Junior Palladium. He 
 fought against the foolishness of such a proceeding, and had 
 beaten it down, when his companion's next words gave 
 renewed and overpowering strength to it. The linen-draper 
 had been observing the salaams of the footmen. 
 
 "Ah! it's all very well when you're up in the world," 
 said he; "those fellows will bow to you then. But I'd 
 like to see how they'd behave to you if you went in 
 there now." 
 
 The major at once crossed the street, and strode up 
 the steps. The portly footmen did not move. They 
 only gaped curiously at him through the glass panels 
 of the swing-doors.
 
 52 Odd Issues 
 
 " Open the door ! " shouted the major, throwing out 
 his chest, and dilating his pauper garb. 
 
 " Here ! None of this ! " said one of the footmen, 
 pulling the handles inwards, and speaking aggressively 
 through the crack caused by his action. 
 
 "You ass!" said the major, rapping on the glass with 
 his knuckles. " I 'm a member, you ass ! " Then he 
 added, mendaciously, "It's a bet." 
 
 At this moment the departure of a member of the club 
 necessitated the opening of the doors, and, as they were held 
 apart on either side, the major stepped briskly in. He 
 had never been in the club before ; but, being wound up 
 for his adventure, he did not allow any topographical un- 
 certainties to trouble him. Giving a little nod to the silver- 
 haired porter in passing, he strolled slowly into the first 
 large room on his right hand, which he guessed would 
 prove to be the smoking-room. The footmen, who had 
 followed him as he made this audacious raid on the 
 premises, looked inquiringly from his receding back to 
 their immediate superior, the venerable porter. That great 
 functionary at first could only look inquiringly back at the 
 footmen. He was breathless with surprise. 
 
 "What's this game?" he stuttered at last; "what's 
 this game, letting in workhouse people about the place 
 as if they were toffs ? Go and chuck him out ; and 
 look slippy, I tell you." 
 
 "But, Jim " began one of the footmen. 
 
 " But Jim ! " mimicked the porter, stumbling into a 
 pun; "what are you butting about, you silly goat? If 
 the secretary sees that fellow, he'll chuck you out as 
 well as him and me too, perhaps, for not looking after 
 you. Are you going?" This last in raised tones as he 
 noticed the hesitation on the men's faces.
 
 The Life-Member 53 
 
 "But, Jim," began one of them again, "he said he 
 was a member." 
 
 " He 's fit for a member of a club, ain't he ? " rejoined 
 Jim, scornfully. "And you're fit for a lunatic asylum. 
 Go and throw him out this moment. Are you afraid?" 
 
 " Easy, Jim, easy ! He said it was a bet." 
 
 "Oh, said it was a bet, did he? That's different," 
 allowed the porter, some of the anxiety clearing from his 
 plump and amiable features. " It 's all right, then. Well, 
 this place wants cheering. Why, the last club I was at, 
 I remember Lord John Crosbie, that's the Marquis of 
 Stockport now, coming into the club dressed like a girl ! 
 And he went up into the billiard-room and began taking 
 off his clothes. And an old member that was up there 
 alone screamed, and a waiter ran in and was for turning 
 Lord John out, and Lord John strikes the waiter, and 
 the waiter hits Lord John back a sight harder. Then 
 the old member suddenly sides with the distressed 
 female. ' Coward ! ' says he to the waiter, and lands 
 him over the head with the brass-topped jigger ! Then 
 the secretary came, and Lord John and the old member 
 dined together, and they each gave the waiter a sovereign. 
 Now, that was for a bet ! " 
 
 While the hall - porter was holding his subordinates 
 spellbound with his reminiscences, the major reached 
 the smoking-room ; and, as he seated himself and took 
 up a paper, all conversation ceased in his vicinage, and all 
 eyes were fastened upon him. The room was enormous, 
 forming the complete ground -floor of the club, so that 
 what passed at one end caused but little stir at the 
 other; but gradually all present became aware, firstly, of 
 the curious hush that was prevailing in the corner where 
 the major was sitting, and secondly, of the quaint figure,
 
 54 Odd Issues 
 
 whose remarkable garb was apparent below and on 
 either side of the journal in which its owner was absorbed. 
 " It 's an escaped convict ! " said one. " It 's a lunatic ! " 
 said a second. " He 's drunk ! " said a third. Then 
 arose the questions of who should be sent for, the 
 doctor, the police, the keeper, or the ambulance. Finally 
 a member summoned the secretary. 
 
 The secretary came in, and walked hastily up to the 
 major's chair. He believed that his club was being 
 disgraced by becoming the scene of an inebriate's sense- 
 less joke, and it was with the roughness of justly offended 
 authority that he inquired, " What does all this mean, 
 sir ? " 
 
 "lam Major Bradenham," replied the offender, civilly. 
 "I suppose my clothes prompt your questions?" 
 
 The name was familiar to the secretary. A Major 
 Bradenham was undoubtedly a life-member. He had 
 been invited to become so by a holograph letter from 
 the respectable marquis who acted as president of the 
 club under the direction of Mr Umfreville, and Mr 
 Umfreville had vouched for his suitability. The secretary 
 distinctly remembered that the major had been described 
 as a man of fashion and great wealth. If this masquerader 
 were indeed he, it would be an unwise thing to be too 
 abrupt. The marquis might be annoyed ; and, worse still, 
 Mr Umfreville might be annoyed also. The pregnant 
 word " bet " had already reached the secretary's ears, 
 and he knew that in certain circles the exigencies of a 
 wager were held to account fully for social solecisms. 
 Yet it was a dreadful thing to have a man in the livery 
 of the poor-law seated in the big smoking-room of the 
 club, the observed of all eyes. The room was full of 
 members, and worse, of guests, and the secretary could
 
 The Life-Member 55 
 
 imagine the disagreeable and slighting gossip that would 
 prevail, and that might even get into the scurrilous 
 columns of the political press. He could see the head- 
 lines in certain inimical prints describing in ribald 
 language the new adherent to the party whose head- 
 quarters the Junior Palladium was. The club could 
 afford to incur such unfortunate publicity even less than 
 it could afford to quarrel with a man in a prominent 
 position in the financial and social worlds. The secretary 
 remained standing near the major, torn with doubts 
 whether he should order the expulsion of the intruder, 
 or retreat from the unpleasant situation and trust to the 
 story going no further and being universally discredited. 
 Suddenly the major rose, and crossed the room to the 
 big bow-window, taking a toothpick from a wine-glass 
 in his transit. There he stood, watched by all within, 
 and a conspicuous object for the attention of all without. 
 The secretary followed, and what he saw proved an 
 aggravation to his apprehensions. On the pavement in 
 front of the club stood a dozen or so hapless men in 
 workhouse clothes, whose eyes were all fixed on the 
 figure in the bow-window, while their faces were wrung 
 into grimaces of surprise and amusement. Then one of 
 them it was the linen-draper waved an old piece of 
 red handkerchief towards the major as he was posed in 
 the window, and immediately the whole group broke into 
 clumsy gestures of recognition. Major Bradenham re- 
 moved his toothpick with rounded arm and little finger 
 elegantly separated from its fellows, while he recognised 
 his acquaintance without by a magnificent bow. At this 
 the acquaintance fell to face-making yet more vigorously 
 in their appreciation of the situation, and the major 
 bowed repeatedly, and with increased cordiality. It
 
 56 Odd Issues 
 
 was not to be expected that so singular an episode 
 should escape the notice of passers-by. First one and 
 then another stroller paused and looked from the figures 
 on the pavement to the figure in the window, and in a 
 minute the nucleus of a crowd was formed. 
 
 Mr Mark Umfreville had one quality which stamped 
 him as an organiser. He was always at hand when he 
 was wanted. Therefore it was inevitable that, at the 
 moment when the secretary's embarrassment was most 
 acute, at the moment when the order for the forcible 
 expulsion of the major was about to be pronounced, 
 Mr Umfreville should step into the room. From far 
 away in a little attic, which in defiance of the prejudices 
 of other members of the committee he had consecrated 
 to Sunday whist, he had smelt trouble, and with no 
 particular object save to satisfy his unreasonable un- 
 easiness, he had decided to descend and look about 
 him. 
 
 " He says he 's a member," said the secretary, advancing 
 to meet Umfreville, and indicating with a backward gesture 
 the bowing figure in the window, around whom the more 
 curious of those present had clustered. 
 
 "So he is," said Umfreville; "it's old Bradenham ! 
 What on earth is he doing in that rig ? " 
 
 " Well, I don't know. There 's some story of a bet, I 
 believe. But he's bowing and nodding away to a group 
 of his friends in the same sort of clothes. They are on 
 the pavement opposite, and bowing back. If it isn't 
 stopped it will play the deuce with the club, I tell you. 
 There 's a crowd collecting already." 
 
 "We're rather a young shop, certainly," assented 
 Umfreville; "and if some of the papers got hold of the 
 thing they might work a racket against us. That 's the
 
 The Life-Member 57 
 
 worst of being a political club, the more friends you have 
 the more enemies you have." 
 
 "Of course, if it's being done for a bet " 
 
 " Depends entirely who the man is betting with," cut 
 in Umfreville. " If he 's betting with a bishop, or a 
 music-hall singer, or a gold-king, or some really important 
 person we needn't interfere ; and I '11 write a paragraph 
 myself about his eccentricity and send it round to a 
 news-agency. But I rather doubt the bet story, as it does 
 not account for the gentlemen on the pavement." 
 
 "Well, any way, what are we going to do now?" asked 
 the secretary. " He can't stay there. Hadn't I better 
 have him run out of the place, and chance it ? " 
 
 " I '11 speak to him," said Umfreville, advancing to the 
 window. " Major Bradenham, I believe ? " he commenced. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the major. 
 
 "Had the pleasure of meeting you at Lord Norwich's, 
 I think ? Glad to see you in here. Often come in ? 
 Good sort of place, isn't it?" 
 
 "It seems to me an excellent institution," said the 
 major. 
 
 "Glad you think so," continued Umfreville. "I want 
 to speak to you quietly about it quietly," he repeated, 
 looking at the circle of interested spectators, and allowing 
 an eyelid to flicker as he met the gaze of one or two. 
 Umfreville was well known to everyone in the club as 
 being in himself the management personified, and as his 
 wish was easy to interpret he found himself immediately 
 alone with the major. 
 
 " Very glad you like the place," he went on ; " we Ve 
 done our best, and, of course, we're particularly anxious 
 to please our best members men, that is, who belong to 
 other clubs and who know how things should be done.
 
 58 Odd Issues 
 
 What's good enough for them is sure to be too good 
 for the others." 
 
 " I do not at, the present moment belong to any other 
 club," said the major. 
 
 " No ? " said Umfreville. " Well, that should make you 
 all the more interested in this one. Let's sit down." 
 And as he spoke he drew the major from his conspicuous 
 position in front of the window. " I dare say you '11 smoke, 
 and may I order you anything to drink ? A little whisky 
 and soda ? " 
 
 Major Bradenham nodded. His whole being had been 
 yearning for the good tobacco and delicate spirits which 
 were being consumed around him, but which the emptiness 
 of his pocket had prevented him from tasting. 
 
 For a few minutes both men sat in silence. The major 
 puffed slowly at a large Rothschild, letting the aromatic 
 fumes, made a thousandfold more ravishing to his senses 
 by recent abstention, play round his nostrils. Umfreville 
 now and again gave a little side-wag of his head towards 
 other occupants of the room and smiled as he did so, 
 by which by-play he contrived to convey the impression 
 that he was satisfied to be in the company in which he 
 was that, in fact, he found it amusing and piquant. 
 The rumour that the gentleman in pauper garb was a 
 well-known society man who had disguised himself for a 
 bet accordingly gained credence, and the members who 
 had recently muttered ominously of keepers and constables 
 now, in their gratitude to this smart personage for choosing 
 the premises of their club for his aristocratic freaks, began 
 to moot the advisability of asking the mysterious stranger 
 to dinner. 
 
 At length Umfreville began, " Does that cigar suit you ? 
 Is that stuff as you drink it ? Quite sure ? Then, please
 
 The Life-Member 59 
 
 listen, Major ! My fortunes are bound up in the fortunes 
 of this club. Now, your joke in coming here in those 
 odd clothes may do those fortunes harm. I shouldn't 
 wonder if a lot of members resigned." 
 
 " But I haven't any other clothes to wear," said the 
 major. 
 
 "I thought so," returned Umfreville, "I thought the 
 get-up was too good for private theatricals. Well, Major 
 Bradenham, you won't do it again, will you ? I 've saved 
 you from being thrown out this time, and I 'm sure I 'm 
 devilish sorry for you, but, you know, you can't come in 
 here. You can't indeed." And Umfreville leant back, 
 and closed his mouth tightly, as one who had said the 
 last word that was to be said. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said the major, to whom fragrant tobacco 
 and old whisky had lent courage for argument. " I 'm 
 a life-member. I shall come in when I like, and that 
 will be whenever I can." 
 
 " H'm ! " said Umfreville, "you oblige me to be rude. I 
 shall tell the secretary to instruct the servants to exclude 
 you." 
 
 " I shall come when I like, Mr er er I don't remember 
 your name," returned the major. "I have an invitation 
 from your president. I have paid my money. I have 
 done nothing for which I can be excluded. And there 's 
 no rule about what clothes a member must wear. Why, 
 look at that ! " He pointed to a young gentleman who 
 had lounged into the room in a shiny top-hat, a grey 
 frock-coat, a plaid waistcoat, a pink shirt, and yellow 
 boots. 
 
 "Shocking!" assented Umfreville; "shocking! The 
 place is full of bounders, I grant you. For which very 
 reason that awful youth doesn't offend the prejudices of
 
 60 Odd Issues 
 
 our members. They know no better. But they won't 
 stand your clothes. So, drink up your whisky and let's 
 part friends. It's ridiculous to say we cannot exclude 
 you. A bankrupt is excluded ipso facto under one of the 
 club rules." 
 
 " But I am not a bankrupt," said the major. " I haven't 
 a debt in the world. It is true that my only asset is my 
 life-membership of this club, but I intend to make that 
 asset go as far as it will." 
 
 " I think we can keep you out, sir," said Umfreville, 
 a little testily. As a matter of fact, he was beginning to 
 have doubts, and to foresee trouble. 
 
 "I think not," returned the major; "and I am sure 
 that your attempt, for which I will give you as frequent 
 opportunities as possible, will not do the club any 
 good." 
 
 " H'm ! " said Umfreville, after a pause ; " H'm ! What 
 do you want ? " 
 
 " Pretty well everything," replied the major, who began 
 to see that his threat that he would work his life-member- 
 ship as an available asset had not been quite an idle 
 one. 
 
 "No friends?" 
 
 "None that I would sponge on," said the major. 
 
 "No vices?" 
 
 " I have gambled a little." 
 
 " H'm ! " said Umfreville again. " But it must have been 
 a sudden smash? Why, I met you at Beaminster after 
 Christmas, and saw you dining at the Savoy a month after 
 that ! Didn't you make any sort of attempt to slide 
 down gradually?" 
 
 " No ; I could have done secretary's work but no one 
 would employ me. I was too old. I could do nothing
 
 The Life-Member 61 
 
 else. And I dreaded sliding. So I jumped over the edge." 
 And the major told his story briefly. 
 
 When he had done speaking, the two men looked at 
 each other steadily. 
 
 "You're not fooling?" said Umfreville. "I can grub 
 about in your past as much as I like, and I shall find only 
 a few unlucky speculations?" 
 
 "You can. But if you're going to give me a chance, 
 don't be long. For Heaven's sake, man, now that you 've 
 raised my hopes, don't be long in trying me." 
 
 " I '11 try you to-morrow," said Umfreville. " Here 's a 
 tenner; and you can make certain of this, if I didn't 
 believe you I wouldn't give you twopence. I am not a 
 charitable man. Turn up at luncheon in nineteenth-century 
 costume, about two. By the way, in case I 'm asked, 
 who was your bet with ? " 
 
 "The Prince of Wales," said the major. 
 
 "I knew it," said Umfreville. 
 
 "The truth is," said Mr Umfreville to an emergency 
 meeting of the committee on the following morning ; " we 
 can't afford to play. The stakes are too high, and Major 
 Bradenham has big trumps. He has an unblemished 
 character, and doesn't owe a shilling in the world. And 
 he paid enormous losses on the Stock Exchange in full, 
 and without a moment's delay, going cheerfully to the 
 workhouse that he might keep his engagements to the 
 letter. I rather think that poverty of that sort does not 
 exclude a man from a club, who has actually paid his 
 subscription. There is no rule against a member of the 
 club being supported out of the rates, and we certainly 
 can't frame sumptuary laws which shall be binding 
 retrospectively binding, mind you on our members.
 
 62 Odd Issues 
 
 We've got to compromise. Eh? Jackson, don't you 
 think so?" 
 
 Mr Jackson, the chairman of the committee, was the 
 wealthiest man in the club. He was not very clever 
 but he was clever enough to know his own limitations, 
 and Umfreville's polysyllables sounded to him to cover 
 a policy of some sort, with which he had better agree 
 lest he should be compelled to discuss it in detail. 
 
 "Yes, certainly," said Mr Jackson; "we must 
 compromise." 
 
 Jackson, the wealthy, and Umfreville, the astute, made 
 a combination of opinion before which the committee 
 were happy to bow ; and it was unanimously decided 
 that terms must be made with Major Bradenham, to 
 prevent him from damaging the club by a persistence 
 in his inconvenient conduct of the previous afternoon. 
 Some men proposed this, and others that. Some suggested 
 taking counsel's opinion, and others thought that the noble 
 president of the club should be consulted, while Umfreville 
 waited until a badly conducted debate had made everyone 
 ready for a definite and C9mprehensible plan of action. 
 
 "I vote," said he, "that whatever we do, we get our 
 money's worth out of him. I propose we make him a 
 sort of assistant secretary, and give him a bedroom, meals, 
 and say, two pounds a week, and keep up his subscription 
 for him at his other clubs. A smart man like Major 
 Bradenham, a really smart man who goes to Beaminster 
 and Lord Norwich's, can do us a lot of good if he gives 
 his mind to it. He can write on our note-paper to people 
 who never heard of us, and he can get men here to dinner 
 whom we know nothing of. I believe that's the best 
 we can do, and if it doesn't pay us we can easily change 
 our minds and send him off. Eh, Jackson?"
 
 The Life-Member 63 
 
 "Certainly," agreed Mr Jackson. "We can always 
 sack him." 
 
 And so, when the major arrived a little later to eat his 
 luncheon with Mr Umfreville, he found the offer of the 
 committee awaiting him. 
 
 "I can never thank you enough," he said to his host, 
 as he read the letter. 
 
 " Oh, bosh ! " said that gentleman. " When you can 
 help me, I '11 let you know. By the way, as you are to 
 have your meals free, we'll put this little function down 
 to the general expenses of the club, and have another 
 bottle of eighty-four."
 
 MR FISCHER, THE PHOTOGRAPHER 
 
 THE Jubilee of the Emperor of Wettin was to be celebrated 
 with extraordinary pomp and emphasis. All the Govern- 
 ments of the world were announced to be sending their 
 representatives to Blabenberg, there to do honour to the 
 aged monarch who, amid the changes and chances of 
 imperial life, had remained the choice of his people as 
 well as their destiny for fifty full years. 
 
 For autocrats saw in the Emperor's power, as constitu- 
 tional rulers saw in his moderation, and as republics saw 
 in his love of righteousness, a justification of each separate 
 scheme of government. Wettin might be foe or friend to 
 this state or that in the realm of politics, and might differ 
 from this state or that as broadly in religion as in diet, 
 in literature as in complexion ; but those responsible for 
 the conduct of affairs under these varied climes and condi- 
 tions were all able to find in the position of the Emperor 
 of Wettin proof that good administration must result in 
 national prosperity, and that the safe throne is the throne 
 reared upon the solid base of the universal affection of 
 the people. With the onus upon them of showing before 
 the world that they were the best governed country, and 
 with the desire to testify to their Emperor that he was 
 as much loved as he was respected with such a mission 
 before them, can it be wondered that the people of 
 Wettin approached the week of Jubilee with passionate 
 excitement ? 
 
 And as the great day drew nigh upon which it was 
 
 64
 
 Mr Fischer, the Photographer 65 
 
 appointed that the Emperor, escorted by the accredited nobles 
 and notables of all the nations, should drive through his 
 magnificent capital, Blabenberg, to render public thanks at 
 the Cathedral of St Severus for the glorious reign that had 
 been vouchsafed him, this excitement waxed. It waxed 
 to such a height that we cannot even outline into what 
 excesses a naturally restrained folk might have been 
 hurried, had not a practical vent been found for fermenting 
 feelings in the national passion for joinery. The people 
 of Wettin were born carpenters ; and the city of Blabenberg 
 proceeded to work off its exuberance by making arrange- 
 ments that thousands, nay millions, of people should be 
 able at their ease to view the historic pageant. 
 
 Soon the loyalty, the patriotism, and the wealth of 
 Blabenberg alike were displayed by preparations for the 
 day so far-reaching in scope and so ambitious in design 
 that all previous efforts in a similar direction, either by 
 Wettin or by races of more pronounced theatricality, were 
 left in deepest shade. The route through the brown old 
 capital, with its ancient tortuous alleys and its modern 
 spacious boulevards, its historic palaces looking like 
 prisons and its humanitarian prisons resembling palaces, 
 with its squalor and its splendour, its grimness and its 
 unspeakable wealth, was transformed by the carpenter's 
 wand into a scene out of fairy-land. A stalwart army of 
 artisans took possession of the city and proceeded to shape 
 it and drape it, to erect here a terrace and there a tower, 
 to throw up storeys and to suspend balconies from 
 turrets and swings from verandahs all with admirable 
 zeal and in response to high wages, until the time- 
 honoured metropolis of the West presented a realisation 
 of the many-coloured dreams of an Eastern hedonist. 
 
 The great city was in the throes of its regeneration 
 E
 
 66 Odd Issues 
 
 when there arrived at the principal railway station a young 
 man, whose accent and clothes suggested that he was an 
 alien, although he had a commendable acquaintance with 
 the Wettin language. That he was no stranger in Blaben- 
 berg was proved by his familiarity with the few custom- 
 house formalities that were exacted of him, and by the 
 certain tread with which he stepped from the platform 
 into the thronged streets, turning a deaf ear to the offers 
 of assistance that reached him from expectant hackney- 
 carriages. He was a blonde and dapper little man, neatly 
 dressed and unassuming in his carriage, yet bearing 
 himself as one who knew his own worth and whose 
 station in life more frequently entailed upon him the 
 giving than the receiving of orders. As the manager of 
 a retail haberdashery he would have looked in his place, 
 and would have taken care that others respected him in 
 it. Punctuality was marked in plain figures on his decent 
 overcoat, and probity resided in the square toes of his 
 roomy, brown shoes. Yet not a dry-as-dust man, but one 
 of artistic tastes. For, as he gazed through his pince-nez 
 with interest at the towering timber-works that were being 
 erected around him, it was easy to determine the meaning 
 of the gentle smile with which he fingered the little port- 
 able camera that hung by a strap from his neck, and 
 formed his only luggage. Away from the trivial routine 
 of his business day the man was clearly a photographic 
 enthusiast ; and he was calling up a mental picture of the 
 gallant array that would soon be filling the streets with 
 objects for the exercise of his skill in picture-making. 
 What views he would get! And he stopped at the foot 
 of one colossal stand, and looked up and peopled its rows 
 of seats with a mighty crowd rising tier upon tier to the 
 sky-line and all absorbed in the unparalleled scene
 
 Mr Fischer, the Photographer 67 
 
 below. "It will be something to look at," he said to 
 himself; and smiled again, as he struck into a retired 
 street of mean houses, an oasis of antiquity and shabbi- 
 ness in a desert of modern and imposing structures. 
 
 Stopping before a narrow portal, whose ornate top-light 
 told of departed modishness, he rang at one of several 
 bells fixed to the carved pillar. The summons was im- 
 mediately answered by a person who must have been 
 expecting him, so prompt was the response. 
 
 " Ah ! " said a thin, haggard, middle-aged face, peeping 
 through the half-opened door, " 'T is you ! Come in, then, 
 before you are seen." 
 
 "Always the same, dear friend!" said the younger man, 
 as he stepped inside. " Always the same ! Paralysed 
 with apprehension ! Yet what need for fear in this grand 
 country ? What need, I ask ? Are we not two free 
 gentlemen in a free land, my Paul? No passports, no 
 vouchers, no credentials; yet we are made welcome!" 
 
 So he chattered, as he followed his friend up the dingy, 
 sour-smelling staircase, paying no heed to the silencing 
 gestures of his guide's raised forefinger and screwed-up 
 lips. And so he continued to chatter on reaching the 
 little chamber immediately beneath the tiles to which the 
 elder man conducted him. 
 
 "We are made welcome, I say, in this great country," 
 he continued, " heartily welcome ! Not even our mighty 
 King, the great Constantine of Gregoria, whom God pre- 
 serve eh! my Paul, whom God preserve enters this 
 hospitable realm with less exacting formality than you 
 or me, your little friend Fischer." 
 
 "So!" said Paul, doubtfully. He was not of the 
 same gay temperament as Mr Fischer, and seemed to 
 resent the joyousness of his junior as presaging some
 
 68 Odd Issues 
 
 heedlessness, some irresponsibility ill-assorted to the busi- 
 ness in hand. 
 
 "Of course," continued Fischer, airily, "my Paul has 
 not been ass enough to offend the prejudices of this 
 mighty nation in whose bosom he now rests, eh? No 
 little trouble at bezique, for instance?" and he tapped a 
 greasy pack of cards on the mantelpiece against which 
 he was lounging. "No stupid games of chance with the 
 patriots of the tripots, eh ? And, my God, no selling of 
 these ? " taking up with the extreme tips of his fingers 
 a slim volume, whose stained white covers presented illus- 
 trations in promise of the contents which they protected. 
 
 "No," said Paul, sulkily. 
 
 "Well, well," continued Mr Fischer tolerantly, "a man 
 must have his little consolations. The romances had 
 better be kept for solitary contemplation and reading in 
 the closet, while the cards will be most advantageously 
 employed in the artifices of patience. Have you my lens 
 ready ? " this with abruptness, and a glance down at his 
 camera, still suspended from his person. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Good. Nothing is now wanting but a situation from 
 which I can command a close view of the great Jubilee 
 procession to make my little holiday a successful one. As 
 for you, my Paul, when you have had your dinner it will 
 be well for you to leave Wettin. I do not desire the 
 attention of a constabulary that may at any moment elect 
 to make you the subject of their inquiries. Best of friends, 
 say adieu ! Have a good dinner ! Be sure and have a 
 good dinner ; and drink to our next meeting in Gregoria. 
 Your part is played." 
 
 And now the great day has arrived, and the appointed
 
 Mr Fischer, the Photographer 69 
 
 hour, and the imperial retinue with its unprecedented 
 escort leaves the palace of Blabenberg amid the 
 thundering of guns, the pealing of bells, the blare of 
 trumpets, and the ringing plaudits of an enthusiastic and 
 devoted populace. As the great procession wound slowly 
 out from the grim old fortress where twenty generations 
 of Wettin monarchs have held their court, have been 
 born or buried, crowned or murdered, the sun sprang 
 up from behind a barrier of clouds, and levelling his 
 rays at the advancing horsemen touched every point 
 on head-dress or weapon to brilliancy. 
 
 " Oh ! Oh ! " shouted the people, as the Emperor's 
 Own, the most famous heavy regiment in the Wettin army, 
 lumbered by, their gun-metal helmets, breast-plates, and 
 greaves, and the steaming quarters of their huge black 
 chargers glittering darkly in the sun, and giving them the 
 appearance of fantastic bronzes suddenly galvanised into 
 a gallop. " Ah ! ah ! " sighed the people, as the graceful 
 First Chasseurs, Princess Ottilie of Wettin's Own, cara- 
 coled and curveted along. What elegant springs the 
 little grey horses gave ! And how much action they 
 displayed, while careful to cover only a small distance, 
 and to preserve the time and tune of the procession ! 
 The pale blue and silver surtouts of their riders from 
 every fold and angle of which streamed love -knots of 
 scarlet, and their light silver casques from which drooped 
 scarlet plumes, made a spectacle so elegant and so delicate 
 that the bystanders sighed to think that such beautiful 
 flowers of peace might be cut down and garnered in 
 the harvests of war. 
 
 But the sighs were quickly turned into ringing cheers, 
 as the civic celebrities of Wettin robed in crimson and 
 fur and reclining in their barouches were succeeded by
 
 jo Odd Issues 
 
 copper-coloured giants from luscious south-sea isles, by 
 bleached dwarfs from the Antarctic regions, by Nubian 
 troglodytes, and by troopers, hussars, marines, guards, 
 and police from every known quarter of the globe. For 
 Wettin, the great colonising power of the earth, had drawn 
 from all her dependencies specimens of her fighting 
 strength and her pioneering prowess to go before the 
 Emperor and to swell his triumph. And how shall we 
 describe the deafening uproar, the unrestrained, tumultuous 
 shouting of all men, which arose as the Emperor's great 
 gold coach bobbed into sight, swinging this way, swing- 
 ing that way, in answer to the jerks of its draft of 
 sixteen piebald ponies ? Slowly, slowly, the great carriage 
 passed between the eager lines, and the clean-cut face 
 of the aged Emperor was seen white against the purple 
 hangings. White, but not unmoved, for those near could 
 note the convulsive working of the usually stern, still lips, 
 and the tremor of the calm and fearless hand as he raised 
 his fingers now and again to the edge of his triple coronet 
 of emeralds, in military acknowledgment of the enthusiasm 
 of his people. Around the coach pranced a cavalcade 
 of princes. Long-legged, bearded, and debonair, his 
 brown curls flecked with grey, there rode the heir-apparent 
 his Royal and Imperial Highness, the Grand Duke 
 Gunther of Blabenberg. There rode the grand duke's 
 son, the graceful, chivalrous young Prince of Simmern, 
 third in the secure succession to the Wettin throne. 
 There rode Rai Bahadur Mirza Beg, who traced his suc- 
 cession directly from a man who had turned the legions 
 of Alexander the Great; and with him came the incom- 
 parable Florizel, wise, wayward, and polite a Bohemian 
 prince of humorists, and a laughing-stock among princes. 
 An olive-skinned and alert diplomatist from Persia was
 
 Mr Fischer, the Photographer 71 
 
 chattering to a mandarin of untold wealth and impassive 
 features, who was clad in a robe of saffron brocade 
 embroidered with green lilies and festooned with orna- 
 ments of carved jade, and whose face bore an expression 
 of mild wonder at the enthusiasm which his appearance 
 evoked. Next, and alone, and noticeable among all, 
 rode King Constantine of Gregoria the great King 
 Constantine, the young King Constantine, the daring, 
 the mad, the arbitrary, the politic, the artistic, the 
 bewildering King Constantine. Clothed from head to 
 foot in thin, black cloth his freakish, boyish face belied 
 his reputation for state-craft, as his sombre dress con- 
 tradicted his love of personal display. Those who knew 
 him said that it was like him to attend a festival in a 
 garb fitted for a funeral, while others made the obvious 
 comment that in a parterre of gaudy tulips, a dun fritillary 
 becomes a conspicuous flower. On his breast shone the 
 orders of all nations, and in his hand he carried a light 
 riding-cane, his only weapon when leading his armies to 
 battle. He rode as though in a dream, and muttered 
 as he swayed backwards and forwards in his saddle ; but 
 whether he was conning the words of his next song that 
 should entrance Gregorian drawing-rooms, or those of his 
 next telegram that should bring terror and confusion to 
 some neighbouring state, no one will ever know. He was 
 reputed to be no friend to Wettin, so that all the populace 
 rejoiced at the opportunity of displaying their over- 
 brimming loyalty before his eyes. They believed such 
 demonstrations would annoy him seriously, for it was 
 common knowledge that King Constantine had grave 
 trouble in his own land, where he was distrusted by his 
 nobility and his elders, whom he dragooned ; while he was 
 hated by the democratic party, and by the young progressive
 
 72 Odd Issues 
 
 spirits to whom he preached sermons upon Socialism of 
 a quite intolerable length and dulness. 
 
 " That 's him," said the spectators, as the solitary figure 
 came in sight. " That 's King Constantine ! He dare 
 not ride about his own streets without guards. What 
 must he think of this?" "He has no colonies," added 
 others, "so what must he think of it?" "Why has he 
 dressed himself for a funeral ? " asked others, angrily 
 resenting his sombre attire on such an occasion of gala. 
 
 This last question brought an answer from a little man 
 in a tall hat with a mourning band standing in the front 
 row of the crowd and watching the cavalcade, now some 
 twenty paces from him. " King Constantine is a man 
 of remarkable taste," said Mr Fischer, and he began to 
 unstrap his camera. 
 
 Mr Fischer had obtained a very advantageous position 
 from which to view the procession. His good fortune 
 was the result of sustained effort, and not the unearned 
 gift of chance. Twice he had walked round the route, 
 that he might judge for himself at which points the 
 exiguity of the street would bring the crowd into most 
 immediate contact with the spectacle. And not content 
 with merely seeking a standpoint whence he could 
 command a close view of the Emperor, he was careful 
 to study the approaches to it, hoping to reach his selected 
 pitch and depart therefrom with all ease and convenience. 
 Many spots had one or other recommendation, and not a 
 few had both ; but Mr Fischer was in his mild way an 
 exacting man. He might not want much, but he knew 
 exactly what he wanted, and was willing to expend infinite 
 pains in securing it. It was late on the eve of the 
 appointed day when he made his choice in a narrow
 
 Mr Fischer, the Photographer 73 
 
 thoroughfare, where a somewhat abrupt curve would 
 enjoin a deliberate pace upon horses whose riders and 
 drivers were certain to remember that to be associated 
 with a stumble was to earn abiding dishonour. Into the 
 concavity of this bend ran a little crooked road, leading 
 by inosculations with similar defiles down to the adjacent 
 river. This passage for it was no more having no 
 reason except as an approach to counting-houses which 
 would be closed on a general holiday, offered an easy 
 method of approach to the main street. As a medium 
 of retreat, a point concerning which Mr Fischer had also 
 to think for he was a small man, and a camera is 
 unhandy luggage the passage was equally well ordered. 
 On either hand rose warehouses, from whose infrequent 
 windows no view could be obtained of aught but the 
 opposing wall, so that no mob of spectators would surge 
 into the narrow interval and obstruct the peaceful evasion 
 of persons entering from this corner. A few yards down 
 this tortuous passage stood an old public-house. Into 
 this Mr Fischer walked with grave countenance. Having 
 washed his hands and ordered a bottle of beer he drank 
 it slowly. He then left the house, much refreshed, if 
 the brighter face which he presented could be relied 
 upon as an index to his feelings. He had found the 
 place he wanted. 
 
 On the great day, shortly after dawn, Mr Fischer arrived 
 at the corner of the little passage, and, with much affability, 
 entered into conversation with the officer of the special 
 constabulary who was upon fixed duty at the spot. Mr 
 Fischer spoke of his great enthusiasm for photography, 
 and his readiness, if necessary, to meet death in aiming 
 at good results. The constable was interested and hoped 
 it would never be necessary for Mr Fischer to run such
 
 74 Odd Issues 
 
 risks, for even the cause of art could be championed at 
 too great a sacrifice. Mr Fischer trusted that he would 
 get a good view. The constable promised to do his 
 utmost to that end. Mr Fischer wondered if the little 
 street behind would be kept clear, so that he could 
 glide down it as soon as his photographs were taken, 
 for he would have the constable to observe that a camera 
 was an expensive and frail appliance with which to push 
 through a crowd. The constable said that it was his 
 duty to keep the passage clear at least, he thought so 
 and that he would keep it clear, he was certain. Whereat 
 Mr Fischer gave the constable a sovereign, " because it 
 is Jubilee Day." 
 
 And now the procession drew nigh. Mr Fischer unslung 
 his camera from his neck and held it balanced in his 
 hand. The ringing shouts came nearer ; the quivering, 
 dusty air was full of the strains of martial bands and 
 the thud of horses' hoofs, and half two-thirds three- 
 fourths of the great pageant went by the spot where 
 Mr Fischer stood. The Emperor's carriage rocked into 
 sight ; the cavalcade of princes deployed in front of 
 Mr Fischer, negotiating the little curve with something 
 of military precision. 
 
 " Would you mind holding my camera for me ? " said 
 Mr Fischer to the obliging constable. "Then I shall 
 be free to pull off the cap." 
 
 "With pleasure," said the official. 
 
 "You are really very kind to me," said Mr Fischer. 
 " Do you think I might ask the soldier in front of you 
 to bend his head down?" 
 
 "Let this man take a photograph, soldier, will you?" 
 said the constable, as he brandished the camera in the
 
 Mr Fischer, the Photographer 75 
 
 The soldier bent down with a little nod of ready 
 acquiescence. 
 
 As King Constantine came opposite the camera, Mr 
 Fischer made an odd, croaking noise in his efforts to 
 say "Now," and suddenly he raised his hand and 
 withdrew the cap. Forthwith there streamed from the 
 short, presenting barrel a tongue of fire, and leapt full 
 into the breast of the great King Constantine, whose 
 death-cry was drowned in the roar of the exploding bomb. 
 
 Mr Fischer slipped into the passage behind him and 
 was lost to sight. 
 
 The people seized the constable, and the soldiers 
 sabred the people. 
 
 "I was fortunate," said Mr Fischer afterwards to his 
 friend Paul. " I did not think that the issue would be 
 so happy, until I found my spot. Then, and for the 
 first time, I realised that it would be possible for me 
 to take a successful photograph of the late King 
 Constantine and live to tell my Paul the story. I had 
 observed that a beer-house, situated a few feet from the 
 top of the alley at whose mouth I intended to stand, 
 was invisible from the main street. I washed my hands 
 in that excellent hostelry and learned that it possessed 
 a back-door which opened into a second street. On the 
 eventful morning I found that back-door locked, and I 
 stole the key. After securing my portrait of King 
 Constantine I beat a swift retreat on the beer-house. 
 In the passage I threw away the long black coat and 
 tall hat with a mourning band, which I had assumed out 
 of compliment to King Constantine. I then unlocked 
 the back-door and emerged in a tweed suit, having 
 extracted a light check cap from one of the pockets.
 
 j6 Odd Issues 
 
 I locked the back-door behind me, and, as I did so, 
 I could hear my pursuers clattering down the passage. 
 Then I joined the furious crowd by the other street, and 
 became indistinguishable." 
 
 " So ! " said Paul, " it will be awkward if you meet 
 that policeman." 
 
 "The brutal mob killed him," said Mr Fischer.
 
 WHAT'S IN A NAME? 
 
 MRS WYSE (ELEANOR), 32. Miss OSBORNE (MIRIAM), 20. 
 
 Scene: Miriam's Drawing-room. Eleanor has risen to go 
 and Miriam remains lying on a sofa. 
 
 ELEANOR : Yes ! Yes ! You seem to have had a 
 lovely time and you couldn't possibly look worse for it. 
 You are positively yellow. And now I must be off, dear. 
 Good-bye ! Positively yellow ! 
 
 MIRIAM : I am not yellow. And don't go, Nell. I er 
 I want to tell you something. I didn't have a lovely 
 time a bit. At least, it hasn't turned out lovely. 
 
 ELEANOR (sitting down) : Goose ! I wasn't going. I 
 knew you hadn't told me all. And you're burning to 
 confess. 
 
 MIRIAM : I am not burning to do anything so un- 
 necessary, but I don't mind telling you about it as you 
 have asked me. I have nothing to confess, for I have 
 done nothing wrong. And if I have, I am punished 
 enough by turning yellow. 
 
 ELEANOR : Poor dear ! Not yellow exactly only in- 
 terestingly pallid. Don't mind about it; and tell me all. 
 Perhaps that will make you rosy again. Shall I help you ? 
 I will. You met him down there. 
 
 MIRIAM: Him? Who? 
 
 ELEANOR : Why, him. How should I know his name? 
 
 MIRIAM : His name ! I wish I 'd never found out his 
 horrid name. 
 77
 
 78 Odd Issues 
 
 ELEANOR : Then you have met him. And that 's the 
 part of your visit you have not said a word about. But 
 thanks very much, dear, for all the information about the 
 Norfolk coast, and what Colonel Osborne thought of the 
 wine, and what you thought of the air, and what the 
 inhabitants thought of the prospects of the herring-fishing. 
 (Sweetly.} So interesting ! And what was the matter with 
 his name ? You have never refused that is, allowed your- 
 self to be influenced by the unimportant fact that his name 
 was Scroggins, or Ebenezer? 
 
 MIRIAM (after a pause) : Yes ; I have met him. Met him 
 really. But, Nell, if you're going to be smart at my 
 expense, I don't think I can tell you any more. 
 
 ELEANOR : Now, my good little Miriam, don't be touchy. 
 Who is your best friend? I have chaperoned you and 
 countenanced you. I have found your luggage for you at 
 railway stations and have given you chocolate at church. I 
 have interviewed for you at least one justly indignant man, 
 and explained that your sweetness of manner was deceptive 
 and he said it was. I believe he said it was damnably 
 so. I have introduced you to Victorie, who dresses you 
 admirably when you don't meddle with her. And I have 
 twice persuaded Colonel Osborne to increase your allowance 
 nominally, at any rate. No ! No ! You must not be 
 touchy with me. 
 
 MIRIAM (wearily) : You Ve been very good. Well, he 
 was at our hotel. 
 
 ELEANOR : Yes ? 
 
 MIRIAM : And (pauses.) 
 
 ELEANOR : And ? (Miriam does not speak.} And you 
 caught his eye at table d'hote. And he stared and you 
 very properly looked the other way. And you met him in 
 the corridor the next day three times between breakfast and
 
 What 's in a Name ? 79 
 
 luncheon. And the third time you well, you didn't smile, 
 of course, but you looked as if you could smile. So he 
 bowed to find out. And in the afternoon he happened to 
 be near you on the parade. So he said that the place was 
 relaxing or did you tell me bracing ? and that he knew 
 some Osbornes in Yorkshire or the Engadine, and were 
 you any relation to the Duke of Leeds ? There ! (breath- 
 lessly?) 
 
 MIRIAM : Quite wrong ! He only looked at me when 
 he thought I didn't know it. Not that he was shy or 
 awkward but he was courteous and good. (Sitting up 
 on the sofa suddenly?) Nell, he was the nicest man I ever 
 met the very nicest. 
 
 ELEANOR : H'm ! Did you let him know that ? 
 
 MIRIAM : I dare say I did. I don't care. 
 
 ELEANOR : Oh ! Have you been foolish ? May I go 
 on bothering you about it? 
 
 MIRIAM : I have been very wise ; and I have done the 
 very thing you would have recommended (Eleanor takes 
 Miriam's hand}, so I ought not to mind telling you. For 
 you are a regular little mother to me, Nell. 
 
 ELEANOR : Well, we '11 call it an elder sister. That 
 doesn't make me such a fossil. Now, go on. 
 
 MIRIAM : I 'm not going to tell you all. I cannot do 
 that. He met papa at the races. Papa won some money 
 from him. And papa asked him to come to our rooms 
 And he came. 
 
 ELEANOR : To see papa ? 
 
 MIRIAM : He came because he wished to see me, and 
 because he knew that I wished to see him. And and it 
 was all so different to the silly things that I have told you 
 about before. 
 
 ELEANOR : Yes, dear. So very different.
 
 8o Odd Issues 
 
 MIRIAM : I saw him every day. And we used to go 
 and walk about the grounds in the evening. And he was 
 so quiet and kind and strong. And he never talked about 
 other girls. He said he knew some. I asked him, to see 
 what he would say, because it was easy to see he was 
 accustomed to us. He knew little things, and said little 
 things; and he wasn't awkward. But he didn't swagger 
 about girls. And he never worried me by asking me if I 
 liked him as well to-day as I did yesterday, and if I thought 
 I should like him as well to-morrow and always. Oh ! 
 he was different ! 
 
 ELEANOR : Why, what did you talk about ? 
 
 MIRIAM : Me, and papa, and how his people wished him 
 to settle down near them, and hunting at least, he did 
 and all sorts of things, you know. 
 
 ELEANOR : Yes ; I know. " Ships and shoes and seal- 
 ing-wax." And are you engaged, dear? 
 
 MIRIAM : No. I refused him. And I 'm very glad I 
 did. (Crying.} He ought to have told me about himself. 
 
 ELEANOR : Oh ! my poor darling ! And he turned out to 
 be a tailor or something ! I see it all. You mustn't blame 
 yourself. They 're awfully like other people nowadays, and 
 if he was very very rich, why 
 
 MIRIAM : Nell ! A tailor ! No ! He was a gentleman 
 an honest, good gentleman. I tell you he was the nicest 
 man I ever met. But am I fitted to be a poor man's wife ? 
 How many times have you told me that I am not ? And 
 papa never says anything else. 
 
 ELEANOR : Well, it seems to me that for your own sake, 
 if not for his, you should have thought of his possible 
 poverty sooner. 
 
 MIRIAM : I did think about it. But he always seemed 
 so rich. He had the best rooms in the hotel. And he had
 
 What 's in a Name ? 8 1 
 
 his own horses down there. And his sister is Lady Some- 
 thing Brown, I think. And he never mentioned his 
 brothers. And his father has been high-sheriff. O Nell ! 
 I did think about it. And I wish I hadn't. I am ashamed 
 that I should have wondered or cared whether he was rich 
 or poor. For I know now that it doesn't matter a bit. Not 
 a bit! 
 
 ELEANOR : Well, my dear ? 
 
 MIRIAM : Well, when I found out that he was nobody 
 and had been concealing things from me, it was a sort of 
 sudden shock to me. And you 've always said that being 
 poor spoils everything. And, of course, I owe Victorie a 
 lot of money. And papa wouldn't let me marry a poor 
 man. And poor mamma! They called it consumption, 
 but you know very well that she was worried to death by 
 papa's debts. So I wrote back and refused him. 
 
 ELEANOR : And how did you find him out ? 
 
 MIRIAM : By his name. Papa said one morning that I 
 was not to be silly, for Mr Crutchley had let out that 
 he was the youngest of the family. And just then his 
 letter came. And he had signed it Guy Octavius I used 
 to call him Guy at the end. And he never told me 
 anything about his being Octavius the youngest of eight, 
 you know. So I wrote back and said that it was im- 
 possible. But you have made me a mercenary little beast 
 you and papa between you. And I 'm so miserable. 
 
 ELEANOR : Crutchley, did you say ? Guy Octavius 
 Crutchley ? 
 
 MIRIAM : Yes. 
 
 ELEANOR : Good gracious, Miriam ! Guy Crutchley ! 
 
 MIRIAM : Yes ! Do you know him ? 
 
 ELEANOR : Perfectly. Almost a millionaire, my dear. 
 And you 've refused Guy Crutchley ! And because of his 
 F
 
 82 Odd Issues 
 
 poverty ! His poverty ! Yes ; I know him. And one of 
 those sisters of his did marry a Brown. Oh ! my poor little 
 dear ! It would be laughable, if it wasn't so sad. Won't 
 he come back? (Miriam shakes her head.} And he never 
 told you anything about his elder brothers? Concealed 
 them ? All seven of them ? Oh ! he must come back, 
 though he is the youngest of eight. He must. 
 
 MIRIAM : He won't. And I '11 never ask him. But if 
 he did, I would marry him though he were the youngest of 
 eighty. Nell, you 're laughing ! 
 
 ELEANOR : He must come back ! Can't you guess ? 
 Yes; though he's the youngest of eight, he must come 
 back. The others are sisters. 
 
 MIRIAM (laughing excitedly) : Well, I 'm glad to be 
 punished. I deserve it. He will never come back, and 
 he 's nothing to me now. Nothing ! But I loved him. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 SERVANT : Mr Guy Crutchley.
 
 AN ELOPEMENT 
 
 THE Guildhall School in the market-town of West Deer- 
 hurst was an excellent institution of a class that has 
 now largely vanished from among us; for it is more 
 than twenty years ago since the curtain rose on this 
 comedy. 
 
 In the sixties and early seventies there were gentlemen 
 in the country who aspired to give their sons an educa- 
 tion similar to that which they had themselves received, 
 neither better nor worse. It should comprise of arithmetic 
 some ; of Greek a religious trifle ; of Latin an epic 
 trifle ; of French sufficient to realise the ridiculousness 
 of the language ; and in deportment the polka, the 
 quadrille, and perhaps the waltz. The French a boy need 
 never learn, and from the classics he could be excused 
 at his parents' wish, but the arithmetic and the deport- 
 ment were strictly compulsory. To a clever boy or to one 
 for whom larger views were entertained this curriculum 
 was only a preparation ; to the majority it served as a 
 complete equipment of learning. The cadets of the 
 county families, the offspring of the professional classes, 
 and the sons of some of the more ambitious farmers 
 comprised the clientele. The headmaster was always a 
 clergyman; and though now and again a butcher's son 
 might obtain admission to the school, a Dissenter would 
 have been excluded except under the considerable 
 
 83
 
 84 Odd Issues 
 
 disability of not being allowed to attend any other place 
 of worship than _the parish church. 
 
 One morning there was a small row in this orderly 
 establishment. It was but a commonplace episode in 
 schoolboy life only the sort of row that must occur 
 daily where two or three boys are gathered together 
 with a master in their midst, but it left Mr Herbert 
 Chambers, aged fourteen and a promising pupil, in a 
 frank rage, and was the primary cause of many future 
 embarrassments. It was this way. Certain foolish feats 
 of attention, called contemptuously "rep," had been 
 required from his form, and it chanced to Herbert to 
 find himself in close proximity to a companion whose 
 efforts to reproduce the required passages from the 
 correspondence of St Paul in their original Greek were 
 as ineffective as they were elaborate. In this miserable 
 plight the stutterer threw a hurried glance of appeal at 
 his neighbour. And not without result Herbert came 
 to the rescue. For a moment or two all went well, and 
 it seemed that the victim of an untrustworthy memory 
 might escape the sad deserts of failure, when, alas ! 
 the prompting sibilations fell on the ears of outraged 
 authority. 
 
 " Did you ask to be helped ? " said the master. 
 
 " No that is, no," said the dunce. 
 
 " Did he ask you to help him ? " said the master to 
 Herbert. 
 
 "No," said Herbert, after the briefest pause. 
 
 Then was the offender conscious only of a generous 
 though foolish action denounced to his assembled fellows 
 as a monster of meanness. His attempts to stamp as 
 genuine the base powers of another's recollection were 
 spoken of in terms that would have seemed exaggerated
 
 An Elopement 85 
 
 in application to material coining. His necessary caution 
 in sinning the fact that his aid had been administered 
 in whispers was dubbed cowardice. And as a peroration 
 to a lengthy tirade a charge of blasphemy was founded 
 upon the character of the task during whose progress his 
 sin had been committed. This last seemed to Herbert to 
 be far-fetched, and he smiled. Luckless lad ! Until that 
 moment the accuser, though speaking with some appear- 
 ance of fury, had been free from real anger ; his denuncia- 
 tions, though loud, had been perfunctory. Luckless lad ! 
 That ill-judged smile went straight to the heart of his 
 instructor, who saw himself held up to ridicule before 
 those who should above all things find him serious. 
 Herbert underwent the indignity of being soundly cuffed. 
 And now, humiliated, with a headache, and with a bitter 
 sense of the injustice that had been done him, he found 
 himself compelled to go to a dancing-class compelled 
 to skip on a light toe while his heart was heavy within 
 him. The incongruity of such employment threw the 
 whole soul of him into revolt, and it was with the 
 fervour of conviction that he expressed his feelings to 
 little Withers, his self-constituted minion, whose orange 
 hair and freckled face were ever at his patron's shoulder. 
 
 " Curse the brute ! " said Herbert. " What does he 
 mean by calling me a liar and a cheat? It's our 
 business to dodge him if we can, and he's paid to catch 
 us at it." 
 
 "Of course," said little Withers, whose knowledge of 
 life and respect for expediency precluded him from 
 disagreement. 
 
 "It would be different if the brute stood behind a 
 curtain, and said, ' I trust you beggars not to prompt 
 each other.' Then one would be a cad to swindle. As
 
 86 Odd Issues 
 
 it is, it's all fair. And he knows it's fair. He knows 
 that. Then he qalls me a liar ! Curse him ! " 
 
 " Of course," said little Withers. 
 
 "And I had to do it, or old Freeman would have 
 been turned," continued the victim to schoolboy honour. 
 "Hadn't I?" 
 
 "Of course," said little Withers. 
 
 " Of course ! Of course ! Oh ! shut up, if you haven't 
 anything else to say. And now there's this dancing 
 rot ! And all those beastly girls ! And the other fellows 
 will tell them about that brute hitting me curse him ! 
 because I was a cheat. And that '11 make them laugh. 
 Girls are all humbugging rubbish. What's the good 
 of 'em ? They never understand things. Girls ! " he 
 repeated, and his powerlessness to express adequate 
 contempt in words took expression in a grimace. 
 
 "Of course," said little Withers, whose face became 
 at once twisted into similar curves, as his invariable 
 formula left his lips. 
 
 The dancing - classes which represented the arts and 
 all the softer side of education in this old - fashioned 
 private school were held in the little town hall, grandilo- 
 quently named " The Atheneum," and were attended by 
 the residents of the town and the country side in addition 
 to the members of the two schools for which West Deer- 
 hurst was celebrated. The other school was, of course, a 
 girls' school, and, equally of course, the attitude of the 
 two institutions towards each other was one of uncom- 
 promising hostility. The boys ridiculed the girls because 
 they were girls and looked for no further reason. The 
 depreciated girls affected the greatest disdain at the 
 approach of the boys, pretending to believe that they 
 were all extremely rude and common persons. These
 
 An Elopement 87 
 
 belligerents were brothers and sisters in more than one 
 case, but blood-ties were severed in their feud as in the 
 historic revolutions. At the dancing - classes, however, 
 the academies were largely dependent upon one another, 
 and, as has occurred in revolutions, were forced into 
 unison in defence of their joint interests. For at these 
 meetings the county-folk danced by themselves with 
 hauteur; and the town-folk danced by themselves with 
 abandon ; and the schools were left to their own devices ; 
 and had they not paired off, and danced with each 
 other with inexperience, they would have obtained small 
 benefit from their attendance. 
 
 Not that the fat little dancing-master noticed or re- 
 spected these limitations, but then no one noticed or 
 respected him ; for West Deerhurst held concerning 
 Frenchmen much the opinions that were prevalent at 
 the time of the battle of Waterloo. Yet Monsieur de la 
 Verre was worthy of both notice and respect. Of the 
 former, because he was a curiosity of the peerage, an 
 extraordinary mediaeval survival in short, a vidame, 
 and probably the last specimen alive. Of the latter, 
 because he devoted himself to his saltatory duties with 
 perfect single-mindedness and dignified his pursuit by his 
 enthusiasm no less than by his skill. All Monsieur de la 
 Verre's life had been spent in giving dancing-lessons. 
 He was perpetually bringing together, and thrusting 
 quite literally into each other's arms, people who did not 
 know each other, and did not want to ; or trotting-out 
 some exceedingly ill-born municipal miss to show the 
 county aristocracy the right method in which a new step 
 should be done. Or he would wildly pair a struggling 
 hobbledehoy with a crushingly superior young lady who 
 had completed her education at Brighton, and would
 
 88 Odd Issues 
 
 beg her in bland and fragmentary English to try to 
 teach her partner to move lightly and with some ele- 
 mentary regard for time and tune. Herbert was a very 
 poor performer and had once been subjected to this 
 terrible ordeal. He had kicked the crushingly superior 
 young lady on the inside of her right ankle with the 
 energy which it was his wont to impart to all his actions, 
 and had been roundly rated for his clumsiness in words 
 with which no fault could be found, but in accents that 
 could hardly have received the hall-mark of a finishing 
 school. From henceforth dancing-lessons were his black 
 beast, and it became his habit, immediately upon his 
 arrival, to slink behind a heavy curtain hanging at one 
 end of the room, and concealing from public view the 
 rustic interior and the mountain-gorge which constituted 
 the scenic effects of the West Deerhurst Amateur 
 Dramatic Society. 
 
 On this day it can well be believed that he was more 
 than usually anxious to escape attention, so ill-attuned 
 were his inclinations to skipping. But, to his disgust, 
 when an opportunity came for him to glide into his 
 retreat he found it already occupied by a little girl, who 
 was seated pensively on a large packing-case attempting 
 to play cat's-cradle by herself. He turned wrathfully to 
 re-enter the ballroom, when a timid voice said, "Shall I 
 go? I will, if you want to be alone." 
 
 "Well," replied Herbert, uncompromisingly, "you may 
 as well. You see, I don't want to dance. And you don't 
 mind it? So what's the use of your hiding?" 
 
 " But that 's it," she said. " No more do I want to dance." 
 
 " What rot ! " exclaimed Herbert. " Why, you always 
 dance all the time, and old Frogs thinks the world of you." 
 For by the insulting monosyllable of " Frogs " was Monsieur
 
 An Elopement 89 
 
 de la Verre, the last of the vidames, known to the youth 
 whom he instructed. 
 
 "I don't want to dance to-day," said the maiden, 
 looking wistfully at the handsome sulky boy beside her, 
 and dropping lightly off her perch on to the floor. " I 
 won't dance this morning at least, I won't with him 
 again." And she put a rather dingy finger to a little 
 crack where the curtains did not meet closely, and in- 
 dicated the partner to whom she objected so strongly. 
 
 Herbert looked through the crack. 
 
 "Not dance with old Freeman ! " he exclaimed. "Why, 
 I thought you liked old Freeman. He said er that 
 is, he told our fellows " and the little gentleman broke 
 off abruptly, and looked very discomposed. 
 
 " He said I liked him," completed the maiden without 
 any perturbation ; " I know he says so. But I don't. I 
 don't like him a bit. I hate him. Yes; I do. I hate 
 him. Is he a great friend of yours?" 
 
 " No ! He 's a mean brute," said Herbert, promptly ; 
 "and he played me a dirty trick this morning." 
 
 "Tell me," said she. 
 
 " Tell you ! What would be the good of telling you. 
 You wouldn't understand it." 
 
 "You don't know that." 
 
 " Tell you ! Well, I should like to know what you 
 would think. Girls are such " he stopped. 
 
 " Oh ! I know you despise girls." 
 
 "Old Freeman told you!" 
 
 " But it 's true, even if he did. So should I if I were 
 a boy." 
 
 "Only some girls," said Herbert, feeling that he had 
 hitherto buried a talent for polite conversation with the 
 other sex.
 
 90 Odd Issues 
 
 "Not me?" (with a smile). 
 
 " Not you " (with conviction). 
 
 " Then tell me what he did. Then I shall know you 
 don't despise me." 
 
 So they seated themselves side by side on the packing- 
 case, and rested their heads on the practicable window in 
 the rustic interior, and he told her of his heroism and of 
 his injuries. And he did not spare Freeman. He ex- 
 plained to her that Freeman had looked to him for help, 
 and that he was therefore bound to give it. He was 
 aware that girls didn't do such things for each other, and 
 that they always sneaked on each other at every chance, 
 but he would have her to understand that boys were 
 different. He had to prompt when old Freeman began 
 to go wrong old Freeman knew that. Then just because 
 old Freeman had not actually bawled out "What comes 
 next ? " old Freeman lied, and said that he had never asked 
 for help, with the result that Herbert got punished and 
 his co-offender escaped unrebuked and untouched. All 
 Herbert's generous soul was on fire at the recollection 
 that he had been alone in the retribution, and he wound 
 up by announcing his deliberate intention of getting even 
 with old Freeman quite soon. Did she think that he 
 ought to be called a liar and a cheat? 
 
 Then there followed some pretty pettings. Her ad- 
 miration for his unselfishness was as unstinted as her 
 contempt for the duplicity of Freeman was unbounded. 
 Her language, as that of a well-bred child should be, was 
 restrained, but she eked it out with shruggings and 
 mouthings that conferred upon it all the dignity of first- 
 class commination. She was only a little girl, but she 
 conveyed her sympathy quite unmistakably. 
 
 While Herbert was preening himself beneath this
 
 An Elopement 91 
 
 pleasant appreciation of his virtues the tinkle of a piano 
 beyond the veil heralded a waltz. 
 
 "Will you dance?" said she. 
 
 "I er er can't," said he. "I always get ashamed 
 when I try, and so I never try. I don't know how." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said she. " It 's as easy as possible. 
 And I am sure you would do it so well because you play 
 cricket so well." 
 
 " Hallo ! who told you that ? '' said he, without dis- 
 claiming the accusation. "Not Freeman, I know." 
 
 " And you can skate, can't you ? Why, that 's just the 
 same. Come and try with me. Do ! we shall get into 
 step in a minute. And I don't mind if you tread on my 
 toes." 
 
 "I'm not such a cow as all that," said Herbert, bold 
 in voice but a trembler at heart. 
 
 So they emerged, and waltzed. 
 
 " Why, it 's as simple as anything," said he, when the 
 music ceased. 
 
 "Yes," said she, rubbing one small ankle against the 
 other a little ruefully. 
 
 Little Withers walked home between Herbert Chambers 
 and old Freeman. Herbert was self-satisfied, and old 
 Freeman was gloomy. 
 
 " I couldn't help it, you know, this morning," said the 
 latter in apology. "It wouldn't have done you any 
 good my saying I asked you to prompt me, so I don't 
 see what 's the use of your being so riled about it." 
 
 "Who's riled?" returned Herbert, cheerfully. "Every- 
 one knows you and I might have expected it." 
 
 " What do you mean by that, Chambers ? " asked Free- 
 man, viciously.
 
 92 Odd Issues 
 
 "Never mind," replied Herbert, still cheerfully. 
 
 The three walked on in silence. Withers, on the tip-toe 
 of expectation for he felt a row to be imminent and 
 on literal tip-toe that he might bring himself into sym- 
 metrical altitude with his companions, Freeman with 
 clouded brow, and Herbert alert, aggressive, smiling. 
 This manner was so out of keeping with his possession 
 of a serious grievance that Freeman was at last moved to 
 words on the subject. 
 
 "I know what you are swaggering about. You think 
 you 've cut me out with that girl. I saw you jumping 
 about with her like a sick monkey. Well, you shall 
 see." 
 
 "Oh!" said Withers, with conviction, "Chambers won't 
 have anything to do with girls." 
 
 Herbert blushed. He was a modest boy who objected 
 to talking of such matters, and, being sisterless, he was 
 unused to and terribly afraid of the other sex though he 
 concealed his fear, as many of his elders have done, under 
 an affectation of contempt. But Freeman was cast in a 
 different mould. He was an unctuous lad who dressed 
 in a style much older than his age. He wore an onyx 
 pin in his bosom and had stories to tell of his amatory 
 adventures during the holidays. 
 
 "You shall see," repeated Freeman jauntily. 
 
 " If you worry her I '11 punch your head," said Herbert, 
 in airy response. "Won't I, Withers?" 
 
 "Of course," said little Withers. 
 
 It was with a feeling of pleasant excitement new to 
 his shy breast that Herbert anticipated the next dancing- 
 lesson, and it was with real anxiety that on his arrival 
 he looked round the room to satisfy himself of his
 
 An Elopement 93 
 
 friend's presence. She was there and his pulses quickened. 
 He advanced towards her but she did not glance round. 
 He hesitated, not wishing to appear too eager, and in 
 a moment she was lost to him. The Vidame de la 
 Verre had exercised his capricious authority, and by 
 pointing to the little girl's shabby shoes with his fiddle 
 and to Freeman's glittering pumps with his bow had 
 set the pair a-whirling. It did not tend to soothe the 
 disappointed admirer to see that old Freeman looked 
 very much at home in the waltz, and he retired to sit 
 by the mountain-gorge and conceal regret for his un- 
 readiness under defiant sentiments. 
 
 "Don't you think I am going to run about after 
 you," he commented, as he watched her from behind 
 the curtain moving among the moving crowd. " There ! 
 Now you 're wondering where I am. Yes ! Look about, 
 you little silly ! Fancy not guessing I should come in 
 here ! What now ? Oh ! Lancers ! Well, I never shall 
 know them, so I'll stay in here. And she doesn't 
 know them either, for all her talk about dancing being 
 so easy; and it looks jolly easy. What a swagger old 
 Freeman has got on ! I '11 stamp on those shiny shoes of 
 his if I get near him. Oh ! No ; you don't ! Not again ! " 
 For a break had occurred, during which the engaging Free- 
 man was seen sliding across the floor towards the maiden 
 in whom Herbert was beginning to feel that he had 
 some proprietary right. It could not be that she should 
 twice dance with that sneak before he had claimed her ! 
 He sallied suddenly from the alcove, pushed across the 
 room, and by a short cut reached her side simultaneously 
 with his ingratiating rival. Herbert was prompt to act. 
 Seeing by a rapid, circular glance that he was not observed 
 by the vidame, he drove a sharp elbow violently into
 
 94 Odd Issues 
 
 Mr Freeman's short ribs and brought the heel of a 
 clumsily-shod foot down upon that gentleman's patent 
 toe, murmuring as he did so, "No; you don't." Then 
 he turned to the amused but scandalised maiden and 
 said, " Will you dance with me ? " 
 
 "Yes," said she; "if you like." 
 
 "If I like," repeated Herbert, roughly. "What do 
 you mean? Don't you wish to yourself? If you don't, 
 I don't." 
 
 " You are nasty," said she, as she balanced herself 
 preparatory to leading off her partner at the right place 
 in the music. 
 
 A few minutes later found them upon the packing-case 
 behind the curtain. 
 
 " I say," said he, suddenly ; " you ain't half so lively 
 as you were. What's up? You didn't want that fellow 
 Freeman, did you?" 
 
 She explained. No; she did not want Freeman at 
 all. She did not want anything. She was very happy. 
 At least, not exactly that. Well, if he must know, she 
 had been very badly treated at school during the morn- 
 ing. Shamefully used. The grossest favouritism had 
 also been employed, whereby her partner in crime had 
 been exonerated from all fault, while she had been 
 severely blamed. And Miss Vincent's explanation came 
 perilously nigh unto tears. 
 
 "There, don't go and bl that is, cry," said the 
 
 boy. "What's the use of crying?" 
 
 "I can't help it," she pleaded. 
 
 " Oh ! but you must," said he very positively, and 
 proceeded to face her troubles for her with an alacrity 
 and a fortitude worthy of all commendation. He pointed 
 out that hiding behind the curtain was rather a confession
 
 An Elopement 95 
 
 of weakness, and that to cry was babyish. He made it 
 clear to her that she ought not to be sorry that her 
 schoolfellow had escaped punishment, for that showed 
 meanness possibly common at a girls' school, but un- 
 known among boys ; and he generally indicated to her 
 that if such a situation should ever come his way he 
 should behave in it with a spirit of cheerful and generous 
 philosophy. 
 
 " Oh ! how brave and independent you are," she ex- 
 claimed as he stopped, glowing with the valour of his 
 sentiments. 
 
 "So, you see, it's no use crying," he repeated, 
 acknowledging with complacency her estimate of him, 
 
 " and I hope you '11 stop. Er . Your name 's Alice, 
 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes. Alice Maud Vaughan Vincent." 
 
 " Lord, what a mouthful ! " said Herbert, irreverently. 
 " I 'm going to call you Alice. There 's a book of that 
 name 'Alice; or, The Mysteries.' My mater wouldn't 
 let me read it in the holidays ; but I saw it in a shop- 
 window to-day, and I 'm going to buy it." 
 
 And he did buy it that very morning, directing the 
 complacent school bookseller to "Stick it up to my 
 governor's account as a German lexicon." And he read 
 it ; and it gave him ideas. 
 
 II 
 
 When confidences had be'en exchanged between these 
 young people on some four or five occasions, Herbert, 
 assisted, doubtless, by the pages of romance, became 
 aware that life had an object of supreme importance for
 
 96 Odd Issues 
 
 him. Of this fact he made little Withers his confidant. 
 He was, as he bade that young gentleman observe, now 
 fourteen years old. Many men had in their youth struck 
 out a line for themselves, and had never regretted it. 
 There were, of course, Don John and Raphael and 
 the younger Pitt, as chronicled in the prize-books, and 
 certainly they were not the only examples that could be 
 found. For his part Herbert had decided that he would 
 marry Alice. It was not, perhaps, exactly a career, but 
 would do very well to begin with ; and it was an action 
 with which no one could find any fault, as it concerned 
 himself only, and he must know best what he wanted. 
 "Besides," he added, "it will be one in the eye for that 
 beast Freeman." All of which was but the idle vapouring 
 of an egotistic boy, and probably would have resulted 
 in nothing more than the boring of his young friend, 
 had he not at this time received his first love-letter. 
 
 It was given him at the dancing - class, and ran as 
 follows : 
 
 "GROVE HOUSE COLLEGE, WEST DEERHURST, 
 NORFOLK. 
 
 " Mv DEAR HERBERT, Margaret Boyce will give you 
 this I have been kept in very unfairly and am not alowed 
 to come to dancing-lessons again this term because I talk 
 to Freeman How unfair I hate school so When will you 
 write to me I am going to the dentist in High Street on 
 Teusday to have a tooth stoped with the housemaid about 
 eleven and I think she wishes to go somewhere by her- 
 self. Beleive me, yours etc., 
 
 "ALICE M. VAUGHAN VINCENT." 
 
 This letter gave Herbert to think, and after a little
 
 An Elopement 97 
 
 hesitation he decided to enter upon a dashing and 
 hazardous scheme. 
 
 "Withers," he said, "I shall run away with her. I 
 shall go next week if the scratch-fives are over. I sha'n't 
 go home, for they wouldn't understand. I shall go to 
 my uncle at Shipdham. He will see after me, and then 
 he can tell my mater that I have behaved properly. My 
 mater thinks a lot of my uncle." 
 
 " What will her people say ? " asked Withers. 
 
 "I don't know," said Herbert. "Her mater is always 
 ill, and never says anything. She thinks her mater will 
 love it. And her pater is always angry about everything. 
 She says he can't be angrier about us than she has seen 
 him when the soup is cold." 
 
 "My governor would have a fit," commented Withers, 
 a lad with sisters. 
 
 " I can't have that girl bullied on account of a beast 
 like Freeman, when she hates him," Herbert continued. 
 "You know she hates him. I wish we could go at once. 
 But I shall start on Wednesday. It's a half-holiday and 
 I sha'n't be missed till seven." 
 
 " Won't they miss her ? " asked Withers. 
 
 "I don't know," replied Herbert. 
 
 "And how are you going?" 
 
 " Walk, of course." 
 
 "Can she walk it?" asked Withers; "it's six miles." 
 
 " I don't know ; she '11 have to. You see, she '11 have 
 me and I shall encourage her. I shall tell her at the 
 end of each mile that my uncle's place is only one mile 
 farther on. I got that idea out of a book ; and I shall 
 take a flask with me, and some lemons." 
 
 "Where will you be married?" asked Withers, still 
 practical.
 
 98 Odd Issues 
 
 "At my uncle's; he's a parson, you know." 
 
 " Of course. - But about the bridesmaids and the best 
 man and the presents and things ? " said Withers, whose 
 eldest sister had been married in the previous holidays. 
 " All your relations ought to give you all sorts of things 
 tea-spoons, and photograph frames, and a hall clock ; and 
 the servants ought to subscribe for a silver salver." 
 
 "Ah, but this is a sort of elopement," said the lover. 
 
 " Of course. But you '11 have to go somewhere on the 
 Continent for a bit or to the English Lakes, won't you ? " 
 
 " I think we shall take a cottage in the country," said 
 the lover. 
 
 " Of course," said Withers. " I '11 get up a subscription 
 among the fellows for a wedding present." 
 
 Herbert had not the difficulty in securing an accomplice 
 in his romantic project that he would have experienced 
 if his lady-love had been a well-conducted little girl. He 
 met her after her interview with the dentist. She was 
 attempting to confine the chocolate that she was sucking 
 to the sound side of her mouth, and said, as clearly as 
 circumstances permitted, that she would come with him on 
 Wednesday. And by way of preparation she began to 
 learn the marriage service by heart. 
 
 Behold them, then, one hot July afternoon stepping out 
 briskly along the dusty road in the direction of Shipdham, 
 at whose comfortable rectory Herbert had assured her that 
 they would meet with the warm welcome ever due to 
 a favourite nephew. 
 
 He was much the more shy. Indeed, the maiden was not 
 shy at all. She trotted complacently at his side, taking three 
 steps to his two, surveying the country unconcernedly, and 
 chattering of the curious future that lay before them.
 
 An Elopement 99 
 
 What was his uncle like? She was glad that he was 
 certain to be fond of her, but was she certain to be fond 
 of him ? Was he, for example, bald ? She did not think 
 that she could ever be fond of anything bald. Once she 
 had a dove, which had been a great favourite until it 
 moulted into bald spots, when she grew to hate it. What 
 was his aunt like ? Oh ! there wasn't one. Then the 
 housekeeper was she nice? And why should they go 
 to live in a cottage if there was no one at the rectory 
 but his uncle who was so fond of him. They would 
 just stay with his uncle and take care of him in return 
 for his goodness to them, and that, she was sure, would 
 be nicer than going to live in a cottage. She had been 
 into cottages in her mother's district and could assure 
 Herbert that most of them were not nice at all. 
 
 This airiness was in no small measure discomposing 
 to Herbert. In spite of the advantages that his years and 
 sex might have been expected to lend him, he was not 
 so firm in his design as his companion, and needed the 
 encouragement of excitement before he could get into 
 a proper spirit for adventurous emprise. There was no 
 stimulus in the society of so matter-of-fact a companion 
 as Alice was proving herself, and her calmness, so far 
 from infecting him with a like quiet belief in success, 
 depressed him into expectation of failure. Had the 
 maiden faltered he would have used bold words to support 
 her, and the use of the words would have made him feel 
 bold. But this phlegmatic taking of things for granted, 
 this blindness to the romantic brilliancy of the thing that 
 he was doing in her behalf, chilled him. He became less 
 confident of the immediate future, and the wisdom of his 
 action seemed more doubtful. The ills that he had left 
 behind him had been certain, and not quite intolerable.
 
 ioo Odd Issues 
 
 But to what ills was he flying? Would his uncle, for 
 instance, be pleased to see him ? Or would he greet him 
 coldly? Or, worst of all, would he refuse him hospitality 
 and sternly order him back to his studies ? Just now this 
 seemed so probable to Herbert's shrinking soul that he 
 wished he had not told Alice with so much precision and 
 circumstance that his uncle would be enraptured to see 
 them. At any rate it was folly on her part to believe him 
 so implicitly. She ought, he felt, to know that uncles are 
 not persons on whom their nephews can ever absolutely 
 rely. Sometimes it's a word and a tip with them, and 
 sometimes a word and a sniff, and no nephew, however 
 favoured, can guess for certain which is going to be his 
 portion. 
 
 His depression was at last noticed by his companion. 
 
 "Do you think they'll come after us, Bertie?" she 
 asked, believing that she had guessed the cause. 
 
 " If they do we can dodge them," he replied, promptly, 
 giving the glance of the practised bird's-nester across the 
 meadows on either hand. " I know all the country round 
 here every inch of it. We '11 just keep a lookout, and 
 if we see anyone coming we can get into the woods." 
 
 " But if they catch us ? " 
 
 " Then I shall tell them to let us alone and dare them 
 to touch us. I'm not afraid of them." 
 
 " How bold you are ! " said she. And she timidly took 
 his brown and dirty hand and would have held it. 
 
 "Here! none of that," said the hero at once, getting 
 very red in the face. 
 
 Alice remained unconfused. "I wonder what they are 
 saying at Grove House about me," she said; "and at the 
 Guildhall School about you?" 
 
 "Nothing as yet about me," said he. "They won't
 
 An Elopement 101 
 
 miss me till tea-time. Old Jones will be awfully sick with 
 me for leaving. He 's our cricket captain, you see. And 
 I don't know what they '11 do for slows this season. He '11 
 have to try and bowl them himself." Here Herbert took 
 a four-stepped, tripping little run, ending upon his left foot 
 which he brought down hard upon the ground as he swung 
 his right arm in a slow, majestic circle above his head, 
 with elbow-joint extended and wrist exaggeratedly loose. 
 " He '11 go on himself ; and a pretty mess he '11 make of it." 
 
 The little girl said nothing. No one wanted her, and 
 no one would be particularly vexed at her absence. She 
 felt also that her lover was in a better position than her- 
 self in not being already a detected refugee. For her 
 part, she had written a note before leaving and pinned 
 it to her pillow, stating explicitly that she had run away 
 to get married. 
 
 " It '11 put Freeman into the eleven," continued 
 Herbert, "and he can't play more than a cat. I never 
 thought about it (musingly) or I think I should 
 have put this off till winter." 
 
 The want of confidence in the wisdom of their 
 scheme thus indirectly expressed rapidly spread to 
 Alice, and the next mile of their walk was taken in un- 
 relieved moodiness. 
 
 "Will your uncle be pleased to see us?" said she 
 at length, breaking silence with a question which had 
 become now of considerable importance to her. 
 
 " Oh, very ! " replied Herbert, with apparent convic- 
 tion. "I'm his godson. He'll do anything for me. 
 He's very fond of me." 
 
 "I hope he'll be very fond of me," said Alice. 
 
 " He '11 like you for my sake," said Herbert, still 
 with great firmness, but with deep misgivings. What
 
 102 Odd Issues 
 
 a fool he had been not to find out first if he would 
 be welcome! What should he do or rather where 
 should he hide, if his uncle laughed at him in front 
 of Alice ? And his uncle might be thus unreasonably 
 hilarious. It was impossible for Herbert to forget that 
 this affectionate godfather had laughed consumedly at 
 him upon occasions upon occasions, indeed, hardly so 
 provocative of ridicule as this. For it was a ridiculous 
 thing that they were doing. Yes, ridiculous. 
 
 At last they came to the place where a sign-post 
 directed them to deflect rightwards for Shipdham and 
 to proceed straight for Norwich. Now, now must he 
 make up his mind ! And as he looks at the post he 
 does so. To go to the right, what would it be? 
 At the best to meet with a lukewarm reception from 
 an uncle, and the interference of even an amiable uncle 
 was not wholly desirable. What hero ever ran to an 
 uncle though many have run from an uncle? And at 
 the worst it would be ignominy. For he might be 
 laughed at, and he might be packed off to school again. 
 He was not afraid of his uncle. He was fairly certain 
 of that nay, quite certain. But this was rather an 
 irregular way of appearing before him, and though 
 before now Herbert had proved him a kindly soul, he 
 was uncertain how he would act under these extra- 
 ordinary circumstances. Decidedly, he would not go to 
 his uncle. And if he should go forward? He could 
 carve out a career for himself. He could, perhaps, live 
 out some of the more fascinating portions of Lord 
 Lytton's romance. He would certainly escape the 
 punishment imminent at his uncle's for his escapade. 
 And he would be his own master. Decidedly, he would 
 not go to his uncle. But Norwich ? A bit of a girl
 
 An Elopement 103 
 
 could not walk all the way. And, perhaps, if they con- 
 trived to get there she would not enter into his plans. 
 Somehow his favourite schemes did not require a girl's 
 co-operation. What a fool he had been to bring her ! ! 
 Running away was all very well, but what had induced 
 him to ask Alice to accompany him? What a fool he 
 had been ! And as he thought of the peaceful play- 
 ground, whereon had he not been engaged upon this 
 mad freak he would have been even this afternoon 
 earning the applause due to an accurate bowler of slows, 
 he realised that he had undertaken a contract that he 
 had not sufficient resolution to carry out. It had been 
 reasonable to show old Freeman that there were other 
 lady-killers, but it was idiotic to leave old Freeman in 
 undisturbed possession of a place in the eleven to which 
 he had no right. No. He must go back. As he did 
 not find it easy to tell Alice of his new intention he 
 temporised. 
 
 " Let 's go to Norwich," he said ; " it '11 be much 
 greater fun. I know the way; and we can go to the 
 theatre." 
 
 "But I can't walk ten more miles," objected the 
 lady. " And your uncle won't like it. If he 's so fond 
 of you he will be angry at your not coming to him." 
 
 " Let 's go to Norwich," he repeated sullenly, know- 
 ing that he would rather die than meet his uncle. " Let 's 
 go to Norwich that is, unless we go back." 
 
 "No," said Alice. "I will only go to your uncle. 
 You said he would be pleased to see me. You said you 
 could do anything with him, because he was so fond 
 of you. And now She stopped. 
 
 " And now, what ? " said her squire, rashly. 
 
 "And now you're afraid of him."
 
 104 Odd Issues 
 
 "If you say that again I'll run away and leave you 
 here by yourself." 
 
 "You are afraid," said Alice, and sat down by the 
 side of the road underneath the sign-post. 
 
 "Very well," said Herbert, jumping into the hedge 
 and crushing and wriggling his way to the pasture 
 beyond. " Good-bye," he sang out from the other side. 
 
 Alice sat quiet. Then she took off her shoes, and 
 emptied stones out of them. Then she consulted the 
 dial of a small silver watch but manifested no surprise 
 at finding that it was not going. Then she began to cry 
 a little, very quietly and decently. She was a well-brought- 
 up girl, and tears made her feel religious, besides necessi- 
 tating the use of her handkerchief. This and her prayer- 
 book occupied the same pocket, and both, in company 
 with a large sweet biscuit, were dragged out into her 
 lap. First she ate the biscuit, and as she did so all im- 
 mediate necessity for the handkerchief vanished. Then 
 she examined a knot in one corner of the handkerchief, 
 which puzzled her for a while. Then she undid it with 
 the aid of some closely-biting, white little teeth, and as 
 recollection dawned upon her face she swore to herself 
 that for the future she should require no knots to re- 
 member him by. Then she opened the prayer-book and 
 ripped out the marriage service and tore the sheets into 
 atoms. 
 
 At this moment she heard wheels approaching and 
 looking up saw a market-cart swinging and jolting towards 
 her. Hastily thrusting her feet into her shoes she stood 
 up and hailed the driver. 
 
 "Which way are you going, please?" 
 
 "To Norwich, missy." 
 
 "Will you take me to Hensham Rectory first?"
 
 An Elopement 105 
 
 " It 's a goodish bit of way," said the driver, pondering. 
 
 "I would give you my watch," said Alice. 
 
 " It ain't that, missy. But, you see, I don't know as I 
 should like to take you all that way without knowing more 
 about you." 
 
 "I'm Miss Vaughan Vincent, the daughter of the 
 rector," said Alice, drawing herself to her whole four- 
 feet-six. "It's marked on my handkerchief, and in this 
 book" holding the articles de circonstance towards him. 
 "My father will be pleased with you and will give you 
 some beer. And my mamma will put your wife into the 
 clothing-club. And we will come and see you at Christ- 
 mas, if mamma is well enough, and give you some tobacco, 
 and your wife some tea." 
 
 " If you 're Parson Vincent's daughter," said the 
 farmer, on whom these offers of reward did not produce 
 the marked effect that their proposer had expected, "jump 
 up and I'll drop you at the rectory. Can you get up 
 by yourself? Catch hold of this whip-handle. There 
 you are ! " And, in another moment, Alice was swinging 
 and jolting towards her home. 
 
 Some ten minutes later Herbert returned, to find his 
 lady-love gone. There was not a sign of her anywhere. 
 Country-bred lad that he was, he looked at the road for 
 traces of wheels, but it was a dry, hot, dusty day and the 
 Norwich road was a well-frequented one. Other carts had 
 come and gone during the afternoon, and there was no 
 distinctive track left. He shouted her name and searched 
 the hedges and ditches near the spot where he had left 
 her. When at last he was compelled to admit to himself 
 that further efforts would be useless he was a very miser- 
 able and contrite boy, being deeply conscious that it was 
 his cowardice and boastfulness that had led to the fiasco.
 
 io6 Odd Issues 
 
 One hope remained perhaps she had returned to Grove 
 House. Consoling himself as best he might with this 
 expectation he went back to the Guildhall School where 
 his absence had not been remarked. 
 
 Withers alone knew of it. 
 
 "Oh!" said he, "you were caught!" 
 
 "Rather not," said Herbert, the topographist. "Why 
 I could dodge anyone in this part of the country if I 
 meant hiding." 
 
 "Of course," said little Withers. But he looked in- 
 quiringly. 
 
 "You see, she wanted to come back I expect. Any- 
 how, she wouldn't go where I wanted her to, so there 
 was an end of it." 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "You see, she had to come my way or not at all." 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 "And I suppose I'd better give this back to you," 
 said Herbert, "as it was a sort of wedding present." 
 And he held out the flask. 
 
 "I'll raffle it," said Withers. Which he did twenty- 
 one tickets at a shilling each and old Freeman drew the 
 lucky number.
 
 A METHOD OF ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 "You cannot get on nowadays unless fellows talk about 
 you," said Mr Hubert Daventry. "There is no use in 
 telling me that if I get on first the talk will follow, for it 
 is not true. That was the old way. I Ve read heaps of 
 yarns about it. Hard labour succeeded by due reward. 
 Modest effort overnight waking up to find itself famous 
 in the morning. London running about saying, 'Have 
 you seen Johnson's Romeo ? Superb ! ' or, ' Were you 
 there when Dickson cross-examined her ? Brutal ! ' That 
 was the old way, I say. Nowadays, it 's the talk first and 
 the success afterwards, and the more talk the more success. 
 Why was Johnson allowed to play Romeo at the Folies 
 Dramatiques? Because he could act? or because when 
 he went on the stage all the society papers fell to pointing 
 out what an awfully nice fellow he was, and that his 
 latest move would break his father's heart? or because 
 he was golf champion of North Wales, and therefore the 
 sporting papers had made his name a household word? 
 Why did Dickson get briefs? Because he was a distin- 
 guished law-student? or because everybody talked of him 
 as Mrs Dickson's husband? You may say that they 
 both turned out successes that they both justified public 
 appreciation. Quite so ! Quite so ! But, and here 's 
 the point they were talked about first and succeeded 
 afterwards. Why, there's no rubbishing yarn I couldn't 
 sell to the public if I was only known as a Mahatma. I 
 should get a big practice at the bar if men would go 
 107
 
 io8 Odd Issues 
 
 about swearing that I was the illegitimate son of a begum. 
 And why am I kept at ' My lord, the carriage waits,' or, 
 ' Dinner is served, my lady ' ? Is it because they know 
 I can't act? Not at all. It's because they don't know 
 that I can do something totally different. It's because 
 nobody knows anything about me at all. That 's all. But 
 it can't go on much longer. I will be known." 
 
 For Hubert Daventry was seriously discouraged; so 
 much so, that he did not strive to be just or accurate in 
 his speech. Unappreciative publishers had sent back his 
 novel ; callous editors had rejected his articles ; two years' 
 close attendance at the courts had not brought him in 
 enough to pay for his wig ; while a recent attempt to win 
 fame before the footlights had borne no fruits. 
 
 " I will be heard of," he continued, addressing a group 
 of highly unsympathetic friends in the smoking-room of 
 his club. " I will be heard of, and one day you shall all 
 go about swaggering that you knew me to speak to, and 
 your female cousins when they hear it from you will say, 
 ' Really, how awfully nice ! ' And it won't be very long 
 before I manage it somehow." Whereat all his friends 
 laughed consumedly. For Hubert Daventry was con- 
 sidered a very ordinary person. 
 
 One day he made a little excursion up the river with a 
 lady, and achieved almost immediately his heart's desire. 
 For he became heard of, and very distinctly. Within a 
 few hours not to know him was to argue one's self a 
 dullard. Within a few hours his house-mates at school 
 and his tutors at college had been interviewed. Within 
 a few hours his photographs were on sale in shop windows 
 and no less than nine females communicated to him a 
 desire to marry him, contingent upon his ability to marry
 
 A Method of Advertisement 109 
 
 them. Not one of them doubted his willingness, though 
 each admitted that her proposal was a little forward. 
 
 And this is how it came about. Hubert and his com- 
 panion Miss Vera Vernon, a young lady who had recently 
 commenced an artistic career at the same theatre as the 
 one where he was engaged, secured a railway carriage to 
 themselves. Miss Vernon was not a reposeful person, and 
 could not make up her mind whether she would sit 
 facing the engine or looking away from it. She tried 
 one corner, and then another, and finally propped herself 
 up against the handle of the door and appealed to Hubert 
 to settle the difficult question for her. Hubert suggested 
 that she should sit with her back towards the engine. 
 To this she asked, How could she when it always made 
 her sick, as he knew very well ? He suggested, that being 
 the case, that she should face the direction in which 
 they were travelling, but was immediately posed by the 
 retort that, To do so always gave her a bad cold in the 
 head. With unimpaired good temper he recommended 
 her to sit on the floor. 
 
 " If you can't think of anything wiser than that," said 
 she pouting, as she looked at her smart frilled skirt, " I 
 think I '11 call the guard " ; and she leant out of the 
 window backwards and made a feint of reaching for the 
 cord that on most lines pretends to be a means of com- 
 munication between that functionary and the passengers. 
 As she did so the door of the railway carriage on which 
 she was half-leaning and half-sitting flew open. Hubert 
 Daventry leaped forward. He could not quite reach 
 her skirts as she sank backwards out of the carriage, 
 but she clutched wildly and desperately in the direction 
 of his outstretched arm, by good fortune secured it, and 
 was saved.
 
 no Odd Issues 
 
 "That was a shave, young woman," said he, as he 
 settled her on, a seat regardless of its aspect in relation 
 to the engine, and adjusted his wristband which had 
 been almost torn off his shirt, while he looked ruefully 
 at a badly scratched hand. 
 
 "I was nearly killed," said she, laughing a little 
 hysterically. "If I had fallen out," she added, "it might 
 have been very awkward for you, for people would cer- 
 tainly have said that you threw me out of the carriage." 
 
 " It would have looked like it," said he. 
 
 "Just like it," said she, laughing now that her terror 
 was past. "I saw a man at the window of the next 
 carriage looking out at me when I was reaching up for 
 the cord ; I know he thought something wrong was going 
 on." 
 
 And sure enough at the next station a man came and 
 peered curiously in upon them. 
 
 "That's him," said the girl; "he's worrying about me. 
 I'll give him something to worry about," she added. 
 And when he passed the window again, which he did 
 under the stimulus of evident anxiety, this excellent 
 young mimic threw a stage glance of horror at him and 
 half-raised her clasped hands and wrung them for his 
 benefit convulsively, after the manner of certain recent 
 lessons she had received upon the boards. 
 
 She looked at Hubert to ask him to appreciate her 
 humour, but he was apparently buried in thought. 
 "What's up?" she asked. "What's the latest plan?" 
 But he did not answer; his eyes were shining and 
 his lips were moving. A stranger might have un- 
 charitably concluded that he was a little insane. But 
 his companion knew him, and knew that he was only 
 meditating deeply, and that the result would be speedily
 
 A Method of Advertisement 1 1 1 
 
 forthcoming in some wild, silly language. For to tell 
 the truth he often bored her, as he did his club friends, 
 with little disquisitions on the bitterness of being unknown 
 and his determination to alter such a state of things 
 immediately. 
 
 "We'll do it," he said, suddenly breaking silence. 
 " It will be splendid." And then and there he unfolded 
 the project which his brain had rapidly formed on the 
 hint contained in his companion's words. " We will go 
 to the Horn, have some lunch, and start for a row. I 
 
 will land you near X station, and you shall run up 
 
 to town by the first train you can catch. Leave your 
 hat on the bank. I will return to the inn alone and 
 pay for the boat, and come up by the next train. The 
 passer-by who finds your hat will conclude that you are 
 
 drowned. We will dine together at K 's, where I 
 
 will meet you, and we will read the paragraphs in the 
 evening papers about ' the mysterious disappearance of 
 a young lady,' ' supposed drowning fatality,' and so on. 
 Then, when those editors have quite done making public 
 asses of themselves, I shall confess that the hat was left 
 there to see what would happen, and point out how 
 wildly the ordinary newspaper people jump at conclusions 
 for the sake of sensation. I shall explain that all we 
 did was really a plant upon them. Then all those papers 
 will have to talk about me and you. I shall send my 
 photograph to the illustrated ones. I should think some 
 manager might see that I am the man for a real good 
 drama. I am sure they would give me better parts if I 
 brought off a little score of that sort and got it mentioned 
 in the press. Why, it 's just the sort of joke Sothern was 
 always concocting, and he played any part he liked. Let 's 
 try it ! What do you say ? "
 
 112 Odd Issues 
 
 The lady thought it would not be a bad joke, supposing 
 it was necessary to make a joke at all, but rather demurred 
 at leaving her hat on the bank. 
 
 " I dare say you think this is an ordinary sort of hat," 
 she said, raising her hand reverentially and touching a 
 mass of roses, corn-cockles, feathers, and paste buckles, 
 "but I gave well, a month's salary for it." 
 
 " I '11 get you another one," said Hubert. " If you 
 don't leave something pretty visible on the bank the 
 casual passer-by will not detect the presence of the crime. 
 Everyone knows that a hat on the bank is the recognised 
 sign of a body in the water, and I don't think even a 
 village policeman could overlook that hat if it was dropped 
 anywhere on his beat. You can wear my cap up to town, 
 and we'll buy another hat to-morrow." 
 
 It fell out that, in the street of the village where it was 
 proposed to have luncheon and to hire their boat, Mr 
 Hubert Daventry saw a lady of his acquaintance coming 
 towards them. Now, his friends had not altered in their 
 demeanour because he had deserted the bar, where he 
 was not wanted, for the stage, where he did not appear 
 to be in any greater demand. They were too modern for 
 such views, as well as too liberal-minded. But the sight 
 of this lady, in her workmanlike flannel surmounted by a 
 plain sailor hat, made him suddenly conscious of Miss Vera 
 Vernon's extreme splendour of attire, and he knew instinc- 
 tively that a meeting would be awkward. The two girls did 
 not belong to the same world ; they looked at things from 
 a totally different point of view, and to introduce them to 
 each other would give pleasure to neither. He turned up 
 an alley rather abruptly. 
 
 As he might have expected, this move did not escape
 
 A Method of Advertisement 1 1 3 
 
 his companion's notice, who began cross-examining him 
 on the subject during luncheon. Hubert, intent upon his 
 scheme, was not inclined to waste time in idle words, and 
 said so with an abruptness that proved exasperating. 
 
 " You coward ! You are ashamed to be seen with 
 me ! " said Miss Vera Vernon, loudly. 
 
 Hubert replied in his turn a little angrily for no one 
 likes to be called a coward " Perhaps you think I ought 
 to introduce you about the place as the girl I am going 
 to marry ? " 
 
 Then the waiter was seen standing inside the door 
 seeking an opportunity to announce to the visitors that 
 their boat was ready. So they laughed, and were friends 
 again. 
 
 They were a little nervous as they went down to the 
 water. Indeed, it is hard not to be nervous when on the 
 edge of perpetrating a foolish joke. It is only the most 
 practised and callous performer who can venture boldly 
 where failure must entail ridicule, and neither of these 
 young people had the nerves or the experience of Sothern. 
 
 Hubert sculled in silence up stream until he reached a 
 spot admirably suited to their purpose. This was a small 
 reach about four hundred yards long, and hidden from the 
 gaze of anyone who chanced to be above or below by the 
 abrupt winding of the stream. 
 
 Here he turned into the bank and helped his accomplice 
 out. 
 
 " Leave your hat," he said, " and run up stream about 
 a quarter of a mile and you will see the Great Western 
 
 station quite near the bank. Here 's my cap. K 's 
 
 at 8.30. I'll get the table in the first window. Shove 
 her out with your foot. Got any money ? All right ! " 
 
 He turned, and began sculling back. She, in obedience
 
 H4 Odd Issues 
 
 to his instructions, began running along the tow-path in 
 the opposite direction. As she did so she turned every 
 now and again to watch him, for he was a good-looking 
 man, and the sculling action suited him. Seeing which he 
 took one of his hands off his sculls every now and then 
 and waved a little encouragement to her in the prosecution 
 of their splendid joke. And he came to the down corner 
 and she came to the up corner, and he began to disappear 
 from her gaze, and she hung over the brink to watch him, 
 and alas, she slipped. Vainly she clutched at all within 
 her grasp ; the frail twigs snapped, the rotten bank 
 yielded, she slid further and fell in. 
 
 Two hours later the body was found by a passer-by 
 who noticed the hat lying on the bank just below the 
 fatal spot. Mr Hubert Daventry's cap was clutched 
 convulsively in the girl's grasp. In the crown of it was 
 written his name. 
 
 In the meantime the gentleman had further elaborated 
 his joke. Why should there only be one person drowned ? 
 Why not two or more ? And was a hat enough evidence 
 of an accident ? Was it not possible that some felonious 
 female should come along and, recking little of the inner 
 meaning of the head-gear on the towing-path, should annex 
 it, and carefully abstain from giving to her discovery the 
 desirable publicity? Decidedly a hat was not enough. 
 But about the meaning of a boat with its keel turned 
 skyward there could be no hesitation. 
 
 To think was to act. Your practical joker is, above all 
 things, careless of the personal property of other people. 
 Hubert headed for the opposite bank to that on which 
 he had landed Miss Vera Vernon, sprang out, turned 
 the boat bottom uppermost and sent it spinning with a
 
 A Method of Advertisement 1 1 5 
 
 kick down stream. Then he walked rapidly to the 
 nearest railway station on the South Western track. As 
 he drew near a train going in the direction of London 
 came into sight, steaming slowly along the valley. He 
 decided to try to catch this by running straight across 
 the two fields that lay between him and the station 
 instead of going round by the highway. He was suc- 
 cessful, and threw himself panting into the last carriage 
 as it glided away from the platform. At Clapham 
 Junction an official asked austerely for his ticket. Hubert 
 confessed to not having purchased one before entering 
 the train, and thought it a good occasion to rally the 
 collector on the dryness of the official demeanour. The 
 collector was hot, tired, and busy, and eyed Hubert sourly. 
 If he could have formulated a charge against him he 
 would have done so, and Hubert, perceiving this, continued 
 to think that it was droll to chaff the man. 
 
 By 8.30 Hubert was seated in the first window next 
 
 to the entrance at K 's, having left word at his 
 
 chambers that if Miss Vera Vernon called for him 
 she was to be told that he was already gone to the 
 restaurant. By nine o'clock she had not arrived, and 
 Hubert ordered dinner, and asked the waiter to bring 
 him a paper. 
 
 "No news, Fritz?" he said, as he opened the sheet. 
 Fritz thought there was no news. " Nobody dead ? No 
 fires ? No tragedies ? No young women found drowned ? 
 No Hullo ! " A shadow fell across the paper and he 
 looked up to find a man standing over him. " Hullo ? 
 Mr Hubert Daventry you believe ? Yes ; I am Mr Hubert 
 Daventry, but you have the advantage of me." 
 
 Hubert was arrested for murder and fully committed on
 
 n6 Odd Issues 
 
 the charge. Before the judge the following points were 
 clearly made out by the prosecution : 
 
 (1) On the afternoon of the murder he had been 
 recognised by a lady walking with the unfortunate girl, 
 and had tried to escape notice by concealing himself. 
 
 (2) He had quarrelled with the deceased at the Horn 
 Inn before starting on the fatal expedition, and had said 
 that he would not marry her. He looked very pale on 
 starting. These facts were contributed by the waiter at the 
 Horn. 
 
 (3) Later he was seen by a man working in the fields 
 to turn his boat over and kick it down stream, and then 
 to start running into the country. 
 
 (4) The guard of the train swore to his having no ticket 
 on arrival in London that evening, and no hat, and to his 
 being very odd in his manner so odd that the guard re- 
 membered him well, and would swear to him anywhere. 
 
 (5) When arrested his hand was severely scratched, 
 while examination of the shirt that he had worn showed 
 that one cuff was nearly torn off. 
 
 (6) There were signs of a scuffle on the bank, and the 
 victim had the prisoner's cap in her hand. 
 
 (7) A man came forward to tell a most suggestive 
 incident, which he had witnessed when travelling out 
 from London by the same train as Hubert and Miss 
 Vera Vernon. He chanced to be in the next carriage, 
 and saw Miss Vernon lean out of window and reach for 
 the rope communicating with the guard. The next 
 moment it seemed to him that the door came open, and 
 that an attempt was made to push the unfortunate girl 
 on the line. He noticed the pair again at the next 
 station, when he thought that the girl gave him an 
 appealing glance. Before he could act on it, however,
 
 A Method of Advertisement 117 
 
 the train started, and he tried to comfort himself by believ- 
 ing that he had not witnessed an abortive attempt at 
 outrage. When he read of the recovery of the corpse 
 and the arrest of the supposed murderer, he communi- 
 cated with the coroner, and identified the body as that 
 of the girl in question, and the prisoner as her companion. 
 
 (8) The detective who effected Hubert's arrest swore 
 that before he could caution him to be silent he heard 
 him ask the waiter if any bodies of drowned girls had 
 been found. This was before the discovery had been 
 published in the press. 
 
 The theory of the prosecution was that the prisoner 
 had been strolling along the bank with the unfortunate 
 girl the mark where the boat had been put in had been 
 found that he had quarrelled with her, and pushed her 
 into the river. That he had then rowed a little way 
 from the spot and turned the boat over, hoping to make 
 his act appear the result of an accident. 
 
 For the defence the true story was told. 
 
 He was found guilty. 
 
 In reply to the awful question of the judge whether he 
 had anything to say why the utmost penalty should not 
 be inflicted, he said, "My lord, it was all a joke." 
 
 Many have sung, and many have narrated the charms 
 of mediocrity, but no one appreciates it highly for him- 
 self. Few consider themselves commonplace people. 
 Yet occasionally it will be borne in upon a man that he 
 is but an average specimen. Sometimes he will sit down 
 under his fate and will court only the average destiny; 
 holding all public achievements as very wondrous, for 
 in this way his inability to perform them may be best 
 excused. Sometimes he will turn hither and thither
 
 n8 Odd Issues 
 
 vaguely, hurriedly, inconsequently, if haply he may cheat 
 his own mediocrity or encompass fame by some rapid 
 bye-path. 
 
 Hubert Daventry was mediocre and his soul loathed 
 mediocrity. He did not die for nothing. 
 
 Notoriety he obtained in the way we have indicated, 
 and even some measure of literary success became his, 
 for the Evening Scorpion had in their office a manuscript 
 signed with the assassin's name. The editor promptly 
 published the story, with a portrait of Hubert and a 
 facsimile of his signature attached; and he sold two 
 editions of the paper on the day of issue.
 
 ERIC AND ROBERT 
 
 ERIC and Robert were schoolfellows, and in their boyhood 
 behaved like friends. They chanced to be neighbours at 
 home, and this was responsible for infusing into their 
 relations an appearance of intimacy, inasmuch as they 
 would address each other by their Christian names, and 
 would occasionally lapse into local allusions ; but to me, 
 who knew them both, it always seemed that they kept 
 up considerable semblance of friendship, and some of its 
 practice, because each distrusted the other. I may have 
 wronged them, and possibly they were as fond of each 
 other as school friends usually are, but this, at least, was 
 notorious they were desperately jealous of each other. 
 And circumstances gave them cause, for circumstances of 
 all sorts constantly pitted them against each other. Robert 
 was the son of an officer in Her Majesty's army, and 
 adopted a condescending tone towards Eric, the son of a 
 solicitor. Eric, the son of a thriving business man, would 
 in return show an obtrusive sympathy for Robert, the son 
 of an impecunious half-pay major. When Eric got a 
 scholarship for which Robert had competed, Robert con- 
 gratulated him very heartily, because " now your governor 
 will probably send you to college," implying that only as 
 long as culture paid would Eric be permitted to go in for 
 culture. Eric showed his appreciation of Robert's con- 
 gratulations by debating with all of us separately and 
 begging, of course, that the matter should go no further 
 whether he ought to resign the prize, as the money meant 
 119
 
 I2O Odd Issues 
 
 so little to him and might mean so much to Robert. 
 When Robert was selected to represent the school at 
 cricket, in the place that Eric had confidently expected 
 for himself, Eric's interest in the national game waned, 
 and he took to lawn-tennis. 
 
 Both entered the same university, where, availing them- 
 selves of the liberties of college life, they took different 
 courses and saw little of each other. And this was the 
 easier that they had few common friends. If a man 
 knew Eric he somehow did not care to meet Robert. If, 
 on the other hand, a man was on confidential terms with 
 Robert, he would get an impression that Eric was rather 
 a person to be avoided. But although the breach between 
 them was now patent to everyone, they kept up the fiction 
 of being friends, and remained " Eric " and " Robert " to 
 each other. The university worked changes upon them. 
 Eric, who had been studious, grew idle, read promiscuously, 
 and adopted a didactic and critical tone. He disappointed 
 his early promise by taking a very poor degree, which was 
 hardly redeemed by the facts that he came near to obtain- 
 ing a medal for an English essay, and obtained a publisher 
 (if not a public) for a sheaf of verses in which he confessed 
 to feeling the shame consequent upon certain sins which, 
 to his credit be it said, he had never committed. Robert, 
 on the contrary, grew diligent, and became bitten with 
 Orientalism. The result of this was to make him the 
 only examinee in divers unpronounceable dialects, while 
 -it took seven professors to examine him. With a not 
 unnatural generosity they awarded him a first-class in the 
 tripos. 
 
 It was about this period that their affair with Edith 
 took place. She was a country neighbour, and they both 
 fell in love with her. Probably she would have married
 
 Eric and Robert 121 
 
 Robert, who was first in the field, if Eric had not interfered. 
 Probably she would have married Eric later, if Robert 
 had shown a proper dignity and taken his refusal as final. 
 But he continued, as Eric said, to pester the girl, and she, 
 being a peaceful lass, married the local brewer as a short 
 way out of the dilemma. 
 
 With a university career and a love affair thus brought 
 to their definite conclusions, each young man felt that the 
 real business of life was now before him. Robert returned 
 to the university, took pupils in the Cashmere dialects, and 
 began to make a reputation for himself as a numismatist. 
 His studies had infused a new enthusiasm into his 
 schoolboy trick of coin-collecting, and had thrown over 
 it a glamour of classic learning. His work as a coach 
 allowed him plenty of leisure to pursue his hobby, and 
 in a short time the collection and classification of medals 
 and money-tokens became the serious business of his life. 
 At two or three public sales he gave the highest prices on 
 record. Next came rumours of his fortunate bargains and 
 acute discoveries. It was he who took a cottage in the 
 country for a fortnight and found a vase full of Roman 
 coins, including specimens of remarkable variety, beneath 
 the strawberry bed. In reference to this episode, Eric 
 was heard to express a hope that the lord of the manor 
 had received his due. It was Robert, again, who bought 
 a unique silver didrachm for fourpence, out of the window 
 of a shop within ten paces of the British Museum, a 
 window against the blurred panes of which every virtuoso 
 in Europe had flattened his nose. From the newspaper 
 notoriety which he thus acquired to public recognition as 
 an expert in his subject, and even in Greek and Roman 
 art generally, was but a short step. He was chosen with 
 acclaim the librarian and curator of the Institute of a
 
 122 Odd Issues 
 
 northern town, became a serious candidate for election 
 to the Royal Society, and sat down to write an exhaustive 
 book on his subject. 
 
 Meanwhile Eric also had become prosperous. Shortly 
 after leaving college he entered a small publishing firm, 
 and became quickly the presiding genius of the business. 
 He had smattered much, and was able to take an interest 
 in many phases of life; he was a shrewd man of 
 business, having an eye to practical chances for all 
 his semblance of idleness; he was a very respectable 
 linguist ; he had, and took care to have, an immense 
 personal acquaintance. All these things assisted him, 
 and in a short time he found himself recognised as a 
 factor in literary London. Nowadays, Eric's methods 
 have nothing unusual about them, but ten years ago he 
 was very modern, almost a pioneer in his designs to build 
 up a business. His offices were in the west end of the 
 town, and his clients, mostly the sort of Bohemians who 
 rough it in Lancaster Gate or Lennox Gardens, were 
 encouraged to lounge about them, what time they abused 
 each other over cigarettes. He made a speciality of 
 young people's verses, and brought out a weekly circular 
 in which he described the young people for the benefit 
 of the public in terms of indiscretion. He republished 
 Elizabethan poetry in numbered copies on hand-made 
 paper with curious illustrations. He ran a serious 
 magazine entitled The Mirror of Contemporary Thought, 
 to which he obtained contributions from an archbishop, 
 a prize-fighter, and a premier. Of course he had a Series. 
 It was called the Record Reign Series, and consisted of 
 little manuals stuffed with home-truths about the Great 
 People of the Victorian Era. It was Eric's habit among 
 his intimates to allude slightingly to this Series as vulgar
 
 Eric and Robert 123 
 
 by comparison with his other efforts, but to himself he 
 would own that he had no fault to find with it, for it had 
 a vogue among the little people of the era, a body 
 who are able to give very useful support to what they 
 like. 
 
 Soon after the establishment of The Mirror of Con- 
 temporary Thought there were hints in various periodicals 
 that the coming book of research which all would have 
 to read a book from which amusement and artistic 
 pleasure would be derived as surely as mere information 
 was Robert's Manual of Numismatics. Eric, who was 
 his own editor, lent the pages of his review to Mr 
 Mortimer Batson, the encyclopaedic critic, that he might 
 make a forecast of the work. Mr Batson's article essayed, 
 firstly, to dispose of numismatics as a science for ever; 
 and, secondly, to indicate that Robert's numismatics pre- 
 sented a foolish fad in a more contemptible light than 
 it had previously appeared. Mr Batson was thorough, 
 and deserved credit for his imagination, inasmuch as he 
 had only three little stray papers from Robert's pen and 
 a few annotated catalogues to guide him to his con- 
 clusions, while those who read his article could scarcely 
 fail to see that Robert was a vicious, ignorant, and pre- 
 tentious man. Eric, with an independence of spirit worthy 
 of all commendation in a log-rolling age, gave publicity 
 to these strictures upon his old schoolfellow, though, as 
 he said everywhere, he was deeply sorry that Robert 
 should have been exposed. 
 
 It was about this time that Eric came up for election 
 at Robert's club. Robert was so busy in the matter 
 that more might have been expected from his efforts on 
 behalf of his friend than actually came of them. Eric 
 was rejected, as there seemed to be a wide impression
 
 124 Odd Issues 
 
 that he was not a clubable person. Robert, as he said 
 everywhere, was deeply sorry that Eric should not have 
 been more fortunate. 
 
 To his inner self each now owned that he loathed the 
 other, but the position between them was not made 
 publicly clear. Robert's appointment in the north kept 
 him far from London, while Eric's devotion to business 
 made his permanent presence in the metropolis necessary ; 
 since, therefore, they never met, a formal agreement not 
 to meet was superfluous. But, oddly to say, at the very 
 time when all things pointed most directly to a complete 
 if not a declared breach of friendly relations, Eric's 
 business instincts brought them together. He was 
 always ready for a bargain despite an affectation of 
 amateurishness in the conduct of his affairs, and he 
 wrote to Robert to ask if he could have the honour 
 and pleasure of publishing the forthcoming book on 
 numismatics. He would like so much to publish it, he 
 said ; firstly, because he felt sure that it would be a good 
 book one, not to make too great a pretence to dis- 
 interestedness, that would bring in money ; and secondly, 
 because he wished to dissociate himself for ever from 
 Mr Mortimer Batson's vile attack on Robert. Why 
 should not Robert run up to town, dine, and talk the 
 matter over? 
 
 Robert was pleased at the unexpected invitation, seeing 
 in it a remarkable tribute to the worth of his book. So 
 he came to London in response, and the two old school- 
 fellows dined and talked, and parted entirely dissatisfied 
 with each other. For Robert was exasperating. He spoke 
 of his forthcoming book as the only work that had ever 
 been done on the subject that was worthy of serious 
 consideration. He boasted that it would open to him
 
 Eric and Robert 125 
 
 the portals of the Royal Society, and would cause him 
 to be quoted as a pioneer in numismatic circles for ever. 
 
 "It has taken me ten years to write, sir, and two more 
 to illustrate," said he, banging the table, "but it will 
 pay me with ten lifetimes of fame. The book is unique." 
 All this was irritating to Eric, as Eric's unresponsiveness 
 was displeasing to Robert. Eric had wished to publish 
 the book that he might place Robert under an obligation, 
 and at the same time reap some reward in money and 
 in reputation for enterprise. He found that he was 
 regarded as receiving a favour, not as conferring one, 
 while the more he heard of the book the less did it seem 
 certain that there was any money to be made by traffic 
 in its issue. He listened to the gasconades of his guest 
 without interrupting, and as he listened his hate burned 
 within him. They parted without any definite arrangement 
 being made. 
 
 On the following day Robert took his manuscript to 
 several publishers, all of whom, to his unqualified disgust, 
 refused to entertain the idea of publishing it at their own 
 risk. It would cost a thousand pounds at least to produce, 
 he was informed, while it would appeal to only a small 
 public ; wherefore with a common wisdom they one and 
 all preferred to have the initial expenses, or a great pro- 
 portion of them, guaranteed. Robert was a downcast 
 author when he returned to his hotel, where, to his 
 surprise, he found awaiting him a generous offer from 
 Eric. It was more than a generous offer ; by comparison 
 with those that had been made by the other publishers, 
 it was prodigal. The brief conditions were that Robert 
 was to deliver the complete manuscript and illustrations 
 by a certain date, and that he was to assign absolutely 
 and for ever all his rights in the book to Eric, in return
 
 1 26 Odd Issues 
 
 for a thousand pounds. In the face of the morning's 
 adventures Robert could only close at once with Eric. 
 
 On the morning of the day upon which the manuscript 
 was to be delivered Robert received a letter from Eric, 
 laudably anxious to keep his share of the contract, re- 
 minding him that the work was due, and hoping that 
 he would bring or send the original illustrations, and 
 leave their reproduction entirely to his publisher's in- 
 structed discretion. 
 
 " Fidgety fool ! " thought Robert, who had already tied 
 up the illustrations with the manuscript, and into whose 
 mind no idea of interfering in the details of publication 
 had ever entered. " Fidgety fool ! " he repeated. 
 
 Suddenly a thought occurred to him that made him 
 shiver, and he drew from his pocket-book a document 
 which he consulted closely, as though he would wring 
 from the words another than their obvious meaning. It 
 was the letter which contained Eric's offer of publication, 
 a letter which Robert, with forethought, had taken to 
 Somerset House for official stamping, and which con- 
 stituted the agreement between the author and the 
 publisher. Then he telegraphed to Eric a few words 
 of regret that the work was not yet quite ready for 
 the printer. The next days he spent, assisted by his 
 pupils, in making rough imitations and tracings of many 
 of the original illustrations in his work, while he sent the 
 text to be type-written. Then he returned to London, 
 with a parcel in each hand, one containing the original 
 illustrations and the type-written text, the other the rough 
 imitations of certain of the pictures and the original 
 manuscript. The first parcel he left with a well-known 
 publisher, asking for an appointment later on in the day, 
 and the second he took with him to Eric.
 
 Eric and Robert 127 
 
 Eric was white, and received him almost affectionately. 
 
 "I am quite ready for you," said he. "Here is the 
 agreement for your signature assigning to me all your 
 rights in your work on consideration of my giving you 
 a thousand pounds; and here is a cheque for that 
 sum." 
 
 Robert looked at the cheque and put it in his 
 pocket. 
 
 "When shall you bring the book out?" he asked. 
 
 Eric had in the meantime untied the parcel, and was 
 running his eye hastily over the manuscript. He seemed 
 satisfied with the perusal. 
 
 "I will tell you in a moment," he answered, and he 
 walked into a little room behind the office, carrying the 
 manuscript with him. 
 
 " This is a joke," said Robert to himself as Eric closed 
 the door, and staid man of science though he was, he 
 made a shuffling step or two on the carpet which were 
 intended to be capers. And then there came a sound 
 of fire-irons from Eric's retreat, whereat Robert capered 
 again, and more wildly. 
 
 Barely was he steady on his legs from a big spring 
 when Eric re-entered the room and seated himself at his 
 desk. His face was now whiter than before. 
 
 "As I have bought your book right out," he said, "of 
 course I can do what I like with it." 
 
 "Well?" said Robert. 
 
 " Well," said Eric, " I have paid you, and I have burnt 
 your book." 
 
 "You've burnt the work of my life?" said Robert. 
 Then he added, after a moment's silence, "Aren't you 
 afraid that I shall kill you?" 
 
 "No," said Eric, dropping his hand in an open drawer
 
 128 Odd Issues 
 
 before him, whence a click immediately proceeded ; " no ; 
 I thought of that." 
 
 " I suppose you really have burnt my manuscript ? " said 
 Robert. 
 
 "I have," said Eric. 
 
 " And all the pictures and charts ? " 
 
 "All of them, I hope." 
 
 " Many of which I told you I could not replace." 
 
 "I remember that you said so." 
 
 " Are you sorry ? " said Robert. 
 
 "Not in the least," said Eric. 
 
 "Are you ashamed?" 
 
 "I am not ashamed." 
 
 "Then there's nothing more to be said?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 So Robert went out and cashed the cheque. He then 
 went to the publishers with whom he had left the other 
 copy of his work. 
 
 "Print it regardless of expense," he said. "I am 
 prepared to spend a thousand pounds, if necessary, on its 
 production and advertisement." 
 
 A few weeks later the book appeared, and in a short 
 preface Robert bore eloquent testimony to the generosity 
 of Eric, who had crowned a life-long affection by an act of 
 splendid munificence in making a noble contribution to 
 the cost of his old friend's work. So ran Robert's eulogy. 
 
 Eric wrote a letter to the publishers, threatening to 
 restrain them from publishing the work, but Robert took 
 all responsibility on his own shoulders, and at once in- 
 creased his advertisements in every direction. Then he 
 wrote to Eric advising him for the sake of his own re- 
 putation to keep quiet.
 
 Eric and Robert 129 
 
 "I have used your thousand pounds," the letter ran, 
 "to complete our agreement, for it was the essence of our 
 agreement that the book should be published. This was 
 not said ; it was understood. If you annoy me I may be 
 tempted to allow that you have burnt the real book and 
 the genuine illustrations; in which case I shall bring an 
 action against you for breach of contract, and the damage 
 will be laid at ten times the sum I have received from 
 you. Be wise, my dear old school friend, and join with 
 me in forgetting a melancholy episode, which has after 
 all had a joyous termination for my book is selling 
 thoroughly well. If the truth were made public, all decent 
 people would look askance at you ; while acute men of 
 business, who might have forgiven you a successful piece 
 of malice, would never overlook the fact that you were 
 fooled. My open-handed patron, dry up ! "
 
 THE VALUE OF THE POSTSCRIPT 
 
 (i.) From Henry Graham Watson, Esq., Ovington House, 
 Norfolk, to Ronald Malcomson, Esq., Elm Court, 
 Temple. 
 
 Dec. loth, 1896. 
 
 DEAR MALCOMSON, My wife and I hope that you 
 will come to us for Christmas. This is a dullish sort of 
 place ; but I believe that I can promise you an attraction. 
 I can also promise you a hearty Christmas welcome ; but 
 you are said by the reviewers to have caught the nine- 
 teenth-century lassitude, and if I understand what that 
 means, anything in the way of heartiness would bore you. 
 The attraction I allude to is simply a young woman, and 
 my wife's friend. We were so pleased that "An Episode 
 in Mark's Career " proved a triumph for you. Of course, 
 I recognised you on every page. It 's just the way you 
 would come and drivel in my rooms till all hours of the 
 morning. 
 
 Hoping to see you soon, and with kindest regards from 
 Lucy Ever yours, HENRY G. WATSON. 
 
 (2.) From Ronald Malcomson, Esq., Elm Court, Temple, 
 to Henry G. Watson, Esq., Ovington House, Norfolk. 
 
 Dec. 1 3th, 1896. 
 
 MY DEAR WATSON, Thanks very much. I should 
 like to come ; and think it is very kind of you and your 
 wife to give me another chance. I have often felt guilty 
 
 130
 
 The Value of the Postscript 131 
 
 at not having made it possible to turn up at Ovington 
 before. 
 
 My book, of which you have spoken so kindly, has not 
 been exactly a popular success, but it has done me good. 
 I have got off my mind and on to paper a good deal of 
 vapouring, and that I look upon as salutary, on the 
 principle that a rash is better out. And as you seem to 
 have recognised that some of my rash has been inside 
 since we were at college you must allow that it was high 
 time for its outward show. With kind regards to your 
 wife I am, yours very sincerely, 
 
 RONALD MALCOMSON. 
 
 (3.) From Mrs Watson, Ovington House, Norfolk, to Miss 
 Mildred Trefusis Vanneck, Queen's Gate Gardens. 
 
 Dec. 2oth, 1896. 
 
 DEAREST MILLIE, I am so glad you can come, and 
 the sooner the better ; and I have a little surprise for you. 
 Henry has asked the man who wrote that book you 
 thought such a lot of to spend Xmas here, and he 's 
 coming; so you'll meet him. It was a silly, conceited 
 sort of book, I thought, and had not got any story in it. 
 Will you bring some of those lace scarves with you that 
 everyone is wearing, or going to wear, which is better 
 still ? I want two. A fine one to go with a new amber 
 tea-gown (such a beauty), and a very coarse one to go 
 with my brocade. I am looking forward to seeing you, 
 and mind you bring the book with you I never can 
 remember its title, there's such a lot of it for I think 
 we ought to read it up and quote from it. There are 
 verses in it, for I think it wouldn't do to quote prose. 
 At least, people never do, and, of course, it 's much harder
 
 132 Odd Issues 
 
 to learn by heart, and one doesn't want to be peculiar. 
 Henry says that Mr Malcomson is a quiet man, but 
 dangerous to meddle with, so you must not be mis- 
 chievous. Don't forget the lace things, and remember 
 me to all your people. Yours affectionately, 
 
 Lucy WATSON. 
 P.S. Don't forget the lace things. 
 
 (4.) From Ronald Malcomson, Esq., Ovington House, 
 Norfolk, to Oliver Le Mesurier, Esq., Tfie S 
 Club, Piccadilly. 
 
 Jan. 6th, 1897. 
 
 DEAR OLIVER, So sorry you have been bothered by 
 my absence, but you must go on doing the art scraps 
 for me. I came down here about a fortnight ago, and I 
 didn't mean to have stopped so long. 
 
 Watson is just the same as ever. By-the-by, he is 
 not quite the same as ever, for Cambridge has grown on 
 him, and he is now a super-undergraduate, or should 
 I call him a sub-undergraduate? We talk Cambridge in 
 the evenings, when the women are gone to bed. We 
 hint at Cambridge all day, but then we talk it solid. I 
 array myself in one of his blazers he has scores and 
 he sits opposite to me in a similar get-up, and we jaw 
 there 's no other word for it. At least he does. Dear old 
 chap ! He means every evening to give himself an in- 
 tellectual treat, and he tries to pump me about Maeter- 
 linck, and so on. Of course that puts me in a hole; 
 for as I read Maeterlinck, I cannot speak with abrupt 
 authority about him. So I seize on the first decent 
 opportunity and lug in Trinity. After that I have nothing 
 more to do but listen, and nod. 
 
 Of course I have not been staying here for Watson's
 
 The Value of the Postscript 133 
 
 sake. I have stayed for the sake of a study an absurdly 
 interesting girl. Imagine a quiet girl who wants to be 
 noisy, but knows that it would not suit her style. Imagine 
 also a clever girl, who has really good understanding and 
 good taste, but who cultivates the arts of being foolish 
 and inconsequent. She is admirably dressed, and suffi- 
 ciently distinguished to look better in fine clothes than 
 in a lot of beastly tweeds and a man's hat. Watson's 
 wife is rather a foil to her in this last respect, for 
 she's always on view in red and brown checks until the 
 time comes for her to don a sort of yellow dressing- 
 gown with an embroidered bib round its neck. I have 
 heard her refer to this with unmeasured respect as her 
 "amber tea-gown," but I assure you it's nothing but a 
 dressing-gown. 
 
 I shall be up in town in a few days now. As the novel 
 seems rather to have caught on, I think I shall stop doing 
 the little things and have a serious try to write a better 
 big thing. Ever yours, RONALD MALCOMSON. 
 
 (5.) From Miss Mildred Trefusis Vanneck, Ovington House, 
 Norfolk, to The Honourable Ethel Pendre-Mold, 
 Eaton Square. 
 
 Jan. 8th, 1897. 
 
 MY DEAREST LITTLE ETHELINDA, I'm coming back 
 to-morrow, and shall be in heaps of time to go with you 
 to the Robertsons' theatricals. It 's very good of your 
 mother to take the responsibility of me again, for I think 
 I scared her a good deal last time. I hope you made 
 Lady Mold quite understand that I had met Captain 
 Foster before. 
 
 I have had such a funny Christmas at Lucy Dewing's
 
 134 Odd Issues 
 
 that is, Lucy Watson's. We always said she 'd be married 
 first, and her husband's quite fond of her. The author 
 of "An Episode in Mark's Career" has been here and 
 I like him immensely, but he has been very determined 
 that he won't like me. He's been observing me instead 
 of admiring me at least, that is how he began. I am 
 not so sure where we are now. He was awfully afraid 
 of me at first, but he has got over that lately. I think 
 he was really shy and unused to people like me, but he 
 was clever enough to hide it by pretending to be quiet 
 and exclusive. I like him, as I say, immensely, but I 
 think he is the sort of man who ought to have a lesson. 
 His book is full of rules for dealing with women and 
 managing us, and he is trying to reckon me up and 
 make me fit into these rules. I see a great deal of him, 
 and he is always very careful about what he says. I do 
 not mean that he is afraid of going too far, because we 
 haven't been love-making at all. But he watches the 
 effect of his words to see what I shall do or say next. 
 He thinks he can guess, you know. Of course I am 
 not going to let anybody treat me like that, yet I don't 
 know how to resent it and make him sorry, as, to do 
 him justice, he shows no signs of being foolish about 
 me. But the Watsons are quite foolish about him. Lucy, 
 who hasn't read his book, always talks as if he were 
 the leading novelist of the day. But you remember 
 Lucy's little ways at school, and she's just the same. I 
 can see him jump when she does it, he hates it so. But 
 his writing is the soft side of him, and I have let him 
 know that I appreciate it. And he doesn't jump with 
 me. He just purrs ; and then I lay it on thick, and he 
 purrs again. I make him feel he is what your brother 
 Bob would call a genius at seven-stone-two.
 
 The Value of the Postscript 135 
 
 Lucy sends her kind regards. You might ask her to 
 call when she's in town. I know she would like it, and 
 she 's never in town. She 's an awful liar there 's no 
 other word for it. 
 
 Good-bye, my dear, till I see you. Be a very good 
 little girl. It's such a funny sensation to feel yourself 
 stuck through with a pin and examined, and to know that 
 the clever person who is classifying you is doing it all 
 wrong. And it's not the sort of attention that suits 
 your own MILLIE. 
 
 (6.) From Ronald Malcomson, Esq., Elm Court, Temple, 
 to Henry Watson, Esq., Ovington House, Norfolk. 
 
 Feb. yth, 1897. 
 
 MY DEAR WATSON, Just a line in reply to your letter, 
 which ought to have been answered before. No ; I don't 
 think a tale made up of our old college adventures and 
 good times would be a popular success, and I am sure 
 I am not the sort of person to write such a story, although 
 you are exactly the sort of person with whom to collaborate 
 on the subject. 
 
 Please give my kind regards to Mrs Watson, and thank 
 her again for me for a very jolly Christmas. I thought 
 Miss Vanneck all you say and more also. In fact, the 
 very girl for a rich man's wife. I 'm poor. Yours very 
 truly, RONALD MALCOMSON. 
 
 (7.) From Mrs Watson, Ovington House, Norfolk, to Miss 
 Mildred Trefusis Vanneck, Queeris Gate Gardens. 
 
 Feb. gth, 1897. 
 
 DEAREST MILLIE, So you've been mischievous after 
 all. Henry has had such a letter from Mr Malcomson
 
 136 Odd Issues 
 
 about you. I wish I could send it on to you. He thinks 
 you would make, such a splendid wife, and only wishes he 
 was rich enough to ask you. He says he never spent 
 such a delightful Christmas, and I 'm sure that must be 
 nearly all your doing, for he never talked to anybody 
 else that I could see, except a lot of deep stuff about 
 books and things to Henry in the evenings, and that 
 sort of thing, you know. Henry told me that he quite 
 enjoyed the conversations about art and literature ; and, 
 of course, Mr Malcomson is awfully clever. And Henry 
 says he isn't so poor as he makes out. Besides, the books 
 must bring him heaps. He wants to try and write a book 
 about Cambridge with him, but he doesn't think he would 
 be able to do it, though he would have helped him in 
 some of it. But I mustn't bother you about him, as I 
 dare say you never gave him a moment's thought ; and you 
 won't tell him or anybody, will you, about my having told 
 you, because it was in a letter to Henry ? Of course, 
 it wasn't marked private, so there can be no harm in repeat- 
 ing what he said, can there, as you 're such an old friend ? 
 Yours affectionately, LUCY WATSON. 
 
 P.S. You lucky girl, to be in London. 
 
 (8.) From Miss Mildred Trefusis Vanneck, Queen's Gate 
 Gardens, to Mrs Watson, Ovington House, Norfolk. 
 
 Feb. loth, 1897. 
 
 DEAR LUCY, How sweet of you to tell me what Mr 
 Malcomson said, for I don't believe he would ever have 
 told me himself. His impassioned assertion that he would 
 marry me if only he had enough money deserves some
 
 The Value of the Postscript 137 
 
 recognition, and the season of the year suggests the form 
 it should take. It's a horribly out-of-date idea, I know, 
 but I suppose one can still buy such things as valentines. 
 I should like to get the old-fashioned sort one reads of. 
 It should have a border of lace, and hearts, and arrows, 
 and little boys dressed for their morning tub, and inside 
 there should be a picture of a gentleman and lady in 
 eighteenth-century riding costume, walking arm-in-arm up 
 a twisted path to a spikey church. Ethel Pendre-Mold 
 first put the idea of a valentine into my head, and we 
 asked Mills, Lady Mold's maid, to see if she could get 
 anything of the sort when she was out, and Mills said 
 that " she knew her ladyship would be very offended 
 that she should be asked to do such a thing." Mills 
 is a dreadfully new woman. Yours ever, 
 
 M. T. V. 
 
 (9.) From Mrs Watson, Ovington House, Norfolk, to 
 Ronald Malcomson, Esq., Elm Court, Temple. 
 
 Feb. nth, 1897. 
 
 DEAR MR MALCOMSON, I have had such a letter from 
 Mildred, which she would be mad at my showing to 
 you, so I mustn't do that. But I know you'd like to 
 know what was in it. And it wasn't marked private, so 
 there can't be any harm in telling you about it, can 
 there, when you are such an old friend of Henry's, and 
 at college with him too? Mildred says it is splendid of 
 you to be so nice about money, but that it doesn't matter 
 a bit your being poor, and that you deserve to be rewarded. 
 I hope I wasn't very wrong in just hinting to her that 
 you had told Henry how much you admired her. But 
 I expect you will hear from her yourself. I mustn't tell
 
 138 Odd Issues 
 
 any more of Mildred's secrets, but if you get a valentine 
 I think I should act on it. With kind regards from 
 Henry, Yours very truly, LUCY E. WATSON. 
 
 (10.) From An Anonymous Sender, to Ronald Malcomson, 
 Esq., Elm Court, Temple. 
 
 Feb. 1 3th, 1897. 
 A valentine bearing the legend : 
 
 " 'Tis mine to wait 
 
 'T is yours to ask ; 
 But why be late 
 About the task." 
 
 (n.) From Ronald Malcomson, Esq., Elm Court, Temple, 
 to Miss Mildred Trefusis Vanneck, Queen's Gate Gardens. 
 
 Feb. i4th, 1897. 
 
 DEAR Miss VANNECK, Had I not your gracious 
 message before me I should never have been so extra- 
 ordinarily presumptuous. I can only be heartily grateful 
 to Mrs Watson for her indiscretion. Will you permit me 
 to call this afternoon, and tell my own story? Yours 
 most truly, RONALD MALCOMSON. 
 
 (12.) From Miss Mildred Trefusis Vanneck, Queen's Gate 
 Gardens, to Ronald Malcomson, Esq., Elm Court, 
 Temple. 
 
 [A TELEGRAM.] 
 
 Feb. 1 4th, 1897. 
 
 Have sent you no message. Have no idea what you 
 mean. Shall be out this afternoon. 
 
 MILDRED VANNECK.
 
 The Value of the Postscript 139 
 
 (13.) From Ronald Malcomson, Esq., Elm Court, Temple, to 
 Oliver Le Mesurier, Esq., The S Club, Piccadilly. 
 
 Feb. 1 6th, 1897. 
 
 MY DEAR OLIVER, Don't be a fool about my magnifi- 
 cences. I will do your little commission with pleasure. 
 Did I say that I was going to turn up small jobs and 
 go straight for immortality? Perhaps. I was in a state 
 of exaltation when I wrote. I was undecided whether 
 I should move a wondering world to laughter or to 
 tears; whether I should hold it breathless, horripilant, 
 and fevered on the brink of some hideous discovery, or 
 tickle its intimate sensorium with wire-drawn reasonings, 
 with sophistry, and with morbid motive. I had my plan 
 in each direction. A vision came over me of the resig- 
 nation of clubs, of the renunciation of flippant friends, 
 and of a life's devotion to the task of a lifetime. Nothing 
 should be so lustrous that my pen would not gild the 
 gold ; nothing should be so sordid that I would not dare 
 to place it before my shrinking readers in all the pictur- 
 esqueness of its naked truth. And so on, my dear fellow, 
 and so on. You will wonder what this screed is aiming 
 at. It 's a confession. Oh, I have been such an ass ! 
 
 Do you remember my telling you that a Miss Vanneck 
 was stopping at Watson's when I was there ? I admired 
 her a good deal, and somehow while I was with her and 
 admiring her I got into a gorgeous mood; I doubt if 
 I have ever been happier. Don't misunderstand me. 
 I wasn't in love with the girl. I never thought very 
 much about her. But her society made me feel splendid. 
 It made me realise what a genius I must be. Then I 
 heard that she loved me. This seemed so sweetly reason- 
 able of her that I wrote to her, and named an early hour
 
 140 Odd Issues 
 
 when I would come round to her house and requite her. 
 I actually sent the letter. I '11 swear I thought it was my 
 only honourable course. I had said something in a scrawl 
 to Watson about my admiration of Miss Vanneck. It 
 was said in joke, and I don't even remember the words 
 I used. Watson's wife, who is an idiot of a very aggra- 
 vated sort, wrote off to Miss Vanneck that I adored her. 
 Miss Vanneck wrote back to Mrs Watson, and said she 
 was the same way, or something to that effect, and that 
 if I got a message I was to act on it. Well, I got the 
 message; I believed it; and I acted upon it. You can 
 guess what is coming. It was a hoax ! There 's the 
 brief story. If you tell it at the club, tell it of some 
 other fellow. 
 
 Of course, I am going to get even with her. It may 
 be a low, savage resolve, but it 's mine. And I shall 
 start on the business at the first opportunity that offers 
 itself. Ever yours, RONALD MALCOMSON. 
 
 (14.) From Miss Mildred Trefusis Vanneck, Queen's Gate 
 Gardens, to The Honourable Ethel Pendre-Mold, 
 Eaton Square. 
 
 Feb. 1 7th, 1897. 
 
 DEAREST LITTLE ETHELINDA, I Ve been a beast since 
 I saw you last. You remember that silly valentine I 
 bought when I was with you ? I wouldn't say who it 
 was for. The one Mills snorted at the idea of. I sent 
 it to Mr Malcomson, the novelist. I told you I thought 
 him rather nice, though very disagreeable. Well, I got 
 to know that he was really thinking about me just in 
 the way that I said he wasn't. You remember the sort 
 of girl Lucy Watson always was, and she 's just the same. 
 Whatever you tell her that she oughtn't to repeat, she
 
 The Value of the Postscript 141 
 
 blabs at once. She told me what he had said of me. 
 And perhaps he didn't really say it all. Then I told 
 her that such admirable sentiments on the man's part 
 ought not to go unrecognised, and that I should send 
 him a valentine. I don't know what she made out of 
 that, but I am sure that she repeated it to him in some 
 shape or other. My dear, I only just stopped him by 
 telegram from coming straight down here to fall into my 
 arms. I have never tried to write and explain. Besides, 
 I couldn't explain if I tried because I haven't anything 
 to say, except that I didn't send the valentine. And he 
 did annoy me by being so superior, and by thinking that 
 he could walk round me all day, like Captain Foster does 
 round a horse, with a straw in his mouth Captain 
 Foster's mouth, of course and keep on reckoning me 
 up in his mind, that I couldn't resist. And I couldn't 
 guess Lucy would be so low, could I? I have written 
 and told her what I think about it, and also that I didn't 
 send the valentine. I shall always deny that, even on 
 my death-bed. Yours, MILLIE. 
 
 (15.) From Ronald Malcomson, Esq., Elm Court, Temple, 
 to Miss Mildred Trefusis Vanneck, Queen's Gate Gardens. 
 
 May 2oth, 1897. 
 
 DEAR Miss VANNECK, Please do not throw this letter 
 aside without reading it. I freely own that my imper- 
 tinence has rendered such conduct quite justifiable, 
 but I ask your clemency. I saw you last night at the 
 Leycesters, and I know Mrs Leycester asked you if she 
 might introduce me. The position is bound to occur 
 again, and it will probably happen at the Molds to-morrow.
 
 142 Odd Issues 
 
 May I not be pardoned? Can we not be good friends? 
 Will you not let me try and make atonement ? Yours 
 sincerely, RONALD MALCOMSON. 
 
 (16.) From the same to the same. 
 
 June 26th, 1897. 
 
 DEAR Miss VANNECK, I shall be very glad to come 
 to luncheon next Sunday, and hope I may be fortunate 
 enough to see you at church parade, if you go. It is 
 still quite full though people go away earlier every year. 
 I hear the Molds have gone. Yours sincerely, 
 
 RONALD MALCOMSON. 
 
 (17.) From the same to the same. 
 
 July 1 5th, 1897. 
 
 DEAR Miss VANNECK, I am glad you liked the books. 
 It 's not every girl who would appreciate " Lord Horton's 
 Dilemma." Much of the writing is so very difficult. In 
 fact, some of those long rhapsodical passages could only 
 in the ordinary way be understood by a woman. Man 
 is not alert enough mentally to be able to leap with the 
 author from point to point, just balancing on it and 
 leaving it at once to spring higher, until the summit 
 of some brilliant piece of imagery is reached. We can 
 only wonder how on earth he got there. A subtle, broad- 
 minded, sympathetic woman alone would be "spry" enough 
 to see how it was done. Excuse the Americanism. 
 
 I suppose you will be off soon. I am tied here I 
 expect. Yours very sincerely, 
 
 RONALD MALCOMSON.
 
 The Value of the Postscript 143 
 
 (18.) From the same to the same. 
 
 July 25th, 1897. 
 
 DEAR Miss VANNECK, Thank you very much for your 
 letter. Of course I shall call before you go away, and 
 say good-bye, but I shall see you again quite shortly. It 
 is queer that you should have pitched on Clovelly for the 
 summer holidays, but I am immensely glad to hear it. 
 A great friend of mine has taken a cottage quite near there, 
 and has asked me to come and fish, so I shall see you 
 there. I find I can get away. Yours very sincerely, 
 
 RONALD MALCOMSON. 
 
 (19.) From The Honourable Ethel Pendre-Mold, Weggis, 
 Lucerne, to Miss Mildred Trefusis Vanneck, Clovelly, 
 Devon. 
 
 Aug. 28th, 1897. 
 
 MY DEAREST MILLIE, So poor Captain Foster's years 
 of devotion go unrequited. He came up into the drawing- 
 room it was just before we left town looking desperately 
 business-like. There were several people there. He 
 shook hands with two he didn't know, bowed distantly 
 to mother who has had the slapping of him ever since 
 he was born, and plunged at me. I cannot remember 
 if he took me by the wrist, but it is my impression that 
 he did. He led me into the little window at the end 
 you know, the one that looks out over the mews and 
 then he said, "That girl has chucked me." Then he 
 knocked over a flower-stand, and rushed away without 
 saying good-bye. Bob met him in the passage, and tried 
 to trip him up. You know how good he is to Bob? 
 Well, he wasn't good this time. We could hear in the 
 drawing-room what he said, and mother's face was a sight.
 
 144 Odd Issues 
 
 One side of it pretended not to have heard, and the other 
 side was full of outraged dignity. I laughed, and Bee 
 Ossulstone winked at me, and mother saw her, and after 
 she was gone said she wouldn't have a girl like that in 
 her house again. And, my dear, this is hardly exaggerated. 
 Mills will tell you that the flower-stand is a true bill, for 
 it 's one that she made herself out of an old packing-case 
 some drawing-pins and a pot of enamel; but such is the 
 pride of authorship that Mills said she 'd rather it had 
 been one of "them vulgar polished cupboards of her 
 ladyship's ! " Poor mother's Sheratons ! 
 
 And talking of authors reminds me of Mr Ronald 
 Malcomson. And he has behaved very nicely, and taken 
 all the blame of that unfortunate business on himself? 
 And your mother likes him so much ? And he happens 
 to be in Devon, does he, dear ? Well, well ! 
 
 This is a nice enough place, and the food 's very good, 
 and you know we don't have much comfort with dad 
 unless it is, so that's a consideration. Mills isn't happy. 
 She's been to Switzerland before; but it's not satiety 
 that 's the matter with Mills it 's exclusiveness. It 's the 
 tourists. She can't bear tourists. Ever yours, 
 
 ETHELINDA. 
 
 (20.) From Ronald Malcomson, Esq., Elm Court, Temple, 
 to Miss Mildred Trefusis Vanneck, Queen's Gate 
 Gardens. 
 
 Feb. 1 3th, 1898. 
 A valentine, bearing the legend: 
 
 " Fair lady, let me be thy knight : 
 Say, have I read thy heart aright?"
 
 The Value of the Postscript 145 
 
 (21.) From Ronald Malcomson, Esq., Elm Court, Temple, 
 to Oliver Le Mesurier, Esq., The S Club. 
 
 Feb. 1 3th, 1898. 
 
 MY DEAR OLIVER, I wrote to you just about a year 
 ago to say that I was going to get even. I have just sent 
 that young woman a valentine and I had the greatest 
 difficulty in purchasing one inviting her, in much the same 
 words that she herself had used previously, to come and be 
 made a fool of. I believe she '11 walk into the trap. What 
 seriously annoys me is that I shall hate having to spring 
 the teeth on her if she does. I am not turning soft 
 because it 's a woman what she did to me deserves 
 punishment but because it is this particular woman and 
 I find now that I am awfully fond of her. If she had 
 confessed it would be different. Then well, then any- 
 thing might happen; but she sticks out that she never 
 sent me any valentine. If she accepts me, as I believe 
 she will, I shall write by return of post and tell her that 
 I have made a mistake. Then, having ruined my life, 
 I shall go to Klondyke. Ever yours, 
 
 RONALD MALCOMSON. 
 
 (22.) From Miss Mildred Trefusis Vanneck, Queen's Gate 
 Gardens, to The Honourable Ethel Pendre-Mold, 
 Mold Towers, Flintshire. 
 
 Feb. 1 4th, 1898. 
 
 DEAREST ETHELINDA, I have been asked, and I am 
 going to say yes. He sent me a valentine. I wish he 
 had chosen any other way, as I didn't want to be reminded 
 of that other hateful business. He must never know I 
 sent that. Remember that you are never to let it slip out. 
 K
 
 146 Odd Issues 
 
 Lucy has promised faithfully. I have denied it now so 
 deliberately to him that he must never know. Never. 
 Ever yours affectionately, MILLIE. 
 
 (23.) From Miss Mildred Trefusis Vanneck, Queeris Gate 
 Gardens, to Ronald Malcomson, Esq., Elm Court, 
 Temple. 
 
 Feb. 1 4th, 1898. 
 
 MY DEAR RONALD, My answer is, Yes. I suppose you 
 were sure when you asked me that I should say Yes, and 
 I don't know that I am ashamed of that. 
 I am, yours exactly as you would have me, 
 
 MILDRED T. VANNECK. 
 
 P.S. I did send that other valentine. I can't tell you 
 all I feel about it, and I am not going to explain or 
 apologise, but I must tell you that I sent it. 
 
 M. T. V. 
 
 (24.) From the Morning Post of Friday, April 
 1898. 
 
 MALCOMSON VANNECK. On the 27th inst., at the 
 parish church of Threxton, Yorkshire, by the 
 Venerable Archdeacon Johnson, assisted by the Rev. 
 James Vanneck, cousin of the bride, RONALD MAL- 
 COMSON, only son of the late Dr Ronald Malcomson, 
 F.R.S., of Edinburgh, to MILDRED TREFUSIS, 
 daughter of William Trefusis Vanneck, Esq., J.P., 
 D.L., of Threxton Hall and Queen's Gate Gardens, 
 S.W.
 
 BAB'S MINISTRATION 
 
 THE ward was crowded. It was a tiny room, devised 
 only to hold cases that called for isolation, and the lady- 
 superintendent, who occupied the centre of it, was flam- 
 boyant in clothes and manner, and of her lone efforts 
 would have somewhat over-furnished a larger space. And 
 she was only one of seven souls therein. For on either 
 side of her gorgeous presence gorgeous in her full 
 panoply as the head of a great nursing staff stood, as 
 was befitting, her satellites, younger and less prominent 
 of bust than herself, modester in their linen and more 
 restrained in the matter of chatelaine, but reproducing 
 her air of mingled wisdom and prudishness, having the 
 same unastonished demeanour, and the same tightly shut 
 lips. All, that is, save one. 
 
 This group of good women served to throw completely 
 into the background a narrow bed whereon lay a motion- 
 less man ; yet his part in the little drama was a prominent 
 one, for he was the patient and it was consideration for 
 his serious plight that had thus filled the ward with 
 curious bystanders. 
 
 He was still young, perhaps but thirty-five, although 
 his wrinkled face bore the stamp of age. His unkempt 
 and dark hair was scanty, and the straggling moustachios 
 falling into the corners of his full flexible mouth were 
 flecked with white. He lay uncovered save for a ragged 
 shirt, and his shrunken frame bore out the tale of his 
 senescent face. The shirt, however, was fine and fairly
 
 148 Odd Issues 
 
 clean ; and on the middle finger of the lean and shapely 
 hand was a cameo ring that betrayed him for a person 
 of artistic sympathies. Motionless he lay, save for the 
 rise and fall of the ribs in his stertorous breathing, and 
 in the eyes of the watchers of all, that is, save one he 
 was noteworthy as a case of opium poisoning; and with 
 that their interest ceased. That his aspect proclaimed 
 much of a sad career escaped the attention of minds 
 upon pathological phenomena intent. Young yet old, 
 gentleman yet vagabond, drugged and degraded yet 
 possessed of some indefinable air of fastidiousness, all 
 about him told of a steep downfall ; but these indications 
 of a life gone awry were presented to careless eyes. His 
 symptoms and his treatment what was the matter and 
 what the remedy engaged the undivided attention of 
 all of all, that is, save one, a white-faced girl, in whose 
 glance more human pity could be detected. 
 
 Over him there hovered with business - like and 
 responsible solicitude a young doctor, now feeling the 
 various pulses, now auscultating the wasted chest and 
 dropped shoulders, now peering into the sightless eyes, 
 and always breaking off in futile irritation at the terrible 
 stupor. The air of responsibility due to his official 
 position as house-physician was increased by the quality 
 of the patient, who remained aloof from the contest, 
 entirely unconcerned at its issue, leaving the battle with 
 death to be fought for him. 
 
 "That's the worst of these suicides," said the doctor 
 at last, reaching for the battery; "they don't want to 
 get better. If he tried a bit, I believe he would come 
 out of this. As it is, he leaves us to fight it out if we 
 care to. Turn it on," he added to the nurse in charge 
 of the battery, and applied the electrodes angrily.
 
 Bab's Ministration 149 
 
 For a time no voluntary movement followed upon their 
 application. The man's writhing limbs became quiet and 
 the tortured features grew calm as the electrodes passed 
 from their surface. At length he opened his eyes and 
 moved slightly. But his interest in his surroundings 
 was momentary, and after a few purposeless gestures he 
 composed himself to sleep again, muttering. His 
 tormentor dropped the handles, and taking him by the 
 shoulders, shook him, bawling " Hi ! " in his ear. The 
 half-conscious man heard, and opened his eyes slowly, 
 but shut them again, refusing to return to life at the 
 call. 
 
 " If we knew his name ! " said the doctor. 
 
 One of the nurses, the white-faced girl who had never 
 taken her pitying glance from the sick man's face, stepped 
 forth a little. The doctor looked up at her, and said 
 " Well ? " but she shrank back immediately into line. 
 
 So he returned to his bawling, until its uselessness forced 
 him to cease. The man's lethargy remained complete, 
 and the silence of the ward was only broken by his 
 troubled respirations and the lady-superintendent's deep 
 whispers as she interpreted to her nurses the effects 
 of opium poisoning and the efficacy of the various 
 remedies. 
 
 The doctor turned from the bed. He was a hopeful 
 and genial sort of young gentleman, and neither the ill- 
 success of his efforts nor the solemnity of the circum- 
 stances had driven the bright serenity from his face or 
 impaired the amiable alertness of his manner. "The 
 man has taken a very great deal, I fear," he said, turning 
 to the group of watchers "a very great deal, and the 
 worst of it is we don't know how much. If he is in the 
 habit of taking the stuff, he may pull through. Otherwise
 
 150 Odd Issues 
 
 it 's a poor lookout. It 's a handicap not knowing any- 
 thing about him. Even his name would be something. 
 I could keep on yelling it at him." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said the lady-superintendent, wagging 
 her appallingly elaborate head-dress. " Poor fellow ! " 
 she repeated smoothly. "Is he going to die, do you 
 think ? " Her face, as she put the question, expressed 
 the amount of emotion that would have been adequate to 
 an inquiry after the chances of his catching a train, but 
 in deference to long observance of decent custom her 
 accents were lugubrious. 
 
 "There it is," said the young doctor. "That's what's 
 so annoying ! " and he beamed to show annoyance. 
 " I don't know ; I haven't the least idea. He 's very near 
 death now," and as he spoke he lifted one of the poor, 
 flaccid legs from the bed, and loosing his hold from the 
 ankle watched the limb fall heavily back upon the sheet. 
 " As near as can be, and still alive ! And I can't rouse 
 him. And when I do I can't keep him with us. Perhaps 
 we 'd better be at him again. Which of you is going to 
 look after the battery ? " and he caught up the handles of 
 the electrodes. As he did so, something made him look 
 up and speak. 
 
 "Yes ? What is it? Do you want to know anything?" 
 he added. For one of the girls made a half-step forward, 
 and her lips moved as if she would have spoken. She 
 was the girl whose appearance of being on the verge of 
 saying something had once before attracted his attention. 
 Again she fell back into the line, and remained silent. 
 But her eyes, large, grey, and swimming, remained fixed 
 upon the doctor's face, with a look that was unmistakable 
 in its appeal.
 
 Bab's Ministration 151 
 
 "Speak up," said he, in answer to the look. "What 
 do you want to know?" 
 
 "Is he going to die?" she asked. 
 
 " Nurse Virginie ! " said the lady - superintendent in 
 indulgent remonstrance. It was a breach of etiquette for 
 a nurse to address the medical officer in her superior's 
 presence, and as such must not be suffered to go unre- 
 proved. "Nurse Virginie, if you wait you will see." 
 
 The doctor, however, recked little of etiquette, and 
 confirmed by his action the lady-superintendent's pre- 
 viously formed opinion of him namely, that he was 
 a man entirely wanting in most of the finer feelings. For 
 he answered the girl without reference to the lady-superin- 
 tendent's advice to her to patiently await developments. 
 And he vouchsafed to the steady, mournful gaze a more 
 serious response than had ensued upon the lady-superin- 
 tendent's own question. He drew down the patient's 
 eyelid and bent to look at the pupil. "Yes," he said, 
 "I think he will die." 
 
 Then the girl stepped forward. 
 
 " I think I can keep his attention fixed," she said, " if you 
 can rouse him sufficiently to make him understand me at 
 first, and " her voice faltered a moment, but then she went 
 on bravely " and recognise me. Will that be any good ? " 
 
 " What ! " said the house-physician. 
 
 " Nurse Virginie ! " said the lady-superintendent, with 
 no trace of indulgence in her voice this time. 
 
 "Well!" said the other nurses. 
 
 " Will it save his life ? " asked the girl, disregarding the 
 interjections. 
 
 " Couldn't say, I 'm sure," said the doctor. " Of course, 
 if you know him, and could make him talk, that would 
 be a great thing as it is
 
 152 Odd Issues 
 
 " Then," she said, letting her hand fall with an air of 
 unquestioned possession upon the patient's unconscious 
 brow, "then " 
 
 " All right ! " said he, dipping his electrodes into the 
 water and preparing to administer the current again, 
 " all right ! I '11 wake him, and you talk to him." 
 
 But the matter was not so easily settled. 
 
 "What does this mean, Nurse Virginie?" said the 
 lady -superintendent. 
 
 " I know him," she replied, white to the violet line of 
 her lips ; " and if he can be got to know me I can keep 
 his attention fixed." 
 
 She looked at the nurses, hesitatingly ; they did not 
 move. But the man understood. " Of course ! " he said, 
 turning sharply round. " Here, this isn't exactly an ex- 
 hibition, you know; you can't help me any more, so 
 perhaps you 'd better run back to your wards." 
 
 " I desire that my nurses shall have every opportunity 
 to learn," said the lady-superintendent. 
 
 " Then let them begin by learning to do as they are told," 
 said the doctor, holding open the door to let them pass. 
 
 When they had filed out he continued to stand with 
 his fingers drumming on the panels looking at the lady- 
 superintendent. She did not move. He lifted his eye- 
 brows in mute query, and she replied with a glance that 
 would have formed an opposite pendant to Lord Burleigh's 
 famous nod, for it implied well-bred fury at him, 
 distrust of the girl at the pillow, the virtuous resolve of 
 an officer to do her duty, and the uncontrollable curiosity 
 of a woman to know what was going to happen. 
 
 Suddenly the heavy head moved on the pillow, and 
 one wasted hand was outstretched, the pallid, dirty fingers 
 working in aimless clutches.
 
 Bab's Ministration 153 
 
 " Jack ! " said the girl. 
 
 " Eh ! " 
 
 " Jack ! Jack ! Don't you know me ? " she said. 
 
 "Yes," he replied, slowly, without opening his eyes; 
 "I know you. You let me alone. Let me alone, I say. 
 I 'm dead. Isn't that good enough for you ? I know 
 you." 
 
 Still she kept on calling him: "Jack! Jack! Jack!" 
 
 At length he gave a little impatient shake of his head, 
 as though, wearied by her importunity, he meant to make 
 some effort to clear his drug-fogged recollection. And 
 then he smiled and opened his eyes. ' ' Why, it 's Bab ! " 
 he exclaimed pleasantly, as his glance fell on her. " My 
 little Bab ! My virtuous little Bab ! And togged out 
 like a nurse ! Well, I suppose this is hell at last ! Ugh ! 
 you devil ! " he added, comprehending the lady-super- 
 intendent in a lazy stare. Then he closed his eyes again. 
 
 " You 'd be better out of the room," said the doctor 
 to that outraged female. "You see, he doesn't recognise 
 you." 
 
 "I hope I know my duty too well," said the lady- 
 superintendent. " I shall stay." 
 
 " Please go and stand by the battery," said the doctor, 
 " where he can't see you. I '11 get you to pull up the 
 regulator when I tell you." 
 
 Again the stimulus of the battery was applied to the 
 senseless form, and again the drowned intelligence swam 
 slowly to the surface. 
 
 " Jack ! " said the girl. " Jack, dear ! Oh, speak to 
 me!" 
 
 " What ? " said he at length, in slow and natural tones. 
 
 " Now ! " said the doctor, " now ! Interest him. He 's 
 got to be interested. If you know him, and know his
 
 154 Odd Issues 
 
 tastes, tell him something. Tell him something that will 
 please him or make him angry. Something that he will 
 answer. Something that he will contradict. Make him 
 swear. Make him cry. Make him think." 
 
 " Jack," said she, " Jack, I Ve come back to you." 
 
 " Well," said he, looking round, " what 's it all about ? 
 I 'm sure I don't know," and he closed his eyes again. 
 
 She drew a deep, shuddering breath, and then fell on 
 her knees by his bedside. She saw that she was not to 
 be spared. 
 
 "Jack, darling ! " she said, " my Jack, I Ve come back ! " 
 and she passed her right arm, clothed in a spot-print 
 and rigidly cuffed, beneath his pillow, and raised his 
 haggard face to hers until their eyes met, and almost 
 their mouths. 
 
 " I thought it was you," he said, without surprise ; 
 "but it's too late, Bab. You slipped me on the best 
 of principles I 've no doubt, dear ; but you 've done it 
 and since then I've done for myself." 
 
 She withdrew her arm from beneath the pillow, and 
 passed it in its notable decency under the matted curls 
 and round the lean neck. " O Jack ! I have found 
 out that you are all in all to me," she said. "Stay 
 with me, dearest, and I will stay with you. For ever, 
 Jack, and ever." 
 
 "Yes?" said he, indifferently. "Stay with you? As 
 long as you 're sorry for me, I suppose. But you will 
 leave me as you did before." 
 
 " O my Jack ! " she answered, putting her other 
 hand upon his cheek. 
 
 " My wicked little Bab ! My virtuous little Bab ! Do 
 you remember everything, dearest? How should you
 
 Bab's Ministration 155 
 
 not? For if you were everything to me, I was some- 
 thing to you. Save when those tags of home-teaching, 
 masquerading as virtue, came between us. Why, Bab, 
 it's years since the silly little name has passed my lips, 
 and yet I feel as if it were but yesterday ; which isn't 
 a very original remark, dear, is it ? But I 'm not as 
 funny as I was, you know. Do you remember the 
 night when you found that you must leave me? Do 
 you? Do you remember how wet it was? And when 
 you opened the door, the wind blew the rain all over 
 us. And I said I wouldn't turn a dog out such a night. 
 
 And you said Well, never mind what you said." 
 
 He stopped, and sleepily nestled down on to her 
 spotless apron. 
 
 "Nurse Virginie," said the lady-superintendent, emerg- 
 ing from a stupor of horror, " you will now leave 
 
 " Go on ! " said the house-physician. " Go on ! You 
 keep his soul with us, and he '11 do yet." This therapeutist 
 was truly oblivious of the sense of the girl's words, of 
 the importance of her revelations, and of the demand 
 that was being made upon her to force these confessions 
 from her. All he saw was that she was interesting the 
 patient, whose indifference to life was the chief obstacle 
 to his living. 
 
 "Yes, dearest," said the girl; "I remember it all. 
 And the little house at Moulsey our little house, where 
 I taught you to make an omelette, and you taught me 
 to scull." 
 
 " Yes," he answered ; " our little house at Moulsey ! 
 We were happy together until the day that you got a 
 virtuous maggot into your head, that you must leave 
 me because of that woman 
 
 " Your wife ! "
 
 156 Odd Issues 
 
 "Well, because of my wife, if you like. What good 
 could it do her that you should leave me? Was I likely 
 to go back to her? You know what she was; and she 
 knew what we were. Was it likely she would wish me 
 to go back ? It was impossible that she and I could 
 ever be anything to each other again. And yet you 
 left me at her request. Who gained? You lost your 
 lover, though perhaps you got peace of mind or some- 
 thing; and me, well I have qualified for hell." 
 
 "Is she alive ? " said the nurse. 
 
 "I don't know. I hope not. No, I don't. I don't 
 care in the least what has become of her. Don't let 
 us waste time thinking of her. Let's talk of us. Do 
 you remember the mountains and our quarrels over the 
 paths, and the fruitless fishing exped . . . and the un- 
 couth . . . and . . . and . . . Bab, don't leave me 
 again." And his voice sank to a whisper. 
 
 " No," she replied. 
 
 " Never ! Never ! " he said smiling, but the words 
 were hardly distinguishable. Then he shut his eyes. 
 
 " Oh, save him ! " she cried, looking wildly up from 
 the dying man. 
 
 "It's no good," said the doctor, after a moment. 
 "He's dead." 
 
 " Nurse Virginie ! " said the lady-superintendent, " you 
 will leave the hospital to-day."
 
 A SCREEN SCENE 
 
 Scene : A Drawing-room, with a high folding screen just 
 within the door. The door is ajar. 
 
 COLONEL SAVILE. Handsome, upright, well-preserved, 55. 
 MRS VANSITTART. Handsome, upright, well-preserved, 42. 
 
 COL. SAVILE: My dear Mrs Vansittart, have I your 
 permission to ask her? 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : I think we had better say no more 
 about it. Lottie is too young far too young. 
 
 (Charlotte Vansittart, pretty, demure-looking, 18, appears 
 at the door, and, hearing her own name, enters softly and 
 stands behind the screen with a book in her hand.) 
 
 COL. SAVILE: When you say that Lottie is too young, 
 I suppose you mean that I am too old. My grandmother 
 married at Lottie's age. 
 
 CHARLOTTE (to herself) : What does he mean ? What 
 does it matter to me how old he is, or to him how old 
 I am? 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : Our grandmothers ! They did all 
 sorts of things. One of mine kissed all her husband's 
 electors. I do not consider you too old for love only 
 too old for Lottie. Lottie is much younger than her 
 age. She has never thought about such things. You 
 will only frighten her. 
 
 COL. SAVILE (with some warmth) : Am I so very grim 
 or terrible?
 
 158 Odd Issues 
 
 CHARLOTTE (to herself) : Why, he 's speaking for him- 
 self! 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : No ; not terrible or grim, but 
 
 COL. SAVILE: But? 
 
 MRS VANSITTART: But you must not expect her to 
 jump into your arms. 
 
 COL. SAVILE : Good heavens ! I don't. I am not 
 decrepit, but I am far too old for romping. May I 
 speak to her? 
 
 MRS VANSITTART ! Yes ; certainly. You are warned, 
 however. Do not expect too much. 
 
 COL. SAVILE : And I have your good wishes ? You 
 have no objection to me personally, er or to my family 
 (drawing himself up). 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : My dear Colonel, none whatever. 
 None, of course. You are an unexceptionable parti. I 
 like your name, and I like your family. It would be 
 foolish to deny that I am glad that my daughter's suitor 
 is rich. But I want to warn you. Lottie is very young. 
 She may make light of these things. 
 
 CHARLOTTE (to herself) : I am glad Jack's father is 
 rich. 
 
 COL. SAVILE (moodily) : Well, you 're not highly en- 
 couraging. What will she say? 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : She will say that she must speak 
 to me. 
 
 COL. SAVILE : I think she is quite old enough to 
 have an opinion of her own. And you ? What will you 
 say? 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : Oh, I am very sympathetic if I am 
 not very encouraging. I shall tell her that you are a 
 thoroughly honourable gentleman whom we have known 
 for over twenty years
 
 A Screen Scene 159 
 
 COL. SAVILE: I don't know that the length of time 
 matters. 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : And that you have an undoubted 
 position, and a well-merited reputation. 
 
 COL. SAVILE (bowing) : And then ? 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : And then ? But in the name of 
 modesty, what more do you want me to say? 
 
 COL. SAVILE : You misunderstand me wilfully. What 
 will she say Lottie? 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : You wish me to prophesy ? I will. 
 I believe I know my girl. She will say that she does 
 not know anything about such things ; that she will marry 
 you if it is my wish, and at once, if I wish ; that she is 
 very glad to know that I like you ; and that she believes 
 that she rather likes you herself. Now, my dear old 
 friend, friend of twenty years' standing 
 
 COL. SAVILE (impatiently) : Yes ; never mind dates. 
 
 MRS VANSITTART (repeating her words slowly) : Of 
 twenty years' standing is that answer the kind of thing 
 you want? 
 
 COL. SAVILE (after a few moments' pause) \ Yes; I want 
 Lottie. The rest will follow. I will ask her to-day. 
 Will you send for her now? 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : Um ! And Ida ? What will Ida 
 say ? She is older than my girl, and will not relish giving 
 up the keys to Lottie who will certainly lose them at 
 once. And Jack? 
 
 CHARLOTTE (to herself) : Now for Jack ! 
 
 COL. SAVILE : Ida is a dutiful girl to her father, and 
 will welcome Lottie as a companion. Lottie will not see 
 much of Jack. I am sending him abroad. 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : Oh, poor Jack ! What has he done ? 
 Really, boys are too troublesome nowadays. I suppose
 
 160 Odd Issues 
 
 it's one of us? (Colonel Savile nods.} Is she on the 
 stage ? I am - so sorry ; I am so fond of Jack. He 's 
 such a nice boy, and always full of news; and he has 
 been so nice to me lately. 
 
 COL. SAVILE : It 's not as bad as all that. But I 'm 
 not going to have it. He came swaggering into my 
 room this morning and said he was engaged. 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : What ? Jack ? Really ! How nice ! 
 Who to? 
 
 COL. SAVILE : Er I don't know ; I didn't ask. I was 
 very much annoyed with him. At his age ! And he 
 can't support a wife. I told him it was a piece of absurd 
 impertinence to get engaged without asking me. 
 
 MRS VANSITTART (doubtfully} \ What did he say to 
 that? 
 
 COL. SAVILE: He laughed, and said I wasn't up to 
 date. Up to date 1 He goes abroad. Engaged ! At his 
 age! 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : Twenty-four. 
 
 COL. SAVILE: Yes; twenty-four. 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : One year older than my husband 
 when he married me. I must say I am rather on Jack's 
 side. I think he's old enough to choose for himself. 
 And do you mean to say that you have not even asked 
 your son the name of the girl he is going to marry ? 
 
 COL. SAVILE: He's not going to marry. He hasn't 
 asked me about it. 
 
 CHARLOTTE (to herself) : He ought to be here now to 
 ask mother about it. I think I had better get out before 
 I 'm caught. (She puts her book on the floor, retreats softly 
 to the door, rattles the handle, shuts the door with a clap, and 
 advances into the room from behind the screen?) 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : Here is Lottie !
 
 A Screen Scene 161 
 
 CHARLOTTE : Yes. Here is Lottie ! How do you do, 
 Colonel Savile? I am so glad to see you this afternoon. 
 
 COL. SAVILE : It 's very kind of you to say so. I 'm 
 sure, Lottie ahem that is, Miss Vansittart 
 
 CHARLOTTE : Oh ! please call me Lottie. I like it. 
 It sounds so nice and natural. And I 'm sure it must 
 be right, as you 've known us so long. How many years 
 have you known Colonel Savile, mother? 
 
 COL. SAVILE (hastily) : Don't mention them. Have 
 you any particular reason for being glad to see me 
 this afternoon, Lottie? If so, it is quite a coinci- 
 dence, for I have something particular to say to you 
 this afternoon. 
 
 CHARLOTTE : Really ! 
 
 (Servant announces Mr John Savile. Upright, smil- 
 ing, 24. He shakes hands with Mrs Vansittart and her 
 daughter, and nods to his father?) 
 
 MRS VANSITTART (aside) : Good gracious ! I hope 
 they won't quarrel here. (To Jack?) I'm very glad to 
 see you, Jack. You 're becoming my most punctual 
 visitor. Is there any news ? You 've always heard 
 everything. 
 
 JACK (looking at Charlotte) : Yes ; I 've some news 
 for you, Mrs Vansittart. 
 
 COL. SAVILE (aside to Charlotte) : And you have some- 
 thing particular to say to me, Lottie? 
 
 CHARLOTTE : Yes. It 's the same thing as Jack wants 
 to say to mother, so I'll say it for both of us. We are 
 engaged. 
 
 MRS VANSITTART: Engaged! 
 
 COL. SAVILE: Who? Jack and you? 
 
 JACK : Yes. Lottie and me. 
 L
 
 1 62 Odd Issues 
 
 (All four stand in silence, looking from one to the 
 other.} 
 
 CHARLOTTE : And Jack has come to tell you about it, 
 mother. 
 
 MRS VANSITTART : Engaged ! Nonsense ! You 're far 
 too young. Jack has come to tell me, indeed ! Come 
 to ask me, you mean. But it's nonsense. 
 
 COL. SAVILE (aside, to Mrs Vansittart^ : Lottie is too 
 young; she is younger than her years. She doesn't 
 know anything about such things. She will speak to her 
 mother first. She will marry if it is her mother's wish. 
 
 CHARLOTTE : You see, we knew it would be all right. 
 As for being too young, Jack is as old as father was when 
 he married, so he must be old enough to choose for 
 himself. Don't you think so, mother? And I'm as old 
 as Jack's great-grandmother was when she married and 
 I'm sure that sounds awfully old. Quite old enough, 
 at any rate, to have an opinion of my own. Don't you 
 think so, Colonel Savile? (Hastily] Jack told me about 
 his great-grandmother. (At which Jack looks mystified ; 
 and Mrs Vansittart walks carelessly across the room to a 
 point where she can see behind the screen?) And we knew 
 Colonel Savile did not object to me, because he told me 
 a few days ago that I should make such a nice com- 
 panion for Ida. And you said yesterday that you were 
 getting quite fond of Jack. (Breathlessly) So we knew 
 it would be all right. 
 
 COL. SAVILE (to himself) : She doesn't know anything 
 about such things. She will speak to her mother first. 
 She must not be frightened. O Lord ! 
 
 MRS VANSITTART (aside, to Lottie] : You 've left your 
 book on the floor. If you tell Jack what you heard, you 
 disgraceful little girl, I will never forgive you.
 
 A Screen Scene 163 
 
 JACK (repeating Charlotte's words) : So we knew it would 
 be all right. 
 
 MRS VANSITTART (smiling) : I suppose it is all right, 
 Colonel Savile? 
 
 COL. SAVILE : I suppose so that is, of course.
 
 THE HELPLESSNESS OF 
 MISS PICK* 
 
 IT was on a lovely June evening that I met Miss Mary 
 Pick one of those dark, balmy, breezy evenings which 
 incite the spirit of a man to wild things, holding out to 
 him the promise of adequate return for any display of 
 the adventurous temperament. Now, I was at this time 
 a persistent seeker after adventure. My imagination told 
 me that in mighty London dramas sinister, stupendous, 
 tender, droll, or with any qualification you will were 
 being played hourly around me, and the knowledge put 
 me out of conceit with my prosaic life, leading me to 
 scan the agony columns of the journals, to read the 
 partially filled forms which Utter the counters of the 
 telegraph offices, and to beat the street in an aimless 
 hunt for the unexpected. It even impelled me to follow 
 persons of pronounced rectitude to their blameless homes 
 in Hampstead, something in their demeanour having 
 savoured to my longing taste of criminal courses. But, 
 alas ! through years of patient waiting, and no less patient 
 endeavour, the promises which I felt certain were being 
 
 * It is several years now since the events occurred which I have set 
 down here, but they are grafted on my memory so securely that I have 
 been able not only to tell what happened, but also to reproduce in 
 great measure the words which passed between the actors. J. A. 
 
 164
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 165 
 
 made to me at every street corner remained unfulfilled. 
 Not an episode whose quality could be magnified by the 
 most exuberant fancy into oddity ever offered itself for 
 my participation. My days remained hopelessly blank 
 of unusual events, and this was the more irritating to me 
 because of my belief that could I come into contact 
 with sensational circumstances, I should be able to act, 
 thanks to my long consideration of all possible situations, 
 with promptitude, self-possession, and effect. I began to 
 despair. To those few who knew my hopes and my 
 failure to realise them I confided my belief, entailed 
 upon me by my negative experiences, that an adventure 
 is a thing which cannot be deliberately entered upon, 
 eluding the anxious searcher to fall to the lot of the 
 blunderer, who neither deserves to meet with it, nor 
 is able to cope with it, nor is grateful to his stars 
 for being allowed to make the attempt. My repinings, 
 as will be seen, were premature. 
 
 It was nine o'clock. The street in which I was 
 teemed with saunterers to and fro in the pleasant air 
 and fading light. The place was a favourite resort with 
 me, for it was one of those great veins of street circulation, 
 into whose absorbing current all that was abnormal in the 
 lesser streams must eventually fall. Adventure might lead 
 me to a quiet spot, but the chances of meeting with adven- 
 ture were immeasurably greater in a crowded thoroughfare. 
 
 As I strolled on, observant of the multitude around me, 
 the influence of the atmosphere or some premonition less 
 obvious of comprehension warned me that on this evening 
 there would be events. The feeling was strong on me, 
 I remember, as my eyes fell upon a tall, slender girl 
 moving some dozen paces ahead of me. I was attracted 
 immediately by her air of inquiry. To me, whose evening
 
 1 66 Odd Issues 
 
 walks were always tours of discovery although I had 
 never discovered anything- this air was unmistakable. 
 The girl was doing what I was doing myself. The 
 swaying movement in her elegant figure was due to 
 frequent little half-turns made with the intention of scan- 
 ning more closely those whom she encountered. 
 
 As I was watching her a creature in raffish clothes, 
 with his hat over his ears, and his cigar drooping 
 from the extreme corner of his mouth, stepped rapidly 
 from the wall, and, adapting his stride to hers, began to 
 talk to her. What she said to him I could not hear, 
 but there was no time wasted or lucidity spared in the 
 saying of it, for the fellow slunk off at once crestfallen 
 and silent The girl walked a few yards farther, stopped, 
 looked round, turned abruptly, and, still with the same 
 deliberate air, honoured me with a frank stare as she met 
 and passed me. I turned and followed her. A few minutes 
 later the little episode which has been described already 
 repeated itself. This time the intruder upon the lady was 
 a portly young man, who ranged himself by her side with 
 the confidential air and assured manner that should only 
 have followed upon provocation. He began to talk to 
 her immediately, and his repulse was not so speedy as 
 that of his patently dissolute predecessor had been. The 
 lady slackened her speed as though to observe him 
 narrowly, and drawing nearer, I caught a fatuous phrase 
 or two. He was still emptying his stock of compliments 
 upon her, when she said abruptly : " Will you have the 
 kindness to walk on ? " and again turned sharply to resume 
 her original direction. 
 
 This brought her for the second time face to face 
 with me. As before, she looked steadily into my eyes, 
 and this time I thought that there was a hesitation in
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 167 
 
 her manner, as though she were inclined to speak to 
 me. It was no desire for vulgar intrigue that animated 
 me ; this, I hope, I have made sufficiently clear. I hunted 
 adventure with avidity, and would have welcomed the 
 opportunity of succouring a woman because the position 
 of the friend to distressed feminity was a familiar part 
 in my imaginings most stories of adventure had such 
 a situation for the jeune premier to fill ; but I hoped for 
 no ulterior reward from the heroine. This lady wanted 
 to speak to me. Was she seeking merely a companion 
 in an idle hour? In that case, I should disappoint her. 
 Or did she lack a man's brain in a time of need ? Hoping 
 that it might be so, I determined to pursue her. 
 
 The girl walked steadily on through streets, squares, and 
 crescents, till the great thoroughfare was left far behind, 
 and the turmoil of central London began to die away in 
 the shabby, desolate little roads. Now and again, while 
 rounding a corner, she would shoot a swift glance down 
 the street along which she had just passed, and in so 
 doing she could have seen me treading steadily in her 
 wake, but she made no sign of being aware of my proximity. 
 Suddenly, conversation began, for, on wheeling sharply into 
 a dingy, ill-lit square, I found her waiting for me. 
 
 "I beg that you will not track me farther," she said. 
 
 " I ought to apologise for following you so far," I 
 responded, "but I thought you were in need of me. Is 
 that so? Can I help you? Will you give me a trial?" 
 
 She moved a step nearer to me, and scrutinised me 
 closely. 
 
 " Are you a member of the Berkeley Club ? " she asked 
 at length. 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "Of course. But are you, in truth and reality?"
 
 1 68 Odd Issues 
 
 For answer I handed her one of my visiting-cards. 
 "Is the Berkeley Club a large club?" 
 "Not at all. In fact, it is a very small one." 
 "It is astonishing," said the lady. "You have, I 
 suppose, some curiosity concerning me, or you would 
 not have followed me to offer me your help. Now, 
 I do want help. I want it very badly, and I was in 
 search of it when you met me. And this is the astonish- 
 ing thing a man, to be of service to me, should be a 
 member of the Berkeley Club." 
 
 " Then," said I, " make full use of a member now 
 that you have found one." 
 
 " I may have to ask a great deal of you." 
 "A man can only do his best, but you can command 
 me to that extent." 
 
 " Come along then," said the girl, walking up to a half- 
 opened door a few paces away, and disappearing over 
 its threshold into a mean little house. 
 I followed. 
 
 II 
 
 The girl led the way up a creaking staircase to the 
 third floor, where she entered a room dimly illuminated 
 by an evil-smelling lamp. Although it was now but ten 
 o'clock in the evening, the house was wrapped in deep 
 silence, and I should have thought it uninhabited but that 
 from one of the doors which we passed on our ascent, 
 a fat white face peeped out on us, wearing an encouraging 
 smile, so expansive in its character that the dim and murky 
 atmosphere could not conceal it. 
 
 "My landlady is not a nice person," commented my 
 conductor.
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 169 
 
 The chamber in which we found ourselves was 
 apparently the girl's sitting and sleeping apartment com- 
 bined, but the unconventionality of introducing a man 
 thereto troubled her not a whit. Seating herself on the 
 foot of a small iron bedstead, she motioned with her hand 
 to me that I should take a wicker chair that stood upon 
 the scorched and ragged hearth-rug, and eyed me silently 
 while I settled myself into its frail embrace. 
 
 " Have you your cigarettes or whatever you smoke ? 
 Then start smoking," she added, when I had informed her 
 that I never stirred abroad without pipe and pouch, " and 
 I will tell you my story, and will be as brief as possible. 
 My name is Mary Pick. I am a companion (if you know 
 what that is), and my last situation was at Martenhurst 
 with Lady Marten, the great owner of racehorses, -where 
 I was very happy. She is a lady of many tastes, and has 
 an enormous number of acquaintances and friends. Her 
 correspondence requires a secretary to manage it, and I 
 managed it to her satisfaction for a considerable time. 
 But a few days ago she dismissed me without a character, 
 as the diamonds of one of her guests were missing, and 
 she thought that I had stolen them. I have nothing to 
 say against Lady Marten's treatment of me. Circumstances 
 were against me. Had not Lady Marten felt certain of 
 my guilt, she never would have sent me adrift. But she 
 was confident that I was the thief I should have been 
 the same in her place and she dismissed me promptly, 
 hoping that if I made a quick retreat I should escape 
 police interference. She told me so. Oh ! Lady Marten 
 was good to me." 
 
 She paused, as if expecting from me some acquiescence 
 in this sentiment, but I found nothing to say. 
 
 " I wish you to know everything," continued Miss Pick ;
 
 170 Odd Issues 
 
 " only understand that I don't blame Lady Marten. One 
 evening, a week ago yesterday, a Mrs Lothbury, who was 
 staying at Martenhurst, came to her bedroom about eleven 
 and exchanged her dinner-dress for a tea-gown, preparatory 
 to a visit to the smoking-room ; for Martenhurst is a very 
 free-and-easy place. She took off a diamond necklace and 
 placed it in its case, then lying on her looking-glass. She 
 distinctly remembered doing this. In the morning the 
 case was still in its place, but it was empty. The necklace 
 was gone." 
 
 " And where do you come in ? " I asked. 
 
 " You will see that I come in right here," replied Miss 
 Pick, catching at my slanginess. " I had gone to bed 
 that evening sooner than usual, for I was going to London 
 on the following morning, and expected a tiring journey. 
 I was going on Lady Marten's business, but there was 
 no necessity for me to start at the early hour that I did, 
 before anyone in the house was stirring. It chanced that 
 the morning was a lovely and bright one, and I was 
 awake, and in mind for a stroll. I thought it would be 
 pleasant to walk to the station, and I got up and did 
 so. Lady Marten's commission occupied ten minutes, but 
 knowing that I was not wanted at Martenhurst, I stayed in 
 London four hours or so. I went to the National Gallery, 
 I sat in St James's Park, I had luncheon at an aerated 
 bread shop, and caught an afternoon train home. When 
 I got back to Martenhurst everyone stared at me curiously. 
 I remember that I thought I must have an unusally large 
 smut on my face, a legacy from the railway. I went up 
 to my room, and while I was looking in the glass and 
 finding that I was passably clean, a maid came to ask 
 me to go to Lady Marten's room at once. I went to her. 
 She was much distressed at what she had to say, but
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 171 
 
 she said it all the same, for she believed me guilty. She 
 is a woman who prides herself on the vigour of her 
 opinions, and, having once made up her mind on a 
 subject, contradictions would have very little weight 
 with her. This is what Lady Marten told me. Mrs 
 Lothbury had placed her necklace in its case at eleven 
 o'clock on the previous night, and had left the case on 
 her dressing-table, where it still was when she came up to 
 bed later. At this hour that is to say, at eleven o'clock 
 all the women-servants had gone to bed, save two lady's- 
 maids, who were able to account for themselves. As I 
 have told you, I went to bed early. Now my bedroom was 
 next door to Mrs Lothbury's, so that at the time when the 
 jewels were left in this unprotected manner, I was without 
 doubt able to take possession of them. The following 
 morning they were missed. Search had been made in 
 every possible place for them, and had proved useless. 
 The boxes of the servants had been examined at their 
 owners' wish, their masters and mistresses had insisted 
 that their trunks should be treated in a similar way. 
 Nothing had been found; and the possibility that the 
 stolen goods were already removed from the house 
 had occurred to the constable. He then learned that 
 I had left the house unseen, and at an early hour in the 
 morning, having had a good opportunity to commit the 
 theft. Lady Marten told me all this, and a lot more 
 detail that I need not trouble you with and then I said 
 I would leave. She gave me ten pounds ; and I left the 
 same evening." As Miss Pick ceased she turned upwards 
 the palms of the fat, strong little hands which lay in her 
 lap with the usual gesture of one who has said all that 
 there is to say. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " I exclaimed, considerably astonished
 
 172 Odd Issues 
 
 at this sudden termination to her recital. "There wasn't 
 a scrap of evidence against you. Do you mean to say 
 that Lady Marten dismissed you because of the silly 
 remarks of a country policeman ? " 
 
 " No. She suspected me, and I left of my own accord." 
 
 " But how idiotic ! " 
 
 "It was idiotic," said the lady; "but you don't think 
 clearly when your best friend is hinting that you are a 
 thief. I declared I was innocent, and got away as quickly 
 as I could." 
 
 " But if the necklace is still missing, everyone is sure to 
 think you are guilty." 
 
 " The groom who drove me to the station told me that 
 the servants did not believe I was guilty, but that the 
 guests were unanimous in condemning me, with the single 
 exception of Sir Gilbert Burleigh." 
 
 "Who is Sir Gilbert Burleigh?" I asked. I did not 
 believe Miss Pick's story in its entirety, but the knowledge 
 that she possessed a champion, when I was thinking of 
 filling the place myself, annoyed me. 
 
 " He 's a member of your club," she replied " the 
 Berkeley." 
 
 I said I didn't know him, taking care to imply by my 
 accents that I didn't want to know him. 
 
 " Well, I hope you '11 know him soon," Miss Pick went 
 on, disregarding my brusqueness. " Sir Gilbert Burleigh is 
 a betting man, like many of Lady Marten's friends, and 
 he backed me. Everyone at the luncheon table said 
 I shouldn't come back except Sir Gilbert, and he said I 
 should. The groom told me that the other gentlemen laid 
 the odds I haven't managed Lady Marten's correspond- 
 ence without knowing what he meant and that Sir Gilbert 
 took tens to as big a figure as he could get."
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 173 
 
 I said nothing, for I was determined not to be interested 
 in Sir Gilbert Burleigh. 
 
 " It wasn't fair betting," she added, " for he knew that 
 there was nothing to keep me away. You see, Sir Gilbert 
 Burleigh is the thief." 
 
 This unexpected and bold assertion startled some words 
 of protest from me, but she went on smoothly. 
 
 " I '11 tell you why I say so. About eleven o'clock on 
 the evening of the robbery Mrs Lothbury came up to her 
 room. I was at that time sitting at my window, which was 
 open, and overlooked the garden. The five or six fiery 
 specks that I could see moving slowly backwards and for- 
 wards in the darkness below were the cigars of the guests 
 smoking on the lawn. I remember that I was idly attempting 
 to guess by the respective heights of their mouths who the 
 smokers were, when I heard and recognised Mrs Lothbury's 
 step as she passed my door. A few minutes later one of 
 the glowing points on the lawn separated itself from the 
 others and came towards the house, and Sir Gilbert 
 Burleigh, whose voice I knew, said something to the group 
 he was deserting about meeting them later in the smoking- 
 room. As he spoke, Mrs Lothbury left her room, and I 
 could hear her descending the stairs. Almost immediately 
 afterwards a man entered her room. He stayed three 
 minutes only. It was Sir Gilbert Burleigh, and he took the 
 diamonds. I am so confident that I am right, that I can 
 see him do it." 
 
 " I 'm afraid you haven't much to go on," said I. 
 
 " No ; I haven't," assented Miss Pick, " still I 'm right. 
 Sir Gilbert is no ordinary friend of Mrs Lothbury. Her 
 husband, who is thirty years her senior, trusts her, or, at 
 any rate, lets her do as she likes ; but she is a most reckless, 
 foolhardy woman, and Sir Gilbert's flirtation with her during
 
 174 Odd Issues 
 
 their stay at Martenhurst had been forced upon everyone's 
 attention. I don't think she ever did any real harm, but 
 she is silly, fast, and bad form. She told Lady Marten 
 when she went upstairs that she was going to put on a tea- 
 gown and sit in the smoking-room. When Sir Gilbert 
 came into the house, he was on his way to the smoking- 
 room in accordance with his pre-arranged plan, for he 
 kept his cigar in his mouth, and I could smell it in the 
 passage. He saw a light appear in Mrs Lothbury's windows, 
 which, like my own, faced the lawn ; and he ran up to her 
 room. No ideas of propriety would have prevented either 
 him from coming to her bedroom door to talk to her, or 
 her from listening to him there, but when he knocked there 
 was no answer. He went in, probably with the idea of 
 playing some practical joke at Martenhurst they were 
 always ' ragging ' each other, as they called it and he saw 
 the case on her dressing-table. He opened it, and the 
 sight of the diamonds was too much for him. He had 
 been losing money heavily all the week. He stole the 
 necklace, and he had it in his pocket while the police were 
 in the house." 
 
 Miss Pick stopped speaking, for at this moment a large 
 woman appeared in the doorway, carrying a little piece 
 of paper with one hand, and a guttering candle in a 
 tall candlestick with the other. 
 
 "Good evening," she said to me, as I was scrambling 
 out of my chair. "You needn't go till you want to. 
 This is Liberty Hall (pronounced Libbatyorl), and I 
 shall not intrude for more than a minute. My lodgers 
 know I never intrude." Here she pulled herself up 
 proudly, scattering grease in a circle around her. A 
 little rocking in her figure detracted from the dignity 
 of her pose, while a doubting look spread over her face,
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 175 
 
 indicating that she was becoming vague as to the object 
 of her visit 
 
 "I said she was not a nice woman," murmured Miss 
 Pick. 
 
 And now the sight of the scrap of paper in her hand 
 recalled the alcoholic landlady to a recollection of her 
 intentions. Leaning confidentially towards me, she 
 explained that having only one servant at the present 
 time she found it best to have as many commissions 
 as possible executed simultaneously, so that the girl was 
 not always running in and out of the public-house a 
 thing which would give any place, however strictly 
 conducted, a bad name. She then proceeded to entangle 
 herself in a maze of conversation, following now this 
 track and now that, arriving over and over again at the 
 same place, and retracing her steps with no sign of 
 fatigue and no consciousness of her repetitions. Her 
 moods came and went with her words, and her actions, 
 in their environment of candle-grease, stumbled after her 
 moods. At the passages of her harangue which bore 
 on her unmerited poverty, she was racked with grief; 
 bacchanalian sentiments, in exposition of the creed that 
 the short and merry life had its advantages, were accom- 
 panied by cackling laughter ; while an attitude of dignity 
 was assumed as she described her moral rectitude and 
 the delicacy of her behaviour. This last was not without 
 its dangers, for when drawing herself up to her full 
 height she would nearly fall backwards. But in all the 
 numberless vicissitudes of her words and demeanour she 
 remained resolutely civil to me, while in her occasional 
 references to Miss Pick she betrayed an unctuous 
 motherliness. 
 
 With some difficulty, I gathered from her outpourings
 
 176 Odd Issues 
 
 that her maid-of-all-work was going to the public-house, 
 whose hospitable doors would shortly be closed for the 
 night, and that she was recommending me, if Miss Pick 
 or I wanted any refreshments, to give my orders at once. 
 "You see," she went on, not unshrewdly, although so 
 unsoberly, " there 's a little matter outstanding, so that 
 you can't just give your orders and up it comes. I 
 have to pay ready money myself." Here she held out 
 the piece of paper, and I took it. It was Miss Pick's 
 bill for the past week, amounting to some three pounds. 
 
 Miss Pick smiled, the landlady smiled, and I paid. 
 
 "Come along with me, dear," said the landlady to 
 Miss Pick. "Come along, and have a bit of supper"; 
 saying which she lurched from the room, jingling the 
 coins in her hands. 
 
 " I know your name," said Miss Pick, as, to my 
 astonishment, she rose with alacrity; "for I suppose it 
 was your own card that you showed me." 
 
 " Certainly," I replied. " John Allen is my name." 
 
 " Well, Mr Allen," she said, " I am more grateful 
 than I can say, and far more grateful than I must seem. 
 I will write to you at the Berkeley Club, and, until you 
 hear from me, I hope you will suspend your judgment 
 of me. Perhaps you will follow us down, and we can 
 show you your way out?" She tripped down the stairs 
 to the undulating accompaniment of the landlady's generous 
 candle, and in the dirty little hall shook hands with me, 
 bidding me good-night with the manner of a hostess speed- 
 ing a casual guest, and showing no concern at the old 
 woman's repeated assertions that there needn't be any 
 hurry, and that she didn't want to intrude.
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 177 
 ill 
 
 I went to the Berkeley Club on the following afternoon 
 with no real expectation of finding there any communi- 
 cation from Miss Pick at least, so I told myself. The 
 shapeless doubts which had accompanied me home 
 to bed on the previous night had crystallised by the 
 morning into a certainty that I had been the victim of a 
 hoax. The house and the landlady were indubitable in 
 their character, and I saw no good reason for doubting 
 that Miss Pick was out of her proper sphere. As for 
 the rigmarole about stolen jewellery, the improbabilities 
 of the story were glaring. 
 
 If there had been such a jewel robbery, everything 
 pointed to Miss Pick's guilt; but, in all likelihood, the 
 felony had never been committed. There were things 
 I could not quite explain to myself, as, for example, why 
 the girl should have unfolded so lengthy a tale when a 
 short one would have answered her purpose just as well 
 and have been less strain on her imagination; why she 
 should have desired to wait until she reached her disre- 
 putable dwelling-place before speaking to me, when it 
 would have been as simple to have begged in the 
 streets; and how she managed to maintain her air of 
 modesty and good-breeding, and yet be a lodger in that 
 hideous house. These things were not clear ; they did not 
 fit in with a theory of vulgar extortion : but, despite them, 
 there could be only one reading of last night's occurrences 
 only one and deep in my breast I strove to bury 
 any idea that I had encountered at last the long-sought 
 adventure. As I entered the Berkeley I was careful to 
 refrain from inquiring if there was a letter for me; yet I 
 do not know why I stayed at the club until dinner-time, 
 
 M
 
 178 Odd Issues 
 
 unless it was that I expected the promised communi- 
 cation from her ; or why, finally, I sat down to my 
 evening meal in a vile temper, if it was not because I 
 was disappointed. But with the soup the waiter brought 
 me a letter. It was a little note, beautifully written, its 
 even lines, wide margins, and elegant capitals betraying 
 its writer for the practised amanuensis that she had 
 claimed to be, and its purport being to invite me to meet 
 her that evening at the Marble Arch. 
 
 Miss Pick was before me at the trysting-place, and 
 at the first glance I saw that she was a partner of whom 
 any man might be proud. She was well-dressed, well 
 set-up, handsome, and self-possessed. Of the clothes, the 
 figure, and the manner, there could be no doubt. The 
 good looks were more a matter of taste. She was pale 
 and almond-eyed. Her straight, dark brows all but met 
 over a small nose whose tip was ever so slightly up-tilted. 
 Her large mouth, vividly red, had a deep shadow between 
 it and a pointed chin, while shadows also defined her 
 prominent malar bones. She was no longer a young girl 
 her age being, probably, about twenty-six but she 
 was a capable, courageous, and interesting woman. 
 
 As I took all this in, and found it confirmatory of the 
 favourable impressions I had formed on the previous 
 evening, a feeling of complacency began to replace my 
 halting mood. The doubts of the prudence of associating 
 myself with Miss Pick, which had assailed me on my 
 way to the rendezvous, faded when I saw before me a 
 confederate of such irreproachable tenue. I became her 
 ardent knight. 
 
 "It is good of you to come," said she; "for I am 
 sure you would not be here if you did not mean to 
 help me."
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 179 
 
 " I will do all in my power," said I ; " but I don't 
 quite know what you want me to do." 
 
 " I want you to help me to convict Sir Gilbert Burleigh 
 of the robbery of Mrs Lothbury's diamonds." 
 
 "But suppose " I began. 
 
 "Yes, I know," she broke in; "suppose he did not 
 take them. But he did take them. The only way to 
 prove it is to find them in his possession, and that is 
 what I intend to do. Had I accused him when Lady 
 Marten was dismissing me, Mrs Lothbury would have 
 pointed out that Sir Gilbert would not enter her room 
 in that way, Sir Gilbert would have denied that he had 
 done so, and Lady Marten would have found it very 
 awkward to help me, though I could have made her 
 believe me if I had spoken out. Nor was I certain then as 
 I am now of the manner of the theft. I left the house an 
 hour and a quarter after first hearing of the robbery. The 
 time barely sufficed for me to pack my things. You will 
 easily understand that I had not thought the circum- 
 stances all out before I left Martenhurst ; but I have done 
 so since. Instinct told me that Sir Gilbert was the thief, 
 and also how best to punish him. If I had put him on 
 his guard by as much as a look, I should have lost my 
 chance of carrying through the plan which immediately 
 came into my mind. I only hesitated about one thing. 
 I wished to keep a close watch on him, which I could 
 not do after leaving Martenhurst. That risk I was forced 
 to run, and I did not think it a very serious one; for, if 
 I was right, he must soon come to London to dispose 
 of the necklace. He has come now and now that it is 
 time to act I am powerless." 
 
 As far as I could see, I was equally powerless ; but I 
 forebore to confess my misgivings in so many words,
 
 180 Odd Issues 
 
 preferring to indicate generally that I was at her 
 service. 
 
 "I have not been idle," she continued. "You must 
 have wondered at my conduct last night; but I was 
 hungry. Directly I reached London I obtained the 
 assistance of a private detective whose name was 
 familiar to me, for I had read his advertisements. It 
 was necessary that I should keep Sir Gilbert's move- 
 ments under constant observation from the moment that 
 he reached London. I had no money in my possession 
 beyond Lady Marten's cheque, and I soon found that 
 ten pounds would not go far with a private detective. 
 He spent over eight pounds in two days, and then asked 
 for further ' instructions,' as he called them, but he meant 
 'instalments.' I was then forced to tell him that, as I 
 had no money, I could employ him no longer, which did 
 not seem to surprise him so much as my hiring him 
 had done. In truth, if I had been boundlessly rich I 
 should have discharged him, for I had found that he 
 could be of no service to me. He could only spy on 
 Sir Gilbert in the street, and I wanted much more than 
 that. So I paid him his eight pounds, and when I had 
 done so I had exactly two sovereigns left. He was not 
 absolutely useless. I learnt from him that Sir Gilbert 
 had not yet returned to town, and he also gave me Sir 
 Gilbert's addresses at a club and at some chambers. This 
 was three days ago. I found the club and the chambers, 
 and decided to watch the latter. I was rewarded by a 
 good omen. Within an hour of my taking up my stand 
 near the front door, a hansom passed a, few inches from 
 me piled with luggage. If Sir Gilbert had not been 
 engaged in piloting the cabman with his stick, he must 
 have seen me. He went in, and I wandered up and
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 181 
 
 down the street till he came out, when I followed him 
 to his club, where he went about dinner-time. At two 
 in the morning he came out, and walked home. Having 
 seen him to his chambers, I went home myself. In the 
 morning, the landlady of the house where I was lodging 
 asked me to leave. She was good enough to say that 
 she thought I was respectable, but added that no one 
 would believe it of me if I kept such hours. I took my 
 boxes to the cloak-room of the nearest railway-station, 
 and spent the day and a large portion of the night 
 trying to continue my watch over Sir Gilbert. As the 
 evening grew late, I remembered that I had no lodgings. 
 I spoke to a girl whom I met in the street, and she 
 recommended me to the place where you visited me. 
 She said that if I went there, I should find that no 
 objection would be made to any hours I might wish to 
 keep and she told the truth, if not the whole truth." 
 
 " Well, you have pluck," said I ; " but you 're running 
 awful risks of being insulted." 
 
 " Running risks of being insulted ! " she echoed ; " why, 
 I have invited insults, and have waded up to my neck 
 in them. I don't mind insults. But I do mind being 
 unable to carry out my plans. I mind very much." 
 We were sitting in the park by this time, and she raised 
 her parasol as she spoke, and struck the gravel smartly 
 with it. 
 
 I murmured something consolatory, and she went on : 
 
 "Perhaps my behaviour of last night is more compre- 
 hensible to you now. I must have a man's help, and 
 the man must be a gentleman. I cannot watch Sir 
 Gilbert myself. In trying to do so, I have attracted the 
 unfavourable notice of his club porter; and in the street 
 where his chambers are a policeman has asked me what
 
 1 82 Odd Issues 
 
 the business was that kept me loitering there. I have 
 hunted for the friend I need. For two evenings I have 
 submitted to all sorts of insolence, in the hope that I 
 might meet a helper, but until last night my search has 
 been fruitless. Have I been fortunate this time ? Directly 
 I saw you I began to hope. I planned that you should 
 follow me home, as I felt certain that if you did so, you 
 would free me from my debt in that odious place. If I 
 had told you my story in the street, you might not have 
 believed me, or have had patience to listen to me. My 
 money was done, I could not escape without paying what 
 the woman said I owed her, and she refused to supply 
 me with more food till I paid her. I left you uncere- 
 moniously last night. I was hungry so hungry." 
 
 Such was the chance of adventure that opened itself 
 before me, and with some qualms as to the prudence of 
 the course I decided to embrace it. My doubts of Miss 
 Pick's candour were not wholly dissipated. It was not 
 clear to me why she had submitted tamely to Lady 
 Marten's suspicions, nor why she had gone into the streets 
 to search for a champion instead of having recourse to the 
 police. Yet I could not decline to help her. Loud and 
 long I had clamoured for such an opportunity. Bitterly 
 I had bewailed the monotony of nineteenth-century life, 
 with its curse of lassitude, its dearth of event, and its 
 vulgarity of sentiment. I could not so far go back on 
 myself as to refuse to be associated with this story of 
 crime and injured womanhood a story, moreover, with 
 which I had become acquainted in this stimulating manner. 
 
 " And now that you know my story, what do you think 
 is the best plan?'' asked Miss Pick. 
 
 "The man must be watched," said I; "and I will do it 
 for you."
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 183 
 
 I felt that this could not be a very striking suggestion 
 to Miss Pick, for she had herself pointed out that such 
 was the precise assistance that she wanted. I should have 
 preferred to place before her an original plan of action, 
 but no such plan occurred to me. But she seemed not at 
 all disappointed to find her champion with no scheme of 
 his own ; rather, she appeared pleased to see that he was 
 prepared to act on the suggestion that she had made to him. 
 
 " I will take lodgings in the same house as Sir Gilbert 
 Burleigh," I continued; "then I shall have him under my 
 supervision at all hours." 
 
 "And you can search his rooms," said she. 
 
 " Well, yes," I admitted. " I suppose I can do that if 
 it becomes necessary." 
 
 " Oh ! of course, you will not do it unless it is neces- 
 sary. And you can find out all about him, his hours, 
 his friends, in fact, his daily life?" 
 
 "Yes, I suppose I can, by watching him." 
 
 "Well, if not by watching you can by speaking to the 
 servants." 
 
 I liked the idea of speaking to the servants even less 
 than the idea of searching the man's rooms. 
 
 "Of course, you will not do that either unless it is 
 necessary," continued Miss Pick, who, perhaps, perceived 
 my scruples. 
 
 So we agreed that I should enter the next morning 
 upon the task of righting Miss Pick; and we further 
 arranged that I should report progress to her at the same 
 hour and place in the evening. 
 
 But I refused to allow her to go home as soon as our 
 plans were thus settled. I could not bear to think of 
 her in that awful house, and I insisted upon giving her 
 some supper.
 
 184 Odd Issues 
 
 I found her an admirable companion. She made no 
 further reference to her affairs, except that she explained 
 the puzzling discord between her clothes and her purse. 
 She was determined, she said, not to sell her clothes, of 
 which Lady Marten had given her an ample supply, 
 until she was at the last gasp of hunger, as to do so 
 would be to deprive herself of all prospect of securing 
 employment or credit; while it might even prevent her 
 from obtaining justice and revenge on Sir Gilbert. "I 
 could not expect you to give me supper," she said, "if 
 my boots were cracked, and you would not have wanted 
 to help me if I had been totally unpresentable." 
 
 I accompanied her home, and as we walked we made 
 believe on what we passed. I did most of the talking, 
 but she was an exciting listener. Here a frowning old 
 red house, insulated by its thick-grown garden from more 
 modern tenements, would seem to us apt shelter for a 
 maiden of sixty sitting ever in bridal garb awaiting the 
 lover who had long since been hanged for his hideous 
 offences ; and I would persuade Miss Pick to peer through 
 the rusty wrought-iron gates in quest of a white expectant 
 face at one of the many windows, or a quaint figure trail- 
 ing nuptial robes in the seclusion of the moss-grown paths. 
 Here a triangle of sward, some little high-lying corner 
 which a straighter route had left on one side, would 
 suggest the duello; and we would people the deserted 
 patch with elegant rivals, steel in hand, with grave chir- 
 urgeons, be-ruffled boon-companions, and retainers carry- 
 ing flaring links; and would be on the alert at the next 
 corner, where a fair lad, whose trunk-hose but ill matched 
 the curves of his bosom, might perchance be seen holding 
 her paramour's horse. Here was a really singular thing ! 
 That gloomy barn at the bottom of the narrow mews !
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 185 
 
 Those privileged to mount the crazy wooden stair a 
 privilege equally hard to earn and infamous to enjoy 
 and to enter that little door, a mere hole cut in the 
 board midway between the ground and the gutter line, 
 would step at once from the meanness of a muck- 
 yard to the splendour of an oriental palace; for there, 
 unsuspected by his humble and virtuous neighbours, and 
 equally unsuspected by Scotland Yard, lived a great prince 
 of crime amid the priceless spoils of his lawless career. 
 And so on, and so on ; and when at length I brought her 
 by a devious route into the vicinity of her lodgings I 
 felt that seldom, if ever, had I enjoyed myself so entirely. 
 Miss Pick, too, looked happy. 
 
 "I must get you out of this awful place at once," I 
 said as I bade her good-night. 
 
 "You shall do what you like with me," she answered, 
 "if you will watch Sir Gilbert for me." 
 
 IV 
 
 Sir Gilbert was described in the usual books of reference 
 as follows : 
 
 " Burleigh, Sir Gilbert Forrester, of Todenham, Norfolk, 
 elder son of the late Sir Gilbert Winnington Burleigh, 
 Bart., by Alice Caroline, third daughter of Robert 
 Forrester, Esq., M.P., of Neaton House, Norfolk; b. 1861 ; 
 s. his father, 1880. Residences : Todenham Hall, Norfolk, 
 and 2 Stanley Street, St James's, S.W. Clubs, Blenheim 
 and Berkeley." 
 
 To No. 2 Stanley Street, therefore, I betook myself 
 early the next day, and hired a small set of rooms which 
 happened to be vacant. I was much exhilarated by the
 
 1 86 Odd Issues 
 
 piece of good fortune which thus enabled me to enter 
 easily and immediately upon our campaign. While I 
 was packing my bag, my feeling that I was performing 
 feats on Miss Pick's behalf was strong on me. But when 
 I was established in my new abode, and free to consider 
 what my first move should be, I found, to my intense 
 disgust, that I had no idea how to take any practical 
 steps towards the performance of the task I had under- 
 taken. Here I was on the third floor; how should 
 I obtain full information of all that passed on the first 
 floor? How should I place myself about Sir Gilbert 
 Burleigh's path and bed? How should I discover where 
 the jewels were hidden if, indeed, Sir Gilbert had stolen 
 them, for Miss Pick's story furnished only a faint pre- 
 sumption of this ? I could have reeled off general methods 
 for Sir Gilbert's discomfiture, complete, sweeping, and 
 in accordance with much precedent; but a definite plan 
 of action for this particular case seemed hard to come by. 
 I could make Sir Gilbert's acquaintance at the club by 
 getting some man who knew him to introduce me to 
 him, but that seemed rather an unfair way of treating 
 the introducer. And even if I did get to know Sir 
 Gilbert in this way, and if by cultivating a friendship 
 for him I got myself invited to his rooms, I still should 
 not be in a position to ransack his cupboards, desks, or 
 cash-boxes. I might try to pump him, but if he was 
 guilty he would surely take alarm at the first remark 
 bearing distantly upon the matter. Decidedly, I was not 
 much further forward because I had stumbled on rooms 
 in the same house with Sir Gilbert, and equally decidedly 
 my mind was blank as to the best plan of procedure. 
 Then one of Miss Pick's suggestions occurred to my 
 recollection. I might cross-examine the servants. A vision
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 187 
 
 of the communicative housemaid falling an immediate 
 victim to my shrewdness occurred to my mind, and the 
 idea, though I had been prepared to scout it on the 
 previous day, was no longer repugnant to me, for to do 
 anything was more pleasant than to sit idle in submission 
 to a sense of impotence. Having prepared a few pregnant 
 interrogatories, most of which were dependent upon the 
 answers that I might reasonably expect, I rang the bell. 
 Service in Stanley Street was prompt, and before the wire 
 had ceased to vibrate, the man-servant was in the room. 
 This rapidity discomposed me. My pre-arranged con- 
 versation had in it certain direct references to cap-ribands 
 which were inapplicable to a man-servant, and I could 
 only formulate a request for hot water. 
 
 In great disgust, I dressed and went to the club. 
 
 Sir Gilbert Burleigh was in the dining-room, where he 
 was acting as host to several friends. With some vague 
 idea of keeping him under observation, I took a seat 
 within earshot of his table, and became elaborately ab- 
 sorbed in my newspaper. When I rose, some two hours 
 later, to keep an appointment with Miss Pick at which 
 I was to report progress, the futility of my machinations 
 more than their meanness had plunged me into the 
 depths of self-abasement. Varied information I had cer- 
 tainly obtained by following the table-talk of my neigh- 
 bours, but it was all of no service to me. Thus I had 
 learnt of the slogging powers of one Bill Morgan's " right." 
 These were proved to be tremendous by a story of an in- 
 offensive-looking prize-fighter of unexceptionable manners, 
 who was insulted by a blustering snob unskilled in the 
 noble art. The female element was not wanting to the 
 story, for it was felt by an artistic narrator that nothing 
 but the dictates of modern chivalry could excuse the
 
 1 88 Odd Issues 
 
 severity of the punishment that the snob received. Then 
 Amelia's chance for the Leger was commented upon, with 
 due regard to the fact that the mare, though speedy and 
 a good animal, had been allotted too much work ; while 
 Fortunio, who had been notoriously off colour at Epsom, 
 was now giving his trainer every satisfaction and might 
 be expected to turn the tables on her. Sir Gilbert fancied 
 an outsider called The Shark, and thought 100 to 3 
 a nice price. A gentleman recently from Cambridge told 
 a story of a proctor, a pretty cousin, and a Jesus man. 
 The speaker was the Jesus man, and the proctor was badly 
 left. A review of the latest trial was given by the 
 youngest member of the party, in which it was briefly 
 demonstrated where the counsel for the Crown had been 
 weak, where the counsel for the defence had been short- 
 sighted, and where the judge had shown himself an un- 
 scrupulous partisan. The speaker pointed out that the 
 jury were probably prejudiced, that the expert witnesses 
 were certainly venal, and that the laws of his country 
 required amendment in several directions which he kindly 
 indicated. 
 
 Fortified with this varied information, I went out into 
 the summer night to meet Miss Pick. I had on the tip 
 of my tongue a mildly humorous description of the 
 mental anguish that I had undergone during the day. I 
 intended to rally myself upon my failure to accomplish 
 anything, and perhaps to invite a little sympathy for the 
 loss of self-esteem which I had sustained, as well as for 
 the discomforts consequent upon a sudden change of 
 lodging and habits. Miss Pick's first word showed me 
 that a tone of jocularity would not be well received. She 
 got straight to business. 
 
 "What have you discovered?" she asked.
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 189 
 
 "Nothing," said I. 
 
 " What steps have you taken ? " she continued. 
 
 "None. I can't take steps; I don't know how." 
 
 "Have you any plan?" 
 
 "Well, it sounds wild," I replied, a little nettled at this 
 cross-examination, "but it appears that you might put 
 ^3 on The Shark for the Leger, and with the money 
 you would win hire one William Morgan to knock out 
 the baronet and carry off the diamonds. Lest William 
 should be punished by the law for his violence, I advise 
 you to write to a young gentleman a member of my 
 club about his case. The young gentleman will make 
 it all right for William by appealing to the sense of the 
 greater jury." 
 
 Miss Pick was staring at me with undisguised astonish- 
 ment. When I stopped, "I have made a great mistake," 
 she said. 
 
 I begged her not to look so serious, and reproached 
 myself for having talked such foolishness to her. I then 
 described the sense of absolute incapacity that had over- 
 taken me, and possibly exaggerated the contempt which 
 I felt for my own uselessness. " I couldn't even ask the 
 servant a question," said I ; " and if I had he wouldn't 
 have answered me. He would have gone straight to Sir 
 Gilbert and warned him that I was prying into his affairs. 
 Of course, I expected a woman." 
 
 "I doubt if a woman would have been more use to 
 you," laughed Miss Pick, " if you were intending to bribe 
 her with cap-ribands. Ribands are very cheap, servants 
 do not want to be reminded that they have to wear caps, 
 and they are not allowed to put ribands into them." 
 
 "I told you I was no use," I repeated. 
 
 "I think you've done very well indeed," said Miss
 
 190 Odd Issues 
 
 Pick, soothingly. "You now live in the same house with 
 Sir Gilbert, so that you can observe his hours, his habits, 
 and his friends. You have observed them, and it isn't 
 your fault that so far you have found out nothing. Be- 
 sides, are you sure you have found out nothing ? " 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "You are too modest, I think. You say that if you had 
 questioned the man he might have informed Sir Gilbert. 
 Sir Gilbert uses the same servant then ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Sure?" said Miss Pick, with a bright smile, which 
 apologised for her persistent questioning. 
 
 "Sure," said I; "the housekeeper told me so when 
 she explained the service of the house to me." 
 
 By this time we had reached the park. We turned in 
 at the Marble Arch, and as we passed a bench Miss Pick 
 asked me for a pencil. She then sat down, took a scrap 
 of paper from her pocket, smoothed it out on the seat of 
 the bench, and, bending over it, scribbled a few lines 
 rapidly. Then she motioned me to sit by her side. 
 
 " Sir Gilbert Burleigh took those diamonds," said she, 
 "and they're in his rooms now. He daren't pawn them, 
 for their loss is known to the police, and he has had no 
 opportunity of selling them yet. We must search his 
 rooms, and we shall find the necklace." 
 
 "If he took them," I began protestingly. 
 
 " He took them," she broke in. 
 
 " Well, he took them," said I. " And he hasn't pawned 
 them. But he may not have hidden them in his room." 
 
 " If they are anywhere else we shall find a memorandum 
 or a receipt or some letter referring to them." 
 
 " He would carry such a document about with him." 
 
 "Then," said Miss Pick, "he must be searched also.
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 191 
 
 But we will begin with his rooms. I will do that. Please 
 look at this," and she handed me the little piece of paper 
 on which she had just scrawled a few lines in pencil. 
 
 I read it. " My dear Miss Pick," she had written 
 " I enclose my latch-key, and you know the room. I 
 am sorry I cannot be there to meet you, but I am engaged 
 this evening. The parcel is on the table. Yours very 
 truly, JOHN ALLEN." 
 
 " .P.S. Please apologise to your father for the trouble 
 I have given him." 
 
 "What do you make of it?" she asked. 
 
 "It is quite clear," I replied. "I am to give you my 
 latch-key, so that you may let yourself into Sir Gilbert's 
 rooms. You bring this letter with you, or, rather a copy 
 of it in my handwriting, so that the people in the house 
 may believe that you think yourself in my rooms with 
 my approval, if they should disturb you while you are 
 searching. It appears, also, that you are on business of 
 your father's, which gives an air of great respectability to 
 the proceeding." 
 
 "Now, just see how much you have already done for 
 me. You admit me to the house, almost to his room," 
 she stopped abruptly. "I suppose," she added, "his 
 door will not be locked?" 
 
 " No ; there' s no outer door. You just walk in that 
 is, if his rooms are like mine." 
 
 " Another thing you Ve found out for me is that there 
 is no valet to fear. I have only to choose a time when 
 Sir Gilbert and the man-servant of the house are both 
 away and I am almost certain not to be interrupted. If 
 the housekeeper does catch me, it will be my bad luck, 
 and I must trust to good luck for my explanation. I shall 
 try to-morrow night."
 
 192 Odd Issues 
 
 I promised to send the man-servant of the house on an 
 errand to a distant suburb on the following evening and 
 to keep Sir Gilbert in my eye from the time that he left 
 his rooms for his dinner until his return. If he seemed 
 to be shaping his course for Stanley Street, I undertook 
 to get there first and warn Miss Pick. Miss Pick would 
 take up her watch at the corner of Stanley Street early in 
 the evening, that she might see the man-servant start on 
 my errand. "You will make him carry a conspicuous 
 parcel," said she, "so that I may know that he is off on 
 your business and cannot get back for some time." 
 
 " He shall go to Hampstead Heath," said I, with reminis- 
 cences of my favourite novelist, " and carry a blue band- 
 box directed to Miss Lydia Gwilt, c/o Mr Sergeant Cuff." 
 
 "I leave all details to you, "said Miss Pick, gravely, "and 
 thank you so much for helping me. Now I must go home, 
 for, in obedience to your wishes, I have left Liberty Hall, 
 and am living in a highly respectable family circle which 
 expects me to be in early. Will you give me some luncheon 
 to-morrow, when I can tell you how I have got on ? " 
 
 Shortly before eight on the following evening Sir Gilbert 
 Burleigh left his rooms. I followed him, wondering vaguely 
 what I should do if he were to dine at a private house, or 
 at some other club than the Berkeley. It appeared to me 
 that in either case I should have to hang about the 
 pavement dinnerless until Sir Gilbert appeared again. 
 Why had I not thought of this before, and provided myself 
 with biscuits and a flask in preparation against a long wait ? 
 And again it became deeply impressed upon me that I had 
 no great aptitude for the detective's career. I was neither 
 provident enough nor attentive enough. In short, I was in 
 a false, not to say a ridiculous position. I had gone into
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 193 
 
 this business as a champion, and had felt the charming 
 glow of a Quixote, but the distressful lady had taken into 
 her own fair hands the mending of her fortunes, and her 
 successful precision made my abortive attempts ludicrous. 
 What had I accomplished of my own initiative ? Nothing. 
 My information gained by living in Stanley Street had 
 been useful certainly, but who sent me to live there ? The 
 lady. How swiftly, and yet how surely she had laid her 
 plans ! How bold she was to carry them out ! How pat 
 that letter had dropped from her pencil ! I could imagine 
 the quiet systematic search that she would conduct. I 
 could even picture her caught rifling Sir Gilbert's desk, and 
 extricating herself with peace and honour from the em- 
 barrassments of the situation. For surely never was woman 
 in odder fix, or engaged on an odder task than she had 
 been on the night when first we met, yet I could not but 
 remember that all the awkwardness and uncertainty had 
 been on my side. 
 
 As it happened, I had no need to regret my lack of 
 portable refreshment, for Sir Gilbert Burleigh took his way 
 to the Berkeley Club direct. I dined with one eye fixed 
 upon him, and followed him into the card-room after 
 dinner. He started at once to play be"zique, and by the 
 expectant air of half-a-dozen gentlemen who rapidly grouped 
 themselves round his chair and that of his opponent, I 
 gathered that it was a match on the result of which there 
 was some betting. I took up my position behind the 
 baronet. 
 
 It gratified me to see Sir Gilbert begin by losing heavily, 
 for in losses at play I saw a valid motive for the crime 
 which I only half-believed him to have committed. Game 
 after game was played, and game after game went against 
 him. The betting became high, and I found myself 
 N
 
 194 Odd Issues 
 
 impelled to back the chair behind which I was standing if 
 only to account for my prolonged interest in the duel, and 
 in the course of the next two hours I realised that I had 
 chosen a highly expensive method of "shadowing" my 
 man. 
 
 At last the end came. Sir Gilbert, who had played his 
 losing cards with exemplary temper, smiled as a particularly 
 bad piece of luck lost him the tenth game in succession, 
 and said to his opponent, " Johnnie, I 've had enough. 
 I '11 stop now. How much do I owe ? " 
 
 Apparently he had been betting with everyone in the 
 room save me, and as each mentioned a sum he laid a 
 pocket-book on the card-table and began jotting down the 
 items on a memorandum form hastily torn from it. I 
 sat down at Sir Gilbert's elbow and wrote a cheque, for 
 my evening's espionage had cost me nearly forty pounds. 
 While Sir Gilbert was arriving at the details of his debts 
 his pocket-book lay wide open before me, and the top 
 paper therein caught my glance. It was a thin pale yellow 
 scrap, and as I let my eye wander over it I learned the 
 hiding-place of Mrs Lothbury's diamonds. No one was 
 marking me, for all were absorbed in their calculations. 
 When I had dried my cheque I laid the blotting-paper 
 over Sir Gilbert's pocket-book, and under its sheltering 
 cover passed a purloining hand. With an audacity as well 
 as a wickedness for which I have never ceased to blush, 
 I stole the paper. No result could justify the act. 
 
 I gave my cheque to my creditor, and made for the door 
 immediately, ere anyone should see in my face the terror 
 that was hurrying my heart and singing in my ears. I 
 might be working in the cause of virtue, but none the less 
 I had committed a mean theft. 
 
 Sir Gilbert looked up as I was leaving the room. He
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 195 
 
 was intending, I think, to say a few words of regret for the 
 misfortune which had necessarily attended his backer, but 
 I was practically out of the room before he had time to 
 speak. 
 
 On the other side of the door, which I did not close 
 behind me, I paused and listened in terror. Perhaps I had 
 been seen ? Perhaps I was going to be denounced ? 
 
 "Queer beggar!" said the baronet, whose smooth de- 
 liberate speech I recognised. "Who is he? He's cracked. 
 The committee ought to be told about him. Yesterday he 
 sat two hours over his dinner. He was at the next table 
 to us. He was alone with a newspaper, and he never 
 turned over a page once. This evening he was betting like 
 a lunatic. I could hear him going wrong all the time. 
 He doesn't begin to know the game. He 's cracked." 
 
 " Seems a harmless peaceful sort of fellow," said another 
 man, probably the one to whom I had just handed my 
 cheque, and who felt charitable towards me. 
 
 " Oh ! I don't think he 's dangerous," replied Sir Gilbert. 
 
 My first thought when I found myself outside the club 
 was to run at full speed from the scene of my crime, 
 but my second reminded me that I might be followed by 
 Sir Gilbert or by someone who had seen the raid upon 
 his pocket-book. In such a case, if I were making no 
 attempt at flight, I could pretend with plausibility that 
 the paper had come into my possession by accident I 
 could say, for example, that I had placed it in my 
 pocket without noticing what it was, and believing it to 
 be my own but if I were a fugitive I should be self-
 
 196 Odd Issues 
 
 convicted. So I hardened myself against the strong 
 temptation to rush wildly into the night, and proceeded 
 at a leisurely pace along Piccadilly until I was quite 
 satisfied that no one was marking me. Then I turned 
 into a bye-street, and examined under a lamp the paper 
 I had just stolen. It proved to be, as my glance at it 
 while it lay in Sir Gilbert's pocket-book had told me to 
 expect, the receipt for a bag deposited in the cloak-room 
 of the London terminus of the Great Southern Railway. 
 It bore the date on which Sir Gilbert had been seen by 
 Miss Pick to return to his rooms in Stanley Street. The 
 inference to be drawn was that Sir Gilbert at the con- 
 clusion of his journey from Martenhurst to London had 
 found it convenient not to bring this particular bag to 
 his chambers, and the omission fitted exactly with Miss 
 Pick's theory of Sir Gilbert's guilt. He would not attempt 
 to pawn the diamonds while their loss was still so recent. 
 He would, therefore, have to keep them somewhere until 
 it was safe to deal with them. At his rooms his possessions 
 were liable to be overlooked by servants, and to keep some 
 receptacle permanently locked might attract curiosity. It 
 would, at any rate, entail upon him anxious care if 
 his keys could never leave his hands. To deposit the 
 bag locked at the railway station until he had made up 
 his mind what should be done with it would certainly 
 be his best course, if it contained the necklace ; and that 
 it did so I now believed. 
 
 In robbing Sir Gilbert I had taken a step which was 
 fraught with considerable danger, even if I was not detected 
 at the moment. It came upon me as a shock to remember 
 that I was living in the same house with him. I decided 
 not to sleep at my rooms that night, for I had no desire 
 to meet him while the receipt was still in my hands ; but
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 197 
 
 to get a bed near the railway station where the momentous 
 bag was housed that I might go early in the morning to 
 secure possession of it. I was supported in my resolution 
 not to return home by the recollection that I had lent 
 my latch-key to Miss Pick that she might make her raid 
 on Sir Gilbert's chambers. Hence I could not get into 
 the house without rousing the servants. It would be 
 imprudent to do this until I knew what adventures my 
 accomplice might have met with. If she had been caught, 
 and had given my name as a guarantee of her honesty 
 of purpose, it would be well that I should learn from her 
 lips exactly what she had said before attempting to con- 
 firm her story; especially as my action in sending the 
 servant on a false errand to the north of London must, 
 when regarded with a suspicious eye, assume a sinister 
 appearance. 
 
 I slept badly, and with red eyes and unshaven chin 
 presented myself at the cloak-room as soon as it was 
 open to the public. As far as I could see and I was 
 very careful to look there was not a person present on 
 the platform who was paying any attention to me, while 
 experience and common-sense alike, told me that the 
 porter who acted as clerk at the cloak-room would be 
 certain to give the bag unquestioningly to the holder of 
 the ticket corresponding to it. But I shivered with 
 apprehension as I handed the little paper to the official. 
 And not without reason. He disappeared into the recesses 
 of the cloak-room for a brief space of time, and then 
 returned to say that he could not pick out the bag. I 
 told him unreflectingly what day it had been left in the 
 cloak-room, and on arrival from what destination. He 
 went back to look for it, but again emerged empty-handed. 
 A great quantity of luggage had been left in the care of
 
 198 Odd Issues 
 
 the railway company during the week, was his excuse, and 
 would I kindly tell him what the bag was like? For a 
 moment I was paralysed. Should I boldly own that I 
 was not the owner of the bag, and did not know its colour 
 or shape? Or should I take the chance of saying that 
 it was an ordinary Gladstone bag, when it might be nothing 
 of the sort? Or should I run away? The last course 
 meant the abandonment of the search for the necklace, 
 and was not to be thought of; but each of the others 
 had their perils. I caught myself longing for Miss Pick's 
 assistance, and wondering whether she would have acted 
 as I did. 
 
 " Let me inside," I said, " and I can pick it out in a 
 minute." He gave me back the receipt, and unbolted a 
 low door the top of which formed his counter, remarking 
 that the luggage placed in a certain corner was that which 
 had been longest on the premises. I walked to the bottom 
 of the chamber, and in a dim light began delving for 
 the bag, my only guide being the knowledge that some- 
 where upon it would be a label bearing the number 
 written on the receipt. When I had been some five 
 minutes groping unluckily in baggage of all sorts, I decided 
 to ask that a porter should be sent to help me, and to 
 explain my ignorance of the outside appearance of the 
 bag. I had taken a step forward towards the entrance, 
 when I saw leaning through the opening above the 
 counter Sir Gilbert Burleigh. 
 
 Clearly he had discovered the loss of the receipt, and 
 had hurried to the station with intent to recover his bag 
 somehow, or to lay an embargo upon it. He stood bending 
 forward with his elbows resting on the ledge at the top 
 of the door through which I had just passed. Framed 
 in the light as he was, I could see every line of his face,
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 199 
 
 and it was peaked and drawn. He seemed to be staring 
 back at me, but I was hidden by the gloom from his 
 gaze. It was a queer situation, and I who had asked 
 angrily for adventures, was certainly getting a bellyful of 
 them. Ten yards away from Sir Gilbert I stood with 
 the stolen receipt in my hand, trying by its means to steal 
 the bag. I could not get out without passing him, for 
 his lounging posture effectually blocked the door, and at 
 any moment he might be admitted to the cloak-room to 
 identify his property, when he would probably recognise 
 me. If he did, he would remember that I left his 
 company only a few hours ago, and would inevitably 
 connect my early presence in the cloak-room with the loss 
 of the receipt or so my guilty fears told me. 
 
 Sir Gilbert was speaking in continuation of a conversa- 
 tion already begun : " You must let me have it without 
 my showing a receipt," he said. " Of course, I can satisfy 
 you it's mine." 
 
 " I don't think I could do it, sir," said the clerk. 
 "What's the bag like?" 
 
 "It's a brown dressing-bag with my initials on it. I 
 can spot it in a moment and should like to pay for 
 the trouble I am giving." 
 
 "Well, sir," returned the clerk, "if you state the 
 contents of the bag, and will then open it in front of 
 me I'll take the risk; but it's irregular." 
 
 I had been bracing myself up to plunge for liberty 
 throughout their dialogue. I was certain that the clerk's 
 next words would suggest that Sir Gilbert should enter 
 the cloak-room. But when he said that Sir Gilbert must 
 state the contents of the bag, I felt that I had a chance 
 of safety, the chance depending on Sir Gilbert's guilt. 
 If the diamonds were in the bag of course he could not
 
 200 Odd Issues 
 
 state its contents. His answer came rather slowly, and 
 sealed my belief that Miss Pick's theory of the crime 
 was sound. 
 
 "All right," he murmured, "I'll go home and have 
 another look for the receipt. I haven't the key with 
 me, and it would be a pity to burst the bag open." With 
 that he lifted his elbows slowly from the door and walked 
 away. He had not mentioned his name, nor the day 
 on which he had deposited the bag in the cloak-room. 
 Had he happened to have told the clerk either of these 
 things I might have had difficulties, for the official must 
 have been struck with the fact that two men appeared 
 to be wanting the same bag, and that one, the one who 
 made no offer to describe it, could produce the receipt 
 for it, while the other, who said that he had lost the 
 receipt, claimed that he could identify the article immedi- 
 ately. But my star was in the ascendant, for Sir Gilbert 
 had not only made no awkward confidences but had 
 supplied me with just the details that I wanted to gain 
 possession of his property. With my new information I 
 found the bag at once and walked on to the platform 
 with it. Sir Gilbert was not in sight, and I got into the 
 first cab and told the man to drive me to an obscure 
 Turkish bath in the north of London. I felt that I 
 must hide myself while I had the bag in my possession. 
 My rooms and my club were closed to me, and I was 
 still in evening dress. In a Turkish bath costume is of 
 minor importance. 
 
 I had chosen for my luncheon with Miss Pick a small 
 restaurant in Soho, which enjoyed the reputation of 
 being a house of call for conspirators. Anarchists and 
 dynamitards were believed to haunt the low, dingy salon, 
 and rumour had it that a historical assassination had
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 201 
 
 been planned in one of the private dining-rooms. She 
 was standing on the steps waiting for me, for I was a 
 few minutes late. I had been unable to shake off a 
 feeling that I was being tracked, and had made a 
 detour so that I might walk down two long straight 
 streets where no one could follow me without being 
 detected. 
 
 "You're late," said she abruptly, as I arrived. 
 
 I looked at her, and saw that the pleasant smile with 
 which she was wont to greet me was gone. I explained 
 that from motives of prudence I had come by a circular 
 route. 
 
 "What rubbish," she snapped. "That is Oh ! I beg 
 your pardon for being so rude, only I don't feel in a 
 mood for joking. And what a horrid place this is you 
 have brought me to." 
 
 "We'll go in and eat," I rejoined; "and you shall 
 tell me afterwards what you think about it. It's a most 
 suitable place for plotting. We'll have a private room." 
 
 At this hostelry they could, and, I dare say, still can, 
 provide a Brown Cantenac that has been known to 
 move stockbrokers to poetry. I suppose it is necessary 
 for persons who upset dynasties in the cause of the 
 down-trodden poor to have a working knowledge of the 
 way emperors live. It takes from their actions the 
 appearance of irrational hate, to know the evil habits 
 of the classes against which they war. Something of 
 this I said to my guest, but could elicit no smile 
 from her, who until this time had been so responsive 
 to my moods. I could guess what was causing the differ- 
 ence. She had examined Sir Gilbert's rooms, and had 
 failed to find either the diamonds or any memorandum 
 pointing to their hiding-place. Nothing was therefore
 
 202 Odd Issues 
 
 left from her point of view save personal violence. Sir 
 Gilbert must be searched, and she was doubting if her 
 frivolous accomplice were equal to the task. 
 
 "Tell me about last night," I said, when our plates 
 and glasses were full, and the waiter had withdrawn. 
 " Did you find anything ? " 
 
 She confessed that her industry had been fruitless. 
 She had found her way into Sir Gilbert's rooms and had 
 remained there unmolested for nearly two hours, but the 
 most elaborate investigation of his effects had resulted 
 in nothing "at least," she reserved, "in nothing worth 
 mentioning." She complained that Sir Gilbert's rooms 
 were not easy ones in which to find a missing article as 
 they were inconveniently crowded with bibelots. And 
 she ended by saying, as I expected, that now but one 
 step was open to us. " Sir Gilbert must be searched." 
 
 I shook my head, believing that the need for such 
 a proceeding was gone. 
 
 " Ah ! you think I should give up," she cried, flaming 
 out, while her cheeks grew red and her glance was levelled 
 defiantly at me. "You think I should hesitate. Never. 
 I will find the jewels. I will convict that man. And if 
 you won't help me I will find someone who will some- 
 one with more heart for the task. I am tired of stupid 
 talk." 
 
 I thought it was time to make my little effect " Here 
 is Sir Gilbert's bag," I said, reaching under the table and 
 bringing up my prize; "and, unless we have been on a 
 false scent from the beginning, it contains the necklace." 
 Miss Pick looked her amazement. "I'm not mad," I 
 continued. "This is a bag that Sir Gilbert Burleigh 
 deposited at the Great Southern Railway station on the 
 evening of the day that he left Martenhurst. I have
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 203 
 
 borrowed it. If you had found the necklace in his 
 rooms I should have returned it intact, but now we will 
 open it. If he brought the diamonds away from Marten- 
 hurst, and if they are not concealed in his rooms, they 
 are probably within it." I placed the bag on the table 
 between us, and handed her a key. "I stopped at a 
 locksmith's," I explained, "and got a key, but I would 
 not look in until I had heard what you had accomplished 
 last night." 
 
 Miss Pick opened the bag. It contained the usual 
 furniture the silver-topped bottles, the probes, the hooks, 
 and the pincers, without which no such bag may be sold 
 and at the bottom lay a small brown paper parcel. This 
 she took out and opened. She had found the necklace. 
 
 "I will now go and call on Sir Gilbert Burleigh," I 
 said; "for you must be righted immediately." 
 
 Miss Pick sat looking mutely into the bag where she 
 had replaced the parcel, and a little smile flickered at 
 the corners of her mouth. 
 
 " How can I thank you ? " she said. " How can I 
 thank you? You have been so clever and brave. But 
 you must allow me to see Sir Gilbert myself." 
 
 At this I demurred. It seemed to me much preferable 
 that I should deal with him. He might appeal to her 
 mercy and cozen her out of her vengeance. In me he 
 would find an implacable adversary; for I was full of 
 wrath at the mean circumstances of the crime, and was 
 anxious to prove myself an efficient champion of Miss 
 Pick. No; clearly I must see the man, and drag a con- 
 fession from him. And I said so. 
 
 "You cannot meddle," she insisted, "without owning 
 that you have done things of which you are ashamed. 
 I must not let you mix yourself up in the matter further.
 
 204 Odd Issues 
 
 I must not. I beg, as a final favour to me, that you will 
 not interfere with Sir Gilbert." 
 
 "You have always wanted to do it yourself," I replied. 
 
 The intimate communion in which I had lived with the 
 girl for the past week seemed to me to have come to 
 a sudden end with the success of our joint quest. When 
 she proposed to take the sequel into her own hands I 
 felt as though I was being dismissed, having served her 
 turn. 
 
 She came round to the back of the chair on which I 
 was sitting, and placed her hand gently upon my shoulder. 
 " I can never thank you sufficiently," she said in low tones 
 into my ear, "for all your kindness and generosity to 
 me, and your faith in me. And, after all, you found the 
 diamonds. Why not leave the rest to me?" 
 
 I looked at her, and drew her hand from my shoulder 
 to my lips, and I knew how much I feared to lose her. 
 
 She read my eyes. "Ah," she said, softly, removing 
 her fingers from my grasp, "so you have been working 
 for a reward. Then we will go together to Sir Gilbert 
 Burleigh." 
 
 VI 
 
 When we were announced to Sir Gilbert, he was sitting 
 before a writing-table which was heaped with papers, while 
 all around him on the floor lay more papers, clothes, 
 books, open bags half-packed, and open boxes half- 
 emptied. His state of mind can be conceived, if I tell 
 what had happened to him as I now know it. The 
 previous night, on his return from the club, he had 
 found his despatch -box broken open, and important
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 205 
 
 private letters stolen from it, while many unmistakable 
 signs revealed to him that his rooms had- been thoroughly 
 ransacked. Hardly had he rallied his nerves against the 
 disquieting effects of this knowledge than he made a second 
 and more terrible discovery. The receipt for the bag 
 that contained the necklace was missing from his pocket- 
 book. At the earliest opportunity he had been to the 
 railway station, but found that he could not recover his 
 property unless he made a declaration of its contents. 
 He could not hazard a guess who had made the burglarious 
 onslaught upon his despatch-box ; and here again he could 
 not tell anyone of the robbery, or seek the aid of the police, 
 for his conscience and his intelligence alike warned him 
 that this double attack on him had been inspired by some- 
 one who was acquainted with the true facts of the loss of 
 Mrs Lothbury's diamonds. Should he remain, half-formed 
 plans for his arrest might be put into execution. Should he 
 fly, half-formed suspicions of his guilt would be confirmed. 
 Moreover, he had no money at his disposal, for the losses 
 of the previous evening had been substantial. To do 
 nothing but wait was intolerable, and to do anything but 
 wait was fraught with peril, as long as he was in ignorance 
 of the identity of his foes. He had begun to pack, he 
 had ceased to pack, he had begun to pack again, and 
 now was sitting in blind terror awaiting fate. 
 
 Miss Pick gave her name to the servant, and followed 
 hard upon it, while I entered behind her prepared to 
 support her, but feeling dimly conscious that she wanted 
 no help. As she came in carrying the bag, the wretched 
 man knew that the bolt had fallen. He was ruined. He 
 looked from her to the bag, and then sprang forward to 
 catch it from her hands. She gave it to him without 
 resistance.
 
 206 Odd Issues 
 
 "We have opened it," she said, "but everything inside 
 is just as we" found it, save that we have placed Mrs 
 Lothbury's property in safe keeping." 
 
 "What are you going to do?" he panted. "Am I to 
 be arrested ? " 
 
 " You have to deal with me alone," replied Miss Pick, 
 calmly, "and what I do depends upon what you do." 
 
 To my surprise there was no ring of indignation in her 
 voice, hardly a tone of recrimination. 
 
 " I should like to sit down," she continued. " I have 
 had a good deal to think about lately, and feel rather 
 tired " ; and she smiled a little languidly as she dropped 
 into a chair. "Restitution must be made in the two 
 directions where it is called for to Mrs Lothbury who 
 has lost the jewels, and to me who have lost my char- 
 acter; and we do not wish to move until we know 
 your intentions." 
 
 After a few moments of silence Sir Gilbert began : 
 " How can I ever set myself right in your eyes ? My 
 needs are no excuse, the temptation is no excuse, the 
 uselessness of the theft is no excuse, yet I have never 
 dared to make any use of the diamonds." 
 
 Miss Pick listened with affable silence. 
 
 " I can assure you," he continued, making a strenuous 
 attempt to reach a high level of pathetic oratory, "that 
 I deeply repent of my madness for I acted in a moment 
 of madness and I beg you to believe this, and to carry 
 my fervent assurance to your friends, that if they will 
 give me a chance I will live for the future, I swear it, 
 in such a way as shall convince them that their mercy 
 has been well bestowed. Ah ! if you knew the haunting 
 shame " 
 
 " Pardon me for interrupting you," broke in Miss Pick,
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 207 
 
 "but you are not keeping to the point. We do not 
 want you to apologise for what you have done, but to 
 undo it." 
 
 "I will return the jewels to Mrs Lothbury at once, 
 if you will trust me with them, and will tell her the 
 whole truth. I will show you the letter, so that you 
 may see that I am prepared to make a full confession." 
 
 "You would still be in Mrs Lothbury 's debt, because 
 she has undergone much annoyance through her loss," 
 said the lady; "and how do you propose to clear my 
 character ? " 
 
 " I will go straight to Martenhurst, and tell Lady 
 Marten all." 
 
 " Lady Marten and Mrs Lothbury are not the only 
 persons in whose estimation I have suffered. Mrs 
 Lothbury very possibly does not believe that I am the 
 culprit, and, if she does, I do not mind. Lady Marten 
 thinks that I am guilty, but that is because I have allowed 
 myself to be condemned by circumstances. I could have 
 reinstated myself in her ladyship's estimation at any 
 moment, by telling her of my suspicions of you. I did 
 not choose to do so, because I had another plan. Lady 
 Marten and Mrs Lothbury should be told the truth, 
 but the people to whom it must be made clear that I 
 did not steal the necklace are the visitors who were at 
 Martenhurst when the robbery took place. I must be 
 publicly cleared." 
 
 "But what can I do?" he asked. 
 
 And I wondered what he could do. A confession might 
 be managed without grave detriment to himself, if his 
 confidant were selected with discrimination. He might 
 plead sudden temptation both with Mrs Lothbury and 
 Lady Marten ; but if the confession required of him by
 
 208 Odd Issues 
 
 Miss Pick were to take the form of a written statement 
 to be circulated in society generally, in which way Miss 
 Pick would be publicly cleared, he might as well suffer 
 the penalty of the law. For his social degradation would 
 be no greater. 
 
 I, too, looked inquiringly at the lady, who answered 
 Sir Gilbert. "There is only one way in which my char- 
 acter can be thoroughly reinstated, save by the police. 
 You shall marry me." 
 
 " Madam ! " 
 
 " Sir ! " rejoined Miss Pick, smiling. 
 
 " I must suppose that you are taking advantage of the 
 miserable situation in which I have placed myself to 
 ridicule me." 
 
 "No," said the lady; "there is no intention to ridicule 
 you. Mine is as serious a suggestion as yours was a 
 serious crime. I intend to enjoy again the good opinion 
 of those by whom I am now unjustly suspected of theft. 
 You are in the world to which these people belong. I 
 have always intended to enter that world myself. When 
 you marry me all suspicion of me will be at an end. If 
 you return the jewels to Mrs Lothbury I shall not be 
 cleared of the accusation of theft, and the fact that you 
 are sorry for me will not assist me to clear myself. If 
 you make, in addition, a full confession to Lady Marten, 
 begging her, at the same time, to let your statement be 
 known to all who were in her house at the time, she 
 would believe you at once, and I dare say most of her 
 friends would believe her. In that way I should be 
 cleared ; but surely it would be a very unpleasant course 
 for you to pursue. Would it not be far better to fall in 
 with my plan ? " 
 
 In certain theatres the one sin which the audience
 
 The Helplessness of Miss Pick 209 
 
 can never forgive the villain is his treatment of the de- 
 fenceless heroine. My mind had run in this groove 
 hitherto. I had never regretted the robbery on Mrs 
 Lothbury's account, or on account of its abstract injury 
 to society; but I had felt that it was exceedingly base 
 of the thief to allow Miss Pick to be accused wrongfully. 
 But when Miss Pick, differing entirely from the heroine 
 of transpontine drama, calmly discussed the position as 
 in no way an extraordinary one, I began to feel sorry 
 for Sir Gilbert. 
 
 He, for his part, looked relieved at her tone. His 
 sensation of shame was mitigated at her proposal to drive 
 a hard bargain with him. He had been a thief and a 
 coward; but it must have seemed to him that the girl 
 had lost her right to expose him from the moment that 
 she expressed a wish to marry him. He began to mutter 
 hurriedly a few words, in which "speak to my bankers," 
 "sensible of the compliment," "an easier and a more 
 satisfactory way out of it," "any figure in reason," and 
 "always deeply grateful," were audible from their setting 
 of "ahems" and " don't-you-knows." 
 
 At once Miss Pick went on serenely. "I have been 
 helped," she said, "by a gentleman allow me to intro- 
 duce Mr John Allen to you. It was he who found the 
 diamonds in your bag. He is a member of your club. 
 If I permit him, he will be only too happy to see that 
 you do not remain a member of his club." 
 
 "The harmless lunatic," I said, as I rose and bowed. 
 
 Sir Gilbert's dream of resistance was dispelled. A man 
 in his own club knew his shame. He must yield to Miss 
 Pick's wishes or accept social ruin if not the dock. 
 
 " And suppose I consent ? " he asked, " how do I 
 know that the matter will be hushed up ? Someone stole 
 o
 
 210 Odd Issues 
 
 the diamonds, and the world, as well as the police, will 
 want to understand. Besides, Mrs Lothbury is not a 
 very easy person to deceive." 
 
 " Then do not let us try to deceive her. It does not 
 matter what she thinks. We can make her say what we 
 wish; and, if she is satisfied, everyone else must be." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Sir Gilbert, enlightened by the un- 
 compromising certainty of her accents, " then you have 
 her letters?" and he touched the despatch-box by his 
 side. 
 
 " They are in safe keeping," said Miss Pick ; " and now, 
 I must ask you to give me an answer." 
 
 " What can be your object in making me marry you ? 
 I have no money." 
 
 "I did not suppose you were rich; but girls who go 
 out as companions do not look for rich husbands. You 
 have a position, and when I am your wife I will make 
 your fortune. You are young, good-looking, and titled " 
 (Sir Gilbert drew himself up involuntarily, and glanced 
 over his shoulder at the mirror) ; " and only accident 
 could have made me a fit match for you." 
 
 " But I am not worthy of you," he said, feeling that he 
 was going to do as she bade him. 
 
 " There is nothing to choose between us," she replied. 
 "Is it polite, is it safe, to hesitate longer?" 
 
 "Very well," said Sir Gilbert; "but you will get a very 
 bad husband. And something may leak out now." 
 
 " Mr Allen," she said, turning to me, " will make up a 
 story that will account completely for the discovery of the 
 diamonds; he can make up stories capitally." 
 
 Sir Gilbert held out his hand, and Miss Pick took it. 
 
 THE END.
 
 MESSRS 
 
 LEONARD SMITHERS & CO.'S 
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