UNIVERSIT 
 
 Y OF CA BIVEIIblLiL LIHHAIi 
 
 ^.O 
 
 ;::>AJLi n 
 
 
 ALMONDS Ijli 
 
 • illiliiml! feimiiiiimn
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 KlVERSiDE

 
 SALTED ALMONDS
 
 
 This Edition is intended for circulation only in India 
 and the British Colonies
 
 flDacmiUaiVe Colonial Xibrar^ 
 
 SALTED ALMONDS 
 
 BY 
 
 F. ANSTEY 
 
 , ("i ^Cui 7 
 
 AUTHOR OF "VICE VERSA," "THE BRASS BOTTLE' 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 
 LONDON 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED 
 
 No. 515 1906 
 
 [All rights reserved]
 
 Printed by Bai.i.antynk, Hanson &♦ Co. 
 At ilie IjuUantyiie Press
 
 PREFACE 
 
 I TAKE this opportunity of explaining that the 
 title of these collected stories and sketches has 
 not been chosen merely because it is that of the 
 first in the list of contents — although if that 
 were the only reason I might claim many dis- 
 tinguished precedents in justification — but also 
 because it seemed appropriate to the collection 
 generally. 
 
 For the contents of this volume resemble 
 salted almonds in that they are not provided 
 as articles of nourishment, but rather to beguile 
 the intervals between the courses of a substantial 
 banquet. 
 
 And, like salted almonds too, they should be 
 indulged in with a certain discretion, since, if 
 more than, let us say, two or three are taken 
 at a time, they are extremely apt to prove 
 indigestible. 
 
 But 1 am quite aware that even the choice of 
 so unambitious a title as this is not without its
 
 vi PREFACE 
 
 danger. It affords an obvious opening to the 
 caustic critic for a complaint that the description 
 implies a flavour which, after conscientiously 
 tasting the samples before him, he has entirely 
 failed to detect. 
 
 However, we must take our risks, and so I 
 have decided to face this, trusting that to less 
 fastidious palates these particular almonds may 
 not seem altogether insipid. 
 
 F. ANSTEY. 
 
 February 1906.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Salted Almonds ; or, Playing the Game 
 
 At a Moment's Notice . 
 
 "As THE Twig is Bent . . ." &c. 
 
 Caveat Emptor ! . . . 
 
 Lunch among the Ruins 
 
 Why I have given up writing Novels 
 
 Going Round the Caves 
 
 Mrs. Brassington-Claypott's Children's Party 
 
 A Business Meeting of the Society of Pen- 
 guins • 
 
 The Gull . 
 
 The Game of Adverbs 
 
 A Bohemian Bag 
 
 The Magic H's . 
 
 After Rehearsal 
 
 The Lights of Spencer Primmett's Eyes 
 
 A "First Night" Supper 
 
 The Adventure of the Snowing Globe 
 
 I 
 
 12 
 
 67 
 76 
 
 86 
 
 97 
 116 
 125 
 
 138 
 147 
 190 
 209 
 217 
 244 
 254 
 271 
 281
 
 SALTED ALMONDS 
 
 OR, PLAYING THE GAME 
 
 Scene I. — At the Dinner-table. 
 
 Situation — Mr. Plumley Duff, a middle-aged 
 bachelor with a well-earned reputation for social 
 tact and fluency combined luith extreme polish, 
 has been sent in to dinner with Miss IMOGEN 
 PUREFOY, an obvious ingenue. Her youthful 
 charm, hotvever, has induced him to overlook 
 any intellectual iftferiority, and, even on the 
 stairs, he has so far unbent as to impart some 
 highly valuable information concerning the 
 state of the weather for the last few days, 
 besides confiding the intelligence that the Par- 
 liamentary Session is responsible for many 
 more people being in Town than usual. Miss 
 PUREFOY has received these utterances tvith 
 a reverential assent which only confirms him 
 in an impression originally favourable. 
 
 Miss PurefOY {after declining fish — to Mr. 
 P. D.). Aren't those salted almonds over there ?
 
 4 SALTED ALMONDS 
 
 bloom" coloured satin. Now, I don't suppose 
 / pay 
 
 [^He discourses here at some length on the 
 precise sum per annum his evening 
 clothes cost him, while Miss PUREFOY 
 listens ivitJi rapt attention. 
 
 Miss P. Really ! How interesting ! And I 
 suppose there were all sorts of other expensive 
 things they had to wear, besides ? 
 
 Mr. D. (^pleased with her intelligence^. Why, 
 if you merely take such indispensable items as 
 a silver-hilted sword, a lace cravat, a snuff-box, 
 shoe-buckles, and so forth, they would represent 
 a serious outlay. Not to speak of Wigs, which 
 frequently cost as much as thirty or forty 
 guineas. 
 
 Miss P. {as she absently pushes one of her 
 salted almonds over the edge of the brocade " table- 
 centre "). Not really ? How glad you must be 
 that you can keep your money to spend on 
 more sensible things ! Motor-cars, perhaps ? 
 For I'm sure you go in for motoring ? 
 
 Mr. D, {flattered, but a little disconcerted by this 
 abmpt change of subject, as he was about to give 
 her an instructive catalogue of the various wigs 
 that characterised the eighteenth century). I
 
 SALTED ALMONDS 5 
 
 confess I do not. Quite apart from all ques- 
 tions of a pecuniary nature, I should decline 
 to give any countenance to a form of convey- 
 ance which, in my opinion, will soon render 
 the horse as extinct an animal as the — er — 
 dodo. 
 
 Miss P. Ah, the poor horse ! But perhaps 
 he won't mind being extinct so very much ! 
 I mean, I've often thought it rather unfair 
 that Jie should be chosen to draw us about, 
 and not some other animal. 
 
 Mr. D. {delighted by her ingenuousness). Nature 
 has her injustices, I am afraid. Possibly her 
 excuse in this case would be that no other 
 quadruped is so well adapted for the — er — 
 particular purpose. But you are mistaken in 
 assuming that the horse alone has been so 
 employed. 
 
 Miss P. Why, of course ! How idiotic of me ! 
 I was forgetting the Donkey I 
 
 Mr. D. Also the Dog, the Bullock, the Rein- 
 deer, and — for heavy artillery, if for no other 
 vehicle — the Indian Elephant. 
 
 Miss P. {ivith sparklitig eyes). You make me 
 feel so ignorant 1 Though of course I might 
 have remembered thou. But I can't think of
 
 6 SALTED ALMONDS 
 
 any other animal that is used in that way. And 
 I don't beheve that even j^z^ can, either ! 
 
 Mr. D. {in quiet triunipli). I think I can. 
 Unless I am greatly misinformed, Zebras have 
 been successfully trained to go in harness. 
 
 Miss P. Zebras ! Isn't it wonderful ! {She 
 deposits a second almond by the side of the first.) 
 Is there anything you don't know, Mr. Duff ? 
 
 Mr. D. I dare say I could tell you a few 
 further facts about Zebras which may be new 
 to you. 
 
 Miss P. They're quite certain to be. You 
 see, I've never learnt atiy facts. I've been so 
 shockingly educated. Like all women ! 
 
 Mr. D. [bowing with the courtly grace that he 
 has found effective on former occasions). No 
 woman can be badly educated when she has 
 learnt to render herself an agreeable companion 
 to Man. 
 
 Miss P. {pouti?ig). Ah, I see what it is ! You 
 despise women. {As Mr. Y)\}¥¥ protests gallantly.) 
 Oh yes, you do ! You don't believe they can 
 do anything as well as men can. You would 
 prevent them even trying to — if you only 
 could ! 
 
 Mr. D. I would prefer to put it in this form.
 
 SALTED ALMONDS 7 
 
 While I allow that your — er — charming sex is 
 capable of attaining a certain proficiency — I will 
 go even further, and say, excellence — in the Arts, 
 I frankly own that I have far too high an admir- 
 ation for Woman to endure to see her unsex 
 herself by stepping into the arena to engage 
 with Man in the sterner conflicts of what I may 
 describe as the serious Business of Life. 
 
 Miss P. But don't women make rather good 
 clerks ? 
 
 Mr. D. I will grant you that the superior 
 suppleness of the feminine hand — {zv it h a glance 
 at Miss Purefoy's, which is idly fingering a 
 third almond) — may give a woman some small 
 advantage in manipulating purely mechanical 
 instruments like — well — Typewriters — but, Great 
 Heavens ! is such slavery as that a fitting career 
 for — {He enlarges on this theme with real eloquence, 
 until he is brought up short by the discovery that 
 her mind is elsewhere, and that she is frivolously 
 attracting the notice of somebody tvhom he cannot 
 see across the table to three salted almonds, with 
 which she has amused herself by placing side by 
 side). I fear I have failed to retain your entire 
 attention ! 
 
 Miss P. How can you think so ! Why, I've
 
 8 SALTED ALMONDS 
 
 been most awfully interested ! You don't know 
 how much you have helped me ! You've said 
 exactly what I wished you to say ! But you 
 must tell me the rest another time. Because, 
 do you know, your other neighbour has been 
 trying to get a word from you for ever so long 
 — so I'm afraid I must be unselfish and give 
 you up to her. 
 
 \She turns to the man on her right y who 
 
 monopolises her during the remaining 
 
 courses. 
 
 Mr. D. {later, seizing his chance just before 
 their hostess gives the signal). I observe, Miss 
 Purefoy, that, notwithstanding your — er — 
 professed adoration for salted almonds, you 
 are leaving the few you took absolutely un- 
 touched. 
 
 Miss P. You are too frightfully observant, 
 Mr. Duff ! I see I had better confess at once 
 that I didn't take them to eat — only to play 
 with. 
 
 Mr. D. [to himself, as the ladies rise). Rather 
 an attractive child — but immature at present. 
 A mind that merely requires forming, though.
 
 SALTED ALMONDS 9 
 
 Scene H. — In the Drawing-room. 
 
 Situation — The men have come upstairs; Mr. 
 Plumley Duff, who was hoping for a 
 further opportunity of sounding the depths of 
 Miss Purefoy'S engaging ignorance, finds 
 himself intei'cepted by his hostess, and pre- 
 sented to another young lady — a Miss Peggy 
 Blount. 
 
 Mr. Duff [with heroic affability). The — er — 
 gaieties of the Season are beginning early this 
 year. I dare say you are already up to your 
 eyes, Miss — er — Blount, in what one may per- 
 haps be permitted to term the Social Whirlpool 
 — dances, dinners, and so forth — h'm ? 
 
 Miss Blount. Oh, I don't know. Not any 
 dances, so far. Another dinner-party though, 
 only next week — {with a little grimace) — worse 
 luck ! Don't tell anybody — but I simply loathe 
 dinners ! 
 
 Mr. D. At your age, my dear young lady, one 
 has not yet commenced to dine. But I infer 
 from your tone that you have not been entirely 
 fortunate in your partner this evening. Or am 
 I mistaken ? 
 
 Miss B. Well, he might have been worse. I
 
 lo SALTED ALMONDS 
 
 wish he had been. Then I should have had a 
 chance of winning. 
 
 Mr. D. a chance of ? Pardon me, but I 
 
 don't quite understand. 
 
 Miss B. How could you, when you don't 
 know ! But I'll tell you, if you'll promise 
 faithfully not to give me away. (Mr. Duff 
 promises^ Well, a girl-friend and I have in- 
 vented a game for getting through dull dinner- 
 parties without being bored. We each try to 
 get the man who takes us in to mention certain 
 things, and the one who does it first wins. Now 
 do you see ? 
 
 Mr. D. {amused). Perfectly. And I must 
 congratulate you on a most ingenious device 
 for avoiding boredom. 
 
 Miss B. hrit it ? But this evening Miss 
 Purefoy (my friend's name, you know) won in 
 a perfect canter. By two salted almonds ! 
 
 Mr. D. By two ? 
 
 Miss B. We use them to score with, you 
 know. That is, when there are any. There 
 generally are — but bread pills will do instead. 
 And, as soon as each of the three things is 
 mentioned, one of us puts an almond where it 
 can catch the other's eye.
 
 SALTED ALMONDS ii 
 
 Mr. D. And is it allowable to ask what those 
 three things were, on this particular occasion ? 
 
 Miss B. Let me see. The first was "Wigs," 
 the second "Zebras," and — what was the third ? 
 Oh, /know, "Typewriters." And just imagine ! 
 Miss Purefoy managed to make her partner 
 mention all three before dinner was half over. 
 It's a record ! 
 
 Mr. D. {acidly). Miss Purefoy must be a 
 young lady of quite exceptional ability. 
 
 Miss B. She did awfully well at Newnham 
 in the History Tripos. Still, I expect whoever 
 took her in this evening must have been — well, 
 rather a duffer. I couldn't see who it was, 
 because of the flowers between us. I wonder 
 \{ you noticed, and could point him out to me ? 
 
 Mr. D. {stiffly). I'm afraid it is not in my 
 power to oblige you. 
 
 \He takes his leave as soon as he can, 
 without making any further attejnpts 
 to stimulate the intelligence of Miss 
 Imogen Purefoy.
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 I 
 
 Nothing could have been more unexpected. 
 If any fellow had met me as I was leaving 
 my rooms, and told me what sort of day I was 
 in for, my reply to him would have been 
 " Liar ! " But he'd have been right all the 
 same. 
 
 I was due to lunch with Monty Blundell at 
 his Club, and started to walk, but when I got 
 into Piccadilly I found I was beastly late. It's 
 funny, but, though I haven't anything in par- 
 ticular to do, I generally am beastly late for 
 most things. So of course I had to call a 
 hansom. It struck me, as I told the Johnny 
 across the roof to drive like the very deuce 
 to the Junior Beaufort Club, that he was a 
 trifle glassy in the eye and white about the 
 gills, and he was driving a chestnut that 
 seemed to have got a bit out of hand. But
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 13 
 
 I was in a hurry, and we were off at a canter 
 before I had time to do more than tumble in 
 anyhow and hope for the best. The canter 
 quickened up into a gallop very soon, and, at 
 the top of St. James's Street, the gallop be- 
 came an unmistakable bolt. I saw the cabbies 
 on the stand running to their horses' nose- 
 bags, and everybody skipping out of our road, 
 and I sat as tight as I knew and prepared for 
 trouble. The gate of St. James's Palace was 
 open, and I rather expected to find myself 
 put down there, where of course they weren't 
 expecting me — but the cabman managed to 
 slew round somehow into Pall Mall. There 
 was a piano-organ just ahead with a monkey 
 on top, and I made sure we should bowl over 
 the entire show in another second. But there 
 had been some rain, and the going was greasy, 
 so, just before we overtook it, there was a 
 slither, a tremendous crash, followed by fire- 
 works * * * * and the next thing I knew 
 I was standing looking on from a distance, 
 feeling rather muzzy, but otherwise quite all 
 right. 
 
 The usual crowd had sprung up, as if through 
 star-traps in the road. They got the chestnut
 
 14 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 on his legs, looking as if he was beginning to 
 suspect he had made a fool of himself ; the 
 driver, too, appeared to be none the worse, 
 and was being questioned by a constable, who 
 did not seem to show him all the sympathy 
 he expected. 
 
 I was rather puzzled, though, when I saw 
 them lifting a young fellow up and carrying 
 him off to the nearest chemist's. He was evi- 
 dently the fare, and, up to then, I had been 
 under the impression that it was my accident. 
 I saw now it couldn't have been, since there 
 I was, looking on. But, from a glimpse I 
 caught of him in passing, I had an idea I'd 
 met him somewhere or other, and I wondered 
 whether I oughtn't to go and see if there was 
 anything I could do for him. I knew the 
 chemist very well, having often looked in there 
 for a pick-me-up. 
 
 Still, if I did, I should be later than ever 
 for that appointment — whatever it was, for I 
 couldn't recollect it for the moment. Besides, 
 now I came to think, I couldn't really have 
 recognised him, he was much too muddy ; it 
 was only his overcoat, which happened to be 
 of much the same pattern as the one I had
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 15 
 
 on. I glanced at my coat-sleeve to make sure 
 of this — and then I made a perfectly fearful 
 discovery. It wasn't so much that I wasn't 
 wearing any overcoat, because it was a mild 
 spring morning, and I'd hesitated for some 
 time whether I hadn't better leave it at home. 
 It was the suit I was in. I take a lot of pains 
 over choosing my clothes, and I think I'm 
 entitled to call myself a well-turned-out man. 
 So it was a most awful shock to find that I had 
 come out — in Pall Mall too — in a lounge suit 
 of red and blue plaid, with black braid round 
 the cuffs ! I couldn't think what had induced 
 me to order such things — or, for that matter, 
 my tailor to make them. / should have ex- 
 pected he'd sooner have died. 
 
 While I was wondering, a tambourine was 
 suddenly shoved under my nose. I never 
 encourage street music at any time, and I was 
 certainly not in the humour for it just then, 
 so I pushed the tambourine away — not over 
 civilly, I dare say — and it fell into the gutter. 
 On this the person with the tambourine caught 
 me a downright nasty clip on the side of my 
 head. 
 
 I was just hesitating whether to call a con-
 
 i6 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 stable and give the bounder in charge, or risk 
 a row by knocking him down — he seemed rather 
 below my height — when I happened to notice 
 what queer gloves I'd got on instead of my 
 ordinary white buckskins. I do occasionally 
 wear grey reindeer — but these were so beastly 
 hairy. 
 
 Feeling more upset than ever, I put my hand 
 to my head, and found I was wearing, very 
 much on one side, a small round cap fastened 
 under the chin by elastic. This I took off and 
 examined closely ; it had no hatter's name 
 printed inside, and seemed to be of some regi- 
 mental pattern, perhaps the latest War Office 
 improvement. Now, except that I did once 
 join a Volunteer corps for a short time (and 
 might have stuck it, if they'd only let me take 
 my poodle into camp with me), I never was 
 what you might call a military man, and even 
 if I had been I shouldn't parade Pall Mall in 
 an undress cavalry cap. It was so utterly unlike 
 me 1 
 
 And then I suddenly remembered my engage- 
 ment — and the thought of it made me feel prickly 
 all over. 
 
 I was lunching with Monty Blundell at the
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 17 
 
 Junior Beaufort Club, where he had promised 
 to put me up for election — and I'd actually, 
 for some reason or other which was beyond 
 me, proposed to go there like this ! 
 
 For all I knew, Monty might have asked 
 some influential fellows on the Committee to 
 meet me — and what on earth would they think 
 of a candidate who was capable of turning up 
 on such an occasion in dittoes of some beastly 
 loud tartan ? I should be pilled to a dead 
 certainty ! It wasn't fair on old Monty either, 
 who's even more particular, if possible, about 
 clothes than I am. Altogether the best thing 
 to do was to slip quietly back to my rooms 
 while I could, and pretend afterwards that the 
 engagement had slipped my memory. 
 
 I'd have done it, too — but unfortunately it 
 was just too late. I'd been moving slowly 
 along Pall Mall all this while without noticing, 
 and when I looked up, there was I, right under 
 the Club windows, and there was Monty, evi- 
 dently on the look-out for me ! I caught his 
 eye, and I thought I saw him nod cheerily in 
 return. After all, if he didn't see anything to 
 object to in my get-up, why should I? So 
 long as a fellow looks a gentleman and all that.
 
 i8 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 he can carry off the rummest sort of clothes. 
 I'd forgotten that for the moment. 
 
 Anyhow, I couldn't get out of it now. So 
 I waved to him in an airy kind of manner, as 
 much as to say : " Got here at last, my dear 
 old chap. Awfully sorry I'm so late. Explain 
 everything when I get in." Though how the 
 deuce I was going to explain, I'd no idea. And 
 I admit I rather funked passing the hall-porter 
 and the page-boys — not to mention the Club 
 waiters in their black velvet knee-breeches and 
 silk stockings. 
 
 However, Blundell didn't answer my signal ; 
 he simply stared at me as if he'd never seen me 
 before in all his life, and then turned away. 
 There couldn't be a neater cut. And really, 
 now I come to think of it, I couldn't blame 
 him. It is enough to put the best-tempered 
 chap off when he asks a fellow to lunch at 
 his Club (and an exclusive Club too, mind you 
 — not a pot-house !) and a fellow actually drives 
 up to the door on top of a piano-organ ! 
 
 For that was where I luas — though somehow 
 I hadn't given it a thought before. That ex- 
 plained why I felt taller than usual, and — just 
 here my conveyance gave a lurch, and, as I
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 19 
 
 steadied myself, I caught a glimpse between 
 my legs of something long and greyish and 
 hairy, like a lady's boa which had seen better 
 days — and it flashed upon me suddenly that 
 there could be only one explanation of my 
 situation. . . . 
 
 I dare say I ought to have realised it long 
 before, but when a fellow has just been shot 
 out of a hansom like a clay pigeon out of a 
 trap, it's generally some time before he's able 
 to make out exactly where he is. 
 
 Now I understood. That young fellow I had 
 seen being carried off to the chemist's round 
 the corner was myself after all. But he was 
 far beyond the aid of any pick-me-up. The 
 vital principle, or intelligence, or whatever you 
 choose to call it, which had inhabited the body 
 of Reginald Ballimore, had already quitted it, 
 and was now occupying this little beast of a 
 monkey. Perhaps there was nowhere else for 
 it to go to just then — and I remember noticing 
 at the time that the monkey's mouth was ajar — 
 perhaps it was even betting on the cab-horse. I 
 don't know, and I must leave it to the scientific 
 Johnnies to explain exactly how it happened. It 
 had happened — and that was enough for me.
 
 20 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 And really, you know, to come in at one 
 end of Pall Mall in a hansom cab as a well- 
 groomed young bachelor, and to come out at 
 the other as a shockingly-dressed monkey on 
 a piano-organ, is one of those blows which 
 would knock most men out of their stride, for 
 a time at all events. 
 
 II 
 
 As I said before, it must naturally be a nasty jar 
 for any fellow to find himself suddenly reduced, 
 through no fault of his own, to the position of a 
 monkey on a piano-organ. And I don't mind 
 admitting that, for a moment or two, I was what 
 you might call in the cart. After that, oddly 
 enough, I began to see that in some ways it was 
 almost a relief. For one thing, I didn't feel 
 nearly such a fool. 
 
 You see, for a man who prides himself on 
 dressing correctly, it's impossible to feel at 
 ease in Pall Mall with nothing on but a plaid 
 tunic fastened up the back with mother-o'-pearl 
 buttons, and a frill round the neck. But, for 
 a monkey, it's quite correct kit — if it isn't 
 actually classy. And I hadn't got to lunch at
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 21 
 
 the Junior Beaufort in it either, which was a 
 let-off. 
 
 Another thing : without being what you would 
 call extravagant, I never have been able to live 
 within my income. Consequently my affairs 
 had got into a regular beastly mess. I was 
 simply up to my neck in money worries of all 
 kinds. Well, I was out of them all now. No- 
 body would dream of serving me with a writ. 
 
 Again, I'd every reason to suppose that the 
 Reggie Ballimore of old must have pegged out 
 — or else I shouldn't be where I was. But I was 
 alive at all events — and that's something. Isn't 
 there a proverb about a live monkey being better 
 than a dead policeman ? So altogether I bucked 
 up sooner than might have been expected. 
 
 I didn't attempt to leave the organ. To tell 
 you the truth, it wouldn't have been any good, 
 as I was attached to the confounded instrument 
 by a stoutish cord and a leather belt round my 
 waist. 
 
 Nor yet, though, as we passed down Pall Mall, 
 I met several men I knew, did I hail them and 
 explain the fix I was in. What was the use ? 
 The right words wouldn't come : 1 didn't under- 
 stand what I said myself, so how could 1 expect
 
 22 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 any one else to ? Besides, I'd a sort of feeling 
 that it wouldn't be quite Cricket. I know / 
 shouldn't have cared to be appealed to as an 
 old pal by a monkey on an organ. 
 
 No, since that was what I had come down to, 
 it seemed to me that the manly thing to do was 
 to grin and bear it — to play the monkey, in short, 
 for all it was worth. People were always telling 
 me I ought to make a fresh start, and do some- 
 thing for my living. Now perhaps they would 
 be satisfied ! 
 
 There was just one thing, though, that caused 
 me a pang when I remembered it. This change 
 in my mode of life would prevent me from 
 dining at my Aunt Selina's that evening. She 
 didn't often ask me, and when she did I seldom 
 went — for her parties are, as a rule, devilish dull. 
 But somehow I had been rather looking forward 
 to this particular dinner. My cousin Phyllis 
 would be there now — which made all the differ- 
 ence. She only came out last year, and, so I 
 understand, with considerable success. I know 
 1 saw her described as "the lovely Miss Adeane " 
 in the Society journals, and as being present at 
 every smart party of the season. I only met her 
 very occasionally, but she seemed to me no end
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 23 
 
 improved since I remembered her in a pigtail 
 — in fact, she'd grown into an absolute ripper — 
 though perhaps a little bit above herself, inclined 
 to be airified, if you know what I mean. 
 
 She hadn't taken much notice of me, so far — 
 seemed indeed to consider I had become rather 
 a piffler. But I'd been hoping that I might sit 
 next to her, perhaps even take her in to dinner 
 that evening. Then I could let her see that 
 there was a more serious side to my character 
 than I chose to show the world. Of course, 
 all that was out of the question now. 
 
 No matter ! I might have been a failure as 
 a man — but, hang it all ! with my education and 
 intelligence, any monkey ought to have a fine 
 career before it ! Pall Mall — as the couple of 
 idiots with my piano-organ might have known — 
 is a most unsuitable place for a street perform- 
 ance, but, as soon as we were permitted to halt 
 without being moved on, I was determined to 
 show the public that I was a cut above the 
 ordinary professional. 
 
 I should have preferred Trafalgar Square as 
 a pitch, but my two ruffians took me up a 
 small lane near the National Gallery and across 
 Coventry Street into Soho, and I didn't get a
 
 24 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 chance of displaying my abilities till we stopped 
 in a slum off Wardour Street. 
 
 My idea was to surprise the audience by giving 
 them a cake-walk, in which I hoped to make 
 some sensation. But it didn't come off, some- 
 how. It wasn't nervousness exactly — that would 
 have been ridiculous when they were all so 
 young. I fancy the cord hampered me, and my 
 tail kept getting in the way, too — and then the 
 tunes I was expected to dance to ! I've noticed 
 that a monkey generally has rather poor luck in 
 the music he's sent out with, and I'll defy any 
 one to cake-walk to ^^ Jerusalem" or ^^ Killarney" 
 and put any kind of " go " into it. 
 
 So I gave it up, and just jumped about any- 
 how, accompanying myself on the tambourine. 
 But the bally tambourine had two of the 
 jingling thingummies missing and ivouldnt keep 
 time. I don't believe I got much more music 
 out of it than an ordinary monkey would have, 
 I really don't. 
 
 However, my chance came presently. One of 
 the organ Johnnies handed me up a little wooden 
 musket. " What-oh ! " I said to myself. " Now 
 I'll open their eyes!" For of course you can't 
 be in a Volunteer corps, even for a short time.
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 25 
 
 without knowing more about the manual exercise 
 than your average monkey. 
 
 I had got rustier in the drill than I thought, 
 and besides it was a rotten little rifle to handle 
 when you're so long in the arms, and haven't 
 learnt to control them completely. Still, it was 
 a fairly creditable performance, and improved 
 with practice, though quite thrown away on 
 such audiences as I had. 
 
 Not that 1 was a failure — don't imagine that 
 for a moment. I should think I took at least 
 thirteen halfpence in the first ten minutes — more 
 than I had ever earned before in all my life ! 
 But it went rather against the grain to take the 
 money — especially from some poor little beggar 
 who obviously belonged to quite the lower 
 orders. I should like to have said, " Don't 
 you be a young ass — run away and spend your 
 halfpenny on sweets instead of squandering it 
 on these lazy bounders ! " But whenever I did 
 reject a copper I got a tug at the belt that nearly 
 cut me in two. 
 
 I should say we gave a matinee that afternoon 
 in every street in Soho. I was getting quite 
 knocked up, for I had had no lunch. At least 
 I don't call half a cracknel biscuit and the
 
 26 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 over-ripe end of a banana " lunch " myself. 
 Monty would have done me to rights at the 
 Junior Beaufort. 
 
 We stopped at last outside a small public 
 just off Oxford Street, and my men went inside 
 for refreshment. They might have thought of 
 sending me out a whisky-and-soda — but not 
 they! So I sat on the top of the piano in 
 the sunshine, keeping a wary eye on my tail, 
 which some of the little brutes of children 
 thought it funny to pull. 
 
 When we moved off again in the direction of 
 the Marble Arch, I felt more cheerful. Thank 
 Heaven ! we had got back into a civilised region 
 again. There would be people there capable 
 of appreciating real talent when they saw it. 
 Suppose — only suppose — some music - hall 
 manager happened to be in the crowd and 
 offered me an engagement ? Why not ? I 
 ought to be able to wear evening" clothes, order 
 a little dinner, and smoke a cigar on the stage 
 better than a common Chimpanzee who'd never 
 done the real thing in any kind of society ! 
 
 Great Scot ! I might be earning my hundred 
 quid a week before long — which I should never 
 have done as Reggie Ballimore. And I'd always
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 27 
 
 had a hankering after the stage, and should have 
 gone on it long before, if it didn't cut into one's 
 evenings so. 
 
 I was still indulging these golden dreams when 
 I was brought up with a round turn. . . . There 
 was a victoria standing outside a glove and fan 
 shop we were coming to, and on the box I 
 recognised Tumbridge, my aunt's coachman. 
 And in the carriage, as I saw when our respec- 
 tive vehicles were alongside, sat my cousin 
 Phyllis, looking simply ripping ! Upon my 
 word, I didn't quite know wJiat to do. I 
 knew she must have seen me, for she smiled 
 in that perfectly fetching way she has. My 
 hand flew to my hat instinctively, but the 
 infernal elastic made it fly back and catch me 
 on the ear. Then, recollecting myself, I gave 
 what I am afraid was a rather sketchy rendering 
 of a military salute, and at that same instant 
 my aunt came out of the fan and glove shop, 
 followed by an assistant with parcels. I felt 
 most beastly awkward — I all but lost my head — 
 and wished more than ever that the frill round 
 my neck had been a trifle cleaner. 
 
 But something had to be done, and, as luck 
 would have it, I was still carrying the little
 
 28 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 wooden musket. So, as my aunt was about 
 to step into the carriage, I presented arms. 
 
 It was a jolly decent " present," too — though 
 I say it myself ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 " O Mums ! " cried my cousin Phyllis, with 
 that impulsive enthusiasm of hers which some 
 people — not myself — say is all put on, "do 
 look at this sweet little monkey on the organ ! 
 Isnt he deevie ? " 
 
 "Deevie" is, I believe, short for "divine" 
 with certain sets. I wouldn't mind betting that 
 Phyllis had never applied such a term to me 
 before. 
 
 My aunt didn't seem impressed by my deevi- 
 ness just then. She examined me through a 
 pair of long-handled glasses, which always had 
 the effect of making me feel rather a worm. 
 On this occasion I dropped feebly on all fours. 
 
 "Since you ask me, Phyllis," said my aunt, 
 " I think he's a frightful little object ! " Which 
 was my poor dear aunt all over — never could 
 make the slightest allowances for me ! 
 
 "/ call him perfectly twee !" persisted Phyllis.
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 29 
 
 (I don't know what " twee " stands for exactly — 
 but something deuced comphmentary.) " Only 
 see how prettily he's scratching his ducky little 
 ear." (This was a bad habit I had been trying 
 all the afternoon to correct). " He's quite too 
 trotty for words. I wonder if those two nice 
 men would part with him ? " 
 
 " My dear Phyllis ! " exclaimed my aunt, step- 
 ping into the victoria. " Are you quite mad ? 
 Home, Charles." 
 
 "No, wait, Charles," said Phyllis, as he was 
 about to touch his hat and mount the box by 
 Tumbridge's side. " Darling Mums, I'm quite 
 serious — I am, really. And you know we've no 
 pet ever since poor Cockie died." {Cockle was a 
 white cockatoo, and I could understand from 
 what I remembered of him that they would be 
 glad of a little peace.) " I nmst just see if they 
 will sell him." 
 
 Even as a child Phyllis generally got her 
 own way. Now she had come out, everybody 
 — my aunt included — knocked under to her at 
 once if she was at all keen on anything. It 
 saved time. 
 
 Phyllis opened negotiations at once. Fortu- 
 nately she had no difiiculty in making herself
 
 30 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 understood, as the two sportsmen who ran my 
 show happened to be British artisans of sorts 
 who, being presumably thrown out of employ- 
 ment by foreign competition, had adopted this 
 means of Retaliation. 
 
 But as a crowd had already collected, a con- 
 stable promptly appeared, and, with a civility 
 paid rather to my aunt's conveyance than my 
 own, requested us to move on and not obstruct 
 the traffic. 
 
 Aunt Selina would have driven off and left 
 me to my fate, but Phyllis wouldn't hear of it, 
 so the disgusted Tumbridge had to turn up a 
 small and unfrequented street close by, fol- 
 lowed by me and the piano-organ, and the 
 crowd, which by this time was taking a deep 
 interest in my future. 
 
 Phyllis is a most awfully charming girl, but 
 a poor hand at monkey - buying — much too 
 eager. Even those two utter outsiders spotted 
 at once that she had set her heart on getting 
 me, and piled it on accordingly. I'd no idea 
 before how fond they were of me — it appeared 
 I was the sunbeam of their cheerless homes, 
 the darling of Joe's missus, the playfellow of 
 Bill's offspring.
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 31 
 
 "Really, Phyllis," said my downy aunt, "I 
 think it would be too cruel to deprive the poor 
 men of such a pet." 
 
 I knew the idiots would muff it ! and, in my 
 despair, I hit my tambourine a vicious bang. 
 
 "Yer see, lydy," explained Bill, "my kids and 
 his missus 'd be on'y too thankful to 'ear as poor 
 Jocko 'ad found a good 'ome where he'd be took 
 proper care on. For, I tell yer strife, we can't 
 feed 'im not like the likes of 'im had orter be 
 fed, bein' so dellikit." 
 
 "My mate means a de\\'\kit feeder," put in Joe 
 hastily, "and, bein' outer work, we can't git 
 him luxuries and rehshes like we did in 'appier 
 times." 
 
 It's my belief that precious pair of humbugs 
 had never seen me till that morning, when they 
 had probably hired me for the day with the 
 organ in Leather Lane or Saffron Hill. All 
 this took time, and I could see that Aunt Selina 
 was getting a bit restive ; even Phyllis seemed 
 to find the publicity and notice she was attrac- 
 ting rather more than she had bargained for. 
 
 It isn't every day a London crowd has the 
 excitement of seeing a sumptuously -attired 
 young person in a victoria trying to buy a
 
 32 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 monkey at a fancy figure off an organ, so 
 she was immensely popular. Several of her 
 admirers urged my proprietors to " let the 
 young lydy 'ave the monkey cheap as she'd 
 took sech a fancy for it," though there were 
 one or two soured sociahsts who cried 
 " Shame ! " on the idle aristocracy which was 
 trying to deprive two poor hard-working men 
 of their only bread-winner. 
 
 As for me, I was powerless. I could only 
 sit and look on from the top of my pedestal 
 like some classical Johnny in a melodrama 
 being put up to auction as a Greek slave. 
 Except that whenever I thought Phyllis was 
 beginning to weaken, I tried to revive her 
 enthusiasm by rattling the tambourine. 
 
 Perhaps that just turned the scale. Anyhow, 
 she got me at last. What she actually paid 
 for me I don't know — but I've no doubt it 
 was a long way above the market value for a 
 monkey, of whatever breed I belonged to. To 
 be sure, I had talents and intelligence denied 
 to any monkey — but then neither of the parties 
 suspected that as yet. 
 
 There wasn't enough in the purse which 
 Phyllis took out of her dainty wrist-bag to
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 33 
 
 make up the purchase - money. She was 
 obhged to borrow from my aunt, and even 
 from the blushing Charles, before my ransom 
 was finally paid in full. 
 
 My aunt declined to have me on the little 
 strapontin seat in front. As a matter of fact 
 I had been there before, more than once — and 
 a jolly uncomfortable perch it was, too. Still, 
 I'm bound to say I didn't altogether blame her 
 just then. 
 
 So, when we drove off amidst loud cheers, 
 which I do not think were intended altogether 
 in chaff, I was on the box, sitting bodkin 
 between Charles and Tumhridge, who were 
 distinctly shirty at having to drive home 
 through the Park with such a companion. 
 
 At least so I gathered from the subdued 
 remarks they exchanged above my inoffen- 
 sive head. Till then I had always thought 
 Tumbridge and Charles such respectable 
 men ! 
 
 Much I cared for their opinions ! I had got 
 a rise in the world already, and in a quarter 
 I little expected. I wonder what they would 
 have said if they had known who the quiet, 
 unassuming-looking monkey that was sharing
 
 34 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 the box-seat with them really was, or guessed 
 that if I blinked my eyes it was merely because 
 I was dazzled by the brilliancy of the future 
 that seemed within my grasp. 
 
 Naturally they couldn't know all that — and 
 perhaps it was just as well they didn't. 
 
 IV 
 
 As we bowled swiftly along past Hyde Park 
 Corner, Albert Gate, and the Cavalry Barracks, 
 my brain was working busily on the problem 
 of how to carry out my idea of going on the 
 Variety Stage and knocking spots out of the 
 ignorant apes which were being palmed off on 
 a credulous Public as *' educated." 
 
 Now I really was educated, having been at 
 a well-known Public School — at tzvo of them, 
 for that matter ! And if an ordinary baboon 
 can earn the screw of a Cabinet Minister or a 
 Judge by simply appearing on the stage for a 
 few minutes, and giving a clumsy imitation of 
 some outsider's notion of a man-about-town, 
 what mightn't / expect ? 
 
 Without being a positive Paderewski, I could 
 pick out several tunes by ear on the piano ; I
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 35 
 
 could play billiards, and bridge, too — I won't 
 say well, but marvellously for a monkey ! 
 
 The only rock ahead I saw was Phyllis. She 
 mightn't like the notion of any monkey of hers 
 performing nightly at the Palace or the Empire. 
 She might consider it would deprive her of 
 most of the advantage of my society. I de- 
 cided not to spring the idea on her all at once, 
 but accustom her to it by degrees. 
 
 First of all, she would naturally notice a sort 
 of distinction about me ; she would realise that 
 I possessed a tact and savoir /aire, an ease of 
 manner which no piano -organ can impart. 
 Then, when she had learnt to respect me, I 
 could reveal my accomplishments gradually, 
 one by one, and she would have to admit that 
 such talents as mine ought not to be wasted 
 in obscurity — they belonged not to her, but to 
 the whole World ! 
 
 It was a bit of a bunker that, as yet, I could 
 not talk intelligibly — but I was sure to hit upon 
 some method of conveying my ideas before 
 long — and then I could inform Phyllis that I 
 had quite made up my mind to go on the 
 stage. 
 
 She was too sensible to stand in my way —
 
 36 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 especially if I offered her a commission on my 
 salary — say ten per cent,, which, even if I was 
 making no more than two hundred a week, 
 would be a welcome addition to her pocket- 
 money. 
 
 Should I ever reveal to her the secret of my 
 identity ? It would be a temptation some day 
 to let her know that the brilliant and wealthy 
 monkey who was the darling of Society and 
 the idol of the Public had once been her rather 
 shiftless and unsatisfactory cousin Reginald. 
 Still, perhaps it was better she should never 
 suspect the truth. It would put the family in 
 a deuced awkward position. No, Reggie Balli- 
 more was better dead. I would use his dead 
 self, as some poet-Johnny (Milton, isn't it ? or 
 Shakespeare?) puts it, "as a stepladder to 
 something higher." 
 
 By the time I had come to this decision, the 
 carriage stopped at my aunt's house in Cadogan 
 Gardens — and 1 shall never forget Macrow the 
 butler's face as Charles handed me to him by 
 the scruff of my neck. 
 
 '' It is Miss Phyllis's monkey, Macrow," ex- 
 plained my aunt, with an anxiety to disown all 
 responsibility for me that was not flattering.
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 37 
 
 "And, Phyllis, dearest, if you insist on having 
 it in the drawing-room, hadn't you better ?" 
 
 I failed to catch the rest, but Phyllis replied, 
 " Well, perhaps it might be as well. Macrow, 
 will you take him to Friswell, please, and ask 
 her to — to wash him for me and send him into 
 the drawing-room ? " 
 
 Friswell, I fancy, was not altogether chummy 
 with Macrow just then ; at all events she told 
 him it was " no part of her work to bath a little 
 beast of a monkey," and recommended him 
 strongly to do it himself. 
 
 But he turned me over to the under scullery- 
 maid instead — and even she was sniffy about it. 
 
 To be held under a tap in a sink, soused 
 with cold water, and scrubbed with beastly 
 yellow soap and a most infernal hard brush, 
 is not exactly the kind of treatment I was ac- 
 customed to, even under my aimt's roof — but 
 I showed no resentment. I thought I probably 
 required it. 
 
 It was over at last, and in a condition of 
 almost offensive cleanliness [I loathe the smell 
 of yellow soap myself — so depressing !] I was 
 carried upstairs and deposited outside the draw- 
 ing-room door, which Macrow opened for me.
 
 38 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 My little plaid tunic had been burnt, so I 
 had absolutely nothing on but the leather belt. 
 One can't get rid of one's prejudices all at 
 once, and though I knew that even this costume 
 wouldn't be considered at all outre \n my present 
 case, I did feel just a little bit shy about going 
 in. After all, though, I was one of the family, 
 and I resolved to saunter in unconcernedly, as 
 a person who had a right to feel at home. 
 
 Whether Nature was too strong for me, or 
 whether I got a gentle push from Macrow's 
 boot, I can't say, but I'm afraid that, as a matter 
 of fact, I shambled in anyhow on all fours. 
 
 " You can't say he isn't clean now, Mums ! " 
 cried Phyllis. " Isn't he a perfect angel ? I 
 think I must have some new clothes made for 
 him — he'll look frightfully sweet in them ! " 
 
 I thought I should look all right if she would 
 only let me go to my own tailor, who, though 
 a trifle too given to press for immediate pay- 
 ment, does understand my figure — but how was 
 I to give her his address ? She said a lot more 
 about me, till at last, not being used to such 
 open admiration — especially from her — I began 
 to feel a bit embarrassed ; it was enough to turn 
 most monkeys' heads. To cover my confusion,
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 39 
 
 I wandered round the room, just as 1 should 
 have done if I had remained my old self, look- 
 ing at this and that, taking up an article here 
 and there, fingering it, and putting it down 
 again. Then I sat on the music-stool and struck 
 a few careless chords on the piano. I had 
 meant to play them as much as I could re- 
 member of the Choristers Waltz, but my fingers 
 had all got so fumbly that I couldn't raise any 
 tune in particular. But that would come back 
 to me, with practice. 
 
 Phyllis was highly amused, at first, by my 
 performance, but she did not appear to think 
 it showed any marked musical ability. If she 
 had, she would not have insisted on my leaving 
 off so soon. Of course a hint from her was 
 enough for me, and I got off the music-stool 
 and retired to a sofa without, I hope, letting 
 her see how deeply she had disappointed me. 
 I took up the nearest Society journal and began 
 to glance through it with a show of interest. 
 Not that I really cared two straws how Lady 
 Honor Hyndlegge's small dance had gone off, 
 or who were letting their houses for Ascot week, 
 or going to have a houseboat at Henley — 1 
 seemed now to have got so far beyond all that !
 
 40 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 But I was determined to make Phyllis under- 
 stand that I had intellectual tastes. 
 
 However, it was a deuced tricky paper to 
 manage — especially as my feet would keep on 
 trying to turn over the pages instead of leaving 
 it to my hands. So I am not sure that Phyllis 
 quite took in the fact that I was actually read- 
 ing, and, whatever it was I did read, I can't 
 remember a single line of it now. 
 
 But all of a sudden, as I sat there, Macrow 
 appeared and announced : " Mr. Blundell " — 
 and sure enough, in walked old Monty, irre- 
 proachably got up as usual ! I was a bit 
 staggered at first, for I wasn't aware he knew 
 my aunt — / hadn't introduced him. 
 
 Then it struck me ivhy he had come. He 
 had heard of my decease, and volunteered to 
 break the sad news to my family. It was pretty 
 decent of him, really — though I would rather 
 it had been anybody else. Because, between 
 ourselves, I wouldn't have trusted dear old 
 Monty to break the death of a bluebottle with- 
 out managing to foozle it somehow. 
 
 He couldn't see nie behind the paper, and, 
 as I couldn't be of much assistance to him, I 
 lay doggo, being naturally curious to hear
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 41 
 
 how he would prepare them for the shock, and 
 how they — especially Phyllis — would bear up 
 under it. 
 
 V 
 
 As it happened, my aunt and Phyllis had 
 met Monty already, and evidently imagined he 
 was merely making an ordinary afternoon call. 
 Monty sat down, and asked Phyllis " if she 
 had been in the Park that afternoon " — which 
 struck me as rather a circuitous route to the 
 information that I'd been cut off in the flower 
 of my youth by being pitched out of a cab in 
 Pall Mall. But he went on talking Society 
 drivel for some minutes before my aunt in- 
 quired " if he had seen anything lately of her 
 good-for-nothing nephew ? " — meaning me. 
 
 This of course was Monty's cue — and I poked 
 my head out round the corner of my paper, 
 and nodded hard at him, meaning, " Now's 
 your time ! Out with it ! Don't keep 'em in 
 suspense ! Tell 'em the worst ! " I suppose 
 he hadn't noticed me before, and it rather 
 upset him, for he dropped his eyeglass as if it 
 had been red-hot. For the moment, I thought 
 he must have recognised me, without remem-
 
 42 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 bering how improbable that was under the 
 circumstances. 
 
 " Oddly enough," said Monty, looking every- 
 where but at me, " I was expecting him to 
 lunch with me at the Club to-day. But he — 
 er — didn't turn up." 
 
 " He gets more erratic every day ! " lamented 
 my dear aunt. " He ought to be dining here 
 this evening, and I shall be seriously annoyed 
 if he forgets that, as there will be nobody to 
 take in poor Miss Yellowly." 
 
 So I was to have taken in Miss Yellowly ! 
 If I had zvanted anything to reconcile me to 
 what I had become, that would have about 
 done it ! 
 
 " I suppose he sent you some sort of excuse ? " 
 said Phyllis. 
 
 Again I tried to catch Monty's eye and buck 
 him up to tell his news and get it over — but it 
 was no good. 
 
 " What ? Reggie ! He's much too casual 
 for that ! " said Monty. " Likely as not he 
 overslept himself or somethin'." 
 
 Now this was too bad of Monty — he knows 
 perfectly well that I hardly ever sit down to 
 breakfast later than half-past twelve ! But I
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 43 
 
 began to see now that he couldn't have heard 
 of my accident after all. 
 
 "Disgraceful!" said my aunt. "At his age, 
 he ought to be ashamed of such lazy, idle 
 habits." 
 
 "There's this to be said," put in Monty. 
 " Dear old Reggie hasn't anything particular 
 to do when he is up." 
 
 " Then he ought to have ! " declared my aunt 
 — and Monty agreed with her. 
 
 " I'm always tellin' him he doesn't take half 
 enough exercise," he added. 
 
 He wouldn't have said that if he had seen 
 me jumping about all the afternoon with that 
 confounded tambourine ! And Monty, too ; 
 who takes all his exercise in a motor ! 
 
 " I didn't mean exercise^" said Aunt Selina. " I 
 meant work. Every young man ought to have 
 some profession." 
 
 Monty agreed once more, and said that, for 
 his part, he found being at the Bar had made 
 all the difference to hitn. What difference — 
 except knowing that his name was painted up 
 outside some door in Lincoln's Inn which he 
 never by any chance darkened, I fancy Master 
 Monty wouldn't have found it easy to explain.
 
 44 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 But my aunt said she was glad to think that 
 I had one friend who set me a good example, 
 and begged him to look after me as much as 
 possible. To which old Monty, trying to look 
 as like the infant Samuel in plaster as he could 
 at such short notice, replied that she could rely 
 on him to do his best to keep me out of any 
 serious mischief. 
 
 The notion of old Monty as my guardian 
 angel was so rich that I couldn't resist grinning 
 at him from behind the journal — and I saw him 
 gasp. No doubt he thought that, for a monkey, 
 I was a trifle over familiar, but he took no 
 further notice. And my aunt went on slanging 
 me ; I had had every advantage, excellent 
 opportunities of making my own way in the 
 world, and I was so incorrigibly indolent that 
 I had neglected them all — and so forth, all 
 of which I had heard on several previous 
 occasions. 
 
 Good old Monty stuck up for me — after a 
 fashion. He didn't think it was my fault 
 exactly ; I was a dear good chap — one of the 
 best, in short. It was only that I was naturally 
 too thick to learn anything thoroughly, and in 
 fact, what he might call — if my aunt would
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 45 
 
 forgive the expression — "a born rotter." Aunt 
 Selina didn't object to the expression in the 
 least — in fact, both she and Phylhs appeared 
 to think it hit me off rather neatly. Then 
 they asked if Monty considered I was likely 
 to do better in the Colonies, but Monty thought 
 (and it just shows how little he knows me) 
 that roughing it was not precisely in my line 
 of country. 
 
 By this time I was, as you may suppose, 
 getting fairly sick of the subject. It wasn't 
 pleasant to feel I was eavesdropping, as it 
 were, and I knew, too, that when they did 
 hear that I was scratched for ail my engage- 
 ments, they would be no end sorry they had 
 been so down on me. For myself, of course, 
 I didn't mind a rap. The worse they made 
 Reggie Ballimore out, the more satisfied / felt 
 at being no longer connected with such a 
 waster. 
 
 Still, it struck me it was quite time to switch 
 Monty on to some pleasanter topic, so I got 
 quietly down from the sofa, and, stealing up 
 behind his chair, I scratched him gently just 
 above his coat-tail buttons. 
 
 He turned sharp round and saw me. I never
 
 46 AT A MOMENTS NOTICE 
 
 saw any one go quite so green before — but he 
 said nothing. 
 
 " I'm afraid, Mr. Blundell," said my aunt, 
 noticing how he was shifting about in his seat, 
 "that you have chosen rather an uncomfortable 
 chair ? " 
 
 Monty said, '' Oh, not at all — most comfort- 
 able," and inquired if Phyllis " had done the 
 Academy yet ? " Which, as it didn't open for 
 some days, was a silly-ass thing to say — even 
 for Monty — but I don't believe he knew pre- 
 cisely what he was saying just then. 
 
 "Are you quite sure the monkey isn't bother- 
 ing you ? " asked Phyllis ; " I thought he was 
 on the sofa." 
 
 "Oh, then — then you noticed it too?" poor 
 old Monty blurted out. 
 
 "Why, of course — it's mine," said Phyllis, "I 
 only bought it this afternoon. I hope you've 
 no antipathy to monkeys ? " 
 
 "Oh, not a bit!" said Monty, beginning to 
 turn a wholesomer colour. " Can't say I ever 
 kept one myself — but awfully fond of them, 
 assure you I am." 
 
 On which Phyllis gave the history of my 
 purchase.
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 47 
 
 " Wish you'd told me you were on the look- 
 out for a monkey, Miss Adeane," said that 
 blundering ass Monty, " because / could have 
 got you one from a man who has some clinkers ; 
 real well-bred ones, don't you know — the sort 
 they don't send out with organs ! " 
 
 Phyllis — bless her ! — replied with a slight fall 
 of temperature that she was "afraid she pre- 
 ferred to choose her pets for herself, and that 
 I was the only monkey she had ever seen that 
 she could imagine herself caring for in the 
 least." 
 
 Which was one in the eye for old Monty ! 
 I could afford to despise him now; my position 
 in the household was already secure. Before 
 she was much older, Phyllis would be proud 
 that she alone had had the insight to detect 
 my marvellous superiority ! So, as I sat in 
 one of the window-seats, cooling my tail among 
 the marguerites that filled the flower-box, I 
 allowed myself to dream of my coming glory 
 — till Macrow came in with afternoon tea. 
 
 Here, I thought, was a good opportunity to 
 show that I was perfectly familiar with the 
 ordinary social amenities. I was in my aunt's 
 house — almost in the position of host, so to
 
 48 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 speak — and anyway I wasn't going to let Monty 
 attend to Phyllis's wants while I was there to 
 look after her myself ! So I made a bee-line 
 for the tea-table, and got hold of a plate 
 of hot tea-cakes and another of cucumber 
 sandwiches. 
 
 Perhaps I was too impetuous ; my wrists were 
 weaker than 1 had thought, and, as usual, I 
 did not take my tail into consideration. The 
 result was that I not only shot the cakes and 
 cucumber sandwiches over my cousin's charm- 
 ing afternoon frock, but upset the cream-jug 
 into Aunt Selina's lap. 
 
 It was awkward of course — but it might have 
 happened to any fellow without necessarily 
 putting him out of countenance ; it was the 
 kind of thing which a man of the world could 
 pass o£f easily enough with a graceful apology 
 or a witty remark, and perhaps make a friend 
 for life into the bargain. Only, unfortunately, 
 situated as I was, I could do nothing at all 
 just then except gibber — and I realised that one 
 of the undeniable drawbacks to monkey-existence 
 is that one is so apt to get misunderstood over 
 the merest trifles.
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 49 
 
 VI 
 
 I should say it would be about as much as 
 Aunt Selina's place is worth to speak severely 
 to Phyllis, and, to do her justice, she is far too 
 well-bred a woman to make any visitor feel 
 uncomfortable by ragging her in his presence. 
 
 Still, any one could have seen she was 
 annoyed ; and, while the cream was being 
 spooned out of her lap into a slop-basin, she 
 made remarks on the inconveniences of allowing 
 monkeys to be about at afternoon tea which 
 I, for one, considered most beastly offensive. 
 
 And even Phyllis could find no better excuse 
 for me than that I was probably half-starved, 
 and the sight of cucumber sandwiches had 
 proved too much for my manners. Which 
 was too sickening — considering my sole object 
 had been to nip in ahead of Monty in handing 
 the food to her ! And yet people talk rot about 
 "feminine insight ! " 
 
 But I kept my temper. I merely let them 
 see that I was hurt by turning my tail on 
 them all, and stalking off to a corner — not, I 
 flatter myself, without a certain dignity. I had
 
 50 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 had nothing since breakfast, except, as I fancy 
 I mentioned before, a bit of biscuit and a 
 rotten banana — but, after my aunt had called 
 me "a greedy little horror," I could not bring 
 myself to accept one of her sandwiches. Not 
 to mention that my doctor has often told me 
 never on any account to touch cucumber. 
 
 Presently I had what I thought (and still 
 think) a flash of real inspiration. If I couldn't 
 speaky by Jove ! I could spell ! Rather rockily, 
 perhaps — in fact it was my spelling that really 
 spun me in more than one exam. — but still, 
 quite well enough to make myself understood 
 by the meanest intelligence. 
 
 All I actually required was some sort of 
 Alphabet. With that I could fix up a few 
 simple sentences and lay them at Phyllis's 
 feet. When she read, for instance, something 
 like this : " Sorry. My mistake. Not Pig. 
 Only Polite. Disguised, but still a Gentleman. 
 Please let me go on Stage," she would be 
 astonished — but even more touched by my 
 appeal. The problem was, how to get hold 
 of an Alphabet. 
 
 Now, though few people give me credit for 
 it, I Jiave brains when I choose to exert them
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 51 
 
 — and it didn't take me long to come across 
 the identical thing for my purposes. 
 
 For, lying on a chair in the corner, I found 
 a book in a thick leather binding — oldish, I 
 imagined (I must tell you my aunt rather 
 fancies herself as a Connoisseur, and of course 
 gets taken in with all manner of worthless old 
 rubbish). But what fetched 7ne was the inside 
 of the book. On nearly every page there was 
 a big fat capital letter, gilded and painted in a 
 rather gaudy style, much after that of the texts 
 I used to illuminate when I was a good little 
 boy in a holland blouse. If I'd searched for 
 a month I couldn't have got hold of anything 
 more topping ! 
 
 So I went to work, and soon ferreted out an 
 S, and an O, and then an R — but I couldn't 
 discover another R, and the silly old Johnny 
 who had painted the bally book didn't seem 
 ever to have heard of a Y ! However, SORI 
 was correct enough for a monkey, and I tore 
 those letters out — pretty neatly on the whole, 
 for the paper was devilish tough — and then 
 selected others I was likely to want, keeping 
 as quiet as possible, so as to surprise Phyllis 
 all the more later on.
 
 52 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 But that interfering idiot of a Monty spotted 
 me before I was half ready ! 
 
 " Mischievous Httle beggars monkeys are," he 
 remarked, " always up to somethin' or other ! " 
 
 " So7He monkeys may be," said Phyllis ; " not 
 lume. It wasn't mischief just now — only hunger, 
 poor darling ! " 
 
 " Well, but I say," persisted Monty, " he's 
 busy tearin' up some paper now, with pictures 
 in it, too !" 
 
 "Oh, I expect it's only Punch" said Phyllis, 
 without looking round. " It doesn't matter, 
 because we've seen that — at least we've looked 
 at the pictures, you know." 
 
 Monty said he never saw Punch himself — it 
 didn't amuse him, somehow — still, he might be 
 mistaken, but he'd a sort of idea that it hadn't 
 gone in yet for giving coloured illustrations. That 
 fetched them all up to see what I was about, 
 and then my aunt gave a kind of scream : 
 "Good gracious, Phyllis!" she cried, "the 
 miserable little wretch has got hold of that 
 book of ours" (or she may have said "Hours," 
 — / don't know) "which Professor Peagrum 
 kindly lent me to look at. And he's tearing it 
 all to pieces ! "
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 53 
 
 All Phyllis said to me was, " O Monkey ! 
 — Monkey I ^^ But even as I still frantically 
 tried to deal her out an S and an O and 
 an R, this gentle reproof cut me to the 
 quick. 
 
 "What shall I say to the poor dear Pro- 
 fessor ? " wailed my aunt. " A valuable MS. 
 like that ! And when he was hoping the British 
 Museum might buy it, too ! " 
 
 "Afraid they won't give him much for it ?/<?«'," 
 said Monty, inspecting the fragments through 
 his glass. " Monkey's taken a lot off the value 
 already ! " 
 
 "Mums, darling!'' put in Phyllis. "It was 
 only his play ! And really, it was a good deal 
 your fault, you know ! You shouldn't leave 
 such things about ! The poor monkey couldn't 
 possibly know what he was doing ! " 
 
 " It's high time he was taught," said my aunt 
 grimly. On which Monty volunteered the 
 opinion that "a good licking would be a lesson 
 to me." 
 
 " I won't have him whipped ! " declared 
 Phyllis. " He knows already that he's done 
 wrong. Only look at him!" [1 dare say I did 
 look pretty abject — for 1 really was rather
 
 54 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 annoyed with myself.] "And I'll pay for it, 
 out of my allowance ! " 
 
 "As I believe the Professor gave some 
 hundreds of pounds for it at Sotheby's, Phyllis," 
 retorted Aunt Selina, "it may be some little time 
 before you are able to make up the amount." 
 
 Of course I shouldn't allow her to do any- 
 thing of the sort ; I would take the entire re- 
 sponsibility on myself ! After all, what would 
 a few hundreds matter to me, as soon as I got 
 that engagement at the Palace or the Hippo- 
 drome ? 
 
 " Fact of the matter is, Miss Adeane," said 
 dear Monty, "you'll never feel safe with a little 
 beast like that about. I should advise you to 
 get rid of it. If you're really keen on having 
 a monkey, I can get you one with no nonsense 
 about it — as quiet and well-behaved as any 
 poodle. Only got to say the word, don't you 
 know." 
 
 " I thought I told you before," said Phyllis, 
 looking all the jollier in a bait, "that the word 
 is ' No,' Mr. Blundell. Do you quite under- 
 stand ? No — no — no! And if you persist in 
 pressing any more monkeys on me which I 
 don't want, I shall be really vexed !"
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 55 
 
 But old Monty wouldn't take a hint ; he 
 seemed bent on crabbing my chances if he 
 could — and we'd always been such pals too ! 
 
 "What I mean to say is," he went on, "if 
 you must keep a monkey, why not a healthy 
 one ? I don't set up for a judge of 'em myself, 
 but even / can see the little beggar is about as 
 rickety as he can be." 
 
 "He is7it!'' said Phyllis indignantly. "And 
 if he is, he can be cured. And he shall, too ! " 
 
 " I should have said he was too far gone my- 
 self," said Monty. " Besides, I fancy he's got 
 something worse the matter, if you ask vie." 
 
 " I don't ask you," said Phyllis. " What else 
 do you think he's got ? " 
 
 "Oh, I may be wrong," said Monty. "Hope 
 so, I'm sure. But those pink patches under 
 the skin, eh ? Look to me like — well — like the 
 beginning of — er — mange, don't you know." 
 
 " O Mr. Blundell ! Not really ? " cried 
 Phyllis. 
 
 But I could see that her ideal of me had 
 received its first serious shock. 
 
 " I could have told you better if he'd been a 
 fox-terrier," said Monty. "Still, if I were you, 
 I'd have in a vet. Nasty thing, mange ! "
 
 56 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 " Horrible ! " said Phyllis, with a shudder. 
 " But no. I wont believe it's anything so un- 
 pleasant ! " 
 
 " I always abstain, on principle, my dear, as 
 you know," observed my aunt, "from saying 
 anything so banal as * I told you so,' Other- 
 wise I should be tempted to ask what else you 
 could possibly expect from a piano-organ ! " 
 
 The suddenness of the accusation had com- 
 pletely floored me. It was so beastly unjust 
 too ! What on earth did an unmitigated ass 
 like Monty know about mange ? I admit that 
 I may have been a trifle flushed in places. 
 What fellow wouldn't be, I'd like to know, 
 after being scrubbed with such an infernal 
 hard brush as I had been ! 
 
 Still, I was determined to keep myself under 
 control — to meet this terrible charge with the 
 calm consciousness of innocence. 
 
 A hero in a melodrama, when accused by 
 the villain of something he hasn't done, only 
 has to stand in the limelight, with his right 
 hand raised to the ceiling, and shout : " 1 call 
 upon the Eternal Justice to decide between 
 that Man and Me ! " (or some such remark). 
 And that brings the curtain down.
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 57 
 
 But I had no speech and no limelight. There 
 wasn't even a curtain that would come down. 
 I can assure you that just then I jolly well 
 wished there had been one, if it would only 
 have put an end to my trying situation. 
 
 VII 
 
 I had put up with a good deal. I had heard 
 Monty discuss the Reggie Ballimore that was, 
 and give him away with a pound of tea, so 
 to speak, — and I hadn't turned a hair. The 
 coming Variety Star, " the Unparalleled Pheno- 
 menon of Simian Intelligence" (as they would 
 probably announce me in the advertisements), 
 was infinitely above such paltry detractors. 
 
 But now, not content with running me down 
 as the man I had ceased to be, he had done 
 his best to disenchant Phyllis with me in my 
 present shape ; he had made the one insinua- 
 tion which no sensitive monkey with the spirit 
 of a sick caterpillar could take lying down — 
 he had charged me with showing symptoms of 
 incipient — I can hardly bring myself to mention 
 the beastly word, but I must — mange !
 
 58 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 Yet, sorely as I was provoked, I still struggled 
 to be calm. I recollected that I was a Gentle- 
 man first, a Monkey afterwards. I would not 
 condescend to a vulgar brawl with Monty in 
 the presence of my aunt and Phyllis. 
 
 I simply looked him straight in the face, my 
 chest heaving with indignation, my eyes flash- 
 ing (naturally I couldn't see them doing it, but 
 I've no doubt whatever that they did flash), 
 and my teeth chattering with righteous wrath. 
 
 And Monty was unable to meet my eyes. 
 
 " I say, Miss Adeane," he stammered, " I — I 
 don't quite like the look of this monkey. Seems 
 to me he's turnin' nasty. D'you think he's 
 quite safe, loose like this ? " 
 
 " He was as quiet as possible only a minute 
 or two ago," faltered Phyllis. 
 
 " He was busy tearing up the professor's 
 missal thenj' said my aunt. " But of course, 
 Phyllis, if you consider he should be given every 
 facility for further mischief, / have nothing to 
 say." 
 
 " Perhaps," Phyllis admitted reluctantly, " it 
 might be better to — to keep him on a chain in 
 future." 
 
 " He'd soon slip that," said Monty ; " monkeys
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 59 
 
 are so artful. If I might suggest, Miss Adeane, 
 / should put him in a cage. Then, don't you 
 see — supposing he's really got the ma " 
 
 "Yes — yes," said Phyllis petulantly. "But 
 you see, Mr. Blundell, we haven't got a 
 cage ! " 
 
 " But, my dear," put in my aunt, " we have. 
 He could have poor Cockles — the very thing ! 
 I'll ring for Macrow and tell him to find it and 
 bring it here." Which she did, promptly. 
 
 Of course I saw at once that this would about 
 biff me. What earthly chance should I have to 
 exhibit all my accomplishments then ? Why, 
 the Admirable Crichton himself couldn't have 
 gained any reputation worth mentioning inside 
 a cockatoo's cage ! I decided to " off " it 
 while I could — but Monty was too smart for 
 me. " Shut the windows, quick ! " he yelled — 
 and they were shut before 1 could decide which 
 one to make for ! 
 
 " Perhaps I'd better catch hold of him," that 
 officious ass next suggested. "Or he might bolt 
 through your butler's legs, don't you know, the 
 minute the door is opened," 
 
 "Oh, do be careful, dear Mr. Blundell," my 
 aunt entreated ; " he might bite you."
 
 6o AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 "7'm not afraid of him," declared Monty, 
 wishing to show off before PhyUis. "Still, I'll 
 try coaxing first. Poo' little Chappie, then," he 
 began, snapping his foolish thumb and finger at 
 me, " come along, good little mannie ! " . . . 
 
 I came along. I shinned up Monty's lovely 
 fawn-coloured waistcoat with a suddenness that 
 took his wind ; I smacked his flabby cheeks ; I 
 wrung his nose ; I boxed his ears ; I hung on 
 behind and helped myself to his hair by the 
 handful — I'm afraid I even bit him ! But, after 
 all, what's the good of being a monkey unless 
 you act up to it ? 
 
 For quite a couple of minutes I simply gave 
 old Monty beans. And I don't think he could 
 have cut a very heroic figure in Phyllis's eyes 
 as he hopped about the room, howling, "Take 
 the little devil off me, somebody, do ! " If 
 she'd had just a shade more sense of humour 
 she would have roared — but, so far as I was 
 able to notice, she was more alarmed than 
 amused just then. 
 
 At this stage of the proceedings, Macrow 
 turned up with the parrot-cage. I tried to 
 dodge past him — but he shut the door just 
 in time. So I made a spring for the mantel-
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 6i 
 
 piece. Aunt Selina rather goes in for old china, 
 and there were cups and plates and things up 
 each side of the overmantel on brackets, which 
 made a ripping ladder. I discovered I was a 
 nailer at climbing, and the crockery came in 
 useful to keep Monty and Macrow in check 
 for a while. 
 
 They tell you monkeys cant shy — I only know 
 / could. I doubled up Macrow with a bit of 
 Old Staffordshire, which caught him just under 
 his silver watch-chain, and I landed Monty in 
 the jaw with a well -delivered lustre milkpot, 
 and again with an Urbino plate on the shin — 
 all three really pretty shots ! Even if Phyllis 
 and my aunt had come within range (which 
 they took jolly good care not to do), I shouldn't 
 have hurt either of them — not even my aunt. 
 I was not making war on women ! 
 
 However, my ammunition ran short at last, 
 and, when Macrow slipped out and returned 
 with a long-handled broom, I saw I couldn't 
 hold the position against such overwhelming 
 odds, and should have to quit. So I made a 
 flying leap for a console - \.7Co\q between the 
 windows, where I found a fresh supply of pro- 
 jectiles — chiefiy Dresden ware, if I remember
 
 62 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 right — till I was forced to retreat up the curtains 
 and along the pole, Macrow jobbing at me with 
 the beastly broom, and Monty buzzing books 
 after me — any one of which would have done 
 my business if they hadn't gone through the 
 windows instead. 
 
 Then I took a daring dive off the pole, on to 
 my aunt's back — I was sorry, but she shouldn't 
 have got in my way — and leap-frogged over 
 her head on to the piano, which I defended 
 as long as I could with the flower-vases and 
 photograph-frames. 
 
 Take it altogether, it was one of the very 
 finest rags I ever had in my life, and under 
 happier circumstances I should have thoroughly 
 enjoyed it. But the top of the piano was too 
 exposed to the enemy's fire, so I retired into 
 entrenchments underneath, where they could 
 only dislodge me by a frontal attack. 
 
 It made me realise once more that my volun- 
 teer training had not been entirely thrown 
 away ! Macrow advanced in force with the 
 drawing-room tongs, while Monty directed 
 operations from a distance. I knew Macrow, 
 of course, and if only I'd had half a sovereign 
 in my pocket, I believe I could have squared
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 63 
 
 him, even then, — but I hadn't so much as a 
 pocket ! A similar reason prevented me from 
 hoisting a white handkerchief and proposing an 
 honourable surrender. And I had fallen into 
 the common military mistake of leaving my rear 
 insufficiently protected. The consequence was 
 that, with no warning whatever, a waste-paper 
 basket was clapped down on me from behind 
 by hands which I recognised only too well 
 through the wicker-work — Phyllis has rather 
 jolly hands. I don't say it wasn't plucky of 
 her, for she couldn't know that nothing would 
 ever induce me to bite her fingers. Still, it was 
 not the act of a sportswoman. And that she 
 should turn against me was a knock-out blow ! 
 After that there was nothing for it but to let 
 myself be ignominiously hustled into Cockle's 
 confounded cage. How I wished I could re- 
 cover my speech, for even a moment — and then 
 somehow, all at once, back it came with a rush ! 
 " You're making a great mistake ! " I managed 
 to articulate, quite distinctly. " Telephone, 
 Manager, Empire, come immediately. Important 
 business proposal ! " 
 
 I dare say they were slightly astonished, but 
 I can't say. Because just then my head began
 
 64 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 to swim, everything got dark — I suppose I must 
 have gone off. 
 
 When I opened my eyes, a strange man — 
 evidently the Empire Manager — was bending 
 over me. " I want engagement," I said eagerly. 
 " Cleverest Monkey in Universe. Tremendous 
 draw. Will take a hundred a week to start 
 with ! " 
 
 " Coming round at last," he said to a young 
 lady, who, I now saw, was not Phyllis, being 
 in a nurse's uniform. " But still wandering." 
 
 I found I was lying in bed in the acci- 
 dent ward of St. George's Hospital, and the 
 stranger was not a Variety Manager — merely 
 the house-surgeon. Also I was no longer a 
 monkey — which was beastly disappointing at 
 first. 
 
 It seemed that that cab accident had given 
 me severe concussion of the brain, but I 
 had not lost my life — only my consciousness for 
 several hours. And, as it is obvious that any- 
 thing, even when lost, is bound to be some- 
 where or other all the time, my consciousness 
 must have got mislaid for a while inside the 
 monkey.
 
 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 65 
 
 I have been moved to my own rooms, and 
 am told I shall be as right as rain in another 
 day or two. I am well enough already to 
 dictate my adventures to the trained nurse who 
 looks after me — and most awfully kind and 
 attentive and all that she is, too, though she 
 will go off into fits of giggles every now and 
 then for no reason that I can see ! 
 
 Old Monty has called once or twice — but, to 
 tell you the truth, after what has passed between 
 us, I haven't felt quite up to seeing him yet. 
 As soon as I am fit enough and can raise the 
 funds, I mean to go quite away and lead an 
 entirely new life. Where, I haven't decided yet. 
 Canada, most likely — or Monte Carlo. 
 
 I am not sure whether I shall have the 
 courage to call and say good-bye to Phyllis and 
 Aunt Selina before I start. That drawing-room 
 in Cadogan Gardens would be rather too full 
 of painful reminiscences — if you know what 
 I mean. 
 
 And, for another thing, I own I shirk hearing 
 what became of the monkey. 
 
 Now I look back on it, it seems curious that, 
 with all my accomplishments and knowledge 
 of the world and so on, I should only have
 
 66 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 
 
 managed to land that monkey in a worse hat 
 than I found him in. 
 
 But I've always had the most rotten luck — 
 wherever I've been — and so I suppose the poor 
 little beggar got let in for some of it !
 
 "AS THE TWIG IS BENT . . ." &c. 
 
 (A Domestic Dialogue) 
 Scene — Library in the Town-house of Peter 
 
 SLACKSOLE, Esq. {of SLACKSOLE & SCRYM- 
 GEOUR, Drysalters, Bishops^ate Street). 
 
 Time — About 7 p.m. toivards the end of May. 
 
 Mr. Slacksole {alone, to himself). I must put 
 my foot down ! I'm determined not to — {starts 
 as door opens and Butler enters). Oh, ah — yes, / 
 rang, Trundler. . . . Er — Mr. Frederick not in 
 yet, I suppose ? 
 
 Trundler. Been in some time back. Sir — 
 from Lord's. {With reflected pride) We managed 
 to beat Chalkshire, Sir, after all ! 
 
 Mr. Slack, {without elation). Did we ? Tell 
 
 Mr. Frederick I should be glad to see him 
 
 here, at once. {To himself, after Trundler has 
 
 left) Always at this confounded cricket ! He's 
 
 not been near the office for days ! So long as 
 
 he was at college, I never said a word. No 
 
 67
 
 68 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 one can say I've been a harsh father to my 
 children ! How many parents would have 
 allowed themselves to be habitually addressed 
 as " Poffles " ? But I've always gone on the 
 principle of encouraging them to look upon me 
 as a friend. Still, to be wasting his time like 
 this now — when he ought to be devoting him- 
 self heart and soul to business — no, it's really 
 more than I can put up with ! A few quiet 
 words — when his mother isn't in the room — 
 
 will 
 
 Enter FREDERICK exuberantly. 
 
 Fred. So you've heard the result ? Toppin', 
 isn't it ? I knew you'd be jolly pleased about 
 it, Poffles ! They only wanted 60 to win — 
 and we got 'em all out for 56 ! " Collapse 
 of Chalkshire. Slacksole's Brilliant Bowling " 
 they've got on the posters. You know the sort 
 of bally rot those Cricket Editions go in for. 
 Still, I must say I was rather in form. I was 
 no sooner put on to 
 
 Mr. Slack, {interrupting nervously). Yes, yes, I 
 dare say. But I didn't send for you to talk 
 about the match, precisely. 
 
 Fred, {bewildered). Not? But — Poffles — 
 what on earth else is there to talk about ?
 
 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 69 
 
 Mr. S. {with growing embarrassment). Some- 
 thing that is — er — more serious — for both of us, 
 Frederick. The fact is, I — well, I'm beginning 
 to see that I've made a mistake — a very great 
 mistake. 
 
 Fred, {reassuringly). Well, we've all done 
 that in our time, you know, Poffles. {Sits 
 down and crosses his legs.) Don't you mind 
 telling me. Better get it off your chest. Two 
 heads are better than one, eh ? Chances are 
 I can put you up to a way out of it without 
 its coming round to the Mater. 
 
 Mr. S. [on his dignity). It is a very different 
 matter from what you — er — seem to suppose, 
 Frederick. And, before I go any further, I — I 
 think for the future it would be better if you 
 gave up calling me " PofBes." 
 
 Fred, {generously). I'm hanged if I do ! I've 
 never called you anything else since I was a 
 kid — and you'll always be "Poffles" to Me — 
 whatever you've done ! After all, it can't be 
 anything downright 
 
 Mr. S. {bounding in his chair). You — you per- 
 sist in misunderstanding me, Frederick ! I never 
 — er — the only thing I have to reproach myself 
 with is my indulgence to you. And I consider
 
 70 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 I have every right to complain of — of the kind 
 of life you have chosen to lead. 
 
 Fred, {staring). The kind of ? Oh, now 
 
 I see. (Bursts out laughing^ Some one's been 
 pulling youi innocent old leg, Poffles ! Why, 
 I'm as steady as a church ! Think it over, and 
 ask yourself : Is it likely I should be such an 
 ass as to risk lowering my cricket average by 
 playing the goat ? 
 
 Mr. S. I am not accusing you of — er — playing 
 the goat. What I'm complaining of is the way 
 you are playing cricket. 
 
 Fred, {aggrieved). Well, really, Poffles, I 
 shouldn't have thought you could find much 
 fault with that I It's rather rough, when I've 
 knocked up my sixth century already this season, 
 and done the hat trick only this afternoon, to 
 come home and be treated as if I'd made a brace 
 of blobs and been slogged all over the field ! 
 
 Mr. S. {at sea). I'm not objecting to cricket 
 in moderation — say, on Saturday afternoons. 
 
 Fred. In Regent's Park, I suppose ? Come, 
 now, Poffles, you can't seriously believe that 
 a first-class match can be played out in a half 
 holiday, however bad the pitch may be ? You 
 know better than that!
 
 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 71 
 
 Mr. S. {nettled). Whatever I may not know, 
 Frederick, at least I know this. All the money 
 I've spent on having you equipped at school 
 and college for the serious business of life seems 
 to have been absolutely thrown away ! 
 
 Fred. " Thrown away " ! I do like that ! 
 Why, if I hadn't made the very best of my 
 time at school, should I have got my Cricket 
 Blue while I was a Fresher ? You grumbled 
 a bit at my having a professional to coach me 
 in the holidays — but see how it's got me on ! 
 And I won the Hundred and the Quarter at 
 the Sports last year ! Upon my word, Poffles, 
 I don't quite see what it is you do want ! 
 
 Mr, S. What I want, Frederick, is to see 
 you attending more regularly to your duties at 
 the office, and — and, once for all, I must insist 
 on your not addressing me as " Poffles " ; it 
 is a familiarity I can no longer permit. 
 
 Fred, Of course if you're determined to keep 
 me at arm's length, you must please yourself. 
 But for me to chuck up cricket, with such a 
 career as I've got before me — why, it would 
 be perfect skittles ! 
 
 Mr. S. Believe me, my boy, you can never 
 earn a living by cricket I
 
 72 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 Fred. I could if I turned professional. But 
 I suppose even you wouldn't care for me to do 
 that ! 
 
 Mr. S. /? I am trying to show you the folly 
 of frittering away all your youth in idleness ! 
 
 Fred. You'd find there's precious little "frit- 
 tering" about playing forward in Rugger, and 
 you don't get much chance to idle when you're 
 bowling on a plumb wicket. It's jolly hard 
 work, I can tell you ! 
 
 Mr. S. That may be so, Frederick. But yotir 
 hard work should be at the office ! 
 
 Fred. It's all very well — but you've no idea 
 what it is for a fellow who's led the open-air 
 life / have, to be boxed up all the week in a 
 beastly office ! It knocks me up in no time. 
 You ask the Mater if it doesn't ! 
 
 Mr. S. Young Scrymgeour doesn't seem to 
 find it too much for him ! 
 
 Fred. It may suit a smug like Bob Scrym- 
 geour — a rotter who never made a run in his 
 life, and don't know the difference between 
 Rugger and Soccer ! All I know is, it don't 
 suit me! 
 
 Mr. S. And the consequence is, Frederick, that 
 he will be taken into partnership instead of you.
 
 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 73 
 
 Fred, {loftily). He's welcome to it, for all / 
 care ! We should never pull together, you know. 
 He's not my sort. He takes to business natur- 
 ally. Now, I never shall — not my line at all ! 
 
 Mr. S. You had your choice of the Army or 
 the Bar — and you wouldn't go in for either. 
 
 Fred. Because of the bally exams. You see, 
 after a hard day's exercise, you can't sit down 
 and grind away at stiff subjects — you're simply 
 bound to go to sleep over 'em ! But, though 
 I don't pretend to be keen about the office, 
 I'm quite game to put in a day there — when- 
 ever I've got nothing else on. 
 
 Mr. S. {with bitterness). What earthly use do 
 you imagine that would be — to us ? 
 
 Fred, {with superiority). More use than you 
 fancy, perhaps — even if I never did a stroke ! 
 You mayn't know it, but you may take this 
 from me : Athletics count for just as much in 
 the City as they do everywhere else. Look at 
 the way a Blue gets on in the House ! And 
 I don't mind betting you that it's done you 
 a lot of good already, being known as my 
 Governor. 
 
 Mr. S. {exasperated). However it may be on 
 the Stock Exchange, Frederick, drysalting is —
 
 74 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 er — not governed by such considerations. You 
 are talking downright nonsense ! 
 
 Fred, {stiffly). I'm not accustomed to being 
 told I talk nonsense, and I think it's jolly well 
 time I went. I've had about enough of being 
 ragged like this, when I've done nothing to 
 deserve it ! \_Rises, and moves towards door. 
 
 Mr. S. {climbing down). I — I didn't mean to 
 "rag" you, my boy. I was merely — er — en- 
 deavouring to 
 
 Fred, {with severity). Whether you intend it 
 or not, you seem to 7ne to be doing your level 
 best to destroy all confidence between us. Up 
 to now, I've always looked upon you as a pal 
 rather than a father. In future I shall know 
 better ! \_He opens the door. 
 
 Mr. S. {overwJielmed with contrition). Fred ! 
 Don't leave me like that. If — if I've spoken 
 too harshly ! 
 
 Fred. If ! I can tell you this much. If I 
 hadn't happened to be in a nailing good temper 
 over winning that match, you and I might have 
 
 had a downright row — and, even as it is 
 
 {^Sees Mr. S.'s face, relents, comes back, and pats 
 him affectionately on the shoulder.) No, it's all 
 right, Poffles, dear old boy ! I'm not really
 
 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 75 
 
 angry. I know how it was. Something's gone 
 wrong at the office, and you come home and 
 let off steam at me ! If you'd been at a PubHc 
 School and 'Varsity yourself, you'd understand 
 better what it means to have a reputation to 
 keep up. There, there — I hope I know how 
 to make allowances — don't let it occur again, 
 that's all. And, I say, Poffles, there's the 
 dressing gong ! Better hurry up, hadn't you ? — 
 unless you want to keep the Mater waiting 
 again ! 
 
 Mr. S. {to himself, as he follows Fred upstairs). 
 After all, he's just the type of manly young 
 Englishman that has made our country what 
 it is! I ought to be proud of him, instead 
 of — but he's forgiven all that — he called me 
 " Poffles " twice ! (Aloud) And so, Fred, you 
 bowled Chalkshire out with — er — a brace of 
 blobs, eh ? Capital ! capital ! 
 
 [He disappears into dressing-room as 
 curtain falls.
 
 CAVEAT EMPTOR ! 
 
 {Being the remarkable experience of an Art Collector) 
 
 It was the afternoon of my arrival at Domstadt 
 — how many days ago, I really forget. I only 
 intended to stay a night there, on my way to 
 take the waters at Bad Schoppenegg — but I am 
 still in Domstadt. Why, will appear later on. 
 I was strolling through one of the narrow and 
 winding thoroughfares of this ancient city, 
 which (though I am beginning to know it fairly 
 well by this time) I had never visited before, 
 when I chanced to see a small antiquity-shop. 
 I went in, of course. No bric-d-brac hunter 
 ever can resist entering an antiquity-shop. It 
 is not an expensive amusement : you go in, 
 and potter about for a few minutes, asking the 
 prices of various objects you have no intention 
 of purchasing. Then you say "Adieu" or 
 " Guten Tag" politely, and walk out. The pro- 
 prietor is perfectly contented — he never expects 
 
 76
 
 CAVEAT EMPTOR ! 77 
 
 any other result. After all, it is the way in 
 which he makes his living. 
 
 So I walked in. It was quite the usual sort 
 of shop, with the usual bald, bearded, and 
 spectacled proprietor inside it. Simply to play 
 the game, I asked the price of something which 
 I should have been sorry to take as a gift. He 
 said it was twenty marks, and, having satisfied 
 my curiosity, I was preparing to go — when, 
 rather to cover my retreat than with any 
 genuine desire for information, I asked if he 
 had any really old pieces of stained glass. He 
 said he had one in the back shop, if I would 
 care to see it, and I said I would. 
 
 He was so evidently shy about showing it 
 that I felt convinced it would turn out to be 
 some amusingly audacious "fake." I followed 
 him into his back parlour, disregarding his en- 
 treaties that I should stay where I was, and then 
 he reluctantly fished out a panel in a wooden 
 frame, which he handed me wnth a grunt. 
 
 The first sight of it almost took away my 
 breath. Old stained glass has a peculiar fasci- 
 nation for me, and this was absolutely as fine 
 an example as I ever remember to have seen 
 of sixteenth-century Swiss work — heraldic in
 
 78 CAVEAT EMPTOR ! 
 
 character, bold in design, and rich in colour- 
 ing. I examined it carefully. I happen to have 
 some knowledge of glass, and I could discover 
 no new pieces — it was in perfect condition, 
 with scarcely a crack. " How much do you 
 want for this?" I said, with the sad fore- 
 knowledge that the lowest sum he was likely 
 to ask would be far beyond my limited means. 
 He was silent for a moment, as if he were 
 speculating how much I could stand, and then 
 he said "Twendy mark." 
 
 Considering that this particular panel would 
 easily fetch ^150, if not more, in any saleroom, 
 I did not think a sovereign was at all out of the 
 way for it. "I'll have that panel," I said, with 
 all the calm 1 could command, and he said, 
 " Very well," and seemed anxious to get me 
 back into the front shop again. 
 
 But I had begun to look about me, and I 
 speedily discovered that this back shop con- 
 tained a variety of objects of sufficient beauty 
 and rarity to delight the heart of any connoisseur. 
 There was a Limoges enamel plaque, for instance, 
 by the younger Pdnicaud, which was almost 
 priceless ; a boxwood medallion, about the size 
 of a draught, with a carved and painted relief
 
 CAVEAT EMPTOR ! 79 
 
 of a female in a Holbein headdress, similar, 
 though far superior, to one I had been offered 
 at Frankfort for sixty pounds ; an engraved 
 goblet of rock crystal ; a tiny fifteenth-century 
 group (German, I think) of St. Hubert and the 
 miraculous stag, exquisitely carved in pearwood ; 
 a small ivory cabinet, inlaid with lapis-lazuli : 
 and a seventeenth-century portrait in coloured 
 wax with miniature jewellery, which was equal 
 to the best specimens of the kind in the Wallace 
 Collection. 
 
 And not a single one of all these things could 
 by any possibility be other than genuine ; no 
 person with the slightest experience and judg- 
 ment could have doubted that for a moment ! 
 
 I inquired the price of each, and I invariably 
 got the same answer — " Twendy mark." I 
 bought them all. I felt it was a justifiable piece 
 of extravagance under the circumstances. When 
 one does come across a dealer whose prices are 
 so extremely reasonable, he deserves to be en- 
 couraged. I scorned to haggle or beat him 
 down — and yet, although in the short time I 
 was there I must have laid out at least as much 
 as forty pounds (which was considerably more 
 than I anticipated when I first went in), if he felt
 
 8o CAVEAT EMPTOR ! 
 
 any gratification at the briskness of the busi- 
 ness he was doing, he certainly suppressed it. 
 
 And I must confess that, without pretending 
 to any higher code of ethics than my brother 
 collectors, I was not wholly free from mis- 
 givings. Why was he selling these things so 
 much under ordinary trade prices ? He must 
 know their value — and if he did not, it was not 
 7ny business to teach him — I couldn't be buyer 
 and seller, too ! But had he some pressing 
 reason for wanting to get rid of them at any 
 cost ? They hadn't the sinister look of objects 
 to which a curse was attached — and even in 
 that case I thought I would risk it. But suppose 
 they were stolen goods — should I not be ex- 
 posing myself to rather awkward consequences ? 
 Might not my proceedings be capable of mis- 
 construction ? 
 
 My expression must have betrayed something 
 of my mental state, for this paragon of dealers 
 hastened to reassure me. 
 
 " Don't be sorry," he said (meaning, I think, 
 " Don't be uneasy "). " I haf not robbered dese 
 tings. I led you haf dem so cheap, begause — 
 ach, I gannot dell it to you in English " — and 
 he proceeded to explain in his own tongue.
 
 CAVEAT EMPTOR ! 8i 
 
 I did not follow him as perfectly as I could 
 wish — but I gathered that, either as a penance 
 for something he had done, or in gratitude for 
 some danger he had escaped, he had made a 
 solemn vow that, between sunrise and sunset 
 on a certain anniversary, he would ask no more 
 and no less than twenty marks for any article, 
 no matter what its intrinsic value might be. I 
 had happened to look in on that particular day — 
 that was all. 
 
 I now began to understand his desire to keep 
 me in the front shop, where the rubbish was. 
 
 While applauding his piety, I felt (for even a 
 collector may have a conscience) that I oughtn't 
 to take too great an advantage of it. 
 
 " Perhaps," I said, " I could manage to do 
 without one or two of the things." 
 
 I felt it would be a hard matter to decide 
 which. But he said a vow was a vow, and he 
 must hold himself bound by it ; though he 
 considered it lucky that I had not looked in till 
 the sun was so near setting. 
 
 I never interfere between a man and his 
 conscience, so I let him have his way. It only 
 remained to pay, and it was a convenience to 
 me when he said he would take a cheque — for
 
 82 CAVEAT EMPTOR ! 
 
 to part with forty pounds in hard cash would 
 have obHged me to remain in Domstadt till I 
 could obtain fresh supplies. That being settled, 
 I left him to pack up my purchases, while, in a 
 state of excitement and exultation that will 
 perhaps be only comprehensible to a fellow- 
 collector, I hurried back to my hotel to get out 
 my cheque-book. I tore out a cheque without 
 waiting to fill it in — indeed I did not yet know 
 to whom to make it payable, but I should soon 
 find that out from the man himself. 
 
 I had no difficulty in regaining the little street 
 — but what rather puzzled me was that there 
 didn't seem to be any antiquity-shop in it. The 
 local trade was entirely restricted to boots, 
 sausages, and pictorial postcards. Evidently, 
 since antiquity-shops are not in the habit of 
 disappearing in so abrupt a manner, I must 
 have struck the wrong street — the right one 
 could not be very far off. 
 
 And eventually, after a few failures, I found 
 it, to my unspeakable relief. There was the 
 board with " Antiquitaten " painted on it in red 
 letters, and there was the stout, bald, bearded, 
 and spectacled proprietor inside. I entered and 
 told him, laughingly, that I had begun to fear
 
 CAVEAT EMPTOR! 83 
 
 he had vanished. He appeared puzzled. I 
 produced my cheque ; and he imagined (or 
 affected to imagine) that I was asking him to 
 cash it. I have such a wretched memory for 
 faces that 1 could not be positive he was my 
 man. If he zvas, he pretended to have no re- 
 collection whatever of any business transaction 
 between us. He allowed me to look into his 
 back-parlour, and I am bound to say it con- 
 tained no treasures of any sort, packed or 
 unpacked. 
 
 At last I staggered out, feeling that I must 
 have made a mistake. The real shop must be 
 farther from my hotel than I had fancied — but 
 I was bound to come upon it sooner or later. 
 The annoying thing was that I had absolutely 
 nothing to identify it by. I had scarcely glanced 
 at the window — and, if I had, I have never 
 practised memorising the contents of shop- 
 windows, as Houdin did. I only wish I had. 
 It had the kind of articles in it that most 
 antiquity-shops do exhibit — that was all / knew. 
 I did not know the name of the street (does 
 any one ever look at the name of any street he 
 is strolling through ? — / don't) — it might be a 
 "strasse," or a " gasse," or a "gasschen," or
 
 84 CAVEAT EMPTOR ! 
 
 even " unter "-something," or " am "-something 
 else, for anything I could tell. After a time I 
 completely lost my bearings, and began to feel 
 really worried. . . . Still I persevered. I went 
 into one Antiquitaten shop after another — and 
 every proprietor looked more like the man I 
 wanted than the last — but I never could con- 
 vince him that he was. Our interviews began 
 by being ridiculous, and ended in scenes that 
 almost approached violence. 
 
 Not till long past my dinner-hour, when every 
 curiosity-dealer in Domstadt had put his shutters 
 up, did I crawl back to my hotel, more dead 
 than alive. But I was not going to be beaten. 
 I got a Domstadt directory, made out a com- 
 plete list of every Alterthiimershandlung in the 
 city, and marked them down with red crosses 
 on a big map, and early next morning I began 
 all over again. I worked through most of those 
 establishments, likely or not, more than once. 
 Some of the dealers were unknown at their 
 registered addresses, some of their addresses 
 did not seem to exist at all — but, whether I 
 found them in or not, it was all the same — they 
 were unanimous in repudiating all knowledge 
 of me and my purchases. In fact, they ended
 
 CAVEAT EMPTOR ! 85 
 
 by threatening to have me taken off to the 
 Polizeiwache, if I would not go away quietly. 
 So I gave up calling on them at last. But I 
 am still in Domstadt. I haven't abandoned all 
 hope, even yet. There may still be a street 
 somewhere in the city which I haven't searched 
 — though I doubt it. I have also inserted 
 guarded advertisements in the local papers, im- 
 ploring my dealer to communicate with me. So 
 far, he does not seem to have come across 
 any of them, and, I fear, it is hardly probable 
 that he will read this statement. Still, if it 
 should meet his eye, he can have his money the 
 moment he delivers the goods to me at the 
 Hotel Domhof, No. 707. I feel quite sure there 
 has merely been some unfortunate misunder- 
 standing. Meanwhile, I warn all rival collectors 
 that if they should purchase any of the articles 
 above described they will do so at their peril. 
 Morally, if not legally, they are mine — and I 
 intend to have them.
 
 LUNCH AMONG THE RUINS 
 
 (A Sketch in a Baronial Stronghold) 
 
 Scene — The Courtyard of Cromlingbury Castle, 
 On the left is the Gateway Tower ; on the 
 right what remains of the Banqueting Hall. 
 The walls facing us are neatly labelled: 
 ^^ Kitchen" and ^^ Armoury." In the left 
 corner is a stall where refreshments and 
 pictorial postcards may be obtained. In the 
 centre are three long tables, placed parallel to 
 one another^ with benches of an uninviting 
 aspect. An elderly Female Custodian is 
 discovered in a black bonnet, a blue print 
 dress with white spots, a lilac apron, and 
 low spirits. 
 
 The Custodian {bitterly, to her small grand- 
 son). Gettin' on for ar-pas one, Tommy, and not 
 a livin' soul bin in yet — 'cep' them two cyclissin' 
 gents as couldn't stop fur no refreshermints ! 
 The Publick is all fur novelties nowadays, 
 simingly, an' Harchiology's quite hout o' date ! 
 Them rock-cakes '11 be flints by to-morrer, and 
 
 86
 
 LUNCH AMONG THE RUINS 87 
 
 milk turnin' soon as look at it this 'ot weather ! 
 . , . Was that wheels ? {looking through window). 
 A long waginette, with a young ladies' school 
 inside of it ! Orter git rid o' them rock-cakes 
 now — young ladies gen'ally 'as good 'elthy 
 happetites, bless their 'arts ! {a bell inside the 
 archway jangles rustily). They ain't got no call 
 fur ter ring — the door's Jiopen wide enough ! 
 
 \The Pupils of Pelican House, Groyne- 
 borough-on-Sea, enter by twos and 
 threes, followed by Mile. SiDONlE 
 Duval, the resident French Governess, 
 and Miss Malkin, the Principal. 
 
 Miss Malkin {with guide-book) . . . precise 
 date History is silent. On entering, the visitor 
 cannot fail to be struck by the imposing 
 
 CusT. Charge for hedjucation'l establishmints 
 is threepence per 'ed, Mem, please, hordinary 
 persons bein' sixpence. {As Miss Malkin pays 
 the sum demanded, and enters it as an item, 
 under the heading ^^ Pleasure Excursion") If your 
 young ladies was requiring hany refresher- 
 mints, I've some loverly rock-cakes, fresh baked 
 this mornin', likewise noo milk and bother 
 teetotal drinks. 
 
 Miss M. Thank you — we have our own pro-
 
 88 LUNCH AMONG THE RUINS 
 
 visions. But we shall want a few plates and 
 tumblers — oh, and a clean table-cloth, if you 
 have such a thing. ( The Custodian departs with 
 a sound between a sigh and a sniffs A majestic 
 ruin, is it not, Mamzell ? Ah, if these grey old 
 walls could but speak, what stories they might 
 tell us ! 
 
 Mlle, Duval {presuming^ like Becky Sharpy 
 on her employer s imperfect familiarity with col- 
 loquial French). Mon Dieu, Madame, je n'en 
 sais trop — un tas de choses joliment embetantes, 
 probablement ! 
 
 Miss M. Vous avez raisong. Quel dommage, 
 done, qu'ils sont — {^forgets the French for "dumb") 
 qu'ils ne. peuvent pas ! 
 
 Mlle. D. Puisque vous etes ici, Madame, ce 
 sera precisement la meme chose ! 
 
 Miss M. Oh ! beaucoup moins interessante, 
 je crains ! {To herself) French people certainly 
 have a knack of putting things pleasantly ! {To 
 the Pupils) I think, my dears, we had better 
 lunch before we explore the ruins. Be careful 
 not to leave your eggshells about, and reserve 
 your jam-puffs until after you have eaten the 
 sandwiches. {They take their seats at the table 
 on the left?) How wonderfully peaceful it is
 
 LUNCH AMONG THE RUINS 89 
 
 here — one feels so remote from all the whirl 
 and stress of modern life ! 
 
 [A prolonged " toot " without, followed by 
 a succession of snorts, pants, and 
 clanks ; the bell jangles, and presently 
 a Motorist enters, with the condescend- 
 ing air of a god from a machine, 
 accompanied by two rather flamboyant 
 females. 
 
 Motorist {to Custodian). I — ah — s'pose we 
 can lunch heah, what ? 
 
 CUST. {cheering up). Cert'nly, Sir, arter payin' 
 for hentrance — sixpence per 'ed is the charge, 
 which it does not go ter me, but towards 
 keepin' the ruings in repair. I've some nice 
 'ome-made rock-cakes, Sir, also noo milk and 
 hother temp'rence 
 
 Motorist {appalled). Good Gad ! {Calling to 
 so?ne one in gateway) Just bring that basket in, 
 will yah. 
 
 \^A Chauffeur staggers in with a huge 
 luncheon-basket, and tmpacks a raised 
 pie, cold chicken, champagne, &c., on 
 the table farthest from the School. 
 
 Oust, {to herself as she retires wounded). My 
 vittles may be 'umble — but they are 'olesome !
 
 9© LUNCH AMONG THE RUINS 
 
 First Flamboyant Female {pettishly). Why 
 you should want to break the run here is be- 
 yond me! I loathe taking my meals in this 
 scrambly way, and being stared at like wild 
 beasts, too, by a pack of saucer-eyed school- 
 girls ! 
 
 Motorist. Won't hurt you to rough it for 
 once, my dear girl ! {To Chauffeur) Alphonse, 
 here's a packet of food for you, and a half- 
 bottle of fizz — you'll feel more at home with 
 them in the tojineau, I dare say. 
 
 [Alphonse withdraws. 
 
 Second F. F. Champagne for a chauffeur ! 
 You are lavish, I must say ! 
 
 Motorist {apologetically). Well, look what a 
 pace he's brought us along at ! Must do the 
 fellah decently. Besides, between ourselves, 
 it's a different brand from this, what ? 
 
 Second F. F. So long as it doesn't spoil 
 him ! . . . I call it rather jolly, lunching out 
 like this in the open — more romantic than 
 having it in a restaurant, anyhow. 
 
 First F. F. Don't see where the jollity 
 comes in, myself — nor yet the romance. These 
 mouldy old ruins give me the hump ! What I 
 like is a first-class hotel, with a band playing,
 
 LUNCH AMONG THE RUINS 91 
 
 and serviettes, and everything of the latest. 
 That's my idea of comfort. Isn't there any 
 jelly in that pie ? — thanks — and a little more 
 pigeon while you're about it. 
 
 Miss M. {in an undertone to Mademoiselle). 
 Nouveaux riches — tr6s-mauvais tong — un 
 exemple d6tressant de la luxe moderne ! {To 
 the Pupils) In such surroundings, my dears, 
 we should endeavour — without, Cecilia, allow- 
 ing our attention to be distracted by what is 
 no concern of ours ! — to call up a mental 
 picture of this place as it was in the days of 
 old. Try to fancy these ancient walls all 
 hung with costly arras (or tapestry), those 
 gaping window-frames glowing with painted 
 glass, this courtyard full of men-at-arms 
 and pages in rich liveries — {Tlie Pupils stop 
 munching, and allow their mouths to fall slightly 
 apart under the mental strain ; the bell jangles 
 once more) — while through the archway, re- 
 turning, perhaps, from some raiding or hawk- 
 ing expedition, there enters a gay and rollicking 
 party. {Here a Tripper in gorgeous raiment 
 makes an impressive entrance, attended by his 
 ^^ young lady," also in festal attire, an elderly 
 couple in more sombre garb, and a sheepish youth
 
 92 LUNCH AMONG THE RUINS 
 
 with a billycock on the back of his head). I am 
 wholly at a loss to imagine, Emmeline Titten- 
 sor, what I can have said to provoke such 
 immoderate and unladylike mirth ! 
 
 Tripper {an inveterate farceur, to whom medi- 
 ceval diction of the Wardour Street order seems 
 to have stiggested itself as the most appropriate 
 medium for his facetiousness), A 'arty welcome, 
 fair Uncle Josh, to thee and all thy kin 1 
 Would that me ancesteral 'alls were worthier 
 to receive ye ! But the 'Ouse of 'Enery Urch 
 'as come down in the world, and so 'tis many 
 a long year since we last 'ad the old place 
 prop'ly done up ! {His party endeavour to re- 
 press this exuberance by exhorting him to " beyave 
 and not go acting the goat with company present;^' 
 Mr. Henry Urch, however, observing an audi- 
 encCy is unable to resist playing up to it, and, on 
 the Custodian's appearance, strikes an attitude 
 of melodramatic recognition^ But 'oom do I 
 beyold ? Is it — kin it be the fythful retyner of 
 me noble famuly — dear ole Dame Marj'ry, 
 with 'oom, when I was but a che-ild and she 
 still a sorcy centinarian, I used to ply at 
 'orses in the Harmry ? Dost thou reckonise 
 thy young Master, Dame? {The Custodian,
 
 LUNCH AMONG THE RUINS 93 
 
 with an expression of patient disgust^ applies for 
 the entrance fees.) 'Ast thou the nerve to 
 demand a tester from the last of 'is rice when 
 'e Cometh to drop a tear on the 'ome of 'is 
 boy'ood ? . . . Thou 'ast? Well, well — 'ere 
 is a broad 'alf bull ter pay thy charges. I 
 bring distinguished guesXs— {introducing his com- 
 panions, whose resentment is only restrained by 
 the fact that he is paying all expenses) — Herl 
 and Countess Odium, the Lady Louey Ekins 
 — me intended bride — ajid 'er brother, the 
 Lord 'Erb. We 'ave come from far and are 
 a'nungered. 'Ast thou a cold boar's 'ed in 
 cut, good Dame ? 
 
 CUST. Don't you go a-good-damin' me. If 
 it's refreshermints you want, you must put up 
 with rock-cakes. 
 
 Mr. 'Enery Urch. Nay, Mistress, thou art 
 spoofin' us ! Kin I not beyold a party o' 
 pilgrims partakin' yonder of a ven'sin parsty, 
 also fair young gyurls engaged in samplin' 'ard- 
 boiled eggs ? . . . Oh ! I see — my error ! 
 Har well, 'twould ha' broke me proud ole 
 parint's 'art, could he ha' seen his son, in 'alls 
 that was once a byword for their perfuse 
 'orspitality, redooced to regale his guests on
 
 94 LUNCH AMONG THE RUINS 
 
 the lowly rock-kike ! No matter — we will e'en 
 'ave a few on appro. An' now to tyble ! {He 
 conducts the others with ceremony to the centre 
 table?) Lady Ekins will set on my right 'and, 
 Countess Odium oppersite — me noble Herl, I 
 prithee unbuckle yer 'arness fer a blow-out. 
 Me Lord 'Erb, do not scruple ter remove 
 your 'elmet. 
 
 YFhey seat themselves y with feeble protests 
 against any further tomfoolery ; the 
 motoring party affect a lofty uncon- 
 sciousness ; Miss Malkin glares at the 
 unfortunate Emmeline Tittensor, 
 whose pocket-handkerchief is wholly 
 insufficient to stifle her untimely sense 
 of humour ; the other Pupils regard 
 her over their jam-puffs with eyes of 
 wondering disapproval. 
 
 Miss Malkin. 11 est evidemment un peu — er 
 — eleve^ Mamzell — une triste faillite de nos 
 ordres inf^rieures en vacances ! {To the Pupils) 
 We will, I think, finish our lunches in the 
 Banqueting Hall. Emmeline, I shall have a 
 word to say to you later, when you are 
 sufficiently composed to realise fully the im- 
 propriety of your behaviour. 
 
 Mr. Urch {endeavouring to divide a rock-cake).
 
 LUNCH AMONG THE RUINS 95 
 
 By me 'alidonie, Dame, 'tis rightly termed ! 
 Could you oblige us with the loan of a battle- 
 axe ? But stay, we 'ave a noble thust on us. 
 Whatto ! a stoup o' Marmsey or Kinairy wine 
 withal ! What, no wines in the 'Ouse ? Send 
 'ither ole Simon the Cellarer, Dame Marj'ry, 
 and, an 'e perdooce not lickers in less than 
 'alf a non, 'e shall be striteway 'oofed inter 
 the oobiliette ! {The Pupils disperse and pur- 
 chase picture postcards ; Emmeline, by this time 
 071 the verge of hysterics^ seeks sanctuary in the 
 ruined chapel.) Well, never mind, if he's out, 
 we'll 'ave a noggin o' sparklin' cider instead, 
 sime as what the party at the next tyble are 
 'aving. 
 
 The Motorist {to his ladies, but speaking at 
 Mr. Urch). Fellah must be shockin' boundah 
 not to know cidah from — ah — champagne, 
 what ? 
 
 Mr. Urch {to Uncle Josh, in a stage whisper). 
 Did you 'ear that, Mr. Odium ? Acshally 
 drinkin' Shempine — with their lunch ! I dessay, 
 though, they don't know no better — 'aven't 
 'card yet that it ain't the classy thing to 
 do, nowadays. {To Custodian) Fetch some 
 tlaggins of the rare ole gingerile as me noble
 
 96 LUNCH AMONG THE RUINS 
 
 Dad laid down to be broached the day I come 
 of age ! [Custodian departs mystified. 
 
 First F. F. {to the Motorist). I wish to 
 goodness we'd gone to a hotel — they don't let 
 horrid vulgar people in there! And they don't 
 give you tough fowls to eat, either ! 
 
 Mr. Urch {to Miss Ekins). 'Ave another 
 rock-cake, Loo — you needn't be afride of it — 
 it ain't as if it was some old 'en we'd 'ad to 
 buy, 'cause we'd run over it ! {The Motorist 
 and his ladies decide to go and see what 
 Alphonse is up to.) Why, blest if we ain't 
 got the place all to ourselves, now ! 
 
 Miss Ekins {zvith some asperity). Ah, that's 
 the beauty of coming out for the day with 
 you, 'Enery. We do gti privacy !
 
 WHY I HAVE GIVEN UP 
 WRITING NOVELS 
 
 (A Personal Explanation) 
 
 I HAVE presented the world with but one work 
 of fiction — and yet I have already come to the 
 irrevocable resolution that my first novel shall 
 be also my last ! Such a decision is so unusual 
 that I feel the public is entitled to some explana- 
 tion of the circumstances which have left me no 
 other alternative. 
 
 First let me say that my reason was not that 
 Poisoned Porridge (Bellows and Bohmer, 6s.) was 
 a failure in any sense of the term. Far from it. 
 It was referred to as "the Novel of the Week" 
 by so high an authority on literary matters as 
 "Toney Tosh"; both the Clacton Courier and 
 the Peebles Post gave it notices so flattering as 
 to be almost fulsome, while the Giggleswick 
 Gazette pronounced the opinion that " it would 
 serve to while away an idle half-hour which
 
 98 WHY I HAVE GIVEN UP 
 
 could not be better employed." I have pre- 
 served these and many similar press-cuttings 
 in case I should be called upon to prove my 
 assertions. Moreover, I know of several friends 
 who inquired for the work at more than one 
 circulating library and were informed that it 
 was ''out." This being so, I have every reason 
 for anticipating that my publisher's statement 
 of accounts, when furnished, will be found a 
 highly satisfactory document. 
 
 But indeed I had never a doubt from the first 
 that Poisoned Porridge would thrill the public 
 as intensely to read as it thrilled me to write it. 
 Each successive chapter, as it flowed like lava 
 from my glowing pen, came as a further revela- 
 tion of the wondrous creative force that had 
 till then been latent and unsuspected within me. 
 Athene is recorded in the Classical Dictionary to 
 have sprung in complete armour from the head 
 of Zeus, but one character after another came out 
 of my brain, and all endued with such super- 
 abundant vitality that I was quite incapable of 
 controlling their sayings and doings, which I 
 could only record with breathless admiration. 
 
 This, I am aware, is quite a common experi- 
 ence with all novelists who possess the priceless
 
 WRITING NOVELS 99 
 
 gift of imagination, but the sequel in my own 
 case was, I venture to think, rather more ex- 
 ceptional. 
 
 I should explain that I am a person of studious 
 and literary habits, with a fixed income, and that 
 I occupy a semi-detached villa residence in a 
 quarter that has acquired a considerable reputa- 
 tion for social exclusiveness — I allude to Upper 
 Balham. It was here that Poisoned Porridge was 
 composed (though the proofs, or at least the 
 major part of them, were revised in temporary 
 lodgings fronting the Marine Parade at Bognor, 
 Sussex). 
 
 Well, on a certain evening shortly after the 
 work was published, I was seated in my study 
 at Helicon Lodge, Upper Balham, when I heard 
 the front-door bell ring violently, and presently 
 my housekeeper announced that a young gentle- 
 man, who declined to give his name, but declared 
 that he was well known to me, requested an 
 interview. 
 
 I decided to receive him — not without mis- 
 givings that he had already absconded with the 
 coats and umbrellas ; but, when he was shown 
 in, my first glance at his countenance told me 
 the injustice of my suspicions. I could not be
 
 loo WHY I HAVE GIVEN UP 
 
 mistaken in that open brow, over which the 
 chestnut hair fell in a crisp wave, that smooth- 
 shaven face with the firmly chiselled lips and 
 the square resolute chin — it was Cedric, the hero 
 of Poisoned Porridge ! 
 
 He was far too strong a character, as I realised 
 at once, to be long confined within the covers 
 of any book ; he had burst his bindings, and 
 naturally he felt that his first visit was due to 
 the author of his being. 
 
 I gave him a cordial welcome (for I could 
 not help feeling proud of the boy), and soon 
 he was in a chair opposite mine, enthusiastically 
 pouring out all his youthful ambitions, dreams, 
 and speculations into my sympathetic ear. 
 
 He continued to do so for several hours — 
 until in fact the suspicion that he was a bit of 
 an egotist (he never once mentioned Poisoned 
 Porridge!) had crystallised into the conviction 
 that he was no end of a bore. At last I had 
 to hint that it was long past my usual hour 
 lor retiring, and that I must not keep him any 
 longer from his own home. It then appeared 
 that he had no home of his own, and no 
 resources, which was why he had come to me. 
 
 I wished then that I had provided him in
 
 WRITING NOVELS loi 
 
 the novel with some regular occupation, or at 
 least a competence (which would have cost me 
 practically nothing), but I had avoided such 
 prosaic details from motives of artistic reticence 
 which I now recognise were overstrained. The 
 result was that I had to put him up in the spare 
 bedroom and finance him till he could find 
 employment of some sort — which he never did. 
 The very next day a dear old lady, with snowy 
 side-curls and cheeks like a winter apple, drove 
 up in a four-wheeler, which she left me to pay. 
 She was Cedric's mother — and I might have 
 known that she never could endure her son to 
 be out of her sight for long, because I had made 
 rather a point of this maternal devotion in the 
 book. Obviously the only thing to be done was 
 to resign my own sleeping-apartment, and put 
 up with a folding-bedstead in the dressing-room. 
 Even this, though, I never actually occupied — 
 for that afternoon there was a fresh arrival : an 
 attached old family domestic named Martha, 
 who would not hear of parting from her mistress, 
 wages or no wages. And, as the old lady liked 
 her to be within call, Martha had to have the 
 dressing-room, and I slept, fitfully, in the bath. 
 In the novel, Martha had been one of my
 
 102 WHY I HAVE GIVEN UP 
 
 favourite characters, rough and uncouth, but 
 with a heart of gold. She spoke a racy dialect 
 which I had vaguely described as " Glodshire," 
 a sort of blend of Dorset and Lincolnshire, with 
 just a dash of Suffolk. I cannot say I always 
 understood her meaning myself. She had a 
 characteristic exclamation — "My tender kitties!" 
 — which had struck me as quaintly humorous, 
 in print. In actual life it soon grew slightly 
 tiresome — but then 1 do think she overdid it. 
 
 Cedric's mother, too, was addicted to smooth- 
 ing his rebellious locks as he sat at her knee, 
 with a hand that Time had left as smooth and 
 dimpled as ever. It was pretty and touching at 
 first, but the mannerism ended by getting on 
 my nerves. So did Cedric's habit of addressing 
 her as " Mother mine ! " — which was quite the 
 correct expression, I know, and one I had, I 
 believe, invented for him myself, but I didn't 
 like the way he said it. 
 
 However, I was getting fairly accustomed to 
 them — when Yolande turned up, quite un- 
 expectedly. Yolande, it will be remembered, 
 was the heroine in Poisoned Porridge. The 
 poor child was homeless ; I was responsible 
 for her existence, so I could not well refuse
 
 WRITING NOVELS 103 
 
 to take her in — especially when Ccdric's mother 
 generously offered to share my bedroom with 
 her. So there we all were — quite a happy 
 family, so to speak. That is, we might have 
 been, if Yolande had only shown a particle 
 of common-sense. She was all that was ador- 
 able and enchanting, or she would have been 
 no heroine of iniyie — she had a trick of raising 
 a slim forefinger in arch rebuke which (for a 
 while) was extremely engaging. But, with all 
 her sweetness and amiability, she was a trifle 
 trying at times. She had a positive genius for 
 misunderstanding the simplest statements, and 
 acting in consequence with an impulsiveness 
 that was little less than idiotic. 
 
 For instance, she loved Cedric fondly, and he 
 was passionately devoted to her. Yet, as often 
 as he sought to declare himself, she would 
 perversely conclude that he was announcing 
 his engagement to another, and that it was 
 her bounden duty to suppress her feelings under 
 a mask of indifference or disdain. In the book 
 this was all right, because otherwise I could not 
 have kept the lovers estranged and apart through 
 the necessary number of chapters. But in real 
 life I had never expected that she would write
 
 104 WHY I HAVE GIVEN UP 
 
 a blotted note of formal farewell and leave the 
 house for ever about every other day ! It 
 cost me a small fortune simply in rewards to 
 the police for her recovery. 
 
 Though, mind you, I blame Cedric almost as 
 much. He invariably expressed himself with 
 such ambiguity as absolutely to court misunder- 
 standing, and his excessive modesty rendered 
 it impossible for him to believe that Yolande 
 could ever regard him with any sentiment but 
 loathing. He would lament the fact to me, 
 night after night, till I was nearly dead for 
 want of sleep — but nothing / could say would 
 convince him that his despair was wholly un- 
 necessary. As if, forsooth, I didn't know the 
 state of my own heroine's feelings ! 
 
 But I am sorry to say that Cedric — in spite 
 of his lofty brow and his strong jaw, and of 
 the fact that in the novel I had invested him 
 with an intellect far above the average — was, 
 not to mince matters, a most particularly exas- 
 perating young ass. And this, although I had 
 expressly stated in the book that he had re- 
 ceived a liberal Public School and University 
 education — blessings I myself had never en- 
 joyed ! Then he was so totally wanting in
 
 WRITING NOVELS 105 
 
 backbone, too, as to be utterly incapable of 
 supporting himself in any walk of life. 
 
 I thought our little party was about complete, 
 but it was soon reinforced by yet another addi- 
 tion in the person of old Mr. Deedes, the highly 
 respectable family solicitor of Poisoned Porridge, 
 with a peculiarity of wiping his spectacles and 
 blowing his nose vigorously to conceal his 
 emotion before pronouncing any legal opinion. 
 He did not know much Law — which is hardly 
 surprising, as I knew none myself — and I had, 
 again from a mistaken regard for artistic re- 
 ticence, purposely refrained from assigning him 
 an office in any specified quarter. 
 
 Consequently he came to me, and I could 
 hardly object to allow him to use the breakfast- 
 room for professional purposes, though the 
 japanned tin boxes full of musty precedents 
 and parchments that formed his stock-in-trade, 
 so to speak, seemed a little incongruous in 
 such surroundings. Have I mentioned that the 
 heroine always called him " Daddy " Deedes ? 
 She did. 
 
 Still, I confess that I could not repress a cer- 
 tain elation. So unique an experience as mine 
 could not be other than gratifying to the self-
 
 io6 WHY I HAVE GIVEN UP 
 
 esteem of any author. For — without intending, 
 without even being conscious of it at the time 
 — I had created a set of fictitious characters 
 who were so real and actual that they were 
 literally living ! 
 
 The one drawback I could see to such pheno- 
 menal mental fecundity was that they should 
 all be literally living on me! 
 
 The hour was at hand when this would seem 
 but a trivial worry indeed, in comparison with 
 what I was next called upon to undergo. 
 
 Indeed, a period was approaching prior to 
 which the troubles caused by my too fertile 
 imagination can scarcely be said to have com- 
 menced. Personally, I should date this period 
 from the ill-omened hour in which Desmond 
 M'Avelly first crossed my threshold. M'Avelly, 
 it is perhaps unnecessary to remind the reader, 
 was the villain in Poisoned Porridge, and even 
 the modesty of an author cannot blind me to 
 the fact that he was a devilish good villain, as 
 villains go. 
 
 He arrived in the powerful automobile with 
 which for the purposes of the plot I had pro- 
 vided him in the novel, and, when he threw 
 off his goggled mask and fur overcoat, he
 
 WRITING NOVELS 107 
 
 revealed himself in irreproachable evening-dress, 
 which seemed to indicate the drawing-room as 
 the most appropriate place for him. It was ac- 
 cordingly placed at his disposal, and there he sat 
 all day, consuming innumerable cigarettes, as he 
 thought out his intricate and infernal schemes. 
 
 At meal-times, however, he joined the other 
 residents at my board — for I was practically 
 running a boarding-house, except that, as they 
 none of them possessed any visible means of 
 support, I made no profits worth mentioning. 
 
 I was pained to observe that he completely 
 got round the hero's mother, who persisted in 
 believing that M'Avelly was a cruelly misunder- 
 stood person, with excellent moral principles — 
 indeed, the only time the dear old lady and I 
 ever difitered at all seriously was once when I 
 ventured to warn her that he might possibly be 
 other than he seemed. Considering that I could 
 not give her my grounds for distrusting him, it 
 would perhaps have been wiser to have held 
 my peace. As for the hero (who really was 
 more of a noodle than I ever could have an- 
 ticipated), he fell at once under the spell of 
 M'Avelly's baleful glamour, and was absurdly 
 flattered by his slightest notice.
 
 io8 WHY I HAVE GIVEN UP 
 
 Not so Yolande, who, I am proud to record, 
 was true to my conception of her as the embodi- 
 ment of guileless British girlhood, and shrank 
 instinctively from his insidious advances. He 
 took his revenge by poisoning her lover's mind 
 against her, as of course such a villain would. 
 How he managed it exactly I do not know, 
 as I was not present, but the consequence 
 was that Cedric soon began to treat her 
 with marked coldness, if not actual aversion. 
 She quitted our roof, determined to end her 
 despair by suicide, rather frequently about 
 this time. 
 
 Honest Martha could not, as she frankly 
 stated, " thole " M'Avelly, who invariably adopted 
 towards her a politely ironical tone that no re- 
 spectable elderly domestic could be expected to 
 stand. I should have felt easier in my mind 
 if I could have known precisely what he was 
 plotting during the long hours he spent alone 
 in my drawing-room, because, in the novel, 1 
 had thrown out a vague suggestion (merely for 
 effect, as the plot did not turn upon it) that, 
 when not otherwise engaged, he was rather 
 by way of being an anarchist of sorts. It was 
 by no means pleasant to think that, in his spare
 
 WRITING NOVELS 109 
 
 moments, he might be busy compounding bombs 
 on the chiffonier ! 
 
 So that, when a middle-aged stranger in blue 
 spectacles presented himself, and, after explain- 
 ing that he was a chronic invalid with a pet 
 cobra (quite harmless) and a passion for play- 
 ing the concertina and eating hashish, begged 
 me to receive him into my household as a pay- 
 ing guest, I consented with unspeakable relief. 
 
 For of course I knew at once that he could 
 be no other than my great but eccentric amateur 
 detective, Rumsey Prole. Some critics have 
 professed to see certain resemblances between 
 this character of mine and one of Sir Conan 
 Doyle's. I can only say that, if any similarity 
 exists at all, it is purely accidental. Rumsey 
 Prole is an entirely original creation evolved 
 from my own unassisted imagination. Besides, 
 his methods are so absolutely different from 
 those of the rival specialist. But I hope I can 
 afford to ignore these pettifogging criticisms. 
 
 With Prole on the spot, I felt safer. I fitted 
 up a box-room in the attics for him as a sort 
 of snuggery, where he could play with the cobra, 
 or on the concertina, and chew hashish to his 
 heart's content. I frequently went up to con-
 
 no WHY I HAVE GIVEN UP 
 
 suit him, and generally found him absorbed in 
 reading Euclid, which he maintained was more 
 amusing and better illustrated than most of the 
 popular magazines. I regret to say, however, 
 that he seemed to attach but little importance 
 to my suspicions of M'Avelly, and, in short, 
 behaved with a brusquerie which — had I known 
 him less well — I might have mistaken for offen- 
 sive rudeness. But it was a great comfort to 
 have him about. That massive mind of his 
 was, I knew, working all — or most of — the time, 
 and the ease with which he had unravelled the 
 rather complicated mystery of Poisoned Porridge 
 seemed a guarantee that he would be fully equal 
 to checkmating any fresh devilries M'Avelly 
 might attempt. 
 
 How it happened I can't explain — perhaps 
 Prole took a little too much hashish — but 
 M'Avelly contrived to pull off his crime — what- 
 ever it was, for I never ascertained its precise 
 character. I gathered, however, from Inspector 
 Chugg (another creation of mine whom, for 
 reasons of my own, I had not thought fit to 
 invest with any excessive brilliancy) that it was 
 something in the nature of Common Barratry 
 — and a hanging matter. With truly diabolical
 
 WRITING NOVELS iii 
 
 cunning, M'Avelly had contrived to throw sus- 
 picion on the innocent and unfortunate Cedric, 
 who, believing, though on insufficient grounds, 
 that Yolande was the culprit, nobly took the 
 blame on himself — which was only what I 
 should have anticipated from him. He had 
 done much the same thing before in the book. 
 Naturally Yolande misunderstood his motive, 
 and, being a thoroughly nice-minded girl, re- 
 coiled from a lover who had openly confessed 
 himself a Common Barrator. But I was rather 
 surprised when Inspector Chugg arrested them 
 both, and, after subjecting them to a searching 
 cross-examination, warned them that whatever 
 they had said would be taken down and used 
 in evidence against them at their trial. 
 
 In fact, I was about to make an indignant 
 protest, when, to my unfeigned delight, Rumsey 
 Prole, having emptied his box of hashish, 
 finished the first book of Euclid, and charmed 
 the cobra into a state of coma by playing all 
 the tunes he knew on the concertina, came 
 down to the rescue. 
 
 This marvellous man, by a series of ingenious 
 deductions from cigarette- ashes, tea-leaves, a 
 disused tram-car ticket, a marked farthing, and
 
 112 WHY I HAVE GIVEN UP 
 
 samples of fluff, all of which his trained eye 
 had detected on the carpet, demonstrated be- 
 yond all possibility of doubt that the actual 
 culprit was no other than myself ! 
 
 I was positively thunderstruck ; for, up to 
 that juncture, I could have sworn that I was 
 innocent, and it was a bitter moment when my 
 own Cedric and Yolande, their faith in one 
 another now completely restored, avowed their 
 conviction of my guilt, adjuring me in moving 
 terms not to suffer this dark stain to blight 
 their young lives, but to confess all, and hope 
 for the mercy of heaven ! I adjured them not 
 to be a couple of young idiots. Still, I could 
 not help recognising that, unless the world at 
 large were more amenable to reason, I was 
 in rather a tight place. In fact, I saw the 
 gallows plainly looming before me ! 
 
 Fortunately, at the eleventh hour, a deliverer 
 came forward in the homely person of good 
 old Martha, who remembered by the merest 
 chance that there were certain documents in a 
 brass-bound desk belonging to her mistress 
 which might possibly throw some light on the 
 subject. These were produced and submitted 
 to Mr. Deedes, the family solicitor, who perused
 
 WRITING NOVELS 113 
 
 them anxiously, spectacles on nose, during a 
 prolonged and most dramatic silence. At last 
 he wiped his spectacles, blew his nose with 
 more than usual resonance, and, in accents 
 husky with emotion, pronounced that, so far 
 as he had been able to interpret the papers, 
 they not only proved my entire innocence and 
 incriminated M'Avelly (whom I had suspected 
 from the first), but also established Cedric's 
 claim to a dormant peerage, and identified 
 Yolande as the long-sought heiress of a South 
 African millionaire, who had lately died intes- 
 tate after bequeathing her ten thousand a year 
 and a palatial mansion in Park Lane ! 
 
 Altogether dear old Deedes trumpeted to some 
 purpose on that occasion ! Even I should never 
 have thought of such a way out of the labyrinth 
 in which we were all so inextricably entangled. 
 But it only shows how marvellously an author's 
 characters may be capable of developing if 
 they are only started with a strong enough 
 individuality ! 
 
 There is little more to relate. M'Avelly, hum- 
 ming a careless snatch and muttering horrible 
 imprecations under his breath, had already 
 evaded the strong arm of the law by saunter-
 
 114 WHY I HAVE GIVEN UP 
 
 ing out of the house — and out of our lives, for 
 ever! Rumsey Prole wrung my hand warmly, 
 with the remark that the result was in exact 
 accordance with all his calculations — after which 
 he packed up his cobra and concertina, and left 
 to lay in a fresh supply of hashish before pro- 
 ceeding to investigate another case that demanded 
 his assistance. 
 
 Cedric and his mother, with Yolande and the 
 faithful Martha, departed to claim the dormant 
 peerage and occupy the palace in Park Lane. 
 I made no attempt to detain them. Only good 
 old Mr. Deedes was left on my hands, and, as 
 I could not stand his practising as a solicitor 
 any longer in my breakfast-room, I took an 
 office for him in Bedford Row, where he can 
 wipe his spectacles and blow his nose unseen 
 and unheard — for I can hardly believe that any 
 sane client will ever consult him professionally. 
 I know / shan't. 
 
 I think I have now said enough to enable 
 the gentle reader to understand how and why 
 it is that, in spite, or perhaps I should say 
 because, of the unprecedented success that has 
 attended my first humble effort in fiction, I am 
 resolved that it must never be repeated.
 
 WRITING NOVELS 115 
 
 Indeed, what I have gone through ah-eady 
 has upset me so severely that my doctor has 
 ordered me to take a complete rest, and I am 
 just now staying (though only temporarily) at 
 a sanatorium. 
 
 The medical superintendent here is inclined 
 — as I can see plainly, however he may en- 
 deavour to disguise it — to regard my strange 
 experiences as more or less imaginary. 
 
 However, when he sees them in print, I think 
 that even he will be convinced that so plain 
 and unexaggerated a statement could hardly 
 proceed from a disordered fancy. But if he 
 isn't, it will make no difference to me.
 
 GOING ROUND THE CAVES 
 
 (A Sketch from a well-known Watering-place^ 
 
 The paj'ty of Sightseers, having paid their respec- 
 tive sixpences and passed the turnstile, find 
 themselves in a penitential chamber^ vaulted 
 atid furnished with shallow and columned 
 alcoves y in one of which is displayed a placard 
 inscribed " Waltz." They seat themselves on a 
 row of kitchen chairs atid converse in subdued 
 tones as they await the official guide, who 
 presently appears bearing a large flat sconce full 
 of flaring candle-ends. 
 
 Guide {with the customary contempt for stops, 
 and a more than Early- Victorian prodigality in the 
 matter of aspirates^. Ladies and gentlemen the 
 hapartment you are now in it is the ballroom 
 it has not been built up nothing of the kind 
 what you see 'ere bein' hall 'ollered hout of 
 the solid sandstone by the discoverer of these 
 caves you will now kindly foller me . . . [he 
 leads the party down a long corridor with recesses 
 
 ii6
 
 GOING ROUND THE CAVES 117 
 
 on both sides, in which more candle-ends are flicker- 
 ing). This passage forms the new hentrance to 
 the caves the hideer was taken hoff of the Cata- 
 combs of Rome as you may heasily perceive 
 from the niches and pillars though not of so 
 hancient a period not 'aving been constructed 
 no longer than sixty-two years. We now henter 
 the first of these 'ighly hinteresting caves that 
 haperture in front of you was the hold entrance 
 has may heasily be seen by the steps cut in the 
 rock which it is supposed that they were done 
 by the horig'nal hoccupants — {here one of the 
 party commits himself to a statement that the 
 interior is ^'picturesque," while it reminds another 
 of the " Forty Thieves "). The haperture was 
 haccidently discovered hover sixty years ago 
 by a gardener of the name of Golding while 
 hengaged in digging the soil fell through the 
 'ole thereby reveahng the hexistence of the 
 caves he then hobtained leave to make hexca- 
 vations sell the sand for his hown benefit and 
 hexhibit the caves for a term of years — {A pon- 
 derous member of the party expresses an opinioti 
 that the caves must be a ''very valuable asset" 
 which^ remembering the sixpence for admission, 
 nobody seems prepared to dispute^. H eleven years
 
 ii8 GOING ROUND THE CAVES 
 
 he was in hexecuting the work dying six months 
 hafter completion so that he did not hve long 
 to henjoy the fruits of his hindustry though 
 his widow and children survived to in'erit them 
 till quite recently. Now some of you on be- 
 'olding the haperture may hask [here he fixes 
 upon the most vacuous Sightseer, whose mouth falls 
 open at once), "Why 'ave a second hentrance at 
 all — why not come in by this one ?" {the V. S., 
 pulling himself together, is understood to murmur 
 something about an ^^ emergency exitT) I will tell 
 you the reason for why the howners of the 
 surface refused to allow haccess hover their 
 land thus it consequently became necessary to 
 construct the passage by which hentrance is 
 now hobtained. 
 
 \At this a satirical Sightseer whispers to 
 his Young Lady that the Guide seems 
 ^^ crule 'ard on pore ole letter haitch" — 
 to which she signifies assent by a de- 
 lighted giggle. 
 
 The colossal statue above the harch if you 
 will kindly stand a little back where 1 now am 
 is a correck representation of the Reverend 
 Mr. Blott Mr. Golding's minister at that period 
 bein' cut out by his own 'ands from the solid
 
 GOING ROUND THE CAVES 119 
 
 stone without assistance of hany kind except two 
 day labourers to carry away the sand which you 
 will all agree with me that for a gardener Mr. 
 Golding must have been a very clever man. 
 {The party inspect the Rev. Mr. Blott's legs^ which 
 are all of him that is visible by cafidlelight, with the 
 silent reverence due to High A rt, before passing to 
 the next cave?) Some will tell you that these 
 caves they were all done by smugglers now 
 that is not a very probable the'ry it would 
 require consid'rable time and labour to con- 
 struct caves of this size and they would need 
 all their time for smuggling purposes though 
 hundoubtedly these caves they were used by 
 smugglers halso their hobject bein' to dispose 
 of their goods as quickly as possible they would 
 not require so much room for storage therefore 
 far the most probable the'ry is that they were 
 due to the Herly Christians who tied 'ere to 
 havoid persecution hunder the hancient Romans 
 and Hanglo-Saxons. Hon the hupper part of 
 this wall you will hobserve a large bust — {Jiere 
 an elderly lady inquires whether it is supposed to 
 be the likeness of one of the Early Christians^ — 
 from the fact that it is represented with hepau- 
 lettes on both shoulders the general opinion
 
 I20 GOING ROUND THE CAVES 
 
 is that it 'as not come down from hany very 
 remote period and is certainly not hantique it 
 is far more likely to be a portrait of one of 
 the smugglers but 'oo it is we cannot say not 
 possessing no records of hany kind hall we do 
 know is that smugglers were in the 'abit of 
 using these caves though we 'ave no hactual 
 proof that they did so. 
 
 Our present King ladies and gentlemen when 
 he visited these caves some years ago made a 
 re-mark bein' Prince of Wales at the time. The 
 re-mark he made was that they would make a 
 very good wine-cellar which I think they would 
 do so myself. Through this 'ole 'ere hunder 
 which I shall presently hask you to follow me 
 the present King and Queen passed on the 
 hoccasion the 'ole bein' then of far smaller 
 dimensions than it now is their Majesties were 
 compelled to crawl through it on all fours the 
 widenin' of the 'ole bein' hintirely caused by 
 friction from boots below and clothes above 
 you will please to lower your 'eds to havoid 
 crushing your 'ats. . . . 
 
 \T he party follow him through the hole, with 
 the jokes and exclamations appropriate 
 to the situation.
 
 GOING ROUND THE CAVES 121 
 
 Hon this wall near which I am now standing 
 you will notice one of our most hinteresting 
 monuments a carving representing the hexact 
 shape of a Roman hurn it has been suggested 
 that it may be the tomb of some Herly Christian 
 but a moment's reflection will convince you — 
 {here lie again fixes the vacuous Sightseer, who 
 looks as convinced as possible on such short notice) — 
 that this hidea cannot be the correct one and I 
 will tell you for why honly two methods of 
 sepulchre bein' practised by the Herly Chris- 
 tians one cremation the bother hurn-burial now 
 it is hobvious that this hurn carved as it is on 
 the surface of the solid stone cannot possibly 
 contain yuman hashes but is merely a memorial 
 to '00m it is not known the hinscriptions 
 on the walls around they are hall modern 
 bein' done by visitors. . . . 
 
 [They enter the next cave. 
 
 'Ere you will hobserve faults {the party assume 
 a critical air) due to volcanic haction these caves 
 'aving been cast up many thousand years ago 
 from the hocean bed in proof of which I will 
 draw your attention to the roof on which you 
 can plainly perceive ripple-marks hexactly re- 
 sembling those left on the sand at low tide
 
 122 GOING ROUND THE CAVES 
 
 these ripple-marks bein' hupside down will give 
 you some hidea of the violence of the heruption 
 it is not my hown opinion I am now giving 
 you but that of leading scientists who have 
 hexamined them. Kindly step carefully into 
 the next cave the slope of the floor bein' some- 
 what habrupt. . . . The 'alf-length figure on 
 the wall 'ere is supposed to be the work of 
 the Herly Christians from the full sleeves bein' 
 hevidently a bishop. 
 
 Hoppersite is a hancient bath when dis- 
 covered the bottom was coated hover with 
 clay happarently to 'inder the water from 
 hescaping it has been suggested that it was 
 more probably h intended to contain a supply 
 of drinkin' water now that is not a bad sug- 
 gestion though I think I can show that it is 
 hincorrect for it would soon become stargnant 
 and a hample supply could be carried in in 
 skin and barrels therefore it is far more likely 
 that it was used as a babtisimal fount by the 
 Herly Christians who would merely 'ave to 
 make a 'ole in the clay to let the water run 
 off and be habsorbed by the sand nor would 
 it be necessary to fill it very full heighteen 
 hinches bein' sufficient for total himmersion . . .
 
 GOING ROUND THE CAVES 123 
 
 we next henter the largest cave of hall it is 
 hestimated to contain has many as fifteen 
 thousand men standing hupright a pretty big 
 harmy you will agree though howing to the 
 habsence of ventilation their hair would soon 
 become too foul to support life besides which 
 the hexits being well known at present it would 
 be uselsss as a niding place for hany army. 
 We are now one 'undred and forty-live feet 
 below the surface not that the floor has de- 
 scended but because of the helcvation of the 
 'ill as can be proved by our bein' hexactly 
 oppersite St. Clement's Terrace hif the most 
 violent thunderstorm was takin' place over'ed 
 you would not be aware of it down 'ere 
 which rendered it a safe 'iding place for the 
 Herly Christians who could make what noise 
 they liked with no fear of being hover'eard 
 — {the party seem to appreciate the . value of this 
 Christian privilege^ — the honly light is hobtained 
 from the haperture in the first cave therefore 
 at sunset this place is in total darkness to give 
 you some ideer what that darkness is I will 
 now remove the light {which he proceeds to do). 
 Hany one left be'ind 'ere for a night would 
 soon go out of his mind though no such
 
 124 GOING ROUND THE CAVES 
 
 event has 'appened since these caves were first 
 hopened bein' carefully searched hevery night 
 the last thing this passage conducts us back 
 to the ballroom where we started it is 'ighly 
 patronised during the season by parties who 
 are fond of a novelty all who care to dance 
 bein' free to do so which brings us to the 
 end of our journey ladies and gentlemen are 
 kindly requested not to forget the guide we 
 'ave no regler salary being hintirely dependent 
 on such gratooities we may receive thank you 
 very much. 
 
 \The Party bestow tips as they file out, with 
 
 a feeling that their minds have been 
 
 enlarged.
 
 MRS. BRASSINGTON-CLAYPOTT'S 
 CHILDREN'S PARTY 
 
 If I had had my way we should not have had a 
 children's party at all this year. As I said to 
 Marmaduke, " Modern children, especially in 
 such social circles as we move in, expect more 
 and more nowadays, and I really can't under- 
 take to do things on the same scale as the 
 Guldenschweins, or the McMammons, or the 
 Sploscheimers. And when you're always say- 
 ing things haven't gone so well in the City 
 lately 1 " 
 
 Marmaduke said he didn't like the idea of 
 our children accepting their young friends' 
 hospitalities without making any return, but, 
 as I told him, our Torquil and Ermyngarde 
 are such popular children people are only too 
 delighted to have them. As for the disap- 
 pointment to our chicks, they had both ex- 
 pressed their perfect willingness to accept five 
 
 shillings apiece instead of having a party — 
 
 125
 
 126 MRS. BRASSINGTON-CLAYPOTT'S 
 
 which of course would come incalculably 
 cheaper. 
 
 But he said things hadn't come to such a 
 pass that he couldn't afford to give a children's 
 party, and do the thing in style, too. He 
 hinted that this was good policy from a business 
 point of view. I represented that it was utterly 
 out of the question for me to do the thing as 
 it should be done on my housekeeping allow- 
 ance, and he gave me an extra cheque, which 
 he said ought to cover not only a first-class 
 sit-down tea and supper, but a really refined 
 and expensive entertainment from Harrod's or 
 Whiteley's into the bargain. 
 
 I might have managed to make it do, I dare 
 say, if only I hadn't had such frightfully bad 
 luck at bridge about that time that I was posi- 
 tively compelled to economise wherever possible. 
 
 So, when my maid Melanie happened to men- 
 tion a young man of her acquaintance who was 
 anxious to obtain engagements at parties as a 
 conjurer, and who (according to her) was quite 
 extraordinarily talented, I told her to see if 
 she could arrange with him to come to me 
 and give an hour and a half's performance for 
 a guinea, this sum to include his cab-fares. I
 
 CHILDREN'S PARTY 127 
 
 was careful to add this, because most enter- 
 tainers make an extra charge for cab-fares, and 
 they all seem to live a long way outside the 
 radius. Melanie was to point out that, as at 
 my house he would have an opportunity of 
 exhibiting before highly influential and wealthy 
 people like the McMammons, the Sploscheimers, 
 the Guldenschweins, and others, he might find 
 it to his advantage to make a considerable re- 
 duction in his usual terms. 
 
 Later Melanie reported that she had so 
 strongly impressed this upon him that he had 
 declared his willingness to perform for me 
 gratis, just for the sake of the introduction, 
 and Melanie added that he had offered to con- 
 clude by distributing a few small gifts, pro- 
 vided I saw no objection. I said if he liked 
 to go to the expense he was of course at per- 
 fect liberty to do so, so long as he remembered 
 that such presents should be of a certain value 
 if they were to give pleasure to children in such 
 a set as ours. 
 
 Melanie assured me he quite understood, and 
 that it would be all right, so I left it entirely 
 to her — rather against my own instincts, for 
 she was a girl I never could take to, somehow
 
 128 MRS. BRASSINGTON-CLAYPOTT'S 
 
 — it was always most unpleasant to meet her 
 eyes in the looking-glass while she was brushing 
 my hair of an evening. Still she was clever 
 and useful in many ways, and I quite thought 
 I could depend on her in a matter of this sort. 
 
 We had next to no refusals, and Marmaduke 
 not only came home early from the City him- 
 self that evening, but actually persuaded such 
 busy people as Mr. Sploscheimer, Mr. McMam- 
 mon, and Mr. Guldenschwein to look in while 
 their respected offspring were still seated at the 
 tea-table. 
 
 It was a thrilling thought, as one of our 
 grown-up guests remarked to me at the time, 
 that every one of those tiny tots was a potential 
 little fifty-thousand-pounder at the very least, 
 always supposing, of course, that their dear 
 parents met with no serious financial reverses 
 before they reached maturity. 
 
 The little Guldenschweins are not what I call 
 prettily-behaved children at table, and I am sure 
 they had enough to eat of one sort and another, 
 even if I did not think lit to provide quite 
 enough hot tea-cake and crumpets to please 
 them. 
 
 The other children made no complaints —
 
 CHILDREN'S PARTY 129 
 
 except that the young Sploscheimers declared the 
 crackers were swindles and not worth pulling, 
 as they contained no jewellery ; but when, on 
 Ermyngarde's announcing proudly that there 
 was going to be a conjurer upstairs after tea, 
 one of the little McMammons declared he was 
 sick of conjurers, and at their party they were 
 going to have a Magic Kettle and a Ballet from 
 the Empire, I confess I began to have mis- 
 givings about the entertainment I had provided. 
 
 For I really knew nothing about the man 
 — not even his name. I had only Melanie's 
 word for his being able to conjure at all, and 
 I shuddered when I reflected that he might 
 actually be capable of coming without a dress 
 suit on. 
 
 It is not surprising that when at length every 
 child admitted having reached the stage of 
 repletion, and the butler announced that the 
 conjurer had arrived and was awaiting us in 
 the drawing-room, I led the way upstairs with 
 a sinking heart, and a fervent wish that I had 
 not gone out of my way to do a kindness to 
 this obscure /n?/'^^^' of Melanie's. 
 
 Many a time did I repeat that wish before that 
 awful evening was over !
 
 130 MRS. BRASSINGTON-CLAYPOTT'S 
 
 When we got upstairs, there was the conjurer, 
 waiting for us under the arch between the two 
 drawing-rooms. He had put on a dress suit, 
 and was, for a person in that position, quite 
 gentlemanly -looking, though pale. He com- 
 menced his performance with a few simple 
 card-tricks — but either it was too soon after 
 tea, or the children were not impressed by an 
 entertainer who was not in fancy costume and 
 had none of the usual gilded apparatus — for 
 the poor little things made no attempt to con- 
 ceal their boredom. 
 
 And my Ermyngarde, who is rather a proud 
 child, was naturally offended by his taking such 
 a liberty as to extract eggs and billiard-balls 
 from her hair before all her young friends. 
 Though I must say our Torquil, who is his 
 dear father's own boy for smartness, made the 
 conjurer look supremely ridiculous by not only 
 denying that he was really producing the yards 
 and yards of coloured paper which were ap- 
 parently being reeled out of his little inside, 
 but by informing everybody (and correctly, 
 too !) how the trick was done. 
 
 Altogether the entertainment seemed to be 
 falling so flat that I felt obliged to tell Mrs.
 
 CHILDREN'S PARTY 131 
 
 Gildingham that I could not understand it, as 
 the man had been very highly recommended to 
 me, and that I hoped he would show us some- 
 thing really clever and amusing by-and-by. He 
 must have overheard (as I certainly intended 
 him to do), and it seemed to put him on his 
 mettle, for he said that for his next experiment 
 he should require the assistance of a grown-up, 
 and singled out Mr. Gildingham, who, with a 
 condescension remarkable indeed in a company 
 promoter of his experience, consented to oblige 
 him. 
 
 I could see Mr. G.'s dignity was a little ruffled 
 at the mere suggestion that he might be a con- 
 federate, and he was as startled as anybody 
 when something alive and kicking was taken 
 out of his double-breasted waistcoat. 
 
 The conjurer called it a rabbit — but it was 
 unlike any breed of rabbits that I am acquainted 
 with, having a much longer tail for one thing, 
 besides being a bright scarlet, and covered all 
 over with little scales. He rubbed the beast 
 into two — a red and a green one — before our 
 eyes, and they shot up the curtains and dis- 
 appeared behind the gilt cornice. 
 
 Nobody made any comment, though I could
 
 132 MRS. BRASSINGTON-CLAYPOTT'S 
 
 see several people were considerably impressed. 
 As for Mr. Gildingham, he slipped quietly down- 
 stairs, and, so I afterwards heard, asked the 
 butler for a whisky-and-soda before leaving the 
 house. Then the conjurer suddenly called out 
 little Moritz Rosenstern, and asked him if he 
 had a headache, which the child denied. But 
 we could all hear his little head ticking away 
 like a tape machine, and presently we saw a 
 stream of tape actually flowing from his left 
 ear. His father, from sheer force of habit, I 
 suppose, rushed to read off the message. What 
 it was I cannot say, as we could not find the 
 tape afterwards, but Mr. Rosenstern, with a 
 smothered exclamation, which I only trust the 
 children did not catch, rushed from the room, 
 and presently we heard a hansom clattering off 
 in a frantic hurry. Moritz told Torquil next 
 day that, when he got home that evening, he 
 was severely spanked by his papa, which seems 
 rather unreasonable. 
 
 I really forget what trick came next, but I 
 think it was the production of an immense glass 
 bowl of water from Mr. Sploscheimer's coat- 
 tail pocket. When this trick is done with gold- 
 fish it is quite pretty, but there was hardly time
 
 CHILDREN'S PARTY 133 
 
 to notice what was in the water in this case, as 
 Mr. Sploscheimer in his nervousness upset the 
 bowl, and the thing inside got away. Mrs. 
 McMammon declared that it bit her on the 
 ankle, which I do not believe. She was always 
 a fanciful, hysterical woman, and if it was a 
 snake at all I am convinced it was a perfectly 
 harmless one. 
 
 Still, though the man was certainly a cleverer 
 conjurer than had at first appeared, and the 
 juveniles began to look with more approval 
 on his efforts to amuse them, none of the older 
 people seemed to be really enjoying themselves. 
 However, we all applauded, to avoid hurting 
 his feelings, and, even when he gave a ventrilo- 
 quial exhibition with an excessively rude little 
 wooden puppet out of a bag, which made re- 
 marks on every grown-up present that were so 
 personal as to be almost libellous, they managed 
 to laugh good-humouredly, though I could see 
 that I and Marmaduke were suspected of having 
 furnished the particulars. 
 
 There is no doubt that, in persuading Mr. 
 Guldenschwein, much against his wishes, to be 
 hidden for a second or so under an embroidered 
 piano-cover, and then revealing him as a large
 
 134 MRS. BRASSINGTON-CLAYPOTT'S 
 
 and very pink pig, the conjurer went much too 
 far — though I am bound to admit that the 
 children, and especially the little Gulden- 
 schweins, were delighted. For myself, I was 
 most distressed that such a thing should have 
 happened in my house, and to Mr. Gulden- 
 schwein of all people ! 
 
 At the same time, I do think he might have 
 shown a little more of what I call bonhomie 
 about it, especially as the effects of the illusion 
 (or transformation, or whatever it was) wore 
 off very soon, and indeed were hardly notice- 
 able by supper-time. But some people are 
 born without the sense of humour ! 
 
 I should have been thankful myself, as I know 
 a good many people were, when the tiresome 
 man announced the last item on his programme, 
 if only it hadn't been a Distribution of Gifts to 
 all the children from what he called "the In- 
 exhaustible Electrolier." For one thing, I was 
 anxious about the chandelier (which is coloured 
 Venetian glass and fragile), and, for another, 1 
 had the gravest doubts as to what he might 
 choose to consider suitable presents for those 
 innocent mites. 
 
 How he contrived that a series of white-paper
 
 CHILDREN'S PARTY 135 
 
 parcels neatly tied up in ribbon — blue for boys, 
 and pink for girls — should appear to drop, one 
 by one, into a hat from the centre of the 
 chandelier is more than I can explain — but it 
 was a relief to find that the contents gave satis- 
 faction not only to the children but to their 
 parents also. 
 
 At least, it was a relief till I discovered that 
 each of the pink packets contained one of the 
 trinkets which only left my jewel-case on very 
 special occasions, while every boy received an 
 Oriental curio in carved jade or ivory or crystal, 
 from a collection which Marmaduke had picked 
 up privately for a mere trifle and hoped to dis- 
 pose of at Christie's some day at an immense 
 profit. And, as the little wretches were quite 
 aware of the value of the objects, it would have 
 been useless to try and reclaim them. Under 
 all the circumstances, the only thing to do was 
 to encourage the parents in their impression that 
 our little surprise had been carefully thought 
 out beforehand. So it really was hard to bear 
 when I found out afterwards, from indirect 
 sources, that it was considered to be a piece 
 of vulgar ostentation on our part ! 
 
 I managed to persuade Torquil and Ermyn-
 
 136 MRS. BRASSINGTON-CLAYPOTT'S 
 
 garde to leave their own parcels with me un- 
 opened — hoping to get back something at all 
 events — but there was absolutely nothing inside 
 either packet, though I am afraid both the 
 children still suspect their mother of being a 
 story-teller. 
 
 If I had had an opportunity I should certainly 
 have told that conjuring person in very plain 
 terms what I thought of his performance, but 
 by the time I was sufficiently composed to do 
 so the man had gone. I sent for Melanie, fully 
 intending to discharge her on the spot, but was 
 informed that she had discharged herself some 
 time previously — which shows that she was 
 every bit as bad as the man. 
 
 Who he was, or why he should have chosen 
 to play such pointless and ungentlemanly pranks 
 on jis is a perfect mystery to me, but I cannot 
 for a moment admit that there was anything in 
 the least supernatural about the affair. We are 
 hardly, I should hope, the kind of people for a 
 visitation of that description. Whatever we saw, 
 (or rather imagified we saw) that evening, I am 
 positive can be quite satisfactorily put down to 
 hypnotism, or something of that sort. 
 
 All the same the consequences have been most
 
 CHILDREN'S PARTY 137 
 
 unfortunate. Marmaduke is not nearly so inti- 
 mate with Mr. Guldenschwein, Mr. Sploscheimer, 
 and Mr. McMammon, or indeed any of his rich 
 City friends, as he used to be, — and of course 
 he puts all the blame on me! And for some 
 days after the party there were troubles in the 
 nursery too, owing to nurse's finding such 
 quantities of ivorine billiard-balls and break- 
 fast eggs in darling Ermyngarde's hair, while 
 poor little Torquil would spout streams of 
 coloured shavings by the hour together, which 
 was very troublesome for everybody, though I 
 am thankful to say the doctor prescribed some 
 medicine which effectually prevented any return 
 of the symptoms. 
 
 I think 1 am a little run down myself, and 
 I have had to give up my ** At Home " day. I 
 should be sorry to miss Mrs. McMammon, Mrs. 
 Sploscheimer, or Mrs. Guldenschwein, and all 
 my other friends, if they should happen to call 
 — but sitting alone in the drawing-room waiting 
 for them was more than I could endure. It was 
 nothing but nerves, I know — but I simply could 
 not keep my eyes off the cornices.
 
 A BUSINESS MEETING OF THE 
 SOCIETY OF PENGUINS 
 
 (A Study of Elderly Children) 
 
 Scene — The Garden of a picturesque old Country 
 Inn zvithin easy distance from London. A round 
 the Bowling Green are rustic arbours and 
 sheds. In the largest of these a party of ten 
 or eleven middle-aged gentlemen of intensely 
 serious aspect are seated at a long table, smok- 
 ing cigars and drinking spirits and water. 
 It is sojnewhat late in the afternoon. Sud- 
 denly the oldest and most solemn of the 
 party rises and raps the table zvith an air 
 of authority natu7'al to one who occupies the 
 position of a Grand Prime Penguiji. 
 
 The Grand Prime Penguin. I rise, brother 
 Penguins — order, please. I must ask Penguin 
 Gogarty to reserve the conclusion of the anec- 
 dote, or whatever it is he is relating to Penguin 
 
 Titterton, until the business before us has been 
 
 138
 
 THE SOCIETY OF PENGUINS 139 
 
 disposed of. (Penguins GOGARTY and Titter- 
 ton instantly assume a portentous gravity^ I 
 will first read one or two communications 
 received from brother Penguins who have 
 been unavoidably prevented from being present 
 at our proceedings this afternoon. Penguin 
 Shuffery writes : " My dear Grand Prime, your 
 brother Penguin is awfully sick at being un- 
 able to support his Prime on such an occasion 
 — but he knows how it is." {Here the other 
 Penguins sympathetically murmur, " Squawk, 
 squawk ! " which is apparently the prescribed 
 form of approval.) I have also a wire from 
 Penguin Tootell : " Regret impossible attend. 
 Just starting for honeymoon. Needless say 
 am with you in spirit. May Heaven guide 
 your counsels ! Yours in links of Penguin- 
 ship, Tootell." [Renewed squawks.) Other 
 Penguins have been communicated with, but 
 have not written to explain their non-appear- 
 ance. {Here several Penguins exclaim, ** Quonk- 
 quonk-quonk I " — which seems to be Penguinese 
 for ^^ Shame I") Before, as your retiring Grand 
 Prime, I vacate the rock, I will call on Recorder
 
 140 A BUSINESS MEETING OF 
 
 Penguin Mincoff to read the agenda. . . . {They 
 are read by a nervous Penguin in a straw hat, 
 and appear to consist in electing a new " Grand 
 Prime " and " Vice-Penguin " /or the coming 
 year?) Voting-papers will be handed round. 
 There are three candidates for the rock — viz. 
 Penguins Stickney, Ikin, and Cronkeyshaw. 
 I need not remind you of the fact that 
 Penguin Stickney is one of our oldest and 
 most respected Penguins, and has already dis- 
 charged the duties of Vice-Penguin with singular 
 tact and ability. 
 
 Penguin Cronkeyshaw. I should just like 
 to ask this. If we're all asked to pledge our- 
 selves beforehand, what becomes of the secrecy 
 of the ballot ? 
 
 The Grand Prime {ivith dignity). I can only 
 answer that if Penguin Cronkeyshaw insists on 
 impugning my conduct on this rock, I shall 
 treat it as a matter of confidence and offer 
 myself for re-election. 
 
 Penguin Cronkeyshaw. In that case, Mr. 
 Grand Prime, I beg to withdraw my question, 
 and merely remark that I shall hold myself per-
 
 THE SOCIETY OF PENGUINS 141 
 
 sonally free to vote for any candidate I please, 
 be he the youngest Penguin on the list ! 
 
 [77^1? Penguins fill up their papers in 
 solemn silence, fold them, and deposit 
 them in Recorder-Penguin Mincoff's 
 straw hat, which is then handed to the 
 Grand Prime. 
 
 The Grand Prime {counting the votes). Pen- 
 guin Stickney, 4 ; Penguin Ikin, 4 ; Penguin 
 Cronkeyshaw, i. Owing to the chivalry of 
 Penguins Stickney and Ikin in each voting 
 for the other — {commendatory squawks from all 
 but Penguin Cronkeyshaw) — the election has 
 resulted in a tie. I shall therefore avail myself 
 of the privilege of this rock, and give a casting 
 vote to Penguin Stickney, whom I declare to 
 be duly elected. 
 
 \^Squawks — and a solitary quonk from 
 Penguin Cronkeyshaw ; Penguin 
 Stickney then takes the rock as the 
 new Grand Prime. 
 
 Grand Prime Penguin Stickney. Brother 
 Penguins, my heart is too full adequately to 
 thank you for the very great honour you have 
 just conferred upon me by electing me as
 
 142 A BUSINESS MEETING OF 
 
 your Grand Prime. I can only say that I 
 will do my best to prove myself worthy of 
 your confidence during my occupation of this 
 rock, though I fear I can never hope to fill 
 it as ably and — er — energetically as the dis- 
 tinguished and highly popular Penguin who 
 has preceded me. {Squawks ; a new Vice- 
 Penguin is next elected tvith similar formalities^ 
 I will now call upon any Penguin who has a 
 motion to bring forward to do so as briefly 
 as possible, since our time is getting short. 
 
 A Penguin in a Homburg Hat. I — ah — 
 beg to propose that, for all future meetings, 
 every Penguin should adopt a uniform head- 
 covering. I would suggest a straw, with a 
 distinctive ribbon of salmon, purple, and green, 
 in alternate layers. By this means, Penguins 
 would be more easily enabled to recognise 
 one another on a railway platform than is the 
 case under present conditions. [Squawks.) 
 
 Penguin Cronkeyshaw {whose temper has 
 distinctly not improved during the proceedings). 
 I object to Penguin Jeffcock's proposal in toto. 
 Are Penguins in a free country like England 
 to submit to be curtailed and hampered in 
 their choice of hats ? Why, I ask, why should
 
 THE SOCIETY OF PENGUINS 143 
 
 I be compelled to wear a hat that I consider 
 eminently unsuitable to myself personally ? I 
 no longer — as some here to-day have con- 
 sidered it humorous to remind me more than 
 once — possess a head of hair like some Pen- 
 guins. If Penguin Jeffcock is determined to 
 force a form of head-gear upon me which, 
 viewed from behind, would infallibly render 
 my appearance more or less ridiculous, I shall 
 have no alternative but to send in my resigna- 
 tion and cease henceforth to be a Penguin. 
 I will not make a public exhibition of myself 
 in an infernal straw hat with a tomfool ribbon 
 to please any Penguin alive ! 
 
 Penguin Jeffcock {diplomatically). I am sure 
 that I voice the general sentiment when I say 
 that I should be sorry indeed to press any 
 motion which would tend to deprive us of 
 Penguin Cronkeyshaw's genial presence. For 
 the moment I had forgotten the — ah — pecu- 
 liarity to which he has so feelingly referred. 
 1 now beg to amend my original proposal by 
 substituting for the straw hat and ribbon a 
 distinctive badge which each Penguin will 
 wear in his buttonhole on occasions like the 
 present. It might be in enamel, and represent
 
 144 A BUSINESS MEETING OF 
 
 a Penguin rampant, which could be executed 
 in artistic colours for a comparative trifle. 
 [Squawks.) 
 
 Penguin Cronkeyshaw. I object to the 
 badge as, if possible, even more preposterous 
 than the straw ! It may be all very well for 
 Penguin Jeifcock to talk of the expense as a 
 trifle. Some Penguins may not have managed 
 to feather their nest as he has. I know / 
 haven't. And speaking as a Penguin, I do 
 not see why I should be called on to put 
 my hand in my pocket for a mere superfluity. 
 I maintain that paying my railway fare and 
 my share of the bill — which, considering it 
 was a cold lunch, I must say was nothing 
 less than downright extortion — is as much as 
 can reasonably be expected from a Penguin 
 in my position. 
 
 Grand Prime Penguin Stickney. I will 
 now put Penguin Jeffcock's amended motion 
 to a show of pinions. {Every Penguin raises 
 his right hand, except Penguin CRONKEYSHAW, 
 who strenuously uplifts his left.) The proposal 
 is carried by eight pinions to one. {Loud 
 squawks.) I therefore authorise Penguin Jeff- 
 cock to obtain estimates for executing the
 
 THE SOCIETY OF PENGUINS 145 
 
 badges and to report accordingly. Has any 
 other Penguin a motion to bring ? 
 
 Penguin Cronkeyshaw {quivering with 
 wrath). I have, Mr. Grand Prime ! I beg to 
 move that this Honourable Society of Pen- 
 guins be immediately dissolved and re-con- 
 stituted without any titles of office, rules, 
 regulations, or formalities whatsoever ! 
 
 [^Sensation, and loud cries of " Quonk-quonk- 
 quonk ! " 
 
 The Grand Prime Penguin. I consider 
 that I should be untrue to the traditions of 
 this rock if I were to put such a revolutionary 
 proposal as that before an assembly of Pen- 
 guins — and I therefore decline to do so. 
 {Squawks from all, except Penguin CRONKEY- 
 SHAW, who rises and retires into an adjoining 
 arbour, where he sits glowering and blaspheming 
 furiously under his breath.^ Brother Penguins, 
 we must all regret that the harmony of our 
 meeting should have been marred by this 
 little contretemps — however, we all know Pen- 
 guin Cronkeyshaw — he has threatened to resign 
 on many previous occasions, but has always 
 come round during the return journey. In 
 conclusion, I will call upon you to drink the
 
 146 THE SOCIETY OF PENGUINS 
 
 usual toast. " The Penguins — and may they 
 long flap together!" {The toast is drunk with 
 enthusiastic squawks.) And now I think we 
 had better be making a move for the station. 
 \^The company break up and stroll off 
 together ift twos and threes ; Penguin 
 Croxkeyshaw sulks in his arbour 
 until the last member of the Society 
 has left the garden, when he hurries 
 after them — to convey y we are per- 
 mitted to hope, the comforting intelli- 
 gence that, in spite of all that has 
 occurred, he has decided to remain a 
 Penguin till further notice.
 
 THE GULL 
 
 (A Story of the Super-normal) 
 
 Parmenas Filmer awoke in the bedroom of 
 his seaside lodgings at Weymouth. 
 
 From the bed in which he lay the sea was 
 usually visible, but on this particular August 
 morning it was shrouded by a dense white veil. 
 
 All through the night his sleep had been dis- 
 turbed by the prolonged wail of distant sirens; 
 there must have been a heavy fog out at sea, 
 and instinctively his thoughts flew to Isolde Le 
 Vazon, who was probably at that very moment 
 preparing to land on her native Guernsey, 
 where — unless the unexpected happened — she 
 would be henceforth as far removed from him 
 as if she were on some Pacific isle. 
 
 How fascinating she had been, with her 
 strange spiritual loveliness, her air of dreamy 
 melancholy ! He recalled their first meeting — 
 only a brief fortnight ago — in a glazed shelter
 
 148 THE GULL 
 
 on the Esplanade ; he traced back each stage 
 of their progress towards the sweetest intimacy. 
 
 Never till then, although he was in his twenty- 
 sixth year, had he met the woman who answered 
 to his ideal, but in Isolde Le Vazon he had 
 found her once for all. Her beauty was of the 
 mystic and morbidezza type that had always most 
 appealed to him ; she was high-strung, romantic, 
 her literary taste was exquisite. No one before 
 had ever shown such perfect appreciation of his 
 poetry — for he wrote verses when he was not 
 engaged in the uncongenial duties of the In- 
 land Revenue Department, in which, on leaving 
 Oxford, he had obtained a superior clerkship. 
 
 Short as their acquaintance had been, and 
 limited as were their opportunities of meeting — 
 for she had come to Weymouth to attend an 
 invalid aunt by whose sick-bed most of her 
 day was necessarily passed — he had allowed 
 himself to declare his passion, and Isolde had 
 confessed that in happier circumstances she 
 might have returned it. 
 
 Unhappily she was already engaged to a 
 certain Mr. Taudevin whom, if she could not 
 love, she respected as one of the largest tomato- 
 growers in all Guernsey.
 
 THE GULL 149 
 
 Isolde had more rigid views than many of 
 her sex upon the binding nature of an engage- 
 ment, holding that to withdraw from it, unless 
 expressly released by the other party to the 
 contract, was as culpable for a girl as for a 
 man. 
 
 But she had promised to lay the case before 
 Mr. Taudevin as soon after her return to 
 Guernsey as possible, and should he consent 
 to set her free, which she warned Parmenas 
 was in the highest degree improbable, all ob- 
 stacles between them would be removed. On 
 the other hand, should her fiance insist on 
 holding her to her word, she was resolved to 
 sacrifice herself at the call of duty. 
 
 All she asked in that event was that she might 
 have the consolation of feeling that Parmenas 
 would be ever constant to her memory, and 
 that no other would ever replace her in his 
 heart, which he found it easy to promise, 
 feeling that she was and would always be the 
 one love of his Ufe. 
 
 He was by nature rather a dreamer than a 
 man of action, and the idea of a lifelong and 
 hopeless passion was not without a certain 
 attraction for his peculiar temperament.
 
 150 THE GULL 
 
 Then the end had come, Isolde had been 
 suddenly summoned back to Guernsey, and he 
 had seen her off the night before. Never could 
 he forget that last parting on the deck of the 
 Chamois. She had been more sadly, sweetly 
 emotional than ever — oppressed by a presenti- 
 ment she could not shake off that they were 
 destined never to meet again on earth, pitying 
 him for the loneliness he would have to endure 
 when she was taken from him. 
 
 " But I will come back to you, Parmenas — 
 if I am permitted," she had said, with an in- 
 spired look in her uplifted eyes. " You shall 
 not be quite desolate. Some day, perhaps, you 
 will find a little white dove tapping ever so 
 gently at your window. Don't drive it away, 
 for it will be your poor Isolde, trying to tell 
 you that she is dead, and that her last thought 
 was of you ! " 
 
 She had been almost overcome by her own 
 pathos, and he himself had been deeply affected. 
 " But the dove will fly away again," he had 
 said, "and I shall be lonelier than ever!" 
 
 " Who knows ? Perhaps I shall be allowed 
 to stay and comfort you," she had whispered : 
 " at least, till the time comes when you learn
 
 THE GULL 151 
 
 to care for — for somebody else, Parmenas, and 
 then — then you will see a poor little white bird 
 lying in a corner, quite, quite dead. You might 
 write one of your little poems on that, mightn't 
 you ? But I mustn't be sentimental. After all, 
 I mayn't die first ; Mr. Taudevin may release 
 me, and we may be happy together all our 
 lives. Only somehow, to-night, I can't help 
 feeling as if something were going to happen. 
 Promise that, whatever happens, you will be 
 constant, Parmenas ! " 
 
 If he thought her fears fantastic, her project 
 of returning to him in the form of a bird 
 slightly unpractical, he merely loved her the 
 better for them ; so he had sworn undying 
 fidelity, and, as she declined to go below, he 
 had wrapped her up in rugs and shawls in a 
 covered bench on deck and returned sadly 
 to his lodgings. He lay still, thinking of all 
 this, trying to summon up her looks and the 
 least things she had said and done, until his 
 eyes closed and he fell asleep once more. 
 
 When he awoke again he became aware that 
 something was in his room. He could not see 
 it, but he heard a curious fluttering noise which 
 seemed to proceed from the floor. Raising
 
 152 THE GULL 
 
 himself on his elbow, he looked, and was 
 startled for the moment to see a large greyish 
 bird perched on the edge of his bath, and 
 gazing at him with fearless brown eyes. It 
 was a remarkably fine specimen of the common 
 gull (Larus canus). 
 
 He had slept, according to his custom, with 
 the window open, and the bird had evidently 
 lost its bearings in the fog and flown in. He 
 went towards it, but it did not budge ; it allowed 
 him to take it up and put it on the window-sill, 
 without attempting to fly away. One of its 
 wings drooped slightly, as if it had struck 
 against something in the darkness and bruised 
 itself. 
 
 It was still there when he had finished dress- 
 ing, and humanity forbade him to drive it away 
 in its crippled condition, so he consulted his 
 landlady, who undertook to borrow a wicker 
 cage from a neighbour who had recently lost 
 a pet jackdaw. 
 
 The cage was brought, and the gull was easily 
 persuaded to enter it, upon which Filmer sat 
 down to breakfast and soon forgot the incident. 
 After a merely perfunctory meal he wandered 
 along the Esplanade, feeding his melancholy by
 
 THE GULL 153 
 
 the sight of the sheHer in which he had so 
 often sat with Isolde. She had been reading 
 a library novel that first morning, he remem- 
 bered : it was "Ardath," by Miss Marie Corelli, 
 of whose genius she was an ardent admirer. 
 Now a fat woman sat there, knitting a woollen 
 stocking. 
 
 But as the morning passed, F'ilmer, even in 
 his abstracted state, was conscious of an unusual 
 stir and excitement in the passing crowd ; pre- 
 sently he caught scraps of talk that filled him 
 with vague uneasiness, until he could not refrain 
 from asking if anything had happened. 
 
 Something had indeed happened. News had 
 just come that the Chamois had run upon the 
 Casket rocks in the fog, and gone to the bottom 
 — it was rumoured, with all on board. 
 
 What Filmer felt at this crushing blow need 
 not be set down here ; his reason tottered under 
 it, and might have left him altogether, had not 
 more reassuring tidings arrived later in the day. 
 The passengers were safe after all — at least, 
 all the ship's boats but one had reached land, 
 and, as the sea was perfectly calm, no fears 
 were entertained for the remaining boat, which 
 was known to have been successfully launched.
 
 154 THE GULL 
 
 and had probably steered for the French 
 coast. 
 
 To Filmer the rehef was considerable, even 
 though he could not help remembering Isolde's 
 presentiment the night before. But presenti- 
 ments are not infallible, and the chances were 
 immensely in favour of her having been in one 
 of the boats that had turned up. 
 
 However, the list of names was published, 
 and Isolde Le Vazon's was not among them, 
 and nothing more had been heard of the missing 
 boat. 
 
 Even then he clung to hope, for the general 
 opinion was that it had been picked up by 
 some outward-bound vessel. And yet there was 
 one thing which, whenever his eye fell upon it, 
 struck a chill of superstitious dread into his in- 
 most soul — it was the gull in its wicker cage. 
 
 Try as he might, he could not conquer a 
 suspicion that it might be connected in a 
 manner that he had little imagined at first 
 with the fate of his beloved Isolde. Had she 
 not promised to return to him if permitted, in 
 the shape of a bird ? Had not this creature 
 flown into his window at the very hour the 
 disaster must have happened ?
 
 THE GULL 155 
 
 But Isolde had mentioned a white dove — 
 and this was a grey gull : he would not despair 
 yet, especially as the lost boat might still prove 
 to have been rescued. 
 
 And soon this hope was justified by news 
 of it from Malta. A liner had arrived there 
 with some sailors and a lady and a gentleman 
 passenger belonging to the ill-fated Chamois; 
 and Filmer breathed more freely, for he never 
 doubted, though the names were not given, 
 that the lady was Isolde. 
 
 Alas ! this certainty of his was only too 
 speedily shattered. The two passengers were 
 a newly wedded couple of the name of Golding- 
 ham, who had been intending to make a short 
 tour in the Channel Islands before returning 
 to their home in South Africa. 
 
 Doubt was no longer possible. Isolde's pre- 
 diction had been tragically fulfilled ; she had 
 perished in the confusion, probably whilst sleep- 
 ing soundly in the covered seat which she had 
 insisted on occupying. 
 
 And the gull ? . . . He reproached himself 
 now for his blindness and want of faith. What 
 though it were not precisely the bird she would 
 have chosen as the tenement of her spirit ?
 
 156 THE GULL 
 
 Gulls are more frequent at sea than white 
 doves, and in her urgent desire to come to 
 him she would naturally avail herself of the 
 first means that offered themselves. 
 
 " Isolde ! " he cried, as he knelt by the wicker 
 cage, " is it indeed you ? Have you come 
 back to me as you promised ? Tell me it is 
 true!" 
 
 A sort of ripple passed through the gull's 
 plumage, but she made no other answer. 
 
 " You are mine now ! " he said with exulta- 
 tion — " mine for ever ! So long as you are 
 with me, I need no other companion. None 
 shall come between you and me. Only give 
 me some sign, to tell me you understand." 
 
 The gull gave a little shrug, so startlingly like 
 a gesture of Isolde's when she had affected to 
 doubt his protestations, that even a sceptic 
 must have been convinced. 
 
 Henceforth he resolved to cherish this bird 
 for the sake of the spirit that in-formed it — 
 just as the Duchess of Kendal, we are told, 
 cherished the great raven that flew into her 
 window at Twickenham after the demise of 
 King George I. He did not conceal from him- 
 self ti.ut the situation had its difficulties : the
 
 THE GULL 157 
 
 most ordinary prudence required that his strange 
 secret should be concealed from all the world ; 
 and yet, even in public, he could not bring 
 himself to treat his transformed divinity as 
 the mere sea-fowl whose semblance she had 
 adopted. 
 
 It was impossible, for instance, when he took 
 her up to town, to allow her to be put in the 
 luggage-van ; and, as it is not every first-class 
 passenger who appreciates a sea-gull as a 
 fellow-traveller, the journey was scarcely an 
 agreeable experience. He felt some natural 
 embarrassment, too, on presenting himself to 
 the astonished housekeeper in his rooms at 
 Spring Gardens carrying his adored Isolde in 
 a large wicker cage ; and he shuddered when 
 the good woman protested against being ex- 
 pected to undertake the care of what she was 
 pleased to describe as "poultry." 
 
 However, as soon as Isolde was safely estab- 
 lished in his rooms, he set himself to render 
 her new existence as tolerable as possible. He 
 procured for her a spacious and handsome 
 cage, a portion of which he curtained off, so 
 as to ensure the privacy essential to a delicate- 
 minded female ; and from the satisfied air with
 
 158 THE GULL 
 
 which she pecked the hangings he could see 
 that she was grateful for his forethought. 
 
 He also altered the furniture and decoration 
 of his bachelor's den, until it was more in 
 harmony with what he conceived to be her 
 taste, though he failed to detect any indication 
 in her manner that she was gratified by, or even 
 observed, his efforts to please her. But she 
 appeared to appreciate her food -dish, a tray 
 of genuine old Canton enamel, and her antique 
 Venice drinking-glass, which, remembering that 
 at Weymouth she had once expressed a passion 
 for bric-a-brac, he had picked up at a curiosity 
 dealer's in Wardour Street. 
 
 With such a new and absorbing interest in 
 his life, Filmer could not fairly be called un- 
 happy ; he did his work at the office with his 
 customary intelligence, even though longing 
 inwardly for the hour to strike which set him 
 free to return to the cage which contained his 
 Isolde. 
 
 He had never been fond of society ; now he 
 went nowhere ; he was quite content to pass 
 all his evenings at home, reading Shelley aloud 
 to her, for her fine sensitiveness to what was 
 best and highest in literature had not deserted
 
 THE GULL 159 
 
 her, and she seldom failed to greet the most 
 inspired passages with a low croak of rapturous 
 approval. When, on the other hand, he ven- 
 tured to read her some little composition of 
 his own she was more critical, and it was a 
 proud moment for him when she was so 
 carried away by a stanza of his as to spread 
 her wings and utter a squawk of unmistakable 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 Yes, on the whole these evenings were char- 
 acterised by tranquil yet real happiness. 
 
 He had come home early from the office one 
 Saturday afternoon, and was reading " Epi- 
 psychidion " to the gull, which was listening 
 voluptuously with closed eyes, when he was 
 unceremoniously interrupted by a visitor. The 
 intruder was a fellow -clerk of his — a certain 
 Frank Challis, who had been up at Oxford 
 with him, and with whom, before his eventful 
 holiday at Weymouth, he had been on terms 
 of some intimacy. Kilmer had frequently dined 
 with Challis's family at their house in Craven 
 Hill Gardens, and had always been glad when 
 Frank looked him up for a smoke and a con- 
 fidential chat of an evening.
 
 i6o THE GULL 
 
 But of late he had rather avoided him, 
 from a feehng that his boisterous high spirits 
 and reckless talk would grate upon Isolde's re- 
 fined ear. 
 
 "What-ho! old chap," began Challis. "So 
 you're all alone, eh ? Thought I heard you 
 jawing to somebody." 
 
 '* I was reading aloud — to myself," explained 
 Filmer, a little awkwardly, for he could not 
 very well admit that he had been reading poetry 
 to a gull. 
 
 " What the deuce have you done to your 
 ' digs ' ? — they look more like a woman's boudoir 
 than a fellow's rooms. I say — I don't want to 
 be inquisitive — but you aren't married, by any 
 chance ? " 
 
 "No," said Filmer with a sad smile, "I shall 
 never be that — now." And he glanced at the 
 gull. 
 
 " Oh, it's too soon to chuck up yet ! " said 
 Frank. " So you've started an aviary. Going 
 in for keeping canaries ? . . . Why, you've got 
 a gull in it — a common gull, by gad !" 
 
 " Excuse me," said F'ilmer stiffly ; " it is by 
 no means a common gull." 
 
 " Well, it's evident you think so, or you
 
 THE GULL i6i 
 
 wouldn't give it enamel and coloured glass to 
 eat and drink out of — and a Japanese bronze 
 to tub in — and frilled curtains to go to bed 
 behind. Great Scot ! you'll provide it with a 
 toilet-table next ! " 
 
 " I fail to see what business it would be of 
 yours if I did," said Filmer irritably. 
 
 " My dear old chap, you needn't get shirty 
 about it. Can you give me a cigar ? I've come 
 out without mine." 
 
 "I'm sorry," said Filmer, "but I've quite 
 given up smoking." Which was true, for Isolde 
 had once told him that she could not endure 
 the smell of tobacco. 
 
 "Oh, it doesn't matter — I've got a pipe." And 
 Challis was proceeding to light up, when Filmer 
 felt obliged, in Isolde's interests, to beg him to 
 forbear. Then, to his horror, Frank began to 
 tell him a good story he had just heard which 
 had originated on the Stock Exchange, and 
 which Filmer instinctively felt would prove un- 
 suited to Isolde's delicate sense of propriety, so 
 he hastened to say that anecdotes of that kind 
 did not appeal to his sense of humour. 
 
 " I never knew you had one," said Frank. 
 "And you might tell this story to a maiden
 
 i62 THE GULL 
 
 aunt — a frisky maiden aunt. However, it's too 
 good to be wasted on you ! " 
 
 The gull had cocked her head on one side 
 with an air of expectation, and, if Filmer had 
 not known Isolde so well, he would almost have 
 imagined she was disappointed. But then, of 
 course, she could not know what she had been 
 spared ! 
 
 " Do you know, old man," said Frank pre- 
 sently, with concern in his honest face, " it 
 strikes me you want rousing. Can't be healthy 
 for you, shutting yourself up like this. Why not 
 come and dine quietly with us ? Doriel's back 
 from Dresden now — you remember Doriel ? " 
 
 Filmer did remember Doriel as a rather 
 engaging tomboy with a cloud of tawny hair, 
 who had made him play tennis and cycle and 
 skate with her, and had chaffed him unmerci- 
 fully for his want of proficiency in all these 
 exercises. He did not feel inclined to meet 
 her just then. 
 
 " She's grown up now," Frank went on — 
 "come out, and all that. And though I a^n her 
 brother, I will say she's turned out a 'ripper.' 
 She's simply Ai at hockey!" 
 
 But Filmer pleaded an engagement for that
 
 THE GULL 163 
 
 evening, and just then the servant entered with 
 a tray on which were some scalloped oysters 
 daintly served in a silver shell. " Mrs. Trotman 
 is very sorry, sir," said the girl, "but she 
 couldn't send up the gull's lunch any earlier." 
 
 "The gull's lunch!" exclaimed Challis, after 
 the servant had departed. " You do that bird 
 devilish well ! Never heard of giving a gull 
 scalloped oysters before. It don't seem to take 
 very kindly to 'em, though." 
 
 The bird was, indeed, merely toying with the 
 bread - crumbed morsels — for, as Isolde had 
 frequently informed Filmer, she regarded all 
 food with indifference and even repugnance. 
 
 " They have kept her waiting for her lunch 
 till nearly tea-time," he said: "no wonder she 
 has no appetite. And she is a delicate feeder 
 at the best of times." 
 
 " Rats ! " said Frank, with distressing coarse- 
 ness. " You try her with a fat slug or two ! " 
 
 It need hardly be said that Filmer repudiated 
 this profane suggestion with indignant horror. 
 
 " I tell you I know" persisted Frank ; " I kept 
 a tame gull myself when I was a kid. It's no 
 use giving 'em kickshaws. Slugs and snails and 
 worms are the grub they like ! "
 
 i64 THE GULL 
 
 " I suppose," said Filmer with dignity, "you'll 
 allow me to be the best judge of what food my 
 gall prefers." 
 
 " Oh, you can take her to dine at Prince's or 
 the Carlton, for all / care ! " retorted Challis, 
 as he rose to go. " But I bet you anything 
 I'm right." 
 
 As soon as he had gone Filmer hastened to 
 apologise to Isolde for the outrageous insults 
 which she had been forced to endure, and he 
 resumed his reading of " Epipsychidion " — only 
 to be a second time interrupted by the irre- 
 pressible Frank, who was so bent on proving 
 to him that his views upon what constituted a 
 gull's favourite diet were mistaken that he had 
 actually taken the trouble to go all the way to 
 a naturalist's shop in Drury Lane and procure 
 an assortment of slugs and worms in a tin box 
 for experimental purposes. 
 
 Worse still, he insisted, despite Filmer's pro- 
 tests, on emptying the box into Isolde's cage. 
 
 Instead of going into violent hysterics, as 
 Filmer had fully expected, she sidled delicately 
 up to a worm of particularly unprepossess- 
 ing exterior, and absorbed it with unaffected 
 gusto.
 
 THE GULL 165 
 
 "Bravo, old girl !" cried Frank. "Now let's 
 see if you can put away a slug ! " 
 
 And, after a little coquettish hesitation, Isolde 
 did put away a slug — several slugs, in fact. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you ! " said Challis triumphantly. 
 " Perhaps you'll believe me now ? " 
 
 " I do," said Kilmer heavily, as he saw him 
 to the door, " I do. And," he added awkwardly 
 in a lower tone, " if you'll let me change my 
 mind, I tvill come and dine with you this 
 evening. It may cheer me up." 
 
 " Right-oh !" said Frank heartily. "We shall 
 all be delighted to see you — especially Doriel. 
 I won't tell her about the gull, old chap, or 
 she might rot you." And Filmer felt grateful 
 to him for this forbearance. 
 
 Calmer reflection convinced him of the in- 
 justice of blaming his Isolde for tastes which 
 were probably inseparable from the nature of 
 the bird she had chosen to inhabit, and he took 
 care that in future she should be provided with 
 the kind of sustenance she evidently preferred. 
 
 But he>ead her no more Shelley. 
 
 He spent a pleasanter evening at Craven Hill 
 Gardens than he had anticipated. Doriel was
 
 i66 THE GULL 
 
 no longer the pretty romp he remembered. 
 She had become an extremely charming young 
 woman, and the frank friendliness with which 
 she received him was soothing to his overstrung 
 nerves. 
 
 It was late when he returned to his rooms. 
 Isolde was sleeping peacefully on her perch, 
 her beak pointing towards her tail, and the sight 
 of her filled him with compunction. Would 
 she slumber so serenely if she knew where he 
 had been and how completely he had forgotten 
 her ? 
 
 He resolved to see no more of Doriel in 
 future — and, for a time, he kept his resolution. 
 
 Unfortunately, Isolde either could not or 
 would not make any effort to be an intellectual 
 companion to him. She seemed fond of him, 
 in her way, but gradually all her former 
 sprightliness deserted her, and there were 
 times when he feared that she had found him 
 a bore. 
 
 Nothing, it is well known, is so calculated to 
 estrange affection as the mere suspicion that we 
 bore our beloved, and Kilmer was not long in 
 realising that the boredom was, to say the least, 
 reciprocal.
 
 THE GULL 167 
 
 What wonder, then, that he should sometimes 
 seek solace and recreation in the sight of 
 Doriel's winsome face, in the sound of her gay 
 chatter ? He did not mention this to the gull, 
 because she would not have understood it ; but 
 when with Doriel he endeavoured to convey 
 that some hidden sorrow had set him apart 
 from all other men, and that his heart was dead 
 to all earthly love. 
 
 He honestly believed this himself, and hoped 
 that she realised it also, until an evening came 
 which revealed to him the peril to which 
 they were both unconsciously drifting. He was 
 dining at Craven Hill Gardens, and, as usual, 
 his place was next to Doriel. On her other 
 side sat a young man of the name of Mowbray, 
 a good-looking, athletic, if somewhat unintel- 
 lectual youth, who was obviously attracted by 
 Miss Doriel, and in whom she might have been 
 expected to take at least a passing interest. 
 
 Filmer had honestly sought to efface himself 
 by directing his conversation to his other 
 neighbour, and replying to Doriel's overtures 
 with a brevity that only just escaped brusque- 
 ness ; but she declined to be repulsed, and 
 exerted all her very considerable powers of
 
 i68 THE GULL 
 
 witchery to subdue him, entirely neglecting the 
 unfortunate Mowbray. 
 
 To his consternation, Filmer found that his 
 heart was very much alive after all ; and for 
 the remainder of the dinner, and even upstairs 
 in the drawing-room afterwards, he surrendered 
 himself entirely to Doriel's charm, and was 
 rather stimulated than otherwise by observing 
 the increasing gloom on young Mowbray's in- 
 genuous countenance. 
 
 But on his way home the inevitable reaction 
 followed. 
 
 He saw, in a flash, that he was fast falling 
 in love with Doriel ; that, should she continue 
 this encouragement, nothing would save him 
 from proposing to her — and he was pledged, 
 solemnly pledged, to lifelong constancy to 
 Isolde 1 
 
 Isolde was awake that evening ; she had 
 evidently been sitting up for him, and he could 
 scarcely bring himself to meet her bright, re- 
 proachful eye. " I know what you would say 
 if you could," he faltered apologetically; "and 
 I deserve it. I have neglected you shamefully of 
 late. I will do so no more. In future, Isolde, 
 all my evenings shall be passed with you ! "
 
 THE GULL 169 
 
 Isolde explored the region under her wing 
 with her beak — it was a mannerism of hers 
 which had often distressed him — before she 
 raised her head and gazed intently at him for 
 an instant. Then her glittering eye slowly dis- 
 appeared in the soft down that surrounded it 
 — and he felt that she was appeased, and that 
 he was forgiven. 
 
 Doubtless a more prosaic and practical mind 
 than Kilmer's would have rebelled against the 
 fate which required him to abandon all hope 
 of married felicity, and be content to remain 
 platonically bound for life to a mere bird. But 
 to his exalted and mystical nature such abnega- 
 tion seemed an obvious duty. After all, Isolde 
 had made the greater sacrifice in voluntarily 
 projecting herself into the body of a bird 
 so grossly unromantic in its captive state 
 as a sea-gull. She must be suffering at 
 least as much as himself for her generous 
 impetuosity, and he was determined never 
 again to vex her gentle spirit by ingratitude 
 or unfaithfulness. 
 
 Accordingly — much as it cost him — he kept 
 away from the Challises, hoping that in time
 
 170 THE GULL 
 
 they would understand that he preferred to be 
 left in solitude. 
 
 And his renunciation did not go altogether 
 unrewarded, for it really seemed as if the gull 
 were trying to do her best to fill the blank in 
 his life. She grew gentler, more subdued, 
 every day ; the brisk perkiness that had once 
 repelled him disappeared ; she even overcame 
 her voracious appetite, as though in deference 
 to his prejudices — he was touched to observe 
 that she could scarcely be prevailed upon now 
 to dally with the most tempting slug. 
 
 The year drew to its close, and he had almost 
 succeeded in putting Doriel out of his thoughts, 
 when one Sunday afternoon the maid-servant 
 suddenly opened the door and announced : 
 "Mr. and Miss Challis" — and Filmer sprang 
 to his feet with a wild joy, which he could 
 only hope escaped the gull's observant eye. 
 
 "We've just been to service at the Abbey," 
 explained Doriel, looking more bewitching than 
 ever in a highly becoming black hat and sables, 
 " and I insisted on Frank bringing me on here 
 to ask you what you mean by neglecting us 
 for weeks and weeks." 
 
 " I told her you had one of your unsociable
 
 THE GULL 171 
 
 fits on, and didn't want to be bothered," said 
 Frank, " but she would come. She will have 
 it that you're offended with us." 
 
 Filmer stammered something incoherent as 
 he offered them tea. He did not think the gull 
 could object to his doing that. 
 
 " You know you're glad to see us ! " said 
 Doriel : " confess you were feeling horribly 
 lonely up here ! " 
 
 " Not he ! " laughed Frank. " He's got his 
 beloved gull to keep him company." 
 
 "A gull?" cried Doriel. "So that's what 
 you keep in that cage there. What a queer 
 sort of pet ! Is it amusing ? Can it do any 
 tricks ? " 
 
 Her light tone jarred on Filmer just then. 
 He replied, somewhat shortly, that a gull was 
 hardly on the same footing as a performing 
 canary. 
 
 " How dull ! " said Doriel, going up to the 
 cage. " I should have thought a cockatoo 
 would be more cheerful for you than a mopy 
 creature like this. I'd no idea gulls were such 
 ugly things. What makes it flap its wings at 
 me like that ?" 
 
 "She is not accustomed to hearing such
 
 172 THE GULL 
 
 extremely personal remarks," said Filmer 
 coldly. 
 
 "You say that as if you thought she under- 
 stood what I said ! " exclaimed Doriel, raising 
 her pretty eyebrows. 
 
 "And if I do, Miss Challis," he replied, 
 "perhaps I have my reasons." 
 
 " I'm sorry," said Doriel with provoking good- 
 humour. " I apologise. Do you hear, gull ? — 
 I apologise. And just to show there's no ill- 
 feeling, you may come and perch on my 
 finger." 
 
 She had already stripped off her glove, and, 
 before Filmer could interfere, she had thrust 
 her slim white hand into the gull's cage. . . . 
 The temptation was too much for Isolde : she 
 struck viciously at her rival's forefinger with 
 her sharp yellow beak, and Doriel drew back 
 her hand with a little cry of pain. " See what 
 your horrid bird has done to me ! " she said, 
 exhibiting the wound to him with a childishly 
 pathetic inoue ; and he longed to seize the 
 injured hand and cover it with kisses, but 
 loyalty to Isolde forbade. It was not Doriel, 
 standing there in her fresh young beauty, that 
 most deserved his pity, but rather the homely
 
 THE GULL 173 
 
 grey bird fluttering in a paroxysm of impotent 
 jealousy. 
 
 *^ Aity bird would be frightened," he said, 
 clumsily enough, "when you put your hand in 
 like that." 
 
 " I suppose I ought to have known," said 
 Doriel, with a distinct change of manner; ''but 
 you see I'd no idea my poor hand was quite 
 such a hideous object. Frank, will you lend 
 me your handkerchief and bind it up — as Mr. 
 Filmer doesn't seem to think it worth troubling 
 himself about ? " 
 
 " I say ! it's bleeding like blazes ! " cried her 
 brother, binding up the linger, as the unhappy 
 Filmer stood there, too paralysed to offer his 
 services. "You poor little girl! Upon my 
 soul, Filmer," he added indignantly, " it would 
 serve that brute right if you were to wring its 
 beastly neck for it. I'd do it myself for two- 
 pence ! " 
 
 ''Touch her if you dare!" cried Filmer, 
 exasperated beyond all self-control. " It was 
 not her fault ; she was provoked — deliberately, 
 wantonly provoked ! You — you don't know 
 what she is to me ! " 
 
 "Apparently not," said Doriel. "I think we
 
 174 THE GULL 
 
 won't wait for tea, Frank. Mr. Filmer doesn't 
 seem to be quite himself this afternoon." 
 
 Filmer made no attempt to detain them — 
 he felt it would be useless. As soon as they 
 were gone he turned to Isolde, who had quieted 
 down again. "Are you satisfied 7iow?" he 
 cried fiercely. " I loved that girl — do you hear ? 
 I own it ; and I have let her go, — for your sake. 
 You need not fear that she will ever come 
 between us in future ; that accursed beak of 
 yours has alienated her for ever. But oh, 
 Isolde, think — is it fair to demand this from 
 me ? Must you always remain a bird ? Can 
 you not comfort me in some less incongruous 
 shape ? I implore you at least to make an 
 effort ! " 
 
 As he said this he heard a sound behind him, 
 and turned, to see Doriel Challis standing in 
 the doorway. 
 
 " I — I fancy I must have dropped my glove 
 here," she said, and he noticed that she was 
 deadly pale. 
 
 " Did you hear," — he asked her, — " did you 
 hear anything ? " 
 
 " Everything," she admitted. " I — I came 
 back, really, to tell you but that doesn't
 
 THE GULL 175 
 
 matter now. Parmenas, you mustn't give way 
 to these morbid ideas — I can't bear it ! Get 
 rid of that wretched bird — to please me !" 
 
 She was tempting him — Doriel was tempting 
 him — to some unspeakable infamy ; but he felt 
 just then that he was proof against all her 
 wiles. " I will not ! " he cried. " I have sworn 
 to be constant, and I will be ! Nothing on 
 earth shall make me part from my Isolde, so 
 long as she chooses to remain with me." 
 
 "You will never be happy till you do," en- 
 treated Doriel. " Dear, dear Parmenas, doiit 
 make me miserable ! Come to me to-morrow 
 and tell me that it is over — that you are your 
 own self again. Then I shall have something 
 to tell you." 
 
 And so she left him ; but her spell over him 
 was broken by the callous selfishness of her 
 request. She knew all now, and yet she could 
 urge him to destroy (for what else could her 
 words mean ?) this bird which stood in her way. 
 
 ''No, Isolde," he murmured, "I may be 
 weak — but I am not so weak as that. She has 
 made me yours once more. I love her no 
 longer. This time my heart will never waver 
 from you again ! "
 
 176 THE GULL 
 
 But the gull made no response ; she was 
 strangely still, he thought. It was growing 
 dark, and he lit a candle and peered into the 
 cage. . . . There she lay at the bottom, her 
 wings spread, her eyes dull and filmy, her 
 yellow beak partly open, her crumpled feet 
 already stiffening. 
 
 She was quite dead. Isolde's spirit had, as 
 she had once predicted, been unable to bear 
 the revelation of his inconstancy. 
 
 In the first ecstasy of his remorse Filmer had 
 no sense of recovered freedom. On the con- 
 trary, he felt more irrevocably bound than ever. 
 Wherever Isolde's spirit had betaken itself, he 
 vowed that it should never again be grieved by 
 the least inconstancy on his part. Perhaps, he 
 thought, when she realised the sincerity of his 
 repentance, she would return to him in some 
 form more worthy of her. 
 
 And, that he might always have a safeguard 
 at hand against further backsliding, he took 
 the gull himself to be prepared and set up by 
 one of the leading naturalists in London. 
 
 But the naturalist kept it a long time — and 
 insensibly Kilmer's thoughts began to recur to
 
 THE GULL 177 
 
 Doriel Challis. Had she really been so heart- 
 less as she seemed ? She had only begged him 
 to "get rid of" the gull : might she not merely 
 have meant that he should part with it ? If 
 so, how unjust he had been to her ! And what 
 if Isolde had vacated the bird in pity for them 
 both ? In that case he was simply frustrating 
 her generous intention. 
 
 His relations with Frank had, ever since that 
 memorable Sunday afternoon, been of the most 
 distant character ; they never spoke to one 
 another, except when the work of their depart- 
 ment brought them in contact ; but he saw no 
 reason why he should not write to Doriel, and 
 one evening in February, on his way home 
 from the ofHce, he made up his mind to do so. 
 
 But no sooner had he carried his reading- 
 lamp to his bureau and sat down to write, tha. 
 he fell back in his chair in stupefied dismay. 
 
 On the blank surface of his blotting-pad a 
 sentence was traced in large irregular letters 
 which turned his heart sick and cold as he read. 
 " Could stay no longer. Will come back if possible, 
 — Isolde," ran the message. 
 
 She was coming back ! In what form ? 
 
 Hardly the gull's — since that was in the hands 
 
 M
 
 178 THE GULL 
 
 of the stuffer. One thing only was clear — she 
 had not intended to release him after all, and 
 with that spirit-message staring him in the face 
 it was impossible to write that letter to Doriel. 
 
 As he sat there trying to collect his scattered 
 senses, there came three low raps at his door, 
 which he knew were given by no maidservant ; 
 he tried to say " Come in," but his dry tongue 
 refused to obey him. And the door opened 
 slowly, and on the threshold stood a figure 
 which, even in the comparative darkness, he 
 knew could only be that of Isolde. At least, 
 he thought, she had come in human shape this 
 time. 
 
 " Have you no welcome for me, Parmenas ? " 
 she said, in the voice he so well remembered. 
 " Or are you too utterly disgusted by the way 
 I behaved?" 
 
 " If you refer to — to the slugs, Isolde," he 
 replied, "forget them — as / do. I could not 
 hold you responsible for the appetites of the 
 form you assumed I " 
 
 " I'm afraid I don't understand," she said ; 
 and he perceived that she either did not re- 
 member, or did not choose to be reminded of, 
 this incident in her recent avatar.
 
 THE GULL 179 
 
 " You are thinking of how you pecked 
 Doriel's— Miss ChaUis's hand ?" he said. "It 
 was a not unnatural outburst of jealousy — you 
 had much provocation." 
 
 " I've no recollection of pecking any person's 
 hand," she said. "And who is Miss Challis ? " 
 
 " You cannot really have forgotten the girl 
 who made uncomplimentary remarks on you 
 when you were in that cage ? " he replied. 
 " That was Miss Challis." 
 
 " When I was in that cage ! " she repeated 
 slowly. " Parmenas ! what are you talking 
 about ? " 
 
 " It will all come back to you," he said. 
 "Think, Isolde! That last day, at Weymouth, 
 when you solemnly promised that, if you should 
 die before me, you would come to me in the 
 form of a white dove — now don't you re- 
 member ? " 
 
 " Did I ever really say anything so ridiculously 
 sentimental ? " she asked. 
 
 " Ah, don't scoff, Isolde ! Because you kept 
 your word. Yes, on that fatal night when the 
 Chamois went down, a bird — not a white dove 
 precisely, but a grey gull — flew in at my open 
 window. I knew you at once — at least, almost
 
 i8o THE GULL 
 
 at once. And I brought you here, and kept 
 you in that very cage till — till you could remain 
 in the gull no longer. ... So you have for- 
 gotten ? No matter, since you have come back 
 to me once more." 
 
 She threw herself rather suddenly in the 
 nearest arm-chair (he would have offered it to 
 her before but for an impression that spirits 
 never sat down), and then — to his utter astonish- 
 ment, for in life she had seldom relaxed even 
 into a smile — she went into peal after peal of 
 half-hysterical laughter. 
 
 At first he imagined that she was sobbing 
 convulsively, but he soon recognised that he 
 was mistaken. 
 
 " How could you have been so absurd ? " she 
 gasped, as soon as she could speak. " It's 
 horrid of me to laugh — for it's really rather 
 touching of you — but a gull ! . . . Me ! . . . 
 Oh, it's quite too killing!" 
 
 "But it's true!" he assured her: "I could 
 show you the gull, only it's being stuffed ! " 
 
 This only set her off again. " But / wasn't 
 in the thing 1 " she cried. " How could I be ? 
 Why, I do believe you've been taking me for 
 a ghost all this time I "
 
 THE GULL i8i 
 
 " My poor Isolde," he said, endeavouring to 
 break the truth to her as gently and con- 
 siderately as he could, " can you really be un- 
 aware of — of your present state ? " 
 
 " Don't be so silly ! " she replied petulantly. 
 *' How can I be a ghost when I'm not dead ? 
 There, take that green shade off the lamp, and 
 look at me well. . . . Now do you see anything 
 spectral about me ? " 
 
 As she sat there in the white glare of the 
 unshaded lamp, Filmer had to admit that she 
 was indeed a creature of solid flesh and blood 
 — almost too solid, in fact — for in her robust 
 physique there were few traces of the fragile 
 and almost diaphanous form of the Isolde of 
 the previous August — there were even indica- 
 tions of an approaching double chin ! 
 
 " Yes," he said slowly, " I see now. You are 
 no ghost, Isolde ! " 
 
 " Perhaps you would have preferred that I 
 kad been ? " she said. 
 
 He could not help feeling that he was pledged 
 to her, and that she was here to claim him ; 
 but all he said was : " /so/de ! When I have 
 been faithful to your memory all these weary 
 months !"
 
 i82 THE GULL 
 
 ''Are you quite sure that you have been faith- 
 ful ? " she asked. " Honestly now, Parmenas ? " 
 
 ''There may have been moments," he con- 
 fessed, ''when the gull failed to fill the aching 
 void in my life." 
 
 "And then you fitted that Miss — what is her 
 name ? Challis, isn't it ? — into the vacancy ? 
 I'm rather glad she got her hand pecked ! " 
 
 "I am still yours," he said, "if you care to 
 claim me." 
 
 " But supposing I don't — you would use your 
 liberty to propose to this Challis girl ? Well, 
 you may do so, Parmenas — you are free." 
 
 "This is too generous!" he cried in a burst 
 of Quixotism. "No, Isolde, I cannot accept this 
 sacrifice ! " 
 
 " It's no sacrifice at all, because, as it happens, 
 I am already another's." 
 
 "What?" he cried, with unspeakable relief. 
 "You have married Mr. Tiudevin, then?" 
 
 It was Isolde's turn to look embarrassed. 
 " No, not him," she replied—" somebody else. 
 Somebody who was on board the Chamois that 
 night. I was in a covered seat on deck — he 
 came and shared it with me. We discovered 
 that we had much in common. When the crash
 
 THE GULL 183 
 
 came, he got me into one of the boats with a 
 few sailors, and we drifted for days. He did 
 not propose to me until we were reduced to 
 the last Osborne biscuit ; and, under the im- 
 pression that, in any case, we had but a short 
 time to live, I accepted him. The people on the 
 liner that picked us up took us for a newly- 
 wedded couple, and, not wishing to be identified, 
 I did not undeceive them. The fraud was a 
 very innocent one, for as soon as we reached 
 Malta I became Mrs. Goldingham." 
 
 " You might have let me know all this earlier," 
 he said : " it would have spared me considerable 
 inconvenience." 
 
 " I could not bear to shatter your ideal of 
 me," she explained. " I felt that you would 
 rather think of me as dead than know the truth, 
 And there was Mr. Taudevin to be considered, 
 too. But he has married since. Then I thought 
 that, as I was about to return for the last time 
 to South Africa, it was fairer perhaps to come 
 and tell you that you needn't grieve for me any 
 longer. So I came — only to find that you are 
 faithless too. Ah, there is no such thing as 
 constancy in men ! " 
 
 " You would not say so," he remonstrated,
 
 i84 THE GULL 
 
 " if you knew how I cherished the gull for your 
 sake, Isolde ! " 
 
 She began to laugh again. " I think there 
 were — intervals," she said; "and I utterly de- 
 chne to be responsible for the gull. But now 
 neither of us will stand in your way any longer. 
 I must run away now — or my husband will be 
 asking inconvenient questions. . . . Good-bye, 
 Parmenas — accept my best wishes ! " 
 
 She was gone — and he was free, really free 
 at last — to write to Doriel. Stay : why should 
 he write, when he might go to her and plead 
 his cause in person ? In ten minutes he was 
 on his way to Craven Hill Gardens in a hansom. 
 
 It was dark by the time he reached the house, 
 but not so dark that he failed to notice a 
 temporary awning over the front door. So the 
 Challises were giving a dance, or an evening 
 party. He had forfeited all right to an invita- 
 tion, he knew, but he felt sure that he would 
 have one, when once Doriel had realised that 
 he was in his right mind at last, cured for ever 
 of his fantastic delusion. 
 
 He asked for " Mr. Frank," meaning first 
 to set himself right with Challis, who, he
 
 THE GULL 185 
 
 remembered now with some anxiety, had not 
 been at the ofBce that day. He could not be 
 seriously ill, however, for the man - servant 
 showed him into the billiard - room, where 
 Frank was engaged in idly knocking the balls 
 about. 
 
 He was clearly surprised to see Filmer, though 
 he tried not to betray it. " Sit down, old chap," 
 he said, as heartily as though there had been no 
 coolness between them. " Sorry you couldn't 
 turn up before— but better late than never ! " 
 
 " I — I wasn't free to come before," said Filmer, 
 and added, with a gulp, " I can't help being 
 afraid that you and — and Doriel thought I be- 
 haved rather oddly — about that wretched gull, 
 you know." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right!" said Frank hurriedly. 
 " Have you got rid of it at last, eh ? " 
 
 " It died," said Filmer simply. " I made a 
 fearful ass of myself over it. I see that now ! " 
 
 "Then don't say any more about it. IVe 
 understand how it was," declared Frank, who 
 seemed unaccountably anxious to avoid the 
 subject. 
 
 " But I must tell Doriel that — that I've come 
 to my senses."
 
 i86 THE GULL 
 
 "You take my advice and leave things as 
 they are," counselled Frank. "And anyway, 
 you can't tell Doriel anything at present — she's 
 half-way to Dover by this time ! " 
 
 " To Dover ! what has she gone to Dover 
 for?" asked Filmer, rendered inquisitive by 
 disappointment. 
 
 " Well, they only stay the night there," said 
 Frank, "on their way to the Italian Lakes." 
 
 "They?" said Filmer. "Has your mother 
 gone too, then ? " 
 
 " Not exactly ! " said Frank, with a laugh : 
 " Doriel and Cecil Mowbray — for their honey- 
 moon. Didn't you know ? I made sure you'd 
 had an invitation. Doriel meant to send you 
 one, I know." 
 
 For a moment the billiard-table and lamps 
 seemed to spin round giddily, and then Filmer 
 heard himself saying, quite quietly and naturally, 
 " No, I never got it. Did you say — Cecil Mow- 
 bray ? " 
 
 " Yes ; clinking good chap he is, too. You 
 met him here the last time you dined with us — 
 don't you remember ? It was just beginning 
 then. We dropped in to tell you the news that 
 Sunday just before Christmas — only — well, we
 
 THE GULL 187 
 
 came away without doing it for some reason. 
 Care to come up and have a look at the 
 presents ? They won't have put 'em away yet, 
 and she's had some rather jolly ones." 
 
 But Filmer thought he had hardly time for 
 it that evening. 
 
 " Well, I won't ask you to stay and dine to- 
 night, because it would be rather poor fun for 
 you — we shan't be over cheery, now Doriel's 
 gone. You must come and meet them both 
 when they're back from the honeymoon." 
 
 "Thanks," said Filmer, "I — I will, if I can. 
 And when you're writing, will you tell — Mrs. 
 Mowbray that I wish her every happiness?" 
 
 Some hours later he got back to Spring 
 Gardens, after consuming a dismal dinner at 
 an Italian restaurant, surprised to find that he 
 could eat at all, and that he felt no particular 
 emotion. But the truth was that he was still 
 numbed by the shock he had undergone. 
 
 When he reached his sitting-room he found 
 a large wooden box on his table, which he 
 opened with no very clear notion of what 
 might be inside. 
 
 It contained a glass case, in which, on a
 
 i88 THE GULL 
 
 rock covered with dried seaweed and with a 
 background imperfectly suggesting the bound- 
 less ocean, the gull w^as perched in a lifelike 
 attitude. 
 
 She had been admirably stuffed, and in the 
 glass eyes which challenged his he seemed to 
 see a gleam of cynical mockery, as though 
 the bird were exulting in the thought of the 
 long and successful imposture by which she 
 had obtained food and shelter, and the most 
 reverent and unremitting attention — all under 
 false pretences ! 
 
 He felt a sudden impulse to destroy it then 
 and there, and with it every vestige of his in- 
 fatuation — he had already seized the poker for 
 the purpose — and then his hand relaxed. 
 
 After all, it was childish as well as brutal to 
 wreak vengeance on the dead. Besides, this 
 poor effigy had not deceived him — it was he 
 who had deceived himself. And then he re- 
 membered how much she — if the bird was a 
 female, for he had taken her sex for granted — 
 had done to sustain him at the beginning of 
 his imaginary bereavement ; he thought of the 
 patience with w^hich she, a wild sea-bird, had 
 endured captivity, of her fearless trust in him,
 
 THE GULL 189 
 
 and her dumb efforts to be a companion to 
 him ; and his heart softened. 
 
 Gull though she was, she was the one creature 
 that had been constant to him to the end. 
 
 And so the glass case was suffered to remain 
 intact — but not in Kilmer's sitting-room : he 
 felt he could not stand the ironical inquiry of 
 those artificial eyes — and the stuffed gull now 
 forms the most cherished ornament in his house- 
 keeper's parlour. 
 
 In fact, the good woman appreciates it far 
 more in its present condition than ever she did 
 in the flesh, when, as she remarks — with more 
 accuracy than she is aware of — " It couldn't 
 have made more mess and trouble if it had 
 been a Christian ! "
 
 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 
 
 (^A Country-house Tragi-comedy, in Two Parts) 
 
 PART I 
 
 Scene — The Drawing-room at Dripstone Manor ^ 
 a stately Jacobean mansioti recently acquired by 
 Mr. Joseph Shuttleworth {of Shuttle- 
 worth & Clack, Carpet Manufacturers, 
 Yarmninster). It is towards dusk i?t early 
 October, Mrs. Shuttleworth, a plump, 
 good-humoured-looking matron of about fifty, 
 is discovered with her children, viz. GRACE, 
 a rather prim and precise young woman of 
 twenty-three ; FLOSSIE, a pretty and lively 
 girl of eighteen ; CONNIE, trvelve, and COLlN, 
 ten. With them are Gillian Pinceney, a 
 High School friend of GRACE'S ; Ut Gor- 
 ing, a Boarding-school chum of Flossie's, 
 who are staying at the Manor ; and the 
 younger children's Governess, Miss Mark- 
 HAM. Mr. Shuttleworth, fifty -five, florid 
 and prosperous-looking, enters with his son 
 Bob, twenty-one, of Eton and Cambridge. 
 Both are in shooting tilings. 
 
 Mrs. Shuttleworth {to them). So you're 
 back at last ! I've just sent away the tea. 
 But if you'd like some, I could easily
 
 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 191 
 
 Mr. Shutt. Not for me, Louisa, thanks. 
 Bob and I had something as we came through 
 the dining-room. That Jack-o'-dandy friend of 
 Bob's, Dormer, may Uke a cup, though, for 
 all I can say. 
 
 Mrs. Shutt. But what's become of Mr. 
 Dormer ? 
 
 Mr. Shutt. Gone upstairs to titivate, I 
 expect. Bless you, you wouldn't catch him 
 coming in here in his shooting toggery ! 
 
 Bob. Fact is. Mater, the Governor's rather 
 riled with Dormer for saying on the way 
 home that, on the whole, he thought the safest 
 thing to be was a pheasant. Dormer didn't 
 mean anything by it. Sir. 
 
 Mr. Shutt. It's my belief he did. And 
 considering how confoundedly bad the light's 
 been this afternoon, and that I never took to 
 shooting at all till late in life, I don't call 
 myself a particularly poor shot. 
 
 Bob {sotto voce, to Miss GORiNG). Never knew 
 any one who did. But the poor old Governor 
 is rather apt to draw his bow at a venture. 
 
 Mrs. Shutt. I can't say I quite take to 
 your friend Mr. Dormer, Bob. He has such 
 a nasty sneering way with him.
 
 192 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 
 
 Grace. He's atrociously conceited. If he's 
 a type of the Oxford undergraduate, I prefer 
 Cambridge, 
 
 Flossie. I'm certain he's looking down on 
 us secretly all the time. 
 
 Bob. What bosh ! You don't understand 
 old Dormer, that's all. He's a nailing good 
 fellow. Capital company ! 
 
 Mrs. Shutt. You said he would keep us 
 all amused if he could only be got to come. 
 But so far, I can't say 
 
 Bob. Well, Mater, after being at the same 
 house at Eton with him, I ouglit to know. 
 And all I can tell you is, that he was far and 
 away the best mimic I ever heard. He could 
 imitate everybody and everything. 
 
 Flossie. Up to now he has only favoured 
 us with an imitation of a disagreeable stuck-up 
 pig. It's life-like — but still it is beginning to 
 pall. i^She starts as DORMER lounges in ; he has 
 dressed for dinner, except that he is wearing a 
 black smoking -coat.) Oh, Mr. Dormer, you 
 did startle me so ! You look exactly like a 
 curate. 
 
 Dormer. And are curates such alarming 
 objects ? But you're all in the dark, here.
 
 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 193 
 
 Flossie. Yes. We thought you would come 
 in and be brilHant. 
 
 DoKMEK. I'm afraid I can't compete with 
 the ordinary methods of illumination. {To 
 himself.) Wish this girl would see that Fm 
 not in the humour for this sort of thing. 
 
 Mr. Shutt. {to himself). Can't do with this 
 young fellow ! {Aloud, to his wife.) Fm off to 
 my study, Louisa. Got some letters to write. 
 
 [^He goes out. 
 
 Dormer {to himself). On the sofa — with 
 his eyes shut ! Only wish I could slip out, 
 too — but they might think it rather casual. 
 {Aloud, to Flossie.) You haven't told me why 
 you charged me with looking clerical ? Can't 
 say I feel complimented. 
 
 Flossie. Oh, it doesn't go any deeper than 
 a buttoned-up coat and white tie. And you 
 might have a worse compliment than being 
 compared to a clergyman ! 
 
 Mrs. Shutt. Talking of clergymen, my 
 
 dear, that reminds me the Rector has never 
 
 called yet. Considering we have been here 
 
 six weeks, and attended church regularly every 
 
 Sunday morning, I do think he might have 
 
 found time to return the civility before this ! 
 
 N
 
 194 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 
 
 Dormer. If it was the Rector I had the 
 privilege to hear last Sunday, impressing upon 
 us the duty of cheerfulness in sepulchral tones 
 that were calculated to draw howls from a 
 china poodle, I should be inclined to think 
 myself that the gaiety of the party has not 
 suffered appreciably from his delay. 
 
 Mrs. Shutt. Mr, Polyblank's pulpit manner 
 is a little melancholy, certainly — he's a 
 bachelor, poor man. But they tell me he's 
 very much looked up to ; comes of a very 
 good family, and intimate with all the county 
 folk, so perhaps he doesn't consider us good 
 enough for him, 
 
 Grace. Really, mamma, you talk as if we 
 were pariahs ! Most of the county people 
 round here have called on us. What does it 
 matter if Mr. Polyblank chooses to stay away ? 
 
 Mrs. Shutt. All the same, my dear, there's 
 a sort of natural tie between the Rectory and 
 the Manor which — not that I'm one to force 
 my acquaintance on anybody. Still he might 
 give us credit for not being downright savages, 
 if we do come from Yarnminster ! 
 
 Flossie. There, mother dear, that's enough 
 of the Reverend Poly. I vote we have a game
 
 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 195 
 
 at something. Are you fond of games, Mr. 
 Dormer ? 
 
 Dormer. Indoor games ? Er — not immoder- 
 ately. The mere fact of being suppHed with a 
 slip of paper and a stumpy pencil, and required 
 to compile a list of animals beginning with A, 
 paralyses my faculties. I assure you I never 
 can produce a single animal beginning with A. 
 
 Flossie {with intention). Not even one ? But 
 it's too dark to see to write. We might have 
 a guessing game — where somebody has to go 
 out of the room, you know. 
 
 Dormer. Ah, I think 1 could play at that. 
 
 Flossie. And when you come back, you 
 have to guess from our questions what cele- 
 brated historical person you're supposed to be. 
 
 Dormer. I should never get within a mile 
 of it. I've forgotten my Little Henry s History 
 of England ages ago. 
 
 Miss Markham {in a small thin voice). 
 There's a most amusing guessing game called 
 " Adverbs." 
 
 Dormer. It sounds perfectly delightful. 
 Only I'm afraid that I've only the sketchiest 
 idea of what sort of thing an adverb is. 
 
 Miss Markham. Surely you know that ! It's a
 
 196 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 
 
 part of speech, formed by adding the termina- 
 tion "ly" to an adjective. For instance : bad — 
 badly 
 
 Dormer. Good — goodly. I see now, Miss 
 Markham. Tremendous fun, I've no doubt. 
 
 Miss Markham {annoyed). I was about to 
 explain how it's played. One of the party 
 goes out, and the rest agree in what manner 
 they are all to receive him when he returns — 
 "admiringly," "affectionately," and so on. 
 
 Dormer. And he comes in pretending he's 
 somebody else ? 
 
 Miss Markham. He can if he chooses, of 
 course. But all he need do is to ask ques- 
 tions all round, and from the way in which 
 they are answered he guesses what the adverb 
 is. Now do you see, Mr. Dormer ? 
 
 Dormer. I think I have grasped the idea. 
 1 don't mind volunteering to go out of the 
 room, at all events. 
 
 Grace. Very well. You go out, Mr. Dormer, 
 and just wait about in the hall till we call 
 you in. 
 
 Dormer. Delighted. {To himself, as he goes 
 out.) It's just possible I may be a little hard 
 of hearing.
 
 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 197 
 
 Flossie {after he has closed the door). Now, 
 what adverb shall it be ? Do let's make it 
 something difficult! 
 
 Miss Pinceney. Why not something which 
 would let us show him what we think of 
 him— "Candidly" ? "Contemptuously" ? 
 
 Bob. That would be rather rough on him, 
 Miss Pinceney. I asked him down here, you 
 know, and really 
 
 Mrs. Shutt. Yes, my dear, it wouldn't be 
 kind to make any visitor of ours uncomfort- 
 able, would it ? 
 
 Flossie. He makes us uncomfortable. He's 
 as rude as ever he can be ! 
 
 Grace {thoughtfully). Why not make the 
 adverb "rudely"? We could be rude without 
 being personal, 
 
 Mrs. Shutt. If you're sure he won't mis- 
 understand 
 
 Bob. Oh, hell understand all right. After all, 
 it's only a game. " Rudely " will do first-rate. 
 I'll call him in. 
 
 In the Entrance-Hall. 
 The Rev. Peregrine Polyblank {at the 
 glazed doors). 1 wonder if they heard me ring.
 
 198 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 
 
 {He descries Dormer in the gloom.) Ah, at 
 
 last ! He doesn't seem to see me Perhaps 
 
 I'd better {^He goes in.) Er — I am the 
 
 Rector — Mr. Polyblank. Is Mrs. Shuttleworth 
 at home, my good man ? 
 
 Dormer {stiffly). I've no doubt Mrs. Shuttle- 
 worth will be pleased to see you, Sir, if you 
 wait a moment. ( To himself ^ as he passes on to 
 the library.) Confounded cheek, taking me for 
 the butler ! But this will put that adverb 
 foolery out of their heads, thank goodness. I 
 shall get a nap in peace, now ! 
 
 The Rector {alone, to himself). Painful to 
 enter the old place again, I miss those poor 
 dear Hardupps at every turn. To find strangers 
 in the familiar rooms — it will be an ordeal, but 
 I could not put it off any longer. . . . Why 
 doesn't the butler return ? Does this good lady 
 mean to keep me here awaiting her pleasure ? 
 
 If these are manufacturing manners- • But 
 
 I must beware of prejudice. No doubt there 
 is some good reason for her delay. After all, 
 people may have made a fortune out of 
 carpets without being necessarily lacking in 
 the refinements and courtesies of well-bred 
 society.
 
 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 199 
 
 Bob {opening the draiving-room door). We're 
 ready for you now, old chap. You can come 
 in as soon as you like ! 
 
 The Rector [to himself). "Old chap!" I 
 "can come in!" . . . Well, well, I suppose 
 this is the Yarnminster idea of cordiality. A 
 little crude, perhaps — but well-meant, 
 
 \He enters the drawing-room. 
 
 PART II 
 
 Scene — The Drawing-room at Dripstone. THE 
 Rector has just entered, and stands help- 
 lessly endeavouring to identify the Mistress 
 of the House in the deepening dusk. 
 
 Bob {cheerily). Make yourself at home, old 
 fellow. Take a pew ! 
 
 The Rector {to himself). "Take a pew!" 
 The heartiness of manufacturing circles is really 
 rather trying ! {Aloud.) But excuse me, I don't 
 yet see 
 
 Bob {taking him by the shoulders and thrusting 
 him down on a couch in the centre of the circle). 
 Squat there, and hre away. 
 
 The Rector. I — ah — don't know whether 
 you are aware that mv — um — ah — name is
 
 200 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 
 
 Polyblank, and that I am the Rector of Drip- 
 stone ? 
 
 [A general ripple of genuine, if reluctant, 
 amusement. 
 
 Bob. The Reverend Poly, eh ? by Jove ! 
 capital ! All right, now begin asking questions — 
 any rot will do, you know. Start with the Mater. 
 
 The Rector {to himself). Are they all like 
 this in Yarnminster ? {Aloud.) I confess that 
 in this — ah — semi-darkness I find considerable 
 difficulty in ascertaining the precise whereabouts 
 of my — um — ah — hostess. 
 
 \_A n outburst of irrepressible laughter. 
 
 Mrs. Shutt. {giggling helplessly). Oh, dear, 
 dear, I oughtn't to laugh — but he is so ridicu- 
 lous ! This is me, over here in the corner. 
 
 The Rector {pitching his voice in that direc- 
 tion). I trust, my deah Mrs. Shuttleworth, that 
 I have not seemed reprehensibly — ah — tardy in 
 coming here to make your acquaintance ? 
 
 Mrs. Shutt. {in a whisper). I don't know 
 what to answer. {Aloud.) Tardy ? Oh dear, 
 no. I shouldn't have cared if you'd stayed 
 away altogether. {In a whisper, to Grace.) Do 
 you think that was too rude, dear ? 
 
 Grace. Oh, not at all, mamma. {Aloud to
 
 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 201 
 
 The Rector.) There, you've had mamma's 
 answer. Now it's my turn. 
 
 The Rector [to himself, in mild surprise). 
 These people are really too impossible ! [Ad- 
 dressing himself to Grace.) May I plead in 
 excuse that my delay is due (firstly) to the 
 preparations for our Harvest Festival, and 
 (secondly) to the entire parish work being 
 thrown upon my shoulders by my curate's 
 having unexpectedly extended his holiday. 
 
 \^A universal roar of delight. 
 
 Bob. fust his pulpit manner, isn't it ? {Sotto 
 voce, to Flossie.) Now perhaps you'll own I 
 was right about Dormer. 
 
 Flossie {in the same tone, to him). I must 
 say he can be awfully clever and amusing — 
 when he chooses. 
 
 Grace {replying to The Rector). You can 
 plead no excuse for trying to be clever at the 
 expense of a clergyman who, with all his 
 peculiarities, has fifty times your brains. 
 
 The Rector {to himself). I should not have 
 
 said that Barlam's brains were But why 
 
 should I let myself be annoyed by such a 
 trifle ? {Aloud.) My dear young lady, need I 
 protest that I had not the slightest ideah ?
 
 202 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 
 
 Bob. Leave this to me, Grace. {To The 
 Rector.) Not the sHghtest idea ? No, old 
 chap, nobody here ever supposed you hadl 
 
 \Applause. 
 
 The Rector {to himself). I trust I am not 
 unduly puffed up with the pride of intellect — 
 but really ! {Aloud.) I came here in the hope 
 that the natural — ah — bond between the 
 Rectory and the Manor {Shouts of laugh- 
 ter.) Don't you think — {with pathos) — don't 
 you think you are making this rather difficult 
 for me ? 
 
 Flossie. It would be easy enough for any 
 one who wasn't a hopeless idiot. 
 
 The Rector {to himself). Can there be in- 
 sanity in this family ? Merely ill-manners, I 
 suspect. I won't give up just yet. Perhaps, 
 by patience and sweetness, I shall win them 
 over in the end. {Aloud, with laboured urbanity^ 
 I am indeed in the Palace of Truth ! But there 
 — we must no more look for reverence from the 
 young than for— er— figs from an — um — ah — 
 thistle. Must we ? 
 
 Ivy Goring. I should have thought myself 
 you \VQV\\& prefer the um — ah — thistles. 
 
 [ Uproarious applause.
 
 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 203 
 
 The Rector {gasping). You compel me to 
 remind you of a certain passage in the beautiful 
 Catechism of our Church which 
 
 Gillian Pinceney. Please don't. There are 
 some things which should be respected — even 
 by a professional buffoon ! 
 
 The Rector {thunderstruck). A professional 
 
 buff ! {Allowing his voice to boom.) Is there 
 
 nobody here capable of answering the most 
 ordinary remark without some monstrous 
 insult ? 
 
 Colin. Not j^z/r remarks. 
 
 The Rector {to himself). I was never in such 
 a household in all my life — never ! {Aloud.) 
 As far as I can distinguish in this dusk, there 
 is a little girl sitting over there. I'm sure 
 
 she^ {To Connie.) Are you fond of 
 
 animals, little girl ? 
 
 Connie. I'm not fond of animals like you. 
 
 \^A felicitous repartee, which is received 
 with the zvildest enthusiasm. 
 
 The Rector {to himself). I will make just one 
 more effort. {To Mrs. Shuttleworth.) You 
 must find a great pleasure, Mrs. — ah — Shuttle- 
 worth, in occupying such a picturesque, and, 
 I may say, historic house as this ?
 
 204 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 
 
 Mrs. Shutt. [wiping her eyes). Oh, dear, 
 is it me again ? . . . Yes, it is a pleasant 
 house — except when one has to entertain tire- 
 some visitors who tvill ask foolish questions. 
 
 The Rector. You may rely upon being 
 secure from such inflictions for the future, 
 madam. ( With warmth.) Why, why is it that 
 I can count upon a kindly welcome in the 
 
 humblest cottage, whereas here ? 
 
 \He chokes. 
 
 Miss Markham [demurely). I really can't say, 
 perhaps cottagers are not vtvy particular. 
 
 The Rector [passing his hand over his brow). 
 I confess I am utterly at a loss to understand 
 what all this means I 
 
 Colin. Keep on asking questions. Ask Grace 
 how she'd like to be the Reverend Mrs. Poly, 
 and see what she says. Mummy said only the 
 other day how nice it would be if 
 
 The Rector [rising). Silence, boy ! I have 
 heard enough ! I have stayed too long. I will 
 go, before I am tempted to disgrace my calling 
 by some unclerical outburst ! 
 
 All [in fits of laughter). No, no, you mustn't 
 go yet. You haven't said how we've received 
 you !
 
 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 205 
 
 The Rector {in a white rage). How ? How ! ! 
 . . . Why, outrageously ! Abominably ! ! 
 
 {General hissing. 
 
 All. Wrong, wrong ! You haven't got it 
 yet. Don't give it up ! Try again ! 
 
 The Rector [stiffly). Pardon me — but a neces- 
 sarily restricted vocabulary 
 
 {Howls of laughter. 
 
 Flossie {as they calm down). Well, the right 
 adverb was " rudely." 
 
 The Rector. I am not prepared to dispute 
 it. Though there are others which perhaps are 
 even more 
 
 Flossie. I thought you saw it long ago. We 
 might have been a little ruder, perhaps. 
 
 The Rector. I should be sorry to question 
 your capabilities — but still, I can hardly con- 
 ceive that possible. 
 
 Mrs. Shutt. Well, I don't know when I've 
 had such a good laugh. It certainly is a 
 most amusing game. Or at least you made 
 it so. How wonderfully you did take the poor 
 dear Rector off, to be sure ! When you first 
 came in, I said to myself, " That cafi't be Mr, 
 Dormer ! " But of course, directly you began 
 to be so ridiculous, I remembered Bob had told
 
 2o6 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 
 
 us what a mimic you were. You really ought 
 to go on the stage. You'd make your fortune 
 as an actor, you would indeed ! 
 
 The Rector {dropping feebly into a chair). I 
 — ah — you do me too much honour, my dear 
 Mrs. Shuttleworth. {To himself.) These poor 
 dear deluded people ! I see now. . . It was a 
 game . . . They didn't know me in the dark — 
 they don't know me now ! . . . What a position 
 — for them and me. What a horrible position ! 
 
 Mrs. Shutt. Grace, my dear, will you ring 
 for the lights ? 
 
 The Rector {to himself). The lights ! If 
 they're brought in, I shall never be able to look 
 this family in the face again ! {Aloud.) Er — 
 ah — so pleased to have afforded you so much 
 — um — ah — innocent amusement — but I'm a 
 little fatigued, and, if you'll allow me, I — I think 
 I'll slip away. 
 
 \^He makes his exit, amidst hearty rounds of 
 applause. 
 
 In the Library — A Little Later. 
 Bob {to Dormer whom he discovers asleep on a 
 sofa). What, lying down, old chap ? Well, I 
 must say you deserve a rest after your labours.
 
 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 207 
 
 Dormer {apologetically). Tramping over those 
 beastly wet roots does take it out of a fellow. 
 But hasn't somebody called — the Rector, wasn't 
 it? 
 
 Bob. What a chap you are ! I should jolly 
 well think it was the Rector ! Joking apart, old 
 man, you were simply ripping ! How on earth 
 you got old Poly's voice and manner so perfectly, 
 after only hearing him once, beats vie. What 
 with the room being dark, and that, 1 swear 
 that once or twice, when we were all rotting 
 you, and being as beastly rude as we knew, I 
 half thought you really were the Rector. 
 
 Dormer {to himself). The Rector must have 
 had the deuce's own time of it ! {Aloud.) I — 
 I hope your mother isn't — er — doesn't ? 
 
 Bob. The Mater ? Not she ! She was in fits. 
 And as for the girls, why, they're all raving 
 about you ! 
 
 Dormer. Are they, though ? Very nice of 
 them. {To himself^ I'm like Thingummy — 
 I've awoke to find myself famous ! 
 
 Bob. The way you kept it up to the very end ! 
 
 Dormer. I'm glad you think I kept it up to 
 the very end. 
 
 Bob. Your exit was a stroke of genius. I'm
 
 2o8 THE GAME OF ADVERBS 
 
 not flattering you, old chap, it was downright 
 genius. I say, you'll do old Poly for us again 
 after dinner, eh ? 
 
 Dormer. My dear fellow, I couldn't if you 
 paid me. Besides, I — I'd rather, if you don't 
 mind, it didn't get talked about ; it — well, it 
 might be awkward^ don't you know. 
 
 Bob [noddmg his head sapiently). I see. You 
 mean, it might get round to the Rector, eh ? 
 
 Dormer. Exactly. It might — er — get round 
 to the Rector.
 
 A BOHEMIAN BAG 
 
 In appearance it is quite an ordinary Gladstone 
 — but either the cow from which it derived its 
 being was exceptionally erratic in her habits, 
 or else the bag is possessed by some inferior 
 order of demon with an elementary sense of 
 humour. 
 
 The salesman at the portmanteau-shop where 
 I bought it assured me that I should find it a 
 very good little bag indeed — for the price — but 
 I do him the justice of believing that, like my- 
 self, he was imposed upon by its extremely in- 
 offensive appearance. 
 
 I had not been on many journeys with it 
 before I became indignantly aware of the gross 
 carelessness with which porters on every line 
 I travelled by seemed to treat luggage com- 
 mitted to their charge. 
 
 I tried taking it in the carriage with me — 
 but it refused to go under the seat, while it 
 was too bulky to remain long in a rack intended 
 
 209 Q
 
 210 A BOHEMIAN BAG 
 
 for light articles only, so I entrusted it to a 
 porter, saw it labelled myself, and thought no 
 more about it until I arrived at my destined 
 station — which the bag never by any chance 
 did until hours afterwards. 
 
 It is trying at first — especially on a visit to 
 comparative strangers — to enter a country-house 
 drawing-room, and join a large and formal 
 dinner-party in the clothes one has travelled 
 down in — but I became fairly accustomed to 
 it in time. Some of my fellow-guests — particu- 
 larly when I met them again under precisely 
 similar conditions — no doubt concluded that I 
 had some conscientious objection to dress for 
 dinner. Those who knew wondered at my lack 
 of even sufficient intelligence to look after my 
 own luggage like other people. They didn't 
 lose their bags. Which was all very well — but 
 I would defy them not to lose tnine. 
 
 Yet, although I see now of course how blind 
 I was, I went on blaming porters, traffic-super- 
 intendents, station-masters, even myself, for 
 months before it ever occurred to me to sus- 
 pect the bag. How could I imagine that, 
 under its sleek and stolidly respectable surface, 
 it was seething with suppressed revolt, that a
 
 A BOHEMIAN BAG 211 
 
 passion for liberty and independence had per- 
 meated every fibre of its leather ? 
 
 Perhaps my eyes were not even partly opened 
 till one autumn, when I had been staying with 
 some friends in Ayrshire. My bag had rejoined 
 me there in a day or two, after running up as 
 far as Inverness. So, on my way south from 
 Edinburgh to York, I saw the bag with other 
 luggage into a composite luggage-van, and took 
 a compartment immediately adjoining it, ex- 
 pressly to keep an eye upon it. 
 
 At York an elderly guard in the van attempted 
 to convince me that my luggage was at the 
 other end of the train, and while I persisted in 
 demanding it the argument was interrupted by 
 the arrival of several huge Saratoga trunks 
 which monopolised his attention. At last I 
 had to get in myself, and identify my property. 
 I got out all but the bag, which I could 
 see, but not reach, behind a pile of other 
 luggage; just then the train began to move, 
 and I had to leap out to avoid being taken on 
 to Peterborough. The bag, of course, went on. 
 
 It condescended to return late the same night, 
 but from that instant my confidence in it was 
 shaken. I could not understand such obstinacy
 
 212 A BOHEMIAN BAG 
 
 and cunning in a mere bag, nor how it had 
 contrived to enlist, not only Saratoga trunks, 
 but a white-bearded Scotch railway-guard, as 
 its accomplices. I only felt that in future, even 
 for week-end visits, I should prefer to take a 
 portmanteau. It might give the impression 
 that I expected to be pressed to stay longer — 
 but at least we should arrive in company. And 
 so the bag was condemned to inglorious idleness 
 till the next summer, when, not without mis- 
 givings, I decided to give it another chance by 
 permitting it to accompany me and the port- 
 manteau in my Continental wanderings. 
 
 Any ordinary bag would have been touched 
 by this appeal to its better feelings — mine merely 
 regarded it as an opportunity to work off long 
 arrears of devilry. It broke out as early as 
 Paris, where I had seen my baggage registered 
 for Munich and received the bulletin for it at 
 the Gare de I'Est. I was roused from sleep at 
 about 1.30 A.M. to go to the luggage-car and 
 see it examined by the Customs officers. But 
 it had spared them that trouble by inducing 
 somebody to put it into the express for Carlsbad, 
 and, which I minded even more, it had per- 
 suaded my hitherto immaculate portmanteau to
 
 A BOHEMIAN BAG 213 
 
 elope with it. They came back together in a 
 day or two, and, while I thought I could see 
 signs of depression, if not penitence, in the 
 portmanteau, the bag maintained the demure 
 calm of a cat that has taken a retriever out for 
 his first poaching expedition. 
 
 The bag, by the way, possessed a key — a 
 long one with a weak profile which could never 
 prevail upon it to open under a quarter of an 
 hour, an embarrassing delay when crossing a 
 frontier. At last it broke short off in the lock, 
 and I had to send for an Italian locksmith to 
 force it open — an indignity which I fear de- 
 stroyed any lingering remnant of self-respect 
 the bag had still retained. It would roll out 
 on the platform, yawning impudently, and pro- 
 ceed to disgorge articles which a more loyal 
 bag would have kept to itself. Italian officials 
 refused at last to register it without the pre- 
 cautions of a stout rope and a leaden seal — 
 which unfortunately was not stamped with the 
 name of Solomon — and every time it was thus 
 corded and sealed I had to pay an extra fee. 
 
 Whenever an eye was off it for a single 
 moment it escaped. It saw considerably more 
 of Italy than I did myself, so much of my time
 
 214 A BOHEMIAN BAG 
 
 was spent in describing its salient features to 
 officials, who drew up innumerable documents 
 concerning it with leisurely thoroughness. It 
 returned from these escapades an absolute 
 wreck ; I was obliged to have its back strength- 
 ened with an iron brace, while its mouth re- 
 mained as permanently open as an imbecile's. 
 Still, I managed to get it safely home — though 
 it very nearly contrived to return to Calais by 
 the next boat from Dover. 
 
 Since then it has been once more in peniten- 
 tial retreat till this very last Christmas. Then 
 — it may have been the influence of the season 
 — I relented. I was spending Christmas a little 
 way out of town, and I thought the bag must 
 be tired of tomfoolery by that time, so I started 
 with it in a hansom on that particularly foggy 
 Wednesday afternoon which no Londoner who 
 was out in it is likely to forget. My hansom, 
 after landing me in a ciil de sac, declined to take 
 me any further, so I had to get myself and the 
 bag to the District Station at Victoria as well 
 as I could. I was not sorry when a stranger, 
 who — so much as was visible of him in the fog, 
 seemed respectable enough — offered to carry it 
 for me.
 
 A BOHEMIAN BAG 215 
 
 I know now that he was quite honest, but I 
 confess that I had my doubts of it when, after 
 dismissing him at the station, I discovered that 
 my confounded bag had vanished during the 
 short time I was taking my ticket. I gave in- 
 formation at the proper quarters, with no real 
 expectation of seeing it again. It was only too 
 easy for a thief to make off with it in such a 
 fog, and, on the whole, I was rather relieved 
 to be rid of it. For once — I chuckled to think 
 — it had overreached itself in its artfulness. 
 
 But I was mistaken. The bag turned up in 
 the last place I expected to find it in — the Left 
 Luggage Office. Somehow, at the moment I 
 put it down by the booking office, it had 
 managed to suggest to a man (who must have 
 been a bit of an idiot) that it had been left 
 behind by a friend of his. So he had rushed 
 down below after him — only to find out his 
 mistake, and hand the bag to a porter, who 
 took it up to the superintendent as soon as he 
 had time. Still the bag got out of coming with 
 me, which was evidently its intention from the 
 first. I cannot help thinking there must be 
 something morbid and depraved about a bag 
 which can prefer to spend its Christmas in a
 
 2i6 A BOHEMIAN BAG 
 
 Left Luggage OfBce instead of in a cheerful 
 family circle. 
 
 After this last mortification I feel that all 
 further attempts on my part to civilise a bag 
 like that must be abandoned. And yet — am I 
 justified in letting it loose on society ? I doubt 
 it. If I presented it to a gipsy caravan, it might 
 settle down with its fellow nomads. Or it might, 
 out of sheer perversity, insist on tracking its way 
 back to me. Is there any kind reader with a 
 talent for reclaiming abandoned baggage who 
 would care to adopt it ? If so, I shall be pleased 
 to hand it over to any one who will undertake 
 to provide it with a comfortable home. 
 
 It mayn't be such a bad bag, if only it finds 
 some one who really understands it.
 
 THE MAGIC H'S 
 
 (A Society Story of Up-to-date Diablerie) 
 
 [I DID not invent this story myself — I should 
 
 not have dared. Nor will I pledge myself — 
 
 even in a political sense — for it as being true 
 
 in every particular. There is much in it that 
 
 1 can only accept under considerable reserve ; 
 
 there are even certain things that strike me 
 
 as frankly incredible. However, I tell it as it 
 
 was related to me by a communicative and 
 
 rather seedy stranger, in the Tube between 
 
 Shepherd's Bush and Tottenham Court Road 
 
 Stations, on Saturday the ist of April last. 
 
 I am able to fix the precise date, because it 
 
 was the day I lost my pocket-book. The 
 
 stranger began abruptly with a remark on the 
 
 singular value of the letter " h " as a passport 
 
 to polite society. " I happen," he said, " to 
 
 know a rather striking instance in point, if you 
 
 would care to hear it." Whereupon he told 
 
 me the following narrative, for the somewhat 
 
 217
 
 2i8 THE MAGIC H'S 
 
 inflated diction of which I must decline to be 
 responsible : — ] 
 
 "Harold Hipperholme seemed, at the time 
 when I first knew him, a young man on 
 whom Fortune had showered her choicest 
 gifts. Of respectable, though not distinguished, 
 origin, he possessed exceptional good looks, 
 a commanding intelligence, considerable ac- 
 complishments, and wealth that was absolutely 
 phenomenal. But alas ! there was a dash of 
 bitter irony in the cup of his happiness — he 
 had everything — everything he could possibly 
 require — except 'h's.' The unhappy young 
 man had never yet succeeded in aspirating 
 even his own name ! 
 
 " For a while he could scarcely be said to 
 suffer acutely from this infirmity. Indeed, 
 he was scarcely conscious of it. Not till he 
 became acquainted with the beautiful Lady 
 Icilia Chilwell, daughter of the Earl of Stoni- 
 stairs, was his deficiency brought home to him 
 in all its full horror. He met her first at a 
 Charity Bazaar, where she was assisting at a 
 stall of fancy goods, and he fell hopelessly in 
 love with her at first sight. After purchasing 
 a ' toilet-tidy,' worked, as she assured him,
 
 THE MAGIC H'S 219 
 
 by her own hands, for the sum of ten guineas, 
 he had ventured to remark that 'the 'eat was 
 simply 'orrible.' It struck him afterwards that 
 she had shivered — but he thought nothing of 
 it at the moment ; and at their next meeting 
 (which took place at a Flower Show in the 
 Botanical Gardens) he addressed her more 
 boldly with an inquiry whether she was 'going 
 to 'Urlingham that Saturday.' Once more he 
 observed her shiver, but, gathering courage 
 as he went on, he ended by making her a 
 formal offer of his hand and heart. No doubt 
 his handsome appearance and faultless attire, 
 together with the fact (which he did not try 
 to conceal) that he was a person of unbounded 
 affluence, prevented Lady Icilia's refusal from 
 being as harsh as might otherwise have been 
 expected. But she made it abundantly clear 
 that it zvas a refusal. Even should she herself 
 have been able to overlook such an insuperable 
 barrier as utter ' h '-lessness in a suitor, she 
 gave him distinctly to understand that her 
 haughty father, the Earl, would never permit 
 her union with one to whom the very existence 
 of an eighth letter of the alphabet seemed so 
 entirely problematical. . . ."
 
 220 THE MAGIC H'S 
 
 [Here I could not help remarking that I 
 should hardly have thought that any aristo- 
 cratic parent in these days would reject an 
 aspirant as wealthy as Harold Hipperholme 
 for so trifling a reason. For, though I cannot 
 boast an acquaintanceship at first hand with 
 any members of the nobility, I have read the 
 diatribes of "Rita" and Miss Corelli, and 
 have also frequently seen impecunious peers 
 in society comedies welcome proposals from 
 the most impossible outsiders, when sufficiently 
 wealthy, with positive effusion. So that I felt 
 pretty sure of my ground. The stranger, 
 however, replied that my objection merely 
 showed that I must temporarily have forgotten 
 the extreme fastidiousness that notoriously 
 characterises the House of Stonistairs. I ad- 
 mitted that I had, and he resumed his 
 story : — ] 
 
 "Needless to say that Harold endeavoured 
 to overcome her decision by all the eloquence 
 at his command. He urged that a true heart 
 could beat as faithfully without its ' h ' as with 
 it. He reminded her that the very letter on 
 which she laid such unnecessary stress modestly 
 ignored its own existence, since it was uni-
 
 THE MAGIC H'S 221 
 
 versally pronounced 'aitch' — not 'haitch.' All 
 was in vain. Unless, or until, she told him, 
 he could acquire a complete mastery of the 
 elusive aspirate, he must never hope to call 
 her his ! He left her with the fixed resolve 
 to win her, whatever it might cost him. 
 
 " He put himself under several professors of 
 elocution. They taught him to elocute, it is 
 true — but not one of them could instil a solitary 
 * h ' into him, and elocution without aspirates is 
 as incapable of soaring to the sublime as a 
 cherub with its wings clipped ! There came an 
 hour when he realised that he had exhausted 
 all human aid, and that henceforth his sole 
 hope lay in seeking assistance from the Powers 
 of Evil ! 
 
 " By the merest chance he saw on a railway 
 bookstall a volume of one of the admirable 
 < A B C ' series, entitled ' The A B C of 
 the Black Art. By a Black Artist. With an 
 appendix containing fifteen different formulcB 
 for invoking fiends.' He purchased the book 
 — for, to one of his vast means, a shilling net 
 was the merest trifle — took it home, and, 
 locking himself into his study, traced a penta- 
 gram on the floor, as directed, and set to work
 
 222 THE MAGIC H'S 
 
 to raise some unemployed fiend who should 
 help him to attain his ends. 
 
 *' For whole days and nights he laboured 
 without conspicuous success. Occasionally some 
 evil spirit with nothing worse to do would obey 
 his summons, but no sooner did they hear the 
 purpose for which they had been invoked, than 
 (whether in disgust at its utter triviality, or to 
 conceal their own incompetence) they indulged 
 in demonstrations of fury so violent as almost 
 to frighten him out of his wits. But the 
 fifteenth and last formula produced a more 
 satisfactory result. This time the fiend who 
 answered his call was both less appalling of 
 appearance and more obliging in disposition. 
 In comparison with his predecessors he was 
 almost undersized and, though inky, he was 
 sympathetic and even resourceful. 
 
 " I suppress his name for obvious reasons — 
 but he seemed to see no difficulty whatever 
 in the affair. According to him, all Harold 
 had to do was to procure certain articles, of 
 which he gave him a list, and be at a given 
 spot by the following midnight. There the 
 fiend undertook to meet him with a magic 
 typefoundry, and together they would turn
 
 THE MAGIC H'S 223 
 
 out as many ' h's ' as possible before cockcrow. 
 It is conceivable that the fiend may have been 
 inspired by reminiscences of the opera of 
 Der Freischiitz. Or it may have been his own 
 idea entirely. That we shall never know now ! 
 
 "After ascertaining that he would not be 
 in any way prejudicing his future prospects 
 by compliance, Harold made a note of the 
 appointment, and the demon left. The next 
 day was spent in collecting the necessary 
 skulls and braziers, &c., and, shortly after 
 II P.M., Hipperholme chartered a four-wheeler 
 to convey himself and his occult paraphernalia 
 to the midnight rendezvous. 
 
 "The precise spot I prefer not to indicate 
 further than by mentioning that it was where 
 four cross-roads met, and just outside the 
 radius. You may readily believe that on that 
 journey Harold's heart was not altogether 
 free from apprehensions. He could not but 
 be aware that proceedings which might well 
 escape remark in the seclusion of a German 
 forest would inevitably attract attention in a 
 London suburb. Suppose he and the fiend 
 were brought up before a London magistrate 
 for disturbing the traffic ? What an opportunity
 
 224 THE MAGIC H'S 
 
 for, say, Mr. Plowden ! However, after arriving 
 at the cross-roads and dismissing the cab with 
 an extra sixpence, he found the fiend punctually 
 awaiting him with a curious contrivance, some- 
 what between a cauldron and a type-casting 
 machine on the Linotype principle. They set 
 out a circle with the skulls and lamps and 
 sundries, and then the weird labour commenced. 
 But not, as Harold had anticipated, without an- 
 noying interruptions — from motor-cars, market- 
 waggons, nocturnal hansoms, and the like. 
 Fortunately, the fiend had a short and summary 
 method of dealing with tJicin. Once, at a critical 
 stage in the proceedings, a constable on night 
 duty came up with a request to know ' what 
 they were up to ' — but the fiend explained that 
 they were only relaying the gas-pipes under 
 instructions from the Local Borough Council, 
 and the policeman departed quite satisfied, 
 after wishing them a not uncordial good- 
 night. 
 
 "And at last, well before the earliest village 
 cock had shaken off his slumber, the dread 
 task was accomplished. I am unable to furnish 
 the exact figures of their output, but it may 
 be safely estimated at several millions — a
 
 THE MAGIC H'S 225 
 
 sufficient supply of h's to set up the most 
 inveterate and conversational Cockney for 
 eighteen months at the very least ! 
 
 " I must not forget to mention that the fiend, 
 before taking his leave, remarked, with a dia- 
 bolical giggle to which Harold at the time was 
 too elated to attach any importance, ' By the 
 way, my friend, I had better warn you that 
 six of those h's are "wrong 'uns ! " ' With 
 which he sank through the soil, and Hipper- 
 holme never saw him again. 
 
 " But his spirits were high as he hastened 
 home with his ill-gotten acquisitions. I hear 
 you ask" — [I had not opened my lips, but the 
 question had certainly occurred to me] — " by 
 what possible process a supply of typed as- 
 pirates, even from an infernal matrix, could 
 be introduced into any mortal's system ? I 
 can only reply that I have not the smallest 
 idea — but that the assimilation undoubtedly took 
 place. For no sooner had Harold reached 
 his quarters than he hastened to put his new 
 powers to the test. It so happened that he 
 had accepted a generous offer from the Times 
 to lend him their new Century Dictionary for 
 
 a week, gratis, on approval, and he now went 
 
 P
 
 226 THE MAGIC H'S 
 
 all through the h's in one of the volumes 
 without a single mishap. He was just exult- 
 ing over the fact when his Guardian Fairy 
 unexpectedly appeared, . . ." [I suppose the 
 fairy, coming so soon after the fiend, must 
 have caused me to exhibit an involuntary sur- 
 prise, for he immediately explained :] " You may 
 or may not be aware of it — but certain indi- 
 viduals do possess a Guardian Fairy, whose busi- 
 ness it is, according to so distinguished an 
 authority on the subject as Mr. W. S. Gilbert, 
 to see that they do not get into scrapes, or to 
 pull them through when they have done so. 
 Hipperholme was one of these favoured persons, 
 and his Guardian Fairy, on hearing his account 
 of the lurid scene that had transpired at the 
 cross-roads, naturally expressed strong dis- 
 approval of his proceedings. She considered 
 he had acted most imprudently in having any 
 dealings whatever with a fiend, who was almost 
 certain to do him in the long run. Harold 
 replied that this one seem.ed a decent sort 
 enough, and had made no attempt to bind 
 him by any obligation whatever, and that, 
 anyhow, he was several millions of h's to the 
 good by the transaction.
 
 THE MAGIC H'S 227 
 
 "'But I understood,' said the fairy, 'that six 
 of those h's are — to use your new friend's 
 sHghtly common expression — "wrong 'uns"?' 
 
 " ' So they are,' said Harold ; ' but what are 
 half-a-dozen out of all those millions ? ' 
 
 "'Still,' she said, 'if but a single one of 
 the six were to slip out in the hearing of 
 Lady I cilia or her father before she has be- 
 come your bride, it would suffice to undo you ! ' 
 
 " Harold said that, according to the theory 
 of probabilities, it was uncommonly long odds 
 against a wrong 'un turning up at all. 
 
 "The fairy retorted that, probabilities or no 
 probabilities, he might take it from her that 
 it would. 
 
 "'In that case,' he said, 'I think you might 
 have warned me before, instead of after, I had 
 embarked upon such an enterprise as this.' 
 
 " She said that it was his fault, not hers — 
 for, if his previous conduct had not been so 
 invariably discreet that her office was prac- 
 tically a sinecure, she would never have felt 
 free to take a brief holiday, during which all 
 the mischief was done. ' Fortunately, how- 
 ever,' she added, ' it is not too late to repair 
 it — even yet. Take this talisman,' — and here
 
 228 THE MAGIC H'S 
 
 she handed him a small crystal locket, con- 
 taining a model of a ladybird coloured after 
 Nature, but lacking in finish — in fact, just such 
 a trinket as you may see in almost any jeweller's 
 window, marked as low occasionally as eighteen- 
 pence, though the price will vary accordmg to 
 size. 'Take this,' she said, 'and should any 
 vowel escape you at some unguarded moment 
 unattended by its rightful aspirate, you have 
 merely to touch your locket and all will be 
 well ! ' 
 
 " Immediately after her departure Hipper- 
 holme attached the charm to his watch-chain, 
 though he did not, even then, expect that he 
 would ever be reduced to put its powers to 
 the test. That same afternoon he repaired 
 in rich apparel to the Earl's portals, and, 
 giving his full name to the butler without 
 the slightest effort, was ushered into Lady 
 Icilia's presence. 
 
 "At first she could scarcely credit him when 
 he gave her the joyful intelligence that the 
 sole obstacle to their union was now removed 
 — but when she had the unspeakable happi- 
 ness of hearing him triumphantly reel off a 
 long string of words beginning with h, and
 
 THE MAGIC H'S 229 
 
 including such compounds as ' hedge-hog/ 
 * heart-whole/ and even * hen-house,' her last 
 doubt vanished, and she acknowledged that 
 he could now speak to her parent with no 
 apprehension that the peppery old peer would 
 summon his menials to eject him from the 
 premises. 
 
 "If Hipperholme behaved with some lack 
 of candour in encouraging Lady Icilia to 
 believe that his proficiency was the result of 
 the lessons he had taken in elocution, we 
 should not condemn him too harshly on this 
 account. How few of us in his situation 
 would have had the moral courage to admit 
 the dubious means by which such h's had 
 been actually obtained ! Rightly or wrongly, 
 he preserved his sinister secret to the end. 
 
 " Lord Stonistairs, when Harold applied to 
 him for his daughter's hand, consented, though 
 without enthusiasm, to a trial engagement, 
 which, as you will no doubt remember, was 
 duly announced in the Mornijig Post. 
 
 " But a formidable ordeal was still to be 
 faced. He had to undergo inspection by Icilia's 
 high-born and extremely critical relatives. For 
 this purpose the Earl had invited the family
 
 230 THE MAGIC H'S 
 
 to partake of a sumptuous and recherche high 
 tea at his town residence in Belgrave Square. 
 
 "The gathering was small but select, com- 
 prising as it did Icilia's aunt, the Duchess of 
 Marsaye and her daughter, Lady Fresia Ded- 
 cott ; the Earl and Countess of Northpole ; 
 Lord Norman Beaucoe (another cousin) ; Sir 
 Basil Iske ; the Hon. Medusa Glayre ; Mrs. 
 'Jack' Frost, and one or two others — all 
 names that will be familiar to you, and some 
 of whose owners you have probably met in 
 society on more than one occasion." 
 
 [I could not remember ever having even 
 heard of any one of them — but does there 
 breathe an Englishman with a soul so dead 
 as to confess to ignorance of his own peerage ? 
 I murmured an assent from which almost any 
 inference might be drawn, and tlie stranger 
 proceeded :] 
 
 " Hipperholme was a trifle nervous at start- 
 ing ; he found them rather difficult to get on 
 with — in fact, they literally paralysed him. But 
 Love put him, so to speak, on his mettle. He 
 exerted all his considerable social powers to 
 break the glacial spell, and he succeeded be- 
 yond his hopes. Gradually there came a
 
 THE MAGIC H'S 231 
 
 general thaw, until even the proud old Earl 
 unbent so far as to recommend him strongly 
 to have a second helping of ham and eggs, 
 and to rally him, in an affable, good-humoured 
 way, upon betraying some indecision on the 
 subject. 
 
 "This set Harold completely at his ease: 
 ' Since,' he replied, with a graceful deference 
 that sat well upon him, ' since your lordship 
 is so pressing, I will take another poached egg 
 — witJiout any more 'am.' . . . The word had 
 slipped out before he could prevent it. He 
 had felt so absolutely sure of that h — and it 
 had turned out a 'wrong 'un ' ! 
 
 "Already the haughty aristocrats around the 
 board were perceptibly stiffening ; Lady Icilia 
 had turned deadly pale ; her noble father rose, 
 bristling, with the obvious intention of declaring 
 the engagement 'off' — when Hipperholme sud- 
 denly bethought him of the ladybird in his 
 pocket. He touched it with frantic haste, and, 
 as he did so, heard himself serenely finishing 
 his sentence with — * biguity.' He was saved ! 
 He regained his former control of aspirates, 
 and by the time the powdered lackeys appeared 
 to clear the table he was now fully recognised
 
 232 THE MAGIC H'S 
 
 as one of the family. All the same, it had been 
 an unpleasant shock for the moment, though 
 the effect soon passed from his memory. He 
 told himself that it was over, and most unlikely 
 to occur again. 
 
 " Nor did it, for several delirious weeks — 
 and then, once more, he found himself on the 
 very verge of a similar abyss. He had been 
 invited, together with his fiancee and her father, 
 to join certain members of the Smart Set in 
 an excursion to Epping Forest, and the dis- 
 tinguished party was driving in a brake drawn 
 by four spanking steeds along an avenue of 
 magnificent beeches. The sense of intimacy 
 with such a company, the charm of Lady 
 Icilia's society, the azure sky, the glorious 
 sunshine, the surroundings generally, all con- 
 tributed to render him intoxicated with sheer 
 happiness. He became almost lyrical in his 
 ecstasies. 
 
 " * Oh the relief,' he exclaimed, ' the unspeak- 
 able refreshment, for jaded worldlings like our- 
 selves, to escape — if only for the day — from the 
 fevered social round to such rural scenes as 
 these ! To revel in the scent of bracken, the 
 song of birds, and the 'um ' He broke off
 
 THE MAGIC H'S 233 
 
 in horror; he had intended to say the 'hum 
 of insects' — for the flies were unusually per- 
 sistent that summer — but another spurious ' h ' 
 had perfidiously betrayed him ! 
 
 " ' Yes ? ' said the grim old Earl, who sat 
 opposite, in a tone of sardonic encouragement. 
 * Pray proceed. You were remarking, " the 
 urn " ' 
 
 " * Brageous foliage!' Harold just managed 
 to gasp as he clutched his talisman — and, as 
 before, the danger was averted. 
 
 ** Another interval succeeded of such absolute 
 immunity that the possibility of ever again 
 omitting anything so obvious as an aspirate 
 seemed unthinkable. . . . And then, like a bolt 
 from the blue, out came a most unmistakable 
 wrong 'un ! He had arranged to escort his 
 betrothed to a Gala Fete, which was one of 
 the principal functions of that season, and 
 which Royalty was expected to attend. It was 
 at Rosherville Gardens, and Lady Icilia, having 
 in a moment of caprice insisted that the party 
 should go down by an ordinary penny steamer, 
 Hipperholme, after arraying himself in a fault- 
 less frock-coat, had, very naturally, thought it 
 more prudent to put on a billycock hat as
 
 234 THE MAGIC H'S 
 
 being less likely to blow off. When he joined 
 the others on the landing-stage at Charing 
 Cross, Lord Norman Beaucoe, who, as usual, 
 was in a blue striped lounge suit and a tall 
 white chimney-pot, permitted himself to pass 
 some remark on Harold's choice of head-gear. 
 It was not precisely a sneer, but sufBciently so 
 to nettle Hipperholme's high spirit. 
 
 " * I would have you to know, my lord,' he 
 retorted, ' that a gentleman can look the gentle- 
 man in any kind of 'at !' ... As the fatal word 
 left his lips he caught the Earl's eye and his 
 talisman at the same moment. 'Tire,' he con- 
 cluded calmly, and the ill-concealed discom- 
 fiture of Lord Norman, the milder expression 
 of his uncle, and the proud glow that suffused 
 the face of Lady Icilia, told him not only that 
 his faux pas had been successfully obliterated, 
 but that he had actually risen a step higher 
 in their esteem ! 
 
 " What wonder then if, when the date of 
 their nuptials was fixed and the invitations 
 issued for the ceremony, he ceased to have 
 any further misgivings ? And yet, little as he 
 suspected it, beneath the roses which strewed 
 his path to the altar there lurked still another
 
 THE MAGIC H'S 235 
 
 pitfall, and the moment was fast approaching 
 when he would see it yawning in front of 
 him — and this time ! " 
 
 ["Was, I should imagine," I put in, sup- 
 pressing a tendency to imitate the pitfall, 
 " exactly like the other three. If not, what 
 on earth was the good of giving him a talisman 
 at all?" 
 
 " Don't be in such a hurry ! " said the 
 stranger, patting me significantly on the chest 
 (he had a most unpleasant habit of pawing 
 me about in the course of his narrative), " Wait 
 till you have heard the sequel." 
 
 We had by this time arrived at Bond Street, 
 and I dia wait for the sequel. As I was getting 
 out at the British Museum, I could not very well 
 help myself.] 
 
 "You implied just now," said the voluble 
 stranger, as the train glided out of Bond Street 
 Station, "that, even should any further disaster 
 overtake Hipperholme, the talisman given to 
 him by his Guardian Fairy could safely be de- 
 pended upon to extricate him. That was a very 
 natural assumption on your part, and in the main 
 a perfectly correct one. Under ordinary cir- 
 cumstances, it is a matter of common knowledge
 
 236 THE MAGIC H'S 
 
 that a fairy is fully a match for the average fiend. 
 But such calculations are always liable to be 
 upset by some trivial accident which it is totally 
 impossible to foresee. As Harold was soon to 
 discover : 
 
 " He was at a brilliant evening party given 
 by a certain peeress, who shall be nameless, 
 at her magnificent mansion in Park Lane. The 
 society craze last season, as I dare say you re- 
 collect, took the form of parlour games — an 
 intellectual pastime for which Harold had a 
 natural aptitude, and in which he easily held 
 his own against the very smartest of the Smart 
 Set. That night he outshone even himself, and 
 Lady Icilia (who with her father, the Earl, was 
 of course among those invited) was the pleased 
 recipient of many congratulations on the gentle- 
 manly deportment and ready wit displayed by 
 the object of her choice. At last, after repeated 
 triumphs, he was required to submit himself 
 to a test compared with which all previous ones 
 were child's play. He had to leave the room 
 while the rest of the company settled among 
 themselves what celebrated historical character 
 on what particular occasion he was to repre- 
 sent, and it was for him to guess, if he could.
 
 THE MAGIC H'S 237 
 
 from the cryptic remarks addressed to him by 
 each of the players in turn, whom they supposed 
 him to be. Very possibly you iiave played this 
 game yourself ? " . . . 
 
 [I had — and had not found it particularly 
 exhilarating, though I did not consider it neces- 
 sary to say so.] 
 
 "Well, Hipperholme came in, and brought 
 all the powers of his mind to bear on the prob- 
 lem — but for once he found himself completely 
 baffled. Nothing they said afforded him the 
 faintest clue. 
 
 " ' I must admit, my lords, ladies, and gentle- 
 men,' he owned at length with a genial frank- 
 ness, 'that I'm rather up the stick this time. 
 I'm really afraid I must ask you to assist me 
 a little by giving me just the slightest 'mt!' . . . 
 
 " He knew what he had done, but he was 
 not seriously perturbed — the talisman would get 
 him out of it as usual, and instinctively his 
 fingers sought his watch-chain. Judge of his 
 horror when he found that the crystal locket 
 was no longer there ! He searched his waist- 
 coat pockets in vain — it was not in either of 
 them ; he had lost it somehow ! 
 
 " ' Just the slightest 'int/ the wretched man
 
 238 THE MAGIC H'S 
 
 repeated mechanically, amidst a silence so in- 
 tense that, had any patrician present possessed 
 such a thing as a pin and allowed it to drop, 
 it would assuredly have fallen with a sickening 
 thud. Fortunately, this was not the case. 
 
 " Hipperholme gazed round the semicircle in 
 wild despair, as he wiped the perspiration from 
 his clammy brow — and then he caught sight of 
 a glittering object lying just underneath a gilded 
 sofa. He dived for it frantically ; with inex- 
 pressible relief he recognised his lost ladybird, 
 and, as he resumed the perpendicular with the 
 talisman in his clutch, the conclusion — 'erval 
 for reflection ' — fell from his lips, and the in- 
 tolerable strain was instantly relaxed. 
 
 " Immediately afterwards it flashed upon him 
 that he could be no other personage but King 
 Harold on the occasion of being hit in the 
 eye by an arrow at the Battle of Hastings — 
 which proved to be perfectly correct. 
 
 " But, even amidst the general applause that 
 greeted this display of penetration, Hipperholme 
 shivered at the recollection of the narrow 
 squeak he had just experienced. 
 
 ** He had the fastening of the talisman re- 
 paired — while he waited — at the earliest oppor-
 
 THE MAGIC H'S 239 
 
 tunity, after which he felt himself once more 
 invuhierable. To be sure, there were two more 
 'wrong 'uns' to be expected — but, even if they 
 did slip out before his marriage with Lady 
 Icilia, it would not signify so long as he had 
 the charm at hand — and he would take un- 
 commonly good care not to lose sight of it in 
 future. 
 
 " When she was once his bride, he would be 
 safer still. It would take more than a couple 
 of defective aspirates to sever them then ! 
 
 " As it happened, during the weeks that re- 
 mained he was never once under the necessity 
 of employing the talisman, a circumstance which 
 so increased his sense of security that, while 
 arraying himself on his wedding morn for the 
 ceremony, it occurred to him that he might 
 safely leave the locket on his dressing-table. 
 
 " He had always thought it a rather cheap 
 and tawdry ornament for a man of his means 
 to wear ; it w^ould be an unsightly blot on the 
 magnificence of his attire on this momentous 
 occasion ; it w'ould not be required, since he 
 could hold no conversation with either Lady 
 Icilia or her parent until after the conclusion 
 of the nuptials.
 
 240 THE MAGIC H'S 
 
 " Still, he would have to say a few words in 
 the vestry afterwards — and then there was the 
 drive with his bride from the church, and the 
 wedding breakfast. Perhaps it would be wisest 
 to avoid all risks. So, for the present, at all 
 events, he decided to allow the locket to remain 
 on his watch-chain. 
 
 "The wedding was at St. George's, Hanover 
 Square, which was crowded to suffocation by 
 persons of rank, commoners finding it hopeless 
 to obtain admittance, and the vergers being 
 compelled to turn even Countesses away ! 
 
 " Harold, with Lord Norman Beaucoe as his 
 best man, stood by the altar, awaiting the arrival 
 of the bridal cortege, and, as he heard the society 
 small talk behind him drowning even the peal- 
 ing notes of the organ, his bosom swelled with 
 a satisfaction that made him entirely oblivious 
 of the fact that he owed the proud position in 
 which he stood to a fiend of the most plebeian 
 order. 
 
 "And then — preceded by the choir, and fol- 
 lowed by eight bridesmaids, all ladies of title, 
 and wearing costly diamond brooches in the 
 form of two interlaced h's, the gift of the bride- 
 groom — Lady Icilia Chilwell came slowly up the
 
 THE MAGIC H'S 241 
 
 centre aisle, leaning on the arm of her father, 
 the Earl of Stonistairs, and the ceremony com- 
 menced. 
 
 " It was conducted by the Bishop of Mumble- 
 borough, assisted by several of the minor clergy, 
 and, as the venerable prelate, in accents almost 
 inaudible with emotion, dictated the responses, 
 the happy bridegroom repeated them in tones 
 as full as was his heart. *To have and to 
 hold,' quavered the good old Bishop — and 
 through the sacred edifice Harold's resonant 
 voice rang out like a clarion call: 'To 'ave 
 and to 'old ! ' 
 
 " I can only qualify the result as electrical. 
 Never before, perhaps, had that aristocratic fane 
 heard the aspirate treated with such appalling 
 irreverence ; the walls seemed to rock, strong 
 men grew pale, the very choristers were visibly 
 concerned, the Bishop was struck dumb, while 
 Lady Icilia, withdrawing her hand from Harold, 
 shrank from him with a movement of uncontrol- 
 lable repulsion, 
 
 " Hipperholme alone preserved his composure. 
 He felt that he could hardly have dropped two 
 h's at a more unpropitious moment — but fortu- 
 nately the matter could easily be set right. How
 
 242 THE MAGIC H'S 
 
 lucky that he had not followed his first impulse 
 and left his ladybird at home ! He fingered the 
 talisman with confidence. 
 
 "To his indescribable dismay it failed him 
 for the first time ! He could not believe it at 
 first, could not understand how such a thing 
 could have happened. And then the terrible 
 truth dawned upon him. It was useless to ex- 
 pect the talisman to aid him there. Not even 
 a fairy could venture to introduce any additions 
 to the marriage service. What he had said he 
 had said ! 
 
 " Lady Icilia had already collapsed — a mere 
 heap of white satin, Brussels lace, and orange 
 blossom — into the arms of her principal brides- 
 maid, the Earl had stepped forward and held 
 a whispered colloquy with the Bishop, who 
 seemed to agree with him that the ceremony 
 could not proceed, as Harold rushed madly 
 from the building, bareheaded, for he had re- 
 signed his hat to Lord Norman Beaucoe. And, 
 at the moment he gained the portico, and was 
 descending the steps into George Street, he 
 heard a malicious snigger, which seemed to 
 come from the telephone wires overhead, and 
 a voice he remembered but too well cried out
 
 THE MAGIC H'S 243 
 
 with shrill derision: 'What did I tell you? 
 Six of 'em wrong 'uns I ' 
 
 ''The fairy knew more about hends than he 
 did, after all. They were not to be trusted ! " 
 
 " But surely," I said, as we ran into the next 
 station, " that isn't the end of the story ? The 
 fairy couldn't possibly leave him in such a fix 
 as that. Or why have a Guardian Fairy at all ? " 
 
 "You are right," he said impressively, pat- 
 ting me with approval on the chest ; "absolutely 
 right ! That is 7wt the end. The finale is 
 singular, but satisfactory, as you are about to 
 hear. . . . But, bless me, this is Tottenham 
 Court Road ! I'm afraid I must bid you fare- 
 well, with many thanks foi your courteous 
 attention. I get out here." 
 
 And he did — so I missed the finale. It was 
 not till I reached the British Museum that I 
 missed my pocket-book.
 
 AFTER REHEARSAL 
 
 (An Object-lesson for would-be Playwn'ghfs) 
 
 Scene — 7 Vie interior of the Vacuity Theatre^ 
 which is to open shortly under the manage- 
 ment of that enterprisijig a?td popular young 
 actor, Mr. SIDNEY Sangwin. Time — The 
 fag-end of a November afternoon. On the 
 stage — which is lit by a feiv electric lights 
 in the flies, and is bare, except for sundry 
 pieces of furniture placed to mark the entrances 
 — the rehearsal of ^' A House of Cards," the 
 comedy by a hitherto unacted dramatist with 
 which Mr, S. S. Jias decided to tempt Fortune, 
 is slowly dragging to a close. 
 
 Mr, Aikenhead, the author, is seated in an un- 
 shrouded section of the stalls, drearily wonder- 
 ing hoiv he could ever have deluded himself 
 into a belief that his dialogue was humorous. 
 Next to him is MiSS Ardleigh, who, not 
 being on in the final act, is kindly endeavour- 
 ing to relieve his obvious depression. 
 
 Miss Ardleigh {referring to her part — a 
 haronefs wife who has been on the music-hall 
 stage). The on'y thing I'm afraid of is that
 
 AFTER REHEARSAL 245 
 
 I shall be too refined in it — that's reely how 
 I feel ! (Mr. A. hastens to reassure her on this 
 score.) Oh, it's very sweet of you to say so, 
 I'm sure — and of course it's wonderful what 
 one can do with technique — still, vulgarity 
 doesn't seem to come easy to me, somehow. 
 I should love to play Lady Cynthia. Now, 
 Miss Daintrey — well, I don't know what you 
 think — but to me, her style isn't distangay 
 enough, — she seems to fall just short of the 
 real lady, if you understand my meaning ! 
 
 Mr. Aikenhead {for whom Miss Phyllis 
 Daintrey is the one bright star in his clouded 
 horizon). Afraid I can't agree with you — Miss 
 Daintrey is everything I could wish. 
 
 Miss A. Well, if yoiixQ. satisfied, that's every- 
 thing, isn't it ? But I'm understudying her, as 
 p'raps you know, so, if anything should occur 
 to prevent her playing 
 
 Mr, a, {watching Miss DAINTREY, as she looks 
 on with a charmingly amused smile during a pro- 
 tracted wrangle over a ^^ cross" which is not down 
 in the prompter'' s book, and inwardly congratulating 
 himself upon her evidently perfect health). Miss 
 Daintrey doesn't look as if she was going to 
 break down just yet.
 
 246 AFTER REHEARSAL 
 
 Miss A. It was on'y something she said to 
 me this morning. But, as I told her, " My dear 
 girl^' I said, " when you've been ten years 
 longer in the profession you can begin to 
 pick and choose. You don't hear me grum- 
 bling," I said, "and yet, look at my part com- 
 pared to yours ! " And such lovely frocks as 
 she'll have, too ! 1 don't know what more 
 she wants, I'm sure! 
 
 \The rehearsal comes to an end. 
 
 Mr. Sangwin {on stage). We'll take the first 
 act to-morrow at eleven sharp, please, and I do 
 hope some of you will be better up in your 
 words by then. At present the only person 
 who rehearses without the script in her hand 
 is Miss Daintrey. You really must buck up 
 a bit! 
 
 Mr. Stiltney Bellairs. Dear old boy, what 
 is the use of studying till we get our scenery ? 
 Only means beginning all over again when it 
 comes. Thought it was promised for last week 
 — and here we are, still messin' about ! 
 
 \^Sympathetic murmurs from the Company. 
 
 Mr. S. S. We'll get it in time, old chap. 
 They're all rather elaborate sets, but old 
 Dawbler thinks he can get the first act up
 
 AFTER REHEARSAL 247 
 
 by next P>iday. {To Miss Daintrey) Eh? 
 Certainly, dear — just step up into my room — 
 I'll be there in half a jiff. {To Mr. A. as 
 Miss D. departs) Just a word with you, Aiken- 
 head, my boy. (Mr. A. finds his way through 
 the proscenium door on to the stage.) Well, it's 
 beginning to shape a bit better, eh ? The 
 only thing it wants now is — but I'll talk to 
 you about that presently, when I've settled 
 things with Miss Daintrey — it's about time 
 she signed her contract. 
 
 Mr. a. {aghast). Why, hasn't she done that 
 yet? 
 
 Mr. S. S. No, asked for time to think over 
 it — several of 'em did, you know. But I'm 
 not going to stand any more shilly-shallying. 
 I'll run up and make sure of her — don't go 
 away till I see you. \^He bustles off. 
 
 Miss Nurosa Reckitt {intercepting Mr. a.). 
 Mr. Aikenhead, I must speak to you, I simply 
 must! I'm absolutely in despair about my 
 part! I feel I can do nothing with it — nothing! 
 I'm merely a " feeder " to Miss Nasmyth. She 
 crushes me whenever we're on the stage to- 
 gether — I'm nowhere ! 
 
 Mr. a. But I assure you, Miss Reckitt, you're
 
 248 AFTER REHEARSAL 
 
 quite admirable. I'm perfectly satisfied — per- 
 fectly ! 
 
 Miss R. {with dignity). I hope, Mr. Aiken- 
 head, I am capable of satisfying any author. 
 I ought to be with all my experience. But 
 {becoming agitated again) I cant make bricks 
 without straw. If I might speak my Hnes with 
 a stutter — anything — anything in the world to 
 put a litte colour into them ! If not, I shall 
 
 have to consider very seriously whether 
 
 \She goes off with a gulp of repressed 
 emotion. 
 
 Mr. Ravensnell. Another rocky rehearsal, 
 Mr. Aikenhead ! 'Pon my soul, I think things 
 get worse instead of better ! Most of 'em as 
 fluffy as feather beds ! Though your lines, if 
 you'll pardon my frankness, sir, are difficult 
 to get round the tongue — writing for the stage 
 has to be learnt, like everything else. But it's 
 the slackness everywhere that / complain of. 
 A dear good fellow, old Sidney, but no 
 disciplinarian. Lets 'em do whatever they 
 please. I don't know if you remarked it, but 
 the tag was actually spoken to-day at rehearsal ! 
 That's always supposed, as you are probably 
 aware, to bring bad luck. All superstition, of
 
 AFTER REHEARSAL 249 
 
 course. Though I'm bound to say that, in my 
 experience, I've never known it fail. By-the- 
 bye, do you think that " Dumb-Crambo " scene 
 in the second act will go ? Don't see your 
 way to cutting it out, I suppose ? 
 
 Mr. a. No, I think it will be all right when 
 it's worked up. And it's never been done on 
 the stage. 
 
 Mr. R. There you're mistaken, sir. It was 
 done two years ago at the Nullity, in a piece 
 called A Flash in the Pan. I remember it ran 
 just a week. I happen to know because I was in 
 the cast. I thought it as well to mention it. 
 
 \He shuffles away as Mr. Stiltney 
 Bellairs approaches. 
 
 Mr. S. B. I say, Mr. Aikenhead, I wish you'd 
 let me leave out a line in the last act. It's no 
 use to me, and it strikes me as a bit dangerous. 
 I mean where I say, "Well, 1 call this thunderin' 
 rot ! " Gives the gallery such a chance, don't 
 you know ! 
 
 \0n reflection, Mr. A. consents to this 
 omission. 
 
 Mr. Pettipher [who is on for about five minutes 
 in the first act). One moment, Mr. Aikenhead. 
 How would you wish me to make up for Captain
 
 250 AFTER REHEARSAL 
 
 Guestling, now ? For instance, what is the pre- 
 cise shade of wig you have in ^^our mind's eye ? 
 
 Mr. A. [conscious of utter vacancy in that organ). 
 Well, I hardly — need you wear a wig at all ? 
 
 Mr. p. Played in my own hair, sir, the 
 character would never come out. I was think- 
 ing that a chestnut wig, not too light — and what 
 would you say, now, to a chintuft ? 
 
 Mr. a. [with a forlorn attetnpt at jocularity). 
 Wouldn't that rather depend on what the chin- 
 tuft said to me ? 
 
 Mr. p. [luith solenmity). I beg you will not 
 treat this matter in a spirit of flippancy, sir. 
 My one anxiety is to realise my author's con- 
 ception, — and there's really nothing in the lines 
 themselves for me to build up a character upon 
 or I wouldn't trouble you. I see him myself 
 as a sort of man-about-town, with a chintuft, 
 and, I think, spats would complete the costume ? 
 Then I may take it you agree to spats ? Now, 
 regarding the colour. Should they be white, 
 or drab ? I possess both. Perhaps drab would 
 be more in keeping ? Vv\)uld you have a white 
 edging to his waistcoat ? Well, we can discuss 
 that question to-morrow. 
 
 {^He makes way for Mr. Newgass.
 
 AFTER REHEARSAL 251 
 
 Mr. Newgass. Oh, I've thought out rather 
 a good bit of business for my entrance in the 
 second act. How would it be if I took the 
 butler for the old Earl and shook hands, and 
 asked him to present me to Lady Cynthia, eh ? 
 
 \He chuckles. 
 
 Mr. a. Afraid it would be rather forced. You 
 see, the butler has just shown you in, and, 
 besides, you've met Lord Livipsfield already. 
 
 Mr. N. But I might be short-sighted — eyeglass 
 worked down the back of my neck — frantic 
 search for it, and all that. . . . Well, of course 
 your wishes are paramount — but it would be 
 a big laugh — and if you don't mind my saying 
 so, that's what the piece wants I However, since 
 you don't accept my suggestion, I say no more. 
 
 \He goes off in a huff. 
 
 Mr. Ion Selfe. We're pulling it together, 
 Mr. Aikenhead, pulling it together — by degrees. 
 But you'll have to cut a good half-hour out 
 of it yet I 
 
 Mr. a. [thinking he has cut several out of it 
 already). I might shorten the scene between 
 you and Limpsfiehi, perhaps, and your soliloquy 
 after reading the letter. I don't see what else 
 I can do.
 
 252 AFTER REHEARSAL 
 
 Mr. I. S. {with a falling jaw). Mark my words, 
 sir. If you touch a word of my part — in the 
 way of compression — you ruin your play. I 
 should say just the same if I was playing any 
 other part. Where the piece drags, where it's 
 let down, is precisely in those scenes where 
 I'm 7iot on. Shorten those, give me a little 
 more to do in the last act, let me go off just 
 before the curtain, instead of ten minutes earlier, 
 and it's a dead cert ! Otherwise, it's my deliber- 
 ate opinion, sir, that we're in for a record frost. 
 Now I've got that off my chest I feel happier ! 
 
 \He stalks away with the air of a Sibyl. 
 
 In the Vestibule — A Little Later. 
 
 Mr. Sidney Sangwin. Oh, there you are, 
 Aikenhead ! . . . Miss Daintrey ? What, haven't 
 you seen her ? She wanted to speak to you 
 before she went, I know. . . . Well, no, she 
 hasn't signed her contract — not exactly. In 
 fact, she's rather thrown us over . . . Yes, it 
 is a nuisance, of course — but it can't be helped. 
 ... I did my best, old chap ! . . . No, only that, 
 on consideration, she didn't think it quite worth 
 her while. Pretty little part enough — if she'd
 
 AFTER REHEARSAL 253 
 
 only see it ! . . . Oh, that Ardleigh girl won't 
 be half bad as Lady Cynthia / . . . I don't say 
 she is — but she'll look quite young enough at 
 night, and Phyllis's frocks can be altered to 
 fit her. . . . My dear fellow, there's no time to 
 get anybody else in now — and she's up in the 
 part. . . . Well, we may have to alter the cast 
 a bit, but they're getting used to that by now. 
 . . . Don't you worry — we're going to come 
 out on top all right — and let me see, there was 
 something I wanted to say to you. Ah yes, look 
 here, I wish you'd take this script home with you 
 and just run through the dialogue again. . . . 
 No, no, capital, Ai, old boy! I only thought 
 that, if you could see your way to working in 
 a smart line here and there, don't you know — 
 well, it wouldn't do any harm, eh ? 
 
 [Mr. a. goes home to give these finishing 
 touches with all the verve and freshness 
 that can reasonably be anticipated.
 
 THE LIGHTS OF SPENCER 
 PRIMMETT'S EYES 
 
 A WORTHIER and more estimable young man 
 than Spencer Primmett it would have been 
 difficult to find in the whole of London. He 
 was in one of the Government Departments, in 
 which he occupied an exceptionally good posi- 
 tion for one of his years, while he was also in 
 enjoyment of a very comfortable private income. 
 
 His principal ambition was to eschew any 
 conduct which might possibly have the effect of 
 rendering him conspicuous, in which laudable 
 object he had so far succeeded admirably. 
 
 There was nothing whatever remarkable about 
 his countenance, which was mild and rather 
 round; or his demeanour, which was correct 
 without assumption; or his opinions, which 
 were those of all well-regulated persons. 
 
 Wherefore mothers and chaperons generally 
 regarded him with favour as a highly eligible 
 parti — a fact of which he was modestly but fully 
 aware.
 
 SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 255 
 
 He had indeed but one defect, and that of 
 so gradual a growth that he was pardonable 
 for being the last to perceive it. He was ex- 
 cessively near-sighted. For some time it had 
 struck him more and more forcibly that the 
 British climate was becoming mistier than at 
 any previous period in his recollection, and 
 he was surprised that none of his friends and 
 acquaintances were observant enough to notice 
 so obvious an atmospherical deterioration. 
 
 But there came an afternoon when Spencer 
 Primmett was compelled to admit that his own 
 observation was less acute than he had imagined. 
 For while paying a call — a social duty which 
 he was ever punctilious in discharging — on the 
 Bellinghams in Cornwall Gardens, he was not 
 a little mortified by the discovery that he had 
 been wasting much time and many blandish- 
 ments in a futile endeavour to induce a foot- 
 stool to sit up and beg for a biscuit. 
 
 This led him to infer that there might be 
 some slight imperfection in his eyesight, which, 
 to avoid all chance of some really ludicrous 
 blunder, he would do well to rectify by pur- 
 chasing an eyeglass. 
 
 He had another and even stronger motive
 
 256 THE LIGHTS OF 
 
 for taking such a step. Hilda and Rhoda 
 Bellingham were both extremely attractive girls, 
 and of late his thoughts had begun to dwell, 
 not unpleasingly, upon the possibility of his 
 falling in love with one of them. But which ? 
 For the life of him he could not determine, 
 being by no means sure, now that he came to 
 consider, whether he had ever seen either at 
 all distinctly. 
 
 Ordinary prudence suggested that it would 
 be advisable to be better acquainted with the 
 features of each before committing himself by 
 any definite advances to either. It would be a 
 pity to find out, when it was too late to retract, 
 that he had pledged himself to the plainer of 
 the two. 
 
 So he tried several opticians in turn, but none 
 of them had an eyeglass, or even a pince-nez, in 
 stock that could do anything more than increase 
 the dimness of his natural sight, and at last he 
 took the course which he should have taken 
 at first, and consulted a leading oculist. 
 
 After a prolonged examination, the oculist in- 
 formed him that he was " abnormally astigmatic," 
 which seems a harsh thing for any man to say 
 of a fellow-creature.
 
 SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 257 
 
 However, he wrote him out a prescription for 
 a pair of special glasses of differing powers, and 
 this Spencer took to be made up by the firm 
 to whom he was recommended. 
 
 A few days afterwards, on returning from 
 Whitehall to his rooms, he found awaiting him a 
 neat little parcel containing a pair of spectacles, 
 and accompanied by the account, which came 
 to more than he had anticipated. He would 
 have preferred, too, a pair of pince-nez to 
 spectacles, which he knew have a tendency to 
 add years without the corresponding experience, 
 and it was not without anxiety that he fitted 
 them on and inspected himself in a hand-glass 
 which lay on his dressing-table. 
 
 It was a considerable relief to him to find 
 that they were not by any means unbecoming. 
 Indeed, his eyes, now that they were framed 
 and glazed, as it were, looked larger and more 
 brilliant ; the glasses gave him an air of higher 
 intelligence and deeper thoughtfulness than he 
 had previously discerned in his expression, while 
 they were so light and so easily adjusted that he 
 was scarcely aware of having them on. 
 
 But it was less from vanity than an un- 
 controllable impatience to see what the Miss
 
 258 THE LIGHTS OF 
 
 Bellinghams were really like that he called a 
 hansom and gave the address of Cornwall 
 Gardens. 
 
 As he drove westward, facing the sunset sky, 
 he was delightfully conscious of the extraordinary 
 degree to which his powers of vision had im- 
 proved. No longer was the sun a mere scarlet 
 blur for him, but a clear golden disc surrounded 
 by mauve and crimson clouds, while more 
 immediate objects had become defined with 
 a sharpness that revealed much that hitherto 
 would have altogether escaped him. 
 
 For instance, he remarked for the first time 
 the singular incompetency of London cabmen, 
 evidenced by the fact that the drivers of almost 
 all the hansoms he met seemed to have the 
 greatest difficulty in controlling their horses. It 
 impressed him as an additional proof of the 
 decadence in our national character. 
 
 Fortunately his own cabman was an exception 
 to the general rule, and brought him to his 
 destination without mishap. 
 
 Spencer learnt on inquiry that Mrs. Belling- 
 ham was at home, and he followed the butler 
 upstairs to the drawing-room with a thrill of 
 excitement. For he might find the daughters
 
 SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 259 
 
 of the house there as well, and then he would 
 know at last whether it was Hilda or Rhoda 
 who would prove to be his actual enchantress. 
 
 They were at home, as it happened, and 
 greeted him with a cordiality sufficiently charm- 
 ing to remove all doubt, had he felt any, which 
 he did not, of the gratification he was affording 
 them. He accepted a cup of tea and a seat by 
 the fire, and, as often and intently as he could 
 without infringing the ordinary rules of good 
 breeding, he studied the features of the two 
 graceful girls who sat opposite to him in the 
 lamplight. Thanks to his recent acquisition, he 
 could now see them perfectly, and was delighted 
 to find that they surpassed all his previous 
 conceptions. 
 
 Even then he had as much difficulty as ever 
 in making up his mind which of the two was 
 the more irresistibly engaging, they were both 
 so adorably pretty in their different styles ; but 
 at least he saw now that there was a difference. 
 
 So he sat there talking — rather pleasantly, he 
 thought — to all three ladies, with the sense that 
 he was making an increasingly favourable im- 
 pression. Indeed, before long he began to fear 
 that he was inspiring a deeper sentiment in
 
 26o THE LIGHTS OF 
 
 both the Miss Belhnghams than he had any 
 right or intention to do at that stage of their 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Without being unduly conceited, he could 
 not help observing that, whenever he turned 
 to address Miss Bellingham, she regarded him 
 with a kind of spellbound subjection closely re- 
 sembling fascination ; whereas Miss Rhoda, on 
 the other hand, seemed powerless to meet his 
 eye at all. 
 
 These were trifles, no doubt, — but not without 
 significance. He was wondering whether he 
 had not better go, when the dog, which had 
 been previously snoring soundly in its basket, 
 created a diversion by waking up and coming 
 out for its usual saucer of weak and milky 
 tea. 
 
 This time Spencer made no mistake ; he knew 
 it was not a footstool, or even a door-mat, but 
 a Maltese terrier a trifle out of condition. So 
 he beamed upon it with affable recognition, 
 and called it by its name, which was " Lulu." 
 But instead of responding to his advances, the 
 animal uttered a sharp howl and fled into the 
 back drawing-room with every sign of abject 
 terror.
 
 SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 261 
 
 Spencer said he could not understand it, as 
 he generally got on so well with dogs, and the 
 Bellinghams agreed that it was most unaccount- 
 able, and began to talk of something else. 
 
 But somehow the incident caused a certain 
 constraint. Hilda and Rhoda chattered on, it 
 was true, but in rather a random and desultory 
 manner, while their mother's silence was marked 
 by a want of repose which was unusual in one 
 so essentially a woman of the world. 
 
 So he cut short his visit, after staying little 
 more than an hour, heartily wishing that the 
 dog had not chosen to make such a fool of 
 itself, just when things were going so well. 
 
 On thinking over it afterwards, he recalled 
 sundry symptoms which almost led him to the 
 distressing conclusion that the Bellingham family 
 was inclined to be slightly hysterical. 
 
 Spencer had forgotten that he had to dine 
 out that evening at a house in Lancaster Gate, 
 and did not get back to his rooms until just 
 before eight, which obliged him to dress in 
 frantic haste. Even then he arrived quite a 
 quarter of an hour after everybody else, so that 
 he could hardly expect anything but the chilling 
 reception which he certainly got.
 
 262 THE LIGHTS OF 
 
 He was consoled, however, by the discovery 
 that the Bellinghams were among the guests, 
 and that it would be his privilege to take Miss 
 Bellingham in to dinner. He would have been 
 equally pleased had she been her sister, for 
 both were looking more bewitching than ever 
 in those brilliantly-lighted rooms. 
 
 Still, as he advanced eagerly to claim her, he 
 felt at once that something had come between 
 them ; he distinctly noticed her fhnch, as though 
 with repressed aversion, as he offered her his 
 arm with a playful allusion to his good fortune. 
 
 And when they were seated at the dinner- 
 table, on which innumerable electric lamps, 
 artistically disposed around the walls, shed a 
 soft but still dazzling radiance, he could not 
 feast his eyes on her face so constantly as he 
 desired and expected, for the reason that she 
 seldom looked at him in speaking, and then only 
 by an obvious effort. Was it merely his dis- 
 ordered fancy, or did she invariably turn away 
 her head on such occasions with something 
 suspiciously like a shudder ? 
 
 At the first opportunity she turned away from 
 him altogether to enter into an animated con- 
 versation with her right-hand neighbour, leaving
 
 SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 263 
 
 him with nothing of her to contemplate except 
 her left shoulder till dessert. 
 
 He tried his other neighbour, but she was 
 anything but forthcoming, and after one or two 
 perfunctory replies, evidently preferred to be 
 entertained by her allotted partner. 
 
 So, in his utter isolation, Spencer was free to 
 let his thoughts dwell on Miss Rhoda, who was 
 seated exactly opposite. He wished now that 
 it had been she who had fallen to his lot ; she 
 would not have treated him, he was sure, with 
 this inexcusable caprice, she was much too kind- 
 hearted, and, besides, she was quite as pretty as 
 Hilda, if not actually prettier. 
 
 He directed a glance of half-humorous, half- 
 melancholy appeal for sympathy across the table 
 at her, which he intended should establish a 
 secret bond of intelligence between them, but 
 he found an unexpected difficulty in catching 
 her eye. Even when he succeeded in doing so, 
 he only knew it because he saw her start and 
 bite her lower lip hard, as if to control some 
 rising emotion which too obviously was not 
 maidenly confusion, since she neither blushed 
 nor accorded him the discreetest smile of recog- 
 nition.
 
 264 THE LIGHTS OF 
 
 What in the world was the matter with them 
 both ? It was impossible that he could have 
 done anything since that afternoon to account 
 for the change in their conduct. Surely they 
 could not be influenced by the fact that that 
 little overfed beast of a terrier of theirs had 
 exhibited a perfectly unreasonable antipathy to 
 him ! He had thought modern young women 
 possessed more common-sense. 
 
 And presently it was apparent to him, as he 
 allowed his eyes to wander idly round the table, 
 that he must be generally unpopular — or how 
 was it that every face on which his gaze casually 
 lighted seemed to freeze instantly into petrifac- 
 tion ? He had arrived a little late, he knew, 
 but, hang it all ! he could not think he had 
 spoilt the dinner so much as all that! And 
 even if he had, it was most unchristian of 
 them to carry unforgiveness further than the 
 fish ! It was horrible to sit there, feeling 
 like an apologetic skeleton. He had never 
 felt less at home at a dinner-party in all his 
 life. 
 
 Even on rising, Rhoda had no look nor word 
 for him, and, as soon as the ladies had departed, 
 Mr. Bellingham began to tell a story that gave
 
 SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 265 
 
 every promise of lasting for a considerable 
 time. 
 
 Spencer had never met him before, and, had 
 he been the parent of anybody but Hilda and 
 Rhoda, might have been tempted to regard him 
 as an insufferable old bore. As it was, in his 
 anxiety to propitiate at least one member of 
 the family, he leaned forward, drinking in every 
 detail of the narrative with an air of absorbed 
 and eager interest which was perhaps a little 
 overdone. 
 
 At all events, he did not propitiate the old 
 gentleman — he merely put him out. For Mr. 
 Bellingham grew more and more uneasy under 
 Spencer's ardent attention, until at length he 
 brought his monologue to a lame and evidently 
 premature conclusion. 
 
 Primmett made really heroic efforts during 
 the awkward silences that ensued to put the 
 company at their ease by throwing out in- 
 telligent remarks from time to time on some 
 topic of the day. But, although he was con- 
 fident that he said nothing that was not perfectly 
 safe in any gathering, somehow his blameless 
 platitudes seemed to burst on his hearers like 
 bombshells. Every one appeared to have a
 
 266 THE LIGHTS OF 
 
 positive dread of being drawn into conversa- 
 tion with him. He noticed those he addressed 
 directly blinking nervously as they returned 
 some monosyllabic reply, w^hile others evaded 
 his advances by studiously looking in any other 
 direction but his own. 
 
 He affected the nerves of the very servants, 
 for, as he turned towards a footman who was 
 offering him coffee, the man suddenly let the 
 tray fall with a crash. 
 
 Spencer was glad when the host proposed 
 that they should go upstairs, though, even when 
 he reached the drawing-room, he was no 
 happier. Before he could obtain the explana- 
 tion for which he was hoping from Rhoda or 
 Hilda, he was introduced to two or three older 
 ladies, all of whom responded to his agreeable 
 nothings with absent minds and roving eyes, 
 and before he could escape from these com- 
 pulsory amenities, he had the misery of seeing 
 the Bellinghams take their leave. 
 
 He left himself as soon afterwards as he was 
 able, and it struck him that his hostess was 
 almost indecently glad to get rid of him. 
 
 Spencer walked back to his rooms in a piti- 
 able frame of mind. He was conscious of
 
 SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 267 
 
 having shed a kind of blight on the whole 
 dinner-party — but how or why he was at a loss 
 to imagine. 
 
 Was there, unknown to him, some discredit- 
 able rumour in circulation with regard to his 
 private character ? But that was impossible, 
 for his conscience assured him that he had 
 done nothing that could have given occasion 
 for the slightest scandal. 
 
 Then why — why did the BeUinghams and 
 everybody else shrink from him as though he 
 were some accursed thing ? Was he to go 
 through life henceforth as an object of uni- 
 versal repugnance — he, who by nature was so 
 eminently sociable and desirous of winning 
 esteem ? Would he never find any one to 
 look him in the face again with the old 
 friendliness and approval ? If so, it seemed 
 hard that he should not even know why this 
 fate had befallen him ! 
 
 Still gloomily pondering over his probable 
 future, he regained his sitting-room, where, rest- 
 ing his elbow upon the mantelpiece, he stood 
 staring hopelessly down at the cheerily burning 
 fire! 
 
 Suddenly, on looking up, he beheld his own
 
 268 THE LIGHTS OF 
 
 reflection in the bevelled mirror of the over- 
 mantel, and recoiled in positive terror. 
 
 For the eyes that met his own were no human 
 eyes — they were two glowing caverns in which 
 flickered lurid flames, as though his brain were 
 being slowly consumed by an infernal fire ! 
 
 The eff^ect was simply appalling. He realised 
 at once that no man with such eyes as those 
 could ever hope to inspire the object of his 
 affection with any feelings but instinctive dis- 
 trust, and even horror. Gaze at her as tenderly 
 and pleadingly as he might, it was impossible 
 to prevent his ardour from impressing her as 
 unpleasantly volcanic. 
 
 And yet, how could he have been thus trans- 
 formed into a fiend of peculiarly repulsive aspect 
 without being even aware of the process ? 
 
 Then all at once he remembered his spec- 
 tacles. They fitted him so comfortably that 
 after he had once grown accustomed to the 
 improvement in his sight, he had ungratefully 
 forgotten their very existence. However, he 
 found that he was still wearing them. 
 
 Was it just barely possible that they — He re- 
 moved them hurriedly, and, on closely approach- 
 ing the mirror, discovered with inexpressible
 
 SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 269 
 
 relief that his eyes were no longer ilkimined by 
 their former baleful glare. 
 
 He put them on once more, and, placing a 
 lamp between himself and the mirror, observed 
 the result at some distance. The right lens 
 was slightly concave, and threw rays as blinding 
 as those of a search-light, while the left, which 
 was convex, blazed like some illuminated globe 
 of distilled water in a chemist's window ! 
 
 After repeated experiments, he ascertained 
 that — to himself at least — this disquieting 
 phenomenon was apparent in the mirror only 
 when a strong artificial light struck his spec- 
 tacles at particular angles of refraction, which 
 accounted for his failure to notice it by day- 
 light, or even while dressing for dinner. 
 
 But he had no difficulty in understanding 
 now why the cab-horses had shied that after- 
 noon as his spectacles reflected all the glories 
 of the sunset ; why the Bellinghams' dog had 
 fled in dismay from the unearthly radiance of his 
 eyes, and the Bellinghams themselves had been 
 so susceptible to their mesmeric influence ; or 
 why, in short, throughout that fearful evening 
 he had been innocently producing the effect 
 of a human basilisk or a Medusa head !
 
 270 SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 
 
 He felt he could not go about doing that any 
 more — it made him altogether too remarkable. 
 
 And so, in another instant he had torn those 
 costly but perifidious spectacles from his ears, 
 and ground the glasses to splinters under his 
 heel. . . . 
 
 Since that day he has not had the courage 
 to try any others — but he is rewarded for his 
 sacrifice by the knowledge that he can now 
 permit his eyes to rest on both the Miss Belling- 
 hams without reducing them to a cataleptic 
 condition. The only drawback is that he is as 
 unable as ever to distinguish one from the 
 other. 
 
 Which is possibly the reason why there has 
 been no intimation, as yet, of his engagement 
 to either.
 
 A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER 
 
 Scene — A Corridor m the Hotel Magnifique. 
 Time — About 11.30 p.m. Sydney Shel- 
 CASTLE, a diffide7tt young Dramatist whose 
 first Comedy, " Facing the Music, ^^ has been 
 produced that evening at the Jollity Theatre, 
 is discovered in the act of giving hat and coat 
 to an attejidant. 
 
 Sydney Shelcastle. Er — Mr. Berkeley Carl- 
 ton expects me. I believe he has a supper-party 
 here ? 
 
 Attendant. Quite correct, sir. Straight 
 down the corridor and third door on the left. 
 Syd. Shel. {to himself). Almost wish I'd gone 
 to the Jollity first. {As he reaches door of private 
 supper-room) However, I shall soon know now I 
 \_?Ie pulls himself together and enters; the 
 only persons in the room as yet are his 
 host, Berkeley Carlton, the popidar 
 Actor- Manager ; HoRSLEY COLLARD, 
 who plays the chief cJiaracter-part in his 
 piece ; and Spkatt-Whaley, the lessee 
 of the follity. The first two greet his 
 arrival with a heartiness which strikes 
 Jiim as overdone.
 
 272 A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER 
 
 Syd. Shel. Well ? Did it— did it go off all 
 right ? 
 
 Berkeley Carlton {raising his eyebrows). 
 " Did it go off all right ? " Why — weren't you 
 in front ? 
 
 Syd. Shel. {embarrassed). Well — a — no. I 
 didn't feel quite equal to it. ( Watching their 
 faces) I hope it wasn't ? 
 
 HORSLEY COLLARD [with a glance at CARLTON 
 which does not escape the Dramatist). Haven't 
 you heard anything ? 
 
 Syd. Shel. Not a word. I — I haven't met 
 anybody who could tell me. I came straight 
 here. 
 
 Berk. Carlt. Been strollin' up and down 
 the Embankment to pass the time, eh ? 
 
 Syd. Shel. No,— as a matter of fact I went to 
 the Hippodrome. 
 
 Berk. Carlt. Did you, though ? What did 
 you think of the show ? 
 
 Syd. Shel. Capital ! That is, I didn't pay 
 much attention to it — wondering all the time 
 how Facing the Music was getting on. 
 
 Berk. Carlt. Ah ? Glad you gave us a 
 thought now and then. I say, Horsley, know 
 whether Angela Daventry means to turn up ?
 
 A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER 273 
 
 HORS. Coll. Can't say. She may be feeling 
 too upset. Perhaps I'd better go and see where 
 the others are. {To Berkeley Carlton, in a 
 too audible undertone) I'll leave you to break it 
 to the poor chap while I'm gone. \He goes out. 
 Berk. Caret. Well, Shelcastle, you seem to 
 have spent a pleasant evenin' anyhow. Always 
 amusin' beggars, elephants. And these plunge, 
 don't they ? By the way, you don't know 
 Spratt-Whaley. {He introduces them.) He's just 
 been tellin' us all about his new motor-car. 
 
 \_The unhappy Playwright strives to affect an 
 interest in automobiles, while wishing 
 that Carlton would not be so con- 
 foundedly tactful — until HORSLEY 
 Collard returns with the other in- 
 vited members of the Co7npany, who 
 are obviously putting considerable re- 
 straint on themselves. 
 Miss Angela Daventry {the extremely charm- 
 ing and sympathetic actress who impersonates S.'s 
 heroine). Good evening, Mr. Shelcastle. I hear 
 you didn't patronise our poor little efforts to- 
 night. Oh, we quite understood. And we all 
 think it so wise of you. {She approaches the fire- 
 place^ Br-r-r ! Isn't it cold ! I'm sure there's 
 
 a frost to-night ! 
 
 s
 
 274 A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER 
 
 Miss Daisy Archbutt {engaged for the light 
 comedy part). Oh, my dear ! For goodness' sake 
 don't mention frosts ! Before poor dear Mr. 
 Shelcastle, too ! 
 
 Hawley Bray [whose forte is Society idiots). 
 I say, you know. Now you have done it ! If 
 you hadn't said that, Mr. Shelcastle wouldn't 
 have been any the wiser — he wasn't there. 
 
 Mrs. Chesterfield Manners [the Dowager 
 in S.'s play). I'm afraid it must have been an 
 effort for you to give us the pleasure of seeing 
 you at all this evening, Mr. Shelcastle — under 
 the circumstances ! 
 
 Syd. Shel. Well, you see, Mrs. Manners, 
 when I came here I hadn't heard — in fact, I 
 don't know anything definite even now — though 
 I — I gather 
 
 HORSLEY COLLARD [compassionately). Now, my 
 dear old chap, do take a tip from me. Don't 
 you spoil your supper by trying to gather any 
 more. Be jolly while you may ! 
 
 Angela Dav. But you will spoil his supper. 
 It isn't fair to keep him in suspense like this ! 
 
 Berk. Carlt. Don't fuss, dear. You leave 
 it to us. He'll find out quite soon enough — 
 and now let's have supper. [They sit down.
 
 A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER 275 
 
 Syd. Shel. {who is seated next to Daisy 
 Archbutt). Yoii might just tell me this, Miss 
 Archbutt — was there — was there 7nuch of a row ? 
 
 Daisy {tuith a giggle). I — I really shouldn't 
 like to say, Mr. Shelcastle. But in the last act 
 you might have fancied you were in church — 
 so much coughing, you know ! 
 
 [Hawley 'Bra^ gufaws suddenly. 
 
 Syd. Shel. I was always afraid of that last 
 act. But — it didn't all drag, eh ? 
 
 HORS. Coll. Not while / was on, old man. 
 I took care of that. I hate gagging as a general 
 rule — inartistic, / call it. But I simply had to 
 bring in a wheeze now and then — just to keep 
 the gallery quiet. 
 
 Syd. Shel. {with a pale smile). I can quite 
 imagine it — a — would have that effect. Still, 
 if you don't mind, Collard, I must ask you to 
 stick to the original lines, for the future. 
 
 HoRS. Coll. Certainly, dear boy. It will be 
 quite a relief not to have to be funny ! 
 
 Angela {indignantly). Horsley ! How can 
 you ? 
 
 Berk. Carlt. Ah, well — there's this to be 
 said: a first-night house isn't like any other. 
 
 HORS. Coll. Fuller, for one thing!
 
 276 A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER 
 
 Berk. Carlt. You can always paper. And 
 I don't despair of seeing the piece catch on 
 yet, Shelcastle, if we can only see our way 
 between us to cutting, say, about a third of 
 each act. 
 
 {^Another guffaw from Hawley Bray. 
 
 Syd. Shel. You may do what you like with 
 it, Carlton — but I'm hanged if /touch the beastly 
 thing again ! 
 
 Angela [aside). Berkeley ! Do stop it ! Only 
 look at his face, poor little thing ! 
 
 Berk. Carlt. [aside to her). Nonsense, dear, 
 hes all right! [Aloud) Well, it must take its 
 chance as it is, then. After all, it might have 
 had a worse reception. If they did boo a bit, 
 they didn't mean it ill-naturedly. Anythin' 
 amusin' you, Hawley ? 
 
 Hawley Bray [who has guffazved again). No 
 — nothing particular. I — I was only thinking 
 of that chap in the gallery. 
 
 Berk. Carlt. Oh, ah, the beggar in the 
 brown bowler. He was rather nasty at times. 
 I'd have had him chucked, only the gallery all 
 seemed to be with him. Still, I distinctly saw 
 some of the stalls applaudin' when it was all 
 over.
 
 A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER 277 
 
 Spratt-Whaley. What will the critics say 
 to-morrow, my boy, that's the question ! 
 
 Berk. Carlt. We shall know before we're 
 much older. Old Bill Burleigh can't say much, 
 anyhow, for he bolted in the middle of the 
 second act. But Jack Hall came round after- 
 wards and said there could only be one 
 opinion about the piece. Didn't like to ask 
 him what. 
 
 Miss Dav. [impulsively). Haven't you rubbed 
 it in quite enough ? Mr. Shelcastle, you mustn't 
 mind them ! 
 
 Berk. Carlt. My dear child, he dont. It's 
 nothing to liini. Why, he didn't even care 
 enough to come and see us. Preferred the 
 performin' elephants ! 
 
 Mrs. Chest. Man. And I've no doubt he 
 found them far more graceful and accomplished 
 comedians. 
 
 Syd. Shel. I — I assure you you're mistaken. 
 I wasn't indifferent. I knew I couldn't have a 
 better cast and that you'd all do your very best 
 for me. It was the piece that was all wrong. 
 I saw that at the last dress rehearsal. And 
 — well, I'm afraid I funked the first night. 
 I'm awfully sorry it's come to grief — for your
 
 278 A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER 
 
 sakes as well as my own. I suppose I ought 
 to have known I couldn't write a play. {He 
 rises.) And now I must ask you to excuse me. 
 I — I've got to go home and pack. . . . I'm going 
 away early to-morrow, for — for a little holiday. 
 I may be away some years. 
 
 [Reaction, followed by general applause. 
 
 Angela. Now, I will speak ! Dear Mr. 
 Shelcastle, don't you see ? We've been taking 
 you in all this time. Oh, I know it was per- 
 fectly piggish of us. Only we did think you 
 might have been there, you know ! 
 
 Syd. Shel. I — don't understand. You don't 
 mean that the piece wasn't such an absolute 
 failure after all ? 
 
 Berk. Caret. Considerin' we were all called 
 five times after every act, and I had to make 
 a speech and explain that the author was not 
 in the house at the end, I shouldn't describe it 
 myself as a howling frost precisely. 
 
 Daisy. Why, they simply roared all through ! 
 I was only chipping you about the coughing. 
 
 Hawley Bray. And that Johnnie in the 
 brown bowler — all spoof, you know. Jove ! I 
 nearly gave the show away by smiling like a 
 silly ass once or twice !
 
 A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER 279 
 
 HORS. Coll. I'd no need to gag^ my boy. 
 Got my laughs all right without that! 
 
 Berk. Carlt. And I don't think there'll be 
 much to alter to-morrow. Every scene seemed 
 to^^. 
 
 Spratt-Whaley. The box offices have come 
 forward in style. We shall want three extra 
 rows of stalls. 
 
 Syd. Shel. {sitting down heavily). Look here — 
 you — you're not pulling my leg again, are you ? 
 
 Angela. Indeed we're not ! And you must 
 try to forgive us for doing it at all. Say you do ! 
 
 Syd. Shel. {recovering). But there's nothing 
 to forgive. I knew all along that it couldn't 
 really have gone wrong. 
 
 Berk. Carlt. Of course you did, old boy. 
 Pity you've got to go home and pack, though. 
 How many years did you say you would be 
 away ? 
 
 Syd. Shel. {rising and going towards him). 
 You didn't think I meant it, did you ? When 
 I've got an idea for a new comedy which would 
 — I say, I should like most awfully to tell you 
 about it. 
 
 Berk. Carlt. {pressing him back into his chair). 
 Now just you try and manage a little food first,
 
 28o A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER 
 
 old fellow. You haven't had a mouthful yet. 
 You've lots of time to vi^rite me a new comedy 
 — we shan't be wanting it for another eight 
 months at least ! 
 
 [Sydney Shelcastle sits down and makes 
 
 the discovery that he was hungrier than 
 
 he imagined.
 
 THE ADVENTURE OF THE 
 SNOWING GLOBE 
 
 Bef"ORE beginning to relate an experience 
 which, I am fully aware, will seem to many 
 so singular as to be almost, if not quite, in- 
 credible, it is perhaps as well to state that 
 I am a solicitor of several years' standing, 
 and that I do not regard myself — nor, to the 
 best of my knowledge and belief, have I ever 
 been regarded — as a person in whom the 
 imaginative faculty is at all unduly prominent. 
 
 It was in Christmas week of last year. I was 
 walking home from my office in New Square, 
 Lincoln's Inn, as my habit is — except on 
 occasions when the state of the weather 
 renders such open-air exercise too imprudent 
 — and on my way I went into a toy-shop, 
 with a view to purchasing some seasonable 
 present for a small godchild of mine. 
 
 As was only to be expected at that time of 
 
 year, the shop was crowded with customers, 
 
 2S1
 
 282 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 and I had to wait until one of the assistants 
 should be at liberty. While waiting, my atten- 
 tion was attracted to a toy on the counter 
 before me. 
 
 It was a glass globe, about the size of a 
 moderately large orange. Inside it was a 
 representation of what appeared to be the 
 fagade of a castle, before which stood a figure 
 holding by a thread a small pear-shaped air- 
 ball striped red and blue. The globe was full 
 of water containing a white sediment in solu- 
 tion, which, when agitated, produced the effect 
 of a miniature snowstorm. 
 
 I cannot account for such a childish pro- 
 ceeding, except by the circumstance that I 
 had nothing better to occupy me at the 
 moment, but I employed myself in shaking 
 the globe and watching the tiny snowflakes 
 circulating in the fluid, till I became so en- 
 grossed as to be altogether oblivious of my 
 surroundings. So that I was not particularly 
 surprised when I found, as I presently did, 
 that the flakes were falling and melting on 
 my coat-sleeve. Before me was a heavy gate- 
 way belonging to a grim, castellated edifice, 
 which I thought at first must be Holloway
 
 THE SNOWING GLOBE 283 
 
 Gaol, though how I could have wandered so 
 far out of my way was more than I could 
 understand. 
 
 But on looking round I saw no signs of 
 any suburban residences, and recognised that 
 I had somehow strayed into a locality with 
 which I was totally unacquainted, but which 
 was evidently considerably beyond the Metro- 
 politan radius. It seemed to me that my 
 best plan would be to knock at the gate 
 and ask the lodge-keeper where I was and 
 my way to the nearest railway-station ; but 
 before I could carry out my intention a wicket 
 in one of the gates was cautiously opened by 
 a person of ancient and venerable appearance. 
 He did not look like an ordinary porter, but 
 was in a peculiar livery, which I took to be 
 a seneschal's — not that I have ever seen a 
 seneschal, but that was my impression of 
 him. Whoever he was, he appeared distinctly 
 pleased to see me. " You are right welcome, 
 fair sir ! " he said, in a high, cracked voice. 
 "Well knew I that my hapless lady would 
 not lack a protector in her sad plight, though 
 she had well-nigh abandoned all hope of your 
 coming ! "
 
 284 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 I explained that I had not called by appoint- 
 ment, but was simply a stranger who found 
 himself in the neighbourhood by the merest 
 chance. 
 
 "'Tis no matter," he replied, in his old- 
 fashioned diction, " seeing that you have come, 
 for truly, sir, she is in sore need of any 
 one who is ready to undertake her cause ! " 
 
 I said that I happened to be a member 
 of the legal profession, and that if, as I 
 gathered, his mistress was in any difficulty 
 in which she desired my assistance, I was 
 quite prepared to advise her to the best of 
 my ability, and to act for her, should her 
 case be one which, in my opinion, required it. 
 
 "That does it, indeed!" he said; "but I 
 pray you stand no longer parleying without, 
 which, since I perceive you are but ill-pro- 
 tected at present," he added fussily, " may be 
 fraught with unnecessary danger. Come within 
 without further delay ! " 
 
 I did not think there was any real risk of 
 catching cold, but I did wonder why it had 
 not occurred to me to put up my umbrella, 
 until I discovered that my right hand was 
 alreadly engaged in holding a cord to which
 
 THE SNOWING GLOBE 285 
 
 was attached a gaudily-coloured balloon that 
 floated above my head. 
 
 This was so unsuitable an appendage to 
 any solicitor, especially to one about to offer 
 his services in an affair which was apparently 
 serious, that I was somewhat disconcerted for 
 the moment. But I soon recollected having 
 gone into a toy-shop some time previously, 
 and concluded that I must have purchased 
 this air-ball as a present for my godchild. 
 
 I was about to explain this to the old man, 
 when he pulled me suddenly through the 
 wicket-gate, shutting the door so sharply that 
 it snapped the string of the balloon. I saw it 
 soaring up on the other side of the wall till 
 a whirl of snow hid it from my sight. 
 
 "Trouble not for its loss," said the seneschal ; 
 " it has fulfilled its purpose in bringing you to 
 our gates." 
 
 If he really supposed that anybody was at 
 all likely to adopt so eccentric a means of 
 conveyance, he must, I thought, be in his 
 dotage, and I began to have a misgiving that, 
 by accepting his invitation to step in, I might 
 have placed myself in a false position. 
 
 However, I had gone too far to retract
 
 286 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 now, so I allowed him to conduct me to his 
 mistress. He took me across a vast court- 
 yard to a side entrance, and then up a winding 
 stair, along deserted corridors, and through 
 empty ante-chambers, until we came into a 
 great hall, poorly lighted from above, and 
 hung with dim tapestries. There he left me, 
 saying that he would inform his mistress of 
 my arrival. 
 
 I had not long to wait before she entered 
 by an opposite archway. 
 
 I regret my inability — owing partly to the 
 indifferent manner in which the apartment 
 was lit — to describe her with anything like 
 precision. She was quite young — not much, 
 I should be inclined to say, over eighteen ; 
 she was richly but fantastically dressed in 
 some shimmering kind of robe, and her long 
 hair was let down and flowing loose about 
 her shoulders, which (although I am bound 
 to say that the effect, in her case, was not 
 unbecoming) always has, to my mind at least, 
 a certain air of untidiness in a grown-up 
 person, and almost made me doubt for a 
 moment whether she was quite in her right 
 senses.
 
 THE SNOWING GLOBE 287 
 
 But, while she was evidently in a highly 
 emotional state, I could detect nothing in 
 her manner or speech that indicated any 
 actual mental aberration. Her personal ap- 
 pearance, too, was distinctly pleasing, and 
 altogether I cannot remember ever to have 
 felt so interested at first sight in any female 
 client. 
 
 " Tell me," she cried, " is it really true ? 
 Have you indeed come to my deliverance ? " 
 
 " My dear young lady," I said, perceiving 
 that any apology for what I had feared must 
 seem a highly irregular intrusion was un- 
 necessary, " I have been given to understand 
 that you have some occasion for my services, 
 and if that is correct I can only say that they 
 are entirely at your disposal. Just try to com- 
 pose yourself and tell me, as clearly and con- 
 cisely as you can, the material facts of your 
 case." 
 
 " Alas ! sir," she said, wringing her hands, 
 which I remember noticing were of quite 
 remarkable beauty, " I am the unhappiest 
 Princess in the whole world." 
 
 I trust I am as free from snobbishness as 
 most people, but I admit to feeling some
 
 288 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 gratification in the fact that I was honoured 
 by the confidence of a lady of so exalted a 
 rank. 
 
 " I am extremely sorry to hear it, ma'am," 
 I said, recollecting that that was the proper 
 way to address a Princess. " But I am afraid," 
 I added, as I prepared to take her instruc- 
 tions, "that I can be but of Httle assistance to 
 you unless you can bring yourself to furnish 
 me with somewhat fuller particulars." 
 
 " Surely," she said, " you cannot be ignorant 
 that I am in the power of a wicked and 
 tyrannous uncle ? " 
 
 I might have explained that I was far too 
 busy a man to have leisure to keep up with 
 the latest Court scandals, but I refrained. 
 
 " I may take it, then," I said, " that you are 
 an orphan, and that the relative you refer to 
 is your sole guardian ? " 
 
 She implied by a gesture that both these 
 inferences were correct. " He has shut me 
 up a close prisoner in this gloomy place," she 
 declared, "and deprived me of all my atten- 
 dants one by one, save the aged but faithful 
 retainer whom you have beheld." 
 
 I replied, of course, that this was an un-
 
 THE SNOWING GLOBE 289 
 
 warrantable abuse of his authority, and in- 
 quired whether she could assign any motive 
 for such a proceeding on his part. 
 
 " He is determined that I shall marry his 
 son," she explained, " whom I detest with an 
 unutterable loathing ! " 
 
 " Possibly," I ventured to hint, " there is 
 some one else who " 
 
 " There is none," she said, " since I have 
 never been permitted to look upon any other 
 suitor, and here I am held in durance until 
 I consent to this hated union — and I will die 
 sooner ! But you will save me from so terrible 
 a fate ! For what else are you here ? " 
 
 " I should be incompetent indeed, ma'am," 
 I assured her, " if I could not see a way out 
 of what is really a very ordinary predicament. 
 By attempting to force you into a marriage 
 against your will your guardian has obviously 
 shown himself a totally unfit person to have 
 you in his custody. You have the law en- 
 tirely on your side." 
 
 " Unfit is he, truly ! " she agreed. " But I 
 care not who else is on my side, so long as 
 you will be my champion. Only, how will 
 you achieve my rescue ? "
 
 290 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 " Under all the circumstances," I told her, 
 " I think our best course would be to apply 
 for a habeas corpus. You will then be brought 
 up to the Courts of Justice, and the judge 
 could make any order he thought advisable. 
 In all probability he would remove your uncle 
 from his position and have you made a ward 
 of court." 
 
 There is always a difficulty in getting ladies 
 to understand even the simplest details of 
 legal procedure, and my Princess was no 
 exception to the rule. She did not seem in 
 the least to realise the power which every 
 court possesses of enforcing its own decrees. 
 
 " Sir, you forget," she said, " that my uncle, 
 who has great renown in these parts as a sor- 
 cerer and magician, will assuredly laugh any 
 such order to scorn." 
 
 " In that case, ma'am," said I, " he will render 
 himself liable for contempt of court. Besides, 
 should his local reputation answer your de- 
 scription, we have another hold on him. If we 
 can only prove that he has been using any 
 subtle craft, means, or device to impose on 
 any of his Majesty's subjects, he could be pro- 
 secuted under the Vagrancy Act of 1824 as a
 
 THE SNOWING GLOBE 291 
 
 rogue and a vagabond. He might get as much 
 as six months for it ! " 
 
 "Ah, sir," she cried — rather peevishly, I 
 thought — ''we do but waste precious time 
 in idle talk such as this, of which I com- 
 prehend scarce a word ! And the hour is 
 nigh when I must meet my uncle face to 
 face, and should I still refuse to obey his will, 
 his wrath will be dire indeed!" 
 
 " All you have to do is to refer him to nie,' 
 I said. " I think I shall be able, in the course 
 of a personal interview, to bring him to take 
 a more reasonable view of his position. If you 
 are expecting him shortly, perhaps I had better 
 remain here till he arrives ? " 
 
 "Happily for us both," she replied, "he is 
 still many leagues distant from here ! Can 
 you not see that, if my rescue is to be accom- 
 plished at all, it must be ere his return, or 
 else am I all undone ? Is it possible that, after 
 coming thus far, you can tarry here doing 
 naught?" 
 
 I took a little time for reflection before 
 answering. "After careful consideration," I 
 said at last, " I have come to the conclusion 
 that, as you are evidently under grave apprc-
 
 292 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 hension of some personal violence from your 
 uncle in the event of his finding you on the 
 premises, I should be fully justified in dispen- 
 sing with the usual formalities and removing 
 you from his custody at once. At all events, 
 I will take that responsibility on myself — what- 
 ever risk I may incur." 
 
 " I crave your pardon for my seeming petu- 
 lance," she said, with a pretty humility. " I 
 should have known right w-ell that I might 
 safely rely on the protection of so gallant 
 and fearless a knight ! " 
 
 "You will understand, I am sure, ma'am," 
 I said, " that I cannot, as a bachelor, offer 
 you shelter under my own roof. What I 
 propose (subject, of course, to your approval) 
 is that I should place you under the care of 
 an old aunt of mine at Croydon until some 
 other arrangement can be made. I presume 
 it will not take you long to make your pre- 
 parations for the journey ? " 
 
 "What need of preparation?" she cried. "Let 
 us delay no longer, but fly this instant!" 
 
 " I should recommend you to take at least a 
 dressing-bag," 1 said ; " you will have time to 
 pack all you may require while your retainer
 
 THE SNOWING GLOBE 293 
 
 is fetching us a fly. Then I know of nothing 
 to hinder us from leaving at once." 
 
 "Nothing?" she exclaimed. "Do you dread 
 a dragon so little, then, that you can speak 
 thus lightly ? " 
 
 I could not help smiling ; it was so sur- 
 prising to find a Princess of her age who 
 still retained a belief in fairy-tales. " I think, 
 ma'am," I said, "that at this time of day a 
 dragon is not an obstacle which we need take 
 into serious consideration. You have evidently 
 not been informed that such a monster has 
 long since ceased to exist. In other words, 
 it is undoubtedly extinct." 
 
 "And you have slain it!" she cried, and 
 her eyes blazed with admiration. " I might 
 have guessed as much ! It is slain — and now 
 even my uncle has no longer power to detain 
 me here ! For many a long month I have 
 not dared to look from out my casements, 
 but now I may behold the light of day 
 once more without shrinking ! " She drew 
 back some hangings as she spoke, disclosing 
 a large oriel window, and the next moment 
 she cowered away with a cry of abject 
 terror.
 
 294 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 "Why have you deceived me?" she de- 
 manded, with indignant reproach. " It is not 
 extinct. It is still there. Look for yourself!" 
 
 I did look ; the window commanded the 
 rear of the castle, which I had not hitherto 
 seen, and now I saw something else so utterly 
 unexpected that I could hardly trust the evi- 
 dence of my own eyesight. 
 
 Towering above the battlemented outer wall 
 I saw a huge horny head, poised upon a long 
 and flexible neck, and oscillating slowly from 
 side to side with a sinister vigilance. Although 
 the rest of the brute was hidden by the wall, 
 I saw quite enough to convince me that it 
 could not well be anything else than a dragon 
 — and a formidable one at that. I thought I 
 understood now why the seneschal had been 
 so anxious to get me inside, though I wished 
 he had been rather more explicit. 
 
 I stood there staring at it — but I made no 
 remark. To tell the truth, I did not feel equal 
 to one just then, 
 
 The Princess spoke first. "You seem as- 
 tonished, sir," she said " yet you can hardly 
 have been in ignorance that my uncle has 
 set this ferocious monster to guard these
 
 THE SNOWING GLOBE 295 
 
 walls, and devour me should I strive to make 
 my escape." 
 
 "I can only say, ma'am," I replied, "that 
 this is the first intimation I have had of the 
 fact." 
 
 " Still, you are vi'ise and strong," she said. 
 " You will surely devise some means whereby 
 to rid me of this baleful thing ! " 
 
 " If you will permit me to draw the curtain 
 again," I said, " I will endeavour to think of 
 something. . . . Am I right in assuming that 
 the brute is the property of your uncle ? " 
 
 She replied that that was so. 
 
 "Then I think I see a way," I said. 
 "Your uncle could be summoned for allow- 
 ing such a dangerous animal to be at large, 
 since it is clearly not under proper control. 
 And if an application were made to a magis- 
 trate, under the Act of 187 1, he might be 
 ordered to destroy it at once." 
 
 "You little know my uncle," she said, with 
 a touch of scorn, " if you deem that he would 
 destroy his sole remaining dragon at the bidding 
 of any person whatever ! " 
 
 " He will incur a penalty of twenty shillings 
 a day till he does," I replied. " In any case,
 
 296 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 I can promise you that, if I can only manage 
 to get out of this place, you shall not be 
 exposed to this annoyance very much longer." 
 
 "You will ?" she cried. "Are you quite sure 
 that you will succeed ? " 
 
 " Practically I am," I said. " I shall apply 
 — always supposing I can get home safely — 
 the first thing to-morrow morning, and, if I 
 can only convince the Bench that the terms 
 of the Act are wide enough to include not only 
 dogs, but any other unmanageable quadrupeds, 
 why, the thing is as good as done ! " 
 
 " To-morrow ! to-morrow ! " she repeated 
 impatiently. " Must I tell you once more 
 that this is no time to delay? Indeed, sir, 
 if I am to be rescued at all, your hand alone 
 can deliver me from this loathly worm ! " 
 
 I confess I considered she was taking an 
 altogether extravagant view of the relations 
 between solicitor and client. 
 
 " If," I said, " it could be described with 
 any accuracy as a worm, I should not feel 
 the slightest hesitation about attacking it." 
 
 "Then you will?" she said, entirely missing 
 my point, as usual. "Tell me you will — for 
 mj/ sake ! "
 
 THE SNOWING GLOBE 297 
 
 She looked so engaging whilst making this 
 appeal that I really had not the heart to pain 
 her by a direct refusal. 
 
 "There is nothing," I said, "that is, nothing 
 in reason, that I would not do cheerfully for 
 your sake. But if you will only reflect, you 
 will see at once that, in a tall hat and over- 
 coat, and with absolutely no weapon but an 
 umbrella, I should not stand the ghost of a 
 chance against a dragon. I should be too 
 hopelessly overmatched." 
 
 " You say truth," she replied, much to my 
 satisfaction. " I could not desire any champion 
 of mine to engage in so unequal a contest. 
 So have no uneasiness on that score." 
 
 On this she clapped her hands as a summons 
 to the seneschal, who appeared so promptly 
 that I fancy he could not have been very far 
 from the keyhole. "This gallant gentleman," 
 she explained to him, " has undertaken to go 
 forth and encounter the dragon without our 
 walls, provided that he is fitly furnished for 
 so deadly a fray." 
 
 I tried to protest that she had placed a con- 
 struction on my remarks which they were not 
 intended to bear — but the old man was so
 
 298 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 voluble in thanks and blessings that I could 
 not get in a single word. 
 
 "You will conduct him to the armoury," 
 the Princess continued, " and see him arrayed 
 in harness meet for so knightly an endeavour. 
 Sir," she added to me, " words fail me at such 
 an hour as this. I cannot even thank you as 
 I would. But I know you will do your utmost 
 on my behalf. Should you fall " 
 
 She broke off here, being evidently unable 
 to complete her sentence, but that was un- 
 necessary. I knew what would happen if I 
 fell. 
 
 " But fall you will not," she resumed. 
 " Something tells me that you will return to 
 me victorious ; and then — and then — should 
 you demand any guerdon of me — yea " (and 
 here she blushed divinely) " even to this hand 
 of mine, it shall not be denied you." 
 
 Never in the whole course of my pro- 
 fessional career had I been placed in a posi- 
 tion of greater difficulty. My common sense 
 told me that it was perfectly preposterous on 
 her part to expect such services as these from 
 one who was merely acting as her legal adviser. 
 Even if I performed them successfully — which
 
 THE SNOWING GLOBE 299 
 
 was, to say the least of it, doubtful — my prac- 
 tice would probably be injuriously affected 
 should my connection with such an affair 
 become known. As for the special fee she 
 had so generously suggested, that, of course, 
 was out of the question. At my time of 
 life marriage with a flighty young woman of 
 eighteen — and a Princess into the bargain — 
 would be rather too hazardous an experiment. 
 
 And yet, whether it is that, middle-aged 
 bachelor as I am, I have still a strain of un- 
 suspected romance and chivalry in my nature, 
 or for some other cause that I cannot explain, 
 somehow I found myself kissing the little hand 
 she extended to me, and going forth without 
 another word to make as good a fight of it as 
 I could for her against such an infernal beast 
 as a dragon. I cannot say that I felt cheerful 
 over it, but, anyhow, I went. 
 
 I followed the seneschal, who led me down 
 by a different staircase from that I had come 
 up, and through an enormous vaulted kitchen, 
 untenanted by all but black-beetles, which were 
 swarming. Merely for the sake of conversation, 
 I made some remark on their numbers and 
 pertinacity, and inquired why no steps had
 
 300 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 apparently been taken to abate so obvious a 
 nuisance. "Alas! noble sir," he replied, as he 
 sadly shook his old white head, " 'twas the 
 scullions' office to clear the place of these 
 pests, and the last minion has long since 
 vanished from our halls ! " 
 
 I felt inclined to ask him where they had 
 vanished to — but I did not. I thought the 
 answer might prove discouraging. Even as it 
 was, I would have given something for a whisky- 
 and-soda just then — but he did not offer it, and 
 I did not like to suggest it for fear of being 
 misunderstood. And presently we entered the 
 armoury. 
 
 Only a limited number of suits were hanging 
 on the walls, and all of them were in a deplor- 
 ably rusty and decayed condition, but the 
 seneschal took them down one by one, and 
 made fumbling attempts to buckle and hook 
 me into them. Most unfortunately, not a single 
 suit proved what I should call workmanlike, 
 for I defy any man to fight a dragon in armour 
 which is too tight even to move about in with 
 any approach to comfort. 
 
 " I'm afraid it's no use," I told the seneschal, 
 as 1 reluctantly resumed my ordinary garments.
 
 THE SNOWING GLOBE 301 
 
 " You can see for yourself that there's nothing 
 here that comes near my size ! " 
 
 " But you cannot engage in combat with the 
 dragon in your present habihments ! " he re- 
 monstrated. " That were stark madness ! " 
 
 I was glad that the old man had sufficient 
 sense to see that. " I am quite of your opinion," 
 I replied ; " and believe me, my good old friend, 
 nothing is farther from my thoughts. My idea 
 is that if — I do not ask you to expose yourself 
 to any unnecessary risk — but if you could con- 
 trive to divert the dragon's attention by a 
 demonstration of some sort on one side of the 
 castle, I might manage to slip quietly out of 
 some door on the other." 
 
 "Are you but a caitiff, then, after all," he 
 exclaimed, *' that you can abandon so lovely 
 a lady to certain doom ? " 
 
 " There is no occasion for addressing me in 
 offensive terms," I replied. " I have no inten- 
 tion whatever of abandoning your mistress. 
 You will be good enough to inform her that 
 I shall return to-morrow without fail with a 
 weapon that will settle this dragon's business 
 more effectually than any of your obsolete lances 
 and battle-axes ! "
 
 302 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 For I had already decided on this as the 
 only course that was now open to me. I had 
 a friend who spent most of the year abroad in 
 the pursuit of big game, but who chanced by 
 good luck to be in town just then. He would, 
 I knew, willingly lend me an express rifle and 
 some expansive bullets, and, as an ex-volunteer 
 and marksman, I felt that the odds would then 
 be slightly in my favour, even if I could not, 
 as I hoped I could, persuade my friend to join 
 me in the expedition. 
 
 But the seneschal took a less sanguine view 
 of my prospects. 
 
 '' You forget, sir," he remarked lugubriously, 
 " that, in order to return hither, you must first 
 quit the shelter of these walls — which, all un- 
 armed as you are, would be but to court instant 
 death ! " 
 
 "I don't quite see that," I argued. "After 
 all, as the dragon made no effort to prevent 
 me from coming in, it is at least possible that 
 it may not object to my going out." 
 
 "For aught I can say," he replied, "it may 
 have no orders to hinder any from entrance. As 
 to that I know naught. But of this I am very sure 
 — it suffers no one to depart hence undevoured."
 
 THE SNOWING GLOBE 303 
 
 " But could I not contrive to get out of its 
 reach before it was aware that I had even 
 started ? " I suggested. 
 
 " I fear me, sir," he said despondently, " that 
 the creature would not fail to follow up your 
 tracks ere the snow could cover them." 
 
 "That had not occurred to me," I said. 
 " But now you mention it, it does not seem 
 altogether unlikely. In your opinion, then, I 
 should do better in remaining where I am ? " 
 
 " Only until the enchanter return," was his 
 reply, " as, if I mistake not, he may do at 
 any moment, after which your stay here will 
 assuredly be but brief." 
 
 " You can't mean," I said, " that he would 
 have the inhumanity to turn me out to be de- 
 voured by his beastly dragon ? For that is what 
 it would come to." 
 
 " Unless, perchance, by dint of strength or 
 cunning you were to overcome the monster," 
 he said. " And methought you had come 
 hither with that very intent." 
 
 " My good man," I replied, " I've no idea 
 why or how I came here, but it was certainly 
 with no desire or expectation of meeting a 
 dragon. However, I begin to see very clearly
 
 304 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 that if I can't find some way of putting an end 
 to the brute — and promptly, too — he will make 
 an end of me. The question is, how the deuce 
 am I to set about it ? " 
 
 And then, all at once, I had an inspiration. 
 I recollected the black-beetles, and something 
 the seneschal had said about its being the 
 scullions' duty to keep them down. I asked 
 him what methods they had employed for 
 this purpose, but, such humble details being 
 naturally outside his province, he was unable 
 to inform me. So I returned to the kitchen, 
 where I began a careful search, not without 
 some hope of success. 
 
 For awhile I searched in vain, but at last, 
 just when I had begun to despair, I found on 
 a dusty shelf in the buttery the identical thing 
 I had been looking for. It was an earthen 
 vessel containing a paste, which, in spite of 
 the fungoid growth that had collected on its 
 surface, I instantly recognised as a composition 
 warranted to prove fatal to every description 
 of vermin. 
 
 I called to the seneschal and asked if he 
 could oblige me with a loaf of white bread, 
 which he brought in evident bewilderment. I
 
 THE SNOWING GLOBE 305 
 
 cut a slice from the middle and was proceeding 
 to spread the paste thickly upon it when he 
 grasped my arm. " Hold ! " he cried. " Would 
 you rashly seek your death ere it is due ? " 
 
 "You need not be alarmed," I told him; 
 "this is not for myself. And now will you 
 kindly show me a way out to some part of the 
 roof where I can have access to the dragon ? " 
 
 Trembling from head to foot he indicated a 
 turret-stair, up which, however, he did not offer 
 to accompany me ; it brought me out on the 
 leads of what appeared to be a kind of bastion. 
 I crept cautiously to the parapet and peeped 
 over it, and then for the first time I had a full 
 view of the brute, which was crouching im- 
 mediately below me. I know how prone the 
 most accurate are to exaggeration in matters 
 of this kind, but, after making every allowance 
 for my excited condition at the time, I do not 
 think I am far out in estimating that the 
 dimensions of the beast could not have been 
 much, if at all, less than those of the " Diplo- 
 docus Carnegii," a model of which is exhibited 
 at the Natural History Museum, while its ap- 
 pearance was infinitely more terrific. 
 
 I do not mind admitting frankly that the
 
 3o6 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 sight so unmanned me for the moment that I 
 was seized with an almost irresistible impulse 
 to retire by the way I had come before the 
 creature had observed me. And yet it was not 
 without a certain beauty of its own ; I should 
 say, indeed, that it was rather an unusually 
 handsome specimen of its class, and I was 
 especially struck by the magnificent colouring 
 of its scales, which surpassed that of even the 
 largest pythons. Still, to an unaccustomed eye 
 there must always be something about a dragon 
 that inspires more horror than admiration, and 
 I was in no mood just then to enjoy the spec- 
 tacle. It was hunched up together, with its 
 head laid back, like a fowl's, between its wings, 
 and seemed to be enjoying a short nap, I 
 suppose I must unconsciously have given some 
 sign of my presence, for suddenly I saw the 
 horny films roll back like shutters from its 
 lidless eyes, which it fixed on me with a cold 
 glare of curiosity. 
 
 And then it shambled on to its feet, and slowly 
 elongated its neck till it brought its horrible 
 head on a level with the battlements. I need 
 not say that on this I promptly retreated to a 
 spot where I judged I should be out of im-
 
 THE SNOWING GLOBE 307 
 
 mediate danger. But I had sufficient presence 
 of mind to remember the purpose for which I 
 was there, and, fixing the prepared sHce on the 
 ferrule of my umbrella, I extended it as far as 
 my arm would reach in the creature's direction. 
 
 I fancy it had not been fed very lately. The 
 head made a lightning dart across the parapet, 
 and a voracious snap — and the next moment 
 both bread and umbrella had disappeared down 
 its great red gullet. 
 
 The head was then withdrawn. I could hear 
 a hideous champing sound, as of the ribs of 
 the umbrella being slowly crunched. After that 
 came silence. 
 
 Again I crawled to the parapet and looked 
 down. The huge brute was licking its plated 
 jaws with apparent gusto, as though — which 
 was likely enough — an umbrella came as an 
 unaccustomed snack to its jaded palate. It 
 was peacefully engaged now in digesting this 
 hors d'ccuvre. 
 
 But my heart only sank the lower at the 
 sight. For if an alpaca umbrella with an 
 ebony handle could be so easily assimilated, 
 what possible chance was there that beetle- 
 paste would produce any deleterious effect ?
 
 3o8 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 I had been a fool to place the faintest hope 
 on so desperate a hazard. Presently he would 
 be coming for more — and I had nothing for 
 him ! 
 
 But by-and-by, as I gazed in a sort of 
 fascinated repulsion, I fancied I detected some 
 slight symptoms of uneasiness in the reptile's 
 demeanour. 
 
 It was almost nothing at first — a restless 
 twitch at times, and a squint in its stony eyes 
 that I had not previously noticed — but it gave 
 me a gleam of hope. Presently I saw the 
 great crest along its spine slowly begin to 
 erect itself, and the filaments that fringed its 
 jaws bristling, as it proceeded to deal a suc- 
 cession of vicious pecks at its distended olive- 
 green paunch, which it evidently regarded as 
 responsible for the disturbance. 
 
 Little as I knew about dragons, a child 
 could have seen that this one was feeling 
 somewhat seriously indisposed. Only — was it 
 due to the umbrella or the vermin-killer ? As 
 to that I could only attempt to speculate, and 
 my fate — and the Princess's, too — hung upon 
 which was the correct diagnosis ! 
 
 However, I was not kept long in suspense.
 
 THE SNOWING GLOBE 309 
 
 Suddenly the beast uttered a kind of bellowing 
 roar — the most appalling sound I think I ever 
 heard — and after that I scarcely know what 
 happened exactly. 
 
 I fancy it had some kind of fit. It writhed 
 and rolled over and over, thrashing the air with 
 its big leathery wings, and tangling itself up to 
 a degree that, unless I had seen it, I should 
 have thought impossible, even for a dragon. 
 
 After this had gone on for some time, it 
 untied itself and seemed calmer again, till all 
 at once it curved into an immense arch, and 
 remained perfectly rigid with wings outspread 
 for nearly half a minute. Then it suddenly 
 collapsed on its side, panting, snorting, and 
 quivering like some monstrous automobile, 
 after which it stretched itself out to its full 
 length once or twice, and then lay stiff and 
 still. Its gorgeous hues gradually faded into a 
 dull, leaden-grey tint. . . . All was over — the 
 vermin-destroyer had done its work after all. 
 
 I cannot say that I was much elated. 1 am 
 not sure that I did not even feel a pang of 
 self-reproach. I had slain the dragon, it was 
 true, but by a method which I could not 
 think would have commended itself to St.
 
 3IO THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 George as entirely sportsmanlike, even though 
 the circumstances left me no other alternative. 
 
 However, I had saved the Princess, which, 
 after all, was the main point, and there was 
 no actual necessity for her to know more 
 than the bare fact that the dragon was dead, 
 
 I was just about to go down and inform 
 her that she was now free to leave the castle, 
 when I heard a whirring noise in the air, 
 and, glancing back, I saw, flying towards me 
 through the still falling snow, an elderly gentle- 
 man of forbidding aspect, who was evidently 
 in a highly exasperated state. It was the 
 Princess's uncle. 
 
 I don't know how it was, but till that 
 moment I had never realised the extremely 
 unprofessional proceeding into which I had 
 been betrayed by my own impulsiveness. But 
 I saw now, though too late, that, in taking 
 the law into my own hands and administering 
 a poisonous drug to an animal which, however 
 furious it might be, was still the property of 
 another, I had been guilty of conduct un- 
 worthy of any respectable solicitor. It was 
 undoubtedly an actionable tort, if not a tres- 
 pass — while he might even treat it as a criminal 
 offence.
 
 THE SNOWING GLOBE 311 
 
 So, as the magician landed on the roof, his 
 face distorted with fury, I felt that nothing 
 would meet the case but the most ample 
 apology. But, feeling that it was better to 
 allow the first remark to come from him, I 
 merely raised my hat and waited to hear what 
 he had to say. . . . 
 
 *' Are you being attended to, sir?" was the 
 remark that actually came — and both words 
 and tone were so different from what I had 
 expected that I could not repress a start. 
 
 And then, to my utter astonishment, I dis- 
 covered that battlements and magician had all 
 disappeared. I was back again in the toy- 
 shop, staring into the glass globe, in which 
 the snow was still languidly circling. 
 
 " Like to take one of these shilling snow- 
 storms, sir ? " continued the assistant, who 
 seemed to be addressing me ; " we're selling a 
 great quantity of them just now. Very suit- 
 able and acceptable present for a child, sir, 
 and only a shilling in that size, though we 
 have them larger in stock." 
 
 I bought the globe I had first taken up — but 
 I have not given it to my godchild. I pre- 
 ferred to keep it myself. 
 
 Of course, my adventure may have been
 
 312 THE SNOWING GLOBE 
 
 merely a kind of day-dream ; though, if so, 
 it is rather odd that it should have taken that 
 form, when, even at night, my dreams — on the 
 rare occasions when I do dream — never turn 
 upon such subjects as castles, princesses, or 
 dragons. 
 
 A scientific friend, to whom I related the 
 experience, pronounces it to be an ordinary 
 case of auto-hypnotism, induced by staring 
 into a crystal globe for a prolonged period. 
 
 But I don't know. I cannot help thinking 
 that there is something more in it than that. 
 
 I still gaze into the globe at times, when I 
 am alone of an evening ; but while I have 
 occasionally found myself back in the snow- 
 storm again, I have never, so far, succeeded 
 in getting into the castle. 
 
 Perhaps it is as well ; for, although I should 
 not at all object to see something more of the 
 Princess, she has most probably, thanks to my 
 instrumentality, long since left the premises — 
 and I cannot say that I have any particular 
 desire to meet the magician. 
 
 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson <5h Co. 
 Edinburgh <5r* London
 
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 516. Kid McGhie : A Nugget of Dim Gold. By S. R. Crockett. 
 
 515. Salted Almonds. By F. Anstey. 
 
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 498. Soprano : A Portrait. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 
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 2 Macmillmi's Colonial Library 
 
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 490. Atoms of Empire. By Cutcliffe Hyne. 
 
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 460. Helianthus. By Ouida. 
 
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 457. A Passage Perilous. By Rosa Nouchette Carey. 
 455. Lady Rose's Daughter. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. 
 454. The Flower 0' the Com. By S. R. Crockett. 
 453. The Ghost Camp ; or, The Avengers. By Rolf Boldrewood. 
 452. The Vultures. By H. Seton Merriman. 
 451. Jan Van Elselo. By Gilbert and Marion Coleridge, 
 450. By Dulvercombe Water. By Harold Vallings, 
 449. The Highway of Fate. By Rosa N. Carey. 
 448. Lavinia. ISy Rhoda Broughton. 
 447. The Virginian. By Owen Wister. 
 
 446. Cecilia: A Story of Modem Rome. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 445 Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall. By Charles Major. 
 444. The Conqueror. By Gertrude Atherton. 
 443. Gentleman Garnet. By H. B. Vogel. 
 442. Michael Ferrier. By E. Frances Poynter. 
 441. The Dark o' the Moon, By S. R. Crockett. 
 440. The Velvet Glove. By II. Seton Merriman. 
 439, The Westcotes. By A. T. Quiller Couch. 
 438. The Tory Lover. By Sarah Okne Jkwett.
 
 Maoiiillan's Colonial Library 3 
 
 437. The Youngest Girl in the School. By Evelyn Sharp. 
 
 436. The Making of a Marchioness. By Mrs. Hodgson Burnett. 
 
 435. Deep Sea Plunderings. By K. T. Buli.en. 
 
 434. The Sinner and the Problem. By Eric Parker. 
 
 433. The Old Knowledge. By Stephen Gwynn. 
 
 432. St. Nazarius. By Mrs. Farquharson. 
 
 431. Princess Puck. By Una L. Silberrad. 
 
 430. Herb of Grace. By Rosa N. Carey. 
 
 429. A Maid of Venice. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 428. The Benefactress. By the Author of " Elizabeth and Her German 
 
 Garden." 
 427. The Dolly Dialogues. By Anthony Hope. 
 426. Count Hannibal. By Stanley J. Weyman. 
 425. The Firebrand. By S. R. Crockett. 
 424. The Helmet of Navarre. By Bertha Runkle. 
 423. In Bad Company. By Rolf Boldrewood, 
 422. Cinderella. By S. R. Crockett. 
 421. The Silver Skull. By S. R. Crockett. 
 420. In the Kanks of the C.I.V. By E. Childers. 
 419. Number One and Number Two. By F. M. Beard. 
 418. Old New Zealand. Preface by the Earl of Pemuroke. 
 416. Men of the Merchant Service. By F. T. Bullen. 
 415. Eleanor. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. 
 414. Kim. By Rudyard Kiplinc. 
 
 413. Marshfield the Observer, etc. By Egerton Castle. 
 412. Four Months Besieged (Ladysmith). By H. H. S. Pearse. 
 411. The Crisis. By Winston Churchill. 
 410. The Secret Orchard. By Egerton Castle. 
 409. Prejudged. By Florence Montgomery. 
 
 405. Foes in Law. By Rhoda Broughton. 
 
 407. In the Palace of the King. By F. M. Cra\vfori>. 
 
 406. Richard Yea and Nay. By Maurice Hewlett. 
 405. Rue with a Difference. By Rosa N. Carey. 
 404. Modern Broods. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 
 
 403. The Increasing Purpose. By James Lane Allen. 
 
 402. The Bath Comedy. By A. and E. Castle. 
 
 401. An Isle of Unrest. By H. S. Mkrriman. 
 
 400. Babes in the Bush. By Rolf Boldrewood. 
 
 399. The Cambric Mask. By W. R. Chambers. 
 
 398. Little Anna Mark. By S. R. Crockett. 
 
 397. Donna Teresa. By F. M. Peard. 
 
 395> 396- From Sea to Sea. By Rudyard Kipling. 2 vols. 
 
 394. Valda Hanem. By Miss t). H. Pryce. 
 
 393. Breaking the Shackles. By Frank Barrett, 
 
 392. The Mettle of the Pasture. By J. Lane Allen. 
 
 391. Via Crucis. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 390. A Bitter Vintage. By K. D. King. 
 
 389. She Walks in Beauty. By Mrs. Hinkson (Katharine Tynan). 
 
 388. Richard Carvel. By Winston Churchill. 
 
 387. Little Novels of Italy. By M. Hewlett. 
 
 386. Stalky and Co. By Rudyard Kipling. 
 
 385. Miranda of the Balcony. By A. E. W. Mason. 
 
 384. War to the Knife. By Rolf Boldrewood. 
 
 3S3. The Log of a Sea- Waif. By F. T. Bullen. 
 
 382. The Enchanter. By Miss U. L. Silberrad. 
 
 381. The Cardinal's Page. By James Baker. 
 
 380. A Drama in Sunshine. By H. A. Vachell.
 
 4 Macmillan's Colonial Library 
 
 379. Rupert, by the Grace of God— By Dora McChesney. 
 
 378. Black Douglas. By S. R. Crockett. 
 
 377. The Etchingham Letters. By Mrs. Fuller Maitland and Sii 
 
 F. Pollock, Bart. 
 376. A Modern Mercenary. By K. and H. Prichard. 
 375. Cruise of the "Cachalot." By F. T. Bullen. 
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 369. The Game and the Candle. By Rhoda Broughton 
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 365. For the Term of his Natural Life. By Marcus Clarke. 
 364. The Gospel Writ in Steel. By Arthur Paterson. 
 363. Bismillah. By A. J. Dawson. 
 362. A Treasury Officer's Wooing. By C. Lowis. 
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 344. Rupei-t of Hentzau. By Anthony Hope. 
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 340. For Prince and People. By E. K. Sanders. 
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 337. Unkist Unkind. By Violet Hunt. 
 336. The Well Beloved. By Thomas Hardy. 
 334. Lawrence Clavering. By A. E. W. Mason. 
 332. A Rose of Yesterday. By F. AIarion Crawford. 
 331. Sport and Travel in India and Central America. By A. G. 
 
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 327. The Fall of a Star. By Sir W. Magnay. 
 326. The Secret of Saint Florel. By John Berwick. 
 325. My Run Home. By Rolf Boldrewood. 
 320. The Philanderers. By A. E. W. Mason. 
 319. Queen of the Moor. By F. Adye. 
 317, 318. Farthest North. By F. Nansen. 2 vols. 
 316. The Pilgrimage of the Ben Beriah. By C. M. Yonge. 
 315. Stories of Naples and the Camorra. By C. Grant. 
 312. The Green Book ; or, Freedom under the Snow. By M. Jokai. 
 310. The Money Spinner. I'y H. S. Merriman and S. G. 
 
 Tai.lkntvre. 
 309. Palladia. By Mrs. Hugh Fraser. 
 307. Wheels of Chance. By II. G. Wells. 
 30&. A Woman of Thirty. By H. de Balzac. 
 305. About Catherine de Medicis. By ?I. de Balzac. 
 304. The Peasantry. By H. dk I^ai.zac.
 
 MaanillarCs Colonial Library 5 
 
 303. Ravenstone. By C. R. Colp:ridge and Helen Siupton. 
 
 301. Camps, Quarters, and Casual Places. By Archibald Forbes. 
 
 300. The Story of Maurice Lestrange. By Mrs. Omond. 
 
 299. The Sealskin Cloak. By Rolf Boldkewood. 
 
 298. For Freedom's Sake. By Arthur Paterson. 
 
 297. Taquisara. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 296. Sir George Tressady. By Mrs. Humihry Ward. 
 
 295. Master Beggars. By L. Cope Cornford. 
 
 294. Jude the Obscure. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 293. Beatrix. By H. dk Balzac. 
 
 290. Mrs. Martin's Company. By Jane Barlow. 
 
 289. Tom Grogan. By F. Hopkinson Smith. 
 
 288. The Inn by the Shore. By Florence Warden. 
 
 287. Old Melbourne Memories. By Rolf Boldrewood. 
 
 286. Denis. By Mrs. E. M. Fif:ld. 
 
 285. Caesar Eirotteau. By H. de Balzac. 
 
 284. Pierette. By H. de Balzac. 
 
 283. A Bachelor's Establishment. By H. de Balzac. 
 
 282. His Honour and a Lady. By S. J. Duncan. 
 
 281. The Unknown Masterpiece. By H. de Balzac. 
 
 280. The Grand Bretache. By H. de Balzac. 
 
 279. Robert Helmont. By A. Daudet. 
 
 276. Recollections of a Literary Man. By A. Uaude r. 
 
 275. Kings in Exile. By A. Daudet. 
 
 274. Tartarin of the Alps. By A. Daudet. 
 
 273. Tartarin of Tarascon. By A. Daudet. 
 
 272. Disturbing Elements. By M. C. Birchenough. 
 
 271. The Sowers. By H. 8. Merriman. 
 
 270. Cleg Kelly. By S. R. Crockett. 
 
 269. The Judge of the Four Comers. By G. B. Burgin. 
 
 268. The Release. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 
 
 267. The Atheist's Mass, etc. By H. de Balzac. 
 
 266. Old Goriot. By H. de Balzac. 
 
 264. The Courtship of Morrice Buckler. By A. E. W. Mason. 
 
 263. Where Highways Cross. By J. S. Fletcher. 
 
 262. A Ringby Lass. By Mary Beaumont. 
 
 261. A Modem Han. By Ella MacMahon. 
 
 260. Maureen's Fairing. By Jane Barlow. 
 
 258. Tryphena in Love. By W. Raymond. 
 
 257. The Old Pastures. By Mrs. Leith-Adams. 
 
 256. Lindsay's Girl. By Mrs. Herbert Martin. 
 
 255. Ursule Mirouet. By H. de Balzac. 
 
 254. The Quest of the Absolute. By H. de Balzac. 
 
 253. Wee Willie Winkie, etc. By Rudyard Kipling. 
 
 252. Soldiers Three, etc. By Rudyard Kipling. 
 
 251. Many Inventions, etc. By Rudyard Kipling. 
 
 250. Life's Handicap, etc. By Rudyard Kipling. 
 
 249. The Light that Failed. r>y Rudyard Kipling. 
 
 248. Plain Tales from the Hills. By Rudyard Kipling. 
 
 247. The Country Doctor. By H. de Balzac, 
 
 246. The Chouans. By H. de Balzac. 
 
 245. Eugenie Grandet. By H. de Balzac. 
 
 244. At the sign of the Cat and Racket. By II. de Balzac. 
 
 243. The Wild Ass's Skin. By 11. dk Balzac. 
 
 241. The btory of a Marriage. By Mrs. A. Baldwin. 
 
 241. The Wonderful Visit. By H. G. Wells. 
 
 240. A Youth of Parnassus, iiy L. Pearsai i. Smith.
 
 6 Macmillans Colonial Library 
 
 239. A Sweet Disorder. By Norma Lorimer. 
 
 238, The Education of Antonio. By F. E. Phillips. 
 
 237. For Love of Prue. By Leslie Keith. 
 
 236. The Wooing of Doris. By Mrs. J. K. Spender. 
 
 235. Captain Flick. By Fergus Hume. 
 
 234. Not Exactly. By E. M. Stooke. 
 
 233. A Set of Rogues. By Frank Barrett. 
 
 232. Minor Dialogues. By W. Pett Ri uge. 
 
 231. My Honey. By the Author of " Tipcat." 
 
 230. The Shoulder of Shasta. By Bram Stoker. 
 
 229. Casa Braccio. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 228. The Salt of the Earth. By P. Lafargue. 
 
 227. The Horseman's Word. By Neil Roy. 
 
 226. Comrades in Arms. By Arthur Amyand. 
 
 225. The Wild Rose. By Francis Francls. 
 
 224. The Crooked Stick. By Rolf Boldrewood. 
 
 223. The Herons. By Helen Shipton. 
 
 222. Adam Johnstone's Son. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 220. A Son of the Plains. By Arthur PatersOxN. 
 
 219. Winifred Mount. By Riciiaku Pryce. 
 
 218. The Lovely Malincourt. By Helen Mathers. 
 
 217. Mistress Dorothy Marvin. By J. C. Snaith. 
 
 216. The Renegade. By James Chalmers. 
 
 215. Prisoners of Silence. By Mary A. Dickens. 
 
 214. By Order of the Brotherhood. By Le Voleur. 
 
 213. Neighbours of Om"s. By H. W. Nevinson. 
 
 212. The Martyred Fool. By D. Christie Murray. 
 
 211. Under God's Sky. By Deas Cromarty. 
 
 210. Alice Lauder. By Mrs. J. Glenny Wilson. 
 
 209. Thirteen Doctors. By Mrs. J. K. Spender. 
 
 208. The Burden of a Woman. By Richard Pryce. 
 
 207. Peter Steele, the Cricketer. By II. G. Hutchinson. 
 
 206. Two in the Bush, etc. By Frankfort Moore. 
 
 205. The Great Dominion. By G. R. Parkin. 
 
 204. A Long Vacation. By C. M. Yonge. 
 
 203. The Ralstons. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 202. Seething Days. By Caroline C. Holroyd. 
 
 201. In the Lion's Mouth. By Eleanor C. Price. 
 
 200. Chapters from some Memoirs. By Mrs. Ritchie. 
 
 199. The Vagabonds. By Margaret L. Woods. 
 
 198. Peter Ibbetson. By George du Maurier. 
 
 197. Sibylla. By Sir Henry Cunningham, K.C I.E. 
 
 196. Two on a Tower. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 194. A Laodicean. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 193. The Hand of Ethelberta. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 192. Life's Little Ironies. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 191. A Group of Noble Dames. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 190. The Trumpet Major. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 189. The Return of the Native. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 188. Far from the Madding Crowd. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 187. A Pair of Blue Eyes. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 186. Desperate Remedies. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 185. Tess of the D'Urbervilles. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 184. The Prisoner of Zenda. By Anthony Hope. 
 
 183. The Story of Dan. By M. E.Francis. 
 
 181. Katharine Lauderdale. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 180. The Raiders. P>y S. R. Crockei r.
 
 Macinillaiis Colonial Library y 
 
 [79. Cawnpore. By Rt. Hon. Sir G. O. Tkevelyan, Bart. 
 
 [78. Elements of Metaphysics. By Dr. Paul IJeussen. 
 
 [77. A Valiant Ignorance. By Mary Angela Dickens. 
 
 [75. A Modern Buccaneer. By Rolf Boldrewood. 
 
 [74. Marcella. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. 
 
 173. Round London. By Montagu Williams, Q.C. 
 
 172. Later Leaves. By Montagu Williams, Q.C. 
 
 171. Leaves of a Life. By Montagu Williams, Q.C. With a Portrait, 
 
 170. Yeast: A Problem. By Charles Kingsley. 
 
 169. Two Years Ago. By Charles Kingsley. 
 
 165. Hereward the Wake. By Charles Kingsley. 
 167. Hypatia. By Charles Kingsley. 
 
 166. Alton Locke, Tailor and Poet. By Charles Kingsley. 
 165. Westward Ho! By Charles Kingsley. With a Portrait. 
 164. Adventures in Mashonaland. By Blennerhasseit and 
 
 Sleeman. 
 
 163. Richard Escott. By E. H. Cooper. 
 [62. Lady William. By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 161. Marion Darche. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 [58. Pietro Ghisleri. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 [57. The Last Touches. By Mrs. Clifford. 
 [56. Strolling Players. By C. M. Yonge and C. R. Coleridge. 
 [55. Grisly Grisell. By C. M. Yonge. 
 
 154. Records of Tennyson, Euskin, and Browning. By Mrs. Ritchie. 
 [53. The Marplot. By S. R. Lysaght. 
 [52. John I'revennick. By W. C. Riioades. 
 151. A Mere CjT)h6r. By Mary Angela Dickens. 
 [50. A Bom Player. By Mary West. 
 [49. The Real Thing, etc. By Henry James. 
 
 ~. The Lesson of the Master, etc. By Henry James. 
 147. Don Orsino. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 146. The Heir Presumptive and the Heir Apparent. By Mrs. 
 
 Oliphant. 
 
 145. Under Pressure. By the Marchesa Theodoli. 
 144. The Children of the King. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 143. Imperial Federation. By G. R. Parkin. 
 142. Imperial Defence. By Sir Chas. Dilke and S. Wilkinson. 
 141. Helen Treveryan. By Sir M. Durand, K.C.I.E. 
 140. The Story of Dick. By Major Gambier Parry. 
 139. The Three Fates. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 [38. The Marriage of Elinor. By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 [37. A Strange Elopement. By W. Clark Russell. 
 136. A First Family of Tasajara. By Bret Harte. 
 [35. The History of David Grieve. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. 
 134. Mariam, or Twenty-one Days. By H. Victor. 
 133. The Railway Man and his Children. By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 (32. Blanche, Lady Falaise. ByJ. H. Shorthouse. 
 131. Cecilia de Noel. By Lanoe Falconer. 
 29. The Witch of Prague. By F. Marion Crawford. Illustrated. 
 [28. That Stick. By C. M. Yonge. 
 127. Nevermore. By Rolf Boldrewood. 
 [26. Tim. 
 
 [24. A Sydney- Side Saxon. By Rolf Boldrewood. 
 (23. The Philadelphian. By L. J. Jennings, M.P. 
 
 , Khaled. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 :i9. Two Penniless Princesses. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 
 [18. The Expansion of England. ByJ. R. Seeley.
 
 8 Maanillafis Colonial Library 
 
 ii6. A Colonial Reformer. By Rolf Boldrewood. 
 
 115. Kirsteen. By Mrs. Olithant. 
 
 114. The Squatter's Dream. By Rolf Boldrewood. 
 
 113. More Bywords. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 
 
 112. Wheat and Tares. By Sir Henry Conningham. 
 
 Ill, A Cigarette-Maker's Romance. ByF. Marion Crawford. 
 
 109. The Tragic Muse. By Henry James. 
 
 108. The Ring of Amasis. By Lord Lytton. 
 
 107. The Miner's Right. By Rolf Boldrewood, 
 
 106, The Heriots. By Sir Henry Cunningham. 
 
 105. A Lover of the Beautiful. By the Marchioness of Carmarthen. 
 
 loi. English Traits. By Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
 
 99. Sant' Ilario, By F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 98. Marooned. By W. Clark Russell. 
 
 97. A Reputed Changeling. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 
 
 96. The Intellectual Life. By Philip Gilbert Hamerton. 
 
 95. The Gospel of the Resurrection. By Bishop Westcott. 
 
 94. Robbery under Arms. By Rolf Boldrewood. 
 
 93. An Author's Love. 
 
 92. French and English : A Comparison. By P. G. Hamerton. 
 
 90. Neighbours on the Green. By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 
 89. Greifenstetn. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 85. Kophetua the Thirteenth. By Julian Corbett. 
 
 84. Miss Bretherton. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. 
 
 83. Beechcroft at Rockstone. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 
 
 82. The Countess Eve. By J. H. Shorthouse. 
 
 80. The Mediation of Ralph Hardeiot. By Wm. Minto. 
 
 79. Cressy. By Bret Harte. 
 
 76. With the Immortals. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 74. Wessex Tales. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 72. The Argonauts of North Liberty. By Bret Harte. 
 
 71. Joyce. By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 
 70. Chris. By W. E. Norris. 
 
 69. A Teacher of the Violin, and other Tales. ByJ. H. Shorthouse. 
 
 65. Paul Patoff. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 64. Marzio's Crucifis. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 63. The Second Son. By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 
 59. Zoroaster. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 55. The Crusade of " The Excelsior." By Bret Harte. 
 
 49. The Woodlanders. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 46. Saracinesca. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 44. Critical Miscellanies. By John Morley. 
 
 41. Tom Brown's School Days. By an Old Boy. 
 
 40. Essays in Criticism. By Matthew Arnold. 
 
 36. Sir Percival. By J. H. Shorthouse. 
 
 35. A Modem Telemachus. By Chakloi'te M. Yonge. 
 
 32. The Mayor of Casterbridge. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 26. Living or Dead. By IT unii Conway, Author of "Called Back," etc. 
 8. A Tale of a Lonely Parish. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 7. A Roman Singer. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 6. Dr. Claudius : A True Story. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 5. Mr. Isaacs : A Tale of Modern India. By F. Marion Crawford. 
 4. A Family Affair. By Hugh Conway, Author of "Called Back." 
 
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