THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 « 

 
 Jv^\yU^( 
 
 THE GEEAT MEN 
 
 AND 
 
 A PE ACTIO AL NOVELIST
 
 I'UINTED BY 
 
 SI'OTT bWOODE AND CO., NHW-STKBUiT SQUARE 
 
 LONDON
 
 a. 
 
 C5 
 
 '■-"1
 
 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 AKU 
 
 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN DAVIDSON 
 
 AUTHOr> OF 'rEKl'ERVlD' ' SCAKAMOCCH IN NAXOB ' ETC. 
 
 11/'/// FOVl! ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. J. ELLIS 
 
 Ifonbon 
 WARD & DOWNEY 
 
 YORK STEEET, COVENT GARDEN 
 1891 
 
 All righli reserved
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 'f 
 
 NOTE 
 
 This book is not a sequel to ' Perfervicl.' Although in 
 its pages Ninian Jamieson, Cosmo Mortimer, and The 
 Great Men reappear, they are altogether subordinate to 
 what they have to tell. 
 
 J. D. 
 
 519541 
 
 LMGUSH
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 CHATTER 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. A FESTIVE OCCASION 3 
 
 II. 'WHEN I WAS HUGH SMITH' . ,. 
 
 III. THE SCHOOLBOY'S TRAGEDY . . . ... . gg 
 
 IV. THE GLASGOW GHOSTS qq 
 
 V. WATER AND WHISKEY gO 
 
 VI. CHARLES DICKENS AND WILLIAM .JAMES CONDY . .91 
 
 VII. A THEORY OF PRACTICAL JOKICS 1Q2 
 
 VIII. EAGLE'S SHADOW jQg 
 
 IX. THE VERY TIMID GREAT MAN COMES OUT OK HIS SHELL 126 
 
 X. THE SALVATION OF NATURE 
 
 137 
 
 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 NOTE , . . . 
 
 I. BAGGING A HERO 
 
 164 
 
 . 165 
 
 II. THE SUITOR AND THE SUED ,77 
 
 III. ON THE ROAD 
 
 IV. A ' HEAVY ' FATHER . . 
 V. THE ART OF PROPOSING .... 
 
 VI. LEE EN.TOYS HIMSELF . 
 
 * * • • I , 
 
 VII. THE UNEXPECTED .... 
 vnr. BRISCOE sees things in a new LIGHT 
 IX. DEMPSTER APOLOGISES . . 
 
 X. THi; night BREEZE 
 
 XI. CONCLUSION . 
 
 192 
 197 
 205 
 221 
 230 
 240 
 245 
 257 
 268
 
 1 [.LUSTRATIONS 
 
 THE VERY TIMID GREAT MAN SPEAKS . , . Frontisjjicce 
 
 A REMARKABLE DUEL Tu faCC p. 10 
 
 ' I WOULD LIKE TO SEE THE PYRAMIDS ' . . ,, 50 
 
 LYNDEN PENPERGWYN WATCHING LEWELLYN . . „ 154
 
 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 B
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A FESTIVE OCCASION 
 
 ' Summer in Edinburgli ! ' "* 
 
 It was Cosmo Mortimer who uttered tlicat exclama- 
 tion one July evening, as lie seated himself in the 
 president's chair in the old-fashioned room where his 
 club, The Great Men, met : an exclamation which he 
 followed up by the very striking remark, ' I should 
 rather think so ! ' 
 
 ' Of course ! ' said the honorary secretary, in a tone 
 that challenged, while it disdained, argument, 
 
 ' Rather ! ' said the timid Great Man who was 
 honorary steward. 
 
 ' Of course — rather — what ? ' queried Cosmo, jump-- 
 ing up fiercely and taking off his coat ; but it was only 
 on account of the heat. 
 
 ' Summer in Edinburgh, of course," said the 
 secretary less confidently. 
 
 The honorary steward was understood to hint that 
 he had spoken rashly, but his remark was not 
 audible. 
 
 ' lias anybody got anything to say about summer 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE GEEAT MEl^ 
 
 in Edinbnrgli ? ' asked Cosmo, glaring round on tlio 
 Great ]\len. 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 ' I thought not,' said Cosmo, pacified. ' I thought 
 not. I had something to communicate about summer 
 in Edinburgh, but I dare say it is not worth while.' 
 
 ' Go on ! go on ! ' cried the five Great Men as one 
 Great Man. 
 
 ' It was a very simple remark,' said Cosmo. ' It 
 occurred to me, as I was walking along Princes Street 
 on my way here, that Edinburgh is the only place in 
 the world where summer can be properly enjoyed. 
 That is all.' 
 
 He looked round with defiance, but the fullest 
 acquiescence beamed in the faces of the Great Men. 
 
 ' Well,' said Cosmo, discontentedly, ' since you all 
 agree, there's no need why I should argue the point. 
 I tell you what it is, gentlemen,' he continued, with 
 rising choler, ' unless some of you begin to cultivate a 
 habit of judicious contradiction this club will decline 
 away and die. Contradiction, gentlemen, is the first 
 condition of corporate life — of all life in fact. For 
 example, it is the basis of the British Constitution. 
 The British Constitution is a triple contradiction — a 
 triangular duel — sovereign, lords, and commons. 
 Contradiction ! Why, it appears everywhere from the 
 highest to the lowest — heaven, hell — husband, wife — 
 day, night. Gentlemen, the universe is simply a 
 contradiction in terms,'
 
 A FESTIVE OCCASION 5 
 
 Four of the Great Men looked astounded, but the 
 very timid fifth Great Man remarked in a weak voice 
 that it was rather hot, and took off his coat. 
 
 ' Sir,' said Cosmo Mortimer, ' what do you mean by 
 imitating me ? Can't you invent something of your 
 own r 
 
 ' I'll take my vest oif, too,' stammered the very 
 timid Great Man, suiting the action to the word. 
 
 ' Good ! ' said Cosmo with an approving nod. 
 
 Whereupon the honorary secretary took off his 
 collar, the honorary steward buckled up his sleeves, the 
 honorary porter turned up his trousers, and the fourth 
 Great Man, distinguished by nothing except his success 
 in forestalling the remarks of the fifth Great Man, after 
 several moments of intense despair, rose to the occasion 
 and put on his hat. 
 
 ' Very good, gentlemen ; very good indeed,' said 
 Cosmo in a paternal tone. ' Always aim at originality 
 even in the most insignificant matters.' 
 
 At that moment a knock at the door, consisting of 
 five gentle taps, evidently produced by the knuckle 
 of a forefinger, startled the five Great Men ; but the 
 president, without the least indication of surprise, 
 shouted ' Come in.' 
 
 Two silent and mysterious-looking waiters entered, 
 and, having set the table for supper, withdrew. 
 
 As soon as they had gone the secretary, pale but 
 determined, rose in his place. He took out of his 
 minute-book, which he had lifted from the table when
 
 6 THE GliEAT MEN 
 
 the waiters began tlieir operations, the printed constitu- 
 tion of the club, and read, with much agitation, Rule 6, 
 whicli ran as follows: — 'As this club is intended 
 exclusively for intellectual edification, nothing shall 
 be consumed during its meetings except whiskey and 
 tobacco — the one to keep the brains of the members at a 
 proper tension, and the other to prevent over-excite- 
 ment.' 
 
 ' It is, Mr. President, my painful duty,' said the 
 secretary, still much agitated, ' to draw the attention of 
 the club to the fact that there are upon the table 
 certain signs that betoken an impending infringement 
 of this important rule.' 
 
 ' Hear ! ' from the melancholy porter. 
 
 ' Mr. President,' continued the secretary, encouraged 
 by the approval of his brother official, ' I believe I have 
 the support of every member of the club, including 
 yourself, sir (although it would seem that you are at 
 least acquainted with the origin of these preparations, 
 and appear to be wholly undismayed by them), in 
 demanding — in demanding ' 
 
 ' An explanation,' suggested the honorary steward. 
 
 ' Apology,' murmured the porter. 
 
 ' Explanatory apology,' amended the fourth Great 
 Man in a tentative whisper. 
 
 ' in demanding an apologetic explanation,' con- 
 tinued the secretary, combining the three hints with 
 becoming originality. ' As I said at the outset of my 
 remarks, it is a painful duty that I have to perform in
 
 A FESTm; OCCASION 5f 
 
 calling on our respected liead to show cause wli}^ a rule 
 wliich lie proposed, and wliicli we passed with acclama- 
 tion, should be overridden in this surreptitious and 
 roughshod manner ; but I have performed it, and I sit 
 down with a clear conscience, feeling certain that I 
 have cleared the conscience of the club, and opened up 
 the way for our president to clarify his.' 
 
 Cosmo Mortimer was on his feet at once. None of 
 the Great Men dared to look at him ; but they bowed 
 their heads and shrank together, like sensitive plants 
 anticipating a storm. 
 
 ' Gentlemen, you put me in a difficulty,' began their 
 president ; and the very timid Great Man looked up 
 amazed, for the tones were silvery. His amazement 
 passed into bewilderment when he beheld the benignity 
 of Cosmo's expression. When Cosmo went on to say 
 that he did owe them an apology, all the other Great 
 Men unfolded their leaves, as it were, and turned their 
 astonished and gi'ateful countenances towards their 
 smiling chief. 
 
 ' Yes,' continued Cosmo, ' I owe you an apology ; 
 but I wished to give you a surprise — a surprise which 
 I am certain will be found to be not only an apology for, 
 but in itself a suspension of, Rule G. If I have your 
 confidence, gentlemen, I beg that you will allow me to 
 offer my apology and my suqirise at one and the same 
 time.' 
 
 Never had Cosmo appeared in such an amiable 
 light ; not one member of the club could recall any
 
 8 TIIK GREAT MEN 
 
 former occasion on which he had deferred to the opinion 
 of others. The five Great Men as one Great Man 
 shouted ' Yos,' and looked towards their secretary, who 
 rose, and in the name of tlie club thanked its president 
 for his affability, his tenderness for the feelings of others, 
 and, if he might use the expression, for this eruption of 
 greatness in a new place on his part. 
 
 Hardly had the secretary resumed his seat for the 
 second time, when one of the mysterious waiters opened 
 the door, and announced in a loud voice ' Mr. Ninian 
 Jamieson.' AVhereupon that gentleman entered the 
 room, followed by the other waiter with a little barrel 
 in his arms which he placed tenderly on a side table. 
 
 ' My surprise,' said Cosmo in an elevated voice, in- 
 dicating the ex-jorovost. ' My apology,' he whispered 
 with a pawky smile, pointing to the side table. 
 
 Then he introduced Ninian Jamieson to the five 
 Great Men individually, each of whom had a novel 
 greeting for him ; the fifth Great Man outstripping all 
 competition in originality by grasping his hand silently, 
 and then turning his back on him. 
 
 ' Gentlemen,' said Cosmo Mortimer, seating Jamieson 
 on his right, and inviting the others by a wave of his 
 hand to take their accustomed places, ' this is an his- 
 torical occasion. To-night we entertain the greatest 
 man it has been my fortune to meet ; and to-night we 
 broach, and shall probably drink to the dregs, the last 
 barrel of the " Dunmyatt Whiskey." When, a few days 
 ago, Mr. Jamieson announced by letter that but one
 
 A FESTIVE OCCASION 9 
 
 barrel of the finest whiskey the world has ever known 
 remained, and that he destined it for me, I at once 
 determined on the line of action, the success of which 
 is so far realised. It remains with yon, gentlemen, to 
 carry it to a prosperous issue.' 
 
 The five Great Men responded b}' cheering Cosmo 
 and Niuian until the roof ransc aofain, and without 
 more delay the mysterious waiters began to serve the 
 banquet. 
 
 It would be impossible for the pen of any gastro- 
 nome to do justice to that banquet. It was a species 
 of satire on banquets in general, unintended on Cosmo's 
 part — for it was of his ordering and arranging — but 
 simply the outcome of his greatness. It began with 
 Welsh rarebit and champagne — ' the best whet in the 
 world,' Cosmo assured his hesitating guests. Then 
 followed rump-steaks with tomatoes, mushrooms, and 
 potatoe-salad. After which came another whet in the 
 shape of four dozen oysters apiece with flagons of stout 
 and bitter. This whet was to prepare the way for a 
 haggis, the ingredients of which had been selected by 
 the giver of the feast. Ninian, in describing the enter- 
 tainment to his wife, declared that the haggis consisted 
 of as many elements as chemistry has discovered in the 
 earth, and that it was just about as compact and eatable 
 as the great world-pudding itself. With tlio haggis 
 they drank port. Hotch-potch followed with boiled 
 potatoes : Cosmo insisted on every man eating potatoes 
 with his broth, Various kick-shaws then succeede
 
 10 THE GEEAT MEN 
 
 cacli other, anJ witli every new disli the waiters grew 
 more mysterious-looking, and the guests more appalled, 
 until when gorgonzola was served with apricots the very 
 iiiiiid Great Man turned positively pale with fear. But 
 greater marvels were in store for them. After a third 
 whet in the shape of fig-pudding with ices, the waiters 
 brought in fowls, pork, s:ilmon, whiting, interspersed 
 with jellies, custards, tarts ; and as the consternation of 
 the guests and the mysterious aspect of the waiters 
 increased, Cosmo Mortimer's self-satisfaction and com- 
 plaisance grew astonishing to behold. At length coffee 
 was served, and a sigh of relief burst from the gorged 
 bosoms of the Great Men ; but the very timid Great Man. 
 noticed, with a sickly feeling, that the countenances of 
 the waiters were not yet delivered of their burdens of 
 mystery, and that there was still a prospective gleam in 
 the self-satisfaction of Cosmo. As a matter of fact tho 
 tragic farce was not yet over, although nobody could 
 have divined the terrible solecism with which it was to 
 conclude. 
 
 Conversation, which had been confined during tho 
 banquet to a good-humoured soliloquy on the part of 
 the host, was becoming general, when the door opened 
 once more, and the waiters appeared again with a large 
 tray between them. On this tray — horrihile didu! — was 
 borne a horn spoon, a small cog of milk, and a large cog 
 of steaming porridge for each man. With furtive glances 
 and abashed actions the two waiters set the dishes ; and 
 then, their faces emptied at last of all mystery, they took
 
 <
 
 A FESTIVE OCCASION 11 
 
 up positions behind Cosmo's cliair, amid a, silence that, 
 like the Egyptian darkness, could be felt. 
 
 It was the very timid Great Man who broke the 
 silence. He rose slowly, and shook himself, as if he 
 had been a bag of corn. ' No ! ' he said lugubriously, 
 ' there's no room.' He then took a large double-bladed 
 knife from his pocket, and, opening both blades, closed 
 his fist tightly on the handle. ' I believe in drinking 
 fair and I believe in eating fair,' he continued in a for- 
 lorn voice ; ' but a man can only eat and drink his best. 
 It will never be said that I, Alistair McGlumpha, 
 allowed a dish or a bottle that the Great Men 
 ate or drank to pass me living. The first man that 
 puts a spoon to his mouth signs my death-warrant. 
 The knife is sharp, and I know where the jugular is.' 
 
 Cosmo dijoped his spoon in his milk and looked 
 defiance ; the very timid Great Man flourished his knife. 
 Cosmo took some porridge in his spoon, and the very 
 timid Great Man clutched his own chin with his left 
 hand. 
 
 ' One,' counted the very timid Great Man. 
 
 ' Two,' said Cosmo fiercely with a nod of his head. 
 
 But neither of them said 'three,' for Ninian 
 Jamieson interposed. ' I think,' said the ex-provost, 
 with a twinkle in his eye, ' that this truly remarkable 
 duel should not be allowed to go any further. It is 
 quite evident that Cosmo is able and willing to destroy 
 our friend at the foot of the table with one mouthful of
 
 12 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 porridge ; and it is, of course, equally evident that our 
 friend at llie foot of the table is determined not to 
 survive the disgrace which the laws of fair eating and 
 fair drinking and his own state of repletion would in- 
 evitably bring upon him were Cosmo to swallow one 
 spoonful of this indubitably well made, and, I have no 
 doubt, most delightful porridge. Honour, therefore, is 
 satisfied ; and 1 have to call upon the Great Men to 
 prevent bloodshed by a deed of self-sacrifice — none other 
 than the leaving this porridge unsupped. I know that 
 it is almost beyond the powers of flesh and blood to 
 permit such a savoury dish, coming, as it does, after a 
 supper unparalleled in the annals of gastronomy, a 
 supper which might be called one prolonged whet 
 preparing the appetite for this spicy delicacy — I say 
 that it is almost more than man can endure to permit 
 this steaming fragrance to pass untasted ; but you are 
 not men, you are C4reat Men, and I call upon you to 
 save the life of one of your number by an abstinence 
 which, while it may derange our health and react 
 disastrously on our souls, will redound for ever to our 
 humanity. In short, Mr. President and Great Men, if 
 a proposal from me is in order, I beg to move that the 
 porridge be held as supped.' 
 
 With knife and spoon suspended the duellists at the 
 conclusion of Ninian's speech looked across at each other 
 unflinchingly. Hope had dawned on the faces of the 
 four Great Men, and murmurs of approbation now broke
 
 A FESTIVE OCCASION 13 
 
 from their lips. Still, neither of the antagonists moved 
 a muscle. Ninian perceived the difficulty. 
 
 ' When I count three you will both lower your 
 weapons,' he said. ' Thus neither can say that the 
 other yielded. One, two, three.' 
 
 The very timid Great Man's double-bladed knife fell 
 on the table, and Cosmo's spoon with its charge of por- 
 ridge dropped into his cog at the same instant. Every- 
 body breathed freely, and at a sign from Ninian, who had 
 resumed his old supremacy over Cosmo, the waiters 
 removed the untasted porridge and milk. One of them 
 then uncorked the baiTel, and the other, having set out 
 bottles and rummers, the waiters took their final depar- 
 ture, to the relief of the Great Men who had regarded 
 them with very mixed feelings. 
 
 ' ]\Ir. Mortimer,' said Ninian, when everybody had 
 decreased the contents of his rummer, ' there is one 
 thing I should like you to tell me. What was it that 
 first started you on your career of Greatness ? ' 
 
 Ninian, who perceived that Cosmo was very much 
 exasperated and disgusted with the indecisive termina- 
 tion of the duel, wished to restore the little man to his 
 own good opinion of himself He could not have hit 
 upon a more agreeable method of doing so. 
 
 ' That is just exactly what I intended to be my 
 contribution to the evening's entertainment,' said Cosmo, 
 bri<4itenin{?. ' Gentlemen, as vou know, this is our 
 
 DO } *J / 
 
 quarterly story night, and I hope you are all prepared. I
 
 14 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 forewarned Mr. Jamieson that he would be expected to 
 contribute a narrative of sonic sort, and I hope he is 
 prepared. I am prepared.' 
 
 In his usual prompt style Cosmo launched into the 
 story contained in the next chapter.
 
 15 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 'when I WAS HUGH SMITH* 
 
 When I was Hugh Smith — all the world knows now 
 that I changed my name to Cosmo Mortimer for 
 the benefit of my soul and body — when I was Hugh 
 Smith I dragged out a wretched existence for some 
 years as editor of a newspaper in Duushalt, a little 
 village in the kingdom of Fife. Shortly after I had 
 assumed mv irksome duties a remarkable advertisement 
 appeared in my paper Tlie Danshalt Chronicle : it was 
 so remarkable that I still remember every word of it. 
 Here it is : — ' Wanted, to reside in Scotland, a great 
 MAN. Applicants must be great men and Scotchmen. 
 None else need apply. The advertiser has no doubt 
 that the first need of Scotland at present is a great 
 Scotchman, living and working within its boundaries. 
 He hopes the above advertiseinent gives expression to 
 the desire of every Scotchman. Indeed, he is of 
 opinion that if the hearts of most nations could be 
 sounded to their depths the patriotic desire for a great 
 countryman would be found at the bottom strong 
 and true. Is it not the cry of tlic world, " Who will 
 show us any good ? " It cannot be oyer-emphatically
 
 16 THE GREAT 3IEN 
 
 impressed upon intending applicants tiaat tliey must be 
 great men. Creed, learning, morals, age, appearance, 
 position in society, wealtli are of no moment ; greatness 
 only is of moment in the poet, man of letters, painter, 
 preacher, silent worker, or whoso may apply. The 
 engagement will bo for life. The salary will be very 
 large, as it is expected that every Scotch man and 
 woman will contribute, as Godmay prosper them, to the 
 support of their great man. Application to be made to 
 William Dunshalt of Dunshalt, Fifeshire.' 
 
 I knew Dunshalt a little, but was destined to 
 become much more intimate with him. His sincerity 
 in penning this advertisement, and in all that lie did, 
 no one who knew him ever questioned. Before insert- 
 ing his advertisement I called on him, and offered 
 many objections as to the advisability of publishing it. 
 Only one of them staggered him for a moment. 
 
 I said, ' A chief characteristic of greatness is 
 modesty : now, no modest man will answer your advert- 
 isement.' 
 
 The blank look soon left his face, and he rejoined, 
 * Modesty is the unconscious recognition of one's place 
 and condition. The conduct of a modest maiden is not 
 that of a modest matron ; yet the downcast eyes of the 
 one, and the serene forthright glance of the other are 
 the height of modesty. It would be immodest on the 
 part of a great man to deny that he is great ; so would 
 it be to trumpet his greatness ; but now, when the 
 country yearns for him and calls him, let him come
 
 MVHEN I WAS HUGH SMITH' 17 
 
 forth and declare himself, not blatantly, but by great 
 words and great deeds.' 
 
 I then pointed out that it might be better to ad- 
 vertise in some more widely circulating organ than the 
 Dunshalt Chronicle, but he would not hear of it. 
 
 ' It is not of the remotest consequence,' he said, 
 ' where the advertisement appears. If, as I judge, the 
 hour has come, then the man will appear, although the 
 advertisement were stuck nowhere but on the top of 
 Ben Nevis.' 
 
 I let him alone. 
 
 Applications soon begau to pour in. These Duns- 
 halt did not open before me, nor did he ever say any- 
 thing about their contents. A large number of them 
 must, of course, have been begging letters. Artful 
 dodgers of all sorts could not be expected to let such a 
 chance slip ; and I have no doubt they reaped a con- 
 siderable harvest, as his innocence and kindliness would 
 respond to every sad or desperate case with an open 
 hand. 
 
 About a fortnight after the appearance of the ad- 
 vertisement, I received an invitation from Dunslialt to 
 dine at his house and meet a Mr. Pourie. I conject- 
 ured, and I was not mistaken, that Mr. Pourie was an 
 applicant for the situation of Great Man for Scotland. 
 
 During dinner nothing of any importance was said, 
 politics and agriculture being the staple of conversation. 
 Mr. Pourie spoke quietly and reasonably. He was a 
 little taller than Dunshalt, but might have passed for
 
 18 THE GREAT IMEN 
 
 his brother. Dunshalt's head was like a reduced copy 
 of Melanchthou's. I'ourie's brow was less prominent 
 than Dunshalt's, and there was a keenness in his eye, 
 contrasting strongly with the languor of the other's. 
 The general resemblance was, however, very extra- 
 ordinary. 
 
 At length when dessert was on the table, Dunshalt 
 broke the ice by saying with great deference, ' There 
 is one subject, Mr. Pourie, of perennial importance, 
 about which I would like to hear what you have to say 
 • — the subject of education.' 
 
 Mr, Pourie cleared his throat, and his eyes twinkled 
 in a manner almost roguish. I was watching him 
 closely. He saw that, and seemed to be conscious of 
 the revelation in his eyes, for they at once assumed a 
 look as open and earnest as Dunshalt's. He set down 
 his wine-glass, rested his folded arms on the table and 
 said : ' All men are either philistines or poets. Children 
 are all poets. Schools and universities are factories for 
 the conversion of poets into philistines. Business aids 
 in the process. The world is philistine, and begins as 
 soon as a child is born to whip and bully it into philis- 
 tinism. How is this to be remedied ? An endeavour 
 to carry out a sweeping reform would only raise a dust 
 that might choke the reformers. We must sprinkle 
 water and clear a little corner. Of all things forbidden 
 to children forbidden books are the most tempting. 
 They beg them from their comrades, they save their 
 pennies to buy them. To forbid the average child any
 
 'WHEN I WAS IIUGII SMITH' 19 
 
 book is to insure that it will be read. Now, here is my 
 proposal : let a cheap series of " Books for Boys " be 
 published, including Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis, 
 Marlowe's Hero and Leander, Fielding's and Smollett's 
 novels, Byron's Don Jitan, Ovid's MetamorpJwses, and 
 all other books of less note that at present are locked 
 away from children like costly dainties. By this means 
 the unwholesome effects of education would bo anti- 
 doted, and the children preserved from philistinism. I 
 see in your eyes the question, " What about the girls ? " 
 That demur is prompted by a remnant of philistinism in 
 yourself. The girls would read these books all the more 
 eagerly because of their being called " Books for Boys." 
 Water might be sprinkled on the dust by a short pre- 
 face, something to this effect : " One aim of the pub- 
 lishers is to prevent immorality. These books are read 
 by both sexes of all ages. If they be read in childhood 
 they will not need to be read at a more advanced stage 
 of life, when stronger passions might be led astray by 
 them." ' 
 
 ' This has some life in it,' said Dunshalt, ' and can 
 be tried at once. But as to the acquirement of know- 
 ledge, Mr. Pourie ? ' 
 
 ' Knowledge ? Ah ! ' said ]\Ir. Pourie. ' What is 
 knowledge ? Acquaintance with the names of things. 
 An encyclopa3dic head would contain the names of 
 everything that man has named, besides the countless 
 names he has given to invented theologies, philosophies, 
 sciences, which are for the most part mere names. 
 
 <; 2
 
 20 THE GREAT ^lEN 
 
 "What is originality ? When it speaks or writes it is 
 the power that calls things by their right names. It is 
 the okl truth, which, like all truths, cannot be too often 
 repeated — at the right time. Wisdom and knowledge 
 by no means go hand in hand. I would teach children 
 little more tlian the alphabet, and by that means we 
 should obtain a greater variety in individuals. Perhaps 
 there is no other originality than the originality of 
 ignorance.' 
 
 Dunshalt threw a glance at me as much as to say, 
 ' He'll do.' Then he turned to Mr. Pourie, and said, 
 ' By the by, I think I heard you suggest yesterday 
 some change in the structure of cities.' 
 
 Pourie saw that he was being exhibited to me, and 
 appeared uneasy. With an effort he shook off the air 
 of annoyance that Dunshalt's question had produced, 
 drank a glass of wine and went at it aofain : and agrain 
 I saw the roguish twinkle in his eye. His eye alone 
 seemed a little beyond his control. 
 
 ' A city,' he said, ' is the most amazing monstrosity 
 produced by civilisation : that is just saying that civil- 
 isation is itself a monstrosity. Consider the green 
 forests that are shorn for wood, and the shapely hills 
 that are cut up for stone. What is given us instead ? 
 Dead masonry and carpentry. Have you ever walked 
 in the west-end of a city after midnight ? It is like 
 Avalking in a graveyard paved with tombstones and 
 crowded with mausoleums. It is a temporary grave- 
 yard, with beds for coflans and sleep for death, except in
 
 •WHEN I WAS IirGII SMTTII' 21 
 
 sucli mausoleums as have been lit up and turned into 
 ball-rooms by restless ghosts that will not be sent to 
 their confines, even by " the cock that is the trumpet 
 to the morn,"' You think of the city when it will be a 
 ruin ; and you see that the great and the rich who have 
 reared these streets of stately mansions have only built 
 their tombs. If the inhabited quarters are grave- 
 yards, what are the business streets after midnight ? 
 They are empty tombs. In them in the morning their 
 tenants bury themselves ; at night there is a resurrec- 
 tion — from one grave to another, from business to bed 
 — and sometimes the hell called pleasure intervenes. 
 Cover up such a life from the light of day. Build huge 
 arcades over London and Glasgow, and light them with 
 gas ; they are eyesores to the sun. Wall them round 
 and encompass them with soldiers. Charge half a 
 guinea for a sight of the stars, one guinea to see the 
 moon, and two to see the sun. Then would people 
 begin to know that the stars were finer than footlights ; 
 they would yearn for the moon and the sun. I fear 
 there is no remedy for cities but the fire of doomsday.' 
 
 Dunshalt bowed his head profoundly, and was about 
 to speak ; but Pourie, anxious to avoid the whip with 
 which he was being put through his paces, anticipated 
 him. Sitting back in his chair, he skipped about from 
 one subject to another to keep his tongue going. 
 
 ' Solomon's words,' he said, ' are quoted in some 
 publication every day ; and in two senses they are true : 
 there is no end to the books that are made, and the
 
 22 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 making of tliem serves no end. Wliat is to be done, 
 say, with the novels? Make novel-writing and novel- 
 reading heresy, and relight the fires of Smithfield ? Get 
 every novelist to make out a list of all tlio books ho 
 intends to write and pay him double what he may 
 expect for them on condition that he stays his pen ? 
 Could not the spiritualists summon Moses with his rod 
 to bid the phigue cease ? When will the people cease 
 to follow lies ? I would have both Houses of Parlia- 
 ment remodeled. Upon the introduction of a bill, as 
 soon as it should be read, I would have the members to 
 retire into anterooms, where, locked up separately, they 
 might have time to consider undisturbedly the measures 
 brought before them. When any member's mind was 
 made up, a revolving panel, one side inscribed " No," 
 the other, " Yes," would speak for him to the teller. 
 As soon as he had voted, each member would be liber- 
 ated. The length and gravity of the bill would deter- 
 mine the duration of the time for meditation. Upon its 
 expiration each member who had not voted would 
 require to do so. This method would prevent debate, 
 which is itself in any degree the one obstruction to the 
 business of both houses.' 
 
 The last words were just out of his mouth when ho 
 turned pale and started horn his chair, looking, as I 
 afterwards remembered, intently out of the window. 
 He said he felt unwell and would retire for a little. 
 I felt a little awkward, and in order to occupy the time 
 smoothly till Pourie should return, went forward to a
 
 'WHEN I WAS HUGH SMITH' 23 
 
 case of coins and medals in a dark corner of the room. 
 The last time I had seen this case it had been full ; now 
 more than half of its contents was gone, I asked 
 Duushalt what he had done with his coins ; but before 
 he could reply, the sound of wheels on the gravel called 
 us to the Vv-iudow. A gig with two men in it drove up 
 to the door. They both came out, and one of them 
 rang the bell. Without waiting till it should be 
 answered, they entered the house together. Their 
 freedom led the servant to suppose they were expected, 
 and she showed them upstairs. One of them who had 
 rung the bell, and who led the way into the room, asked 
 immediately on entering, ' if Mr. Thomson were in the 
 house ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' A man named Jacobs, then ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Howitt ? ' 
 
 ' No.' 
 
 * Very singular.' 
 
 ' Very,' said Dunshalt. ' Who arc you ? ' 
 
 ' Come, come ; it won't do. You know well enough,' 
 
 During this brief conversation, the intruders had 
 stealthily approached Dunshalt, and in a twinkling a 
 pair of handcuffs were clapped upon the good man's 
 wrists. 
 
 ' In Heaven's name, Avhat do you mean ? ' he cried. 
 
 Both of the detectives, as I now apprehended them 
 to bo, sprang to the window without answering. Wo
 
 24 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 followed, led as they were by the sound of a machine 
 on the gravel. It was the gig they had coino in, and 
 Mr. ] 'curie was driving. As he passed tlirough the 
 gate ho turned a smiling face toward the window, and 
 shook the whip exultantly over his head. The two 
 detectives, having released Dunshalt, briefly apologised 
 to him for mistaking him for Pourie, and called for 
 horses. Dunshalt had none, so they had to try the 
 Dunshalt Arms. They obtained a gig there, but the 
 horses were useless compared with the fast animals in 
 their own machine. Thomson-Jacobs-Howitt-Pourie 
 got off that time. Besides all his more valuable coins, 
 Dunshalt had to mourn the loss of some jewellery and 
 a cash-box. 
 
 About a year after Dunshalt died. I asked him on 
 his death-bed what was his true opinion of Mr. Pourie. 
 He shook his head, and said with almost his last breath, 
 ' He was a great man, but his morality was peculiar.' 
 He left me all his money, advising me to attempt 
 greatness myself, instead of making the mistake he 
 had made of searching for it in others. You all know 
 with what success I have followed his advice. 
 
 "When the Great Men and their guest had cheered 
 Cosmo's story to the echo, the honorary secretary asked 
 if nothing more had ever been heard of Mr. Pourie. 
 
 ' I'm not quite sure,' said Cosmo. ' There was 
 published some years ago in Glasgow a very curious
 
 '\YHEN I WAS HUGH SMITH' 25 
 
 narrative ^ witli the very stupid title of " The North 
 Wall," in which an adventurer, co,lled Maxwell Lee, 
 conducts a very remarkable experiment in men and 
 women, if you will allow the phrase. I had a notion 
 that this Maxwell Lee was identical with Pourie, but 
 it's really impossible to tell. My own impression is 
 that Pourie is the "Wandering Jew. But, gentlemen, if 
 we are to discuss every story, we shall never get through 
 to-night. I call upon the secretary to favour us.' 
 
 The honorary secretary, after several futile attempts 
 at a prologue, plunged desperately in medias res, as the 
 reader will find in the next chapter. 
 
 ' See note, p. 1G4.
 
 26 THE GEEAT MEN 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE SCUOOLBOY's TRAGEDY. 
 
 The room was large and well ventilated, but a hundred 
 children on a warm day in the middle of June had 
 made it close in half-an-hour. Mr. Haggle, the head- 
 master, doled out with dull recapitulation a lesson in 
 grammar. Now and again he whipped a boy to rouse 
 his own flagging energies, and as a check on the general 
 drowsiness. Ileturning to his desk after one of these 
 well-timed onslaughts, he noticed a suspicious closing 
 of a book on the part of Jenny Stewart, who was that 
 day the dux of the girls. 
 
 ' Girl Stewart, stand. Come here.' 
 
 Scholars under Mr. Haggle's charge were never 
 addressed by their christian names ; and as boys and 
 girls were taught together, in speaking to individuals 
 ]\[r. Haggle, in his own phrase, ' prefixed to the surname 
 a word denoting gender,' thereby illustrating one of the 
 rules of the grammar wdiich he delighted to cram and 
 to thrash into the brains and through the palms of his 
 unfortunate pupils.
 
 TIIE SCHOOLEOY'S TEAGEDY 27 
 
 Jeunj Stewart promptly obeyed the word of com- 
 mand, aud went up to Mr. Haggle's desk. 
 
 ' Were you looking on, girl Stewart ? ' asked the 
 master in a dry voice, indicating the mark of interro- 
 gation by an exasperating cough. 
 
 ' No, sir,' answered Jenny, with a resigned look 
 and accent. 
 
 ' I saw you close your book. Let me see it.' 
 
 Jenny handed up her book, and at a sign from Mr. 
 Haggle returned to her seat. 
 
 The master then shook out the book, and a soiled 
 half sheet of note paper fell on his desk. He tucked 
 his cane under his left arm ; smoothed the paper care- 
 fully, and read it with close attention. Forty girls and 
 sixty boys sat before him holding their breath : the 
 hundred children occupied five forms, the girls in 
 front. 
 
 Mr. Haggle laid down his cane, rubbed his spec- 
 tacles, wiped his shaven mouth, stroked the thick, gray 
 whiskers that, with his hair, enclosed his face like a 
 faded plush frame, and read the paper again. A 
 sardonic expression gradually appeared in every feature. 
 His broad chin filled with innumerable dimjiles ; his 
 thick underlip dropped to one side ; his upper lip 
 tightened ; his nostrils curled ; his eyes gleamed ; one 
 heavy eyebrow rose and the other fell. Two kinds of 
 men succeed, with difTerent kinds of success, as school- 
 masters : those who, besides having sympathy with 
 childhood, possess the dramatist's faculty of thinking
 
 28 THE GEEAT ]\IEN 
 
 with it ; and those who have neither sympathy nor 
 insiffhfc. j\Ir. Haofo^le was of the latter order. It was 
 before the days of school boards ; so he had managed to 
 flog his way from the lowest to the highest post in the 
 only government school in Kilnrn — not the Perthshire 
 Kilurn, Imt the Ayrshire one, on the eastern shore of 
 the Firth of Clyde. Mr. Haggle hated children and 
 his punishments were cruel : he hurt their minds as 
 well as their bodies. 
 
 ' Nothing like this ever happened before,' he said, 
 increasing the natural harshness of his voice. ' I'm 
 going to read it aloud.' 
 
 ' Shame ! shame ! ' I cried. 
 
 ' Was that 3'ou, boy Cameron ? ' queried the master, 
 as soon as his anger would allow him to speak. 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Stand.' 
 
 I rose trembling, and as red as fire. 
 
 ' Are you mad ? ' cried Mr. Haggle, himself enraged 
 to madness. ' How dare you ? Such a sound was 
 never heard before since I became headmaster here ; 
 and I will give you a flogging to match your impertin- 
 ence. Continue standing while I read this.' 
 
 I tried to speak, but couldn't articulate a word. 
 Mortified and afraid, I took hold of the back of the 
 form to steady myself. 
 
 ' Don't lean, sir ! ' roared the master. 
 
 I pulled myself together, and stood with bent head 
 and clenched hands. An occasional shiver passed
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TRAGEDY 29 
 
 through me and through the whole class. Mr. Haggle 
 felt the children trembling before him, and rejoiced. 
 This is what he read : — 
 
 ' My dearest Jenny, — I love you ; I've tried to say 
 
 it, but I can't. I hope you won't laugh. Will you love 
 
 me and wait for me, and be my wife some day, and Avill 
 
 you meet me to-night at seven at Bearhope's Point ? 
 
 AVhether you like me or not, you might come for once 
 
 and walk along the shore. 
 
 James Cameron. 
 
 ' P.S. In to-day's history, you see, Kichard II. 
 
 married Isabella of France when she was only eight 
 
 years old, and although, perhaps, we can't get married 
 
 yet, we might be engaged. 
 
 J. C 
 
 Mr. Haggle read, or rather sang, very loud, pitching 
 his voice up and down after the fashion still common 
 among the older Scotch ministers ; and the children, 
 understanding what was expected of them, laughed 
 noisily. 
 
 ' Silence ! ' shouted ]\Ir. Haggle, and the laughter 
 ceased. ' Boys and girls, this is a thing that deserves 
 to be laughed at, but it is a serious matter, too. You 
 girl Stewart ' 
 
 ' I never read it, I never read it,' cried Jenny, burst- 
 ing into tears. 
 
 Mr. Haggle understood that Jenny meant to plead
 
 80 THE GREAT ]MEX 
 
 extenualiug circumstances. In tlio nwful voice which 
 lie adopted when he spoke a foreign Language, he said, 
 ' Fetltio prinn}>'d — jou are begging the question. You 
 received tlie letter and concealed it ; therefore you 
 meant to read it. Therefore you will ' 
 
 Again he was interrupted, this time by a solitary 
 laugh, hysterical a little, but with a happy ring in it. 
 
 'Was it actually you who laughed, Cameron?' 
 
 ' Yes,' I answered. 
 
 I had interpreted Jenny's exclamation differently 
 from the master. For me it meant, ' Had I read the 
 letter, I would have eaten it rather than give it up.' 
 For a moment or two I felt no dread of the master. 
 
 IMr. Haggle became livid with rage ; it was fully 
 half a minute before he found w^ords. 
 
 ' You shall smart for this, sir,' he said slowh^ 
 
 Then he picked up the letter, and began to try to 
 sting my soul. 
 
 ' And so you are in love, are you, at thirteen — and 
 Miss Stewart, too, I suppose, at twelve ? It's very con- 
 siderate of you — such a fiery lover — to ask her to wait. 
 " The course of true love never did run smooth : " I 
 suppose you've made up your mind for that. Did you 
 bargain for any floggings in the course of your true 
 love ? Eh ? But why should you wait ? Why not get 
 married to-morrow ? You, with your distinguished 
 abilities' — I w^as as a rule at the bottom of the class — 
 ' will easily make a way for yourself.' 
 
 But my feelings were not hurt, and my courage
 
 THE SCHOOLBOyS TEAGEDY 31 
 
 still held out ; witli a smile I looked the master in the 
 face. 
 
 ' Are yon aware,' said Mr. Haggle, ' of the enor- 
 mity of what you have done ? During a class you have 
 allowed your thoughts to wander away to a subject which 
 is forbidden absolutely to a boy of your age ; and you 
 have endeavoured to draw the attention of a girl to the 
 same subject, suggesting to her ideas that should be far 
 from her mind for half-a-dozen years yet, corrupting 
 her young imagination and making it as foul as your 
 own.' 
 
 I stared at the master with a look of dull amaze- 
 ment; I didn't understand him. Then I laughed 
 quietly. 
 
 ' Go to the lobby ! ' shouted Mr. Haggle. 
 
 I left the room at once, casting a long glance at 
 Jenny, who looked up for a second through her tears. 
 
 Mr. Haggle's room was on the upper floor in the 
 centre of the building. It was entered by tn'O doors, 
 one on either side, opening on lobbies from which the 
 upper rooms in the wings of the school were reached ; 
 these lobbies also led to the outside stairs, built against 
 the wall and forming the fork of a Y; their united 
 part, which led to the ground, being the stalk of the 
 letter. 
 
 The lobbies — one for boys, the other for girls, as 
 Mr. Haggle often administered chastisement on feminine 
 palms — were the places where punishments of a serious 
 nature were inflicted.
 
 32 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 Having posted his miserable favourite at tlic magis- 
 terial desk with a slate, on which to write the names of 
 those who misconducted themselves during his absence, 
 Mr. Haggle entered the boys' lobby ; but I was not 
 there. Once or twice such a thing had happened before. 
 It was foolish to run away, as Mr. Haggle pointed out, 
 for he was very swift of foot, and had invariably caught 
 the fugitive and doubled the punishment. The import- 
 ance of the present occasion increased his agility. He 
 bounded down the stairs, across the pavement, and into 
 the street. Seeing no signs on either hand of the 
 fugitive, Mr. Haggle returned to the playground just in 
 time to see me disappearing over the wall opposite the 
 gate. 
 
 I was actually the first boy of the many hundred 
 ' lobbied ' by Mr. Haggle to whom this simple ruse had 
 occurred ; for when an unfortunate was sentenced to 
 abide the master's wrath in that narrow passage, terror 
 held him fast, or sent him off in disastrous flight. I 
 had been there once or twice before, and had suffered as 
 much from fear as nny of the other wretches whose 
 minds and bodies were warped and stunted by Mr. 
 Haggle's discipline ; but this time, though I trembled, 
 my presence of mind did not forsake me. Knowing 
 that I was in for a thrashing in ]\Ir. Haggle's best style 
 — which meant until the master's arm was tired — I had 
 determined in a brief meditation to have value for my 
 punishment ; and so, surprised into a smile at the idea, 
 I had crossed the stairs and hidden in the girls' lobby.
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TRAGEDY 83 
 
 ' Come back, sir,' sliouted tlie master, rnsliing across 
 the playground, 
 
 I had dropped into the street before I heard the 
 smnmons, but I hesitated for a second ; 1 actually 
 thought of climbing back and surrendering, so powerful 
 was the master's sway over his pupils. The certainty, 
 however, that nothing I could do now would in the 
 least degree modify my punishment, determined me to 
 postpone its infliction as long as possible. So I set off 
 down the road at the top of my speed. I soon heard 
 ]\Ir. Haggle on mj track, and the feeling that I was 
 being hunted caused my knees to tremble. I could 
 hardly drag my legs after me ; but the moment I turned 
 into the High Street, my liuibs recovered their strength, 
 and I span along at a frantic pace. 
 
 It was market-day in Kilurn, and the street was 
 thronged. The various groups made way for me, and 
 stared after me with divers degrees of unintelligent 
 wonder ; but when Mr. Haggle appeared among them 
 they soon understood what was toward. Such a chase 
 up the High Street had been seen on a market-day 
 l;efore. The news that ' tlie schulnnaister was after a 
 hiddie,' sped on in advance of mo, and the business of 
 the market was soon at a standstill. Numbers of the 
 farmers, corn-merchants, and tradesmen present had 
 bovs of their own at Mr. HaQfcrle's school, and some of the 
 younger ones had themselves been under his ferula. 
 They all knew something of the severity of the scliool- 
 master's discipline, and, although they would not 
 
 P
 
 84 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 interfere actively, feeling in their good, stupid hearts 
 that ]\Ir. Haggle only did his duty, somehow or other 
 there was a clear lane for me, and a most tortuous 
 passage for the master. The hum of bargain-making 
 liad ceased along the street ; windows went up, and old 
 women and young leaned out with muttered impre- 
 cations on the schoolmaster, and more loudly expressed 
 encouragement and S3nnpathy for the runaway ; and 
 yet not one of these dames would have given me shelter 
 had I sought it of them. Tliev, too, believed that Mr. 
 Haggle was right, and that I was wrong, and would 
 have confessed to weakness in sympathising with 
 me. It is very strange ! How old the world is ! — and 
 people have not yet learned to trust their hearts. 
 
 When I found myself beyond the crowd, I turned 
 down Heron Lane ; and when the schoolmaster arrived 
 at the corner I was not to be seen. 
 
 Heron Lane, a long winding passage, led from the 
 High Street to the shore. It was closely built on both 
 sides, and the schoolmaster saw at once that his prey 
 must have been received into one or other of the shops 
 or houses at the top of it : he had been very close on 
 my heels, so that he knew I could not have gone far 
 down the lane. He did not take long to decide which 
 was the likeliest hiding-place. Old Peter Stewart's 
 shop was the third building on the left-hand side of the 
 lane ; and as Peter was the father of Jenny Stewart, 
 the girl accessory to my crime, Mr. Haggle went across 
 at once, and accosted him as he stood in his doorway.
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TRAGEDY 8S 
 
 ' Did you see Jamie Cameron pass, Mr. Stewart ? ' 
 asked Mr. Haggle. 
 
 ' I did not,' said Stewart, turning away. 
 
 Mr. Hag-gle followed him, feeling — what everybody 
 experienced on entering Stewart's shop for the hun- 
 dredth as well as for the first time, a sense of impend- 
 ing extinction under a ruin of books. Pillars of books 
 farther straitened the originally narrow doorway. 
 There was barely room for customers to stand at the 
 counter — an article of furniture which had to be taken 
 on trust, as the stock-in-trade had been built against 
 it, and piled on its top, so that it had the appearance 
 of a solid block of books, behind which little more of 
 Stewart was visible than his beaming black eyes. On 
 either side of the counter a loftier heap stood up : that 
 at the door, having the wall to lean against, seemed a 
 comparatively secure structure ; whereas the other heap, 
 like the gable of a castle in the air, was for ever tottering 
 and crumbling, and being rebuilt in the most fantastic 
 shapes. On the customer's side of the counter a mass 
 of books about five feet high, six feet deep, and ten feet 
 long, lay, compact as a pile of bricks, dense and hope- 
 less as ignorance, and hiding all the shelves except the 
 two top ones, which groaned with old calf-bound 
 theolog}^ There was more room, though less light, on 
 the bookseller's side of the counter ; several tiers of books, 
 and some mildewed engravings, permitted only a ray or 
 two of the willingest sun to struggle through the window 
 here and there. A box containing coal in a corner, and
 
 8G THE GREAT MEN 
 
 a chair on either side of the fire, left just space enough 
 for those oi^erations of cookery in which Stewart was 
 an adept, and which, after the contemplation of his 
 daughter, formed his chief delight. He was, indeed, a 
 much better cook than bookseller, but thrift supplied 
 the place of skill. The litter in his shop was an accu- 
 mulation of unsaleable books gathered during many- 
 years. A Glasgow acquaintance in the business visited 
 Stewart periodicallj , and all purchases made between 
 his visits were kept in a box under the counter until 
 they should be inspected by this authority. The great 
 man from the city took a selection with him, accounting 
 for them on his return ; the rejected books were then 
 arranged in the shop according to size, and troubled 
 the soul of Stewart no more. 
 
 Late in life Peter Stewart had for pity's sake 
 married the widow of an old friend. His wife had lived 
 only two 5'ears after the birth of Jenny ; and from that 
 time the girl had been brought up almost entirely by 
 her father. The relations between the two grew to be 
 more intimate and sympathetic than is usual even be- 
 tween mother and daughter. In the days of Jenny's 
 infancy Stewart had managed all domestic matters him- 
 self, and, having acquired a liking for cookery, refused to 
 yield the ladle to Jenny. There had been a fight over 
 the duster and the broom ; but at the age of ten Jenny 
 had succeeded in making them her insignia. 
 
 Mr. Haggle, autocrat as he was, felt constrained to 
 subdue his overbearing manner in the presence of Peter
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TRAGEDY 87 
 
 Stewart — a tribute commonly offered by even greater 
 men than schoolmasters to a life of quiet independence. 
 
 ' And you didn't see Jamie Cameron pass here ? ' 
 asked Mr. Haggle again. 
 
 ' I did not,' answered Stewart. 
 
 ' Did you see him at all ? ' pursued the school- 
 master. 
 
 ' I did.' 
 
 ' AYhere did he go, then ? ' 
 
 ' Find out. I'll answer no more questions.' 
 
 ' The discipline of the school must be maintained, 
 Mr. Stewart,' said the schoolmaster severely. ' I require 
 your support and that of every law-abiding inhabitant 
 of Kilurn. As a matter of duty you should tell me 
 where Jamie Cameron is hiding.' 
 
 ' How can you tell that I ken where he's hiding ? 
 But it doesn't matter. If I did, I wouldn't tell on him. 
 I wouldn't tell on a fox, and do you think I'd put you on 
 the scent o' Jamie Cameron, and him such friends with 
 Jenny ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! you know about that, do you ? ' said Mr. 
 Haggle, with a sneer. ' Do you know that he has made 
 her a formal offer of marriage ? ' 
 
 ' AVhat ! ' cried Stewart, thrusting one hand in his 
 pocket and sticking a pen he held in the other behind 
 his ear. ' Do you mean to tell me so ? Ay, man ! In 
 our young days — if I may be allowed to signify that you 
 was ever young, j\fr. Haggle — wo used to say " Boys 
 will be boys; " but now we'll have to make it " Boys
 
 38 ■ THE GREAT MEN 
 
 will be men," I'm thinking. Made an offer of his heart 
 and hand ? Did he, though ! At thirteen ! Well, well ! 
 And it'll be for that you were wanting to scud the bit 
 laddie ? Do you not think that's just a wee ill-natured, 
 Mr. Haggle?' 
 
 DO 
 
 ' Ill-natured ! ' exclaimed Mv. Haggle wrathfully. 
 But I won't argue the point with a man who talks in 
 this cold-blooded manner about such wicked precocity. 
 During a class — the grammar hour, too — this child of 
 Satan — for I cannot call him anything else — managed 
 to convey, under my very nose, a love-letter to your 
 daughter — an altogether unprecedented piece of insub- 
 ordination. I must find him and (log him at once.' 
 
 ' Under your very nose ? Ha, ha ! At thirteen ! 
 Do 5'ou ken that I was in love when I was seven — with 
 a bonny, wee, fair-haired lassie, Mr. Haggle ? And I 
 was friends with two laddies that proposed at the age 
 of six ; ay, and married the lassies at the hinder end, 
 too. You should never have been a schoolmaster, Mr. 
 Haggle. I read a bit among my bookies, Mr. Haggle ; 
 and the more I read the more I'm convinced that there's 
 far more harm done by strictness, even luith love, than 
 by laxity, even if it comes from sheer indolence and 
 carelessness. And you can put that in your pipe and 
 smoke it, Mr. Haggle. And, hark ye ! If I hear o' 
 
 you laying your fell claws on Jenny, I'll did you ever 
 
 read " Roderick Random," Mr. Haggle ? ' 
 
 ' God forbid ! ' exclaimed the schoolmaster. 
 
 ' God would be pretty well pleased, I'm thinking, if
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TEAGEDY 39 
 
 you were to learn a lesson o' humanity, even out o' 
 "Roderick Random," Mr. Haggle. Well, you and me'll 
 act a scene from " Roderick Random " if you touch a hair 
 o' Jenny's head. I would scourge ye with your own cane 
 before all your scholars till ye could neither stand nor 
 sit ; and take a month for it gladly, and that's a fact.' 
 
 Mr. Haggle, without replying, retired from the old 
 bookseller's shop, and prosecuted his inquiries after the 
 runagate further down tlie lane, without success. At 
 last he gave up the search. On his return, as he passed 
 Stewart, who again stood in his doorway, he said, ' If I 
 find that he has been sheltered by you ' ! a signi- 
 ficant double shake of the head finished the sentence. 
 
 Some seconds after Mr. Hasfgle's retreat, Stewart 
 re-entered his shop, and, climbing up a small ladder 
 placed against his embankment of books, rested his 
 elbows oa the top of it and addressed his shelves of 
 theology. 
 
 ' Suppose, now,' he said, ' Jamie Cameron had come 
 into my shop, and had slippit round and hid under the 
 counter iu front o' the fire, he would be fair skelped with 
 the heat, and I would have tell't no lies ; for, if he came 
 in here, he didn't pass by my door, and that was all I 
 said. And when he asked me if he knew where I was, all 
 I said was, " Find out." If Jamie Cameron is under 
 my counter just now, the best thing ho can do is to get 
 out as quietly as he can while my back's turned, so that 
 I can say I never saw or heard liim leaving my shop ; 
 for he's a fell deevil, the schoolmaster, and I wouldn't
 
 ^0 "THE GREAT MEN 
 
 like the laddie to suffer because I sheltered him. The 
 worst of it is, if he is in my shop I must have seen him 
 enter ; he couldn't possibly have hidden under my 
 counter without my leave. Well, that'll just have to 
 be a case of conscience, Mr. Baxter, for you and me to 
 settle between us,' and he nodded his head at a fat 
 volume of ' The Saint's Everlasting Rest.' ' It's a lie I 
 mean to tell — that is, if he did enter my shop — Eh ! 
 what's that ? It must have been a mouse. Ah ! well, 
 Mr. Baxter, you and me'll discuss that little point later 
 on. Mind, I never saw or heard the laddie leave my 
 shop ; and if he never left it, and if he's not in it, how 
 could he have entered it, even although I may have 
 seen him, or thought I saw him, coming in. That's my 
 line o' argument, Mr. Baxter, and you can take it to 
 avizandum for a while. We'll have a bout o' casuistry 
 in the gloaming.' 
 
 While the old man, his eye fixed on Baxter's portly 
 volume, was still addressing the double row of divinity, 
 with scorched cheek and anxious air I slipped out into 
 the street. 
 
 And now I want to go back to Jenny Stewart. 
 Having brooded for many years over some things that 
 Jenny said, my visions have become real to me, and I 
 think you will find them as verisimilar as those inci- 
 dents in which I was an actor. 
 
 When Jenny Stewart returned from school in the 
 afternoon the market was over. She was only twelve, 
 but she was tall for her age, and something about her
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TRAGEDY 41 
 
 that day drew all eyes to her as she walked home. Young 
 men and boys, old men and women and other girls all 
 looked at her with interest. The town-clerk, the doctor, 
 the most reputable solicitor, the banker, and a wealthy 
 but unranked burgher, obstructing the pavement oppo- 
 site the post-office, opened a path for her with military 
 promptitude, although they were half-ashamed of it 
 afterwards ; for, said the unranked burgher ; ' That's old 
 Stewart's daughter.' 
 
 ' The Eadical ? ' queried the doctor with an inflection 
 which presupposed a negative. 
 
 'Ay, but she is though,' replied the unranked 
 burgher as if to a contradiction. 
 
 Then the men looked curiously at each other, and 
 drew together again, planting themselves with a rigidity 
 which seemed to bid defiance to courtesy and woman- 
 kind. 
 
 One of the round dozen of loafers who hung about 
 the cross of Kilurn — a weather-bronzed slab of granite 
 with runic carving and inscription — said aloud as 
 Jenny passed, ' There's a gallant lassie for ye, now ! ' 
 He was a poacher and had some imagination, as all the 
 more daring law-breakers have. She did not hear, nor 
 did she catch the lavish glances thrown at her. She 
 seemed to waste her eyes upon the pavement ; but when 
 she did raise them it was plain that, like other stars, 
 although they had been looking down they had not 
 been watching what lay beneath them ; they shone 
 through some night of day-dreams regardless of the
 
 42 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 underworld. She cared not now for the rareo show of 
 the street. She did not steal side-glances at shop- 
 windows to see herself — a use every girl from six years 
 upwards confesses putting panes to. She had neither 
 ears nor eyes for the black-eyed girl who twirled a 
 tambourine to the piano- organ of her swarthy mate. 
 On other days she would have listened devoutly, childish- 
 wise, and wholly unprejudiced against the implicit 
 enjoyment of that which comes from the headless hand. 
 Even fashionablv-dressed ladies could not withdraw 
 Jenny's eyes from the vision that they watched. 
 
 Turning more by habit than from intention into 
 Heron Lane, she was in her father's shop before she 
 quite realised her whereabouts. 
 
 ' Hullo ye ! ' cried old Stewart cheerily. 
 
 She held up her face for his kiss, and then went 
 with him into the little parlour at the back of the shop, 
 where tea was readv. She said verv little and ate 
 very little. Her silence was so unusual, her preoccu- 
 pation so evident, that the old man wondered if my 
 letter could be the only cause. However, he asked no 
 questions ; and she went upstairs to her own room as 
 soon as tea was over. 
 
 She sat down for a minute or two, and rested her 
 head on her tabled hands, changing the cheek until 
 both were red. Then she started up and examined the 
 furniture in detail, as if she had never seen it before. 
 The room was filled with a collection of fugitive pieces, 
 the whole dusky plenishing, old-fashioned, experienced,
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TRAGEDY 43 
 
 secret. An inlaid six-legged walnut sideboard, with 
 slidiug-panels and deep end-drawers, witli ringed lions' 
 Leads in brass for liandles, and a pair of laburnum 
 wood cliairs witli cup-sliaped backs, pleased her best. 
 Curious old coloured prints adorned the walls ; and, 
 more notably, two small oil-paintings illustrating the 
 departure and the degradation of the prodigal son — 
 now, resplendent in a ruffled shirt, broidered vest, knee 
 breeches, and a tie-wig — now grovelling among the 
 rags of the same, with the swine nuzzling about him, 
 hung above the fireplace. The mantelpiece looked like 
 a gallery in miniature with china shepherds and 
 shepherdesses and blackleaded metal horses. She 
 looked over everything, blew away some specks of dust, 
 and set a sprightly Strephon a little nearer a languish- 
 ing Chloe. Then she glanced rapidly over the books on 
 the sideboard. She plucked out a volume and dived 
 into its leaves like a bee into a bell. Soon she thrust 
 it back and seized another. That and a third one 
 were repudiated. A fourth seemed better suited to her 
 taste ; but it also was soon cast aside. Then she ducked 
 suddenly under the sideboard, and lugged out a bulk}^, 
 tattered quarto. She slapped it petulantly, to clear it 
 from dust, and, flinging it on the table, sat down 
 resolutely and opened it at the beginning. It was a 
 volume of some far back year's illustrated newspaper, 
 and had been her earliest picture-book. She knew 
 well each picture as its friendly face appeared, but 
 doggedly proposed to go through the book from the
 
 44 THE GEEAT MEN 
 
 higlily allegoric frontispiece to the more liiglily allegoric 
 close, smoothing out all dog's ears and placing properly 
 strayed leaves. But old faces tired her, the homely 
 feelings they inspired aggravated her, and she threw 
 the book to a corner of the room, where it lay in, what she 
 thought for a regretful moment, reproachful dishevel- 
 ment. Then she opened the door of her concealed bed 
 and threw herself on it fiice downwards. A minute 
 later a chintz cover, whisked off the top of what looked 
 like a largo chest, revealed an old-fashioned piano, at 
 which the demon of unrest whirled her like a tortured 
 soul. And yet she was only twelve. 
 
 She touched the keyboard languidly, hovered over 
 it a second, then bounded away to the window. In- 
 stantly she was back again, and, striking the jingling 
 keys in a frenzy of desperation, began to sing ' The 
 Blue-bells of Scotland.' 
 
 Oh 1 where, and, oh ! where, does your Highland laddie dwell ? 
 
 The surging music bore her voice along. Her simmering 
 blood flamed up. She sang with all her might, 
 
 I'll claim a priest to roarry us, 
 
 A clerk to say ' Ameu ; ' 
 And I'll ne'er part again 
 
 From my bonny Highlandman. 
 
 She was only twelve, but for a wondering moment the 
 woman was broad awake. 
 
 She had little knowledge of music, but her fingers 
 danced over the keys. She felt the joianist's supreme 
 delight of perfect ease and mastery. Her hands were
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TRAGEDY 45 
 
 like a summer breeze shaking a tune at random out of 
 the tinkling flowers. She was in complete sympathy 
 with what she played, and was so delighted with her- 
 self that, trading on her success, she began to try 
 a sonata recently given her. With much labour 
 came little speed. Even the notes would net obey her, 
 and she was wholly unable to lay the spirit of the piece. 
 Her blood flagged, her fingers languished. She flung 
 back her hair, which had come loose, and gulped down 
 a sob at her ineptitude. Where should she turn for 
 energy and ease ? In a moment her face lit up with 
 passion, pathos, pity, and she began. 
 
 When ye gang awa', Jamie. 
 Having finished that song, she made no second excur- 
 sion into unknown regions, but sang out with a happy 
 peal the first half verse of 'The Bailiff's Daughter.' 
 Then she ceased singing, and, with her head hanging 
 above the keys, as if her spirit knelt, she j)layed over 
 and over the simple melody, gently and more gently 
 listening to each verse ; and the quaint song and the 
 quaint instrument, with its muffled white notes and its 
 sharps piercing and piping with age, sent the wine of 
 life fuming into her young head, and she rose, reeling, 
 and stood in the middle of the room. She writhed on 
 her heel and stared about her. Something ought to 
 happen now, she thought indeed. Watching, hoping, 
 listening, conjuring, she stood for some minutes; then, 
 snatching her hat, she rushed out. 
 
 Stewart watched his daughter until she liad passed
 
 46 TITE GREAT MEN 
 
 from liis siglit. Tlien lio went up to lior room, and, 
 opening tlic door just wide enough to admit liis head, 
 looked about anxiously. Ho could discover no clue to 
 Jenny's sudden departure ; and, as her room was too 
 sacred for its threshold to be crossed lightly, he closed 
 the door with marked gentleness and returned to the 
 shop. 
 
 Wrajjped in her dream, Jenny wandered down to 
 the shore. There she found a grass-green cushion 
 spotted with honey-scented sea-pinks, and, gathering 
 her feet under her, she sat down opposite the sunset. 
 Behind her the night thickened, and at her feet the sea 
 embroidered the sand with shells. As she looked 
 across the still, crimson water to the crimson sunset, 
 tears began to Ml into her lap, she knew not why. 
 
 ' Jenny ! ' 
 
 Her name was spoken so quietly that she barely 
 started. It was like a voice in her dream. 
 
 ' Jennv ! ' 
 
 She turned her head and saw me. 
 
 ' This is Bearhope's Point, Jenny,' I said, bending 
 towards her ; ' but it's a while after seven.' 
 
 ' So it is Bearhope's Point,' said Jenny ; ' but I for- 
 got about that.' 
 
 ' You didn't come to meet me, then ? ' I said. 
 
 'I don't know; I think I did,' answered Jenny. 
 ' Look,' she continued, pointing to the rim of the sun 
 that was vanishing behind a hill. 
 
 ' Ay,' said I, ' it's awful bonny.'
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TEAGEDY 47 
 
 I sat down on the green cuslilon quite close to lier ; 
 but she gathered her dress about her, and put half a 
 foot between us. 
 
 ' Can I no' come near ? ' I asked, kneeling and 
 leaning my hands on the cushion. 
 
 She looked at me wonderingly, and with some fear. 
 
 'You're near enough, Jamie,' she said, 
 
 I went towards her on my knees, but she stopped 
 me with a question : ' How did you get away from 
 Haofoie ? ' 
 
 Do 
 
 Then I told her of my flight along the High Street 
 and how her father had sheltered mo ; how I had gone 
 home at the hour of dismissal as if I had come straio-ht 
 from school ; and how I had waited on her for an hour 
 at Bearhope's Point. Jenny, in return, told of her 
 piano-playing, and of her unrest, not knowing what it 
 meant. During this conversation I had gradually 
 diminished the space between us, until I sat quite close 
 to her, with my foot touching hers. 
 
 ' Jenny, I wish I was you,' said I under my breath, 
 after a pause of a minute. 
 
 ' Would you like to be a lassie ? ' cried Jenny, with 
 an amazed smile. 
 
 ' Ay,' said I, looking away into the west where the 
 sunset still smoked and smouldered as cloud after cloud 
 paled, glowed again, and went slowly out. ' I mind 
 when I first thought I would like to be a lassie. There's 
 a picture in an almanac called " Water-Lilies " ; and it's 
 in two, and it's coloured. On one side there's just the
 
 48 THE OPxEAT MEN 
 
 wliito water-lily witli its green leaves on tlie top of the 
 water ; on the other there's a little burn with two young 
 ladies in Avhite dresses like night-gowns. One of the 
 ladies is lying on the bank, and the other is just stepping 
 into the water. The one that's lying is smiling ; but 
 the other one's looking down, blushing you would 
 think. At first I thought shame to look at her ; but 
 one day it came to me that I would just like to be her; 
 and after that I could look at her, I looked at her for 
 hours, and I always longed more and more to be her; 
 but I wish I was you now, Jenny.' 
 
 I turned my innocent, glowing eyes on hers ; and 
 they fell before my gaze. 
 
 ' Would you like to be me, Jenny ? ' I asked 
 breathlessly. 
 
 ' No,' answered Jenny, panting a little, ' I would 
 just like to be mysel'.' 
 
 ' Maybe girls don't feel like boys,' said I. ' You 
 can like me without wishing to be me, can you ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Jenny. ' Had we no' better go now ? ' 
 
 ' Wait a wee,' said I. 
 
 ' What are you going to do the morn ? ' asked 
 Jenny anxiously. 
 
 ' Never mind the morn," said I. 
 
 ' But you'll get an awful licking, Jamie,' said Jenny, 
 with difficulty stifling a sob. 
 
 ' I suppose I will,' said I, paling a little. ' But T 
 wouldn't mind the worst licking Haggle could give me, 
 if you would kiss me, Jenny.'
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TEAGEDY 49 
 
 Jenuy twisted her fingers in her hip and looked 
 down ; and the sunset had died away, so that it had 
 nothing to do with the deep crimson that suffused her 
 face. I put my trembling arm about her waist, and kissed 
 her cheek, and she turned with wonder and delight in 
 her eyes and pressed her little burning mouth to mine. 
 
 ' Haggle can do what he likes to me,' said I. ' I'll 
 not open my lips.' 
 
 ' Poor Jamie,' said Jenny, kissing me again. 
 
 ' Never mind,' said I ; ' it'll be over in two or three 
 minutes. Jenny, what would you like me to be ? ' 
 
 'To be?' 
 
 * Yes ; to do, I mean. Will I learn a trade or a 
 profession ? ' 
 
 ' You must just please yourself.' 
 
 ' No ; but I want to please you. What would you 
 like your husband to be, Jenny ? ' 
 
 Jenny looked down at the points of her boots with- 
 out speaking ; and I looked down at the points of mine 
 expecting her answer. 
 
 ' I wouldn't like you to be anything,' said Jenny, 
 'If we could have a little house and a garden — and 
 could we travel ? I would like to see the Pyramids.' 
 
 ' And Pompey's Pillar,' I suggested, with sudden 
 excitement. 
 
 ' That the sailors climbed up in the Reading-book ? 
 Yes, I would like to see that too.' 
 
 I had taken her hand, and we sat together in silence 
 for several minutes. The sky was gray now, and the 
 
 E
 
 50 'i'lIE GEE AT MEN 
 
 o 
 
 water ; and tlie green of the hills opposite was gradually 
 darkening to ebony. A breeze had sprang up, and soon 
 it grew stormy and sharp and mowed off the tops of the 
 waves ; and when some of the salt sea-blossoms were 
 cast in our faces, we rose, and walked quickly up Heron 
 Lane, hand in hand. The wind from the Firth pursued 
 us a little way, and, before we left it behind, it took 
 Jenny's loose hair and blew it all about my neck. 
 
 • ' • • • • • 
 
 I was the first boy in the playground next morning. 
 School began at half-past nine, and I was there by nine. 
 With my hands in my pockets, I lounged against a 
 buttress, and greeted with a smile the other boys as 
 they dropped in by twos and threes. Some with non- 
 chalance hailed me — ' Hullo, Cameron ! ' and turned at 
 once to marbles or some other game. Others formed 
 groups to stare at me, and discuss my case. One 
 or two began to jeer, but they were in a very small 
 minority, and soon gave it up. When my own 
 particular friends arrived they took me away to an 
 unfrequented part of the playground, and gave me sago 
 advice as to the endurance of my punishment, with 
 practical illustrations of the best way to hold out my 
 hand, and reminiscences of weak-minded boys who had 
 been enabled to display extraordinary hardihood by meet- 
 ing the palmies— or ' luilies,' as they call them on the 
 Qlytle — half-way, and then withdrawing the hand with 
 the cane on it, ' Just as you would catch a swift ball, you 
 know : as soon as it touches your hands, pull them in.' ■
 
 
 
 OS 
 
 K 
 X 
 
 a; 
 
 C 
 
 c 
 
 J
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TEAGEDY 51 
 
 The departments of the school were ojjened separ- 
 ately by their several masters with praise and prayer 
 and the reading of a portion from the Bible. Mr. 
 Haggle that morning sang tAvo double verses of a 
 metrical psalm, read a long passage from one of the 
 gospels, and delighted himself with a brief but eloquent 
 exposition of the text : ' Suffer little children to come 
 unto Me and forbid them not ; for of such is the king- 
 dom of heaven.' He then prayed at considerable 
 length, referring to the painful duties which sometimes 
 fell to the lot of a teacher, and begging to be saved 
 from the sinfulness that spared the rod and spoiled the 
 child. The rustle that followed the conclusion of the 
 prayer having subsided, Mr. Haggle called on ' loy 
 Cameron ' to stand. 
 
 I stood up promptly, and looked towards Jenny, 
 whose back was to me ; but she turned, and gave me a 
 glance from her brown eyes : then I felt quite confident, 
 and even careless. Mr. Haggle noticed the by-play 
 and scored it against me. 
 
 ' Come here, sir,' said the master. 
 
 I walked up to the desk steadily. 
 
 ' Now, boys and girls,' said Mr. Haggle, ' this is an 
 extreme case, and I mean to make an example of James 
 Cameron. I shall not punish him in the lobby, but 
 here, that you may all see how wicked he has been.' 
 
 There were rumours in the school of some terrific 
 floggings administered by Mr. Haggle before the class 
 for unexampled offences, but none of the children 
 
 E 2
 
 52 TIIK OlJEAt ME^ 
 
 present had ever been spectators of one of these special 
 punishments. A deep husli fell on the room, and 
 many children turned pale ; still, the bulk of the boys 
 and some of the girls anticipated a fearful joy from the 
 sufferings of their class-mate. 
 
 Mr. Haggle went to a press in which he kept an 
 assortment of canes. He took out a thing, hideous, 
 when its application is considered, about four feet long, 
 as thick as his own middle finger, and with a crook at 
 the end. Having returned to his desk and breathed 0:1 
 his hand to give it a better grip, he seized the plain 
 end of the cane, swished it once or twice in the air to 
 test its suppleness, and turned to his victim. I had 
 only a faint idea of what was in store for me : I was 
 away on the shore with Jenny ; and I thought of the 
 crimson sunset, and the chill, singing wind that blew 
 the foam- flakes in our faces. 
 
 ' Hold out,' said the master, and I extended ray 
 right hand, I wondered for a moment, as my misery 
 closed in on me, if I would ever see the Pyramids and 
 Pompey's Pillar now. 
 
 White as paper, with clenched teeth, but without a 
 flicker of a finger, I took the twelve strokes which the 
 master brought down slowly, witli all his force, on my 
 little quivering hand. After ihe twelfth Mr. Haggle 
 paused, and, with a gi-eat gulp that swallowed down 
 countless sobs, I whipped my hand into my pocket and, 
 bending down, pressed it tightly. 
 
 ' The other hand,' said the master.
 
 THE SCIIOOLEOY'S TRAGEDY 53 
 
 I had tlionght if; was over. With a siek cry, and 
 an appeal for mercy in my face, I looked up at Mr. 
 Haggle. 
 
 ' Come, be quick,' said the master, coldly. 
 
 I braced myself to bear it ; the tears stood in my 
 eyes, and my heart was bursting, but I held out my 
 left hand steadily. 
 
 It is the case that the pain of a whipping on the 
 hand is felt most keenly shortly after the blows have 
 ceased. Just as Mr. Haggle brought down the first 
 stroke on my left hand, the nerves of the right, that 
 had been deadened by the number and heaviness of the 
 stripes, wakened up and carried their entire message to 
 my brain. Jenny, the crowded room, and the sardonic 
 inflictor of the pain were all forgotten ; I cried out and 
 writhed, and tears and sweat streamed down my face. 
 My left hand fell after the third blow, and when I tried 
 to raise it I couldn't keep it open ; but that was a 
 matter of indifference to Mr. Haggle : he brought the 
 cane down as before, but on my knuckles. I screamed, 
 and thrust my left hand into my other pocket. 
 
 ' Hold out,' said the master. But all my courage 
 and resolution were gone ; I screamed and sobbed, and 
 stamped with pain and the anticiioation of pain, and 
 made no attempt to obey Mr. Haggle's order. 
 
 ' Hold out,' said the master again ; and when I 
 failed to comply he lashed me on the legs till I waa 
 almost suffocated with my tears and cries. 
 
 '• Will you hold out ^ow ? ' said the master.
 
 64 THE GEEAT MEN 
 
 Bending back till I nearly overbalanced myself, 
 and pressing my elbow close to my side, my knees 
 trembling and my right hand clutching the air, I man- 
 aged to extend my left hand half open. Again the cane 
 came down on my knuckles, and again I screamed and 
 danced. The remaining seven strokes were given and 
 taken in the same way : after each I tried to snatch a 
 moment's respite by pocketing my hand, and Mr. 
 Haggle lashed mo on the legs till I ' held out.' 
 
 At the end of this second dozen Mr. Hao-o-le said, 
 ' Sit down there ' — a culprit's seat stood beside the 
 desk. ' That is your punishment for writing a letter 
 to the girl Stewart during the grammar-hour. I will 
 punish you in a little for running away. I'll take the 
 psalm.' 
 
 'Please, sir,' said three or four girls at once, 
 ' please, sir, Jenny Stewart's fainted.' 
 
 Mr. Haggle looked suspiciously at the white face 
 and closed eyes of my little sweetheart, but there was 
 no sham about it. He himself, much against the grain, 
 carried her down to the head-mistress, who, having 
 restored her to consciousness, sent her home. 
 
 ' The psalm,' said Mr. Haggle, on returning to his 
 room. 
 
 The first lesson always consisted in the repetition of 
 two verses of a psalm or two questions from the Shorter 
 Catechism. The class had learned during the session 
 the whole of the hundred and nineteenth psalm ; and 
 had then turned to the besfinninof of the Psalter : the
 
 TIIE SCHOOLBOY'S TEAGEDY '55 
 
 iask for that morning was the conclusion of the second 
 ■psahn, which runs, in the version used, as follows : — 
 
 ' Now, therefore, kings, be wise ; be taught, 
 
 Ye judges of the earth : 
 Serve God in fear, and see that je 
 
 Join trembling with your mirth. 
 
 Kiss ye the Son, lest in his ire, 
 
 Ye perish from the way, 
 If once his wrath begins to burn : 
 
 Bless'd all that on hiui stay.' 
 
 The girls repeated first, and all of them, except 
 five, were letter-perfect. These five received two 
 ' luifies ' each. They were then instructed to amend 
 the fault, with the inspiring assurance that, if they 
 weren't perfect by the time Mr. Haggle had heard the 
 boys, the punishment would be doubled. 
 
 Ten boys failed and received four ' luifies ' each. 
 Then the master returned to the girls. Four of the 
 failures managed to pass on a second trial, but the fifth 
 one stuck in the middle of the second verse. It is a 
 difficult verse to grasp the meaning of, and the nnin- 
 telligent sing-song, which was the chief characteristic of 
 the elocution of Mr. Haggle's pupils, kept on its course 
 regardless of points, and tended to obscure the sense of 
 the simplest passage. The poor girl who failed a 
 second time was a very dull, unpleasant-looking creature 
 with a hunch back, to whom the lightest intellectual 
 work was torture. Nevertheless, she received four 
 ' luifies,' with a promise of eight if she failed a third 
 time.
 
 56 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 Six of the ten boys were not perfect on a second 
 trial. With them also the second verse was the stum- 
 bling block. 
 
 ' Cushco the Son Ics-tin 'is-iro 
 ycperrish from the way. . . . 
 
 Rapidly running their words together, they got that 
 length with ease, and there they stuck. If Mr. Haggle 
 had been possessed of brains of even ordinary quality 
 he would have detected in the failure a sign of superior 
 intelligence. The boys perceived a kind of sense up to 
 the point where they stuck ; there, however, as the 
 colon at ' burn ' was disregarded by them, and its force 
 quite unknown, the utter meaninglessness, to them, 
 of the sounds they tried to recall paralysed their 
 memories. These six boys having each received eight 
 ' luifies,' what Mr. Haggle thought a brilliant idea 
 occurred to him. 
 
 ' Boy Cameron,' he cried, with a sparkle in his eye 
 and a new tang in his voice, ' say your psalm.' 
 
 I had been moaning with pain, and nursing my 
 blistered hands — both of them were blue and blistered ; 
 but I now became silent and looked up with affright. 
 Like most of the children in tlie room, I had learned 
 the second psalm many times in my short life, but only 
 by rote, and as I had not prepared any lessons at all on 
 the previous night I could not recall correctly a single 
 line of that morning's task. 
 
 ' Come, sir ; get up, and say your psalm,' persisted 
 Mr. Haggle, approaching me.
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TEAGEDY 67 
 
 I rose, and began, with a sob after every word, and 
 a break in my voice — 
 
 • Now, therefore, judges of the earth,' 
 and stopped. 
 
 I felt that the line was a good line, but I was 
 horribly conscious that it was all wrong. 
 
 ' Try again,' said the master. 
 
 ' Pleas^, sir,' said I in despair, ' I know all the words, 
 but I can't say the lines.' 
 
 ' What Tom-fool talk is this ? ' cried Mr. Haggle. 
 ' Hold out.' 
 
 I looked round the room, at the ceiling, and at the 
 master ; but there was no mercy anywhere. Mr. 
 Haggle was quite unmoved by the terrible trouble that 
 must have darkened my face. I put my hands in my 
 armpits and pressed them tightly ; then I blew hard on 
 my swollen fingers, and pressed them in my arm-pits 
 again. 
 
 ' Come, sir ; I can't wait all dav," said the master. 
 * Hold out.' 
 
 I half extended my arm ; but I couldn't open my 
 hand — it was a physical impossibility. 
 
 ' I canna'j Maister Haggle, I canna',' I said. 
 
 ' We'll see about that,' said the master. 
 
 He seized my left wrist, and holding it out at the 
 stretch of his arm, brought his cane down twice on my 
 blistered, swollen hand. I lost my temper, I kicked 
 over the master's desk, and, seizing a frameless slate 
 which lay on the seat beside me, threw it at the head
 
 58 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 of my tormentor. I liad lang-hed hysterically when I 
 upset the desk ; but I cried with rage a moment after- 
 wards, for mv dano-erons missile had missed its aim. 
 
 ' Ay ! ' said the master ; ' so we have our little 
 tantrums, have we ? ' 
 
 He seized me by the collar, and lashed me on the 
 body, till the cane dropped from his hand and I had no 
 strength left to shriek. 
 
 ' Now, sir,' said Mr. Haggle, forcing me to sit on 
 the culprit's bench, ' how many more thrashings do 
 you want ? You learn to keep 3'our temper, or it'll be 
 the worse for you. You have done wrong, and I advise 
 you to make up your mind to take the penalty quietly. 
 Next hour I'll flog you for running away, and it will be 
 wise of you not to require any more accidental thrashings 
 in the course of your punishment. That will do,' he 
 continued to the class ; ' I've no more time for the psalra. 
 Those who failed will stay in at four, and learn three 
 double verses of another psalm — they'll bo told which 
 when the time comes.' 
 
 The class was then dismissed for five minutes, but 
 I was not allowed to go. During the interval Mr. 
 Haggle eyed me like a cat watching a mouse. 
 
 When the class returned, they were set to writing, 
 and as soon as all the children were occupied the master 
 resumed his punitive duties. 
 
 ' Boy Cameron, stand ; hold out.' 
 
 I struggled to my feet, but sank down almost im- 
 mediately, my heart was broken ; and I was not the first
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TEAGEDY 59 
 
 boy whose heart had been broken by Mr. Haggle, under 
 pretence of breaking a rebellious spirit. 
 
 The master did not repeat the order to stand ; but 
 he gi-owled out his other so often reiterated one : ' Hold 
 out.' 
 
 I held out my hand slackly, but it fell on the seat ; 
 Mr. Haggle brought his cane down on it as it lay, and 
 I screamed with the pain. He then repeated his order 
 to hold out ; but I sat on my hands. The master was 
 about to lash me on the legs, when an important matter 
 which he had forgotten in the excitement of the morn- 
 ing's varied labours recurred to his memory. 
 
 ' By the by,' he said jocosely, sitting down in his 
 chair opposite me, ' where did you vanish to when you 
 turned the corner of Heron Lane yesterday ? ' 
 
 ' I'll no tell you that,' said I sullenly. ' I'll no tell 
 y'it. You can do what you like.' 
 
 ' Now, what a fool you are ! ' said Mr. Haggle, strik- 
 ing me with all his strength over both knees. 'Do 
 you actually want another accidental thrashing ? ' 
 
 ' I'll no' tell you,' I screamed. 
 
 That which had not been present in my mind since 
 my prolonged punishment began was recalled by Mr. 
 Haggle's question. Even Jenny's fainting had not had 
 any special meaning for me, so dazed was I at the time. 
 Now, however, as I had ceased entirely the attempt 
 to endure in silence, my mind was freer, and the 
 memory of the sunset, and the night breeze, and Jenny's 
 kisses, returned to my broken heart, and gave mo a
 
 60 THE GEEAT MEN 
 
 little passing strongMi. Mr. Haggle rose and lashed 
 me as I sat — on my back, shoulders, legs, arms, and 
 hands. It was amazing that I did not faint, 
 
 ' Now, sir,' he said, resuming his seat ; ' where did 
 you hide ? ' 
 
 ' I'll no' tell you,' I shrieked. 
 
 Mr. Haggle lashed mo on each thigh ; and then 
 put his question ' Where did you hide ? ' 
 
 I replied only with cries and groans. 
 
 ' I'll whip you till you answer me,' said Mr. 
 Haggle. 
 
 He put the question more than a dozen times, giv- 
 ing me two lashes after each repetition. The master 
 had now lost his temper. He thrust his face into mine 
 and yelled at me, with fierce eyes, knotted forehead, 
 and hot breath. Suddenly he desisted. This was a 
 morning of brilliant ideas for Mr. Haggle, and the 
 most brilliant of them had just suggested itself. 
 
 ' Stop writing,' he said. ' Stand. Let us pray.' 
 
 He prayed with great fervour that this punishment 
 might be sanctified to James Cameron ; that the poor, 
 misguided boy might be led to see the error of his 
 ways, and, in submission to the superior placed over 
 him by Providence, tell what was required of him. 
 
 At the conclusion of the prayer the class resumed 
 their writing, and Mr. Haggle seated himself again 
 opposite me. 
 
 ' Now, James,' he said in as soft a voice as he could 
 adopt, ' I hope your heart has been touched, and that
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TRAGEDY 61 
 
 you will answer my question. Where did you hide 
 yesterday ? ' 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 ' Very well,' said the master, rising ; ' we'll jusfc 
 have to begin again, James. Stand up, sir, and hold 
 out.' 
 
 I could do neither for the pain in my legs and hands, 
 which yet was as nothing to the anguish of my mind. I 
 sat Avith my hands in my pockets, trembling in every limb, 
 and swaying backwards and forwards. On my failure to 
 obey the command ]Mr. Haggle lashed me on the thighs, 
 the calves of the legs, the knees, on the backs of the hands 
 through my pockets ; and I sat with contorted face and 
 the tears streaming down my cheeks and cried at the 
 pitch of my voice, ' Oh, dear me ! Oh, dear me ! ' 
 
 ' Where did you hide ? ' said Mr. Haggle, pausing. 
 
 No answer. 
 
 ' I hope you understand that I shall whip you till 
 you tell me,' said Mr. Haggle, attacking my legs again. 
 
 A few more strokes, and I gave in. 
 
 ' In Stewart's, the bookseller's,' I yelled. 
 
 ' A mistake in grammar,' said Mr. Haggle : ' the 
 double possessive is needless. You will bring me 
 written out a hundred times to-morrow, ' In Stewart, 
 the bookseller's.' — Now, I shall give you your punish- 
 ment for running away. Hold out.' 
 
 Every pen in the room stopped, and most of the 
 children turned pale with horror. As for mo I rolled 
 off the seat, and lay on tlio floor kicking and screamino-.
 
 62 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 ' What's tlie niatter ? ' said JNIr. Haggle, surveying 
 his pupils. ' Continue writing.' But tlie involuntary- 
 action of the children liad its effect on him. He con- 
 sidered for a minute, biting the end of his cane, 
 
 ' Well,' he said ; 'it is always best, if possible, to 
 temper justice with mercy. I expect you've had 
 enough to serve you for many a day. You can go to 
 your place, Cameron.' 
 
 I rose and limped with difficulty to where my 
 writing copy lay ; and one boy whispered to another 
 that ' Haggle was na' so bad, after all. He let Jamie 
 off a lickin' he had promised him, mind ye.' 
 
 The master heard ; and the boy received four 
 ' luifies ' for talking during class. 
 
 My father and mother had been dead for several 
 years, and I lived with an uncle, who, while he had a 
 sincere sense of duty, was altogether under the control 
 of his wife. Mrs. Cameron, my aunt, had sis children 
 of her own, and with every addition to her family her 
 mind and heart seemed to have contracted, instead of 
 expanding. It is surely the case that the more claims 
 there are on a woman's affections the more abounding 
 is her love ; but there are exceptions, and Mrs. Cameron 
 was one. She fixed a gulf between her own children 
 and her nephew^ — not in her heart alone, but openly, in 
 food, in clothes, in education ; and thus it was that, 
 instead of accompanying my cousins to the expensive 
 private school they attended, I had been given over, 
 under pretence of being difficult to manage, to the
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TRAGEDY 63 
 
 tender mercies of Mr. Haggle. ' Keep liim to his 
 work,' said Mrs. Cameron to the master. ' He's an 
 idle, dreamy boy, and requires a tight rein.' 
 
 Snch a series of thrashings as Mr. Haggle had 
 given me in one forenoon were not of very frequent 
 occurrence thirty years ago, nor were they nearly so 
 common then as they had been in the days of the 
 parish-schoolmasters; but there are still teachers who 
 cherish the tradition of education by means of pain and 
 fear; and in Mr. Haggle's time, although better counsels 
 were beginning to j)revail, the propriety of severe 
 corporal punishment for every species of offence, and 
 as the true menstruum of shy capacity, was almost 
 universally recognised. It was not every boy, how- 
 ever, that Mr. Haggle would have flogged as he had 
 flogged me. The master was carefully informed of the 
 domestic circumstances of all his pupils ; and it was 
 only when he felt certain that the severity of his 
 discipline would be supported by parents and guardians 
 that he did his duty as drum-major thoroughly. 
 
 Knowing quite well that it would be useless to 
 appeal to my uncle or aunt, I tried hard to conceal 
 the condition of my hands ; but my cousins had hoard 
 of my punishment, and I was put on bread and water 
 for a week. 
 
 In the dusk I crawled out, and wont down to the 
 shore — not to Bearhope's Point, but to a rocky place 
 where no sea-pinks grew. I was too late for the 
 sunset ; the waves and the sky were cold and gray ;
 
 64 Tim gr£at men 
 
 but tlie wind Was warmer than it had been the night 
 before, and I took off my bonnet and let it blow through 
 my hair. I sat for an hour trying to think, and trying 
 to be the Jamie Cameron who had made love to Jenny 
 Stewart. I set myself to recall the meeting with my 
 sweetheart at Bearhope's Point ; but it wouldn't come 
 back to me — none of it except my promise to endure 
 my punishment in silence. I tried to remember my 
 mother, to think of some happy days I had spent during 
 the previous summer with one of my companions 
 at a farm where everybody had been kind to me ; I 
 tried to think of being a man, of marrying Jenny 
 Stewart, of travelling, and of the Pyramids. It was 
 all in vain. Mr, Haggle's harsh voice with its heartless 
 ' Hold out ' ; the swish of the cane ; the ache in my 
 hands, in my legs, in my mind — above all, the moment 
 Avhen I broke down and cried, and that other moment 
 when I told where I had hidden, would not quit my 
 memory. 
 
 I had frightful dreams that night, and wakened 
 several times ; and there was nobody to comfort me — 
 nobody even to laugh at me, for I slept alone in a little 
 stifling box-room. 
 
 Next morning on my road to school, Jenny Stewart 
 made up on me, and, touching me on the shoulder, said, 
 * Jamie, dear,' and looked round into my face sweetly 
 and mournfully. I returned her glance with a shiver, 
 and then ran away as fast as I could. My heart was 
 broken and my mind was dulled. At thirteen I had
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S TKAGEDY 65 
 
 lost faitli in mj^self ; and so I am a baclielor and the 
 melancholy man you know. 
 
 ' Good,' said Cosmo, when the secretary had finished. 
 ' Very good.' 
 
 It was observed that the president's face was very 
 red, and that his spectacles seemed to be bedewed. 
 
 ' Good,' he repeated almost angrily. Then he called 
 on the honorary porter to tell his story ; ' and don't let 
 it be pathetic this time,' he added. 
 
 ' My story is a humorous one,' said the melancholy 
 Great Man who was honorary porter; and it's called 
 " The Glasgow Ghosts." ' 
 
 'Admirable!' exclaimed Cosmo. ' You illustrate a 
 favourite theory of mine, which is none of my invention, 
 however.' 
 
 ' What theory is that ? ' asked Ninian. 
 
 ' The theory that humour is always the product of 
 melancholy.' 
 
 The melancholy porter sipped his whiskey, sighed, 
 and began.
 
 6Q THE CiKEAT JNIEN 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE GLASGOW GHOSTS 
 
 Philip Marquis arrived in Glasgow one autumn night 
 some years ago, having walked a distance of thirty 
 miles without tasting food. He was in evening dress, 
 but wore a soft hat. He had no money. He lounged 
 about the streets till midnight, hunger gnawing his 
 vitals like a rat. About a minute from twelve he sat 
 down with his back against the hotel in the jDassage 
 between St. Enoch Square and Dunlop Street. He 
 pulled up his knees to his chin, clasped his hands round 
 them, pressed himself tightly together, and groaned. 
 Eighteen hours without food ! His six feet, his 
 broad shoulders, his curly beard, mattered nothing ; he 
 groaned, and would I believe have sobbed, but twelve 
 o'clock struck. His hunger vanished, his pain ceased. 
 His mind seemed to grow preternaturally clear. A 
 pleasing sensation spread through his body. He saw 
 a radiance approach, and a slight fog which filled the 
 air whistled past as the light came on. The light 
 became a figure, and stopped before him. He knew it 
 was a ghost, yet he felt no fear. He had never, even as
 
 THE GLASGOW GHOSTS 67 
 
 a boy, believed in ghosts ; but he knew that this was 
 one. 
 
 He rose, helping himself up with his hands, for he 
 felt very weak, and made a polite bow. The ghost took 
 a step back, and went through a most graceful and 
 elaborate salute, and then said, with much surprise and 
 in a voice like that with which the ventriloquist repre- 
 sents some one talking in the chimney, ' It is most un- 
 accountable, sir, that you should be able to see me.' 
 
 ' Oh, I am not blind,' said Philip. 
 
 ' Nay, if you had been blind, I would not have 
 wondered. Pray, sir, pardon me, but have you been 
 drinking ? ' 
 
 This was a ghost, and might be allowed liberties. 
 So Philip replied civilly that he had not. 
 
 ' Then, sir — it is very material or I would not ask — 
 are you in delirium tremens ? ' 
 
 ' I am not, and never was,' said Philip. ' But Avhat 
 have these questions got to do with my seeing you ? ' 
 
 ' This, sir, that in all my experience as a ghost, which 
 extends over a period of more than a hundred years, I 
 have not met a man of your sanguine-bilious complexion 
 who has been able to see one of us, except in his cups, 
 or in the horrors, or in bad health. I perceive that 
 none of these causes give you the second sight ; and I 
 protest, sir, that I am hugely interested to know whence 
 you have the gift.' 
 
 The ghost took a pinch of snuff' out of a large gold 
 snuff-box and meditated for a minute. Philip, whose 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE GREAT IMEN 
 
 attention had been directed exclusively to the face of 
 the apparition, now examined it from top to toe. It 
 wore its own hair powdered, and carried its little three- 
 cornered laced hat under its left arm. Its eyes were 
 blue and phosphorescent, but not at all repulsive. Its 
 nose was hooked, but a large good-humoured mouth 
 took from the hawkish expression of that feature. 
 There was a pale pink tinge on its cheeks and on its 
 lips ; but the rest of its face, and its neck and hands, 
 were of a waxy, semi-transparent whiteness. It wore a 
 green silk coat with gold-facings, and its knee-breeches 
 were of the same material and hue. Its stockings were 
 of white silk, and fitted exquisitely as tight a leg as ever 
 stepped up the gallows-ladder. The shoes had gold 
 buckles and red heels. It wore no waistcoat, and its 
 rufHed shirt of the finest cambric was open at the neck. 
 Two gold-mounted pistols were stuck in a belt worn 
 sailor-wise ; and a long rapier with a gold hilt, but 
 without a scabbard, hung at its side. These arms and 
 articles of dress appeared to have undergone a cliange 
 like -that of their wearer. They were perfectly visible 
 to Philip ; but the whole apparition had an aloof impalp- 
 able air about it, not by any means ghostly, however, as 
 that word is commonly understood. 
 
 At the end of about two minutes, having quickened 
 his wits — I must use the masculine pronoun, although 
 ghosts and bogies are neuter — with snuff", six times 
 administered in a manner so graceful, delicate, and 
 noiseless, as to be not only an apology, but almost a
 
 tiee; glasgoav ghosts 69 
 
 reason for that metliod of taking tobacco, the ghost with 
 an eloquent bow presented his box to Philip, saying at 
 the same time, ' I am, sir, exceedingly loath to incur your 
 resentment ; but, if you will pledge me your honour not 
 to be offended, I will hazard a guess as to the reason of 
 your being able to see me, which, I think, will pretty 
 nearly hit the mark.' 
 
 Philip, whose interest and amusement had overcome 
 every other feeling, replied graciously, ' I imagine such 
 a refined gentleman as you most undoubtedly are, could 
 not, without doing a greater outrage to himself than to 
 me, utter a single word that could be construed as 
 insolent.' 
 
 The ghost bowed and simpered a little in a manly 
 way, while Philip helped himself to a pinch of snuff 
 from the box, which was received back by its owner 
 with another engaging bow. 
 
 ' I protest,' said the ghost, taking a seventh and 
 prodigious pinch, ' I protest, sir, that I do not design it 
 as a reflection upon your character as a gentleman, or 
 your position in the world ; but from certain shrewd 
 signs that I remember to have observed in myself during 
 the first period of my life, and which I now notice in 
 you, I conclude that it is some time since you broke 
 your fast ; indeed, sir, if you will permit me to say it, I 
 fancy you are starving.' 
 
 Philip wondered why the ghost should be so deli- 
 cate in the matter of hunger, and so frank in that of 
 drunkenness j but, ascribing the difference to the custom
 
 70 THE GKEAT MEN 
 
 of the age in wliicli the ghost had worn flesh, or to some 
 rule of spiritual etiquette, he was about to acknowledge 
 his wretched condition, when a fit of sneezing seized 
 him. The snuff, of which he had taken a good pinch, 
 was of peculiar pnngcncy, and, when thoroughly 
 moistened, stung his nose like a nettle. He sneezed 
 for two minutes, each paroxysm pealing so loudly that 
 the very stars seemed to wink. When the fit left 
 him, he said, 'It is true; I am dying of hunger. 
 I haven't eaten for eighteen hours.' 
 
 ' Good heavens ! ' cried the ghost, in the greatest 
 consternation. 
 
 Without another word he grasped Philip's right 
 hand, and led him away towards the west end of the 
 city at a pace of extraordinary rapidity, which caused 
 him not the least uneasiness, for contact with the ghost 
 seemed to endow him with some ethereal strength. 
 After they had gone a mile or two, the ghost slackened 
 the pace, and addressed Philip abruptly in the following 
 terms : 
 
 ' Sir, the power by which you are able to see me 
 arises from the reduction in your animal strength caused 
 by your long abstinence from food. Your spirit thereby, 
 like air relieved from pressure, has risen upright out of 
 the bent and blinding posture in which it is usually 
 confined by your coflin.' 
 
 ' My cofiin ! ' 
 
 ' Good sir,' said the ghost with courteous haste, ' we 
 spirits call bodies cofiins ! But, sir, allow me, as we
 
 THE GLASGOW GHOSTS 71 
 
 are about to enter the presence of a number of goodly 
 ghosts — my friends — to allay in a measure the curiosity 
 which I plainly perceive almost equals your hunger. I 
 will let you know everything about ourselves that 
 ghosts are permitted to tell the coffined. And, to be- 
 gin with, let me inform you that at this present moment, 
 the number of people in Glasgow having intercourse of 
 some nature with ghosts of all ages, from five thousand 
 years to one second, must be between six and seven 
 thousand. You will be astonished at this; but you 
 must understand that it is very seldom a true ghost- 
 seer ever publishes his visions, even to the wife of his 
 bosom ; because, without getting special permission 
 from a ghost, the flesh-trammelled soul cannot recount 
 what he sees and hears in our company. Besides, few 
 know to ask this licence, and it is taken away from 
 those to whom it is granted on the least deviation from 
 the truth, or heightening of colour in what they say of us. 
 
 ' Give me this power ! ' cried Philip. 
 
 ' It is yours ; but many things that you see and 
 hear you will be unable to recall. Well, sir, my name 
 is Hugh Rawhead, and my wife is Lady Dolly Dimity. 
 I'ou do not know these names, though the latter w'as 
 once famous in fashionable circles, and the former noted 
 on the highway, and canonised in the Newgate Calendar. 
 My lady and I are living at present in an elegantly 
 furnished house in Gordon Terrace. Its tenant has been 
 out of Glasgow since the beginning of June. Dolly and 
 I came to it in August. We are English ghosts, but
 
 72 TILE GREAT MEN 
 
 prefer to live in Scotland, because England is so 
 changed since our time that we have no comfort living 
 there. Scotland we didn't know in our former exist- 
 ence, and, though the effects of progress often shock us 
 even here, it is vastly pleasanter than in England. 
 Why, sir, in that woeful country, my father's grave has 
 been built over ; and I have a friend, a Yorkshire ghost, 
 who saw his own tombstone built into a dyke — a dry 
 dyke, sir ! ' 
 
 ' Atrocious ! ' said Philip. 
 
 ' Monstrous, my good sir, monstrous ! But,' con- 
 tinued the ghost, increasing the pace at which they 
 proceeded, to use an indefinite term for a motion hardly 
 describable, ' I will not keep you from satisfying your 
 hunger any longer, as I see you are getting fainter. 
 You will not be surprised, then, at my servants and 
 guests, who are all ghosts. I have three couples on a 
 visit to me at present. The gentlemen were all high- 
 waymen like myself. There is Tony Trippet and his 
 wife, Mirabel Dufresnoy, who was a nun at Rouen ; 
 Will Wannion and his wife, the Duchess of Dansker- 
 ville, who, you may remember, eloped with her hus- 
 band's second gardener ; and Robert Blacklock and his 
 wife, Jemima Jenkinson, who was a Methodist preacher. 
 I am sure they will all make you welcome, and here 
 we are.' 
 
 A footman of the most aristocratic appearance 
 ushered Philip and his friend into a large dining- 
 room, where the lady and gentlemen ghosts whose
 
 THE GLASGOAV GHOSTS 73 
 
 names Mr. Rawhead had mentioned, all dressed in 
 costumes of the last century, sat round a supper-table. 
 
 ' Ha ! Mr. Rawhead,' said Lady Dolly Dimity in 
 tones of muffled sweetness, ' how late you are ! ' 
 
 ' My dear life,' replied Mr. Rawhead, ' I would have 
 been to the minute had I not required to accommodate 
 my pace to this gentleman's, whose name I have not 
 yet inquired.' 
 
 Philip announced himself, and Mr. Rawhead's guests 
 were introduced to him, and shook hands with him 
 cordially. A peculiar lukewarmth in his own hand 
 was the only sensation conveyed by their grasp. Supper 
 was served immediately. The food set before the ghosts 
 was wholly liquid ; but Philip was too intent on the 
 solids supplied to himself to observe further the nature of 
 the spiritual repast. When his hunger was sufficiently 
 appeased to allow of his looking about him, the others 
 had all supped, or rather drunk, and sat watching him 
 with a placid expression of pleasure, 
 
 ' Mr. Marquis,' said Rawhead, ' if you can now give 
 me your attention, I will let you know how I came to 
 be walking about the streets to-night.' 
 
 ' I shall be most happy,' said Philip, ' to know the 
 cause of my good fortune.' 
 
 ' All who have been pronounced criminals,' con- 
 tinued the ghost, ' on entering the world of spirits have 
 this duty laid upon them — to roam up and down in 
 search of people about to commit crime for the purpose 
 of dissuading them from their evil purposes. This is
 
 74 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 done by acting secretly on tlieir consciences, antl, in 
 cases wliere it is possible, by a monitory wliisper or 
 apparition. AVhen I met you I was returning from 
 preventing a burglary in Denniston, and several petty 
 larcenies in the Gallowgate. I am glad to have been 
 tlie means of saving you from starving, and if I can 
 help you in any other way I shall esteem it a privilege. 
 Lafayette, you may go.' 
 
 Philip turned and saw a magnificent lacquey leave 
 the room. There could be no mistake. This was none 
 other than ' the sublime hero of two worlds, Grandison- 
 Cromwell-Lafayette.' 
 
 ' To what base uses ! ' he exclaimed. 
 
 ' Ah ! you are astonished,' said Ilawhead. ' But 
 you must understand that, just as we villains are en- 
 gaged in preventing evil, so misers occupy themselves 
 in suggesting charity to rich men ; philosophers in 
 amusing themselves ; epic poets in helping sub-editors ; 
 theologians in learning about God ; and those who in 
 the flesh were of haughty natures, in serving spirits 
 who were more humble-minded. Lafayette is the best 
 servant we ever had. Is he not, Dolly ? ' 
 
 ' He is, indeed, my dear,' replied Lady Dimity. 
 ' We got him as soon as he died, Mr. Marquis ; and 
 very glad of him we were, I can tell you, although we 
 were dubious about taking' him,' 
 
 ' How so ? ' asked Philip. 
 
 ' Oh well, you know, sir, when the French Revolu- 
 tion began, we were perfectly deluged with serving
 
 THE GLASGOW GHOSTS 75 
 
 ghosts, on account of the number of aristocrats sent 
 us. Capital domestics they were and are; but in a 
 little while all kinds of low-mannered French fellows, 
 who, although not well born, had been of the haughtiest 
 natures, plagued us in shoals, until the very name of 
 Frenchman made us shudder.' 
 
 ' Do you remember Robespierre, my love ? ' asked 
 llawhead. 
 
 ' I'll never forget him till my dying day ! ' cried 
 Lady Dolly. ' Oh, the stiff, awkward brute ! ' 
 
 ' I hear,' said the Duchess of Danskerville, ' that he 
 has been engaged by Louis XVI. as boots.' 
 
 - ' This is extraordinary,' cried Philip. ' Can you 
 tell me anything of Marie Antoinette ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly, sir,' said Mirabel Dufresnoy. ' She is 
 the most fashionable milliner to the ghosts in Paris, 
 and she is married, I believe, to a Highland laird, who 
 goes out as a waiter.' 
 
 ' And Louis XVI. ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said the French lady, ' he and an English 
 puritaness who sailed in the Maijjloiver keep house 
 together.' 
 
 ' Mr. Marquis,' said Jemima Jenkinson in a solemn 
 voice, ' I, who talked so much formerly, never open my 
 lips now except to the point. When you join us for 
 good, you will find yourself besieged by crowds of 
 serving ghosts. Of all these the most forward will be 
 a little, stout, unencumbered, olive-complexioned spirit, 
 who, it seems, created a great disturbance in his time.
 
 76 THE GEEAT MEN 
 
 His name is Napoleon Buonaparte. He is engaged and 
 discharged almost every day. All new unsophisticated 
 arrivals to whom he offers himself, generally as butler, 
 snap him up with avidity, thinking themselves highly 
 honoured. But I don't believe he ever remained in a 
 place longer than three hours. He is the most incom- 
 petent, absent-minded, stumbling, blundering creature 
 imaginable. And the best of it all is, the wretch is so 
 anxious to please, and looks at one with such a pathetic, 
 dog-like gaze when he fails, that nobody has the heart 
 to rate him ; and his employers dismiss him with a 
 most excellent character, giving as a reason for discon- 
 tinuing his services that they are ashamed to be waited 
 on by such a great spirit.' 
 
 Philip thanked Jemima, and promised to profit by 
 her warning. 
 
 ' Dear me ! ' exclaimed Lady Dimity, looking at her 
 watch, ' how late it is ! I must go and see to my 
 childz'en.' 
 
 She went to the nursery, while the other ladies 
 retired to the drawing-room. Then Philip, with a face 
 and accent expressive of the greatest wonder, said to 
 Mr. Rawhead, ' I thought there was no marrying nor 
 giving in marriage there ! ' 
 
 ' Ah, but, my dear sir, yon see we are not " there " 
 yet,' replied Mr. Rawhead, smiling good-naturedly. 
 
 ' And Lady Dimity's children ! Are they — are 
 they ' 
 
 ' Are they what, sir ? '
 
 THE GLASGOW GHOSTS 77 
 
 ' Were tliey born since she died ? ' 
 
 ' Most assuredly, my good sir. She is my wife, sir — 
 my affinity. It is the first thing ghosts do, to seek out 
 their affinities. Sometimes mistakes occur, as you may 
 conceive, many spirits being alike in character.' 
 
 ' And what takes place when an error is made ? ' 
 
 ' A duel, as a rule, which results in the death of one 
 or other of the parties.' 
 
 ' Death ? ' gasped Philip. 
 
 ' Ay ; did you think ghosts lived for ever ? ' 
 
 ' But you said there were ghosts five thousand years 
 old.' 
 
 ' Quite true. The ghosts of most of the antediluvians 
 and many of the patriarchs still survive ; but the 
 average life of a ghost since the beginning of the 
 Christian era is five hundred years. Adam and Eve 
 are still alive and hearty as ever. It is expected that 
 they will live till the end of the world.' 
 
 ' Is Cain alive ? ' asked Philip. 
 
 ' No ; he and Abel departed in the end of last 
 century. After having had a great many wives, they 
 both conceived the notion that tlieir true affinitv was 
 Charlotte Corday. They fought a whole week about 
 her, with intervals for refreshment, and they both died 
 of the wounds they gave each other.' 
 
 ' And what became of Charlotte Corday ? ' 
 
 ' She and Jephthah's daughter, desperate of ever 
 getting husbands, have founded a sort of nunnery 
 for ladies similarly situated. It is said that Char-
 
 78 THE GEEAT MEN 
 
 lotte would like Cromwell, but Judith won't give liim 
 
 Philip was so overpowered by these revelations that 
 he was silent for a while. During the pause Will 
 Wannion hummed a song, and Tony Trippet drummed 
 time to it on the table ; Bobby Blacklock thoughtlessly 
 picked his clean teeth ; Rawhead polished his pistols ; 
 and all four ghosts snuffed industriously. 
 
 At length Philip said, ' Where do ghosts go when 
 they die ? ' 
 
 ' Nobody knows,' replied Rawhead. 
 
 ' Do they ever reappear ? ' pursued Philip. 
 
 ' No, no ! There is still a talk in some quarters of 
 the spirits of ghosts reappearing, but it is the remnant 
 of a foolish superstition.' 
 
 ' The purest humbug,' said Trippet. 
 
 This is all that was told me of Philip Marquis and 
 the ghosts. 
 
 Everybody complimented the honorary porter on 
 his story, and the fourth Great Man wished to start a 
 discussion on ghosts, but Cosmo called him to order, 
 and insisted on his telling the next story. 
 
 'My story,' said the fourth Great Man, obedient to 
 the word of command, ' is different from its predecessors 
 in every respect. I don't pretend that it's anything 
 very great — in fact I know it's not ; but I think it will 
 be found different also from every story that comes 
 after it to-night. It is called ' Water and Wliiskey,'
 
 THE GLASGOW GHOSTS 79 
 
 and I tell it in the first person, but it is not about 
 myself. The hero of it was a bank clerk of Greenock, 
 who went on a holiday with a book of Mark Twain's in 
 his pocket. It ought to interest you, Mr. Jamiesou, 
 for the scene is in the neighbourhood of Dunmyatt.'
 
 80 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 CllAi'TEU V 
 
 WATER AND WHISKEY 
 
 On a Thursday in July, Tom Stewart, his wife, his 
 wife's sister and I, availed ourselves of the privilege 
 granted the public on that day of the week of visiting 
 Airthrie, an estate of Lord Abercrombie's lying between 
 Bridge of Allan and Logle. Having sauntered round 
 the winding lakelet which occupies the vale between 
 the Abbey Craig and the Ochils, we turned into an 
 extensive park, walking all abreast, and arm in arm. 
 We had reached the centre of the park, when Mrs. 
 Stewart, looking behind her, uttered a startled scream. 
 We all wheeled round. About twenty yards from us a 
 huge brown bull stood snorting and tossing his head in 
 evident rage, mixed with dubiety, over something. As 
 I said, we were about the centre of the park. A few 
 bounds and the bull would burst through our little 
 phalanx. There was no time for deliberation. Mrs. 
 Stewart clung to her husband. ' I'll die with you, 
 dear,' she whispered — good little wife. Kate would 
 not leave her sister. The bull bellowed and came no 
 slowly. Mrs. Stewart had her husband's left arm and 
 my right. Kate hung on my left.
 
 WATEE AND WHISKEY 8l 
 
 The bull did not know which to attack first. That 
 was why he did not rush on us at once. He was 
 coming up to inspect us. Having settled which of us 
 he would pay his regards to, he would then retire and 
 charge ir> correct form. Resolved that this was the 
 bull's intention, I determined to imitate the negro in 
 ' Sandford and Merton ' — grasp the bull's tail, hold on 
 till the others had escaped, and then die a martyr's 
 death. The bull was about two yards from us when I 
 finished arranging this plan. I took my last look at 
 
 Kate, at Mrs. Stewart, at Ko ! Yes ! Tom was 
 
 smiling waggishly. Could the fellow read my thoughts ? 
 I felt hurt, but not in trim for exjDostulation. On a 
 second look I saw that he could hardly be smiling at 
 me; for he was gazing at the bull. Perhaps he had 
 formed a plan too. I suddenly remembered an 
 adventure of Tom's with a bull when he was a student 
 in Edinburgh. One morning on his w\ay to the 
 University, at the foot of Cambridge Street, an enraged 
 bull turned up. It made right at Tom. Quick as 
 thought he ran forward, placed his hands on the bull's 
 arched neck, and leap-frogged clear over its tail, amid 
 the cheers of the spectators. This recollection gave me 
 courage. Tom would be sure to have a plan, perhaps a 
 better one than mine. The bull was within a yard of 
 us ; it never got any further. 
 
 Lurching from side to side like a tar ashore, and 
 describing the celebrated figure of a series often fingers 
 projecting from the nose like a pair of ' disjaskit and 
 
 Q
 
 82 Till' GKEAT MEN 
 
 drunken fans, Toui advanced a step, stooping to one 
 side of the bull and then to the other. The bull turned 
 up his eye on tlic side Tuni was performing to as regu- 
 larly as he hopped round. 
 
 1 had no sensations for five niinutt's; then I grew 
 anxious. The question was : Whether will Tom or 
 the bull tire first? Again — When one of them tires, 
 what will the bull do? 
 
 When Tom began to charm the bull there had been 
 a smile on his face ; but a look of agony soon usurped 
 it. The perspiration rolled iVom his brow and trickled 
 down his nose, dropping from the agitated little finger 
 of his right hand. He had no strength to twiddle his 
 fingers ; they trembled involuntarily. He reeled from 
 side to side as if, not his fingers only, but his whole man 
 had been drunk, as, to be sure it was — with terror. 
 And always the bull turned up its eye. 
 
 At the end of ten minutes I began to laugh. So did 
 Mrs. Stewart and Kate ; so did the bull ; but not Tom. 
 
 Then the bull tired first. It ceased to oscillate its 
 head, and thrust Tom gently aside with one of its horns, 
 put forth a hoof, and gazed at me. Had the bull divined 
 my intentions with regard to its tail ? Would it rc- 
 cpiire revenge ? On the contrary there was an inquiring 
 glance in its eye. The inquiring glance became wistful, 
 imploring. It opened and shut its mouth. A tear 
 rolled down each side of its nose. Gfroaning heavily it 
 moved off, laid itself down in the shadow of a tree and 
 sobbed. I knew the cause of its grief— its inability to
 
 WATER AND WHISKEY 83 
 
 utter articulate sounds. It wanted to ask me if there 
 was any truth in the report that on a Sabbath evening 
 during Divine service whiskey had been put into tlie 
 water used for drinking by a congregation in Greenock. 
 
 Within a fortnight I had been asked this question 
 a hundred times — in Perth, Dunkekl, Dundee, Stirling, 
 in Tullibody, in Dollar, on the top of Duumyatt, on the 
 Abbey Craig, on railway journeys, in streets, on statute- 
 labour roads, in lanes, in by-ways. Friends asked mc ; 
 strangers — whom, in the course of a casual conversation 
 I unfortunately informed that I vfas a Greenock man — 
 boys, girls, beggars asked me ; until the slightest spark 
 of interrogation in the eye of a dog, of a gargoyle on an 
 old abbey or castle, sent me away abruptly, shuddering 
 lest I should hear the hundred-times-reiterated question. 
 The bull may not have known anything about the 
 matter; but I, in my subjective mood, beheld that 
 question in its eye plainly. 
 
 The reason why the affair annoyed me was that I, a 
 Greenock man, referred and deferred to as an authority, 
 was furnished with no satisfactory answer. It was also 
 sickening to see so many people in dead earnest over 
 such a trivial matter. Several times I had thought of 
 writing to Greenock for a full explanation, not from any 
 desire to know, but to be able to say yes or no. How- 
 ever, the idea of playing tormentor to another as others 
 did to me restrained me. 
 
 On our way home from Airthrie I left the otlii'rs to 
 get an evening paper at Stirling station. A train had 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 just left the platform when I arrived. A few travellers 
 were lounging about. The porters were mostly idle ; 
 only some leisurely shunting was going on. 
 
 ' Hey ! Catch it ! There it is— down the line ! ' 
 
 'Eh! What? Where?' a dozen voices shouted 
 in chorus at the walls, at the telegraph-wires, at what- 
 ever could not reply. 
 
 The soloist sang out again, ' Stop it! Hey ! Stop 
 it, will you ? ' 
 
 Was this some poor Greenock man flying from a 
 remorseless questioner? 
 
 ' It's a Jerusalem pony ! ' 
 
 ' No, it's a mule ! ' 
 
 A mule it was, cantering briskly along the Dollar 
 line towards Glasgow, with its owner panting behind. 
 The chase was immediately aTigmented by nearly every 
 idler in the station. The mule took it easy, allowing 
 ns to come up round it, and then jinking away a bit 
 ahead. I got exasperated and soon led the chase. 
 The mule stopped again till we should come up. It 
 snuffed the air as I came forward, whinnied, and ap- 
 proached me. It smelt me, stared me in the face, and 
 then, with a loud neigh of joy, shied off and searched 
 amonsr the lines. I was too much astonished to make 
 any attempt at seizing it. 
 
 At length the mule found what it required : two 
 lines crossing each other at right angles. It made a 
 polite h)w to me, and then danced the sword dance 
 with great spirit and manifestations of delight. The
 
 "WATER AND WHISKEY 85 
 
 other pursuers stood beside me looking on. The dance 
 being ended it approached me again, and looked the 
 imploring look I knew too Avell, The poor brute had 
 scented out that I was a Greenock man ; its dance dis- 
 played its pleasure at the discovery, and was its mode 
 of thanking Providence for throwing me in its way ; 
 and now the expected information was not forthcoming. 
 I shook my head. The mule understood, heaved a 
 great sigh, and set off towards the Forth, I said to its 
 owner, ' Look sharp, my man ; your mule has gone to 
 drown itself.' I then went home. 
 
 The following Saturday at the top of Baker Street, 
 in Stirling, a sight met me that had I been dumb would 
 have made me whoop. A man, ragged, starved, covered 
 with mud from head to heels, leading a woebegone, 
 muddy mule ! I shouted, ' Is that the mule that ' 
 
 ' That's the mule,' said the man. ' Look at him. 
 You have often read of him in the newspapers. This 
 is the mule whose successive owners, while bargaining 
 with a purchaser, always volunteer to tell one of his 
 only two faults, which is a predilection for liberty and 
 good grass so strong, that when once he gets into a 
 field it is almost impossible to catch him. Then the 
 hopeful purchaser says with a smile, " Prevention 's 
 better than cure ; we'll take care he doesn't get into a 
 field," and pays down the money. " And now that he's 
 sold," says the other, " I may as well tell you his other 
 fault. When you do catch him he's of no use in the 
 world." This mule used to be in the market every
 
 86 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 day until I bought liim ; and I'll never sell lilm. I 
 feed liini on a straw a day ; starving is his labour. He 
 gets a week's holiday every year down at Cambuskenneth 
 Abbey. I cart him down, and with the help of the 
 keeper of the orchard, lift him into his holiday pastur- 
 age, and stand him up against a tree. He smells the 
 grass and lets down his head to get at it ; but he has 
 grown so stiff and shrivelled with his year's labour that 
 he can't reach it. _ He meditates for a while, and then 
 puts his head into the fork of a tree, and pulls out his 
 nicck a bit. He does this several times until his mouth 
 reaches the grass, and then ho begins to eat. He eats 
 all day. A cow in the orchard can't feed for gazing at 
 him, and follows him about anxiously with a fear in 
 each horn : one horn fears that the mule will burst, the 
 other that he will eat up the whole orchard. So the 
 poor cow botches about on this dilemma. At night the 
 orchard-keeper and his wife can't sleep for the champing 
 of the mule. It's jaws go like the jaws of death. It 
 is too much, and the mule is muzzled, except for three 
 hours in the forenoon. From ten to one all the people 
 in Cambuskenneth who can possibly spare the time, 
 and many who can't, come to see the mule eating. The 
 scholars in the school, which is near the orchard, hear 
 the rapturous shout of the villagers when the mule is 
 unmuzzled, and rush out in spite of the efforts of the 
 te^acher to detain them. On Sunday nobody goes to 
 church in the forenoon, because to do so would entail 
 the missinj of the mule-show ; and nobody goes in the
 
 WATER AND WHISKEY 87 
 
 afternoon on account of tlie prostration resulting from 
 the strain on necks and eyes and toes for three hours. 
 The village is wholly demoralised during th« stay of 
 this \Yretched animal, and the orchard-keeper has 
 always to returf his orchard after its visit. "When it 
 ran off on Thursday I was taking it home.' 
 
 ' But you don't mean to say you've been all this 
 time catching it ? ' 
 
 ' No, I can't say I've been all this time catching it ; 
 but I'd call the man a liar who would say I haven't 
 been most of the time chasing it, or rather him. I 
 like to call him " him." You, sir, told me he had gone 
 to drown himself. Perhaps that was his intention, but 
 whenever he finds himself among grass, he eats. I got 
 him tearing away on the Stirling side of the river. 
 When he saw me he sprang into the water and swam 
 to the other side, and began to eat. I followed him, 
 and the minute I stood on land he was in the water 
 again, making for the side I had left. He soon ate up 
 all the grass he could come at on that side of the Forth, 
 and then laid himself down to rest. He fell asleep. 
 I slipped cautiously into the water, and swam across. 
 I was wading through the mud on the mule's side, when 
 the hypocritical brute stretched his legs, yawned, gave 
 himself a roll, and stepped into the river a few yards 
 from me. I swam after him. He allowed me to seize 
 hold of his tail, and actually towed me over. Then he 
 twisted" his tail out of my hand, and set off at a gallop. 
 I saw it was to be a long chase, and was content to
 
 88 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 keep the brute in siglit without attempting to come 
 near liim. At niglit we slept on opposite banks of the 
 river. I kept him in sight all Friday, and we slept in 
 the same manner during Friday night. AVhen this 
 morning dawned, I saw the mule was troubled. I soon 
 guessed what was the matter, for I was puzzled too. 
 " Which side of the river am I on ? " AVe both asked 
 ourselves that question. You know how the Forth 
 winds ? Well, we had got wandered among its 
 meanders. The mule was exactly opposite me, and I 
 was exactly opposite the mule ; but w^e couldn't be sure 
 that we were not both on the same side. A iishing- 
 boat passed down between us, and I hailed the fisher- 
 man. " Am I on the same side of the river as the 
 mule ? " I shouted.' 
 
 ' The fisherman surveyed us, and replied surlily, 
 " Which is the mule and which is you ? " 
 
 ' When the fisherman had gone, I wanted to find out 
 which side of the river I really was on, and so did the 
 mule. If we met, then, of course we must have been 
 on different sides of the river. If we didn't meet, then 
 we had been, and would still somehow be, on the same 
 side. You shouldn't laugh. Just go and try to thread 
 the links of Forth on a two-days' fast. We met, and I 
 got on the mule's back, and here we are.' 
 
 ' A strange experience,' I remarked. ' But when I 
 was in Greenock ' 
 
 ' What ! ' cried the mule owner, ' you're a Greenock
 
 WATEE AND WHISKEY 89 
 
 man ! Then you'll be able to tell me if there's any 
 truth in the report that whiskey ' 
 
 ' No, my friend, I can't tell you ; but if you will 
 come to the post-office with me, I'll telegraph to a 
 friend in Greenock who knows the beadle of the church.' 
 
 The mule, who had been standiner with his lears a- 
 kimbo, one ear cocked, the other laid back, his eye- 
 brows elevated, and his eyes disdainfully surveying the 
 causey during the narration of his escapade, stood at 
 attention the moment Greenock was mentioned. He 
 accompanied us joyfully to the post-office. 
 
 The three of us waited an hour for the reply to my 
 telegram, which was as follows : — 
 
 ' Some person who had been having a dram, took a 
 drink of the water, and left the smell of his breath about 
 the tumbler. This is the sole ground of the report.' 
 
 No sooner had I read this than the mule dropped 
 dead, the man rushed to the nearest public-house, and 
 I went home, neither a sadder nor a wiser man. 
 
 ' Well,' said Cosmo, ' it's pretty lively ; but I never 
 could see any virtue in mere lying.' 
 
 The fourth Great Man, who had told his story with 
 considerable comic jDower, was very crestfallen; but 
 Ninian put iiim on better terms with himself by com- 
 mending the story highly. 
 
 ' Your story,' said Cosmo, ' reminds me of an incident 
 in the life of Dickens, which has come lately to my
 
 90 THE GREAT IVIEN 
 
 knowledge. There's no similarity, nnd I can't say wliy 
 it is recalled to my momory ; still, it's a remarkable 
 story, and I want to tell it, and as I'resident I call 
 upon myself to do so.' 
 And Cosmo did so.
 
 91 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND WILLIAM JAMES CONDY 
 
 Even those of you, gentlemen, who are intimately 
 acquainted with Zola's writings, will, most likely, not 
 remember that passage in the preface to one of his 
 earlier novels in which he expresses his indebtedness 
 to the neglected English writer, Condy. After inform- 
 ing the reader how his discontent at the want of realism 
 and naturalism in modern fiction sfrew into a burniner 
 desire to remedy that defect, Zola says something like 
 this : ' I began, and destroyed unfinished, many attempts 
 at stories in the manner of what I then called my theory 
 of the art of novel-writing. I still clung to this one 
 formula — to the idea that novel-writing was an art. I 
 was purblind. The scales had indeed fallen from my 
 eyes, but there was still in my mind a i^reconceived 
 notion of things. My imagination still clouded realities ; 
 I saw men as trees walking. While in this condition 
 I chanced to read a short account of the recently 
 deceased English novelist, Condy. It was an obituary 
 notice. The subject of it had committed suicide because 
 of his having failed to obtain popularity. That was the
 
 92 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 reason assigned at the time of liis dcatli, and nothing 
 has since transpired to invalidate it. Among other 
 extracts from his books there was one explaining his 
 views of novel-writing. " Let us not forget,"' he said, 
 " that novel means new. It is therefore absurd to call 
 historical romances novels. Novel means now, but not 
 iu the sense of the newness, the perennial freshness of 
 passion, whether displayed by Cain or the last murderer, 
 by Leander or Hernani, by Alexander the Great or 
 Napoleon. A novel must be new iu that it describes 
 things exactly as they are at the moment of writing — 
 fashions in dress, in furniture and speech, in wealth and 
 poverty, in virtue and vice, the newest diseases — the 
 newest development of art being one. Of course, if old 
 things come iu the writer's way he must not omit them ; 
 but the new are to be preferred. Yet there is one ancient 
 thing above all others the writer of the true novel will 
 find at the present day to be quite new in literature, 
 namely filth. Doubtless Swift and Rabelais, to go no 
 further back, have written filthily ; but there is always a 
 gleam of humour, like a pearl in a lay-stall, that takes 
 away from the full effect of their filthiness. The true 
 novelist must write of foul things as they are, and 
 because they are, and not that he may show his genius 
 by making ordure palatable : the stomach of the reader 
 must be turned. In a word, Do not bear false witness 
 against nature ; copy her. If a thing be black, do not 
 call it white because it may appear so in a certain light. 
 Look straight at, close into, and through the cosmos of
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND WILLIAM JAMES CONDY 93 
 
 nature and the cliaos of society, and tell the world what 
 you see." ' 
 
 Zola goes on to say that he lost no time in getting 
 the works of this bold writer, and that he ascribes the 
 crystallisation of his own style to the perusal of Condy's 
 novels. 
 
 Well, that hasn't much to do with my story ; but it 
 introduces Condy to you in a fairly interesting way, I 
 hope. Now for my narrative. 
 
 Charles Dickens was in the morning of his fame. 
 'Pickwick,' 'Nickleby,' 'Oliver Twist,' and 'The Old 
 Curiosity Shop' had streamed from those sunbeams, his 
 quills, that seemed to have an exhaustless source of joy 
 and sadness in the glowing sun of his heart, drawing 
 from the earth its tears and from some quaint skyey 
 quarter its laughter. On Saturday, July 4, 1841 — I 
 remember the date exactly — eight days after he had 
 been made a burgher of Edinburgh, Dickens drove from 
 Craigcrook with its owner, Lord Jeffrey, to make a public 
 appearance in the Theatre Royal. The carriage arrived 
 at the theatre about nine o'clock." Lord Jeffrey appeared 
 in the box reserved for his guest and himself at nine 
 exactly ; Dickens, not for half an hour after. When he 
 joined Jeffrey the latter said, 'You look tired. Have 
 they been submitting you to that modern improvement 
 upon the rack, a series of hand-shakings ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Dickens, who was pale but quite 
 collected. I have been on the rack.' 
 
 And so he had. When the carriage stopped at the
 
 94 TJIE (iKEAT MEN 
 
 theatre, the expectant crowd surged round it in spite of 
 the efforts of the police to keep a passage ck-ar between 
 it and the box-cntrunee. Jeffrey's footman managed to 
 open the carriage-door and liis master got out ; bufc, 
 before he could turn, as he intended, to give Dickens his 
 hand, he was hustled aside, away from his servant, and 
 into the theatre, supposing that Dickens was following. 
 And, being an old man, unable to battle with a crowd, 
 Jeffrey hurried to his box, where he sat alone during 
 the half-hour of his separation from Dickens, without 
 the least anxiety, believing that the enthusiasm of his 
 admirers detained the young novelist. It was far other- 
 wise. Dickens did not leave the carriage after Jeffrey ; 
 for the door was slammed to, and he was driven off at a 
 rapid rate, to the stupefaction of the coachman, who had 
 descended to assist the police and his fellow-servant. 
 
 The new driver turned into Rose Street — one of the 
 quietest in the neighbourhood — drew up about the 
 middle of it, lowered the carriage blinds, and placed 
 himself opposite Dickens, who sat up with both hands 
 clenched and resting on his knees. 
 
 None of the crowd at the theatre door. Lord 
 Jeffrey's servant included, knew that Dickens had not 
 left the carriage ; and when it drove away the people 
 pushed and strained their necks and shouted ; and some 
 said afterwards that they had seen him, and some con- 
 fessed that they hadn't ; but all believed that Dickens 
 entered the theatre immediately after Jeffrey. 
 
 By the time the two servants had made way through
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND WILLIAM JAMES CONDY 95 
 
 the crowd tlie carriage was out of sight. Tliey ran up 
 Leitli Walk and into Princes Street. Opposite the 
 Register they divided, one going over the North Bridge, 
 the other along Princes Street, each of them accom- 
 panied by a policeman and a crowd of idlers. 
 
 The stranger was silent for a quarter of an hour 
 after seating himself opposite Dickens ; and then, reply- 
 ing to the interrogation in the eyes of his vis-d-vis, said 
 ' My name is Condy. Will you sign this ? ' 
 
 Dickens took the paper offered him and read aloud, 
 the stranger having half raised one of the blinds. 
 
 ' I, Charles Dickens, author of the " Posthumous 
 Papers of the Pickwick Club," " The Adventures of 
 Nicholas Nickleby," etc., hereby promise on soul and 
 conscience to publish no more of my writings at present 
 in manuscript, and to write nothing more foi publica- 
 tion in my lifetime or posthumously : and, in lieu of 
 possible earnings for literary work, I hereby accept 
 from William James Condy the title-deeds of his estate 
 of Thurston, in Surrey, England, the rent-roll of which 
 is valued at 10,000?. per annum ; this revenue at a 
 month's date from the day of the signature of this to be 
 to me and my heirs perpetually.' 
 
 ' Why should I sign this, Mr. Condy ? ' 
 
 ' Have you read any of my novels ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' answered Dickens. ' If you arc the Mr. 
 Condy who writes novels, I have.' 
 
 ' You perceived that their style is the negative to 
 your positive.'
 
 96 THE GEEAT MEN 
 
 ' I believe that if two things can be more opposite 
 tlian the poles, they are our styles.' 
 
 Are you aware that before you absorbed all popu- 
 larity my novels were gradually forcing a way for them- 
 selves • but that since your prodigious vogue no one 
 reads them ? ' 
 
 'I was not aware of that; but I will tell you 
 frankly that I am not sorry for it, because I think that 
 your novels are very pestilent productions.' 
 
 ' I should imagine that to be your opinion. Can 
 you not now understand why I make this offer ? ' 
 
 ' I think I can. You are so possessed with a desire 
 for popularity, or you are such a fanatical believer in 
 the truth of your own "writings, or you are so much of 
 both, that you are willing to give yourself better oppor- 
 tunities of acquiring the popularity you burn for, and 
 of disseminating your monstrous social and literary 
 ethics, by buying the silence of him you consider 
 your greatest rival at the expense of your worldly all.' - 
 
 ' You put it pretty fairly,' rejoined Condy, ' except 
 that popularity is with me not an end, but the neces- 
 sary accompaniment of the spread of my ideas. Now, 
 when I first found you injuring my jjopularity, I 
 thought to make you the same offer as I make now, but 
 the stipulation to be that you shoulc' write in my style. 
 I concluded, however, from a closer study of your works 
 that you could never write otherwise than you do ; and 
 so I resolved, 1? possible, to stop vour pen altogether, 
 I have followed you since you left London, seeking an
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND WILLIAM JAMES CONDY 97 
 
 opportunity to get you alone, and I have only succeeded 
 now bv the merest chance.' 
 
 ' How is that ? You might have written to me, ask- 
 ing an interview, which I would have been delighted to 
 give you.' 
 
 ' You do not understand. If you refuse to sign this 
 vou will.' 
 
 ' I will not sign it.' 
 
 The refusal was hardly uttered when Condy seized 
 Dickens's right wrist in his left hand, and presented a 
 pistol which he held in the other at his head, saying, 
 ' Cry out, and I shoot you. You feel my grasp ; it is 
 like a vice. I could squeeze your hand till the blood 
 sprang from under your finger-nails. You are in my 
 power. No one will think of searching for the carriage 
 at such a short distance from the theatre. Should I 
 kill you, I would divest myself of this cloak, this wig, 
 and this false nose, go to the theatre where you 
 expected an ovation to-night, and to-morrow return to 
 London to continue my literary work unopposed. This 
 is what I meant by getting you alone. I can trust you. 
 Sign this and you live.' 
 
 ' I will not sign it.' 
 
 ' Then you must die. There is not one character in 
 all your novels and sketches true to natun^, and IIk^ 
 world is devouring youi' writings; therefore, as a false 
 prophet, you deserve to die. ^'our humour is lliat of an 
 inspired city arab ; your pathos, a hybrid produced from 
 llu' intellect of a man, and the emotion of a piize Sundny 
 
 H
 
 98 TlIE GEEAT MEN 
 
 scliool boy. Your tragedy is melodrama, taken down to 
 the abyss, and there horrorised by depth of brutality. 
 Your comedy is farce on stilts as liigh as steeples. In 
 short, all your people are yourself in their circum- 
 stances — you with your little soul, your soft heart, your 
 narrow intellect — and your genius. The last is your 
 fault, and on account of it you must die. We shall have 
 no more Lilliputians made interesting, no more insipid 
 prattle made amusing, no more beasts made awful by 
 your genius. You must die to make room for men.' 
 ' Shall I not have one word in my defence ? ' 
 ' I know nothing that you could say, but you may 
 try. One word.' 
 
 ' You say my people are myself. So are Shake- 
 speare's — himself in their circumstances of time, place, 
 education — of age, sex, capacity.' 
 
 'That is so. But Shakespeare was a dramatist; 
 you profess to be a novelist. Besides, Shakespeare's 
 genius inspired a man, your genius inspires a pigmy. 
 You must die.' 
 
 Dickens had referred to Shakespeare merely to gain 
 time. He was sorry now that his hope of an interest- 
 ing adventure had k'd Lini into such a box, and that he 
 had not obeyed his first impulse to open the window 
 and shout the moment the carriage drove off. But 
 there was never a readier man in an emergency tlian 
 Dickens. He remembered immediately that while visit- 
 ino- a lunatic asylum ho l;ad by a glance been able to 
 quell the most furious of its inmates. He had no doubt
 
 CHAELES DICIiEXS AND ■\VlLLIA:\r JAMES CONDY 99 
 
 that Condy was mad. Summoning by an effort of Lis 
 powerful will a calm look into his eyes, he fixed them 
 on those of the would-be murderer. It v.'as not a stare. 
 An observer might have thought the expression careless 
 or even dull ; but its effect on Condy was not in keeping 
 with indifference. He was bound by it. His grasp 
 relaxed. Dickens held up his forefinger monitorily in 
 his face. That completed his subjection — which was 
 so sudden that his vanquisher himself wondered. 
 Condy's right arm had fallen by his side. Dickens raised 
 it, and gently loosening the fingers, possessed himself 
 of the pistol. Retaining it at full cock, but not pre- 
 senting it, he said, ' Now, Mr. Condy, you see my time 
 has not come yet. Open the carriage door, and go out.' 
 
 Condy hesitated. Dickens did not raise the pistol. 
 He still trusted to his eyes. Intensifying their gaze, 
 and pointing with his left haud^ he repeated, ' Open 
 the door, and go out.' 
 
 Condy obeyed in silence. When he stood in the 
 street Dickens addressed him from the carriage window. 
 
 ' Sir,' he said, ' you are a disappointed man, and I 
 forgive you. You have 10,000/. a year and write novels 
 for popularity. You are a fool. If you wish for true 
 fame — fame is not the word. If you wish to be a bless- 
 ing and to be blessed, spend your time and your fortune 
 in ameliorating the condition of the poor. You seek 
 to reform novel-writing by making it naturalistic : a 
 higher labour would be to reform our poorhouses, our 
 hospitals, our philanthropic institutions and societieSj 
 
 H 2
 
 IGO THE GKEAT MEN 
 
 and make tlu'in I'rally N\liaf tliey profess to be. They 
 are in countless instances wliited sepulchres ; scrape oft' 
 the whitewash, sweep out the dead men's bones, and 
 make llicm c-lrau and hcallliy, and so earn the praise 
 of mankind to the end of time. This is one thing to do. 
 There are many. Why, sir, a man with 10,000/. a year 
 might, having only half your intellect, half your muscle, 
 half your blood, make himself virtual king of Britain. 
 You are worse than insane to despair because your 
 novels do not succeed. If }ou must follow literature, 
 let it be a nobler path — the novel is among the lowest? 
 Write a great epic. Spend all your life on it. Kcform 
 the acting drama. Slay the meretricious gipsy that 
 flaunts in the stolen robe of criticism. Act, and you 
 will not despair. As for this little passage between us, 
 it shall never be made public by me, nor shall I tell it 
 to anyone as a secret. Rely on this, and farewell.' 
 
 Dickens held out his hand, and Condy took it with 
 a dazed look. 
 
 ' Farewell,' Dickens repeated, 'and may God bless 
 you.' 
 
 Condy walked away without replying. When he 
 was out of sight Dickens mounted the coachman's box 
 and drove back to the theatre. Jeffrey's servants, wdio 
 had returned from their bootless chase, saw their 
 master's property approaching, and actually trembled 
 when they recognised the driver. 
 
 ' I thought, sir," said the coachman, ' that you were 
 in the theatre.'
 
 CHAELES DICKENS AND WILLIAM JA:MES CONDY 101 
 
 ' Ah,' said Dickens, ' tliis is a little joke of mine. 
 I am a great conjurer. Keep it to yourselves,' giving 
 them half-a-sovereign apiece. 
 
 ' Look at that fool,' said one bystander to another 
 in a loud whisper. ' He thinks his lang hair'll mak' 
 him anither Dickens. I wadna" won'ner, uoo, if he 
 thocht he wad be mista'en for Charlie.' 
 
 Dickens overheard and smiled. His critic con- 
 tinued, ' It'll no' dae, my mau. Smiles an' lang hair, 
 an' a strut like a bantam-cock'll no' mak' ye a genius.' 
 
 Dickens passed on, very much amused. When he 
 appeared in Jeffrey's box the whole audience rose and 
 cheered him, and the orchestra struck up ' Charlie is 
 my Darling.' Almost at the same instant William 
 James Condy, as was to have been expected from the 
 eccentricity and insanity which his name indicates, blew 
 his braiiDS out in the hotel where he had been staying. 
 
 ' But,' said the fourth Great Man, when Cosmo had 
 finished, ' I never heard of Condy before.' 
 
 ' You haven't heard of everybody,' said Cosmo 
 tartly. ' You may as well doubt that Sauerteig, 
 Shandy, or the Cid Hamet Benengeli, ever existed, as 
 that William James Condy blew his brains out in a 
 hotel in Princes Street.' 
 
 Then he called upon the honorary steward, who told 
 a story of his friend, Harry Court, which will be found 
 in the next chapter. Being a timid man, the honorary- 
 steward's storv was brief.
 
 102 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 CllAlTI^U VII 
 
 A THEORY OF PRACTICAL JOKES 
 
 Harry Court was probably the most methodical and 
 scientific pursuer of fnu that ever existed. He made 
 practical joking a special study. According to him 
 there Avere three species of practical joke — the involun- 
 tary, the intentional, and the premeditated intentional. 
 ' The involuntary practical joke,' he used to say, ' is 
 of common occurrence in these latitudes. Absent- 
 mindedness is, as a rule, the soil from which it springs. 
 All practical jokes ought to be of a pungent, but also of 
 a sweet, perfume. Now, there is one form of the invo- 
 luntary species which has become so rank and so mal- 
 odorous as to partake of the nature of a weed. I allude 
 to the leaving in clubs, in banks, after dinners, and on 
 the dismissal of every kind of meeting, a brand-new 
 silk umbrella in place of a fine old cotton one. You 
 see both the umbrella-owners are victims to a joke of 
 that kind. And the good, honest, absent-minded old 
 gentleman who gets the silk umbrella is the most vic- 
 timised. He who goes off mistakenly with the cotton 
 article, merely ejaculates on discovering the change, 
 gives it to his children to play at keeping house with,
 
 A THEOKY OF TEACTICAL JOKES 103 
 
 buys a new silk one, and tliinks no more of the matter. 
 "Whereas he who has so unfortunately lost the cherished 
 heirloom of his family, the great, old, household hand- 
 tent, white with the storms of many Avinters, and 
 puffed out with the corpulence of age, endures days and 
 even weeks of as-onv. Absent-minded he knows he 
 must have been, and very absent-minded indeed, to be 
 content even for the short time it took him to get home, 
 with a smally, slim-waisted concern, instead of the 
 sturdy companion of his life-journey ; but of this he is 
 sure : had his dear, old, buxom, blowsy " mush "' been 
 in the stand, he would have seen it, and brought it 
 away in spite of his absent-mindedness. He does not 
 think for an instant but that he has been robbed, yet 
 he cannot show such distrust of his friends as to inquire 
 of them after his revered rain- fetish. The sorrow- 
 stricken man may advertise for the recovery of "an 
 ivory-handled umbrella of antique workmanship," but he 
 knows pretty surely that, whoever has it, after burden- 
 ing his conscience with theft, will not be likely to make 
 himself miserable for the remainder of his days by sur- 
 rendering such a coveted specimen of the taste of our 
 ancestors. His condition of mind is truly frightful ; 
 and if, as often happens, the prim, paltry, paragon 
 affair of silk, which he is forced to put up with in place 
 of his splendid, hoary, old, full-bodied, parish-beadle of 
 a imraijluie, has the initials or name of its owner en- 
 graved on the stick, then the struggle which takes place 
 between a vengeful desire to expose the thief and
 
 104 THE (IKKAT MEN 
 
 recover his propertx', and his better nature wliispering 
 him to shield tlic faidt of liis friend, well-nigh drives 
 him cra/-y. Tu the lasting credit of luimanity, victory, 
 as a rule, declares itself on the side of forbearance. 
 AVith a heart full of o-ratilude Hint he is enabled to do 
 to others as he would be done by, the poor man gives 
 up all h()]ie of ever seeing his beloved pocket-tabernacle 
 again; and, wilh resolute screw-driver or knife, obliter- 
 ates the name of the false friend who has robbed him, 
 thereby annihilating for ever the only evidence that 
 could aid in the recovery of liis stolen stack of Avhale- 
 bone.' 
 
 ' I was once a mai'tyr myself,' Harry would continue, 
 ' to a practical joke which partook of the nature of all 
 three kinds. Egberton, Dimstar and I were in the 
 habit of ]ueetiug in Egberton's rooms every Friday 
 evening. On one of these occasions, as we were sitting 
 talking about the ladies, I told how I Lad recently 
 desisted from a rather serious flirtation with a Miss 
 Sharp on account of my having discovered that she was 
 a bit of a vixen. They twitted me considerably, talked 
 about burnt bairns dreading the fire, and got me, as 
 they thought, into a bit of a passion. 
 
 ' " We'll see who's afraid,'" I cried. "Ill go out, speak 
 to the first lady I meet, and on some pretext or other 
 bring her here." 
 
 ' "Go," said Egberton . " You can only harm yourself. 
 If you get a night in a cell for your impudence, serve 
 you right,"
 
 A THEORY OF TEACTICAL JOIiES 105 
 
 ' I went and returned in five minutes with a well- 
 dressed, thickly veiled young lady, and electrified them 
 by saying, " Gentlemen, allow me to present to you my 
 future wife. Be seated, darling. You must be aston- 
 ished when 3'ou think of the style in which I talked of 
 the fair sex a few minutes ago. Darling, you are not 
 angry with me for bringing you here ? " 
 
 ' " No, Harrv ; not in the least. Your friends must 
 be my friends, and 3'our humours must please me." 
 
 ' The voice was that of a woman, and they were 
 mystified. 
 
 '" Stand up," said I. "Walk about, and let them 
 see vour fio-ure." 
 
 ' " Harry, f»r shame!" 
 
 '"No, dear, vou've nothiuy' to be ashamed of Be- 
 sides, it's my humour." 
 
 ' " Yes, but Til not gratify it." 
 
 ' " Well, well ; it doesn't matter. Now, gentlemen, 
 you see I have perpetrated what you suppose to be an 
 intentional practical joke ; that is, I told you it occurred 
 to me to speak to the first lady I should meet on going 
 out, and to bring her here, and I appear to have done 
 so. It is really, however, a premeditated practical joke. 
 Charley Sharp, the brother of my old flame, and I are 
 great friends, although I am ' out ' with his sister. He 
 and I premeditated this joke. This is Charley in his 
 sister's dress. Take off your veil, Charley." 
 
 ' The figure unveiled, and I fell to the floor flat on 
 my back, nearly breaking my head against the wall.
 
 lOG THE GREAT MEN 
 
 !Miss Sliarp, and nof Cliavley, walked out of tlie room 
 in silence. It came out that Charley, to improve the 
 joke, had told his sister that I repented of having for- 
 saken her, and had deputed him 1o request a meeting. 
 Miss Sharp, Leing in her thirtieth year, and stoutly 
 determined to have a husband, took, unwittingly, her 
 brother's place. I made her the amplest apologies ; 
 but her mother would hear of nothing but marriage. I 
 had to wed her ; and that is where the involuntary part 
 of the joke came in.' 
 
 ' That lias certainly the merit of being short,' 
 said Cosmo, who admired everything in the shape of 
 theory. 
 
 All eyes were now turned to the very timid fifth 
 Great Man, but his were fixed upon the table. Cosmo 
 shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say : ' It's no good 
 asking him.' He waited a full minute, however ; but 
 the very timid fifth Great Man made no sign. 
 
 ' Mr. Jamieson,' said Cosmo, ' we are all expecta- 
 tion.' 
 
 ' Might I ask Mr. Jamieson if his son has had any 
 more adventures ? ' said the honorary secretary. 
 
 ' Not to my knowledge,' said Ninian. ' I expect, 
 however, that he will do something extraordinary 
 shortly, for every moment that he can get from his 
 lessons he spends among my novels.' 
 
 ' You will communicate with us, I hope, if he 
 undertakes any more adventures,' said the secretary.
 
 A THEORY OF PEACTICAL JOKES 107 
 
 Niuiau replied that lie would, and then drew a 
 manuscript from his breast-pocket. 
 
 ' I hope you will allow me to read this,' he said. 
 ' It is called " Eagle's Shadow/' and is a very curious 
 production.' 
 
 ' By all means,' said Cosmo. ' Reading is forbidden 
 to members of the club, but we extend every privilege 
 to our guests.' 
 
 'Thank you,' said Ninian, and began his manu- 
 script.
 
 108 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 cirArTER viir 
 
 eagle's shadow 
 
 The progress of Ebenezer Eaglesliam in the office of 
 Messrs. Clay, Clod and McLatcliy was unromantically 
 slow. It took liiin thirteen years to climb to a stool of 
 his own before a desk of his own in thr immediate neigh- 
 bourhood of the confidential clerk, \\ith a set of books 
 to keep and a key of the private safe. He had started 
 from a niche behind the stove. There, as office-boy, 
 (luring numerous short intervals between his multifarious 
 duties, he had rubbed into the wall with the dirt of his 
 jacket and the grease of his hair a permanent impression 
 of his head and shoulder, known in the office as ' Eagle's 
 Shadow.' 
 
 At twenty-six, with 'the confidence of his employers,' 
 a hundred a year, and an entire fortnight at midsummer 
 to do what he liked in, he experienced for the first time 
 in his life a feeling of manhood, and was moderately 
 well satisfied. Having never had so long a holiday 
 before, he made great preparations for it. As it rained 
 the whole time it was lucky for him that he took some 
 books with him — some stories of adventure, Fronde's 
 ' Oceana,' and Spencer's ' Study of Sociology,' and a
 
 RAGLE'S SHADOW lOO 
 
 book on language — for he was anxious to improve him- 
 self. The book that had the greatest effect upon him 
 was Spencers, of course ; and I'll be glad if you'll bear 
 that fact in mind, gentlemen. 
 
 On returnino- to his stool Ebenezer found that he 
 would require for some days to spend an extra hour or 
 two in posting his books. At six o'clock, therefore, on 
 the evening of the day on which he resumed work, he 
 was alone in the office. He had been copying an 
 invoice into a huge fat volume, and it was not until the 
 scratching of his pen had ceased with the completion of 
 the copy that he perceived his solitude. He shook 
 himself, yawned, slid off his stool, and lounged out 
 of the space railed off for the confidential clerk 
 and himself, and looked about him in the common 
 office. 
 
 Seven hours of the musty smell of sheepskin bind- 
 ing, mingled with the more pungent odour of red ink, 
 had not overcome a spice of novelty in the routine 
 interrupted for a fortnight, and in the diugy room, the 
 aspect of which had not once crossed his mind during 
 his holiday. He examined with subdued interest a 
 curious mark on the lid of a desk which had once been 
 his. He even traced its course with a lead-pencil, as 
 he had been in the habit of doing in the past. He 
 wrote his initials with his finger in the dust on a table 
 where a jug of water and a foggy-looking tumbler 
 stood. Then he sat down in an armchair beside the 
 stove, and lonhcd acrnj-s al ' I'liW'k'S Sliadow.' It was
 
 110 TJIE lilU'AT MKN 
 
 a very black mark now, for, tliougli still called after him, 
 each sncceedin^r office-boy had given it auother coat. 
 There was no liiv in Ihe stove; so lie Irjint his arms on 
 the top of it, and gazed silently at the rough silhouette 
 on the wall. His life rose up before him, and he 
 became very sombre. For about an hour hr sat starino- 
 at the crude shape. Shortly after seven he started, 
 rubbed his eyes, and glared across the stove in the 
 greatest astonishment. Then he rubbed his eyes again, 
 but the source of his astonishment remained. 
 
 The shape had become a little boy reading a 
 book. 
 
 The boy looked up and said, ' Hillo ! ' 
 
 ' Hillo ! ' echoed Eaglesham mechanically. 
 
 ' Who are you ? ' said the boy. 
 
 ' Ebenezer Eaglesham. Who are yon ? ' 
 
 ' I'm the son of Mr. Herbert Spencer's " independent 
 observer." Where am I ? ' 
 
 'This is the office of Messrs. Clay, Clod, and 
 McLatchv.' 
 
 ' What funny names ? ' said the boy, laughing. 
 ' Do you know my father ? ' 
 
 ' I've read about him in j\Ir. Spencer's " Study of 
 Sociology." ' 
 
 ' Have you, now ? What a clever man Mr. Spencer 
 must have been ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, he's not dead vet ! ' 
 
 ' Get away ! He's been dead more than five 
 thousand years.'
 
 EAGLE'S SHADOW 111 
 
 ' Nonsense ! He's writing his own life just now.' 
 
 ' Well, now, that's funny. Do you know what year 
 this is ? ' 
 
 'Yes; it's 1890.' 
 
 'It's nothing of the sort. It's 8020. See,' said the 
 boy, showing Eagleshani the title-page of his book, 
 ' there's the date— 8020.' 
 
 ' So it is ! Where do you come from ? ' 
 
 ' Nowhere. This is the world, isn't it ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, but what country ? ' 
 
 ' Country ! Do you live in a country ? ' 
 
 'Yes; in Scotland, the northern pai-t of Great 
 Britain.' 
 
 ' How funny ! I'm reading about Great Britain 
 here. Since my father wrote the observation quoted 
 by Mr. Spencer, we have learned much more about the 
 prehistoric ages. Manuscripts, and books, and lots of 
 things have been found, preserved deep down in the 
 glacial strata ; and this is a boy's book telling a story 
 founded on information obtained from these old 
 writings.' 
 
 ' Most extraordinary ! ' 
 
 ' Isn't it ! Here are you living in 1890 ; and here's 
 me living in 8020, talking together in the office of 
 Messrs. Clav, Clod, and McLatchv. I wonder how I 
 came here.' 
 
 ' So do I,' said Eaglesham. 
 
 ' I suppose I'll go away just as I came.' 
 
 ' I suppose so.'
 
 112 'I'HE GKEAT MEN 
 
 ' It's a very interesting book this, ^\'oul(l 3-011 like 
 to lioar some of it ?' 
 
 ' I woukl indeed.' 
 
 ' I'll read you a Lit of it, tlien.' 
 
 The boy turned back to the beginning of his book, 
 saying : ' Yon must know that this is the story of the 
 first historical boy. There is a preliminary chapter 
 which shows who aiid what were the English, his 
 ancestors. It explains what it was that first started 
 the atmospheric and other changes which gradually 
 reduced the inhabitants of the world to two — the human 
 inhabitants, you know — one, a little boy, who wakened 
 up one morning at the North Pole, to find himself, as 
 he thought, alone in the world ; and the other, a little 
 girl, who wakened up on the same morning at the South 
 Pole with the same thought. The story is how these 
 two found each other after stupendous adventures. 
 Now, I'll read you the preliminary chapter, and I think 
 you'll find it very interesting.' 
 
 The little boy cleared his throat, and read what 
 follows — viz., the first chapter of the historical romance 
 entitled ' The First Boy.' 
 
 ' Our knowledge of the history and geography of 
 the world as it was before our era, even my youngest 
 reader may remember is still in its infancy. We know 
 most about a portion of land which belonged to our 
 forefathers, and lay in what was termed the North Tem- 
 perate Zone. It was called Britain, and seems to have 
 been an island. The inhabitants were called English.
 
 EAGLE'S SHADOAV 113 
 
 ' Tlie linman inhabitants of the earth were not then 
 one race, speaking one language. They were divided 
 into many species, each species having a different 
 dress, a different language, and a separate territory, 
 the boundaries of the last being a constant source of 
 dispute. Some of my young readers may remember 
 the shudder which passed over the whole world one 
 morning when the press announced authentically, that 
 our predecessors in this globe had for thousands of 
 years habitually settled the most trifling disputes by 
 what they called War. AVe have been able to make 
 out from certain of their writings that these people 
 never themselves realised to the full the horrors of this 
 devilish art — for it became an art, and had professors 
 who lived by it alone. It cannot, therefore, be possible 
 for us to comprehend in any due degree the misery 
 brought about by its practice. According to its success 
 in War was a people great. Now the English were 
 the greatest warriors, and consequently the greatest 
 and most enlightened people, in the world for many 
 hundreds of years. From our knowledge of their 
 manners and customs this fact tells us in what a terribly 
 savage state the other peoples must have been, especially 
 a race called the French, who were the neighbours 
 of the English, but, from certain statements in the 
 writings of the latter, a people most unlike them in all 
 good qualities. 
 
 Many of the manners and customs of the English 
 are inexplicable. For example, the name of one of their 
 
 I
 
 114 TTTK GREAT MEN 
 
 great institutions, liirJi-and-Foor, conveys no meaning 
 to ns. One feature, liowever, a very expert ethnologist 
 has been able to make out. By its establishment all 
 people were rlivicletl into two classes or castes, viz. : 
 those who had nothing to do, and had all the good 
 things of life at their disposal ; and those who had all 
 the work to do, and in return received, very grudgingly 
 from the others, food and time to sleep. Sometimes 
 I think that this must have been a much worse institu- 
 tion even than War. Traces are not wanting in the 
 writings of those unfortunate people of an inclination 
 to rebel against this institution ; but, as one of their 
 thinkers said, they were enchanted, and could only 
 submit. 
 
 ' There seems to have been a time when Britain lost 
 its supremacy. The chief cause of this period of eclipse, 
 which was not of long duration, arose from injudicious 
 treatment of the numerous colonies established by the 
 English in various parts of the world. These offshoots 
 were in some cases allowed to straggle pretty much as they 
 pleased ; in others, trained in a manner contrary to their 
 actual bent ; in all mismanaged. Britain, a small over- 
 populated island, was nolonger able to cope single-handed 
 with any of the powerful peoples of Europe — the name 
 of the large territory inhabited by the French, Germans, 
 and Russians. These nations, all of them related by 
 blood and language to the English, had for centuries 
 been at war among themselves. But there had grown up 
 an incontrollable hatred of Britain. While the other
 
 EAGLE'S SILVDOYv' 115 
 
 nations liad been wasting their energies infiglitiugeach 
 other, the English had amassed niucli more than their 
 •share of the worhl's wealtli, and had acquired all the 
 most valuable lands. Takincr advantao^e of the estrano;e- 
 
 DO O 
 
 ment of the Eno-lish colonies from the mother-land, the 
 nations of Europe formed an alliance for the overthrow 
 of the British Empire. Tliey combined their fleets, and 
 sent two millions of men to invade the hated island. 
 So great had been the breach between its colonies and 
 Britain, that the Europeans did not think it neces- 
 sary to take the former into account. Their whole 
 power was concentrated against Britain : and, in spite 
 of the opposition of the English fleet, uutil that time 
 invincible, a landing^ was effected. For the iirst time 
 during more than six hundred years a foreign anny 
 trod British soil. The captain of the British forces, 
 unable to face such a mass of men in the open country, 
 retired to London, the metropolis of the island. It is 
 impossible for us to understand what London was ; all 
 we know is, that it was an immense place called a city, 
 crowded with people. 
 
 ' When the English army retreated to Loudon it 
 was followed by throngs of refugees from all parts of 
 the country, until the city contained more than double 
 its ordinary population. It was gorged willi humanity, 
 and the influx of the panic-stricken folk had to cease. 
 A cordon of men — actual i<ukUers, as they called their 
 professional fighters, could not be spared — soon sur- 
 rounded the city, and there was an end to all ingress or 
 
 I 2
 
 IIG THE GREAT MEN 
 
 Ogress except ])X order <>f tlic captain. An effective 
 circinuvallaiidu was i'a])i(lly iiuprovised, and the siege 
 began. 
 
 ' Contemporary accounts liitlierto discovered are 
 few, meagre, and contradictory ; hut we are able to 
 give a short statement of the main features of the siege. 
 There seems, first of all, to have been a pitched battle, in 
 which the English were badly beaten, and driven behind 
 their fortifications. Then the invaders began to throw 
 explosives, killing many people and destroying many 
 buildings. No attempt was made at first to fire the 
 city, as the rank and file of the foreign armies would 
 not hear of it, afraid lest too much of the expected 
 loot might be destroyed.' 
 
 ' By-the-bye,' exclaimed the boy, looking up from 
 his book, ' I have skipped some foot notes, explaining 
 words. I know their meanings, having read the 
 chapter before. I suppose, as you are living about the 
 time these events happened, you will know the mean- 
 ings of all the words that are obsolete to us ? ' 
 
 ' Perfectly,' said Eaglesham. ' Go on.' 
 
 The boy resumed. his reading. 
 
 ' But the European hordes grew impatient, and 
 several quarters of the city were set on fire, the in- 
 vaders anticipating that in the confusion they would be 
 enabled to force an entrance. This ruse, however, 
 failed, and the enemy withdrew to their trenches. A 
 truce of several days was asked for and granted. The 
 English rightly judged that the time was to be occupiecl
 
 EAGLE'S SHADOW 117 
 
 in preparation for a general attack, and tliey set them- 
 selves to devise means to repel it. They had ammu- 
 nition and explosives of extraordinary kinds, the nature 
 and the employment of which are alike riddles to us. 
 One of the numerous stratagems of the besieged we 
 are enabled to describe. Between the city and the ex- 
 ternal fortifications there extended a belt varying from 
 a hundred to a thousand yards. ]\rany houses were in 
 this space, but they were tenanted only by soldiers on 
 duty. By a superhuman effort a great number of rails 
 were laid across this zone, and all the available engines 
 and railway-carriages, charged with explosives and 
 missiles, were placed on them. On the expiry of the 
 truce, as was expected, a furious onslaught began on all 
 sides. Some resistance was made as a blind, but soon 
 all the English withdrew behind the trains. With 
 hideous clamour the enemy rushed like a boiling sea 
 into the awful trap. Some hesitated for a moment, 
 suspecting strategy, but the thought of the enormous 
 wealth within their grasp urged them on. The trains 
 were all ready ; the electric wires all connected with a 
 central battery. At once, at sixty miles an hour, some 
 thousands of death-laden waggons ploughed through 
 the appalled masses of men. In the preceding events 
 of the siege close on half a million of the enemy had 
 fallen ; the remainder by this desperate stratagem was 
 annihilated. We, who know death only as a cessation 
 of life when the complement of years is ended, can but 
 shudder and forget that such a doom was once fulfilled.
 
 118 THE GivEAT yms 
 
 No shout of victory rose from the affrighted Londoners, 
 nor were Hu-y ullnwcd liiin^ to realise tlie success of 
 tlicir murderous device. A\ liiK' crowtls were yet throng- 
 ing to tlie barriers, tlie drums beat to arms, Iho bells 
 hammered from all the steeples, and the people, \vilh 
 murmured wonder and questioning faces, surged into 
 the streets and squares where their chief men dwelt. 
 The news was soon published. A second army had 
 been perceived by the balloon watchman marching from 
 the north. A groan went through the v^liole ciiy ; 
 shrieks and shouts and lamentations rose everywhere ; 
 but the order for all not under arms to retire to thuir 
 houses was issued, and the streets were cleared for 
 a breathing space — in some instances at the point of the 
 bayonet. 
 
 ' The second arm}'-, though not so well disciplined, 
 outnumbered the £rst. Fully one-third of it consisted 
 of barbarians from lands lying east of Europe. Their 
 very dress was sufficient to strike terror to the hearts 
 of less savage people; and they had strange music with 
 thorn. The English army now suffered what it had 
 often inflicted on others. In their own countries these 
 barbarians had been defeated times without number by 
 the English in tlieir outlandish uniforms, with unknown 
 music, and weapons appai'ently miraculous. But now 
 the barbarians were the invaders, and the bulk of the 
 English, panic-stricken, threw down their arms and 
 fled. Th3 unarmed populace was not slow to follow. 
 The captain with a few hundred brave men surrounded
 
 EAGLE'S SHADOW 119 
 
 one of their important buildings. We do not know of 
 what nature this building was ; but the captain judged 
 rightly that the foreigners would not care to destroy it. 
 By this disposition of his forces one point at least was 
 gained : each man could die fighting with his back to 
 the wall. 
 
 ' The second army, after the stupor caused by the 
 sight of the blackened, bloody, and still smoking belt of 
 exploded humanity had in a measure passed, broke all 
 bounds of discipline. " Revenge ! " in one terrible roar 
 and a hundred dialects carried new fear to the distant 
 fliers ; while the stern ring in the city gripped their 
 weapons and knew their time had come. In groups, 
 in fragments of regiment, in twos and threes, heedless 
 of the word of command, the avengers rushed on. 
 There was no pillaging ; destruction reigned. Hun- 
 dreds of people, belated by greed or foolhardiness, fell 
 shrieking ; street after street was set on fire, and for a 
 time it seemed as if the whole city were about to perish. 
 In vain the captains rode hither and thither, ordering 
 and even slaying. What discipline could not do, the 
 lust of spoil achieved. The immense wealth which lay 
 to their hands had been forgotten in the first emotions 
 of horror and vengeance ; but blood and fire having 
 taken the edge off these, and a sight of the treasure 
 which was to be their principal pay having awakened a 
 dread lest the prize should escape them, those who had 
 taken the lead in destruction began to organise salvage 
 parties, and in a short time most of the fires were under
 
 120 The creat Men 
 
 control. Lust of pillage, liowever, proved as strong as 
 that of vengeance ; discipline was further Iroiu reassert- 
 ing itself than ever, and the leaders had given up in 
 despair, when it was bruited about that a remnant of 
 the British force still stood under arms. On the spread 
 of this news among the common soldiers the slumbering 
 desire for vengeance woke up uusatiated, and a great 
 body of them were soon in their ranks again. 
 
 ' It was many hours since the last of the English 
 had surrounded their famous building. They could 
 have fought, oh ! so well ! and died so manfidly ! But 
 they had not bargained for this waiting. Every face 
 was white, every eye bloodshot with anguish ; some 
 fainted, and one man dropped dead. Only the courage 
 and endurance of their captain supported them. He 
 rode round at intervals with a word and a smile for 
 every one. They were at a considerable distance from 
 the outskirts of the city, and during most part of their 
 long vigil were utterly at a loss, except for the flames, 
 as to what was going forward. At last some idea of 
 the disorderly state of the enemy daw^ned upon their 
 leader, and a wild hope of defeating them piecemeal 
 flashed through his brain ; but, while this was in con- 
 templation, word came from the watchmen that a third 
 army was approaching from the west. Then the blood 
 surged up into the faces of these men ; fire sprang from 
 their eyes ; and, as if they had drunk deeply of strong 
 wine, they shook off" the drowsier hopelessness, and 
 were clothed with defiant despair. But word came that
 
 EAGLE'S 8HAD0W 121 
 
 tlie staudards of the new army were Lanners striped 
 and starred ; and with tliat a wail rose from the devoted 
 ring, and strong men were convnlsed witli sobs. They 
 knew by the banners that this army came from the 
 United States — a country which liad been tlieir first 
 great colony, bat which, by their mismanagement, had 
 broken from them altogether, and had latterly become 
 a rival, though on inoderately friendly terms. These 
 banners told them that their very flesh and blood, 
 speaking their own language, was come against them. 
 They wept and cried aloud, and dashed themselves 
 against the wall. It was not that tlieir vanity was 
 hurt ; but that the sons of their 2'reat ancestors should 
 come to rejoice in tlieir final overthrow was more than 
 they could bear. 
 
 ' Suddenly shouts and a shot or two forced their 
 tortured thoughts to a more pressing matter. The 
 second army had found them out and were pouring 
 upon them by every approach, the barbarians in the 
 van. On they came, firing recklessly. Steady and true 
 when actual damage could be done, the English replied, 
 and the attacking party fell back. Twice again they 
 came on, after delivering their fire, and twice again 
 they were compelled to retire. The Europeans held 
 aloof, having no intention of wasting their lives as long 
 as a barbarian was left ; and the leaders would not 
 allow artillery, as they wished to save tlie buildings. 
 
 ' The first three, onslaughts had been carelessly con- 
 ducted, or rather not at all conducted ; a fourth was to
 
 122 THE elUKAT 3IKN 
 
 be made with greater regularity. The word had just 
 been given to advance, when there came a bhist of 
 music. All paused to listen. Though the players were 
 at a distance, a blare of brass and roll of drums pealed 
 forth uuniistakably the tune of " Rule, Britannia," the 
 war-son()f of the ]*hii^lish. The barbarians were the 
 first to recognise it. They had heard it on many a 
 battle-field ; and now, coTning as it were out of the sky, 
 it demoralised them and they fled precipitately. At 
 first the English did not believe their ears ; but as the 
 tune grew louder and louder doubt fled. Nobody, 
 howev'cr, except the leader, guessed what was taking 
 place. He ordered his men to form in front of the 
 building ; then he said simply : " The Yankees." 
 
 ' A flash of eyes like lightning glimmered over the 
 forlorn troop, and a hoarse, hysterical cry burst from 
 their quivering lips, followed by a stupendous cheer. 
 
 ' " Follow me ! " cried the captain. 
 
 ' Shouting their war-song at the pitch of their voices, 
 and with the tears streaming down their faces, they 
 dashed through the amazed Europeans, and reached the 
 Yankees without the loss of a single man. 
 
 ' For weeks the United States forces had been in 
 Britain, friendly from the first. A third Em'opean army, 
 guarding the coast, had been fought with many times 
 before they reached London. The moment the way was 
 clear, they had advanced, playing the English war-song 
 to announce their presence and their amity. 
 
 ' In vain do we look for details of the events
 
 EAGLE'S SHADOW 123 
 
 succeeding the relief of London. The broad facts are 
 these : the European armies had to surrender ; all the 
 English-speaking races united in a great federation ; 
 and there is no trace of the recurrence of a general war. 
 
 ' One May morning a while after the close of the war, 
 the English in Britain were taking a holida3^ Peace, 
 prosperity, and a considerable modification of the insti- 
 tution of liich-and-Foor had improved the social condition 
 in such a notable degree that some of the more sanguine 
 were beginning to apply to their country the title, long 
 disused, of " Merry England." In many places May-poles 
 had been erected, and dancing and light-hearted festivity 
 were going on in the open air, as in the times of their 
 great poet Shakespeare — pretty much, from all that we 
 can gather, in the manner of our own outdoor nierrv- 
 makings. 
 
 ' Without any warning, while the mirth was at its 
 height, a long, hollow whisper was borne inward from 
 the western sea-board — a whisper so deep and far- 
 reaching that it was heard even at Lowestoftness, the 
 most easterly point in Britain. A stagnation in the air 
 as if the earth had stood still followed, and then a wind 
 becjan. It came from the north-east, and was at first 
 pleasant and bracing, for the sun shone in a cloudless 
 sky. Gradually and then rapidly the cold increased ; the 
 heavens grew gray ; and snow began to fall. The ribbons 
 were frozen to the May-poles ; the hobb^^-horse and 
 tlie dragon's case, thrown aside by the horror-stricken 
 Morris-dancerSj made fantastic shapes under the snow ;
 
 12-1 THE GKKAT MEN 
 
 lian'i'ls ofale left running-, IVo/e at {]ic tap with amber 
 icicles. It is impossible to describe the terrors of that . 
 day and niglit . I ii twenty-four hours thcVL' was a change 
 IVnni the rosy lilusli and the green mantle of early 
 summer to the nakedness and pallor of the depth of 
 winter — such a winter as the country had never known, 
 a winter that should last for ages. Britain was an ice- 
 berg. What had happened ? 
 
 ' The Nihilists, a party that wished for the overturn 
 of all the institutions of their time in order to start 
 afresh, had for many years been so silent that thew^orld 
 thought them entirely disorganised. This was not the 
 case. Though silent they had not been idle. A large 
 body of them, not known to be Nihilists, had secured 
 territory on an isthmus which connected the two 
 divisions of the western world. Their professed intention 
 was to establish a colony wliich shonld govern itself on 
 principles absolutely altruistic. The English, to whom 
 the land belonged, surrendered gladly. Ship-loads of 
 emigrants, all Nihilists, crossed from the eastern world ; 
 and no one interfered with the new attempt to realise 
 the golden age. 
 
 ' Now the ocean between the eastern and western 
 worlds was an immense oval whirlpool, called the 
 Atlantic, and the outside sweep of it was known as the 
 Gulf-stream. This whirlpool brought round to Europe 
 some of the warmth acquired by the waters as they span 
 round the Tropics, and so maintained the equable climate 
 of the North Temperate Zone.'
 
 EAGLE'S SIL4D0W 125 
 
 Sucldeuly tlie boy vanislied. There was nothing but 
 the grimy shadow on the wall. Ebenezer Eagleshani 
 specnlated for some minutes on the means adopted by 
 the Nihilists to divert the course of the Gulf-Stream, 
 for he thought that that must have been the way by 
 which the change in the world's atmosphere had been 
 wrought. He wondered if it could have been by an 
 immense subterranean tunnel through Panama. Then 
 he wondered what changes had followed which brought 
 about the destruction of mankind, all except the hero 
 and heroine of the story. Remembering, however, that 
 the boy had been reading fiction to him, he concluded 
 that it was not worth further consideration. 
 
 Staring vacantly, and with hasty yet curiously exact 
 movements like those of a somnambulist, he put past his 
 books and went home.
 
 12G THE GREAT MEN 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Tin: VKiiY Ti.Mii) (;i;i:Ar max comes out of his shell. 
 
 ' Very unscientific,' said Cosmo, after the applause 
 wliicli followed Ninian Jamieson's story had subsided. 
 'Very unscientific. Still, I think it's right in one 
 point — in its method of bringing about a new order. 
 I predict, gentlemen — mark me, I predict — that no 
 change that is not infinitesimal will take place in the 
 constitution of society except after some stupendous 
 natural convulsioi^ which shall extirpate, or almost 
 extirpate, the race. I predict it, and I should like 
 to carve it on the summit of ]Mount Everest or Kin- 
 chinjuuga, and sign it " Cosmo Mortimer, 116 Hugh 
 Smith," that coming ages might know how one man, at 
 least, was not blinded by faddists and reformation- 
 monsrers, l)nt understood that Nature alone could do 
 
 what Nature intends. By-the-bye, that reminds me 
 
 Here, Jamieson, take the chair. I'll bo back in a 
 little.' 
 
 Without another word, Cosmo Mortimer seized his 
 hat and left the room. 
 
 ' Isn't he an extraordinary man ? ' said the secre- 
 tary. ' You'll see he'll come back with something truly
 
 TDIID GREAT MAN COMES OUT OF HIS SHELL 127 
 
 amazing. But take tlie diair, Mr. Jamieson ; take the 
 chair.' 
 
 ' Hear ! hear ! ' said the fifth Great Man in a very 
 loud voice for him. 
 
 A"S Ninian took Cosmo's seat, the fifth Great Man 
 remarked, still in a loud voice : ' I knew a punster 
 once.' 
 
 It was evident that the fifth Great Man — the very- 
 timid Great Man — had something to say. He had been 
 known once before, in the absence of Cosmo, to come 
 out very strong, and probably he was going to distinguish 
 himself again. His companions determined to help him. 
 Each of them put his elbow on the table and turned his 
 back on the very timid Great Man. 
 
 ' I knew a punster once,' repeated the very timid 
 Great Man ; but Ninian's eyes were fixed on him, and 
 he couldn't get on. The honorary secretary whispered 
 something to the deputy-chairman, who immediately 
 threw his legs over one arm of his chair, and sat with 
 his left side turned towards the very timid Great Man. 
 Then the very timid Great Man came out of his shell. 
 
 ' The punster's name was Peter Goram,' he said. 
 ' Once he stopped me eagerly in the street. He was a 
 woeful sight. His locks, which he wore long, and cut 
 with his own hands in an irregulnr fashion, that he 
 might be able to say — self-sacrificing genius ! — ^" No 
 barber would let such a shock of hair re-cross his thres- 
 hold if he survived the shock of its entrance " — were 
 tanerled and frowsv. His moustache — the result of
 
 128 TTTE GREAT MEN 
 
 mucli labour, and wliicli, in liis livc'ly mooils. disported 
 itself likt> a group of long-legged spiders pinned to his 
 upper lip — hung flaccid, languid, broken-legged, and 
 pale. He was so thin that there seemed no more flesh 
 on his cheeks than served us paste to fasten the skin 
 down. His eye-sockets were as deep and his eyes were 
 as dingy-looking as coal-pits. I was appalled. 
 
 ' '• (ioram," I cried, '-what — what is the matter? " 
 
 ' A lurid gleam shot up the shafts at the bottom of 
 which his eyes, like black diamonds, lay imbedded ; his 
 trembling fingers hooked my button-hole, and with 
 convulsive gulps he gasped: "McGlumpha! Oh 
 McGlumpha ! Three nights ago, at Thompsons', at a tea 
 party, I could not speak a word. Galloway, the junior 
 reporter of the CJironicle, was there. You know him. 
 He is the lion of the Thompsons. They rejoice to think 
 that he fills the lowest post on the reporting staff" of the 
 Chronicle. Oh, yes ! They are perfectly well acquainted 
 with, and glory in, the fact, that his dismissal has been 
 imminent several times. They revel in the knowledge 
 that his salary amounts to the sum of fifty pounds a 
 year. They are proud of his friendship when they read 
 the far-seeing political articles and the slashing reviews 
 Avhich he didn't write, and which they are perfectly con- 
 fident he couldn't have written with three times hia 
 present supply of brains. They are ! " 
 
 ' " Goram, Goram, be calm," I intei'posed. 
 
 ' " Hush ! " he cried. " Let me go on. Miss 
 Thompson indulges her taste for aerial architecture on
 
 TDIID GREAT MAN COMES OUT OF HIS SHELL 129 
 
 the stable foundation of the editor's failing health, and 
 the perfectly groundless hope that Galloway will succeed 
 him. "Well, sir; well ! This lion of the Thomi^sons has 
 got a jackal : his jackal is his voice. He keeps it in the 
 precincts of his stomach ; and when he lets it out he 
 seems unable to recall it. That jackal of his barked 
 all night, except when there was dancing or singing. 
 There were hardly six words spoken where I could not 
 have slipped in a delightful pun ; but it would have 
 been throwing pearls before swine. For, once, when I 
 made a little joke, and the table was about to break into 
 a laugh, it beheld Galloway's unmoved visage, and re- 
 sumed its gravity. The table would not smile unless 
 its lion initiated. Fifty puns I coined that night 1 
 dared not utter. I have wandered about the city for 
 three days, seeking for some one to receive them. If 
 they were false florins people could not be shyer of 
 them. Now, McGlumpha, old boy, you know what it 
 is to suppress a sneeze or a yawn ; but these acts of self- 
 denial are nothing to the martyrdom of one who nips 
 his own proper puns in the bud. It is like chopping 
 one's finger off, or gouging one's eye out, or refraining 
 to kiss a pretty girl whose mouth is all ready. In the 
 course of the evening, fifty several times, two mouths — 
 two words, I mean — approached each other, pouting for 
 a pun ; but I dared not sanction their union. McGlum- 
 pha, my dear old friend, you know me, and you will let 
 me fire off these puns to you. I passionately desire to do 
 
 so. I glow — I burn ^" 
 
 K
 
 130 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 ' I ^Ylliskcd my button-hole from liis finger and 
 escaped. I learned afterwards that he stopped a police- 
 man, an orange-woman, two news-boys, a railway- 
 porter, and a sandwich man, who all gave him the slip, 
 some of them rather roughly ; and, finally, got rid of his 
 puns to a blind beggar, whom he bribed to listen, and 
 who improved the time by picking G Oram's pockets,' 
 
 The very timid Great Man paused, and Jamieson 
 was about to turn round, but the honorary secretary 
 frowned and shook his head. No one else moved, no 
 one spoke. Silently they smoked, and waited hopefully. 
 They were not disappointed. The very timid Great 
 Man began again. 
 
 ' Many a man,' he said, folding his arms, and 
 addressing a knot in the table, ' whom the world calls 
 spendthrift is perhaps throwing his money about in 
 sheer self-defence, knowing well his avaricious nature 
 and desirous of begetting in himself a habit of liberality. 
 / do not doubt it. Still less do I doubt that number- 
 less unfortunate beings of the most diffident, gentle, 
 and modest dispositions live and die martyrs to the 
 world's false opinion of them. Shall I tell it ? Shall 
 I ? Yes, I shall. I shall tell you,' still addressing the 
 knot in the table, ' how I became so timid. Perpend ! 
 I, who am actually, and always was, the most modest of 
 men, in the early part of my life acquired the reputa- 
 tion of being an impudent, overweening fool. At an 
 early age — indeed, almost as soon as the consciousness 
 of my own personality dawned upon me — I became
 
 TIMID GREAT MAN COMES OUT OF HIS SHELL 131 
 
 aware ot my exceeding modesty. I must have been a 
 very precocious child, for a method of compensating for 
 my virtuous failing immediately occurred to mo. Like 
 everything truly ingenious it was very simple. It con- 
 sisted in relentlessly violating my nature by doing and 
 saying the things from which I shrank. This principle 
 I persistently applied for a number of years to the 
 conduct of my life, with varying results. 
 
 * Imagine me in Perth, at the age of twenty-one, 
 with a small property not fully let. I am an orphan. 
 I make friends with a Mr. James Brydie, who has as 
 much time on his hands as myself We soon become 
 inseparable. Brydie is a born confidant ; I, a born 
 confessor. He never tires of hearing me talk about 
 mvself and Jane Boyd, a lady whom I have loved from 
 infancy. It is true Jane is not the belle of Pitshirra, 
 my native village ; but, according to my principle, 
 which precludes me from loving a beautiful girl, I give 
 myself up to adoring Iier. My modesty leads me to 
 depreciate rather than to exalt my lady-love ; but, true 
 to my principle, I describe her to Brydie as a creature 
 of the sweetest nature and most engaging appearance 
 and manners. I lead him to understand that she loves 
 me with a love surpassing anything in fiction. Although 
 not consummately ugly nor wholly without common- 
 sense, I know Jane to be the most common-place and 
 common-looking girl in Pitshirra ; yet I am so eloquent 
 in praise of her physical and intellectual charms that 
 Brydie will be satisfied with nothing but an introduc-
 
 132 THE GREAT IVIEN 
 
 tion. Now, however remarkable it may appear, I am 
 not personally known to the lady, though from sundry 
 mystic revelations in ecstatic moments I am sometimes 
 persuaded that my love is returned. 1 shrink at first, 
 as may be imagined, from taking Brydie to visit Jane. 
 Still, such an opportunity of overcoming my modesty is 
 not likely to occur again, and I determine to satisfy my 
 friend. 
 
 ' Pitshirra is within easv walking distance of I'ertli. 
 On a Saturday afternoon we take the road thither. My 
 friend seems to have picked np the notion that I am 
 well acquainted with Miss Boyd — probably from my 
 talk, although I have never affirmod it. I burn to tell 
 him how idea^^ our relation is ; but, of course, dare not. 
 I therefore keep up the deception ; and to prepare him 
 for an exceedingly possible coldness of manner on Miss 
 Boyd's part, I say to him as we jog along, " Jane is in 
 some respects a very peculiar girl. T believe she would 
 make a splendid actress. One never knows what mood 
 she may be in, nor to what length she may cany any 
 absurd notion that may strike her. For example : she 
 sometimes takes it into her head not to know me, to 
 look upon me as an impertinent intruder, and to shut 
 the door in my face. And she does this in a manner 
 so natural that a stranger would imagine she was in 
 earnest." 
 
 ' " But surely," says Brydie, " she doesn't treat you 
 in this way before strangers ? " 
 
 ' " Doesn't she though ! Just wait till you see. I
 
 TIMID GEEAT MAN COMES OUT OF HIS SHELL 133 
 
 slioukln't wonder, now, if she affronts me in a scandalous 
 manner to-day." 
 
 ' " Well, I hope not," says Brydie, " You told her 
 I was coming ? " 
 
 ' " Of course, my dear fellow. And I assured her 
 you were my best friend. But, dou"t you see, she will 
 feel herself all the more at liberty to be fantastic on that 
 account." 
 
 ' " Ah ! so she will," says Brydie. " Well, if she 
 insults us, I'll horsewhip you, seeing I can't strike a 
 woman." 
 
 ' " This is most unexpected — most unexpected, to 
 say the least — Mr. Brydie. I thought we were friends." 
 
 ' " Why, so we are ; but I tell you, McGlumpha, I 
 never was insulted yet Avithout taking it out of some- 
 body. Your back will suffer, sir, if Miss Boyd doesn't 
 know you." 
 
 ' I quiver all over to spring at his throat, and throw 
 him down, and trample on him. I never was nearer 
 breaking my rule in my life. With a great effort I 
 conquer my modesty, and propose to defer our visit ; but 
 Brydie won't hear of it. 
 
 ' When we arrive at Miss Boyd's garden-gate I 
 think of a plan for avoiding any serious misunderstand- 
 ing with Brydie. 
 
 ' " Ha ! " I cry. " Do you see that striped blind in 
 one of the upper windows, half-down and twisted ? " 
 
 ' " Yes ; what of it ? " 
 
 ' " That's the sign that Jane's not at home."
 
 134 THE GEE AT MEN 
 
 ' " Is it ? Perliaps it's only oue of licr tricks." 
 
 '"No. That's hand fide:' 
 
 ' " Look licrc, McGlumplia," says BryJie, suddenly ; 
 " do you know Miss Boyd ? " 
 
 ' " Know Jane ! Why ? here she comes ! " 
 
 ' The house-door opens, and the lady in question 
 — much to my astonishment — trips down the garden 
 walk. She seizes me with Loth hands, and says, 
 " Hillo, Alistair ! Hoo are 3'e the day ? An' this is 
 your freen' ? Ye're verra walcome, sir, for Alistair's 
 sake." 
 
 ' I can hardly contain myself. Still, I have enough 
 presence of mind to whisper to Brydie, as we walk up 
 to the house, " She's going to do the Scotch peasant- 
 girl to-night. Isn't she splendid ? " 
 
 * When we were seated in the parlour, ]\Iiss Boyd 
 says, " Weel, Alistair, an' lioo's yer bit proaperty 
 daein' ? Is't a' let yet ? " 
 
 ' '• No, Jane," with a gulp. 
 
 ' " Mon, but that's a peety. I'm gcttin' tired waitin' 
 on ye." 
 
 ' This is confounding, but I keep it up. 
 
 ' " Jane, dear," biting my tongue, " remember 
 Mr. Bry die's present." 
 
 ' " An' what although ? lie's only a callan, like 
 yersel'." 
 
 ' " Miss Boyd," says Brydie, " I own to being a 
 callan, but surely not one like Mr. JMcGlumpha." 
 
 ' " Weel, there's waur-lookiu' fallows than Alistair,
 
 TBIID GREAT MAN C03IES OUT OF HIS SHELL 135 
 
 miud ye," says Miss Boyd, " tliongb, mebbe, no' 
 mony.' 
 
 '"Jane, Jane!" I cry, shaking my Lead, "you're 
 a dreadful girl." 
 
 ' " This is intolerable," cries Brydie. " Can't you, 
 or wont you, see through it? You wretched puppie ! 
 I am Miss Boyd's cousin." 
 
 ' " Yes, Mr. McGlumpha," says the lady, rising, 
 " and you have to thank me that you escape a well- 
 merited whipping. I persuaded my cousin that this 
 little farce would be a sufficient punishment, as, I trust 
 — although Mr. Brydie does not — that you have some 
 kind of conscience." 
 
 ' Before I can reply, they leave the room. I ques- 
 tion veiy much if they would have understood the 
 Dante-Beatriceque nature of my love. Gentlemen, I 
 have told you. That blighted me. I ceased to struggle 
 against my unfortunate disposition, and gradually sank 
 from modesty to bashfulness, and from bashfulness to 
 timidity. It is only the meetings of this club that 
 prevent me from falling from timidity into idiocy.' 
 
 Hardly was the last word out of the very timid 
 great man's mouth, when Cosmo Mortimer returned. 
 At once Ninian Jamieson resumed his own seat, and 
 Cosmo took the chair of honour. 
 
 ' Mr. President,' said the secretary, rising, ' before 
 anything further is done it is necessary to drink the 
 health of McGlumpha. On the last occasion when
 
 136 THE GEEAT MEN 
 
 McGlumjilia spoke we tiraulc liis liealtli specially. That 
 is two years ago. McGlumplia lias spoken again. The 
 health of McGlumpha ! ' 
 
 ' Certainly,' said Cosmo. ' I congratulate Mo 
 Glumpha on his success. If McGlumpha ever succeeds 
 in speaking more than three or four sentences in my 
 presence I will make him president of this club for a 
 year.' 
 
 McGlumpha sighed, shook his head, and stared at 
 the knot in the table. 
 
 ' Gentlemen,' resumed Cosmo, ' I have found them.' 
 And he shook out a small bunch of manuscript. ' It 
 flashed upon me in a moment, after Mr. Jamieson had 
 finished, that I had a story to cap his. It is years since 
 these papers came into my hands, but I am not at 
 liberty to give any account of them. Fill your glasses, 
 gentlemen, as it's a long story. I call it "The Salva- 
 tion of Nature." I'm not goiug to read it; but I require 
 to refer to some documents here, as there are facts and 
 figures to deal with. I shall, like the honorary secre- 
 tary, plunge in meclias res.
 
 137 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE SALVATION OF NATURE. 
 
 On tlie day tliat Sir Wenyeve Westaway's World's 
 Pleasance Bill became law, tlio happy baronet kissed 
 his wife and said, ' Lily, darling, it has taken twenty 
 years, but we have saved Nature.' 
 
 ' Never mind, dear,' said Lady Westaway, who, 
 though a true helpmeet, loved to quiz her husband ; 
 ' the time has not been wholly wasted.' 
 
 ' Wholly wasted ! ' cried Sir Wenyeve, too much in 
 earnest for even the mildest persifltuje. ' The salvation 
 of Nature is a task worthy of an antediluvian lifetime.' 
 
 ' In the longest life there is only one youth,' sighed 
 Lady Westaway, as she left the library. 
 
 She was thirty-five years old, and her married life 
 had been a continuous intrigue to bring about the ful- 
 filment of her husband's dream. Now that his object 
 was gained, she felt that her youth and jDrime had passed 
 like a rout at the close of the season — stale, unenjoyed, 
 immemorable. But she dressed beautifully on the 
 night of her husband's triumph ; and the subtler of her 
 guests mistook the sadness in her eyes and voice for the
 
 138 'J'llE GREAT MEN 
 
 exquisite inelanclioly wliicli overcomes some natures 
 when an arduous undertaking is accomplished. 
 
 The day after Sir Wenyeve's banquet celebrating 
 the passage of his Bill, two thousand clerks and message- 
 boys posted two million copies of the following prospec- 
 tus. The list of directors, financial agents, bankers, 
 managers, and other uninteresting details are omitted. 
 
 The World's PLEASA^X'E Company (Limited). 
 
 Inco7'2Jorated under the Comimnies Acts. 
 Capital . . . 200,000,000/. 
 
 Issue of 1,000,000 shares of lOOL each, of which 
 50Z. is called up as follows :—ol. on application, 5L on 
 allotment, 20L on May 1, and 20/. on July 1. The 
 remaining 50/. per share is to form security for deben- 
 tures. 
 
 The capital of the company is divided into 2,000,000 
 shares of 100/. each, of which — 
 
 1,650,000 shares will be issued as ordinary shares, 
 entitled to a cumulative dividend of 15 per cent, before 
 the deferred shares participate in profit. 
 
 350,000 shares as deferred shares to be issued at 
 50/. paid, which will not be entitled to participate in 
 dividend until 15 per cent, has been paid on the paid- 
 up capital of the ordinary shareholders. 
 
 The deferred shares and 000,000 of the ordinary 
 shares will be taken by the promoters in part payment 
 of the price.
 
 THE SALVATION OV NATURE 139 
 
 This company lias been iucorporated for the purpose 
 of acquiring that part of Great Britain known as the 
 kino'dom of Scotland, with the outer and inner Hebrides 
 and the Orkney and Shetland Isles. 
 
 It is estimated that three-quarters of the capital of 
 the company will be expended on the purchase of Scot- 
 land ; the remainder to be devoted — 
 
 1. To the demolition of all manufactories, foundries, 
 building'-yards, railways, tramways, walls, fences, and 
 all unnatural divisions, and of all buildings, with some 
 few exceptions, of a later date than 1700 a.d. 
 
 2. To the purchase of a number of the Polynesian 
 Islands. 
 
 3. To the importation of these islands and the dis- 
 tribution of their soil over the razed cities, towns, 
 villages, etc. 
 
 When the land has thus been returned to the bosom 
 of Nature, it will remain there unmolested for a year or 
 two. At the end of this nursing-time, Scotland, having 
 been in a manner born again, will be called by its 
 new name ' The World's Pleasance ' ; and visitors will be 
 admitted during the six months of summer and autumn 
 on payment of 50^. for each individual per month. At 
 the rate of 100,000 visitors per month, this will give an 
 income of 30,000,000?. Figures like these need no 
 comment. 
 
 Every species of tent, marquee, awning, and canvas 
 or waterproof erection ; every species of rowing or 
 sailing vessel ; and every species of rational land con-
 
 140 TIIE GREAT MEN 
 
 veyance will br permitted iu the AVorld's Pleasance : 
 but there must not be laid one stone upon another ; nor 
 shall steam, electricity, or liydraulic power be used 
 for any purpose, except for the working of Professor 
 Penpergwyn's dew-condensers. One of these machines 
 will be erected at John o' Groat's House, and another 
 at Kirkmaiden. Professor Penjoergwyn has recently, at 
 the request of the promoters of this company, devoted 
 all his time to perfecting his celebrated apparatus; 
 and we are happy to be able to state that the cloud- 
 compelling attachment for withholding rain from an 
 area greater than half that of Scotland, now works with 
 the requisite power, regularity, and delicacy ; while the 
 dew-condensers proper can, at a moment's notice, fill 
 the air with any degree of moisture, from the filmiest 
 mist to a deluge. 
 
 The promoters of this company congratulate them- 
 selves, and the peoples of every continent, on the sal- 
 vation of a fragment of the Old World from the jaws of 
 Civilisation ; and in conclusion they think they cannot 
 do better than quote the peroration of Sir Wenyeve West- 
 away's great speech on the motion for the third reading 
 of the Bill with which his name will be associated 
 to the end of time. The honourable baronet said in 
 conclusion, ' If you would loosen the shackles which 
 bind the poetry and art of the day j if you would give a 
 little ease to the voiceless, suffering earth, crushed iu 
 the iron shell of civilisation, like the skull of a martyr 
 in that Venetian head-screw which ground to a pulp
 
 THE SALVATION OF NATURE 141 
 
 bone and brain and flesh ; if, in a word, you would 
 provide a home, a second Academe, a new Arcadia for 
 poetry and art, these illustrious outcasts ; if you would 
 save Nature, you will pass this Bill. Make Scotland 
 the World's Pleasance, and I venture to predict that 
 the benefits springing from such a recreation-ground to 
 Art and Morality will be so immense, that the world 
 will bless, as long as the earth endures, the legislators 
 who licensed the creation of a second Eden. ' 
 
 The demand for shares during the week in which 
 the prospectus was published was more than double 
 the supply. Ling-long, the Chinese perpetual president 
 of the United States, applied for a thousand ; but his 
 Perpetuity had to be contented with ten. All the kings 
 and queens in the world took as many as could be 
 allotted to them. The ancient list of the world's seven 
 wonders was cancelled, and the company's palatial and 
 labyrinthine offices on the English banks of the Tweed 
 became the initial wonder of a new one. And Sir 
 Wenyeve Westaway? He w\is made a peer of the 
 realm, and the company, in the joy of success, voted 
 him for two lives the sole right of visiting the island of 
 Arran. 
 
 Professor Penpergwyn superintended the destruction 
 of civilised Scotland. Electrite was the explosive used, 
 on account of the precision with which the upheaval 
 produced by a given charge could be calculated. It 
 was possible with this remarkable invention to destroy
 
 142 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 one lialf of a buildiug, and leave tlie other undamaged; 
 for tho dehris fell back, like an ill-tLrown boomerang, 
 exactly to the spot whence it had shot up. Tlie Professor 
 was truly a great man. When all the railways and 
 tramways had been removed, and sold at great profit to 
 the Chinese; when all the wires had been prepared, 
 and half the known tar, and every tar-barrel beneath 
 the sun had been duly distributed among the buildings 
 to be deracinated, he let the world into the secret or 
 the broad and lofty piers which he had erected on 
 many parts of the Scottish coast, at various distances 
 fi-oni the shore. From them the public could view the 
 great fire, on payment to the Professor of three guineas 
 per head. He provided no conveyance to or from the 
 piers. He guaranteed nothing, either regarding their 
 security or the width of view which they commanded. 
 You paid your money and took your chance. Two 
 million people bought tickets. The Professor's profit, 
 deducting the cost of the piers, and of the huge army 
 of ticket-collectors, was 2,000,000/. 
 
 On the last night of the year, Scotland was set on 
 fire. The Professor had iitilised the Scotch telegraph 
 wires. By their means all his mines were connected 
 with the battery at which he sat in London, waiting 
 impatiently till ten should strike. In the moment of 
 the last stroke he touched the machine ; then he set off 
 for Kamtschatka with his wife and his only daughter, 
 a child of seven years. 
 
 As will be surmised, this extraordinary man was
 
 THE SALVATION OF NATURE 143 
 
 not tte only iudividual who waited with impatience till 
 ten o'clock that night. All England, all the world was 
 en fete. Miniature explosions were prepared in every 
 town and hamlet, in nearly every street and lane in the 
 four quarters of the globe — each little mine surrounded 
 by a restless mob. But the most impatient of all the 
 inhabitants of the earth were the two millions of men 
 and women who crowded the Professor's piers. 
 
 At a minute from ten, the human zone girdling 
 Scotland was as silent as death. All the clocks in all 
 the towers and steeples in the doomed country had 
 been wound up for that night. There was no wind, 
 and the air was frosty. When the hour rang — the last 
 hour that should ever ring in Scotland — pealing in 
 many tones, but harmonised by the distance to the ears 
 of the listeners, so that poets thought of swan-songs 
 and the Phoenix, and the most prosaic remembered the 
 death-knell — a strong thrill passed through the multi- 
 tude, and a rustle went about from pier to pier, like a 
 wind wandering among the woods. Not a star could 
 be seen. Scotland was only discerned as a more intense 
 blackness in the bosom of the night. The silence after 
 the striking of the hour was deeper than before — so 
 deep that the people heard faintly the petty plash of 
 the waves against the piers. 
 
 Suddenly the Cheviots were tipped with fire, and 
 two million faces grew pale. In the same breathless 
 instant these faces, rank after rank, loomed out in the 
 light of the burning country, as the land-wide flash
 
 144 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 sped over the mountains to Cape "VYratli, and a sound 
 as if tlie 111 under of a century had been gathered into 
 one terrific long-rolling peal, shook tlic whole sea, and 
 forced every head to bt'iid. Then again silence and 
 blackness, uttermost, appalling. All the people 
 trembled. A wife said to her husband in the lowest 
 whisper ever breathed, ' I am going mad.' 
 
 ' And I too,' he replied hoarsely. 
 
 A sage old man beside them, who overheard their 
 whispers, cried ' Hurrah ! ' 
 
 It broke the spell. From pier to pier the word ran 
 until the shout became general. 
 
 ' Hurrah ! hurrali. ! ' — the most voluminous cheer on 
 record — and with that the people fell a-talking. 
 
 ' Has it failed ? ' was the universal question. The 
 wise old fellow who had started the cheer thousrht 
 not. 
 
 '■ The explosions are over,' he said, ' but the fires will 
 soon bi'eak out.' 
 
 And he was right. Even as he spoke tongues of 
 flame were jetting up. It was then five minutes past 
 ten. In another minute, Scotland looked like a huge 
 leviathan, spotted and brindled with eyes and stripes of 
 fire. Where the towns w^ere thick these ran into each 
 other, and soon the Lowlands were wrapped in one 
 glowing sheet. The smoke wallowed on high, and 
 dipped and writhed in and out among the flames. 
 Description shrivels before such a scene. 
 
 ' Behold,' cried Lord Westaway, ' the altar on which
 
 THE S.1LYATI0X OF NATURE 145 
 
 tlie world sacrifices to Nature for the sin of Civilisa- 
 tion ! ' 
 
 It is not known when the last flame of the great fire 
 went out ; but in the end of February the first fleet of 
 vessels from Polynesia arrived in the Clyde. They 
 landed their cargoes among the ruins of Glasgow ; and 
 the debris on the Broomielaw was soon covered with the 
 dust of the coral insect. - ■ 
 
 In six months the reclamation of Scotland to the 
 bosom of Nature was completed by a million men, who 
 wi'ought in three relays, night and day. Professor 
 Penpergwyn's piers were then destroyed ; and a cordon 
 of five hundred war-vessels was placed along the coast, 
 and not a human foot trod Scottish earth — or Polynesian 
 earth in Scotland — for two years. 
 
 Lord AVestaway, on the day the company granted 
 him the Island of Arrau, had shut himself ujd in his 
 study. Three hours he brooded, and then summoned 
 his son, Lewellyn, a handsome boy in his eleventh year. 
 
 ' Lewellyn,' said Lord Westaway, ' I am going to 
 prepare Arran for you. You will enter into possession 
 on your twenty-first birthday. I will make it the most 
 remarkable island in the world,' 
 
 ' How will you do that, papa ? ' 
 
 ' Do not inquire ; don't try to discover from any 
 source : your surprise and pleasure ten years hence will 
 be the greater.' 
 
 The boy, who worshipped his father, agreed to this 
 unhesitatingly.
 
 1-iG THE GEE AT MEN 
 
 Tlio World's Pleasaiicc brought down tlic world. 
 At tlic close of tlie first season in wliicli tlic rejuvenated 
 Scotland was open to the public, instead of the fifteen 
 per cent, expected by the promoters, a dividend of thirty 
 per cent, was declared on all the shares. From many 
 glowing contemporary accounts of the wonders of the 
 great pleasure-ground, I select the following letter of 
 the young Empress of the East to her Prime Minister, 
 whom she afterwards married, as being the least over- 
 charged : — 
 
 JExtrad from tlie letter of the Mmpress of the East. 
 
 Wo landed in the end of June on the shore where 
 Leith once stood. I was carried up to Edinburgh in a 
 litter, the rugged nature of the ground preventing any 
 other mode of conveyance. A Greek temple-like build- 
 ing — formerly a picture-gallery, I believe — had been 
 prepared for us. The rent of it is enormous, as the 
 company put up to auction all the habitable buildings 
 in the country. This was rendered necessary by the 
 battles which took place for the possession of historical 
 or finely situated houses. At first the directors thought 
 the fighting would lend an additional charm to life here ; 
 but when Ling-long, the American president, besieged 
 the Emperor of the French in Holyrood with bows and 
 arrows and battering-rams — a bye-law forbids the use 
 of all explosives — and took the palace with the loss of 
 several lives on both sides, interference was deemed
 
 THE SALVATION OF NATUEE 147 
 
 expedient. All fighting, except in the tourney, is now 
 done with quarter-staves. Every third day we have a 
 quarrel with some other potentate about a fishing- 
 stream or a glade for hawking in. Mj greatest enemy 
 is the King of England, who lives in Edinburgh Castle. 
 We are very warm friends and model disputants, com- 
 plying graciously with the bye-law, which adjudges 
 victory to the side that first draws blood. Although 
 the King's retinue exceeds mine, my Tartar giant, by 
 his superior strength and agility, manages, as a rule, to 
 finish the fight in our favour. 
 
 'I will just go on scribbling in my woman's way as 
 I have begun. The nest thing that occurs to me is the 
 sj)lendour of Edinburgh. It is pronounced by every- 
 body the most beautiful piece of the juvenile country. 
 Scientific men are much perplexed by it, as indeed they 
 are by all the newly naturalised land. It would seem 
 that at present there is a struggle going on between the 
 imported tropical vegetation and the native plants and 
 gi-asses. The latter have conquered in Edinburgh. It 
 is covered with young heather and broom and bracken, 
 and only here and there a dwarfed alien plant appears. 
 The billows of purple and green and gold toss about in 
 what was the New Town, and, swirling across the 
 valley, roll up the High Street to throw splashes of 
 colour here and there on the Castle esplanade. 
 
 ' We are clad in sixteenth century costumes ; the 
 King of England and his Court in dresses of the 
 time of the Charleses. Nearly all the Americans go 
 
 h 2
 
 148 TlliO lilvEAT .MEN 
 
 about in Greek robes, as gods and goddesses, heroes and 
 heroines. Tlie French Court is a miniature of tliat of 
 Louis XIV. The Russians are dressed in Lincoln green ; 
 the Czar is called llobin Hood, and the Czarina, Maid 
 j\[arian. "We have no clocks ; the dial is our only time- 
 keeper. It is all a great masque, from the country 
 itself to the pot-boys and scullions. Last week I rode 
 as far north as Perth, and seemed to journey through 
 all the times and peoples of ]*]urope. Here, in a broad 
 meadow, we saw a tournament, where some princess sat 
 as queen of love and beauty. A few miles further on 
 we passed a water-party of the Restoration, with music 
 and laughter. Then a pavilion gleamed white among 
 the trees, and there two knights of the Round Table 
 hung out their blazoned shields. Up rode, with lofty 
 air, Don Quixote, wearing the veritable helmet of Mam- 
 brino. Behind, all amort, on a sorry ass, ambled the 
 wisest of fools, dear old Sancho Panza. " What, ho ! vile 
 recreants ! " cried the knight of La Manchd, and struck 
 exultingly one of the shields. We stood aside to watch 
 the encounter, and beheld him of the sorrowful counten- 
 ance go down before the spear of Launcelot of the Lake. 
 Anon, Mary, Queen of Scots, followed by Douglases and 
 Graemes and Setons, sped by, chasing a stag of ten. 
 " Splenderr de Dieu ! " cried a deep voice in front; and 
 a body of Norman knights charged the Scotsmen. But 
 after a brief battle, William the Conqueror and Mary 
 Stuart agreed to hunt together. 
 
 ' me ! my heart is sick with dreaming over these
 
 THE S.i.LVATION OF NATUEE 149 
 
 old times ! And yet, although I know it is the signal 
 for my return, I long for the day Avhen you are to come, 
 my faithful friend. 
 
 ' I have some, and shall have more, very pleasant 
 stories to tell you of a party of Germans, ^Yho have 
 undertaken to act through all Shakespeare's comedies, 
 with the whole World's Pleasance for stage, naming 
 places after localities in the plays, and travelling about 
 as the scene requires. They have already acted two 
 comedies, and in each of them real passions and events 
 have grown out of the fiction, so that the company 
 has lost half its original members OAving to elopements 
 and quarrels. This is a long letter, and I am tired.' 
 
 One result of the success of the World's Pleasance 
 Company was the establishment of similar companies in 
 nearly every country. The Americans reclaimed Peru 
 and California. The Empress of the East was the prin- 
 cipal promoter of a company for the naturalisation of 
 Greece. The French reclaimed Provence ; the Germans 
 the Ehine Provinces. Italy was given over entirely to 
 nature ; and the whole Italian nation became brigands. 
 This country was much frequented by young people in 
 search of adventure. The African Republics made 
 pleasances of Algeria, and the country about the great 
 lakes ; and a gigantic Asiatic company bought up the 
 Himalayas and the Indo-Chinese Peninsula. For eight 
 years all these pleasance companies paid great per- 
 centages, and immense fortunes were made. Every
 
 150 THE GEE AT MEN 
 
 other man was a millionaire. Tlien it seemed that the 
 world came bankrupt. Thousands of people committed 
 suicide. Famine followed bankruptcy ; and after it 
 came a new disease. It began in India, and travelled 
 almost as fast as the news of its ravages. People fled 
 to their pleasances for refuge, but the pest was there 
 before them. Cities were emptied in a day. In every 
 town and hamlet the last to die thought himself the last 
 man, and posed mentally as such. London was swept 
 of life like the deck of a vessel by a mountainous wave. 
 In the World's Pleasance people wandered about in twos 
 and threes, shunning strangers, digging roots, dropping 
 dead. Most of them wore their holiday costumes. 
 Some few carried bottles of wine, and laughed and sang. 
 But the time for such desperate jollity soon passed, and 
 the plague remained. 
 
 In the beginning of July, an old man of great fresh- 
 ness and vigour appeared in that part of the Pleasance 
 formerly known as Ayrshire. He approached every- 
 body he met. To those whom he could stay, he put this 
 question, ' Do you know anything of Lewell^'n West- 
 away ? ' A languid shake of the head was all the answer 
 he ever got. So many kept him aloof, that he resorted 
 to calling out his question at the pitch of his voice. 
 For an entire forenoon he did this ; and shortly after 
 midday a man dropped out of a tree almost on his head, 
 and said, ' I am Lewellyn Westaway.' 
 
 ' And I,' said the old man, ' am Professor Penper- 
 gwyn.'
 
 THE SALVATION OF NATURE 151 
 
 The Professor wore a white hat and a black frock 
 coat, old and rusty. Lewellyn was dressed in a purple 
 velvet doublet, and from his close-fitting cap a feather 
 hung gracefully, and mingled with his long hair. The 
 contrast was striking. 
 
 ' What do you want with me ? ' asked Lewellyn. 
 
 ' Wh}^ are you not in Arran ? ' 
 
 ' In Arran ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; you are twenty-one now, and the island 
 awaits you.' 
 
 ' I had forgotten about it.' 
 
 ' Drink this, and go there at once.' 
 
 ' "What's this ? and why should I go there at once ? ' 
 
 ' This,' said the Professor, opening the morocco-case 
 he had offered Lewellyn, and holding up a little vial, 
 ' is an infallible remedy for the plague.' 
 
 Lewellyn laughed scornfully. 
 
 ' Faithless, faithless ! ' cried the Professor, looking 
 earnestly with his strong convincing eyes into those of 
 the young man. 
 
 Lewellyn was bound by his gaze ; and the Professor 
 continued : ' I tell you, who may die this moment, 
 who must die within a week, that this will save you, 
 and you laugh in my face. Will you take it or 
 not?' 
 
 Lewellyn took it. 
 
 ' Drink it.' 
 
 He did so in silence. 
 
 ' Now listen to me.'
 
 152 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 Tlie Professor leaned against a tree, while Lewellyn 
 stood meekly before liira. 
 
 ' First tell mo : are your father and mother dead ? ' 
 
 ' They are.' 
 
 ' Then you are as free as I could wish you to be, 
 unless you are married.' 
 
 ' I am not.' 
 
 ' Good. Many years ago I discovered this disease 
 in Kamtschatka. It is really nothing more or less than 
 hunger, the millionth power of hunger. I have not 
 time to explain it. It must often have appeared in the 
 world. Probably it has always existed actively, but 
 never till this great famine has it fairly got wing. I 
 recognised its power in Kamtschatka, and saw that if it 
 should get strength from feeding on a few thousand 
 lives, it would kill the world. Its power and velocity 
 increase with its progress. It knows no crisis. In a 
 few days it will be as swift as the lightning. I began 
 in Kamtschatka to try for a remedy. I laboured for 
 years, and then had to come west for materials. It was 
 during that visit that I burned Scotland, On my 
 return to Kamtschatka I found that a filtrate I had left 
 standing had clarified itself, and was, in fact, the re- 
 quired remedy. For the last ten years I have been 
 trying to repeat the process, but have always failed. 
 When I heard of the breaking out of the pest I came 
 at once from Kamtschatka. I had sufficient of my re- 
 medy to save two lives. My wife is dead, so I give one 
 half to you. Now, sir, go to Arran.'
 
 THE SALVATION OF NATURE 153 
 
 ' Why give me half ? ' 
 
 ' Is that your gratitude ? Had I not found you I 
 would have given it to the finest young fellow I could 
 meet with. But ask no more questions. Do as I bid 
 you. You will find it to your advantage. You will 
 never see me more. Within a fortnight all who have 
 not drunk of my medicine will be dead.' 
 
 ' What ! Are we two to be the only men left alive, 
 and are we to part for ever ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. Your father has saved Nature, but in a way 
 he little expected. Good-bye for ever.' 
 
 Lewellyn realised but faintly what the old man had 
 said with such authority, and stood irresolute. 
 
 ' Go,' said the Professor, and Lewellyn, like one under 
 a spell, hurried down to the coast. He was hardly 
 out of sight when Professor Penpergwyn dropped dead. 
 
 On the shore Lewellyn found many boats — some 
 floating, some high and dry — all masterless. He chose 
 the one he judged the swiftest sailer, and was soon 
 flying across the firth with a strong east wind behind 
 him. As he neared Arran he saw a white flag run up 
 a short pole on a little eminence near the beach. He 
 was too much battered with wonder to feel this new 
 stroke. Involuntarily he steered for the flag. When 
 he was soine hundred yards from land ho observed 
 below the flag-pole, seated on a rock, a figure like that 
 of a woman, motionless and watching him intently. 
 In landing, his boat occupied all his attention, so that 
 when he stepped ashore and found a tall girl standing
 
 154 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 witli lior Lack to liim, but within reacli of his arm, tho 
 effect upon him was almost as great as if he had not 
 seen lier before. He stood still, expecting her to turn 
 round ; but she remained as she was for some moments, 
 fingering a bow she carried. A quiver full of arrows 
 was slung across her shoulder. Her dress of some dark 
 blue homely stuff came to her ankles. She wore shoes 
 of untanncd leather, and a bolt of the same in which 
 was stuck a short sword. On her head she had a little 
 fur cap, and her short golden brown hair curled on her 
 shoulders. Slowly she turned and gave him a side 
 glance. Then she looked him full in the face and 
 sighed deeply, but as if some doubt had been resolved 
 to her satisfaction. He fell back a step at the splendour 
 of her eyes. Her face was broad and her complexion 
 delicate, though browned. He hardly noticed her low 
 forehead, her straight eyebrows, her strong, round chin, 
 and full red mouth ; her eyes held him. He did not 
 think of their colour. He v/as subdued by their intense 
 expression. They seemed to pierce him with intuition, 
 and at the same time to bathe him in a soft, warm light. 
 She spoke, and her voice seemed to caress him ; but 
 all she said was ' Do you come from Professor Penper- 
 gwyn ? ' 
 
 He bowed. If he spoke he felt tho vision would 
 vanish. 
 
 ' Have you drunk the other half ? ' 
 
 He bowed again, understanding her to mean the 
 other half of the professor's remedy.
 
 LYNDEN PENPERGWi'N WATCHING LKWlil.LV.V
 
 THE SALVATION OF NATURE 155 
 
 ' Did lie tell you there was only enougli for two ? ' 
 
 Ho found his tongue and answered ' Yes,' whis- 
 pering as intensely as she did, but wondering why 
 there should be so much passion about the matter. 
 
 ' Do you know who drank the rest ? ' 
 
 ' I supposed it was the Professor.' 
 
 She siged again, a deep sigh of satisfaction, and 
 sank on the beach sobbing. Lewellyn, after a moment's 
 thought, knelt beside her and held one of her hands in 
 both his. She made no resistance. In a little she 
 dried her tears with her diseno'ag'ed hand, shook back 
 her hair and looked him in the face. 
 
 ' I'm so glad to see you,' she said, ' I have been 
 alone here for a week. You needn't ask anjf questions. 
 I'll tell you it all at once. Professor Penpergwyn is 
 my papa. Is he alive ? ' 
 
 ' He was four hours acfo.' 
 
 ' He may be dead noAv, though. Poor papa ! He 
 would always have his own way. Papa expected to find 
 you. When he didn't he left me all alone and went to 
 search for you. We brought some provisions and wea- 
 pons with us, and I have managed to get on very well. 
 But I'm glad you've come. Are you Lewellyn West- 
 away ? ' she cried sharply, springing to her feet in sudden 
 doubt. 
 
 ' Yes, I am — Lord Westaway, if it's of any conse- 
 quence.' 
 
 ' I'm very glad. Tell me what was the name of 
 your father's steward.'
 
 156 THE GREAT MEN 
 
 ' Di'all ry— Ilcnry Dealtry ? ' 
 
 ' It was ; it was ! ' 
 
 Tlie lady smiled, and looked as happy and self- 
 satisfied as if slie liad exercised the most extra- 
 ordinary svibtlety in putting this question, and as if 
 Lewcllyn's answer were conclusive proof of his iden- 
 tity. 
 
 ' But you must be hungry,' she said suddenly. 
 ' Come.' 
 
 She led him to a tent at the entrance of a little 
 glen, and bade him sit on the turf at the door, while 
 she went in. A pleasant odour came through the 
 canvas, and ho heard the clatter of dishes — a very 
 wholesome sound to one who had been living a half- 
 savage life for several weeks. 
 
 Soon she cried ' Come in,' and he entered. 
 
 ' I began to prepare this little dinner when I saw 
 your boat far, far away.' 
 
 He thanked her and they ate in silence, stealing 
 shy glances at each other, and feeling a little uncom- 
 fortable. But being hungry they did not mind that 
 much. 
 
 ' Now,' she said, resuming her frankness, not per- 
 fectly however, 'if you're quite satisfied, come and I'll 
 show you the wonders of your island. You know your 
 father promised you it should be the most rcraarkal)le 
 island in the world.' 
 
 ' And so it is,' he said, looking at her steadily. 
 
 She blushed, and said nothing.
 
 THE SALVATIOK OF NATUEE 157 
 
 They had not taken many steps up the glen when 
 a roar shook the ground. 
 
 He stopped in wonder. She answered the question 
 in his eyes. 
 
 ' That's the old lion. He's the only one left.' 
 
 ' The only one ! ' 
 
 ' Are you frightened ? He's not at all dangerous 
 He's got hardly any teeth, and he just crawls. I'll tell 
 you all about it now, although I meant to show it to 
 you before explaining. My father and I met Dealtry, 
 your father's steward, in London, and he told us about 
 the island being yours, and how your father promised 
 you it should be the most remarkable island in the 
 world, and how in fulfilment of that promise he stocked 
 it with all kinds of vrild beasts and birds and insects, 
 intending it to be a great huuting-ground. Dealtry 
 told us you would be sure to be here.' 
 
 ' I had forgotten all about it.' 
 
 ' Well, except this old lion, all the originals are 
 dead. But there are many elephants, lions, tigers, 
 bears, leopards, hyenas, and beasts I don't know the 
 names of — all very little, and not at all fierce. They're 
 fast djing out too, for they can't get any food. You'll 
 hardly see a deer, and even rabbits are scarce. There's 
 a tiger ! ' 
 
 Lewellyn saw a striped beast about the size of a 
 Newfoundland dog slinking across the path before them. 
 While he looked at it curiously, something whistled 
 through the air, and with a scream the beast rolled
 
 158 THE (JKEAT IMEN 
 
 over, pi'M-cetl to tlie lieart by one of Miss Penpergwyn's 
 arrows. 
 
 ' I always slioot tlirni,' slie said, ' and you will do so, 
 too ; for wo rnusfc get rid of tlieui. That was papa's 
 order.' 
 
 Lewellyn sighed, and thought of ]Ut! father. Tins 
 'was the end of his high-pitched imaginings, and pas- 
 sionate endeavours to realise Avhat others would never 
 dream of imagining. A melancholy, profounder than 
 that which was normal to all high-strung souls at that 
 dread time, seized him and -was reflected by his com- 
 panion. They wandered about the island, hand in hand, 
 saying little. Every foreign beast, bird, and insect that 
 they saw, all small, and much less brilliant than in 
 their native climes, increased his melancholy until it 
 became almost an agony, and ho was glad wdien they 
 reached the tent again. She bade him sit once more at 
 the entrance while she got supper ready. 
 
 ' And while you are waiting,' she said, ' you can 
 read this. My father left it for you, and I forgot about 
 it till now.' 
 
 Lewellyn took from her a ^sealed letter, which ho 
 read slowly and with much emotion. He had been 
 thinking over it for some minutes when he was sum- 
 moned to supper. 
 
 ' Come out,' he said. 
 
 Miss Penpergwyn obeyed. 
 
 ' Stand beside me while I read this to you. There 
 is no date. " You will be beginning to understand by this
 
 THE S.ILVATION OF N.lTUEE 159 
 
 time. I Lad a long struggle with myself; lout my life 
 would soou have ended and hers was just beginning. 
 I felt sure 1 would find you. I had known your father, 
 and had seen you in your boyhood ; I knew your 
 character, and that you must be a strong and hand- 
 some man. The world begins again with you two." 
 That is all. What is your name, Miss Penper- 
 gwyn ? ' 
 
 ' Lynden.' 
 
 ' Lynden ! a strange name.' 
 
 ' My father was a strange man.' 
 
 He took both her hands, and drew her towards 
 him. 
 
 ' Lynden Westaway,' he said. 
 
 She trembled ; then, dropping her head on his 
 shoulder, whispered between a sob and a laugh, ' My 
 husband.' 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 Next morning Lewellyn said, ' I've been thinking 
 over all you did yesterday, and there are two things I 
 don't understand. Why did you sigh so deeply and 
 gladly when I said I supposed your father had drunk 
 the other half of the remedy ? ' 
 
 ' Because I was glad that you hadn't taken it know- 
 ingly from him.' 
 
 ' And why did you stand with your back to me 
 when I landed, and then sigh so happily again when I 
 turned round ? ' 
 
 I stood with my back to you because I was afraid
 
 160 THE GIlEAT MEN 
 
 you miglit not be easy to love ; and I sighed with 
 happiness wlicn I sav/ Iidw handsome you were. Oli ! 
 how bokl you must ]iav(> I hought me ! I imagined that 
 my fatlicr woukl have told you about me, and all lie 
 meant, and that was why I was so frank. I wanted to 
 put you at your ease, my dear — to meet you half way, 
 love.' 
 
 As soon as Cosmo had finished his extraordinary 
 story the honorary secretary remarked in a deep voice : 
 ' Gentleman, it is now 3.30 a.m.' 
 
 ' What ! ' cried Cosmo ; ' and the whiskey not half 
 done yet ! ' 
 
 He lifted the barrel. It felt very light. He shook 
 it. There was no sound. He turned it up with the 
 bung over his rummer. Not a drop came. 
 
 ' Well,' said Cosmo, 'I'm damned ! That's all — doubly 
 and trebly. I thought it was only half done. . In that 
 case there's nothing remains now bat to break these 
 rummers. No liquor less divine shall ever stain 
 them.' 
 
 With that he flung his rummer into the emj)ty fire- 
 place, smashing it into a thousand pieces, and eveiy 
 man followed suit. 
 
 ' " Auld Lang Syne,' " said Cosmo ; and they sang it 
 at the pitch of their voices. 
 
 ' Secretary, do your duty,' said the President in his 
 austerest tone. 
 
 ' The suspension of Rale G is now cancelled, and
 
 The salvation of natuee 161 
 
 tills extraordinary meeting of the Great Men at an end,' 
 said the Secretary with precision. 
 
 The five Great Men then accompanied Ninian and 
 Cosmo to the house of the latter, and, having cheered 
 their President and their guest, went home quietly to 
 their several places of abode. 
 
 M
 
 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 M 2
 
 NOTliJ 
 
 We are fortunate in heiny able to present the reader ivith 
 the story referred to by Cosmo Mortimer. As we agree vnth 
 him that the original title, ' The North Wall,' is ridiculous, 
 we now call it ' A Practical Novelist.' 
 
 The question started by Cosmo as to the identify (f the 
 hero of ' A Practical Novelist ' with Mr. Pourie is beyond our 
 ability to solve. On the face of it, however, we are inclined 
 to think they are different individuals; because, though it 
 will be found that the morality of Mr. Maxwell Lee, the 
 jyractical novelist, is even more jjectdiar than that of Mr. 
 Pourie, it ivill also be found that it is a genuiyie morality, 
 and not more properly to be described as immorality, which, 
 we fear, miist he the last tvord on Mr. Pourie' s conduct.
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 BAGGING A HERO 
 
 'Well, but the novel is played out, Carry. It lias 
 run to seed. Anybody can get tlie seed ; anybody can 
 sow it. If it goes on at this rate, novel-writers will 
 soon be in a majority, and novel-reading will become a 
 lucrative employment.' 
 
 'What are you going to do, then, Maxwell ? Here's 
 Peter out of work, and my stitching can't support 
 three.' 
 
 The three in question were Maxwell Lee, his wife 
 Caroline, and her brother, Peter Briscoe. Lee was an 
 unsuccessful literary man ; his brother-in-law, Briscoe, 
 an unsuccessful business-man. Caroline, on the other 
 hand, was entirely successful in an arduous endeavour 
 to be a man, hoping and working for all three. 
 
 We have nothing whatever to do with the past of 
 these people. We start with the conversation intro- 
 duced in the first sentence. Caroline had urged on Lee 
 the advisability of accepting an offer from the editor of 
 a country weekly. But Lee, who had composed dramas 
 and philosophical romances which no publisher, nor
 
 166 A PRxiCTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 editor could be got to read, refused scornfully tlio task 
 of writing ' an ordinary, vulgar, sentimental and sensa- 
 tional story of the kind required.' 
 
 ' What am I going to do ? ' ho said. ' I'll tell you : 
 I am going to create a novel. Practical joking is tho 
 new novel in its infancy. The end of every thought is 
 an action ; and the centuries of written fiction must 
 cuhninata in an age of acted fiction. We stand upon 
 the threshold of that age, and I am destined to open the 
 door.' 
 
 Caroline sighed, and Briscoe shot out his underlip : 
 evidence that they Avere accustomed to this sort of thing. 
 
 Lee continued : ' You shall collaborate with me in 
 the production of this novel. Think of it! Novel- 
 writing is effete ; novel-creation is about to begin. 
 We shall cause a novel to take place in the world. We 
 shall construct a plot ; we shall select a hero ; we shall 
 enter into his life, and produce the series of events 
 before determined on. Consider for a minute. We 
 can do nothing else now. The last development, the 
 naturalist school, is a mere copying, a bare photograph- 
 ing of life — at least, that is what it professes to be. 
 This is not art. There can never be an art of novel- 
 writing. But there can be — there shall be, you will aid 
 me to begin the art of novel-creation.' 
 
 ' Do you propose to make a living by it ? ' inquired 
 Briscoe. 
 
 ' Certainly.' 
 
 Briscoe rose, and without comment left the house.
 
 BAGGING A HEEO 167 
 
 Caroline looked at her husband with a glance of mingled 
 pity and amusement. 
 
 ' Why are you so fantastic ? ' she asked softly, 
 
 ' You laugh at my idea now, because you do not see 
 it as I see it. Wait till it is completely developed 
 before jou condemn it.' 
 
 Caroline made no reply ; but went on with her sew- 
 ing. Lee threw himself at full length on a rickety sofa 
 and closed his eyes. Besides the sofa, two chairs and 
 a table, a rag of carpet before the fire-place, a shelf with 
 some books of poetry and novels, and an old oil-paint- 
 ing in a dark corner, made up the furniture of the 
 room. There were three other apartments, a kitchen 
 and two bedrooms, all as scantily furnished. The house 
 •was in the top flat of a four-storey land in Peyton Street, 
 Glasgow. 
 
 Lee dozed and dreamed. Caroline sewed steadily. 
 An hour elapsed without a word from either. Then 
 both were aroused by the noisy entrance of Briscoe, 
 who, having let himself into the house by his latch-key, 
 strode into the parlour with a portmanteau in either 
 hand. He thrashed these down on the floor Avith 
 defiant emphasis, and said, frowning away a grin : 
 ' Your twin-brother's traps, Lee. I'll bring Jiim up- 
 stairs, too.' 
 
 He went out immediately, as if afraid of being re- 
 called. 
 
 ' Your twin-brother ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Lee. ' I 
 never heard of him.'
 
 168 A TRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 ' And I hear of him for the first time.' 
 
 They waited in amazeraeut the return of Briscoe. 
 Soon an irroi^nlar and shuffling tread sounded from the 
 siair ; and in a minute he and a cabman entered the 
 parlour, bearing between them what seemed the lifeless 
 body of a man. This they placed on the sofa. The 
 cabman looked about him curiously ; but, being appar- 
 ently satisfied with his fare, withdrew. 
 
 AVhen he was gone, Briscoe spoke : ' This is the 
 first chapter of your novel, Lee. Something startling 
 to begin with, eh ? ' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' I've bagged a hero for you.' 
 
 ' Bagged a hero ! ' 
 
 ' Yes ; kidnapped a millionaire in the middle of 
 Glasgow in broad daylight. Here's how it happened ; 
 one instant I saw a man with his head out of a cab- 
 window, shouting to the driver ; the next, the cab-door, 
 which can't have been properly fastened, sprang open, 
 and the man was lying in the street. On going up to 
 liim, I said to myself, " Maxwell Lee, as I'm a sinner ! " 
 You^re wonderfully like, even when I look at your faces 
 alternately. Well, I shouted in his ear, " Chartres ! 
 Chartres ! " seeing his name in his hat which had fallen 
 off, and pretending to know him perfectly. I felt so 
 •mad at you and your absurd notions of creating novels, 
 that, without thinking of the consequences, I got him 
 into the cab again, told the policeman that he was my 
 brother-in-law, and drove straight here. It was* all
 
 BAGGING A HEEO 169 
 
 done so suddenly, and I assumed such confidence, that 
 the police did not so much as demand my address. 
 Of course, if you don't want to have anything to do 
 with him, I suppose we can make it out a case of mis^ 
 taken identity.' 
 
 ' Who is he, I wonder ? ' said Lee, whose eyes were 
 sparkling. 
 
 ' There's his name and address,' replied Briscoe, 
 pointing to the portmanteaus. 
 
 Lee read aloud: ' " Mr. Henry Chartres, Snell House, 
 Gourock, N.B." ' He then pressed his head in both 
 hands, knit his brows, tightened his mouth, and regarded 
 the floor for fully a minute. 
 
 As soon as Chartres had been laid on the sofa, 
 Caroline wiped the mud from his face and hands. 
 There was not a cushion in the room, but she brought 
 two pillows from her own bed, and with them propped 
 the head and shoulders of the unconscious man. While 
 Lee was still contemplating the floor, she said, ' We 
 must get a doctor at once.' 
 
 Lee's response was a muttered 'Yes, yes;' but the 
 question brought him nearer the facts of the case than 
 he had been since Briscoe explained his motive in 
 possessing himself of Mr. Chartres. 
 
 ' A doctor ! ' repeated Caroline. 
 
 ' Of course, of course,' said Lee, approaching the 
 sofa for the first time. He studied the still unconscious 
 face while Caroline and Briscoe watched him : the first 
 wondering that Ije should seem to hesitate to send for
 
 170 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 a doctor, and tlie oilier witli an incredalous curiosity. 
 13riscoo, an ill-natured, half-edncated man, liad been 
 seized by a sudden inspiration on seeing the likeness 
 between Cliartres and his brotlier-in-law. He thought 
 to overset Lee's new idea by showing him its impractic- 
 ability, lie believed that failure had unhinged his 
 brother-in-law's mind; and knew for certain that no 
 argument could possibly avail. lie trusted that by 
 introducing Chartres under such extraordinary circum- 
 stances into what he regarded as Lee's insane waking 
 dream the gross absurdity of it — absurd at least in his 
 impecunious state — would become apparent to him. 
 Having once unfixed this idea, he hoped, with the 
 help of Mrs. Lee, to force his acceptance of the com- 
 mission for the country weekly. The result was not 
 going to be what he expected. Lee was taking his 
 brother's collaboration seriously. A childish smile of 
 wonder and delight overspread his features, as his like- 
 ness to Chartres aj^peared more fully, in his estimation, 
 upon a detailed examination. He got a looking-glass, 
 and compared the two faces, placing the mirror so that 
 the reflection of his lay as if he had rested his head on 
 Chartres' shoulder. Thick, soft, grey hair, inclined 
 still to curl, and divided on the left side ; a broad fore- 
 head, perpendicular for an inch above the eyebrows, 
 then sloping inordinately to the beginning of the hair ; 
 eyebrows distinctly marked, but not heavy; a well- 
 formed nose, rather long, and approaching the aquiline; 
 full, curved lips; the mouth not small, but liker a
 
 BAGGING A HERO 171 
 
 woman's than a man's; tlie cliiu, almost feminine, 
 little and ronucled ; the cheeks smooth, and the face 
 clean shaved. There was no doubt that the men 
 might have been twins, and that their most intimate 
 associates would have been constantly mistaking 
 them, 
 
 ' It's wonderful — wonderful, Peter ! ' said Lee. 
 ' What a brilliant stroke of yours this is ! ' 
 
 ' But the doctor, Maxwell ! ' cried Caroline, who 
 was becoming impatient. 
 
 ' Perhaps we'll not need one,' replied her husband. 
 ' See, he's coming round ! ' 
 
 Chartres began to move uneasily ; the blood dawned 
 in his cheeks ; and his breathing grew more vigorous. 
 He opened his eyes and attempted to raise his head ; 
 but a twinge of pain forced a groan from him, and he 
 again fainted. 
 
 'We must get him into bed, in the first place,' said 
 Lee. 
 
 With much difficulty this was accomplished. Then 
 Caroline renewed her demand for a doctor ; but her 
 husband, professing to have some skill in medicine, 
 declared himself able to treat Chartres, who seemed to 
 have fallen on the top of his head. Cold water, he 
 assured his wife, would soon remove the effects of the 
 concussion. Briscoe also said that there was no need 
 for a doctor. Mrs. Lee did not feel called on to dispute 
 the point ; and was about to resume the cold applica- 
 tions, when it struck her, for the first, how very
 
 172 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 extraordinary a thing it was that this stranger should 
 be in their house. 
 
 ' Why is he licrc ? ' she cried. ' What are you 
 going to do with him ? ' 
 
 ' We are going to make use of him in our story, my 
 dear,' said Lee, miklly. ' Wc will not do him any 
 luirm, but we may keep liim prisoner here for a little.' 
 
 ' How cruel ! Besides, it would be a crime,' re- 
 monstrated his wife. 
 
 Lee answered very calmly, but with a consuming 
 fire in his eyes : 
 
 ' We'll not be cruel if wc can possibly help it ; and, 
 as for its being criminal, surely no novel is complete 
 without a crime. At the start of this new departure in 
 the art of fiction we will be mucli hampered in its 
 exercise by scruples and fears of this kind. Some of 
 us may even require to be martyrs. For example : 
 should it be necessary in the course of the story to 
 commit a forgery or a murder, it is not to be expected 
 that the world will allow the crime to pass unpunished. 
 But once the veracity and nobility, the magnanimity 
 and self-sacrifice, which shall characterise this art and 
 the professors of it, have raised tlie tone of the world, 
 we shall be granted, I doubt not, the most cordial per- 
 mission to execute atrocities, which, committed selfishly, 
 would brand the criminal as an unnatural monster, but 
 which, performed for art's sake, will redound ever- 
 lastingly to the credit of the artist.' 
 
 Mrs, Lee looked helplessly at her brother, who
 
 Bagging a heeo 173 
 
 Avhispered to lier, ' Leave liiui to me. I"ll make it all 
 riglit.' 
 
 The two men then returned to the parlour, leaving 
 Carolino to wait on Chartres. 
 
 Briscoe having cooled down, began to examine the 
 possibilities of good and evil which might spring to 
 himself from his dealing with Chartres. Entered on 
 impulsively as little more than a practical joke ; 
 achieved so far with an apparent absolute success — a 
 success which he now felt to be the most remarkable 
 thing about it — this adventure, as he now viewed it, 
 opened up a field for his enterprise which might pro- 
 duce wheat or tares according to his husbandry. He lit 
 a pipe, stretched himself on the sofa, and, closing his 
 eyes, concentrated his thoughts on the remarkable inci- 
 dent which he had brought about. 
 
 Lee, whose presence Briscoe had ignored, began to 
 pace the room the moment his brother-in-law's eyes 
 were shut. The stealthy, cat-like glance which he 
 threw at Briscoe expanded to a blaze of triumph as, in 
 one of his turns across the floor, he seized both port- 
 manteaus, and, without accelerating his pace, walked 
 into the unoccupied bedroom, the door of which he 
 locked as softly as he could. Being relieved by Lee's 
 withdrawal, Briscoe gave himself a shake on the sofa, 
 and proceeded with his cogitation. 
 
 In the meantime Chartres had revived again. He 
 was unable to use his tongue, but signed by opening 
 his mouth that he wished to eat and drink. He nibbled
 
 174 A PEACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 a little toast and drank some water. He then surveyed 
 the room and his nurse with close attention, and twice 
 attempted to speak ; Ijut, failing to produce any other 
 sound than a sigh, he turned his face to the wall and 
 fell asleep. 
 
 Caroline went at once to the parlour, where, of 
 course, she found her brother alone. 
 
 ' Peter,' she said, ' what do you wish to do with this 
 poor man ? ' 
 
 Briscoe uttered an exclamation of irritation and sat 
 up to reply. 
 
 ' What should we do with him ? ' he snarled crustily. 
 
 ' Nothing, I suppose. Send him Where the 
 
 devil are the portmanteaus ? ' 
 
 ' And where's Maxwell ? ' 
 
 Briscoe was in the lobby immediately. 
 
 ' Here's his hat ! ' he cried. ' He's not gone off.' 
 
 Before he had time to try the door of the room into 
 which Lee had shut himself it opened, and that gentle- 
 man came forth. He was scented, gloved, and dressed 
 in a black broadcloth suit, which had evidently never 
 been worn before. He smiled to his brother-in-law, 
 kissed his wife, and stepped jauntily into the parlour. 
 They followed, amazed and silent. 
 
 ' I am Henry Chartres,' he said, drawing a handful 
 of bank-notes from a bulky purse and offering them to 
 Caroline, Briscoe snatched them eagerly, and stowed 
 them in his breast-pocket. At that moment the door- 
 bell rang with a violent peal that paralysed the three.
 
 BAGGING A HERO 175 
 
 A visit at any moment was an unusaal thing in their 
 household ; but Caroline, as she went to open the door, 
 ex^Derienced a greater perturbation than she knew how 
 to account for ; and her feeling of dread was not 
 lessened when the cabman, who had helped her brother 
 to carry Chartres upstaii'S, and two policemen entered 
 without ceremony. They walked past her into the 
 parlour. 
 
 ' Well, constable,' said Lee, addressing the foremost 
 of the two officers, ' what's the matter ? ' 
 
 The constable turned to the cabman, and the cab- 
 man looked bewildered. When in the house before he 
 had noticed the striking similarity between Lee and 
 Chartres, and also the great apparent disparity between 
 the social condition of his fare and that of the latter's 
 professed relation. On returning to his stand, he com- 
 municated his doubts to the policemen who had been 
 present at the accident. These two sapient Highlanders, 
 after considerable discussion, concluded to call at the 
 house to which the cabman had driven, and, if they 
 found nothing suspicious, excuse their visit in any way 
 suggested. The imaginations of the three had behaved 
 in a felonious manner on the road. Peyton Street had 
 certainly not the cleanest of reputations ; and the cab- 
 man had got the length of arresting Briscoe's hand in 
 the act of chopping up Chartres' left leg — being the last 
 entire member of his body — when he met the man 
 himself, as he supposed, smiling and as fresh as a 
 daisy.
 
 170 A PEACTICAL KOVELIST 
 
 ' We came to see liow you were, sir,' said one of tlie 
 policemen at last. 
 
 ' Oil, J"ii! all rit^-lit now,' said Lee, putting his Land 
 in liis pocket. ' I believe you assisted me when I fell. 
 I'll see you downstairs,' with a nod which the constables 
 understood as it was meant. ' I want you,' he said to 
 the cabman, ' to drive me to St. Enoch Station. 
 You'll get my portmanteaus here,' leading him to 
 the bedroom in which he had changed his dress and 
 name. 
 
 'Good-bye, Carry. Good-bye, Peter,' and before 
 his wife and brother-in-law had recovered from their 
 surprise, he was rattling away to the station.
 
 177 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE SUITOR AND THE SUED 
 
 Miss Jaxe Chartres was a most emphatic talker, be- 
 cause she believed everything she said. Not that she 
 always knew beforehand that what she might be going 
 to say was true ; but as soon as she found herself saying 
 anything she believed it firmly from the moment of its 
 announcement. If free-thinking people ever ventured 
 to express a doubt that she might have been misin- 
 formed, she gave them her authorities. As the number 
 of witnesses to Miss Jane's word was much too great to 
 admit of tlieir being named separately, she quoted them 
 in the lump, and would silence at once the loudest 
 infidel with a superemphatic, ' Everybody says so,' or 
 ' Everybody does it.' 
 
 Miss Jane, being so well acquainted with the sayings 
 and doings of everybody, had been forced to the belief, 
 without knowing French, and with the inconsistency of 
 genius, that everybody was a fool. She did not publish 
 this dogma from the house-tops, but she did most sin- 
 cerely believe it. About the time that she saw her way 
 clearly to believe in the foolishness of everybody, another 
 
 N
 
 178 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 faith began to dawn upon her — a faltli that she was the 
 only individual in llio world ^\•ll() was not a fool. It 
 should hardlv be called a faith either: for it never 
 assumed the brightness and consistency of belief, but 
 remained in an uncertain, nebulous condition, perhaps 
 because she never really set herself to examine into the 
 truth of the matter, allowing a sort of flickering halo of 
 infallibility to play about the picture of herself which 
 she beheld in her own mind. 
 
 Although she believed that it behoved everybody 
 else, male and female, being fools, to marry, she had 
 come to the conclusion that it behoved her, being in a 
 measure a wise woman, to remain single. This opinion, 
 like all her other opinions — her constant opinions, that 
 is — had been of gradual growth. It was generally sup- 
 posed that it had fairly taken root about her thirtieth 
 year, when a certain lawyer, who had been a great friend 
 presumably of her brother, discontinued his visits to 
 Snell House, and took to wife the wealthy widow of a 
 game-dealer. It was understood that time had made 
 four prior attempts with the help of a mill-owner, a 
 wealthy farmer, a minister, and a retired colonel, to 
 dibble this opinion with regard to herself and marriage 
 into the soil of ]\Iiss Jane's mind. On the marriage of 
 the lawyer with the game- dealer's widow, time made a 
 furious stab with his persevering instrument, and the 
 hardy opinion took a strong hold, and grew, and 
 flourished, and put forth a flower. The opinion was 
 that she ought not to marry ; the flower, that she wq,s
 
 THE SUITOR AND THE SUED 179 
 
 made for a higher eud than to be the wife of any man. 
 The fragi'ance of this flower was grateful to her. How- 
 ever, she never forgot that it was only the blossom of 
 an opinion, liable to be uprooted, and not the sculptured 
 ornament of an impossible-to-be-disestablished faith. 
 
 At the time when our story begins — the middle of 
 July, 1880 — Miss Jane had been absolute mistress of 
 Snell House for three months, her brother William, a 
 bachelor, with whom she had lived for a number of 
 yearSj haviug died suddenly in the spring. A stroke 
 of apoplexy had overtaken him while walking alone, as 
 his habit was, on the shore road. His brother, Henry 
 Chartres, w^as in India at the time, having gone out 
 when a young man to push his fortune. Within live 
 years he had secured by his own energy, and Avith some 
 monetary help from his brother, a partnership in a 
 lucrative business. He then married a lady of some 
 means, who brought him only oue child, a daughter, 
 called Muriel, after her mother. As is the custom, the 
 girl was brought to the home-country to be educated, 
 her father taking a six months' holiday for the purpose 
 of seeing her safely installed in his brother's house, 
 wdiere she was to remain for some time, in order to be- 
 come acclimatised, before going to her first boarding- 
 school, and also that she might not feel so sorely her 
 separation from her father and mother, as she would 
 have done had she gone at once among strangers. 
 Shortly after the return of Henry Chartres to India his 
 wife died. He at once determined to give up business 
 
 N 3
 
 180 A niACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 and return to Scotland, where the society of his daugh- 
 ter and relatives would console him for the loss of his 
 wife. But a crisis in the affairs of the Calcutta house 
 of which he was a principal kept hiui in India. His 
 foresight and resource were absolutely necessary for the 
 weathering of the storm ; and he found the relief, which 
 he had been about to seek in Scotland, in an unreserved 
 devotion to business. When he had re-established the 
 credit of his firm more securely than ever, it became 
 apparent that, were he to retire, the consequences might 
 be disastrous for his partners, as his name had come to 
 be synonymous with stability. It was, therefore, not 
 until ten years after the death of his wife that he felt 
 himself at liberty to give up business. The neAvsof his 
 brother's death arrived just as he had begun to arrange 
 his affairs. In reply to a telegram from his sister, he 
 bade her expect him in July ; and announced in his 
 first letter that he w^ould manage to reach Scotland 
 about the middle of the month. 
 
 The lands of Snell consist of a bit of moor and a 
 park. They had been bought in the beginning of last 
 century by the first notable member of the west country 
 Chartreses, a branch of an old Perthshire family. Miss 
 Jane Chartres refused altogether to admit that she knew 
 anything of the derivation of her ancestor's wealth ; and 
 we, therefore, think it needless to refer further to the 
 subject. The wall which bounded Snell Park on the 
 north stood about fifty yards from the edge of a moder- 
 ately high cliff overlooking the Firth of Clyde. The
 
 THE SUITOR AND THE SUED l8l 
 
 top of this wall was four feet from the ground within 
 the park, and a little over sis feet above the road with- 
 out. The road was private, and scarcely better than a 
 foot-path. 
 
 For three months, then, Miss Jane Chartres, whose 
 character has been indicated above, whose age is left 
 to the reader's charity, had exercised despotic power 
 over Snell House, moor, park, and north wall. But 
 liberties had been taken with that wall, and with an 
 old tree that grew against it. The reader shall hear 
 the history of these dreadful doings from Miss Jane's 
 own lips. She was there, beside the tree, on the after- 
 noon of July 15 ; and, with her, her friend Mr. Alec 
 Dempster, a very wealthy youth of thirty, with no past — 
 the brother of Emily Dempster, Miss Jane's one bosom 
 friend, whose place in her affections, vacant by death, 
 he supplied in a sort of interim capacity as well as a 
 man with no past, and no possibility of ever having 
 one, could be expected to do. 
 
 ' Well, Mr. Dempster,' said Miss Jane, ' aren't you 
 dying with wonder to know why I've brought you 
 here ? ' 
 
 ' Dying ? ' said Mr. Dempster, whose voice was a 
 reminiscence of some mechanical sound, one couldn't 
 exactly say which ; ' dying is such a strong expression 
 that it almost — eh — ah — expresses the degree of my 
 wonder.' 
 
 Mr. Dempster moved his head spirally, slowly and 
 regularly from the top to the bottom of something, as
 
 182 A PKACTICAL NO^'ELI«T 
 
 he spoke. That was the great peculiarity of 'Mr. 
 Dempster : lie was like something. Everything about 
 him, from his boots to his manners, bore indefinable 
 resemblances to other things ; but the moment a simile 
 seemed securely anchored in some characteristic of his 
 appearance or conduct the characteristic would undulate 
 into something so incongruous with the simile that the 
 latter was like a pair of spectacles on a lynx. One thing 
 only he insisted on reproducing with some degree of 
 regularity of form : the spiral wriggle of his head — 
 extending occasionally into his body — which always 
 accompanied the effort to speak, and sometimes occurred 
 alone. 
 
 ' Read that,' said Miss Jane, handing Mr. Dempster 
 a letter. 
 
 Mr. Dempster, mildly astonished and looking like 
 something very foolish, did as he was directed. 
 
 ' My Darling Fbank, — Meet me to-morrow at five, 
 at the low wall. It's half-past ten, and I am very sleepy. 
 I've been reading history to aunt since eight. I am 
 beginning to dream already, before I am asleep. It's a 
 happy dream — about you ! It will become bright and 
 plain when I get to sleep. Good-night, sweetheart. — 
 Your own Muriel.' 
 
 ' What do you think of that ? ' snapped Miss Jane ; 
 and Mr. Dempster looked in all directions hurriedly, as 
 if a whip had been cracked about his ears.
 
 THE SUITOR AND THE SUED 183 
 
 ' It's — it's very frank,' he said. 
 
 ' Very,' went on Miss Jane. ' Look at that.' 
 
 She pointed to the bole of the huge ehn beneath 
 whose boughs they were standing, indicating a little 
 space denuded of the ivy which covered the rest of the 
 trunk, and extended along the four great arms, and up 
 among the smaller branches of the tree. 
 
 Mr. Dempster bored his nose into the uncovered 
 bark, studied it from several points of view, bending 
 and curvettinq; and bridliuo- with as much ado as if ho 
 had been an antiquary in presence of a newly-dis- 
 covered inscription. 
 
 ' " M C, F H," ' he said at length ; ' inside a heart — 
 very pretty and — ah — suggestive; but — common- 
 place.' 
 
 Mr. Dempster's pauses, however arbitrary, were 
 impressive. 
 
 'Do you know whose these initials are ? ' Miss 
 Jane asked. 
 
 ' I haven't the remotest idea.' 
 
 ' " M 0," Muriel Chartres ; " F H," Frank Hay.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' 
 
 Dempster leant against an arm of the tree and 
 regarded Miss Jane blankly. He had arrived from 
 Edinburgh that day at her summons, to meet Mr. 
 Chartres, who was expected in the afternoon, and to 
 prosecute his suit for the hand of Muriel. This was a 
 dash of cold water right in his face. He hadn't a word 
 to say, and scarcely any breath to say one.
 
 184 A Pl^iCTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 'You know Mr. Hay,' Miss Jano said, 'You 
 remember, William used to patronise liim.' 
 
 ' The foundling ! Why, the fellow hasn't a penny ! ' 
 exclaimed Dempster. 
 
 ' All, Mr. Dempster,' said Miss Jane more sweetly 
 than her wont, ' presumption is poverty's next door 
 neighbour, wealth and modesty often go hand in hand.' 
 
 Dempster at once applied this aphoristic compli- 
 ment to himself, as he was intended to do ; but he 
 horrified Miss Jane by bowing emphatically in acknow- 
 ledgment, and he outraged her further by endeavour- 
 ing to pay her back in kind : 
 
 ' A thorough acquaintance with the world generally 
 accompanies the single life.' 
 
 That was his period, and he imagined he had 
 acquitted himself fairly well. But dissatisfaction 
 lowered in Miss Jane's brow. He proceeded with 
 stammering haste to mend matters : 
 
 ' Especially the single female — cli — ah ' 
 
 An angry flush drew him up. Still, ho went at it 
 again headlong, smiling too, and in as suave a tone as 
 he could command : 
 
 'Wisdom is an old maid — I mean — Minerva was 
 unmarried.' 
 
 Everybody knows people like Mr. Dempster. We 
 are accustomed to their shifting similitudes, their ina- 
 bility to express themselves, their pretensions, and their 
 good nature. In fact, we do not regard them — we do 
 not recognise that they are peculiar ; and when we see
 
 THE SUITOE AND THE SUED 185 
 
 one of them singled out and reproduced — on the stage, 
 for example — however faithfully, we call it caricature. 
 Miss Jane had a very narrow circle of acquaintances. 
 The Chartreses, indeed, were all proud originals. For 
 several generations they had miugled little in society, 
 prefei'ring to retain their angularities of character in 
 all the ruggedness of nature, rather than submit to the 
 painful process of grinding on the social wheel, by which 
 jagged, dull-veined flints are smoothed and polished. 
 Miss Jane could not tolerate ordinary people. Dempster 
 was the only commonplace character in whom she had 
 any interest. His visits to Snell House had been 
 hitherto few and short, and she had never got accus- 
 tomed to his genial stupidity. Ineptitude with Miss 
 Jane was an almost unpardonable offence. She remem- 
 bered, however, in the confusion to which ho had re- 
 duced her, much necessity in the past for self-denial 
 and long-suffering on his account, and, having a real 
 regard for him, she calmed her troubled soul, saying to 
 herself, ' He means well.' And then aloud : 
 
 ' Now, Mr. Dempster, this is the low wall Muriel 
 speahs of. This letter I found here.' 
 
 She pushed aside some large ivy leaves in one of the 
 forks of the elm, and deposited the letter in a deep, 
 natural crevice — the bottom of which was quite invisible, 
 although easily reached by the hand. 
 
 ' How did you know to search there ? ' Asked 
 Dempster. 
 
 ' Because I knew Muriel was in love.'
 
 18G A rKAUTiCAL NOVELIST 
 
 ' Did she tell you ? ' 
 
 ' No, no ; this was the way of it.' 
 
 Miss Jaue was in her element. She leant against 
 the bole of the tree and folded her arms across her 
 belt. 
 
 ' I observed that she had acquired a habit of going 
 about with her eyebrows absurdly elevated, with a lan- 
 guishing look in her eyes, and with her lips just touch- 
 ing each other ; but evidently ready at a moment's notice 
 to open and sigh, or to compress and kiss. I knew very 
 well what these signs meant in a girl of her ago. Just 
 raise your eyebrows, Mr. Dempster.' 
 
 Mr. Dempster raised his eyebrows. 
 
 ' No, no ! not to the extent of expressing astonish- 
 ment, but in this way. See.' 
 
 Miss Jane suited the action to the word. 
 
 ' When you raise your eyebrows that way your eyes 
 can't help a languishing expression. Then this is the 
 way her mouth was.' 
 
 Miss Jane made a moue. 
 
 ' If you don't care to do it before me, do it when you 
 are alone, and you will find that raising your eyebrows 
 and looking at nothing, and preparing the lips to open, 
 will produce in you a relaxed, sentimental, self-pitying 
 kind of feeling, which is pretty like what romantic girls 
 feel when they are in love. Of course, in Muriel's case 
 it was the feeling which produced the expression, and 
 not the expression the feeling ; but I know very well 
 that an assumption of the expression can produce the
 
 THE SUITOR AND THE SUED 187 
 
 feeling, and that it always conveys the idea of that feel- 
 ino- to those who see it. It's the same with all feel- 
 iugs.' 
 
 The whole man Dempster had listened to this expo- 
 sition, and burst out earnestly, ' Miss Chartres, your 
 experience amazes me ! Your observation is that of a 
 keen — eh — ah — observer ; and your discernment is truly 
 marvellous ! ' 
 
 He always tried to talk in newspaper paragraphs, 
 but his efforts were seldom attended with the success 
 they merited. 
 
 Miss Jane shrua-CTed her shoulders and continued : 
 ' My suspicions were confirmed yesterday. I followed 
 her here and secured this letter. I thought it rio^ht 
 that you, as a suitor for Muriel's hand, favoured by me, 
 and doubtless to be favoured by her father, should be 
 informed of the matter.' 
 
 ' You overpower me with kindness,' blurted Demp- 
 ster. ' And you'll stand by me, Miss Chartres ? You'll 
 be my go-between — I mean my bulwark, my bottle- 
 holder ? ' He was full of imagery, but he qualified it, 
 saying plaintively : ' I can't express myself lucidly 
 and vividly, like you ; but everybody knows I mean 
 well.' 
 
 ' I think we understand each other, Mr. Dempster,' 
 said Miss Jane, looking at her watch. ' A quarter to 
 five. We'd better go. Muriel will be here immediately. 
 Of course I haven't told her that I have discovered this 
 clandestine correspondence. I shall put the matter into
 
 188 A PEACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 her fathers hands this very day, and leave him to deal 
 with her.' 
 
 Dempster assented to tliis as a wise proceeding. ' It 
 would hardly do to watch the meeting here, I suppose — • 
 that is, if there is a meeting,' he said, as they left the 
 wall. 
 
 ' To play the spy, Mr. Dempster ! No, not that,' 
 Tlio ivy-clad elm in which Miss Jane had found 
 Muriel's letter, and in which she now left it forgetfully, 
 was believed by the school-boys to mark the burial-place 
 of a Roman general. It certainly looked as if it might 
 be fourteen hundred years old, or even as old as the 
 Christian era. It was a worthy peer of the Mongewell, 
 Chipstead, and Spratborough elms, by the hoary 
 roughness of its bark, where that could be seen, by its 
 portly waist, and wide-spread arms, drooping gracefully 
 to the ground, by its magnificent cone of foliage, and its 
 fathomless dejDth of green. How pleasant Muriel found 
 it to stand under, to lean against, to delight her eyes 
 with its shapeliness, and bathe her sight in its ocean 
 of colour ! And then, with all its old-world dignity, 
 how tender it was ! How safe in its arms she felt ! 
 She could think and dream there like Nature herself, 
 conscious and glad that the elm knew all about it. 
 When she forced her way among the drooping boughs 
 up to the mighty bole, she was sure that the tree 
 thrilled with happiness, and she heard it murmuring — • 
 murmuring under its spicy breath. No wonder she 
 made it her trysting-tree !
 
 THE SUITOR AND TEE SI'ED 189 
 
 As soon as Miss Jane and Dempster returned to the 
 house, Muriel, who had been lying on the la^yn pre- 
 tending to read a newspaper, arose, and, still apparently- 
 engrossed by the news, took a circuitous route to the 
 elm. When she got beyond the range of prying eyes, 
 the deceptive newspaper was folded, and, carrying it in 
 one hand behind her, and in the other swinging by the 
 strings her garden-hat, she sped along, fearful lest 
 Frank should have to wait. Half over the wall she 
 stretched herself, and looked up and down the road. 
 She was first. She leant against the tree and gazed 
 before her. She felt perfectly happy. He was sure to 
 come ; and that was the horizon — the end of the world. 
 There was nothing beyond the little quarter of an 
 hour that was dawning like a new era. She would 
 hardly be so happy when he, the sun of it, came to kiss 
 her. 
 
 Now she looked out through the screen of leaves, 
 softening the light upon their scabrous cheeks, and 
 showering it like dew from their downy breasts, and saw, 
 latticed by the wiry, corky branches and bright brown 
 callow twigs, the violet Firth, smooth, velvety, the 
 pasture of white gulls, whose cries come faintly up ; 
 glimpses of the opposite shore, with the sparkling 
 houses of the summer towns ; the lordly sweep of the 
 entrance to Loch Long ; the purple misty crowns of 
 the Cobbler and Ben Donicli ; and the sky ; and a 
 shadow 
 
 ' Frank! '
 
 190 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 ' IIow glad I am to fiud you here ! ' Iio said. ' I was 
 foolish enough to fear j^ou mightu't come.' 
 
 ' Why did yon doubt ? I never missed meeting you 
 
 yet.' 
 
 ' Then you expected me ! I was sure at the bottom 
 of my heart that you would be here.' 
 
 ' Did I expect you ! What are you thinking of? 
 There's something the matter. IIow could you possibly 
 be afraid that I mightn't come after I had asked you to 
 meet me ? ' 
 
 ' But you didn't ask me.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Did you not get my message ? ' 
 
 ' No ; and I visited our letter-box last night and 
 this morning.' 
 
 She tore her arm from his, and plunged her hand into 
 the fork of the tree. A shock passed through her as 
 she felt her letter. She knew in a moment it had been 
 violated. The thought that another than he for whom 
 it was intended had read it thrilled her with an exquisite 
 pang. Her whole face and neck flushed crimson. She 
 drew out the paper, crushed it small, and thrust it 
 into her pocket. 
 
 ' The mean, shameful spy ! ' she hissed. 
 
 Youth has no mercy in a case of this kind. 
 
 ' See,' she continued, panting, ' I put it here this 
 morning at eight. It was gone at ten. Now it is here 
 again. The traitor ! ' 
 
 ' Is it a man ? ' asked Frank. 
 
 <No! It's .'
 
 THE SUITOE AND THE SUED 191 
 
 She had grown pale, and she blushed again. She 
 looked at him with flickering eyelids. The foolish 
 fellow's pride in Muriel at that moment made him heart- 
 sick ; the lump was in his throat, and, had he been nn- 
 observed, the moisture which stood in his eyes would 
 have overflowed. Even in the first wild anger at 
 betrayal she would not betray again. He placed his 
 arm about her and she sobbed ; one sob, and then one 
 tear out of each eye ; and with that she mastered her- 
 self. 
 
 ' Frank,' she said, as if the discovery had not been 
 made, ' you know my father will be here to-day. He 
 may have come while I've been talking to you. Will 
 you speak to him to-night ? I don't want to have a 
 secret from him. Will you ? You needn't be fright- 
 ened. I haven't seen him since I was nine ; but I 
 know that he's like you, gentle and manly — just a gentle- 
 man. Make up your mind now — quick, quick, quick ! 
 And let me away, or I'll be late for dinner.' 
 
 And so it was arranged that they should see each 
 other at the low-walk again at eight that evening, lest 
 there should be any reason why Frank might not speak 
 at once to Mr. Chartres.
 
 192 A TRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 ox THE ROAD 
 
 Lee secured a compartment for himself in the Greenock 
 train. He had a large bundle of letters, taken from one 
 of Chartres' portmanteaus, with him. These he studied 
 with an intensity which he had never bestowed on any- 
 thing before. He selected some dozen for perusal, and 
 was still devouring tbem when the train arrived at 
 Princes Pier. 
 
 As he stepped on the platform he reeled and was 
 only saved from falling by the porter who opened the 
 door of the compartment in which he had travelled. 
 This weakness was the result of the strain of the last 
 two hours. He fortified himself with a glass of brandy 
 and a sandwich, deposited the portmanteaus in the left- 
 luggage office ; and started to walk to Gourock. 
 
 He was a tall man, with more than proportionate 
 length of limb. Walking had always been his favourite 
 exercise, and he looked along the Greenock esplanade 
 from the summit of the approach to the station with a 
 shining eye. All the world has admired it from the 
 deck of the Colnmha ; but to walk along it at a good
 
 ON THE EOAD 193 
 
 spanking pace, feeling its costly breadth, its substan- 
 tiality, its triumph over nature ; to be conscious of the 
 solid nineteenth-century comfort and luxury that line 
 one side of it, ascending the hill to larger villas and 
 more spacious grounds ; and to be, as Lee became, before 
 he was two minutes on the road, part and parcel of the 
 sky-blue lake-like firth, whose water murmured, for the 
 tide was full, with soft reproach against the curbing 
 bastion ; of the shining magical houses on the other 
 side ; of the green and golden shoreward slopes ; of the 
 depths and heights of the purple mountains that met the 
 sky — to be drunk with the sunlight and the sea, with 
 the merging, glowing, fading wealth of colour, and the 
 far-reaching romance of the hills, is to enjoy to the full 
 this west-country esplanade. 
 
 When he arrived at the end of it, Lee, unable to 
 endure the ordinary road, jumped on a car and took a 
 seat on the top. 
 
 He was now in a mood to dare anything, and con- 
 tinued his revel in the splendid July afternoon, for 
 the brain-sick man was a poet. 
 
 Through Gourock and Ashton the car rattled, but, 
 wrapped in his own dream, he saw nothing of them. 
 
 From the terminus he walked confidently along the 
 shore road. He felt that he would know Snell House 
 the moment he beheld it. Tlicn there would bo no 
 difficulty. Chartres could not be expected to remem- 
 ber any of the domestics ; besides, in ten years it was 
 more tluui likely that they had all been changed twice 
 
 o
 
 104 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 over. His sister and daugliter — lie could not possibly 
 mistake tliem. Ho would bo shy a little, unde- 
 monstrative, uncommunicative, and plead his long 
 journey — for Chartres had travelled from London on the 
 preceding night — as an excuse for retiring early. 
 Then 
 
 A sudden slap on the shoulder interrupted his 
 reverie, and, wheeling round, he confronted Briscoe, on 
 whose face a bitter sneer was varnished over with a 
 grin at the surprise and annoyance his appearance 
 caused his brother-in-law. 
 
 ' This way,' said Briscoe ; and Lee followed him in 
 silence. 
 
 They found a seat, one of a number placed along the 
 shore between the Cloch and Ashton. There was a 
 considerable slope from the road to the water's edge ; 
 and they were securely concealed from the eyes of 
 pedestrians by the trees and bushes that line stretches 
 of the sea-board. 
 
 It never entered Lee's head to ask Briscoe how he 
 came to be there. Had he done so, Briscoe would have 
 told him — that is, if he had thought the truth expe- 
 dient — how Caroline and he, after Lee's sudden and 
 daring departure from Peyton Street, judged it the best 
 course to intercept him at the St. Enoch station ; but 
 how he, Briscoe, having already in his breast-pocket 
 some of the advantages arising from Lee's deception, 
 determined, if possible, to add to them, and so journeyed 
 to Greenock in the same train with his brother-in-law ;
 
 ON THE EOAD 195 
 
 and, pushing on before him, waited for him at a quiet 
 part of the road, where they might discuss the situation 
 without much fear of interruption or observation. He 
 had not the remotest intention of aiding Lee, whom he 
 despised, to pursue his deception to a successful issue. 
 On the contrary, he intended to line his own pockets 
 as thickly as he could, and get off to London that night 
 or the following morning. There was one risk : Chartres 
 might recover sufficiently to come down to Snell House 
 before he had gone. This risk he determined to run. 
 
 ' I wish,' said Lee, recovering speedily from his sur- 
 prise, ' you had not come down yet. I have been 
 thinking of you and Caroline, and dout exactly see 
 what to do with you.' 
 
 His infatuation was such that he had no doubt 
 Briscoe intended to collaborate with him. 
 
 ' I might marry you,' he continued, ' to my daughter 
 Muriel ; or, as she is perhaps too young, to my mature 
 sister, Jane. But what to do with Caroline ? You see, 
 I didn't marry again in India. The only course I can 
 conceive at present, will be to make her acquaintance 
 as it were for the first time, and marry her over again. 
 But there's no lumy ; and, I think, on the whole, you 
 had better return to Glasgow until I pi-epare matters 
 for you down here.' 
 
 ' Mr. Chartres,' said Briscoe, ' am I to collaborate 
 with you, or am I not ? ' 
 
 Lee flushed with pleasure, and answered, 'Most 
 certainly, my dear Peter I ' 
 
 o2
 
 196 A TRACTICVL NOVELIST 
 
 ' Tlicn T must have some share in clcvislng the plot.' 
 
 'Assuredly! I beg your pardon. 1 was forgcttinc;- 
 vonr riu:hts. lu'allv, I have been selfisli in the solitary 
 enjoyment of the creation of this novel, \\liicli you 
 began \\\\\\ such originality and power.' 
 
 Briscoe rather winced at this, liowevei', he was 
 glad to lind Lee so tractable. 
 
 ' ]\Ir. Chartres/ he said, ' I am your friend, ]\fr. 
 Peter Briscoe. I came from India wilh you. I'm a 
 ronsrh diamond : don't care how I dress — accounts for 
 my rather worn toggery ; see ? Saved you from drown- 
 ing when you fell overboard in the Bay of Biscay. 
 You, eternally grateful ; I, no friends in this country — 
 across for a visit merely — came right north with you, 
 agreeing to do so at the last moment, so that you had 
 no time to advise them at Snell House.' 
 
 Lee gazed at his brother-in-law Avitli admiration. 
 
 ' Briscoe, my dear fellow,' he cried, ' you're a trump ! 
 You — you saved my life.' 
 
 ' Then we'll take tlie road again,' said Briscoe. 
 ' The house is round the corner ; I inquired shortly 
 before yon came up.' 
 
 ' Briscoe,' said Lee, 'for the first work of a newly- 
 born art, we are ' 
 
 Beatinsr the record.' 
 
 ^8 
 
 ' Exactly, my rough and ready friend.'
 
 197 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A HEAVY FATHER 
 
 ' Now, Jane, let me uuclerstand this about Muriel. 
 You say slie is at present engaged in a grand love 
 affair with some young hopeful or other.' 
 
 ' Yes, Henr^r. Frank Hay is a very good-looking, 
 clever, well-behaved young man. He has taken one of 
 the big bursaries in Glasgow University, and looks 
 forward to a professorship somewhere. These prospects 
 are rather mediocre, especially in connection with a 
 Chartres ; but neither William nor I would have said 
 a word against him were he not a foundling.' 
 
 ' A foundling ! How very interesting ! An actual 
 foundling.' 
 
 ' 0, there's nothing unusual about his case. I forget 
 the exact details, but they differ in no essential from 
 what we are accustomed to in stories.' 
 
 ' That's rather unfortunate. I should have liked 
 everything connected with these events to have the 
 same characteristic as the main circumstance, distinct 
 novelty.' 
 
 ' What do you mean, Henry ? Muriel is right in 
 thinking you curiously changed.'
 
 198 A PKACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 ' Docs she tliink SO ? Well; I should have stuck 
 by my (iri^L;inal determination, and gone to lied; hut I 
 felt so iu\iQ'oratt'd after dinner, that I thouuht we niiiiht 
 us well ha\e a talk over matters this cvenino:.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Miss Jane, dryl^-, prodding Lee all over 
 with her piercing eyes. 
 
 'Do you think,' she queried, 'we did right in 
 forbidding Muriel to have any communication wilh 
 Mr. Hay?' 
 
 'Well, my dear sister, you must see that the ques- 
 tion of right hardly enters here. It is purely a matter 
 of adapting means to an end. Should the course you 
 have followed, as in the case of a pair of high-spirited 
 lovers, be calculated to lead to strained relations, and 
 produce, say, an elopement, I should be inclined to 
 support you ; as, although shorn of much of its romance 
 in these days of railways and telegraphs, there is always 
 a measure of excitement to be got out of a runaway 
 match.' 
 
 Miss Jane meditated for several seconds; and hope- 
 fully came to the conclusion that her brother had 
 developed a satirical tendency, which he gratified in 
 this recondite fashion. She made no rej)ly. Lee 
 resumed. 
 
 ' I think you had better send Muriel to me. I 
 would like to have a talk with her alone.' 
 
 ' Very well,' said Miss Jane curtly, and left the 
 room. 
 
 It was the library in which Lee sat. He had
 
 A HEAVY FATHEE 199 
 
 arrived with Briscoe about six o'clock, just as the Suell 
 household were sitting down to dinner. Four was the 
 usual dinner hour, but it had been put off till five and 
 then till six — to the anger and horror of the cook — in the 
 hope that Mr. Chartres would be there to preside. 
 Both Lee and Briscoe imagined that the dinner had 
 gone off to admiration. The latter, taking advantage 
 of his rollicking character, was now roving about the 
 rooms, helping himself to many little valuables. After 
 securing all the money Lee was possessed of, which ho 
 might manage to do that evening, he saw a fair chance 
 of getting away with his booty, out of immediate 
 danger, and before the arrival of Chartres, whom he 
 half-expected to find in every room he entered. He 
 knew that Caroline would not wait for his return if her 
 charge recovered sufiiciently to travel, but would start 
 with him at once ; and while she might be able to 
 make terms for her crazy husband, some stout men- 
 servants and a duck-pond suggested anything but a 
 pleasant ending to his own share in the adventure. 
 After Miss Jane had left the library, Lee, with a most 
 placid expression, walked across the room once or twice, 
 and sat down to wait for Muriel. In a second or two 
 the door opened, and Mr. Dempster appeared. This 
 gentleman had been left to himself since dinner, and 
 was searching for Miss Jane. 
 
 'I beg your pardon, sir,' he said, looking the very 
 picture of a square man in a round hole. ' I thought 
 Miss Chartres was here.'
 
 200 A riiACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 ' Come in, come iu, Mr. Dempster,' said Lee, 
 blandly. ' Is it my daughter or my sister you wish to 
 sec ? ' 
 
 ' Your sister, sir.' 
 
 ' I expect them both here in a few nunutes. Take 
 a seat.' 
 
 Dempster gathered his coat-tails on either side with 
 as much tenderness and delicacy as if they had been 
 growing out of him and were recovering from rheuma- 
 tism, and sat down on the very edge of a chair, crowding 
 himself together as if he had consisted of several people. 
 
 ' I hope I don't intrude,' said Dempster, with the 
 sjairal motion of his .head. He was always more un- 
 comfortable and serpentine than usual in the presence 
 of strangers. 
 
 'Not at all.' 
 
 Lee said to himself, ' This is a millionaire ; and I 
 am an adventurer — Fortune is a mistress of irony.' 
 
 A smile peculiar to him, and childish in its uncon- 
 cealed expression of pleasure, passed over his face. 
 Then he said brusquely, but with perfect good humour, 
 ' Do you think much, Mr. Dempster ? ' 
 
 ' Think ! ' exclaimed Mr. Dempster, throwing his 
 head back in a convolution which a burlesque actor 
 would have paid highly to learn the trick of. 
 
 ' Yes, think,' repeated Lee, with his happy, innocent 
 smile. 
 
 ' I — I can't say I do,' said Dempster, perspiring 
 profusely. ' I — I,' he continued making a wholly
 
 A HEA\Tr FATHER 201 
 
 ineflfectual effort to laugli — ' I — eh — ah — haven't given 
 the subject much attention. But ' 
 
 ' Exactly, Mr. Dempster, I understand. I have often 
 thought by the way, that you unlucky fellows who in- 
 herit your money, can't enjoy it so well as we who 
 have wrought for it.' 
 
 Now, if there was one thing Dempster objected to 
 more than another, it was to be hurried about from 
 subject to subject. He had just got his mind focussed 
 to the consideration of Lee's first question, when a new 
 distance intervened, and — he sav/ men as trees walking. 
 But he must make some reply. 
 
 ' No — no,' he said. ' We can't. I — I think we 
 can't. Eh — ah ' 
 
 ' Eh — ah,' the favourite expletive of the orator, was 
 frequently employed by Dempster with a solemn pathos 
 inexpressibly touching. Lee almost relented at the over- 
 powering sadness of its utterance on this occasion : but 
 the baiting of a milliouaire was as novel as any of his 
 present manifold pleasures, and he continued it. 
 
 ' I suppose now,' he said, ' you would like to work 
 hard at something or other. Most idle men would.' 
 
 Dempster rubbed his knees with vehemence, 
 anxious, doubtless, to get himself into an electric con- 
 dition which would enable him to overcome the insane 
 disposition he felt to ftill forward at Lee's feet. He 
 succeeded in producing so much of the positive fluid as 
 to fall back instead of forward ; but all ho could 
 manage to say was, ' I suppose I would.'
 
 202 A nUCTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 ' I liavo often womlered,' said Lee, whose smile was 
 beginning to be warped by malice, ' wliyricli men don't 
 commit burglaries and homicides in order to obtain 
 terms of liard labour. It would be such an absoluto 
 change for them ; cnnai would hide its head.' 
 
 It is impossible to say what ultimate effect this 
 remarkable suggestion would have had upon Dempster, 
 for the paralysis which it caused to begin with was 
 suddenly cured by a tap — a shrinking, single tap on the 
 door, preceding the entrance of Muriel. Dempster took 
 the opportunity of escaping in a thoroughly graceless 
 manner. When the door had closed again, Lee said to 
 Muriel, who remained standing, ' Do you not find me 
 exactly what you expected ? ' 
 
 She looked hard at him. It was on her lips to tell 
 him that she thought him very unlike his letters ; 
 but she merely said, ' You are not like your photographs.' 
 
 ' No ; they were generally thought good in India.' 
 
 ' 0, anyone could tell for whom they were meant.' 
 
 ' Of course. My ajopearance has changed since I 
 last sat to a photographer. Sit down, Muriel ; I wish 
 to have some serious conversation with you.' 
 
 Muriel sat down on a couch. Her eyes were twink- 
 ling, and the blood danced into her cheeks. 
 
 ' I have learned from your aunt,' said Lee, who was 
 just a little too portentously grave, ' that there exists a 
 romantic attachment between a certain Mr. Frank Hay 
 and you. I understand you are firmly persuaded that 
 you and this gentleman love each other with an un-
 
 A HEA\T.' FATHEE 203 
 
 changeable love. I will grant that j\Ii', Hay is a 
 liandsomo, higli-spirilecl young man. I do not remem- 
 ber to have seen him ; but I give my daughter credit 
 for not fallino- iu love with a boobv. I admit that first 
 love is the most ecstatically delightful thing in the 
 world. I say, I subscribe to all that and as much more 
 as you like iu the same strain ; but — ' and here he 
 became very severe — ' I have to inform you that from 
 this day you must cease to see, or correspond with Mr. 
 Frank Hay.' 
 
 ' father ! ' 
 
 Lee, enjoying his power, and as much a spectator of 
 the scene as an actor in it, continued coldly, ' It will 
 be hard I know ; but your friends have acted very 
 wisely iu coming between you. Girls should never be 
 allowed to choose husbands, and never are in well-regu- 
 lated families. You may think me plain-spoken and 
 harsh, perhaps ; but I have a habit of coming to the 
 point ; and, notice, of never returning to it. The 
 matter is settled.' 
 
 ' But, sir ' 
 
 ' What ! have I not said it is settled ? I do not 
 mean, however, to do you out of a husband.' 
 
 Muriel shivered, and her face became white. 
 
 ' My friend, Mr. Briscoe, who saved my life is still a 
 young* man ; and I intend to have him for a son-in- 
 law.' 
 
 Lee's eyes dilated with exultation. His novel was 
 going to turn out a masterpiece.
 
 204 A PRACTlC.iL NOVELIST 
 
 ' Marry Mr. Briscoe ! ' 
 
 ' It rests with him,' said Lee. 
 
 ' What ! Your daughter must marry this ]\rr. 
 Briscoe if he wants iLcr, whether she likes or not ? ' 
 
 ' I am glad,' said Lee in a truly regal style, ' that 
 you apprehend the matter so clearly.' 
 
 ' I am bewildered,' said Muriel, 
 
 ' You seem to be ; but it is wise of you not to ob- 
 ject. I hope to find you always a dutiful daughter.' 
 
 Lee left the room. A time-piece on the mantel- 
 shelf rang eight. The blood returned to Muriel's cheeks, 
 and she ran out of the house to the north wall.
 
 205 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE ART OF TROrOSING 
 
 When Dempster left the library on the entrance of 
 Muriel, he met Miss Jane at the door of that room. 
 She proposed a turn in the park as the evening was 
 doing honour to the glorious day. They went out to- 
 gether and wandered to Muriel's elm. Dempsters 
 suit was the subject they discussed. She urged him to 
 make a proposal that night, and promised to procure 
 him an opportunity. Dempster was willing, but in 
 great straits how to proceed. 
 
 ' You see,' he said, ' I never did a thing of the kind 
 before. Then you know Muriel is not aware that I'm 
 in love with her. If she knew that, then I could go at 
 it like a — professor.' 
 
 It is to be feared he intended to say ' nigger,' and 
 only substituted the more refined but equally enigmatic 
 word by an exhaustive effort of brain power, whose ex- 
 ternal manifestation was the usual wriggle. 
 
 Miss Jane said, ' Well it ix very difficult to know 
 wliat to do in making an offer of marriage. I have had 
 six proposals — that is, formal proposals — all of which I 
 refused peremptorily, as I think that I was made for a,
 
 200 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 higher end than to be tlie wife of any man — and they 
 were all done dilterenlly ; but, on the whole, I prefer 
 the colonel's method ; and I think in proposing to 
 Jdnriel yon had better follow it.' 
 
 ' Oil, Ihank yon ! ^JVll me exactly wliat he did, and 
 I'll practise it just now.' 
 
 In his excitement Demjoster's body, lithe and lissom 
 as that of the most poetical maiden, partook in the 
 motion of his head. Miss Jane, who had often been on 
 the point of speaking to him about this absurd habit, 
 burst out, ' Don't wriggle that way, as if you were im- 
 paled ! ' 
 
 Dempster shrivelled up, and hung flaccid on his 
 spinal column, like a liooked worm that has been long 
 in the water. 
 
 ' I assure you,' continued Miss Jane, less harshly, 
 ' if you are ever to take a place in the world you must 
 overcome that.' 
 
 ' Must I ! I'm very glad you've told me. It's my 
 natural form.' 
 
 ' Conquer it, conquer it. Remember Demosthenes, 
 Mr. Dempster.' 
 
 ' I will, I will,' he cried, almost breaking his back, 
 and causing a hot shooting pain in his head, as he 
 nipped a sprouting corkscrew in the bud — a metaphor 
 worthy of himself. Then he made a sudden plunge into 
 a sea of words, where he had to keep perpetually 
 rapping on the head an electric eel that tried with 
 unremitting fervour to run, or rather wriggle, the
 
 THE ART OF PROPOSING 207 
 
 gauntlet of his body and escape by liis skull through 
 the suture. 
 
 'Miss Chartres' he said, 'I wish you would help 
 me. I have been wanting to get married for six years 
 now, and I can't. I won't be caught. They try it, the 
 mothers. They dangle their daughters before me like 
 — like Mayflies. But I won't bite. I'd sooner starve, 
 Miss Chartres, starve. Die in a ditch — celibacy, you 
 know. I'll never marry one of these artificial flies. 
 They may be good enough ; but it's their mothers — 0, 
 their mothers ! Why, I've read about them in novels. 
 And then, when I do fall in love with a nice — with a 
 s^eet — a natural — eh — ah — a natural fly — you under- 
 stand — I — I can't bite — haven't the courage — don't 
 know how. I've been in love before several times — 
 thoucrh I never loved anybody before like Muriel — and 
 I couldn't possibly manage to — to bite. But you'll 
 teach me now, my dear Miss Chartres.' 
 
 He emerged, dripping, and the long-repressed eel 
 shot out at the crown of his head in a rapid spasm, 
 leaving him a mere husk propped against the elm. 
 
 Miss Jane, who had made up her mind that he should 
 marry Muriel, put his sincerity against liis gaucliei'ie, 
 and determined to drill him into some better form ; 
 for she judged that if the excitement of talking about a 
 proposal produced effects of the kind she had witnessed, 
 that of making one would simply stultify its object. 
 
 ' I'll help you,' she said. ' Stand there.' 
 
 She seated herself on a protruding root of the elm,
 
 208 A rRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 niul puiatcJ to a sort of alcove in one of tlie large 
 boughs. Dempster squeezed himself under the 
 branches, and stood, or rather stooped, at attention. 
 
 < Now, obey my instructions. Imagine this to be a 
 drawing-room. Come forward on tip-toe, and say very 
 significantly, and in fsxct intensely, " Good evening. Miss 
 Chartres," and don't wriggle.' 
 
 Dempster, clothed with resolution as with a strait- 
 jacket, advanced, and whispered between his set teeth, 
 ' Good evening. Miss Chartres.' 
 
 ' Good evening, Mr. Dempster; be seated.' 
 
 He looked about for as comfortable a knot as 
 j50ssible, but Miss Jane cried, ' No, no ! you must 
 refuse respectfully. The gallant colonel did. He said 
 something like this : — " Miss Chartres, I will never sit in 
 your presence until I have got an answer to a question 
 which my whole being is burning to ask." When you 
 have said that, go down on one knee and take my hand.' 
 
 Dempster was beginning to feel at home. Miss 
 Jane was so sympathetic, and smiled so benignly. In 
 the heat of the moment, and to prove himself an apt 
 scholar, he thought he would reproduce his lesson with 
 variations. So he got down on his knees at the off-set, 
 and began, ' My adored Miss Chartres, never again in 
 
 your enchanting presence ' 
 
 ' ! ' went off among the branches like a sharp tap 
 on a muffled drum. 
 
 Miss Jane looked up in time to catch a glimpse of 
 Muriel's head. Dempster's strait-jacket snapped, and
 
 THE ART OF PROPOSING 209 
 
 the released mechauism hoisted him to his feet, 
 spinning and glaring round in a vortex of coat-tails. 
 
 Miss Jane, also on her feet, said calmly, ' That was 
 Muriel. There's no harm done. I must just tell her 
 the exact state of the case. It's always best to tell the 
 truth. If she has any heart at all it will be touched at 
 the thought of your rehearsing your proposal. Ill go 
 after her, and explain, and send her to you. That's the 
 very thing.' 
 
 Now Miss Jane was a very shrewd woman. Her 
 mind had been ingenuously fixed on a marriage between 
 her niece and her froierjc, up to the moment of the appear- 
 ance of Muriel's head among the Ijranches. There and 
 then a sense of the incongruity of such a union had 
 struck her with most convincing power. Several forces 
 converged in this blow. One can be mentioned unre- 
 servedly, viz., the sudden intuitive recognition of the 
 fact that Muriel would never consent to marry Demp- 
 ster. Another, equally powerful, must only be hinted : — 
 the lady at that moment had once more, however 
 strangely, a gentleman at her feet. These are the 
 keys to her future conduct. 
 
 She was about to go after Muriel, but Dempster 
 clutched her dress. 
 
 ' I can't,' he whimpered. 
 
 ' Nonsense. You'll bj astonished at vour own 
 courage.' 
 
 ' But the proposal. How am I to say it ? ' 
 
 ' Keep a good heart, and remember my instructions. 
 
 P
 
 210 A ri;ACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 I've luld you how to begin. The rest you must do for 
 yourself. Muriel will he here shortly.' 
 
 Dempster resigned himself: and in a few seconds 
 fear wound him up to a pitch of nervous excitement, 
 abnormal even with him. 
 
 ' I'll rehearse again,' he said aloud, withdrawing to 
 the alcove. He got into the strait-jacket once more, 
 and advanced on tip-toe to an imaginary lady. But 
 the charge did not give liim satisfaction. He retreated 
 and stepped out a second time. Ho was too absorbed 
 in his manoivres to remember that however perfect he 
 might become, this mode would be out of the question 
 in the impending interview. 
 
 ' Good evening,' he said impressively to the mossy 
 root, and got down on his knees. 
 
 ' Miss Chartres ' — and persuasion tipped his tongue 
 ■ — ' I am burning to know ' 
 
 A silvery ripple glided through the air behind him. 
 ' I beg' pardon, Mr. Dempster. I was not aware yon 
 were so pious a man,' said Muriel. 
 
 A jack-in-the-box when the spring is touched 
 shoots up not more suddenly than Dempster did. 
 Abashed, he could only stammer, ' Eh-ah — I mean 
 well.' 
 
 ' I do indeed believe you,' said Muriel in a kindly 
 tone. ' My aunt has told me that you were about to 
 lionour me with an offer of marriage. I thank you, sir ; 
 but I beg you not to put me to the necessity — the 
 very disagreeable necessity — of refusing you.'
 
 THE ART OF PROPOSING 211 
 
 Half-an-liour before slie could not have taken such 
 a plain-spoken initiative ; but the interview with Lee 
 had roused her soul to arms. 
 
 Dempster, on the contrary, dimly conscious of his 
 own absurdity and afraid to trust his nature, stood forth 
 against her in his strait- waistcoat of formality. He could 
 hardly believe his ears, accustomed to the lie that no 
 girl could possibly refuse a millionaire, a false tenet 
 which he had donned with his first pair of trousers. 
 
 ' Why should you refuse me ? I — I aui very rich, 
 and I love you.' This was still pronounced in his best 
 society tone. 
 
 ' I am very sorry for you,' said Muriel frigidly. ' If 
 you persist you will only annoy us both.' 
 
 His fear suddenly left him. He felt an underhand 
 attack upon his wealth, which was hini — his personality. 
 He threw off the strait-waistcoat. He turned up the 
 sleeves of his riches, and, in a raucous tone like that of 
 an aggrieved school bully who wants an excuse to 
 pommel a small boy, said ' Why do you refuse me ? 
 Give me a reason.' 
 
 * A reason ! ' 
 
 ' Yes. Is there anything extraordinary in asking 
 for a reason ? I can't be put off in this way, you 
 know. Do vou love another ? ' 
 
 ' I am very sorry for you ; but you are becoming 
 impertinent.' 
 
 ' But what am I to do if you won't marry me ? All 
 my friends know what I've come hero for. It's absurd,' 
 
 p 2
 
 212 A TRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 ' You had better desist.' 
 
 It is cliaritable to suppose that Dempster was utterly 
 unaware of what he was doing. Anger nearly suffocated 
 liini. ITe twisted and squirmed at every word, writhing 
 ■\viih the anticipation of mockery. 
 
 ' It's shameful,' he cried. ' Here have I been loving 
 you like — like lava ; and to be thrown overboard, igno- 
 miniously — yes, ignomiuiously' — he fancied he h^ard 
 the word resounding in smoking-rooms — ' for a poor 
 nobody.' 
 
 Muriel started and glared at him. But ho was ' fey,' 
 and went on. 
 
 ' You may well look ! A foundling — a charity-boy ! 
 You love this sup— superfluous and probably illegi- 
 timate pauper, who ' 
 
 ' 0, you unmanly fool ! ' 
 
 ' I say ! ' and he fell against the tree smitten by 
 Muriel's thunder and lightning. The storm pealed on. 
 
 ' I have read of men who spoke such cowardice, but 
 I never thought to know one. How dare you talk of 
 love ? the shame ! Every wealthy fool can look at 
 us, and love us, as they say, and whine to us — it is a 
 shame ! What right have you to love me or think of 
 me ? If you ever wish to be worth a thought, or fit 
 for his service whom you've slandered, go and found 
 hospitals, endow scholarships — fling your wealth in the 
 sea — only get rid of it ! And plough the fields, break 
 stones, dig ditches — some honest work your scanty 
 brains are suited for ; and when that has made you
 
 THE ART OF PROPOSING 213 
 
 something of a man, go and beg his pardon. Go away 
 from here, now, at once. He's waiting for me.' 
 
 Dempster limped away. His works were all run 
 down. Youth is cruel, and Muriel had meant to wound; 
 but she felt a little remorseful at the sight of the abject 
 creature she had scorched and scotched with such crude 
 severity, and wished that she had at least spared him 
 the last savage cut. To be called a fool and a coward — 
 to be told to get rid of one's personality, is bad ; but to 
 be dismissed in order to make instant room for the other, 
 partakes too much of hacking and slashing, and might 
 even be put in the category with vitriol-throwing. 
 
 Muriel looked over the wall and called Frank. He 
 was waiting somewhere near, she knew ; and he came 
 and climbed over and kissed her. 
 
 ' Where were you hiding ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' I sat on a stone by the side of the wall, and meant 
 to sit there till the voices ceased, or you called me.' 
 
 ' Did you hear what we said ? ' 
 
 ' No.' 
 
 ' Well, it doesn't matter just now. I'll tell you some 
 other time.' 
 
 She sat down on the wall and bade him do the 
 same. Dempster was forgotten : the stronger impres- 
 sion, that produced by Lee, came out through the more 
 recent one like the original writing on a palimpsest. 
 
 ' Wlien one meets one's father,' she said, ' after a 
 long absence, whether one knows him well or not, one's 
 heart leaps, and a great thrill strikes through one.'
 
 21-4 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 ' Yes,' said Frank. ' I believe my nerves woultl ring 
 to tlie sound of my father's voice if I wore hearing it, 
 though I've never seen liim.' 
 
 ' Don't imagine it for a moment, dear. When your 
 father comes back after ten years you shiver in liis 
 presence — you feel as if you had jumped into a 
 frosty sea out of the summer. I did when I went to 
 him from you.' 
 
 She kicked her heels against the wall, and sat on her 
 hands, looking round and up at Frank like a bird. 
 Then she turned her gaze into the tree. In the mood 
 that held her, to think was to resolve. She came to her 
 feet, and stood before her lover. 
 
 ' "What would you think if I were to tell you that 
 my father had chosen a husband for me ? ' 
 
 ' I should think it the height of folly, unless I were 
 his selection.' 
 
 ' Come to him now. Say to him that you love me, 
 and that I love you, and that he may kill me if he likes, 
 but that I will never marry anybody else.' 
 
 ' This is encouraging.' 
 
 ' And you will need courage.' 
 
 ' What is wrong ? ' 
 
 ' You'll know soon enough. Come.' And she led 
 him to the house. She danced along the path. Her 
 eyes clashed against his. 
 
 ' I'm in the major key,' she said. 
 
 No wonder she was in the major key. She had a 
 vision of the encounter between her lover and her
 
 THE AET OF PEOPOSING 215 
 
 father ; a wordy tournament in wliicli the former bore off 
 the honours. Her heart was fast melting clown every 
 feeling into a glowing rage at the man who, after ten 
 years' absence, came to blight her life ; and her body, 
 the flames about that crucible, leapt and trembled. 
 She could move only in bounds to a measure. Frank, 
 mystified, but flushed by sympathy, followed her, ad- 
 miring. 
 
 She took him straight to the library. Lee was not 
 there. 
 
 ' Wait here, and I shall find my father,' she said. 
 
 But Miss Jane came into the room. 
 
 ' How in the name of all the proprieties dare you 
 enter this house, sir ? ' she cried. 
 
 Frank, as the reader will surmise, had been for- 
 bidden the house. 
 
 Muriel sat down on the couch and pulled her lover 
 to her side. Then she rested her elbows on her knees 
 and her chin in her hands, and looked at her aunt. It 
 was grossly impertinent. 
 
 ' For shame ! What is the meaning of this folly, 
 Muriel ? ' and the angry lady crossed the floor, and 
 bristled before the couple with only a yard between. 
 
 Muriel became absolutely but serenely rabid. 
 
 ' Mr. Hay is going to take supper with us to-night,' 
 she said. ' Eing the bell jDlease, aunt, and order supper 
 to be hastened.' 
 
 Miss Jane towered, physically and morally. 
 
 ' Muriel ' — she spoke solemnly, as became her ex-
 
 216 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 altation — ' you wicked girl ! You have much greater 
 cause to keep your room aud ciy over your misde- 
 meanours, than come here outraging all decency in 
 this way. Have you no maidenly reserve at all ? ' 
 
 Then she leant towards Frank. 
 
 ' Mr. Hay, I should think this exhibition of temper 
 and impudence will make ib needless to fear that you 
 Avill aid further in thwarting our intentions with regard 
 to Muriel. Indeed, I don't know at present how it 
 will be possible for me to stand by quietly and see any 
 young man, however eligible, throw himself away on 
 such an incorrigible young woman,' 
 
 Thoroughly on fire at the imperturbable smile on 
 Muriel's face, she leaned towards her again, a flaming 
 tower of Pisa. 
 
 'Muriel, if ever you wish to regain the place you 
 have lost in my esteem, you will tell Mr. Hay to leave 
 this house at once, and never enter it again.' 
 
 Muriel fumbled in her pocket, and half-withdrew her 
 hand, but thought better of it. 
 
 Miss Jane again menaced Frank. 
 
 ' Mr. Hay, the cool effrontery you display in sitting 
 quietly smiling — don't try to hide it, sir ! — while the 
 woman you profess to love throws to the winds all 
 respect for herself and her betters, actually and openly 
 defying her aunt ' 
 
 Muriel had risen, and was approaching the bell-pull. 
 Her hand was almost on it, when her aunt, with sur- 
 prising agility, intercepted her.
 
 THE AET OF PROPOSING 217 
 
 ' Not while I live ! ' slie cried, almost hysterically. 
 
 Frank rose, and began, ' I shall not ' 
 
 * You shall ! ' cried Muriel. 
 
 ' Leave the room, Muriel ! ' said Miss Jane, collecting 
 her dignity, and posing again as a tower. 
 
 Muriel's hand slipped back to her pocket, and she 
 looked straight into her aunt's eyes. Once more she 
 changed her purpose, and left the room with a smile, 
 and an airy nod to Frank. 
 
 ' Did that girl wink just now, sir ? ' said Miss Jane. 
 
 ' I didn't observe.' 
 
 The excited lady pulled a chair before Frank, and 
 sat down opposite him. 
 
 ' Mr. Hay,' she said, ' I wish to be reasonable. I know 
 myself what it is to be young. Indeed, putting other 
 circumstances aside, I can almost sympathise with you 
 in your infatuation for Muriel. She is really a very good- 
 looking girl ; but this scene must have convinced you 
 that her nature is wholly unregenerate, and I hope ' 
 
 What she hoped can only be guessed, for Muriel re- 
 entered the room. 
 
 Miss Jane rose, this time in cathedral-like grandeur. 
 Alas ! she was a very weak-tempered woman. The 
 cathedral brought forth a cat. 
 
 ' AVhat brings you back ? ' she cried. ' You are a 
 disgrace to your sex : you are no lady ; you are a 
 shameless minx ! ' 
 
 Muriel came close to her, her hand clutched in her 
 pocket.
 
 218 A PEACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 ' Aunt,' she said, ' you are carrying tin's a little too 
 far. Did j'ou really suppose that I had gone at your 
 command ? ' 
 
 ' I certainly did ; and I repeat it. Go ! ' 
 
 ' When I leave this room, Frank goes ^vi(h mo. 
 Slipper will be served in a minute for him and mo in 
 my sitting-room.' 
 
 ' Is it you or I that's dreaming, girl ? ' 
 
 ' You have been dreaming, but you're wakening 
 now. You thought you could mistress me ; you can't.' 
 
 ' If I can't mistress yon, as you vulgarly say, well 
 see whom the servants will obey.' 
 
 Miss Jane rang the bell violently. 
 
 Muriel's hand was again half-out of her pocket, but 
 a whimsical expression came over her face, and she 
 returned it. 
 
 ' They shan't get the chance of disobeying yon,' she 
 said, going out of the room and holding the door shut. 
 Her aunt tried to pull it open, but did not prosecute 
 her attempt. It was too like a school-girl. She 
 appealed to Frank tacitly. He shook his head. To 
 tell the truth, the young man enjoyed it rather than not. 
 
 Shortly, a housemaid's voice was heard saying, 
 ' Supper s just ready. Miss Muriel.' 
 
 The answer came, 'Very well; that's all,' and 
 Muriel re-entered. She put her back against the door 
 in a blaze of triumph, and said mock-heroically, ' No 
 one shall leave this room till supper's served.'
 
 THE ART OF PROPOSING 219 
 
 Miss Jane was beaten, and Muriel had conquered 
 without it ; but now she held it out, and shook it open, 
 remorselessly, her poor, little, crumpled letter. Her aunt, 
 who had forgotten all about it, sank on the couch sobbing 
 hysterically. Youth will exact the uttermost farthing, 
 knowing not how it will need much mercy itself The 
 girl was punished there and then by a shade that passed 
 over her lover's brow. She felt that he remembered the 
 scene of the discovery, and contrasted it with this ; but 
 before she had decided what amends to make Lee 
 entered the room. He looked about him, and imme- 
 diately appeared to be in a tremendous passion, Miss 
 Jane sat up ; and Muriel, crossing the floor, took 
 Frank's arm. 
 
 ' Muriel,' said Lee, ' go to your room.' 
 
 She clung to Frank. 
 
 ' I never bid twice,' and he pulled her away and 
 swung her to the door. 
 
 ' This is too much ! ' cried Frank, stepping towards 
 Lee. 
 
 ' Mr. Hay, I sujDpose. I shall sj)eak with you im- 
 mediately.' 
 
 Muriel was about to approach Frank again, but Lee 
 pointed her sternly to the door. As before, in his pre- 
 sence, and by his conduct, she was utterly bewildered, 
 and wandered out of the room as if she had lost her 
 wits. 
 
 ' Here's a change ! ' exclaimed Miss Jane, ' What a
 
 220 A PKACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 disgracH'ful scene there lias been here, brother! I 
 apok^gisc to myself for allowing my emotions to over- 
 come me.' 
 
 ' Leave us, please, Jane.' 
 
 ' Certainly, Henry,' and as she went, she cast a 
 withering look at Frank.
 
 221 
 
 CHAPTER YI 
 
 LEE ENJOYS HIMSELF 
 
 Lee sat down behind the table and began to point a 
 quilL Frank took a chair opposite him. 
 
 ' Mr. Hay,' said Lee, ' we may as well come to the 
 point at once. My daughter cannot marry you. I have 
 chosen her a husband.' 
 
 ' I am glad to come to the point at once,' said 
 Frank. ' Miss Chartres bade me tell you that she will 
 have no husband but me. She sends you this message : 
 You may kill her, but you cannot force her to marry 
 against her will.' 
 
 ' I am sorry her message is so commonplace. It 
 indicates that her novel-reading has not been eclectic, 
 to say the least ; and, which is of more importance to 
 me, it lowers the tone of the present work. That, of 
 course, you don't understand ; but no matter. Force 
 her to marry against her will ? Surely not. Yoa 
 know, if she doesn't, that people never act against their 
 wills. We will change her will, or kill it.' 
 
 ' Which would be to kill her.' 
 
 ' I'm not so sure of that. It will be an interestiu": 
 experiment. I understand you to sny that by the time
 
 222 A rHACTIC.VX NOVELIST 
 
 my daughter's will has been conquered, her body nuist 
 be so reduct'd that death will ensue. Now, I do not 
 think so. AVliat will you wager that she docs not sur- 
 vive the subjugation of her will ? ' 
 
 There was a pause before Frank replied, which gave 
 his answer an appearance of deliberation it did not 
 possess. He was so astonished at the beaming satis- 
 faction on Lee's face, utterly incompatible under any 
 hypothesis he could think of, with the cold-blooded, 
 heartless suggestion regarding Muriel, that words were 
 denied him for a second or two. When they did come, 
 slowly and vehemently, they had more reference to the 
 character of the wagerer than the matter of the 
 villanous bet. 
 
 ' You are a scoundrel ! ' 
 
 Lee laid down the quill with which he had been 
 dallying, and settled himself comfortably in his chair. 
 He expected to derive great pleasure from this inter- 
 view. Hitherto he had been dealing with women and 
 servants ; he was now to have a foeman worthy of his 
 steel. 
 
 ' I am a scoundrel,' he said, weighing each word. 
 ' That is your position. Now, how will you defend it ? ' 
 
 The momentary blankness on Frank's face made 
 Lee fear he had been too precipitate, and had routed 
 the young man with this wholly unexpected turn, 
 putting an end to the intellectual enjoyment he had 
 anticipated. So when the blankness left Frank's face, 
 the child-like happiness which dwelt in every line of
 
 LEE ENJOYS IIIMSELI? 223 
 
 Lee's could only be matclied by the pictured counte- 
 nance of some rapt and smilirg mediasval saint. The 
 vouuo- man, concludino- that he had to deal with what 
 the world calls a ' character,' met him on his own 
 ground. 
 
 ' Your imperturbability under the accusation is the 
 best proof, I think.' He said this mildly and col- 
 lectedly, not wishing to give Lee the advantage of his 
 coolness. 
 
 ' A very fair answer,' said Lee. ' I shall allow you 
 this stroke by way of compensation. Poor fellow, you 
 will have a sore heart for a while, I imagine. You're 
 not a fool, and you're good-looking. I think more of 
 my daughter on your account.' 
 
 Lee resumed the quill, and began to write wdth a 
 perfect assumption of unconcern. Frank stood up, put 
 both hands on the table, leant forward a little, and 
 delivered himself of a short speech. His blood was up, 
 and he spoke very little above a whisper. 
 
 ' Mr. Chartres, you have the right to control the 
 actions of your daughter. You are going to abuse that 
 right. I shall interfere. Your daughter loves me ; 
 you are going to force her from me ; I shall do all I 
 can to prevent you. I love your daughter ; I shall 
 stick at nothing to obtain her : Mr. Chartres, I shall 
 succeed.' 
 
 The practical novelist positively trembled with do- 
 light. 
 
 'I like you, young man,' he cried ;' and I believe
 
 224 A PRACTICAL NO^^LIST 
 
 you will improve. I think you will l)e imcousciously 
 my host colhiborateur. Both your character and 
 IMuriel's will be tested, illuminated, and strengthened 
 for good or evil, in the course of this work, and that 
 immediately. AVho woukl write who has once tasted 
 the pleasures of this new fiction ! This is a foreign 
 language to you. Some day I may teach joix its whole 
 secret. In the meantime regard me as a student ol 
 character, who, tired of books, of the dead subject, has 
 taken to vivisection — vivisection of the souL \\''ell, sir, 
 it is to be a duel, then. Good. I have a suspicion you 
 imagine it is 3'our bold bearing that makes me so placid. 
 You are mistaken. It is my habit in opposition. I 
 learnt it in the jungle, shooting tigers. My gun is 
 always heavily loaded. I take a deliberate aim. If I 
 shoot a tiger, it is killed ; if a turtle-dove, it is blown 
 to pieces. You comprehend.' 
 
 ' Me, the turtle-dove ; yes. And the bereaved mate 
 will peck herself to death,' said Frank w^ith conside- 
 rable coolness. 
 
 ' In a cage we can force her to live,' said Lee. 
 
 Frank had thought to meet Lee on his own ground, 
 but found himself wholly at sea. He would strike out 
 boldly till he touched land again. 
 
 ' I am astonished,' he said, ' that a man like you, 
 who seem to trample on conventionalities should arro- 
 gate to himself that absurd authority claimed by some 
 fathers over the hands of their daughters.' 
 
 * And what if it were because parental jurisdiction
 
 LEE ENJOYS HIMSELF 225 
 
 over marriage is becoming a thing of the past that I 
 make myself absolute ? ' 
 
 ' That would be very foolish,' said Frank, forgetting 
 with whom he was dealing. 
 
 ' That is no argument, my good sir,' came from Lee 
 at once, and Frank saw his mistake. 
 
 ' You see,' continued Lee, ' the idea of the parent 
 is changing. The popular parent is the servant of his 
 children. Now, whenever an idea, an opinion — a song, 
 a faith, a show — becomes popular, I know at once it has 
 some inherent weakness, some hollow lie ; for the world 
 is weak and false, and all kinds of froth and flame 
 commend themselves to it. An opinion is like a jug of 
 beer : the foaming head attracts the youth ; the old 
 toper blows it off.' 
 
 ' You think yourself clever, but this is rank so- 
 phistry.' 
 
 ' No argument again. Go away, Mr. Hay, and 
 learn to do something besides assert. Come back 
 and have a talk as soon as you really have something 
 to say.' 
 
 Frank walked slowly to the door. He was endea- 
 vouring to estimate Lee. Did all fathers treat unsuit- 
 able candidates for their daughters' hands to such a dose 
 of brusque philosophy ? Surely not. Then, did all 
 fathers returned from India with dark skins, and. pre- 
 sumably, no livers, behave in this fashion ? He could 
 not believe it. He returned to the charge. 
 
 * Why are you so ill-bred ? ' he asked. 
 
 Q
 
 220 A PEACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 ' I am not ill-bred. Had I received you with any- 
 thing but a dowuriglit refusal your hopes wouhl have 
 risen. Had I agreed wilh you in anything, you would 
 Lave thought, " I may manage him yet." I have been 
 kind to you. I have been most polite. I liavo not 
 deceived you for an instant. Do not think that the 
 suave manner is the sign of the kind heart. What is 
 called politeness is, as you know, the commonest form 
 of hypocrisy; courtesy has become etiquette,. and the 
 gentleman is the ghost of a dead chivalry.' 
 
 ' You are a braggart as well as a sophist. You ' 
 
 ' Go away till you learn to do other than assert and 
 call names.' 
 
 ' I will speak. You said a little while ago that 
 when an opinion became popular, you, in effect, adopted 
 its converse.' 
 
 ' Too hard and fust ; but go on.' 
 
 •' Marriage is coming to be regarded more and more 
 as a mere civil relation ; you will, I have no doubt, look 
 upon it as a sacred thing. If the heart does not go 
 along with a holy ordinance, it is the blackest sin to 
 take part in it. Will you play the devil to your own 
 daughter ? ' 
 
 ' Ah, this is better ! ' said Lee with glistening eyes. 
 ' In the same way any marriage not consented to by 
 the woman's father must be unholy also. Two evils 
 you see.' 
 
 ' Who can doubt which is the less ? ' 
 
 * Now you are the sophist. There is no less or
 
 LEE ENJOYS HBISELF 227 
 
 greater evil ; it is all tarred with the same stick. But, 
 to take a broader view. I firmly believe that marriages 
 are made in heaven; therefore I should suppose, a 
 marriage as ordained by heaven, happens once in fifty 
 years, and it seems to me as likely that the decree of 
 fate would be fulfilled in the father's choice as in the 
 daughter's ; and much more so when the father is a past 
 master in the study of character.' 
 
 Frank was exasperated. 
 
 ' Have you no heart ? ' he said. 
 
 The smile on Lee's face told him what a common- 
 place he had uttered. Smothering his emotion, he said, 
 ' You teach me how to think and how to act. Marriaofes 
 are made in heaven, and you were not married. If you 
 had been you would have loved your daughter. A man 
 of your no-principles must be answered as the fool is — 
 according to his folly. And indeed you are a kind 
 of fool, and a bad kind. I said before, thoughtlessly, 
 that I would stick at nothing in endeavouring to make 
 Miss Chartres my wife. Kow I repeat it with full 
 purpose.' 
 
 ' Good,' said Lee, rubbing his hands. ' Still a little 
 too much nicknaming, but, on the whole, good. You 
 are a capital collaborateur. I have taught you how to 
 think and act already. Are you not astonished at 
 yourself? What would they think at your debating 
 club of this talk of ours? If you like it, come back 
 and have some more.' 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 Frank went to tlie door in silence, but returned 
 
 again. 
 
 ' All ! ' exclaimed Lee. ' " He often took leave, but 
 was loath to depart ! " Wliat ! Is it meant to be con- 
 sidered by mo evidence of your determined spirit ? 
 Eh ? Is it a dodge ? ' 
 
 ' Ill-doers are ill-dreaders,' said Frank. ' I am not 
 going to speak for myself, but for jMuriel. You have 
 talked of her as if she were a thing that you could turn 
 to any use, and you have spoken of caging her. I per- 
 ceive you to be most irrational and obstinate. I can 
 imagine your going great lengths to obtain a desired 
 end. Promise me that you will not use physical force 
 in any ' 
 
 ' I never make promises.' 
 
 ' Then,' pursued Frank in a tone of entreaty that 
 had mastered his voice to his great annoyance, for he 
 felt that it Avas enjoyed like a sacrifice by the apparently 
 infernal spirit whom he addressed — ' I demand to know 
 what weapons you will use. Will you employ force ? ' 
 
 ' I am alwavs armed to the teeth.' 
 
 ' You mean you are unscrui^ulous.' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' It is impossible to reason with you, I defy you. 
 Why, you are an insolent, cold-blooded villain, and 
 deserve a horsewhipping.' 
 
 ' I will take an early opportunity of presenting you 
 with a horsewhip to attempt the administration of one,' 
 said Lee with perfect good humour.
 
 LEE ENJOYS HIMSELF 229 
 
 ' I/et it be very soon,' said Frank, going, ' for when 
 you are my father-in-law I will decline the offer.' 
 
 Lee rose to his feet. ' You wish this colloquy to 
 end theatrically,' he said. ' I will disappoint you. You 
 may marry my daughter, if you can.'
 
 230 A PEACTICAL NOATILIST 
 
 CHAPTER YII 
 
 THE UNEXrECTED 
 
 Muriel had bribed the servant wlio should have shown 
 Frank out to bring him to her sitting-room ; and this 
 was accomplished without observation. As he entered, 
 Muriel's appearance astonished him. She looked 
 superb in his eyes — flushed, bright, bold, a wonderful 
 contrast to the haggai'd girl Lee had hurled from him 
 half an hour before. The momentary defeated feeling 
 was past. She noAv stood on her rights. No father or 
 man should have treated her as Lee had done, and she 
 replied by sticking to her purpose, and having Frank 
 sup with her. 
 
 ' Sit, sit,' she said. ' We'll not say a word about 
 anything until we've supped — I mean about anything 
 except the supper.' 
 
 They were both very hungry, and on the principle 
 that promptitude in action is the best prayer for the 
 success of any enterprise, dispensed with a grace. 
 Truly, the good eater, if he masticate well, renders the 
 best thanks. Frank and Muriel worshipped God 
 heartily before the great mahogany altar of Britain — 
 which was in this instance, a little one of walnut —
 
 THE UNEXPECTED 231 
 
 rapidly replacing the mercy of appetite by the mercy of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Meantime Lee had other visitors. Mr. Linty, the 
 family lawyer, succeeded Frank almost immediately, 
 and Miss Jane accompanied him into the library. Lee 
 knew about him from some of the letters he had read. 
 He was, however, wholly unprepared to enter into 
 business with him ; but pleasure he expected. 
 
 After the formal courtesies, the lawyer began. He 
 was a sandy-haired, little, dry, old gentleman, and spoke 
 very stiffly. 
 
 ' Mr. Chartres,' he said, ' the intent with which I 
 visit you to-day is to convey to you certain information 
 which I think it my duty to let you have as soon as 
 possible.' 
 
 ' I am a man of business,' said Lee. 
 
 ' Good, sir ; very good. Mr. Chartres, an entailed 
 estate is in a most delicate position, surrounded as it is 
 with innumerable statutory provisions. It is doubtful 
 whether you would be able, supposing you Avere so 
 inclined, to make good a claim on Snell without proving 
 the death of your brother Robert.' 
 
 Imagining that the lawyer had made a mistake in 
 using Robert instead of William, and that there had been 
 circumstances in connection with the death of the late 
 proprietor which he had not learned ; wishing, besides, to 
 gain time, as this was the first intimation he had received 
 of the estate being entailed, Lee said in a half-bantering 
 tone, ' Well, you know, I never had a brother, Robert.
 
 82 A PEACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 ' ! ' said the lawyer. 
 
 ' Well,' began ]\Iiss Jane, but stopped short, not 
 sure what to say or think. 
 
 Lee surpassed himself at this juncture. Not a 
 feature of his face showed he was at a loss. lie turned 
 to Miss Jane and asked in a soi't of parenthesis ' What 
 were you going to say ? ' 
 
 ' ! ' said Miss Jane, ' I think, and I always told 
 AVilliam, that although nothing has been heard of 
 Robert for thirty years, he may still be alive. William 
 said that he died to the family when he became a 
 prodigal, and forbade his name to be mentioned. I 
 thought that uncharitable.' 
 
 ' Ay,' said Lee indifferently. ' Of course, I agreed 
 with William.' 
 
 It was very successful. 
 
 ' But,' said Mr. Linty, ' We must speak of liim, for, 
 if he is alive the estate is his. Do you know anything 
 of him ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Lee ; ' but as we have not heard of 
 him for thirty years, we may reasonably suppose him 
 dead.' 
 
 ' By no means. That cannot even be taken as 
 presumptive evidence. If there were seventy years 
 from the birth of your brother there would be no diffi- 
 culty, but if he is alive he will only be fifty-five. I am 
 afraid the estate will require to be "hungup" — put 
 into the hands of trustees.' 
 
 ' Well, sir,' said Lee, rising, ' your contribution to
 
 THE UNEXPECTED 233 
 
 this work is wholly unexpected, but likely to produce 
 most interesting complications. I am indeed much 
 obliged to you. There is nothing original in it, but a 
 missing heir is a very good thing to fall back on.' 
 
 The lawyer, supposing he had heard an elaborate, 
 and, if so, certainly incomprehensible joke, laughed 
 appreciatively. Miss Jane frowned and examined Lee 
 all over with scorn and minuteness. 
 
 The latter continued. ' You must really excuse 
 me just now. I only reached Snell House a few hours 
 aofo, and I am in no condition to discuss business. I 
 suppose,' with a laugh, ' you won't turn us out 
 immediately.' 
 
 ' By no means,' said Mr. Linty. ' In all likelihood 
 there will be no need for that. I shall expect a visit 
 from you to-morrow. Good evening.' 
 
 Miss Jane, who was a great friend of Mr. Linty's, 
 left the library to see him to the door. 
 
 Lee's next visitor was of a different quality. He 
 was an old man, very ill-dressed, the great size of his 
 head, which was covered with thick white hair, being 
 the most notable thing about him. Miss Jane intro- 
 duced him, having met him at the door when she parted 
 with the lawyer. 
 
 ' This is Clacher, brother,' she said, ' You remem- 
 ber it was he who found William's body on the road.' 
 
 Lee did remember, as it had been mentioned in one 
 of the letters he had read. Miss Jane informed Lee 
 further under her breath, that Clacher was quite mad,
 
 234 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 although harmless, find that lie got a living by bogging 
 in the disguise of a hawker. He had called often since 
 the death of AVilliam, asking for the ' new Mr. Chartres.' 
 
 ' I am very glad you have brought him to me,' said 
 Lee. ' He may be useful.' 
 
 He then advanced to the old pedlar, and held out 
 his hand, saying, ' How do you do, Mr. Clacher ? ' 
 
 Clacher emitted a chuckling noise, and darted 
 glances at odd corners of the room — glances which, if 
 it had been possible to enclose them, would have been 
 found to resemble blind alleys, as they ran a certain 
 distance into space and stopped without lighting on 
 anything. Then he said in a hoarse, harsh voice, 
 speaking to himself as much as to Lee, ' I'm gaun tae 
 dae it Englified.' 
 
 He pulled himself up with all the appearance of a 
 man about to make a lengthy statement ; but instead 
 of a speech he only succeeded in a pitiful pantomimic 
 display. He could not remember what he had come to 
 say. As if to stir up his dormant faculties he began 
 rubbing his head with both hands, gathering his thick 
 hair into shocks, and then scattering these asunder. 
 While endeavouring to make hay of his hair in this 
 manner, his little fierce eyes, like swivel-guns of ex- 
 ceedingly minute calibre, resumed firing their blank 
 shots into space. Then, satisfied apparently that 
 nothing could be done toward the tedding of his hair, 
 he rubbed his shaved cheeks, beat his forehead and his 
 breast, and tore at the fingers of both hands.
 
 THE UNEXPECTED 235 
 
 All at once lie stood erect, aud, as if lie were re- 
 suming a train of tliought, or a conversation, said, ' It's 
 a wonnerfu' secret.' 
 
 ' Indeed ? ' said Lee, quietly. 
 
 ' Ay ; for it can pit another in the deid man's shoes 
 ye stann' in. But I was gaun tae dae it Englified. 
 Ye micht check me when I gang wrang.' 
 
 ' Check you when you go wrong ? ' 
 
 'That's it! "Go wrong" — no, "gang wrang.'* 
 Keep me richt — right, will you, sir ? ' 
 
 ' It's of no consequence to me, my good man,' replied 
 Lee, whether you speak Englified as you call it, or not ; 
 but I'll keep you right if you like.' 
 
 ' Thank you, thank you ! But whaat ' 
 
 ' What,' said Lee. 
 
 ' Bide a wee, bide a wee ! ' cried Clacher, rubbing 
 his hair. 
 
 ' Ye see,' he continued, ' if I tak' time tae dae it 
 Englified, I forget it. Whaat wis it I wis gaun tae 
 dae Englified, and whaat for wis I gaun to dae it Engli- 
 fied ? I canna' mind, I caiina' mind.' 
 
 ' Never mind, then,' said Lee, gently. ' You interest 
 me as much as any character in the story. It seems 
 indeed to be made to my hand, and I shall only require 
 to mould it here and there in order to give it distinction.' 
 
 ' Ye're mad, ye're mad ! ' cried Clacher, excitedly, 
 shaking his big frowsy head, and seeing Lee for the 
 first time, although his eyes had seemed fixed on him 
 repeatedly.
 
 236 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 ' Poor fellow ! ' said Loo to JNIiss Jane, ' he thinks 
 everybody mad but himself, like all lunatics.' 
 
 ' Lunatics,' said ]\[iss Jane, emphatically, ' are 
 nncrriui^' judges of the lunacy of others.' 
 
 ' I've heard that, too,' said Lee, ingenuously. 
 
 'My good friend,' ho continued, addressing Clacher, 
 'we must really try and remember what and why it is 
 to be done Englified. Come with me and you shall 
 have something to eat and a glass of good wine. If 
 that doesn't startle your memory I don't know what will.' 
 
 Miss Jane looked volumes, but only said, ' Henr}^, 
 there never was a man so changed as you.' 
 
 ' My dear Jane,' said Lee, ' in ten years — why, I 
 miffht have become a lunatic too.' 
 
 As he crossed the hall with Clacher to the dining- 
 room, a sound of laughter from upstairs struck on his 
 ear. He stopped, and listened. It was repeated, and 
 the laughing voices were Muriel's and another's. En- 
 tering the dining-room he hastily confided Clacher to 
 the care of Briscoe and Dempster, who were discussing 
 a bottle of port, and hurried aw^ay to Muriel's sitting- 
 room. He w^ent in without knocking, and another peal 
 of laughter came to an early death. Frank and Muriel 
 stood up as the door opened. She meant to fight ; he 
 recognised the falseness of their position, and felt, as 
 he looked, exceedingly awkward. 
 
 ' Father,' began Muriel, looking in Lee's direction, 
 but past him, through the open door, ' you must 
 not '
 
 THE UNEXPECTED 237 
 
 She got no further ; for she saw coming towards 
 her room, in single file. Miss Jane, Dempster, Briscoe, 
 and Clacher. It is pretty certain that none of these 
 four persons knew exactly why they had come upstairs. 
 Miss Jane probably expected some kind of scene to take 
 place at which she might have an interest in assisting ; 
 Dempster followed her out of sheer stuiaidity ; Briscoe 
 came after Dempster because he was drunk ; and Clacher 
 after him because he was mad, and didn't know any 
 better. When Miss Jane, arriving at the top of 
 the staircase, saw Muriel's door open, she hesitated ; 
 but behind her there came such a motley procession 
 that she had to go on. She stopped at the door ; the 
 others stood about her in a semi-circle, and the tableau 
 was complete. 
 
 Lee, the only individual of the seven who was 
 thoroughly collected, said, looking round him medita- 
 tively, ' The situation is turning out better than it pro- 
 mised to. After all, what more can we do either in 
 writing fiction or creating it than follow an indication, 
 and let the rest come.' 
 
 He then motioned Miss Jane aside and, takinti- 
 Briscoe's hand, led him into the room. The maudlin 
 gravity with which that worthy bore himself, combined 
 with a remarkable bulging about the pockets, made him 
 a very comic figure, and raised a smile even on Muriel's 
 face. But Lee took one of her hands and put it in one 
 of Briscoe's, saying, ' Muriel, this is your future hus- 
 band.'
 
 238 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 She turned very pale; find almost fainted, wlien a 
 liazy smile struggled into Briscoe's slack mouth and 
 dull eyes, and he attempted to kiss her. She broke from 
 him with a half-suppressed exclamation of disgust, and 
 would have thrown her arms round Frank ; but Lee 
 seized her, and handed her over to her aunt who had 
 entered the room. 
 
 ' Leave my house,' he then said to Frank, with a 
 gesture of authority. 
 
 It was a peculiar position for the young man, and 
 Lee watched him with intense interest. Frank walked 
 to Muriel, kissed her on the cheek, whispered something 
 in her ear, and then passed out through the little crowd 
 at the door without looking to the right hand or the 
 left. 
 
 ' Very good ! ' exclaimed Lee. ' Perhaps that's the 
 best thing he could have done.' 
 
 ' But, Henry,' said Miss Jane, ' I think Mr. Demp- 
 ster would like to marry Muriel.' 
 
 ' Me ! ' shouted Dempster spirally. ' No ; I assure 
 you. My dear Miss Jane, I would as soon think of 
 marrying you. Eh-ah — I mean well.' 
 
 Miss Jane's face quivered a second, but she said 
 nothing, and left the room. Dempster, aghast at 
 his dreadful mistake, followed her downstairs. Clacher, 
 unable to make up his mind whether to stick by Briscoe 
 or follow Dempster, sat down disconsolately on the top 
 step, with his elbows on his knees and his head between 
 his hands. Lee also went out, signing to Briscoe to
 
 THE UNEXPECTED 239 
 
 follow him. Then Lee locked Muriel into her room, and 
 putting the key in his pocket, took Briscoe and Clacher 
 to the library with him. 
 
 It was half-past nine when Muriel found herself a 
 prisoner ; and Frank had whispered that he would wait 
 for her all nio-ht at the low wall.
 
 240 A PKACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 I5HISC0E SEES THINGS IN A NEW LIGHT 
 
 Food and drink were provided for Cluchcr in the librar}*. 
 It was a very large room, and he sat at a little table in 
 the corner, out of hearing of the low tones in which 
 Briscoe and Lee conversed. 
 
 Lee was exceedingly angry at Briscoe for having got 
 tipsy, and rated him severely, getting no response, how- 
 ever, save laughter or a drunken ' You shut up.' At 
 last, losing patience, he dashed a tumbler of water in 
 the drunken man's face. Briscoe rose to strike ; but 
 Lee gave him another tumbler, and while he was still 
 rubbing the water out of his eyes, a third, which 
 knocked him down into his chair again, pretty well 
 sobered and very surly. Lee was a man of great physi- 
 cal strength, and although on several occasions Briscoe 
 had been able to control his will, a single bout at fisti- 
 cuffs had shown, once for all, who was master in that 
 branch of dialectic. 
 
 ' My dear Briscoe,' said Lee, handing him his hand- 
 kerchief to help to dry himself, ' this is really too bad of 
 you. Uo you think I don't know the meaning of those 
 stuffed pockets of yours ? You've been helping yourself,
 
 BEISCOE SEES THINGS IN A NEW LIGHT 241 
 forffettinsr altoo'ether the work of art in wliicli we are 
 
 o o o 
 
 eno-asred.' 
 
 ' Heaven helps those that help themselves,' growled 
 Briscoe, still a little maudlin and very crusty. 
 
 ' A very good proverb indeed ; but it has always 
 seemed to me to require a gloss, as, say, " Help yourself, 
 and Heaven will develop heroic qualities in you by 
 opposing you." So you see I am interfering with you to 
 give your acts a higher tone. You'll have to empty 
 out your pockets, my boy. Nobody need know ; and, if 
 they should, kleptomania is quite genteel.' 
 
 ' Now, look here,' said Briscoe : ' I'm not fit for this 
 almighty art of yours. By Jove, when I think of where 
 I am, and what we're up to, I can hardly believe it's 
 me ! Just you give me as much money as you can, and 
 let me slope quietly, and you'll get on far better without 
 me. I never could grease myself and worm through the 
 tight places — get through the world, as folks say ; and 
 I tell you it would be fiir better for you if I were 
 away.' 
 
 ' Briscoe, I have always admired your independent 
 character,' said Lee. ' Neither can I get through the 
 world ; but there's another method which equally 
 insures success, and that is, to transcend the world : 
 death by starvation is then itself a glorious triumph — 
 the triumph of the idea. I know what I mean, and, 
 though I were to explain till doomsday, you wouldn't, 
 so it don't matter. You will confer a lasting benefit 
 on the world if you stay and help with the work in
 
 242 A rRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 which I am engaged. It is a glorions labour, apart 
 from its artistic merit ; for it is raising llie tone of 
 everybody abont me. It is just wliat llicso people 
 needed, especially IMuriel and Franlc — the dash of 
 bitter that strengthens the sweet, the need for 
 rebellion that wakens the soul, the spur that drives 
 natures roughshod over convention, the ' 
 
 ' Draw it mild,' interposed Briscoe sneeringly. 
 ' To-morrow, or maybe to-night, Caroline will be down 
 with the real man, and what will you do then ? ' 
 
 ' I long for their arrival. That will be the great 
 scene.' 
 
 ' What'll yon do ? ' 
 
 ' Well, murder I merely glanced at. To turn them 
 out of the house as impostors, though a simple 
 solution of the matter for a short time, would only stave 
 off a final settlement. This is what I intend : to shut 
 up Chartres in one of the rooms, pinioned, and, if 
 necessary, gagged, as a dangerous lunatic, until I 
 can have him removed to a private asylum, which 
 will be a matter of only a few hours ; and, once 
 there, we are safer than if he were in the grave.' 
 
 ' How will you manage that ? ' 
 
 'The simplest thing in the world. You can't have 
 read many novels or you wouldn't ask. Besides the 
 novels, however, I have studied the lunacy laws ; and I 
 could put you, Briscoe — sensible, hard-headed fellow 
 as you are — into an asylum to-morrow, and defy the 
 world to take you out ! '
 
 J3EISC0E SEES THINGS IN A NEW LIGHT 243 
 
 ' By Jove, there's a chance here ! ' said Briscoe. 
 ' Damn it, man, banish your dreams, and do the thing 
 as a downright piece of the finest villainy ever per- 
 petrated.' 
 
 ' I haven't the least objection, my dear Briscoe, 
 that you should be a villain. There's not one, at 
 present, in the work, and if you choose, still collaborat- 
 ing with me, to adopt such a role, I shall be very glad 
 indeed.' 
 
 ' 111 do it,' said Briscoe, rising. ' I'll go off to 
 Glasgow and prepare the whole thing for to-morrow 
 early.' 
 
 ' The last train from Greenock left some time ago.' 
 
 ' What ! is it so late as that ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; but you can go off to-morrow before 
 breakfast.' 
 
 ' Very well. But we're going to do this, mind ! 
 No shamming — no artistic flourishes — upright, down- 
 right villainy ! 
 
 ' On your part, certainly.' 
 
 ' And I'm to marry Muriel ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, you must see that is impossible. The girl 
 will fight to the death against it. Besides, it would be 
 thoroughly inartistic. No, no. My intention is to 
 bring about an elopement ; and then to discover that 
 you are Frank's father. You see ? You're old enough. 
 He's only twenty-two, and you're over forty. The 
 invention of antecedents and the getting up evidence 
 will 1je most engrossing. Of course I'll intercept these 
 
 r2
 
 244 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 young people, and drive tlieni to the very last resource. 
 It will do tliem any amount of good.' 
 
 Briscoe put up his hand warningly, and Lee 
 turned his head and saw Clacher standing behind 
 hiui. 
 
 ' Ah ! my good friend,' he said, ' have you had 
 enough ? ' 
 
 ' Ay,' said Clacher. 
 
 ' Do you remember what it is you want to do 
 "Englified"?' 
 
 ' No— yet.' 
 
 ' Do you think you'll remember soon ? ' 
 
 ' Mebbe, if ye'll let me alone, and gie me some 
 mair drink. Wliusky.' 
 
 ' Certainly,' said Lee, rising, ' You can have this 
 room to yourself, and I shall send you whiskey,' 
 
 ' I think I'll go to bed,' said Briscoe. ' I'm very 
 tired ; and I'll have an early start to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Come out and smoke a cigar with me first,' said 
 Lee. And then in a whisper, ' I want you to help me. 
 They may arrive any moment.' 
 
 ' Of course,' replied Briscoe, in the same tone, 
 clenching his fists. ' I forgot that.' 
 
 So Clacher was left with a decanter of whiskey ; and 
 as soon as he was alone he pulled from his breast-pocket 
 a dirty letter, which he read and re-read, and thought 
 over and got madder about : and he always took the 
 other glass of whiskey, muttering to himself, ' I canna' 
 mind, I canna' mind.'
 
 245 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 DEMrSTER ArOLOGISES 
 
 While Briscoe was being sobered in tlie library a re- 
 markable scene transacted itself in the dining-room 
 between Miss Jane and Dempster. The outraged lady 
 settled herself in an easy chair with a book ; but the 
 offender entered before she had time to read six lines. 
 He approached her on tip-toe, and, a spring seeming to 
 give way somewhere within him, he came down plump 
 on one knee, as if he had been a i)uppet, and burst out 
 woefully ' Eh-ah ! ' like an escape of saw-dust. 
 
 Miss Jane ignored him, and pressed open her book, 
 which was new and stiff. 
 
 Dempster cleared his throat of the saw-dust, and 
 with drooping head, his left hand on his left knee and 
 his right arm hanging limp, whispered, just above his 
 breath, ' Miss Chartres, you see before you a miserable 
 being.' 
 
 ' I don't ; I'm not looking,' said the lady sharply, 
 disconcerting Dempster terribly. 
 
 ' If you would look you would see me,' he said nerv- 
 ously, as several watch-springs seemed to break out of 
 bounds in various parts of his anatomy.
 
 2-16 A PliACTiCAL NuVELlttT 
 
 Miss Jano looked over tlio top of her book. Slie 
 saw liim collapsed before her with abased eyes, and was 
 satisfied. So she hid her face again, smiling, and said 
 coldh', ' I have seen you.' 
 
 * Have you ? ' said Dempster, going off, as it were 
 accidentally, like a gun ; ' I'm very glad : for I would 
 have had no rest of mind or body if you hadn't looked 
 at me. I would have gone about like a hen that had 
 lost her — I mean ' 
 
 ' Well, and say ill, Mr. Dempster,' said Miss Jano, 
 unable to resist the chance which she had long desired 
 to take. ' These kind of people often make more mis- 
 chief than ill-doers,' she added. 
 
 This overwhelmed Dempster. Down he came on the 
 other knee, and, clasping both hands, called out in 
 serpentine anguish, and without a stammer, ' Why are 
 you so hard on me ? The moment I made that unfor- 
 tunate remark about marrying you, the earth, the sun, 
 my wealth, and life and death were to me no more than 
 they are to a poor man. I assure you, I assure you — I 
 don't exaggerate ; and I beg you, I implore you to for- 
 give me.' 
 
 ' Rise, Mr. Dempster,' said Miss Jano with a slight 
 return of graciousness. ' There is really nothing to 
 forgive.' 
 
 Some automatic winding-up process began within 
 him and would soon have brought him to his feet with 
 a bound, but Miss Jane's reply to his ' And we will bo 
 friends as wo were before ? ' made him all run down
 
 DE3IPSTEII APOLOGISES 247 
 
 again ; for the lady said, ' That can hardly be. Though 
 mistakes may not require forgiveness, they cannot always 
 be forgotten. But rise, please.' 
 
 ' I'll not rise till you forget,' said Dempster with 
 pitiful resignation, his various members barely hanging 
 together. The poor fellow was in deader earnest than 
 even Miss Jane supposed, as will shortly appear. 
 
 ' But I cannot forget,' said the lady. ' Thought is 
 free, and self-willed besides, Mr. Dempster.' 
 
 He clasped his hands again, and in a succession of 
 spasms ejaculated, ' You are the only woman whose 
 society I have any comfort in. You understand me ; 
 and your advice is always good, and — eh — ah — agree- 
 able. You never snub me — at least not often, and not 
 without good reason — like younger, like thoughtless 
 hoydens. If you won't forget and be friends with me 
 ag-ain, I don't know whatever I'm to do. I have 
 nothing at all to think of now Muriel has rejected me ; 
 and I'll have nobody I can talk to with any frankness if 
 you go on remembering.' 
 
 Miss Jane's blood, which was not by any means a 
 meagre decoction, but on the contrary rich and sweet 
 enough yet, tingled to her finger ends. This man 
 actually needed her ! She laid aside her book, leant 
 forward a little, resting her hands neatly in her lap. 
 There was no smile, but she looked with a gentle 
 earnestness, and the tang was gone from her tongue. 
 
 ' How am I to forget ? ' she said. ' Tell me that, 
 and I'll try. I suppose yoii have not forgotten
 
 248 A rEACTlCAL NOVELIST 
 
 what you said — very Litter words for any woman to 
 digest. You would as soon think of marrying me as of 
 marrying a young hoyden, who, from what I can make 
 out, had just rejected }ou witli insult; and the tone of 
 voice — tlie tone of voice ! But rise, Mr. Dempster.' 
 
 ' I won't,' he said, looking her right in the face, and 
 wondering that he had never noticed before how silky 
 lier brown hair was, and how kindly her brown eyes. 
 ' I won't. Forget and then I'll rise.' 
 
 ' How can I forget ? ' softly. 
 
 ' Just as easily as I can rise. The mind is like 
 legs ; it can be bent and unbent.' 
 
 Now Miss Jane was not very much of a prude ; but 
 Dempster was becoming too confident. He must be 
 brought low again. So she lifted her book and said 
 ' Shocking ! ' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' he cried, vexed at finding the 
 stumbling-block, which he had nearly rolled up to the 
 top and kicked over the other side out of sight for ever, 
 down at the bottom of the hill again. ' I didn't mean 
 to say,' trying to twist his fingers into a hay-band, 
 ' that your mind was like my legs — oh dear me ! I've put 
 both feet in it now ! ' 
 
 Miss Jane hid her face completely, but it was to 
 conceal a smile. 
 
 Dempster smoothed his cheeks with both hands 
 and held his head for a second or two, all of him 
 gathered up in a more powerful effort to think than he 
 had ever made in his life before.
 
 DEMPSTER APOLOGISES 249 
 
 ' What can I do to make you forget ? ' lie muttered. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' he cried, after a second, pulling the book 
 from Miss Jane's face as a child might have done, ' I 
 think I'm going to have an idea.' 
 
 ' You don't mean to say so ! ' said Miss Jane, 
 leaning forward again in the same neat, pleasant way, 
 with a laugh that was almost girlish. 
 
 ' Yes, I believe I am,' said Dempster, sitting down 
 on the calves of his legs with his hands on his knees, 
 and looking up trustfully, like something in india- 
 rubber. 
 
 ' If I were to say,' he enunciated slowly, ' something 
 contradicting emphatically what you can't at present 
 forget, you might — eh — ah — forget ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 He had been about a foot from her, and he now 
 scraped along the ground on his knees until he almost 
 touched hers. 
 
 ' You might try to say something of that kind,' 
 she said, blushing, and with a little gasp. Now that it 
 seemed to be coming she was put out ; but, like a 
 brave woman having her last chance, she kept her 
 position and smiled encouragingly. 
 
 ' Might I ? Oh, thank you ! ' he cried with effusion. 
 
 Then he knitted his brows and rubbed his liend. 
 His serpentine faculty was in abeyance — these involun- 
 taries of his had to cease in order that he might onco 
 in his life attempt to think. 
 
 As for Miss Jane, she was mistaken in imagining
 
 250 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 that lie had the least notion of making lovo to her. 
 He valued her only as a friend, and had splashed into 
 tlio quicksand of a proposal of marriage without know- 
 ing it. She thouglit, however, that he only needed a 
 touch to make him bury himself, like a flounder, head 
 over ears in a declaration of love and an offer of his 
 hand and heart ; so she gave him that touch softly and 
 sweetly. 
 
 ' You said,' quoth she, ' with the utmost disdain, 
 that you would as soon think of marrying me as my 
 insolent niece.' 
 
 ' I did, I did. Can you help me to contradict ib 
 emphatically ? ' 
 
 ' I'm afraid not — dear Mr. Dempster.' 
 
 'Eh?' said he. ' Thank you.' 
 
 He felt dimly that there was something in the air — 
 diml}', as protoplasm may feel its existence. 
 
 ' Ah ! " he cried. ' Here's a kind of notion. I 
 wonder if it's an idea. Would it do to say, in order to 
 make you forget, just the opposite of what I said ? You 
 see — you understand — something like this, meaning — 
 of course, you know what I mean — nothing more, you 
 know — eh — ah ! — suppose I say, " I would far rather 
 marry you than Muriel." Is that — emphatic enough ? ' 
 
 Miss Jane bent forward, and put her head on his 
 left shoulder, and her hand on his right. 
 
 ' Mr. Dempster ! ' she said. ' Alec ! ' she sighed. 
 
 ' Eh ?— eh— ah ! '— and he had to hold her— to 
 clutch her, to save himself from falling.
 
 DEMPSTER ArOLOGISES 251 
 
 ' I'm the happiest woman in the world.' 
 ' I'm — I'm very glad of it.' 
 
 ' I never loved anybody before/ she said, so sweetly 
 that Dempster wondered. 
 
 Then she buried her face in his neck, she did, the 
 stupid, soft-hearted creature, and whispered, ' Oh, the 
 torture of wooing you for Muriel ! But now I have my 
 reward ! ' 
 
 And she did think this as she said it, although it 
 had never occurred to her before. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Dempster, feeling that the pause must 
 be filled up somehow. ' Of course,' he added, making 
 a half-hearted attempt to force her back into her chair, 
 which she mistook for a caress, ' I only suggested 
 
 the contradiction. I did not ' 
 
 But her eyes were shut, and her brain too. 
 ' I adore your modesty,' she whispered. ' Trust 
 me, trust me. I will love you till death.' 
 
 ' I'm completely stumped,' exclaimed Dempster. 
 ' Poor dear ! ' said Miss Jane, mistaking. And, 
 indeed it was pardonable, Dempster's metaphors being 
 usually marked by a curiosa infeUcitas. 
 
 Here the door opened briskly and Mrs. Cherry, the 
 housekeeper, burst into the room. 
 
 ' Losh me ! Miss Chartres ! ' she cried, as the pair 
 scrambled to their feet. 
 
 ' Mrs. Cherry,' said I\riss Jane, vs-ith great presence 
 of mind, in spite of a distinct tremor in her voice, 
 * since you have seen, I may as well tell you. Mr.
 
 252 A I'llACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 Dempster is going to marry me. But why did you come 
 iu without knocking, and what do you want ? ' 
 
 Mrs, Cherry made a dreadful mess of her story. It 
 will 1)0 clearer to the reader in a form different from 
 that which she gave to it. 
 
 The housekeeper's room was on the ground floor, 
 and directly under Muriel's sitting-room. About half- 
 past nine Mrs. Cherry's gossip, Mrs. Shaw, dropped in 
 for a chat. These two good women were widows of 
 fifty, and whatever their talk began with, it usually 
 ended in laudation of their sainted husbands. The 
 crack reached that stage about ten o'clock on the night 
 of our story, and Mrs. Shaw's panegyric was soon in 
 full bla-st. 
 
 ' Maister Shaw,' she said, twiddling her thumbs, 
 ' wis a fine man. The cliverest, godliest, brawest 
 Christian, an' a gentleman though he merrit me. He 
 could write, ay, an' coont, mind ye, for a' the warl' 
 as weel as ony bairn o' fourteen in thae' days when 
 a' body's brats gang to the schule. An' for readin' — 
 losh, wumman ! — he would sit glowerin' at a pipper 
 a niclit wi' the interestedest look in his een — 
 sae dwamt-like that ye wad hae' thocht he didna' ken 
 a word.' 
 
 ' What's that ? ' said Mrs. Cherry, starting iu her 
 chair. 
 
 ' What's what ? ' said Mrs. Shaw. 
 
 ' I thocht I heard a scart at the windy, an' some- 
 thin' gie a saft thump on the gravel.'
 
 DEMPSTEK APOLOGISES 253 
 
 ' Ne'er a bit o't. Some maukin loupiii' alang, or 
 niebbe a rotten or a moosie clawia' in the wa' tae let us 
 ken it's time sve were beddit, and the hoose quate, for 
 it tae come oot an' pike the crumbs on the flare, an 
 toast its bit broon back in the ase. I mind fine sitting 
 at oor ingle ae Januwar niclit wi" Maister Shaw, He 
 had a pipper, an' I was knittin". There was nae soond 
 but the wag-at-the-wa' tick-tickin', like an artifeecial 
 cricket with the busiest, conthiest birr, an' my wairs 
 gaun clickaty-click, when I heard a cheep, cheep. 
 Maister Shaw an' me lookit up thegither, an' there we 
 saw, sittin' on the bar foment the emp'y side — for the 
 chimbley was that big we aye keepit a fire in the half 
 o't only — the gauciest, birkiest, sleekest wratch o' a 
 moose, cockin' its roon' pukit lugs, an" keekin' by the 
 corners o' naethin' wi" its bit pints o" een. By-an"-bye 
 it gied anither chirp, an' syne we heard a kin' o" a 
 smo'ored cheepin' at the back o' the lum ; an" in a 
 gliffin' seeven wee bonny moosikies happit oot a hole 
 that naebody wad hae' thocht o' bein' there, an' 
 crooched in a raw, winkin' on their minnie. I lookit 
 at Maister Shaw, an' he turn't up his een like a deid 
 blaeck in the dumfooderdest way ; an' his pipper gied 
 the gentiest sough o' a rooshle ; an' whan we lookit at 
 the grate again we just got a glint o" the wair}^ tail o' 
 the big moose weekin' intae its hole. But lord hae' 
 mercy ! What's that ? ' 
 
 ' I tell't ye ! ' quoth ]\Irs. Cherry. 
 
 ' Gosh me ! There it's again ! '
 
 254 A rUACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 Twice a sound similar to fcliat wliicli had first startled 
 Mrs. Cherry was repeated — a slight swish past the 
 window, and a flop on the gravel. 
 
 The two old ladies sat -with their hands clasped and 
 their months open. Neither of them had the courage 
 to pull up the blind, and watch if on a third repetition 
 the sound should be accompanied by any sight. In a 
 ft'W seconds a louder, harder thud, preceded by no 
 rubbing on the window, and followed by a noise as of 
 some one running on the gravel, appalled the two old 
 dames. Screaming, they flow to the kitchen, where Mrs. 
 Cherry left her friend, and hurrying to the dining-room, 
 in her fright threw open the door without announcing 
 herself, and interrupted so interesting a tcte-d-tete. 
 
 Miss Jane, by dint of interrogation and remorseless 
 interruption, which sometimes failed in its object — that 
 of restoring to Mrs. Cherry the thread of her story — at 
 length understood, discarding a vast quantity of ii-rele- 
 vant information, that the two women had been fright- 
 ened by strange noises at the window of the housekeeper's 
 room. Shrewdly guessing as to its cause, she was 
 proceeding with Dempster to institute a formal investi- 
 gation into the mystery, when a much more incompre- 
 hensible affair met her in the hall. 
 
 This is what she saw : Lee and Briscoe carrying the 
 body of a man — who might be dead or unconscious, and 
 whose face was covered with a handkerchief — and 
 followed by a tall comely woman, sobbing bitterly. They 
 passed upstairs. Miss Jane, Dempster, and the house-
 
 DEMPSTEE APOLOGISES 255 
 
 keeper were still standing at the door of the dining-room, 
 amazed and silent, when Lee came down. 
 
 ' You must allow this to pass unquestioned at pre- 
 sent,' he said loftih'. ' It is a very serious and sorrowful 
 matter, and I would prefer to explain it to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Very well, Henry,' said Miss Jane, even more 
 loftily, ' you know your own affairs best. By-the-bye,' 
 she added, as if it were a matter of course, ' from what 
 Mrs. Cherry tells me, I think Muriel has jumped out of 
 the window.' 
 
 ' By Jove ! Where should she go ? ' 
 
 ' To the north wall, of course.' 
 
 ' To be sure.' 
 
 Snatching a riding-whip from a rack, he strode to 
 the door, but turned and said, ' This must be left entirely 
 to me — entirely,' he repeated as Miss Jane began to 
 remonstrate. 
 
 She was much huffed, but withdrew into the dining- 
 room with Dempster, and the housekeeper returned to 
 her room. 
 
 Lee had received his first check. Hitherto every- 
 body and everything had obeyed him ; but now Briscoe 
 had spoiled part of his plan. Briscoe's courage had soon 
 ebbed in the coolness of the night-air, and, instead of 
 allowing the scene to take place which Lee wished in 
 order to justify him in having Chartres bound and 
 gagged as a madman, he had made the latter insensible 
 the moment ho stepped out of the cab which had driven 
 him and Caroline from Greenock. This was done with
 
 25G A ritACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 chloroform, a botile of wliicli lie li:ul fouiul wliilo rum- 
 maging through the bedroom assigned to liiin. Caroline 
 he had quieted by assuring her that if she said one word 
 of betrayal he would at ouce })ut an end to Charbres' life — 
 a threat, which, having regard to what had already taken 
 place, she did not care to brave. 
 
 In this way Briscoe had taken the lead, reducing 
 Lee to the necessity of acting along with him for the 
 nonce.
 
 ^ 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE NIGHT BREEZE 
 
 Feank sat on tlie north wall watching the moon through 
 the leaves. Her light was faint, for the skirts of the 
 clay still swept the west. He had watched her for 
 half an hour — the pale crescent, which even in that 
 short time had seemed to wane, as her light waxed and 
 her horns grew keener on the night's front — the high 
 forlorn hope of heaven's host that could not all that 
 month drive out the day. He sat under the close 
 silence of the elm, among whose leaves there crept the 
 faint, veiled murmur of the seaboard, fingered by the 
 brooding surges as they beat out their slow, uncer- 
 t;iin, soft-swelling music. Now and again there came, 
 twining among the mellow notes of the water, from some 
 far field the corncrake's brazen call, and made the gold 
 ring stronger. These sounds, the pale moonlight, the 
 night, and the idea of Muriel, possessed him to the ex- 
 clusion of thought. Passion rendered him impassive, 
 and he waited without impatience. Slowly pealing 
 from tlie tower in Gourock, ten strokes told the liour. 
 A crackling twig, a footstep, a rustle, and I\Iuriel was 
 licside him.
 
 258 A TKACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 Nothing was said till slie had recovered her breath ; 
 then her voice, timed unconsciously to the rippling ac- 
 coiiipauiment of the waves, whispered clear, ' When 
 you liad gone, my father locked me in my room. The 
 thought of waiting-and-waiting hero all night would 
 soon have made me mad, so I got out by the win- 
 dow. T threw out a cushion, and then I was frightened. 
 Bat after a little my courage came back again, and 
 then I threw over two more, and dropped down quite 
 soft. I don't know whether any one saw or heard me ; 
 but you wanted me, and I'm here. See, I tore my 
 dress.' 
 
 He kissed her dress. 
 
 ' You must not enter your father's house again,' he 
 said. 
 
 Her breath came quick ; she took his arm, and 
 looked at him intently. 
 
 ' Do you know your father ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' He is difficult ; but I am beginning to.' 
 
 ' Then you will understand why his house is not 
 for you.' 
 
 She had only a look with which to answer, and he 
 did not think it satisfactory. 
 
 ' Tell me,' he said, ' do you understand?' 
 
 ' No ; I do not. jNfy father wants me to marry a 
 stranger, but ho cannot make me.' 
 
 'Then you do not know liim. He has no scruples; 
 he will do anything.' 
 
 ' What can he 1 ave raid to impress you so ? '
 
 THE NIGHT BREEZE 259 
 
 ' He said euougli to sliow me he has uo couscieiice, 
 aud that he looks on you as a mere puppet.' 
 
 Muriel felt as if the world were breaking up on all 
 sides. What strange new things the day had brought 
 forth; and, to crown them, flight from home seemed 
 imminent ! Sh? pressed to her side Frank's arm, and 
 with her disengaged hand smoothed the collar of his 
 coat and fastened the top button, all the while looking 
 wistfully at his set face. The ears of both were ringing 
 with their own blood, or tliev Avould have heard a 
 movement among the branches ; for at that moment 
 Lee reached the elm. His intention was to interrupt 
 at once, and get back to the ravelled skein in the 
 house; but the vision of the two lovers solaced his 
 artistic sense ; he was so near that he could hear their 
 w^hispers. Shall not an artist take delight in his own 
 work ? Chance would help him, as it had done, man- 
 fully. He would watch this scene out. Surely he held 
 the strings ; and these, his daintiest puppets, he must 
 see them play their best. 
 
 ' You must come away with me,' said Frank hoarsely. 
 ' See, I would have you what is called elope, and I am 
 scrupulous. I do not know if such an action can be 
 justified by our position even to ourselves. Your father 
 has no scruples. Conceive what he will do.' 
 
 Two incidents flashed into IMuriel's mind ; the 
 elopement of one former schoolmate, and the forced 
 marriage of another; both ending in death by heart- 
 break of the voung wives. She was auirrv at herself
 
 260 A riiACTICAI. NtiVKLIST 
 
 that tliose sliould have occurred to her. Frank aud 
 she ! — they were :i])art from tlio world. Vet she 
 whispered, ' ^'ou sun'ly exagg-erate.' 
 
 ' No ; I do not/ lie said. ' Come with me, just now. 
 We are in Scotland. 1 will marry you to-night — 
 regularly, to-morrow. Yon iioodn't fcai- ; T have plenty 
 of mono}'.' 
 
 ' Frank ! ' she cried reproachfully, ' if I thought 
 my marrying you depended on running off just now, I 
 would go although you hadn't a ^ienny.' 
 
 ' It does, it does. Step on the wall, and I will help 
 you down.' 
 
 This command, and the action which accompanied 
 it, roused her. She had not fully realised the purpose 
 that made his pleading so earnest, until he seized 
 her quickly, and lifted her towards the wall. 
 
 Lee grasped his whip tightly, and was ready for a 
 spring. 
 
 ' Put me down,' said Aluriel. 
 
 Frank hesitated for a moment. It came into his brain 
 to profess a misunderstanding of her meaning, and lift 
 her over; but looking in her eyes he blushed with 
 shame at the imagination of such a deceit. When she 
 was free she seated herself at the root of the tree, and 
 clasped her knees, gazing at vacancy. She sat for a 
 full minute. He did not interrupt her meditation. He 
 scarcely thought that she had divined his momentary 
 impulse. Nevertheless, he felt as if she had, and 
 punished himself by remaining silent and apart. He
 
 TUE NIGHT BliEEZE 2G1 
 
 watclied her face. It was a sweet perplexity. He 
 chafed to think that he could not resolve her diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 At length her brow cleared. She rose and went to 
 the wall. She looked up and down the road and over 
 her shoulder enchantingly. Then she lifted her skirts 
 over the wall and sat with her back to Frank. In a 
 second she turned round, and dropped with a little 
 laugh into the road. He sprang after her, and seized 
 her hand. Lee approached the wall, but still kept 
 himself concealed. 
 
 ' Muriel ! ' Frank whispered breathlessly. 
 
 ' Frank,' she said, giving him her hand, ' I will do 
 what you think right. That's what I meant by coming 
 over the wall — I am in your hands. But first I will 
 tell you what I think. My father wishes me to marry 
 his friend. That is all we know at present. If the 
 time should come when I must either obey my father 
 or fly with you, you know what I would do. But I do 
 not see that that time can ever come.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said he. ' But if your father should give you 
 this alternative — either to marry his friend or remain 
 single ? ' 
 
 ' I was coming to that, althouoii it seems too ridicu- 
 lous to be likely. Well, we would elope.' 
 
 There was silence for several seconds. Unwittingly 
 they had to accustom themselves to the changed en- 
 vironment, although the difierence was slight. Their 
 natures were so quickened, so responsive, that soon a
 
 202 A I'lvACTicAL >;i)\1';lis'1' 
 
 perfect iiccord existed between tlieiii and I lie lattlceless 
 nioonbeanis, tlie wide, open night, and tlie undeadencd 
 music of the surges. 'Jliey crossed the road in order to 
 be wlioll}- free of tlie shade of the I'liii, net thinking 
 wliy they did so. Lee, on liis knees behind tlie wall, 
 watched them wilh glowing eyes. 
 
 At length 1^'rank said, ' Vou are here ; you are 
 beautiful ; you are hopeful ; and you make me hopeful 
 too. I have dreamt so long of having you that I cannot, 
 with you beside me, imagine our not being married. 
 But I force myself to remember your father's determined 
 tone, liis cold-blooded sophistries. I heard the worst, 
 most insolent, most foul, most damnable ' 
 
 ' Frank ! ' 
 
 ' Most foolish talk fall from your father's lips about 
 you, Muriel. It is horrible to talk to you in this way ; 
 but I tremble when I think of your being left to your 
 father's tender mercies. Listen. I have ckallengfed 
 him to keep you from me, and he has accepted the 
 challenge. I regret it now. He said that ho would 
 use every means ; that he was always armed to the 
 teeth ; so I resolved at once to run away with you, and 
 dared him. I have been rash — or should I save you in 
 spite of yourself ? ' 
 
 She looked at the ground, working with both hands 
 at the buttons of her dress. He had described her 
 mental condition as well as his own. His presence had 
 cast into the shade the recollection of her talk with 
 Lee. The threat contained in what Lee had said about
 
 THE NIGHT BEEEZE 203 
 
 ' coming to the point and never returning to it ' now 
 assumed portentous shape in her fancy, quickened by 
 Frank's forebodings ; and the happy, trustful, resolved 
 expression which her face had worn when she climbed 
 over the wall gave place to one of wretched doubt. 
 
 Frank, watching lier closely, would not take advan- 
 tage of her wavering mood, and refrained from word 
 or action. His whole endeavour had been to overcome 
 her repugnance to an elopement ; yet when it was 
 sliaken, he made no attempt to improve the occasion. 
 He felt that to do so would be like striking a man when 
 he is down. What he aimed at was to make her throw 
 him the reins and be passive. This she had seemed to 
 do when she went over the wall, but the surrender had 
 not been absolute. 
 
 ' I am puzzled,' she said hastily, knitting her brows 
 at the moon. ' I cannot decide. I shall tell you how I 
 am thinking, and then, perhaps, I shall find out what it 
 is right to think. It is clearer to think aloud. Elope- 
 ment ! It is a bad, vulgar thing. It would be in all the 
 papers — forgive me, love ! I am thinking that way. I 
 can't help it. People would joke about it as long as we 
 lived. My father would never forgive me. Frank — 
 Frank Hay ! I love him, and he loves me. My father 
 doesn't love me. Frank wants me to elope. What would 
 it matter about newspapers and society when we were 
 married? I am a foolish girl. It always comes round 
 to this : would it be right just now ? Could it ever be 
 right ? Here I am in the road. You must decide.'
 
 20i A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 This was spoken witli extraordinary empliasis, and 
 at a great rate of speed ; and wlien it was done the 
 trouble passed ofF her face. It settled on his. He 
 pushed his hat from his forehead, thrust his hands into 
 his pockets, confronting her, and said, ' I hoped for 
 this, and intended to carry you ofi'in triumph. What- 
 ever withholds me, I cannot.' 
 
 Vacillation is not always the sign of a weak nature. 
 The wind veers round the compass, and then the gale 
 sets in steadily. Frank had never been on suck a high 
 sea of moral difficulty before. He had some crew of 
 principles ; but they were not able-bodied, having slept 
 for the most part through the plain sailing of his life. 
 When the storm came the drowsy helmsman. Conscience, 
 started up rubbing his blinking eyes; and Will, the 
 captain, had no order to give. 
 
 He climbed the wall, and held down his hands 
 to ;^furiel. She put one foot in a little hole; he pulled 
 her up ; and they were again under the elm, Lee barely 
 escaping discovery. 
 
 Now, just at the instant Frank gave Muriel his 
 hands, and she clambered up the wall with the grace 
 of a wild thing and the necessary free movements; just 
 when her panting body was in his arms, and her breath 
 upon his face, there came out of the south one long, 
 gentle, trembling, warm sigh, bearing a burden of 
 subtle odour from the half-reaped hay fields, and 
 making the trees shiver with delight through all their 
 happy branches, and the sap swell and trickle to the
 
 THE NIGHT BKEEZE 265 
 
 very tips of the downiest twigs. It was Summer 
 kissing Nature in tlie night. Frank and Muriel were 
 caught in the contagion. Passion whirled round their 
 hearts that had been held by consciences alike inex- 
 perienced, and the poor helmsmen were overset. 
 Their blood rattled along their veins like uncontrolled 
 rudder-chains. He lifted her over ; and, taking her in 
 his arms again when he joined her in the road, started 
 to carry her. They would be married that night. 
 
 A long shadow thrown suddenly across the road 
 arrested him, and immediately a tall figure stood up 
 in the moonlight. He set Muriel on her feet behind 
 him, and faced Lee. 
 
 ' Mr. Chartres ! ' he exclaimed hoarsely. 
 ' You wished,' said Lee, handing him the riding- 
 whip, ' for an opportunity to horsewhip me.' 
 
 ' Villain ! ' cried Frank savagely, seizing the whip. 
 He raised it to strike. His rage was simply that of a 
 foiled animal. 
 
 ' Haven't you got over that bad habit of calling 
 names yet ? ' said Lee with a smile, as he caught the 
 hand that held the descending whip. Frank shifted it 
 to the other hand, which Lee grasped as quickly. Thus 
 Lee held by the wrist a hand of Frank's in each of his. 
 Muriel uttered a little scream and fell on her knees. 
 She kept her eyes fixed on the whip. It jerked about 
 overhead for a few seconds and fell to the ground. 
 Then she looked at the men. Their arms vv'ere locked 
 round each other. They staggered about and knocked
 
 2GG A J'KACTK'AL NOVELIST 
 
 against the wall. She heard them breathing hard. 
 She held her own breath. She had scarcely begun to 
 think what would be the upshot when Frank fell with 
 a thud on his back, and Lee stood over hiiu whip in 
 hand. 
 
 ' You have killed him ! ' she screamed, starting to 
 her feet, and rushing to her prostrate lover. 
 
 ' Hardly,' said Lee, throwiug the whip away, rather 
 ostentatiously, as he stepped aside to let Frank 
 rise. He got up looking very unheroic ; indeed, de- 
 cidedly sheepish. Lee folded his arms, paler, if any- 
 thing, than the other, and said, ' I won't ask you to try 
 another fall. I think I am just twice as strong as you. 
 I mean this to be a lesson. If you are wise, you will 
 not attempt to struggle with me in anything.' 
 
 Frank stood with his eyes fixed on the ground, his 
 self-esteem had fallen with his body ; Muriel had seen 
 him beaten, 
 
 Lee, resting a hand on JMuriel's shoulder, and forcing 
 her to stand beside him when she shrank away, said 
 gaily, ' She is really a splendid girl, this daughter of 
 mine. How handsome she looks just now ! You must 
 be chagrined horribly when you think that you almost 
 had her. My dear boy, I pity you sincerely. I don't 
 know exactly what course you should follow. It would 
 be very striking, certainly, if you were to go off and 
 drown yourself at once ; but I don't think you'll do that. 
 For myself I would prefer that you shouldn't. I like 
 you too well, and hope that you will continue to play a
 
 THE NIGHT BEEEZE 2G7 
 
 part ill our story. Perhaps you might take to drink. 
 That's a good idea. Go in for dissipation ; tliere's 
 nothing like it for the cure of romance. Unworldly 
 diseases need worldly remedies. And 3-et that's too 
 common, especially with lady novelists. I believe you'll 
 hit on some bright course of your own, for you're a 
 capital collaborateur. I must thank you and Muriel for 
 this scene. I've witnessed it all. Oh, yon needn't be 
 ashamed ! ' for Frank shut his eyes tightly, and Muriel 
 hid her f\ice in her hands. ' You're most delio-htful 
 young people. The way you answered at once to that 
 soft, warm gust charmed me, charmed me. I under- 
 stand it all perfectly. I also am at one with nature. 
 Well, good night. Come, Muriel.' 
 
 Taking her hand he moved toward the wall. She 
 looked over her shoulder to catch a glance from Frank, 
 but his eyes were still fixed on the ground, and he 
 stood motionless. Quick as a fawn she leapt from Lee's 
 side, and throwing her arms round Frank's neck, cried 
 out loud in a tone mingled of anguish and pity and 
 passion, ' I love you ! ' and he, reanimated by that shout, 
 whispered as Lee snatched her away, ' I'll watch here 
 all night.' That gave her new hope too. She wonld 
 come to him by some means or other ; and she felt so 
 contented as Lee helped her over the wall, and led her 
 in silence to the house, that she wondered at herself.
 
 268 A PRACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 It was neai-ly eleven o'clock. Lee, Briscoe, Miss Jane, 
 Dempster and Muriel were all in the dining-room, and 
 Dempster w^as making a speech. It will possibly never 
 be known whether Miss Jane put him up to it or not ; 
 if she did she regretted it before he was half done. 
 
 ' Ladies and gentlemen,' he began, with turgid 
 tongue and desiccated throat, ' you are surprised that I 
 should wish at this late hour to detain you with any- 
 thing in the shape of a formal speech, however informal 
 it may be.' The introductory sentence had been pre- 
 pared. ' But,' he continued, staunching a wriggle, ' I — • 
 I have something to say. Mr. Chartres, I am neither 
 a Communist nor a Nihilist ' — this was to have been a 
 side flourish, but out it came first — ' still I would like 
 to remark, in reference to a talk we had this afternoon, 
 that I am of opinion that, if fortunes were things to be 
 inherited by everybody, it might on the whole be better 
 — eh — ah — or worse for society, taking into consideration 
 the fact that wealth produces idleness, and idleness folly, 
 and — eh — ah — sin, it might be better that most people 
 should have to make their fortunes. Eh — ah — I am
 
 CONCLUSIO-N 269 
 
 overwhelmed with a feeling such as one experiences 
 when one gets something one didn't expect. Comfort, 
 Mr. Chartres, is the greatest necessity of existence — I 
 mean that to be comfortable is always of the greatest 
 consequence, indeed, I may say, the very backbone — 
 eh — ah — of comfort.' 
 
 Now there is never the remotest necessity for 
 speech-making, at least in private, although it is daily 
 perpetrated, and unfailingly by wholly incompetent 
 parties. It is like singing in this respect ; only those 
 who cannot care to perform. Human nature will never 
 get past it; for there is a law which ordains that what- 
 ever one is unfit for must be attempted, especially out 
 of season. What one can't do is the all-important 
 thing. So Dempster reeled on, undeterred by the blank 
 looks of his auditors, and an ominous sparkle in Miss 
 Jane's eye — his body a mere thoroughfare of uninter- 
 rupted transmigration for the spirits of all things that 
 crawl and squirm and twist and wriggle. 
 
 ' And I am now, I am happy to say, exceedingly 
 comfortable. After Muriel refused me I was like a ship 
 in a storm, and so I put into the first port — eh — ah — 
 I mean that I have found a comfortable haven, and 
 I am sure Jane will make a very good wife.' 
 
 Amazement stared from every eye, including Miss 
 Jane's. She tried to simper in a dignified manner — but 
 what was the man saying ? 
 
 ' She is like old wine — eh — ah ' — he felt Miss 
 Jane's eyes scorching him like Imrning-glasses. 'The
 
 270 A ]M^\CTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 ditll'renrc iK'twcon uuv ages — eli — ah — ' ho was now per- 
 spiring fre't'ly. ' The disadvantage of marrying a girl 
 like INFu rid is. tliaf when she grows old' — ho made a 
 little halt licre, but ho was too far gone to draw back ; 
 over he went, head first — ' when she grows old one 
 would miss her beauty. The great advantage is that 
 one can never miss what has never been there, and — I'll 
 not be interrupted ! ' mopping his head, and gyrating 
 fiercely ; but not daring to meet again Miss Jane's eye, 
 one full glance of which had been more than enough. 
 
 ' There's nobody interrupting you, my dear Mr. 
 Dempster,' said Lee. ' But is it true that you are going 
 to marry my sister ? ' 
 
 ' It is — I am ! ' defiantly, as if he were challenging 
 himself to take so much as one step in an opposite 
 direction. 
 
 ' I'm very glad. An episode of this kind is refresh- 
 ing. So unlikely too ! One daren't have introduced it 
 into written fiction ; but here it has cropped up most 
 beautifully in our little creation. Really, I am much 
 obliged to you both. Now yon must allow me to go 
 upstairs and attend to the matters there.' 
 
 As soon as Lee had reached the house with Muriel 
 he had gone straight to the room in which Henry 
 Chartres lay ; but when he was about to enter, a swift 
 descending step on the stair caught his ear, and drew 
 him away just in time to intercept Briscoe, who had 
 finally determined that, wherever he might go, he must 
 leave Snell House that night. Lee peremptorily bade
 
 CONCLUSION 271 
 
 him stay, or he would accuse him of robbery, and send 
 in pursuit ; and Briscoe was forced to submit, Lee had 
 been about to ascend the stair again, when Dempster 
 importunately demanded his presence in the dining- 
 room. The latter having made his remarkable commu- 
 nication, Lee intended to arrange with Briscoe some 
 definite plan of action ; but another delay took place. 
 
 On opening the door of the dining-room, Lee was 
 met by Clacher, whom everybody had forgotten. 
 
 ' Good evening,' said Clacher, doing it ' Englified,' 
 and walking into the room. His face was streaming 
 with perspiration ; his eyes were wild with drink and 
 insanity ; his hair hung in wisps about his face. 
 
 ' Ladies and gentlemen, I am Robert Chartres,' he 
 said. He had remembered what he wanted to do ' Engli- 
 fied.' 
 
 ' I am bonnie Prince Charlie too,' he added, after a 
 pause. ' I don't understand it. I'm afraid I'm mad 
 but I'm not a fool. I am Robert Chartres.' 
 
 Everybody looked at Lee. 
 
 He said, ' I don't remember being so intensely in- 
 terested in my life. How can you possibly hope to 
 succeed in this imposture, Clacher ? ' 
 
 ' You're an imposture,' cried Clacher fiercely, stag- 
 gering a little. ' I'm mad, but Lm no jist a fule, an' 
 naebody daur harm me. Ach ! ' he hissed, grinding his 
 teeth and shaking his wild hair, enraged at himself for 
 failing to do it ' Englified.' ' I am Robert Chartres,' he 
 shouted, throwing back his head. ' The estate's en-
 
 272 A riiAOTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 tailed, and it's mine. I'm bonnie Prince Charlie, too,' 
 lie added, more quietly. 
 
 ' Take a seat,' said Lee. ' Let us all sit down again.' 
 
 Claclu'r slunibled into a cliair. Miss Jane forgave 
 Dempster with her eyes, and they sat on a couch to- 
 gether. Muriel stood beside a window with one hand 
 wrapped in the curtain. Briscoe sat opposite Lee, who 
 throw himself back on a large chair on one side of the 
 fireplace. Clacher's chair was against the wall, not 
 far from the door. 
 
 ' Jane,' said Lee, ' 1 find no resemblance between 
 this gentleman and Robert. Do yon ? ' 
 
 ' Not the slightest,' said Miss Jane. 
 
 ' Do yon, Muriel ? ' 
 
 ' None.' 
 
 ' Well, friend,' said Lee, turning to Clacher. ' AVhat 
 have yon to say, now ? ' 
 
 ' I am Robert Chartres.' 
 
 ' But none of us recognise yon. Recall yourself to 
 our memories in some way.' 
 
 ' Oh, I'm bonnie Prince Charlie too.' 
 
 ' That only indicates that you are mad ; and a very 
 ordinary madness it is. I am sure there are two or 
 three bonnie Prince Charlies in every lunatic asylum 
 in Scotland.' 
 
 ' I'm mad, an' naebody daur harm me,' growled 
 Clacher. 
 
 ' You remember Robert's escapade when he was a 
 bov, Henry ? ' said IMiss Jnn :\
 
 COXCLUSION 27u 
 
 ' To which do you refer ? There were so many,' 
 said Lee. 
 
 ' Oh, not so very many,' said Miss Jane. ' I mean 
 the Inverkip Glen affair.' 
 
 ' I can't say I do remember it.' 
 
 'Oh, you must. You weren't here at the time; 
 but you knew all about it.' 
 
 Lee sat up, and swiftly changed his look of anxiety 
 into a far-reaching glance at the j)ast. 
 
 ' Ah, yes ! ' he said, dropping back in his chair 
 again. 
 
 ' Clacher must have heard about it,' said Miss 
 Jane. 
 
 ' I shouldn't wonder,' said Lee. ' Clacher, do you 
 know about the Inverkip Glen affair ? ' 
 
 ' Of course. I'm Robert Chartres. I'm Clacher 
 too, and Bonnie Prince Charlie. I don't know how.' 
 
 'Then,' said Lee, 'just tell us about it. Your 
 acquaintance with it may be evidence of your identity.' 
 
 ' The Inverkip Glen business ? ' said Clacher. 
 ' A'body kens that. Damn ! ' he growled at the Scotch. 
 
 ' Let us see, now,' said Lee. ' Have you any de- 
 tails that could only be known to Robert and his 
 family ? ' 
 
 ' Inverkip Glen,' said Clacher. ' When I was four- 
 teen or thereabouts, I went away wi' a wheen laddies 
 an' hid in it for twa-three days. I ca'ed mysel' Prince 
 Charlie, an' the ithers wis cheeftans — Lochiel an' 
 Glengarry, ye ken. We fought the servants that wis 
 
 X
 
 274 A rUACTR'AL NoVi'lLIST 
 
 sent tae bring us haine, nn they had tae send the polls 
 tae fetch us.' 
 
 This was spoken very haltingly, and ended with a 
 savage oath at his own inability to speak correctly. 
 
 ' He could have learned all that in the village,' said 
 Miss Jane. 
 
 Lee rose, leant gracefully against the mantelpiece, 
 and addressed Clacher. 
 
 ' Clacher,' he said, ' you have unwittingly under- 
 taken a work of art, and for that you deserve high 
 commendation. You have aspired ; you have done your 
 best. That is sufficient. Success is the only failure. 
 A compassable aim is an inferior one. Ideals cease to 
 be when realised. Better succeed in a constant en- 
 deavour after the highest, than fail in aspiration to 
 achieve a result as splendid as any which history 
 records. These platitudes are not by any means beside 
 the question, although you don't understand them.' 
 
 Here Lee shifted from his easy pose, and stood 
 firmly on his feet. 
 
 ' Whatever besides madness,' he continued, ' may 
 have led you to attempt this imposture, is no concern 
 of mine. I am only sorry for your sake and my own 
 that you cannot continue it further. Variety, if not 
 the soul, is certainly the body of fiction. I hope that, 
 although you must go out of our story shortly, at least 
 in your present capacity, you, or some one else in 
 your sphere of life, may be enmeshed in this web of 
 circumstance which I help fate to weave. My brother
 
 CONCLUSION 275 
 
 Robert is at present upstairs. He arrived here this 
 
 evening. 
 
 Lee looked at all his auditors severally, thoroughly 
 enjoying the effect of this extraordinary news. 
 
 ' dear ! dear ! ' cried Clacher weakly, tedding 
 his hair and fidgeting on his seat. ' Naebody daur 
 harm me, I'm mad.' 
 
 ' Set your mind at rest, Clacher. Nobody will 
 attempt to harm you.' 
 
 ' Jane,' he continued, ' it was our unfortunate 
 brother ^whom we carried upstairs this evening. The 
 woman was his wife.' 
 
 Briscoe gasped; but the practical novelist pro- 
 ceeded, smiling, and proud of his ingenuit}". 
 
 ' He has been going by the name of Lee, Maxwell 
 Lee,' he said, staring down Briscoe ; ' and makes a scanty 
 living by his pen. His wife is a noble woman, and will 
 not admit his madness ; but that he is mad no one else 
 can have any doubt, because the poor fellow imagines 
 that he is me. I will tell you his whole history to- 
 morrow, as far as I know it. I hadn't the remotest idea 
 
 he was in Scotland until he appeared to-night ' 
 
 The droning of a bagpipe not far off, a strange sound 
 at that time of night and in the neighbourhood, inter- 
 rupted him. A very unskilful attempt at a pibroch 
 succeeded, and as the playing grew more distinct it 
 was evident that the performer approached the house. 
 Muriel raised the window-sash, and the tuneless 
 screaming ceased. Hesitating steps on the gravel were 
 
 T 2
 
 276 A PEACTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 theu heard. They stoi^ped opposite the window, and a 
 
 higli, cracked male voice quavered out the first verse 
 
 of Glen's pathetic ballad, ' Wae's me for Prince 
 
 Charlie ' :— 
 
 ' A wee bird cam tae oor ha' door, 
 He warbl't sweet an' cleai-ly ; 
 An' aye the o'crcomc o' bis sang 
 Was " Wae's me for I'rince Cliarlie." 
 
 I when I heard the bonnie, bonnie bird, 
 The tears came drappin' rarely ; 
 
 1 took my bonnet off my head, 
 For well 1 lo'ed Prince Charlie ! ' 
 
 The voice broke entirely at the last line. Said Lee' 
 ' We'll bring this minstrel in,' and left the room. In 
 a few seconds he returned accompanied by a strange 
 figure. It was that of an old man dressed in a ragged 
 Highland costume. His kilt was of the Stuart tartan. 
 His black jacket had been garnished with brass 
 buttons ; but of them only a few hung here and there? 
 withered and mouldy ; and numerous little tufts of 
 thread on pocket-lids and cuffs and breast showed 
 whence their companions had been shed. His sporran 
 was half-denuded of hair. His hose were holed, and 
 the uppers were parting company with the soles of his 
 shoes. A black feather adorned in a very broken- 
 backed manner his Glengarry bonnet. His pipes he 
 had left in the hall. 
 
 There was nothing remarkable in the dress. Such 
 are to be seen any day in the Trongate of Glasgow, the 
 Canongate of Edinburgh, at fairs, or wherever the 
 wandering piper may turn a penny. It was the bear-'
 
 CONCLUSION 277 
 
 ino- of the wearer and the cast of his countenance 
 which commanded attention. As he entered the room 
 he threw back his head, inclining it a little to the left 
 side ; his dim grey eyes lightened fitfully, and his gait 
 had something of majesty. He advanced slowly, but 
 without hesitation, and took the seat Lee had 
 vacated. 
 
 Of all those in the room Clacher's face indicated the 
 greatest interest. 
 
 ' Friends,' said the newcomer, keeping on his bonnet, 
 and shaking back his long grey hair, which hung 
 almost to his shoulders, ' I can trust you. " Nowhere 
 beats the heart so kindly as beneath the tartan plaid." 
 You haven't the tartans on, and that is right, for they 
 might betray you. There's a law against the tartan. 
 I wear it in defiance of the law.' 
 
 ' Wha are ye, man ? ' cried Clacher, his face under- 
 going a sudden illumination. 
 
 ' Do you not know me ? ' said the stranger. ' You will 
 be true. It is a great sum. Ten thousand pounds. 
 All my own friends have forgotten me. It is strange, 
 strange. I am changed, I know. I am Bonnie Prince 
 Charlie.' 
 
 ' Ha, ha ! ' screamed Clacher, ' ha, ha, ha ! ' 
 
 ' Two of them,' whispered Dempster to himself, rigid 
 with amazement. 
 
 ' You astonish me,' said Lee with perfect com- 
 posure. 
 
 ' It is sad, 1 know, I sleep in the woods, and visit
 
 278 A i'KALTlCAL NOVELLST 
 
 the towns at niglit. My home is in the bracken. I 
 remember I lived here in Torty-five. I thought I 
 would revisit the old place to-nig-lit. Is not this Scone 
 Palace ? ' 
 
 ' No ; this is Snell House.' 
 
 ' Ah ! I lived there too, once. But can you tell me 
 this. Why do they accuse me of unfoithfulness ? 
 " Flora, when thou wert beside me ! " Oh, her eyes 
 were warm and mild like the summer, and her voice 
 made me weep. It is shameful what they say about 
 me. I never loved another.' 
 
 Clacher, looking absolutely hideous in his excite- 
 ment, rushed from his chair, oversetting a small table, 
 and planting himself firmly before the wondering piper, 
 shouted, ' You are Bonnie Prince Charlie ? ' 
 
 ' I am. Do me no harm.' 
 
 ' Then you are Robert Chartres, and you did not 
 commit suicide.' 
 
 ' I am hungry,' said the Prince. 
 
 Clacher pulled from his breast-pocket the crumpled 
 letter he had studied so devoutly in the library, and 
 handing it to Miss Jane, cried : ' It's a' up noo'. I 
 took that letter frae Maister Willum Chartres's pooch 
 whan I fand his corp'. Head it, an' ye'll ken my plot. 
 Gosh, it was a mad yin ! Oh, I'm no jist a fule ! 
 Naebody daur harm me. An' you, ye scoon'erel,' he 
 screamed, springing behind Leo, and pinning his arras 
 to his body with a hug like a bear's, ' ye're mad, ye're 
 mad. I've turn't the tables on ye, I'm thinking.'
 
 CONCLUSION 279 
 
 Lee struggled strongly ; but Briscoe came to 
 Claclier's help. 
 
 ' Peter ! ' exclaimed Lee. 
 
 'It's all up, as Claclier says, Every man for him- 
 self,' muttered Briscoe. But he wouldn't look Lee in 
 the face. 
 
 ' You've spoiled a great scene, Peter,' was all Lee 
 
 said. 
 
 ' And who is the man upstairs ? ' asked Muriel, 
 advancing from the window. 
 
 ' You'll get the key of the bedroom in which he is 
 in this pocket,' said Briscoe, indicating by an uncouth 
 gesture a pocket in his coat, as he did not wish to 
 release his hold on Lee. 
 
 Muriel took the key and left the room. 
 
 Miss Jane read and re-read the letter given her by 
 Clacher, and was still considering it when Muriel 
 returned with her father. He was not long awake, 
 and had to be supported by his daughter. Miss Jane 
 recognised him at once and kissed his cheek. There 
 was no exclaiming. When they came out of it they 
 would know from their exhaustion how excited they 
 had been. The tears stood in Muriel's eyes, and her 
 face was very pale, but serenity marked every linea- 
 ment. 
 
 ' Where is Mrs. Lee ? ' asked Henry Chartres when 
 he had got seated. 
 
 At that moment Caroline entered the room. She 
 had romainod in th.o l)edroom Loo had a]ipropriatcd,
 
 280 A riLVCTICAL NOVELIST 
 
 afraid lest her interference might precipitate some rash 
 act on the part of her liusband or her brother ; but the 
 bagpipes, tlio singing, tlio opening and shutting of 
 doors, and the loud voices downstairs intimated a crisis 
 of some kind, and she had concluded at_last to have a 
 share in it, hoping to prevent disaster to her husband, 
 as she judged from the noise that his control of cir- 
 cumstances had come to an end. As Caroline entered, 
 the two gardeners and the coachman appeared at the 
 door, Muriel having sent for them at her father's 
 request. 
 
 Muriel looked at Mrs. Lee for a second or two as if 
 debating some question with herself, and then noise- 
 lessly left the room. She couldn't keep Frank waiting 
 any longer. 
 
 ' Maxwell Lee,' said Henry Chartres, ' for your 
 wife's sake you go scot free. She has told me all about 
 you. As for you, Peter Briscoe, your present action 
 shows what you are. Take him and duck him well in 
 the horse-pond.' 
 
 The coachman and the gardeners, nothing loath, 
 approached Briscoe; but Lee, having regained his 
 liberty, put himself before his brother-in-law in an 
 attitude of defence. 
 
 ' I beg you, sir, not to insist on this,' he said in a 
 passion of intercession ; ' it is mere revenge. I entreat 
 you.' 
 
 ' But he betrayed you,' said Chartres. 
 
 ' Well, I suppose the world puts it that way. But
 
 CONCLUSION 28X 
 
 lie merely acted independently and without due con- 
 sideration. That has been the fault of this work all 
 along : the principal collaborateurs have been too fre- 
 quently out of harmony. Since he has chosen to bring 
 our story to a sudden end in this way, I have no right 
 to complain. Do not damage your character for mag- 
 nanimity which these events have developed so remark- 
 ably — a result very gratifying to me — by a petty 
 revenge on my brother-in-law.' 
 
 Chartres signed to the servants to retire. ' You 
 are a strange man,' he said. 
 
 ' ]\Iiss Chartres,' said Lee, ' in token that you 
 cherish no deep-rooted feeling against me, will you 
 oblige me by reading that letter ? ' 
 
 Miss Jane looked at her brother ; he assented, and 
 she read : — 
 
 ' My dear William, — You will be astonished, not 
 very agreeably, I am afraid, to learn that I am still in 
 the land of the living. I have been in a state of abject 
 poverty for years. I will not trouble you with the par- 
 ticulars of my wretched career. I have burnt up my 
 stomach with drink. Insanity has addled my brain. I am 
 a beggar, and go about the country — I am ashamed to 
 say it for your sake — playing the bagpipes. In my mad 
 fits I have repeatedly tried to commit suicide. At 
 present I am quite sane ; the only difficulty I have is 
 to reconcile my being Eobert Chartres with the fact 
 that I am also Bonnie Prince Charlie, I write this in 
 London ; and I am going to start at once and at last to
 
 282 A TEACTICAL K0VELI8T 
 
 try and come to you. It wonltl be better to kill myself; 
 but I am too great a coward wlicu I am sane. I want 
 to enjoy comfort once more before I die. 1 f I do not 
 reach you witliin a month after this letter, 1 think you 
 may conclude that I am dead. 
 
 'I am, your brother, 
 
 ' Robert Ciiahtke8.' 
 
 All eyes turned on the writer of the letter. He 
 was fast asleep in his chair, smiling like a child. 
 
 ' Briscoe,' said Lee, you recognised and submitted 
 to the dei(s ex machind at once. I would have fousrht 
 longer, and might yet have conquered. I am sorry 
 the conclusion is so inartistic, so improbable. There is 
 nothing more absurd than reality. Clacher, my fine 
 fellow, you played a bold game ; as the attempt of a 
 mad rascal it was very fair. What a lot of mad people 
 there are ! How small the world is ! Ah ! ' he cried, 
 as Frank and Muriel entered, ' my good lovers ! I 
 believe you are even now thanking me for my oppo- 
 sition.' 
 
 ' Who is this young gentleman ? ' asked Mr. 
 Chartres. 
 
 ' Oh ! I found him at the north wall ; I knew he 
 would be there,' said Muriel, radiant, and scarcely 
 knowing what she said. 
 
 ' Do you frequently find young gentlemen and bring 
 them here in this way ? '
 
 CONCLUSION 283 
 
 ' Oh, papa ! His name is Frank Hay, and we are 
 going to be married.' 
 
 ' I have never seen your like, Muriel,' said Lee, 
 leaving the room. Briscoe followed him, bestowing a 
 surly nod on Dempster. But Caroline before she 
 went timidly kissed the hand of the injured man. 
 
 THE END 
 
 pnixTKD HY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STIIEET SQIIAIIB 
 lOXDOX
 
 5
 
 PEEFEEVID. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY HARRY FURNISS. 
 
 2s. 6d. 
 
 XLbc Uinxcs, 
 
 • We do not laugh at Ninian, but with him. The 
 reason is that he is young, handsome, fascinating, of 
 brilhant mental power, and, above all, rejoices in what 
 seldom goes along with moonstruck ambition, a keen 
 relish for practical joking.' 
 
 Ube Scotsman* 
 
 ' Many things suggest that it is meant as a book for 
 boys ; but its fun is fresh enough and hearty enough to 
 amuse older readers.' 
 
 (Blascow IF^eral^ 
 
 ' A more fascinating story for boys, or for those who 
 are not too old to remember their boyhood, has rarely 
 been written. The volume . . . will make a place for 
 itself.'
 
 2 PEBFERVID—PBESS OPINIONS. 
 
 /Il>ancbc3tcr GuarMan. 
 
 ' It is quite certain that anyone who roads the first 
 chapter will read on to the end of the book without 
 skipping a Hne.' 
 
 xrbc Speaker. 
 
 * Sincerely and engagingly human ; and while it makes 
 you laugh — even at the very moment when it makes 
 you laugh — it comes perilously near to making you weep 
 also.' 
 
 tibe Movl^» 
 
 ' Cleverly written Mr. John Davidson's book certainly 
 is, and the scenes between the Provost of Mintern and 
 Cosmo Mortimer are extremely comical.' 
 
 XTbc BcaDcinv?. 
 
 ' Mr. Davidson has indisputably the gift of style.' 
 
 Htbetta:um. 
 
 ' For those who can enjoy the absolutely grotesque — 
 a prose extravaganza somewhat in the Gilbertian style — 
 the career of Ninian Jameson will provide a good deal 
 of amusement.'
 
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