BETTEE DEAD 
 
PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 LONDON 
 
BETTEE DEAD 
 
 BT 
 
 J. M. BAEEIE 
 
 AUTUOii OF 'AULD LICHT IDYLLS' 'A WINDOW IN TUHUMB' KVC. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 iWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO., Ld. 
 
 PATERNOSTER SQUARE 
 1903 
 
First Edition, November 1887 ; Second Edition, December 
 1887 ; Third Edition, April 1891 ; Fourth Edition, June 1891 ; 
 Fifth Edition, July 1891 ; Sixth Edition, February 1892 ; 
 Seventh Edition, March 1896 ; Eighth Edition, July 1903. 
 

 MAtAJ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. 
 
 » PAOB 
 
 Engaged? •••€••! 
 
 II. 
 
 The S. D. W. S. p. ? • . . . 13 
 
 III. 
 
 The Great Social Question? . , 36 
 
 IV. 
 
 Woman's Rights? • . . , . 58 
 
 V. 
 
 Dynamiters? • » • * .. . 80 
 
 VI. 
 
 A Celebrity at Home ? . • . .92 
 
 VII. 
 
 Experimenting? . • . •. . 107 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A Lost Opportunity ? . , . .117 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Root of the Matter? , . . 130 
 
 X. 
 
 The Old Old Story? . . , .141 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/betterdeadOObarrrich 
 
BETTEE DEAD. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 When Andrew Eiach went to London, his 
 intention was to become private secretary 
 to a member of the Cabinet. If time 
 permitted, he proposed writing for the 
 Press. 
 
 * It might be better if you and Clarrie 
 understood each other,' the minister 
 said. 
 
 It was their last night together. They 
 faced each other in the manse-parlour at 
 Wheens, whose low, peeled ceiling had 
 threatened Mr. Eassie at his desk every 
 
 B 
 
2 Better Dead 
 
 time he looked up with his pen in his 
 mouth until his wife died, when he ceased 
 to notice things. The one picture on the 
 walls, an engraving of a boy in velveteen, 
 astride a tree, entitled, * Boyhood of Bun- 
 yan,' had started life with him. The horse- 
 hair chairs were not torn, and you did not 
 require to know the sofa before you sat 
 down on it that day thirty years before, 
 when a chubby minister and his lady 
 walked to the manse between two cart- 
 loads of furniture, trying not to look 
 elated. 
 
 Clarrie rose to go, when she heard her 
 name. The love-light was in her eyes, 
 but Andrew did not open the door for her, 
 for he was a Scotch graduate. Besides, 
 she might one day be his wife. 
 
 The minister's toddy-ladle clinked 
 against his tumbler, but Andrew did not 
 
Better Dead 3 
 
 speak; Clarrie was the girl he generally 
 adored. 
 
 ' As for Clarrie,' he said at last, ' she 
 puts me in an awkward position. How 
 do I know that I love her .? ' 
 
 ^ You have known each other a long 
 time,' said the minister. 
 
 His guest was cleaning his pipe with a 
 hair-pin, that his quick eye had detected 
 on the carpet. 
 
 ' And she is devoted to you,' continued 
 Mr. Eassie. 
 
 The young man nodded. 
 
 *What I fear,' he said, Ms that we 
 have known each other too long. Per- 
 haps my feeling for Clarrie is only bro- 
 therly ' 
 
 ^Hers for you, Andrew, is more thau 
 sisterly.' 
 
 ' Admitted. But consider, Mr. Eassie, 
 
 b2 
 
4 Better Dead 
 
 jshe has only seen the world in soirees. 
 Every girl has her day-dreams, and Clarrie 
 has perhaps made a dream of me. She is 
 impulsive, given to idealisation, and hope- 
 lessly illogical.' 
 
 The minister moved uneasily in his 
 chair. 
 
 * I have reasoned out her present re- 
 lation to me,' the young man went on, 
 * and, the more you reduce it to the usual 
 formulae, the more illogical it becomes. 
 Clarrie could possibly describe me, but 
 define me — never. What is our prospect 
 of happiness in these circumstances ? ' 
 
 ' But love ' began Mr. Eassie. 
 
 * Love ! ' exclaimed Andrew. * Is there 
 such a thing? Eeduce it to syllogistic 
 form, and how does it look in Barbara ? ' 
 
 Eor the moment there was almost some 
 expression in his face, and he suffered 
 
Better Dead ^ 
 
 from a determination of words to the 
 mouth. 
 
 'Love and logic/ Mr. Eassie inter- 
 posed, ' are hardly kindred studies.' 
 
 * Is love a study at all ^ ' asked Andrew, | 
 bitterly. ' It is but the trail of idleness. 
 But all idleness is folly ; therefore, love is 
 folly.' 
 
 Mr. Eassie was not so keen a logician 
 as his guest, but he had age for a major 
 premiss. He was easy-going rather than 
 a coward ; a preacher, who, in the pulpit, 
 looked difficulties genially in the face, and 
 passed them by. 
 
 Eiach had a very long neck. He was 
 twenty-five years of age, fair, and some- 
 what heavily built, with a face as in- 
 expressive as book-covers. 
 
 A native of Wheens and an orphan, 
 he had been brought up by his uncle, who 
 
6 Better Dead 
 
 was a weaver and read Herodotus in the 
 original. The uncle starved himself to 
 buy books and talk about them, until one 
 day he got a good meal, and died of it. 
 Then Andrew apprenticed himself to a 
 tailor. 
 
 When his time was out, he walked 
 fifty miles to Aberdeen University, and 
 got a bursary. He had been there a 
 month, when his professor said good- 
 naturedly — 
 
 'Don't you think, Mr. Eiach, you 
 would get on better if you took your 
 hands out of your pockets ? ' 
 
 'No, sir, I don't think so/ rephed 
 Andrew, in all honesty. 
 
 When told that he must apologise, he 
 did not see it, but was willing to argue 
 the matter out. 
 
 Next year he matriculated at Edin- 
 
Better Dead 7 
 
 burgh, sharing one room with two others ; 
 studying through the night, and getting 
 their bed when they rose. He was a 
 failure"* in the classics, because they left 
 you where you were, but in his third 
 year he woke the logic class-room, and 
 frightened the professor of moral philo- 
 sophy. 
 
 He was nearly rusticated for praying 
 at a debating society for a divinity 
 professor who was in the chair. 
 
 ' Lord ! ' he cried, fervently, ' open 
 his eyes, guide his tottering footsteps, and 
 lead him from the paths of folly into those 
 that are lovely and of good report, for lo ! 
 -his days are numbered, and the sickle has 
 been sharpened, and the corn is not yet 
 ripe for the cutting.' 
 
 When Andrew graduated he was 
 known as a student of mark. 
 
8 Better Dead 
 
 He returned to Wheens, before setting 
 out for London, with a consciousness of 
 his worth. 
 
 Yet he was only bom to follow, and 
 his chance of making a noise in the world 
 rested on his meeting a stronger than 
 himself. During his summer vacations 
 he had weaved sufficient money to keep 
 himself during the winter on porridge and 
 potatoes. 
 
 Clarrie was beautiful and all that. 
 
 * We'll say no more about it, then,' the 
 minister said after a pause. 
 
 'The matter,' replied Andrew, ^can- 
 not be dismissed in that way. Eeasonable 
 or not, I do undoubtedly experience 
 sensations similar to Clarrie's. But in my 
 love I notice a distinct ebb and flow. 
 There are times when I don't care a hang 
 for her.' 
 
. Better Dead 9 
 
 * Andrew ! ' 
 
 *I beg your pardon. Still, it is you 
 who have insisted on discussing this ques- 
 tion in the particular instance. Love in 
 the abstract is of much greater moment.' 
 
 * I have sometimes thought, Andrew,' 
 Mr. Eassie said, ' that you are lacking in 
 the imaginative faculty.' 
 
 ' In other words, love is a mere fancy. 
 Grant that, and see to what it leads. By 
 imagining that I have Clarrie with me I 
 am as well off as if I really had. Why, 
 then, should I go to needless expense, and 
 take her from you ? ' 
 
 The white-haired minister rose, for 
 the ten o'clock bell was ringing and it 
 was time for family worship. 
 
 ' My boy,' he said, ' if there must be 
 a sacrifice let the old man make it. I, 
 too, have imagination.' 
 
lO Better Dead 
 
 For the moment there was a majesty 
 about him that was foreign to hia usual 
 bearing. Andrew was touched, and 
 gripped his hand. 
 
 'Eather/ he cried, 'let the girl we 
 both love remain with you. She will 
 be here waiting for me — should I re- 
 turn.* 
 
 'More likely,' said the minister, 'she 
 will be at the bank.' 
 
 The banker was unmarried, and had 
 once in February and again in June seen 
 Clarrie home from the Dorcas Society. 
 The town talked about it. Strictly speak- 
 ing, gentlemen should not attend these 
 meetings; but in Wheens there was not 
 much diflference between the men and the 
 women. 
 
 That night, as Clarrie bade Andrew 
 farewell at the garden gate, he took her 
 
. 'Better Dead ii 
 
 head in his hands and asked what this 
 talk about the banker meant. 
 
 It was no ignoble curiosity that 
 prompted him. He would rather have 
 got engaged to her there and then than 
 have left without feeling sure of her. 
 
 His sweetheart looked her reply straight 
 into his eyes. 
 
 ' Andrew ! ' was all she said. 
 
 It was sufficient. He knew that he 
 did not require to press his point. 
 
 Lovers' watches stand still. At last 
 Andrew stooped and kissed her upturned 
 face. 
 
 'If a herring and a half/ he said 
 anxiously, 'cost three half-pence, how 
 many will you get for elevenpence ? ' 
 
 Clarrie was mute. 
 
 Andrew shuddered; he felt that he 
 was making a mistake. 
 
12 Better Dead 
 
 * Why do I kiss you ? ' he cried. ' What 
 good does it do either of us ? ' 
 
 He looked fiercely at his companion, 
 and her eyes filled with tears. 
 
 'Where even is the pleasure in it?' 
 he added brutally. 
 
 The only objectionable thing about 
 Clarrie was her long hair. 
 
 She wore a black frock and looked 
 very breakable. Nothing irritates a man 
 so much. 
 
 Andrew gathered her passionately in 
 his arms, while a pained, puzzled expres- 
 sion struggled to reach his face. 
 
 Then he replaced her roughly on the 
 ground and left her. 
 
 It was impossible to say whether they 
 were engaged. 
 
Better Dead 13 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 Andrew reached King's Cross on tlie fol- 
 lowing Wednesday morning. 
 
 It was the first time he had set foot 
 in England, and he naturally thought of 
 Bannockburn. 
 
 He left his box in the cloak-room, and, 
 finding his way into Bloomsbury, took a 
 bed-room at the top of a house in Bernard 
 Street. 
 
 Then he returned for his box, carried 
 it on his back to his lodgings, and went 
 out to buy a straw hat. It had not struck 
 him to be lonely. 
 
 He bought two pork pies in an eating- 
 
14 Better Dead 
 
 house in Gray's Inn Eoad, and set out for 
 Harley Street, looking at London on the 
 way. 
 
 Mr. Gladstone was at home, but all 
 his private secretaryships were already 
 filled. 
 
 Andrew was not greatly disappointed, 
 though he was too polite to say so. In> 
 politics he was a granite-headed Eadical ; 
 and on several questions, such as the 
 Church and Free Education, the two men 
 were hopelessly at variance. 
 
 Mr. Chamberlain was the man with 
 whom, on the whole, he beHeved it would 
 be best to work. But Mr. Chamberlain 
 could not even see him. 
 
 Looking back to this time, it is impos- 
 sible not to speculate upon how things 
 
Better Dead 15 
 
 might have turned out had the Eadical 
 party taken Andrew to them in his day of 
 devotion to their cause. 
 
 This is the saddest spectacle in life, ^ 
 brave young man's first meeting with thd 
 world. How rapidly the milk turns to* 
 gall! For the cruellest of his acts the 
 vivisectionist has not even the excuse that 
 science benefits. 
 
 Here was a young Scotchman, able^ 
 pure, of noble ambition, and a first 
 medallist in metaphysics. Genius was' 
 written on his brow. He may have 
 written it himself, but it was there. 
 
 He offered to take a pound a week less 
 than any other secretary in London. Not 
 a Cabinet Minister would have him. 
 Lord Eandolph Churchill would not 
 speak to him. He had fifty-eight testi- 
 
1 6 Better Dead 
 
 monials with him. They would neither 
 read nor Hsten to them, 
 
 He could not fasten a quarrel on 
 London, for it never recognised his ex- 
 istence. What a commentary on our 
 vaunted pohtical life ! 
 
 Andrew tried the Press. 
 
 He sent one of the finest things that 
 was ever written on the Ontology of Being 
 to paper after paper, and it was never 
 used. He threatened the 'Times' with 
 legal proceedings if it did not return the 
 manuscript. 
 
 The ' Standard ' sent him somebody 
 else's manuscript, and seemed to think it 
 would do as well. 
 
 In a fortnight his enthusiasm had been 
 bled to death. 
 
 His testimonials were his comfort and 
 his curse. He would have committed 
 
Better Dead 17 
 
 suicide without them, but they kept him 
 out of situations. 
 
 He had the fifty-eight by heart, and 
 went over them to himself all day. He 
 fell asleep with them, and they were there 
 when he Avoke. 
 
 The moment he found himself in a 
 great man's presence he began : 
 
 * From the Eev. Peter Mackay, D.D., 
 author of " The Disruption Divines," 
 Minister of Free St. King's, Dundee. — I 
 have much pleasure in stating that I have 
 known Mr. Andrew Gordon Cummings 
 Eiach for many years, and have been led 
 to form a high opinion of his ability. In 
 the summer of 18 — Mr. Eiach had entire 
 charge of a class in my Sabbath school, 
 when I had ample opportunity of testing 
 his efficiency, unwearying patience, excep- 
 
 C 
 
1 8 Better Dead 
 
 tional power of illustration and high Chris- 
 dan character,' and so on. 
 
 Or he might begin at the beginning : 
 ' Testimonials in favour of Andrew G. 
 C. Eiach, M A. (Edin.), applicant for the 
 post of Private Secretary to any one of her 
 Majesty's Cabinet Ministers, 6 Candlish 
 Street, Wheens, N.B.— I, Andrew G. C. 
 Eiach, beg to offer myself as a candidate 
 for the post of private secretary, and 
 submit the following testimonials in my. 
 favour for your consideration. I am 
 twenty-five years of age, a Master of Arts 
 of the University of Edinburgh, and a 
 member of the Free Church of Scotland. 
 At the University I succeeded in carrying 
 a bursary of 14/. IO5. per annum, tenable 
 for four years. I was first medallist in 
 the class of Logic and Metaphysics, thir- 
 teenth prizeman in Mathematics, and had 
 
Better Deadr—^^ 19 
 
 a certificate of merit in the class of Natural 
 Philosophy, as will be seen from my 
 testimonials.' 
 
 However, he seldom got as far as 
 this. 
 
 It was when alone that these testi- 
 monials were his truest solace. Had you 
 met him in the Strand conning them over, 
 you might have taken him for an actor. 
 He had a yearning to stop strangers in the 
 streets and try a testimonial's effect on 
 them. 
 
 Every young man is not equally un- 
 fortunate. 
 
 Eiach's appearance was against him, 
 
 TKere was a suggestion of latent 
 .strength about him that made strangers 
 uncomfortable. Even the friends who 
 thought they understood him liked him to 
 go away. 
 
 2 
 
20 Better Dead 
 
 Lord Eosebery made several jokes to 
 him, and Andrew only looked at him in 
 response. The general feeling was that 
 he was sneering at you somewhere in his 
 inside. 
 
 Let lis do no one an injustice. 
 
 As it turned out, the Cabinet and Press 
 were but being used in this case as the 
 means to an end. 
 
 A grand work lay ready for Andrew's 
 hand when he was fit to perform it, but 
 he had to learn Naked Truth first. It 
 was ordained that they should teach it 
 him. Providence sometimes makes use of 
 strange instruments. 
 
 Eiach had two pounds with him when 
 he came to London, and in a month they 
 had almost gone. 
 
 Now and again he made an odd five 
 shillings. 
 
Better Dead 21 
 
 Do you know how men in his position 
 live in London ? 
 
 He could not afford the profession of 
 not having any. 
 
 At one time he was a phrasemonger 
 for pohticians, especially for the Irish 
 members, who were the only ones that 
 paid. 
 
 Some of his phrases have become 
 Parhamentary. Thus ' Buckshot ' was his. 
 'Mend them— End them,' 'Grand Old 
 Man,' and ' Legislation by Picnic ' may 
 all be traced to the struggling young man 
 from Wheens.^ 
 
 He supplied the material for obituary 
 notices. 
 
 When the newspaper placards an- 
 
 ^ Some time afterwards Lord Kosebery convulsed 
 an audience by a story about a friend of his who com- 
 plained that you get ^ no forrarder ^ on claret, Andrew 
 was that friend. 
 
22 Better Dead 
 
 nounced the serious illness of a distin- 
 guished man, he made up characteristic 
 anecdotes. about his childhood, his reputa- 
 tion at school, his first love, and sent them 
 as the reminiscences of a friend to the 
 great London dailies. These were the 
 only things of his they used. As often as 
 not the invalid got better, and then 
 Andrew went without a dinner, 
 y Once he offered his services to a Con- 
 
 servative statesman; at another time he 
 shot himself in the coat in Northumber- 
 land Street, Strand, to obhge an evening 
 paper (five shillings). 
 
 He fainted in the pit of a theatre to 
 the bribe of an emotional tragedian (a 
 guinea). 
 
 He assaulted a young lady and her 
 aunt with a view to robbery, in a quiet 
 thoroughfare, by arrangement with a 
 
Better Dead 23 
 
 young gentleman, who rescued them and 
 made him run (ten shiUings). 
 
 It got into the papers that he had 
 fled from the wax policeman at Tussaud's 
 (half-a-crown). 
 
 ^ More than once he sold his body in 
 advance to the doctors, and was never 
 able to buy it out.^ 
 
 It would be a labour, thankless as 
 impossible, to recover now all the devices 
 by which Andrew disgraced his manhood 
 during these weeks rather than die. As 
 well count the ' drinks ' an actor has in a 
 day. 
 
 It is not our part to chmb down into 
 the depths after him. He re-appeared 
 eventually, or this record would never 
 have been written. 
 
 ^ He had fine ideas, but no money to work them out. 
 One was to start a serious ' Spectator,' on the lines of 
 the present one, but not so flippant and frivolous. 
 
, 24 Better Dead 
 
 During this period of gloom, Clarrie 
 wrote him frequently long and tender 
 epistles. 
 
 More strictly, the minister wrote them, 
 for he had the gift of beautiful sentiment 
 in letters, which had been denied to 
 her. 
 
 She copied them, however, and signed 
 them, and they were a great consolation. 
 n( The love of a good girl is a priceless 
 possession, or rather, in this case, of a 
 good minister. 
 
 So long as you do not know which, it 
 \ does not make much difierence. 
 
 At times Andrew's reason may have 
 been unhinged, less on account of his 
 reverses than because no one spoke to 
 him. 
 
 There were days and nights when he 
 rushed all over London. 
 
Better Dead 25 
 
 In the principal streets the stoHd-faced 
 Scotchman in a straw hat became a 
 famihar figure. 
 
 Strange fancies held him. He stood 
 for an hour at a time looking at his face 
 in a shop-window. 
 
 The boot-blacks pointed at him and 
 he disappeared down passages. 
 
 He shook his fist at the 'bus-conductors, 
 who would not leave him alone. 
 
 In the yellow night policemen drew 
 back scared, as he hurried past them on 
 his way to nowhere. 
 
 In the day-time Oxford Street was his 
 favourite thoroughfare. He was very 
 irritable at this time, and could not leave 
 his fellow wayfarers alone. 
 
 More than once he poked his walking- 
 stick through the eyeglass of a brave 
 young gentleman. 
 
26^ Better Dead 
 
 He would turn swiftly round to catch 
 people looking at him. 
 
 When a small boy came in his way, he 
 took him by the neck and planted him 
 on the curbstone. 
 
 If a man approached simpering, 
 Andrew stopped and gazed at him. The 
 smile went from the stranger's face; he 
 blushed or looked fierce. When he 
 turned round, Andrew still had his eye on 
 him. Sometimes he came bouncing back. 
 
 ' What are you so confoundedly happy 
 about? ' Andrew asked. 
 
 When he found a crowd gazing in at 
 a ' while you wait ' shop window, or en- 
 tranced over the paving of a street — 
 
 ' Splendid, isn't it ? ' he said to the per- 
 son nearest him. 
 
 He dropped a penny, which he could 
 ill spare, into the hat of an exqu'site who 
 
Better Dead 27 
 
 annoyed him by his way of lifting it to a 
 lady. 
 
 When he saw a man crossing the street 
 too daintily, he ran after him and hit him 
 over the legs. 
 
 Even on his worst days his reasoning 
 powers never left him. Once a mother 
 let her child slip from her arms to the 
 pavement. 
 
 She gave a shriek. 
 
 'My good woman/ said Andrew 
 testily, 'what difference can one infant 
 in the world more or less make?' 
 
 We come now to an eccentricity, en- 
 gendered of loneliness, that altered the 
 whole course of his life. Want had 
 battered down his door. Truth had been 
 evolved from despair. He was at last to 
 have a flash into salvation. 
 
 To give an object to his walks abroad 
 
28 Better Dead 
 
 lie would fasten upon a wayfarer and 
 follow him till he ran him to his destina- 
 tion. Chance led to his selecting one 
 quarry rather than another. He would 
 dog a man's footsteps, struck by the 
 glossiness of his boots, or to discover 
 what he was in such a hurry about, or 
 merely because he had a good back to 
 follow. Probably he seldom knew what 
 attracted him, and sometimes when he 
 realised the pursuit he gave it up. 
 
 On these occasions there was one per- 
 son only who really interested him. This 
 was a man, somewhat over middle age, of 
 singularly noble and distinguished bearing. 
 His brow was furrowed with lines, but 
 they spoke of cares of the past. Benevo- 
 lence had settled on his face. It was as 
 if, after a weary struggle, the sun had 
 broken through the. heavy clouds. He 
 
Better Dead 29 
 
 was attired in the ordinary dress of an 
 Euglish gentleman; but once, when he 
 raised his head to see if it rained, Andrew 
 noticed that he only wore a woollen shirt, 
 without a neck-tie. As a rule, his well- 
 trimmed venerable beard hid this from 
 view. 
 
 He seemed a man of unostentatious 
 means. Andrew lost him in Drury Lane 
 and found him again in Piccadilly, He 
 was generally alone, never twice with the 
 same person. His business was scattered, 
 or it was his pleasure that kept him busy. 
 He struck the observer as always being on 
 the outlook for someone who did not 
 come. 
 
 Why attempt to account for the name- 
 less fascination he exercised over the 
 young Scotchman? We speak lightly of 
 mesmeric influence, but, after all, there 
 
30 Better Dead 
 
 \ is only one mesmerist for youth — a good 
 jwoman or a good man. Depend upon it, 
 that is why so many Vmesmerists' have 
 mistaken their vocation. Andrew took 
 to prowUng about the streets looking for 
 this man, like a dog that has lost its 
 master. 
 
 The day came when they met. 
 
 Andrew was returning from the 
 Crystal Palace, which he had been view- 
 ing from the outside. He had walked 
 both ways. 
 
 Just as he rounded the upper end of 
 Chancery Lane, a man walking rapidly 
 struck against him, whirled him aside, 
 and hurried on. 
 
 The day was done, but as yet the 
 lamps only dimmed the streets. 
 
 Andrew had been dreaming, and the 
 jerk woke him to the roar of London. 
 
Better Dead 31 
 
 It was as if he had taken his fingers 
 from his ears. 
 
 He staggered, dazed, against a 'bus- 
 horse, but the next moment he was in 
 pursuit of the stranger. It was but a 
 continuation of his dream. He felt that 
 somethiug was about to happen. He 
 had never seen this man disturbed be- 
 fore. 
 
 Chancery Lane swarmed with lawyers, 
 but if they had not made way Andrew 
 would have walked over them. 
 
 He clove his way between those 
 walking abreast, and struck down an 
 arm extended to point out the Law 
 Courts. When he neared the stranger, 
 he slightly slackened his pace, but it was 
 a stampede even then. 
 
 Suddenly the pursued came to a dead 
 stop and gazed for twenty minutes in at 
 
32 Better Dead 
 
 a pastry-cook's window. Andrew waited 
 for liim. Then they started off again, 
 much more leisurely. 
 
 They turned Chancery Lane almost 
 together. All this time Andrew had 
 failed to catch sight of the other's face. 
 
 He stopped twice in the Strand for 
 a few minutes. 
 
 At Charing Cross he seemed for a 
 moment at a loss. Then he sprang across 
 the street, and went back the way he 
 came. 
 
 It was now for the first time that 
 a strange notion illumined Andrew's 
 brain. It bewildered him, and left him' 
 in darkness the next moment. But his 
 blood was running hot now, and his eyes 
 were glassy. 
 
 They turned down Arundel Street. 
 
 It was getting dark. There were not a 
 
Better Dead 33 
 
 (loz^n people in the narrow thorough- 
 fare. 
 
 His former thought leapt back into 
 Andrew's mind — not a fancy now, but a 
 fact. The stranger was following some- 
 one too. 
 
 For what purpose ? His own ? 
 
 Andrew did not put the question to 
 himself. 
 
 There were not twenty yards between 
 the three of them. 
 
 What Kiach saw in front was a short 
 stout man proceeding cheerfully down 
 the street. He delayed in a doorway to 
 light a cigar, and the stranger stopped 
 as if turned to stone. 
 
 Andrew stopped too. 
 
 They were like the wheels of a watch. 
 The first wheel moved on, and set the 
 others going again. 
 
 B 
 
34 . Better Dead 
 
 For a hundred yards or more they 
 walked in procession in a westerly direc- 
 tion without meeting a human being. At 
 last the first of the trio half turned on his 
 heel and leant over the Embankment. 
 
 Eiach drew back into the shade, just 
 before the stranger took a lightning 
 glance behind him. 
 
 The young man saw his face now. 
 It was never fuller of noble purpose ; yet 
 why did Andrew cry out ? 
 
 The next moment the stranger had 
 darted forward, slipped his arms round 
 the little man's legs, and toppled him into 
 the river. 
 
 There was a splash but no shriek. 
 
 Andrew bounded forward, but the 
 stranger held him by one hand. His 
 clear blue eyes looked down a little 
 wistfully upon the young Scotchman, who 
 
Better Dead 35 
 
 never felt the fascination of a master-mind 
 more than at that moment. As if feehng 
 his power, the elder man relaxed his hold 
 and pointed ta the spot where his victim 
 had disappeared. 
 
 SHe was a good man/ he said, more 
 to himself than to Andrew, 'and the 
 world has lost a great philanthropist ; 
 but he is better as he is.' 
 
 Then he lifted a paving-stone, aad 
 peered long and earnestly into the waters. 
 
 The short stout man, however, did 
 not rise again. 
 
3$ Better Dead 
 
 CHAPTEE ni. 
 
 Lost in reverie, the stranger stood motion- 
 less on the Embankment. The racket 
 of the city was behind him. At his feet 
 lay a drowned world, its Hghts choking 
 in the Thames. It was London, as it 
 will be on the last day. 
 
 With an effort he roused himself and 
 took Andrew's arm. 
 
 * The body will soon be recovered,' 
 he said, in a voice of great dejection, 
 * and people will talk. Let us go.' 
 
 They retraced their steps up Arundel 
 Street. 
 
 'Now,' said Andrew's companion, 
 ' tell me who you are.' 
 
Better Dead 37 
 
 Andrew would have preferred to hear 
 who the stranger was. In the circum- 
 stances he felt that he had almost a right 
 to know. But this was not a man to 
 brook interference. 
 
 ' If you will answer me one question/ 
 the young Scotchman said humbly, *I 
 shall tell you everything.' 
 
 His reveries had made Andrew quick-, 
 witted, and he had the judicial mindi 
 which prevents one's judging anothe^ 
 rashly. Besides, his hankering after this 
 man had already suggested an exculpation 
 for him. 
 
 ' You are a Eadical ? ' he asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 The stranger's brows contracted. 
 * Young man,' he said, * though all the 
 Eadicals, and Liberals, and Conservatives 
 who ever addressed the House of Com- 
 
3& Better Dead 
 
 mons were in , I would not stoop to 
 
 pick them up, though I could gather them 
 by the gross/ 
 
 He said this without an Irish accent, 
 and Andrew felt that he had better begin 
 his story at once. 
 
 He told everything. 
 
 As his tale neared its conclusion his 
 companion scanned him narrowly. 
 
 If the stranger's magnanimous coun- 
 tenance did not beam down in sympathy 
 upon the speaker, it was because surprise 
 and gratification filled it. 
 
 Only once an ugly look came into his 
 eyes. That was when Andrew had 
 reached the middle of his second testi- 
 monial. 
 
 The young man saw the look, and at 
 the same time felt the hold on his arm 
 become a grip. 
 
Better Dead 39 
 
 His heart came into his mouth. He 
 gulped it down, and, with what was 
 perhaps a judicious sacrifice, jumped the 
 remainder of his testimonials. 
 
 When the stranger heard how he had 
 been tracked through the streets, he put 
 his head to the side to think. 
 
 It was a remarkable compliment to 
 his abstraction that Andrew paused in- 
 voluntarily in his story and waited. 
 
 He felt that his future was in the 
 balance. Those sons of peers may faintly 
 reahse his position whose parents have 
 hesitated whether to make statesmen or 
 cattle-dealers of them. 
 
 ' I don't mind telling you,' the stranger 
 said at last, 'that your case has been 
 under consideration. When we left the 
 Embankment my intention was to dispose 
 of you in a doorway. But your story 
 
40 Better Dead 
 
 moves me strangely. Could I be certain 
 that you felt the sacredness of human life 
 — as I fear no boy can feel it — I should 
 be tempted to ask you instead to become 
 one of us.' 
 
 There was something in this remark 
 about the sacredness of human life that 
 was not what Andrew expected, and his 
 answer died unspoken. 
 
 ' Youth/ continued the stranger, ' is 
 enthusiasm, but not enthusiasm in a 
 straight Une. We are impotent in direct- 
 ing it, like a boy with a toy engine. 
 How carefully the child sets it off, how 
 soon it goes off the rails ! So youth is 
 wrecked. The slightest obstacle sends it 
 off at a tangent. The vital force expended 
 in a wrong direction does evil instead of 
 good. You know the story of Atalanta. 
 It has always been misread. She was the 
 
Better Dead 41 
 
 type not of woman but of youth, and 
 Hippomenes personated age. He was the 
 slower runner, but he won the race ; and 
 yet how beautiful, even where it runs to- 
 riot, must enthusiasm be in such a cause 
 as ours ! ' 
 
 ' If Atalanta had been Scotch,' said 
 Andrew, 'she would not have lost that 
 race for a pound of apples.' 
 
 The stranger regarded him longingly,, 
 like a father only prevented by state/ 
 reasons from embracing his son. ( 
 
 He murmured something that Andrew 
 hardly caught. 
 
 It sounded like :• 
 
 * Atalanta would have been better 
 dead.' 
 
 ' Your nationality is in your favour," 
 he said, * and you have served your ap- 
 prenticeship to our calling. You have 
 
42- Better Dead 
 
 been tending towards us ever since you 
 came to London. You are an apple ripe 
 for plucking, and if you are not plucked 
 now you will fall. I would fain take you 
 
 by the hand, and yet ' 
 
 ' And yet ? ' 
 
 * And yet I hesitate. You seem a 
 youth of the fairest promise ; but how 
 often have I let these impulses deceive 
 me! You talk of logic, but is it more 
 than talk? Man, they say, is a reason- 
 able being. They are wrong. He is 
 only a being capable of reason.' 
 
 ' Try me,' said Andrew. 
 
 The stranger resumed in a lower key : 
 
 * You do not understand what you ask 
 as yet,' he said ; ' still less what we would 
 ask in return of you.' 
 
 'I have seen something to-day,' said 
 Andrew. 
 
Better Dead 43 
 
 'But you are mistaken in its applica- 
 tion. You think I followed the man 
 lately deceased as pertinaciously as you 
 followed me. You are wrong. When 
 you met me in Chancery Lane I was in 
 pursuit of a gentleman to whose case I 
 have devoted myself for several days. It 
 has interested me much. There is no 
 reason why I should conceal his name. 
 It is one honoured in this country. Sir 
 Wilfrid Lawson. He looked in on his 
 man of business, which delayed me at the 
 shop window of which you have spoken. 
 I waited for him, and I thought I had him 
 this time. But you see I lost him in the 
 Strand after all.' 
 
 ' But the other, then,* Andrew asked, 
 ' who was he ? ' 
 
 'Oh, I picked him up at Charing 
 Cross. He was better dead.' 
 
44 Better Dead 
 
 *I think/ said Andrew hopefully, 
 'that my estimate of the sacredness of 
 human life is sufficiently high for your 
 purpose. If that is the only point * 
 
 * Ah, they all say that until they join. 
 I remember an excellent young man who 
 came among us for a time. He seemed 
 discreet beyond his years, and we ex- 
 pected great things of him. But it was 
 the old story. For young men the cause 
 is as demorahsing as boarding schools are 
 for girls.' 
 
 'What did he do?' 
 
 * It went to his head. He took a bed- 
 room in Pall Mall and sat at the window 
 with an electric rifle picking them off on 
 the door-steps of the clubs. It was a 
 noble idea, but of course it imperilled the 
 very existence of the society. He was a 
 cm-ate.' 
 
Better Dead 45 
 
 * What became of him ? ' asked An- 
 drew. 
 
 ' He is better dead,' said the stranger, 
 softly. 
 
 * And the society you speak of, what 
 is it?' 
 
 ^TheS.D.W.S.P. 
 
 *TheS.D.W.S.P?^ 
 
 'Yes, the Society for Doing Without 
 Some People.' 
 
 They were in Holborn, but turned up 
 Southampton Kow for quiet. 
 
 * You have told me,' said the stranger, 
 now speaking rapidly, ' that at times you 
 have felt tempted to take your life, that 
 life for which you will one day have to 
 account. Suicide is the coward's refuge. 
 You are miserable ? When a young man 
 knows that, he is happy. Misery is but 
 preparing for an old age of delightful 
 
4.6 Better Dead 
 
 reminiscence. You say that London has 
 no work for you, that the functions 
 to which you looked forward are every- 
 where discharged by another. That 
 need not drive . you to despair. If it 
 proves that someone shoukl die, does 
 it necessarily follow that the someone is 
 you?' 
 
 'But is not the other's life as sacred 
 as mine ? ' 
 
 ' That is his concern.* 
 
 ' Then you would have me 
 
 * Certainly not. You are a boxer 
 without employment, whom I am showing 
 what to hit. In such a case as yours the 
 Society would be represented by a thir4 
 party, whose decision would be final. 'K% 
 an interested person you would have to 
 stand aside.' 
 
 ' I don't understand.' 
 
Better Dead 47 
 
 *The arbitrator would settle if you 
 should go.' 
 
 Andrew looked blank. 
 
 * Go ? ' he repeated. 
 
 *It is a euphemism for die/ said his 
 companion a little impatiently. ' This is 
 a trivial matter, and hardly worth going 
 into at any length. It shows our process, 
 however, and the process reveals the true 
 character of the organisation. As I have 
 already mentioned, the Society takes for 
 its first principle the sanctity of human 
 life. Everyone who has mixed much 
 among his fellow-creatures must be aware 
 that this is adulterated, so to speak, by 
 numbers of spurious existences. Many of 
 these are a nuisance to themselves. Others 
 may at an earlier period have been lives G>f 
 great promise and fulfilment. In the case 
 of the latter, how sad to think that they 
 
48 Better Dead 
 
 should be dragged out into worthlessness 
 or dishonour, all for want of a friendly 
 hand to snap them short ! In the lower 
 form of life the process of preying upon 
 animals whose work is accomplished — 
 that is, of weeding — goes on continually. 
 Man must, of course, be more cautious. 
 The grand function of the Society is to 
 find out the persons who have a claim on 
 it, and in the interests of humanity to lay 
 their condition before them. After that it 
 as in the majority of cases for themselves 
 to decide whether they will go or stay on.' 
 
 * But,' said Andrew, ' had the gentle- 
 man in the Thames consented to go ? ' 
 
 'No, that was a case where assistance 
 had to be given. He had been sounded, 
 though.' 
 
 'And do you find,' asked Andrew, 
 * that many of them are — agreeable ? ' 
 
Better Dead 49 
 
 * I admit,' said the stranger, * that so 
 far that has been our chief difficulty. 
 Even the men we looked upon as certain- 
 ties have fallen short of our expectations. 
 There is Mallock, now, who said that life 
 was not worth living. I called on him 
 only last week, fully expecting him to meet 
 me half-way/ 
 
 * And he didn^t?' 
 
 ^ Mallock was a great disappointment,* 
 said the stranger, with genuine pain in his 
 voice. 
 
 He liked Mallock. 
 
 'However,' he added, brightening, 'his 
 case comes up for hearing at the next 
 meeting. If I have two-thirds of the vote 
 we proceed with it.' 
 
 ' But how do the authorities take it ? * 
 asked Andrew. 
 
 ' Pooh ! ' said the stranger. 
 
50 Better Dead 
 
 Andrew, however, could not think so. 
 
 ' It is against the law, you know,' he 
 said. 
 
 ^ The law winks at it,' the stranger 
 said. *Law has its feelings as well as 
 we. We have two London magistrates 
 and a minister on the executive, and 
 the Lord Chief Justice is an honorary 
 member.' 
 
 Andrew raised his eyes. 
 
 ' This, of course, is private,' continued 
 the stranger. 'These men join on the 
 understanding that if anything comes out 
 they deny all connection with us. But 
 they have; the thing at heart. I have 
 here a very kind letter from Glad- 
 stone ' 
 
 He felt in his pockets. 
 
 * I seem to have left it at home. 
 However, its purport was that he hoped 
 
Better Dead 51 
 
 we would not admit Lord Salisbury an 
 honorary member/ 
 
 'Why not?' 
 
 * Well, the society has power to take 
 from its numbers so far as ordinary 
 members are concerned, but it is con- 
 sidered discourteous to reduce the hono- 
 rary Ust.' 
 
 ' Then why have honorary members ? ' 
 asked Andrew in a burst of enthusiasm. 
 
 ' It is a necessary precaution. They 
 subscribe largely too. Indeed, the asso- 
 ciation is now established on a sound com- 
 mercial basis We are paying six per 
 cent.' 
 
 *NoBe of these American preachers 
 who come over to this country are 
 honorary members ? ' asked Andrew anx- 
 iously. 
 
 *No ; one of them made overtures to 
 
 E 2 
 
52 Better Dead 
 
 us, but we would not listen to him. 
 Why?' 
 
 * Oh, nothing,' said Andrew. 
 
 *To do the honorary list justice,' said 
 his companion, ' it gave us one fine fellow 
 in our honorary president. He is dead 
 now.' 
 
 Andrew looked up. 
 
 * No, we had nothing to do with it. 
 It was Thomas Carlyle.' 
 
 Andrew raised his hat. 
 
 ' Though he was over eighty years of 
 age,' continued the stranger, * Carlyle 
 would hardly rest content with merely 
 giving us his countenance. He wanted 
 to be a working member. It was he who 
 mentioned Fronde's name to us.' 
 
 ' For honorary membership ? ' 
 
 'Not at all. Froude would hardly 
 have completed the " Remmiscences " had 
 
Better Dead 53 
 
 it not been that we could never make up 
 our minds between him and Freeman/ 
 
 Youth is subject to sudden fits of 
 despondency. Its hopes go up and down 
 like a bucket in a draw-well. 
 
 ^ They'll never let me join/ cried 
 Andrew sorrowfully. 
 
 His companion pressed his hand. 
 
 ^ Three black balls exclude,' he said, 
 ' but you have the president on your side. 
 With my introduction you will be ad- 
 mitted a probationer, and after that 
 everything depends on yourself.' 
 
 *I thought you must be the presi- 
 dent from the first,' said Andrew reve- 
 rently. 
 
 He had not felt so humble since the 
 first day he went to the University and 
 walked past and repast it, Mghtened to 
 go in. 
 
54 Better Dead 
 
 ' How long,' he asked, ' does the period 
 of probation last ? ' 
 
 ' Three months. Then you send in a 
 thesis, and if it is considered satisfactory 
 you become a member.' 
 
 'And if it isn't?' 
 
 The president did not say. 
 
 *A thesis,' he said, 'is generally a 
 paper with a statement of the line of 
 action you propose to adopt, subject to 
 the society's approval. Each member has 
 his speciality — as law, art, divinity, litera- 
 ture, and the like.' 
 
 'Does the probationer devote himself 
 exclusively during these three months to 
 his thesis ? ' 
 
 'On the contrary, he never has so 
 much liberty as at this period. He is 
 expected to be practising.* 
 
 * Practising ? ' 
 
Better Dead 55 
 
 * Well, experimenting, getting his hand 
 in, so to speak. The member acts under 
 instructions only, but the probationer just 
 does what he thinks best.' 
 
 'There is a man on my stair,' said 
 Andrew, after a moment's consideration, 
 ' who asks his friends in every Friday 
 night, and recites to them with his door 
 open. I think I should like to begin with 
 him.' 
 
 * As a society we do not recognise thesdr 
 private cases. The public gain is so in- 
 finitesimal. We had one probationer who 
 constructed a very ingenious water-butt 
 for boys. Another had a scheme for 
 clearing the streets of the people who get 
 in the way. He got into trouble about 
 some perambulators. Let me see your 
 hands.' 
 
 They stopped at a lamp-post. 
 
56 Better Dead 
 
 * They are large, whicli is an advantage/ 
 said the president, fingering Andrew's 
 palms ; ^ but are they supple ? ' 
 
 Andrew had thought very little about 
 it, and he did not quite comprehend. 
 
 ' The hands,' explained the president, 
 * are perhaps the best natural weapon, but, 
 of course, there are different ways of doing 
 
 it; 
 
 The young Scotchman's brain, how- 
 ever, could not keep pace with his com- 
 panion's words, and the president looked 
 about him for an illustration. 
 
 They stopped at Gower Street station 
 and glanced at the people coming out. 
 
 None of them was of much impor- 
 tance, but the president left them alone. 
 
 Andrew saw what he meant now, and 
 could not but admire his forbearance. 
 
 They turned away, but just as they 
 
Better Dead 57 
 
 emerged into the blaze of Tottenham 
 Court Koad they ran into two men, 
 warmly shaking hands with each other 
 before they parted. One of them wore 
 an eye-glass. 
 
 ' Chamberlain ! ' exclaimed the presi- 
 dent, rushing after him. 
 
 ^Did you recognise the other?* said 
 Andrew, panting at his heels. 
 
 * No ! who was it ? ' 
 
 * Stead, of the " Pall Mall Gazette." ' 
 
 * Great God/ cried the president, ^ two 
 at a time ! ' 
 
 He turned and ran back. Then he 
 stopped irresolutely. He could not follow 
 the one for thought of the other. 
 
58 Better Dead 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 The London cabman's occupation consists 
 in dodging thoroughfares under repair. 
 
 Numbers of dingy streets have been 
 flung about to help him. There is one 
 of these in Bloomsbury, which was origi- 
 nally discovered by a student while looking 
 for the British Museum. It runs a hundred 
 yards in a straight line, then stops, like a 
 stranger who has lost his way, and hurries 
 by another route out of the neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 The houses are dull, except one, just 
 where it doubles, which is gloomy. 
 
 This house is divided into sets of 
 
Better Dead 59 
 
 chambers and has a new frontage, but it 
 no longer lets well. A few years ago 
 there were two funerals from it within a 
 fortnight, and soon afterwards another of 
 the tenants was found at the foot of the 
 stair with his neck broken. These fatalities 
 gave the house a bad name, as such things 
 do in London. 
 
 It was here that Andrew's patron, the 
 president, lived. 
 
 To the outcast from work to get an \ 
 object in life is to be born again. Andrew ' 
 bustled to the president's chambers on 
 the Saturday night following the events 
 already described, with his chest well 
 set. 
 
 His springy step echoed of wages in 
 
 the hearts of the unemployed. Envious 
 
 Veyes, following his swaggering staff, could 
 
 not see that but a few days before he had 
 
6o Better Dead 
 
 been as the thirteenth person at a dinner- 
 party. 
 
 Such a change does society bring 
 about when it empties a chair for the 
 superfluous man. 
 
 It may be wondered that he felt so 
 sure of himself, for the night had still to 
 decide his claims. 
 
 Andrew, however, had thought it all 
 out in his solitary lodgings, and had put 
 fear from him. He felt his faihngs and 
 allowed for every one of them, but he 
 knew his merits too, and his testimo- 
 nials were in his pocket. Strength of 
 purpose was his weak point, and, though 
 the good of humanity was his load- 
 star, it did not make him quite forget 
 self. 
 
 It may not be possible to serve both 
 Ood and mammon, but since Adam the 
 
Better Dead 6i 
 
 world has been at it. We ought to know 
 by this time. 
 
 The Society for Doing Without was 
 as immoral as it certainly was illegal. 
 The president's motives were not more 
 disinterested than his actions were defen- 
 sible. He even deserved punishment. 
 
 All these things may be. The great 
 social question is not to be solved in a 
 day. It never will be solved if those who 
 take it by the beard are not given an un- 
 biassed hearing. 
 
 Those were the young Scotchman'^ 
 views when the president opened the door 
 to him, and what he saw and heard that 
 night strengthened them. 
 
 It was characteristic of Andrew's host 
 that at such a time he could put himself 
 in the young man's place. 
 
 He took his hand and looked him in 
 
62 Better Dead 
 
 the face more like a physician than a 
 mere acquaintance. Then he drew hun 
 aside into an empty room. 
 
 ' Let me be the first to congratulate 
 you/ he said ; ' you are admitted.' 
 
 Andrew took a long breath, and the 
 president considerately turned away his 
 head until the young probationer had re- 
 gained his composure. Then he proceeded : 
 
 ' The Society only asks from its pro- 
 bationers the faith which it has in them. 
 They take no oath. We speak in deeds. 
 The Brotherhood do not recognise the 
 possibihty of treachery; but they are 
 prepared to cope with it if it comes. 
 Better far, Andrew Eiach, to be in your 
 grave, dead aind rotten and forgotten, than 
 a traitor to the cause.' 
 
 The president's voice trembled with 
 solemnity. 
 
Better Dead 63 
 
 He stretched forth his hands, slowly 
 repeating the words, 'dead and rotten 
 and forgotten,' until his wandering eyes 
 came to rest on the young man's neck. 
 
 Andrew drew back a step and bowed 
 gilently, as he had seen many a father 
 do at a christening in the kirk at 
 Wheens. 
 
 * You will shortly,' continued the 
 president, with a return to his ordinary 
 manner, 'hear an address on female 
 suffrage from one of the noblest women in 
 the land. It will be your part to listen. 
 To-night you will both hear and see 
 strange things. Say nothing. Evince no 
 surprise. Some members are irritable. 
 Come I ' 
 
 Once more he took Andrew by the 
 hand, and led him into the meeting-room ; 
 and still his eyes were fixed on the pro- 
 
64 Better Dead 
 
 bationer's neck. There seemed to be 
 sometliing about it that he liked. 
 
 It was not then, with the committee 
 all around him, but long afterwards at 
 Wheens, that Andrew was struck by the 
 bareness of the chambers. 
 
 Without the president's presence they 
 had no character. 
 
 The trifles were absent that are to a 
 room what expression is to the face. 
 
 The tenant might have been a medical 
 student who knew that it was not worth 
 while to unpack his boxes. 
 
 The only ornament on the walls was 
 an elaborate sketch by a member, showing 
 the arrangement of the cellars beneath 
 the premises of the Young Men's Christian 
 Association. 
 
 There were a dozen men in the room, 
 including the president of the Birmingham 
 
Better Dead 65 
 
 brancli association and two members who 
 had just returned from a visit to Edin- 
 burgh. These latter had already sub- 
 mitted their report. 
 
 The president introduced Andrew to 
 the committee, but not the committee to 
 him. Several of them he recognised from 
 the portraits in the shop windows. 
 
 They stood or sat in groups looking 
 over a probationer's thesis. It consisted 
 of diagrams of machinery. 
 
 Andrew did not see the sketches, 
 though they were handed round separately 
 for inspection, but he listened eagerly to 
 the president's explanations. 
 
 *The first,' said the president, 'is a 
 beautiful little instrument worked by 
 steam. Having placed his head on the 
 velvet cushion D, the subject can confi- 
 dently await results. 
 
66 Better Dead 
 
 * No. 2 is the same model on a larger 
 scale. 
 
 * As yet 3 can be of little use to us. It 
 includes a room 13 feet by 11. X is the 
 windows and other apertures ; and these 
 being closed up and the subjects admitted, 
 all that remains to be done is to lock the 
 door from the outside and turn on the 
 gas. E, F, and K are couches, and L is a 
 square inch of glass through which results 
 may be noted. 
 
 ' The speciality of 4, which is called the 
 " water cure,*' is that it is only workable on 
 water. It is generally admitted that 
 release by drowning is the pleasantest of 
 all deaths; and, indeed, 4, speaking 
 roughly, is a boat with a hole in the 
 bottom. It is so simple that a child could 
 work it. C is the plug. 
 
 ' No. 5 is an intricate instrument. The 
 advantage claimed for it \t that it enables 
 
Better Dead 67 
 
 a large number of persons to leave to- 
 gether/ 
 
 While the thesis was under discussion, 
 the attendance was increased by a few 
 members specially interested in the ques- 
 tion of female sulBTrage. Andrew observed 
 that several of these wrote something on a 
 piece of paper which lay on the table with 
 a pencil beside it, before taking their seats. 
 
 He stretched himself in the direction 
 of this paper, but subsided as he caught 
 the eyes of two of the company riveted 
 on his neck. 
 
 From that time until he left the rooms 
 one member or other was staring at his 
 neck. Andrew looked anxiously in the 
 glass over the mantelpiece but could se^ 
 nothing wrong. 
 
 The paper on the table merely con- 
 tained such jottings as these :— 
 
 f2 
 
68 Better Dead 
 
 ' Eobert Buchanan has written another 
 play/ 
 
 * Schnadhdrst is in town.' 
 ^Ashmead Bartlett walks in Temple 
 
 Gardens 3 to 4.' 
 
 ' Clement Scott (?) ' 
 
 ^ Query : Is there a dark passage near 
 Hyndman's (Socialist's) house ? ' 
 
 * Talmage. Address, Midland Hotel/ 
 
 * Andrew Lang (?) ' 
 
 Andrew was a good deal interested in 
 woman's suffrage, and the debate on this 
 question in the students' society at Edin- 
 burgh, when he spoke for an hour and 
 five minutes, is still remembered by the 
 janitor who had to keep the door until 
 the meeting closed. 
 
 Debating societies, hke the company 
 of reporters, engender a familiarity of re- 
 ference to eminent persons, and Andrew 
 
Better Dead 69 
 
 had in his time struck down the champions 
 of woman's rights as a boy plays with his 
 ninepins. 
 
 To be brought face to face with a lady 
 whose name is a household word where- 
 soever a few Scotchmen can meet and 
 resolve themselves into an argument was 
 another matter. 
 
 It was with no ordinary mingling of 
 respect with curiosity that he stood up 
 with the others to greet Mrs. Fawcefct as 
 the president led her into the room. Thei 
 young man's face, as he looked upon her 
 for the first time, was the best book this 
 remarkable woman ever wrote. 
 
 The proceedings were necessarily quiet, 
 and the president had introduced their 
 guest to the meeting without Andrew's 
 hearing a word. 
 
 He was far away in a snow-swept 
 
70 Better Dead 
 
 University quadrangle on a windy night, 
 when Mrs. Fawcett rose to her feet. 
 
 Some one flung open the window, for 
 the place was close, and immediately the 
 skirl of a bagpiper broke the silence. 
 
 It might have been the devil that 
 rushed into the room. 
 
 Still Andrew dreamed on. 
 
 The guest paused. 
 
 The members looked at each other, 
 and the president nodded to one of 
 them. 
 
 He left the room, and about two 
 minutes afterwards the music suddenly 
 ceased. 
 
 Andrew woke with a start in time to 
 see him return, write two words in the 
 members' book, and resume his seat. Mrs. 
 Fawcett then began. 
 
 * I have before me,' she said, turning 
 
Better Dead 71 
 
 over the leaves of a bulky manuscript, 
 * a great deal of matter bearing on the 
 question of woman's rights, which at such 
 a meeting as this may be considered read. 
 It is mainly historical, and while I am 
 prepared to meet with hostile criticism 
 from the society, I assume that the pro- 
 gress our agitation has made, with its dis- 
 appointments, its trials, and its triumphs, 
 has been followed more or less carefully 
 by you all. 
 
 *Nor shall I, after the manner of 
 speakers on such an occasion, pay you the 
 doubtful compliment of fulsomely extolling 
 your aims before your face. 
 
 ' I come at once to the question of 
 woman's rights in so far as the society can 
 affect them, and I ask of you a considera- 
 tion of my case with as little prejudice 
 as men can be expected to approach it. 
 
72 Better Dead 
 
 * In the constitution of the society, as 
 it has been explained to me, I notice 
 chiefly two things which would have filled 
 me with indignation twenty years ago, but 
 only remind me how far we are from 
 the goal of our ambition now. 
 
 *The first is a sin of omission, the 
 second one of commission, and the latter 
 is the more to be deprecated in that you 
 made it with your eyes open, after full 
 discussion, while the other came about as 
 a matter of course. 
 
 'I believe I am right in saying that 
 the membership of this society is ex- 
 clusively male, and also that no absolute 
 veto has been placed on female candida- 
 ture? 
 
 ^As a matter of fact, it never struck 
 the founders that such a veto in black and 
 white was necessary. When they drew 
 
Better Dead 73; 
 
 up the rules of membership the other sex 
 never fell like a black shadow on the 
 paper; it was forgotten. We owe our 
 eligibility to many other offices (generally 
 disputed at law) to the same accident. 
 In short, the unwritten law of the argu- 
 mentum ad crinolinam puts us to the side.' 
 
 Having paid the society the compliment 
 of believing that, however much it differed 
 from her views, it would not dismiss them 
 with a laugh, Mrs. Fawcett turned ta 
 the question of woman's alleged physicals 
 limitations. 
 
 She said much on this point that 
 Andrew saw could not be easily refuted, 
 but, interesting though she made it, we 
 need not follow her over beaten ground. 
 
 So far the members had given her the 
 courteous non-attention which thoughtful 
 introductory remarks can always claim. It 
 
74 Better Dead 
 
 was when she reached her second head 
 that they fastened upon her words. 
 
 Then Andrew had seen no sharper 
 audience since he was one of a Scotch 
 congregation on the scent of a heretic. 
 
 ' At a full meeting of committee,' said 
 Mrs. Fawcett, with a ring of bitterness in 
 her voice, 'you passed a law that women 
 should not enjoy the advantages of the 
 association. Be they ever so eminent, 
 their sex deprives them of your care. 
 You take up the case of a petty maker of 
 books because his tea-leaf solutions weary 
 you, and you put a stop to him with an 
 enthusiasm worthy of a nobler object. 
 
 * But the woman is left to decay. 
 
 ' This society at its noblest was insti- 
 tuted for taking strong means to prevent 
 men's shpping down the ladder it has been 
 such a toil to them to mount, but the 
 
Better Dead 75 
 
 women who have climbed as high as they 
 can fall from rung to rung. 
 
 * There are female nuisances as well as 
 male ; I presume no one here will gainsay 
 me that. But you do not know them 
 officially. The pohticians who joke about 
 three acres and a cow, the writers who 
 are comic about mothers-in-law, the very 
 boot-blacks have your solicitude, but you 
 ignore their complements in the softer sex. 
 
 ' Yet you call yourselves a society for 
 suppressing excrescences ! Your presi- 
 dent tells me you are at present inquiring 
 for the address of the man who signs him- 
 self " Paterfamilias " in the " Times ; " but 
 the letters from *' A British Matron " are 
 of no account. 
 
 *I do not need to be told how Dr. 
 Smith, the fashionable physician, was 
 precipitated down that area the other 
 
76 Better Dead 
 
 day ; but what I do ask is, wliy should 
 he be taken and all the lady doctors 
 left? 
 
 ' Their degrees are as good as his. You 
 are too " manly," you say, to arrest their 
 course. Is injustice manliness ? We have 
 another name for it. We say you want 
 the pluck. 
 
 * I suppose every one of you has been 
 reading a very able address recently de- 
 livered at the meeting of the Social 
 Science Congress. I refer to my friend 
 Mrs. KendaFs paper on the moral aspect 
 of the drama in this country. 
 
 ' It is a powerful indictment of the rank 
 and file of her professional brothers and 
 sisters, and nowhere sadder, more impres- 
 sive, or more unanswerable than where 
 she speaks of the involuntary fall of the 
 
Better Dead *jy 
 
 actor into social snobbishness and profes- 
 sional clap-trap. 
 
 * I do not know how the paper affected 
 you. But since reading it I have asked 
 in despair, how can this gifted lady con- 
 tinue to pick her way between the snares 
 with which the stage is beset ? 
 
 ' Is it possible that the time may come 
 when she will advertise by photographs 
 and beg from reporters the "pars" she 
 now so scathingly criticises ? Nay, when 
 I look upon the drop scene at the St. 
 James's Theatre, I ask myself if the de- 
 terioration has not already set in. 
 
 ' Gentlemen, is this a matter of indif- 
 ference to you ? But why do I ask ? Has 
 not Mrs. Lynn Linton another article in 
 the new " Nineteenth Century" that makes 
 her worthy your attention? They are 
 
78 Better Dead 
 
 women, and the sex is outside your 
 sphere/ 
 
 It was nearly twelve o'clock when 
 Mrs. Fawcett finished her address, and 
 the society had adopted the good old rule 
 of getting to bed betimes. Thus it was 
 afterwards that Andrew learned how long 
 and carefully the society had already con- 
 sidered the advisability of giving women 
 equal rights with men. 
 
 As he was leaving the chambers the 
 president slipped something into his hand. 
 He held it there until he reached his 
 room. 
 
 On the way a man struck against him, 
 scanned him piercingly, and then shuffled 
 off. He was muffled up, but Andrew 
 wondered if he had not seen him at the 
 meeting. 
 
Better Dead 79^ 
 
 The young Scotchman had an uneasy 
 feeling that his footsteps were dodged. 
 
 As soon as he reached home he un- 
 folded the scrap of paper that had been 
 pushed into his hand. It merely contained 
 these words — 
 
 * Cover up your neck/ 
 
$0 Better Dead 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 On the following Tuesday Andrew met 
 the president by appointment at the 
 Marble Arch. 
 
 Until he had received his final instruc- 
 tions he was pledged not to begin, and 
 he had passed these two intervening days 
 -staring at his empty fireplace. 
 
 They shook hands silently and passed 
 into the Park. The president was always 
 thoughtful in a crowd. 
 
 *In such a gathering as this/ said 
 Andrew, pointing an imaginary pistol at 
 a, lecturer on Socialism, ' you could hardly 
 go wrong to let fly.' 
 
Better Dead 8i 
 
 *You must not speak like that,' the 
 president said gently, *or we shall soon 
 lose you. Your remark, however, opens 
 the way for what I have to say. You 
 have never expressed any curiosity as to 
 your possible fate. I hope this is not 
 because you under-estimate the risks. If 
 the authorities saw you " letting fly," as 
 you term it, promiscuously, or even at a 
 given object, they would treat you as no 
 better than a malefactor.' 
 
 * I thought that all out yesterday,' said 
 Andrew, 'and I am amazed at the society's 
 success in escaping detection.' 
 
 'I feared this,' said the president. 
 'You are mistaken. We don't always 
 escape detection. Sometimes we are 
 caught ' 
 
 ^Caught?' 
 
 * Yes, and hanged,* 
 
 G 
 
82 Better Dead 
 
 ' But if that is so, why does it not get 
 into the papers ? ' 
 
 ' The papers are full of it/ 
 
 Andrew looked incredulous. 
 
 * In the present state of the law/ said 
 the president, ^ motive in a murder goes 
 for nothing. However iniquitous this may- 
 be — and I do not attempt to defend it — 
 we accept it as a fact. Your motives may 
 have been unexceptionable, but they hang 
 you all the same. Thus our members 
 when apprehended preserve silence on 
 this point, or say that they are Fenians. 
 This is to save the society. The man who 
 got fifteen years the other day for being 
 found near St. Stephen's with six infernal 
 machines in his pockets was really one of 
 us. He was taking them to be repaired.' 
 
 ' And the other who got ten years the 
 week before ? ' 
 
Better Dead 83 
 
 * He was from America, but it was for 
 one of our affairs that lie was sentenced. 
 He was quite innocent. You see the 
 dynamiters, vulgarly so called, are play- 
 ing into our hands. Suspicion naturally 
 falls on them. He was our fifth.' 
 
 *I had no idea of this,' murmured 
 Andrew. 
 
 ' You see what a bad name does,' said 
 the president- ' Let this be a warning to 
 you, Andrew.' 
 
 ' But is this quite fair ? * 
 
 ' As for that, they like it — the leading 
 spirits., I mean. It gives them a reputa- 
 tion. Besides, they hurt as well as help 
 us. It was after their appearance that 
 the authorities were taught to be distrust- 
 ful. You have little idea of the precau- 
 tions taken nowadays. There is Sir 
 William Harcourt, for instance, who is 
 
 G 2 
 
84 Better Dead 
 
 attended by policemen everywhere. I 
 used to go home from the House behind 
 him nightly, but I could never get him 
 alone. I have walked in the very sha- 
 dow of that man, but always in a com- 
 pany.' 
 
 'You were never arrested yourself?' 
 asked Andrew. 
 
 'I was once, but we substituted a 
 probationer.' 
 
 ' Then did he — was he ^ 
 
 ' Yes, poor fellow.' 
 
 * Is that often done ? ' 
 
 'Sometimes. You perhaps remember 
 the man who went over the Embankment 
 the night we met ? Well, if I had been 
 charged with that, you would have had to 
 be hanged.' 
 
 Andrew took a seat to collect his 
 thoughts. 
 
Better Dead 85 
 
 * Was that why you seemed to take to 
 me so much ? ' he asked, wistfully. 
 
 'It was only one reason/ said the 
 president, soothingly. * I liked you from 
 the first.' 
 
 * But I don't see,' said Andrew, * why 
 I should have suffered for your action.' 
 
 For the moment, his veneration for 
 this remarkable man hung in the balance. 
 
 * It would have been for the society's 
 sake,' said the president, simply; * pro- 
 bationers are hardly missed.' 
 
 His face wore a pained look, but there 
 was no reproach in his voice. 
 
 Andrew was touched. 
 
 He looked the apology, which, as a 
 Scotchman, he could not go the length of 
 uttering. 
 
 * Before I leave you to-day,' said the 
 president, turning to a pleasanter subject, 
 
86 Better Dead 
 
 *I shall give you some money. We do 
 not, you understand, pay our probationers 
 a fixed salary/ 
 
 ' It is more, is it not,' said Andrew, 4n 
 the nature of a scholarship ? ' 
 
 *Tes, a scholarship — for the endow- 
 ment of research. You see we do not tie 
 you down to any particular line of study. 
 Still, I shall be happy to hear of any 
 programme you may have drawn up.' 
 
 Andrew hesitated. He did not know 
 that, to the president, he was an open 
 book. 
 
 ^I dare say I can read your thoughts,'' 
 said his companion. 'There is an eminent 
 person whom you would like to make your 
 first?' 
 
 Andrew admitted that this was so; 
 
 ' I do not ask any confidences of you/ 
 continued the president, ' nor shall I dis 
 
Better Dead 87 
 
 courage ambition. But I hope, Andrew, 
 you have only in view the greatest good 
 of the greatest number. At such a time, 
 it is well for the probationer to ask himself 
 two questions : Is it not self-glorification 
 that prompts me to pick this man out from 
 among so many .? and, Am I actuated by 
 any personal animosity? If you cannot 
 answer both these questions in the nega- 
 tive, it is time to ask a third,, Should I go 
 on with this undertaking ? ' 
 
 ' In this case,' said Andrew, ' I do not 
 think it is self-glory, and I am sure it is 
 not spite. He is a man I have a very 
 high opinion of.' 
 
 'A politician? Eemember that we 
 are above party considerations.' 
 
 *He is a pohtician,' said Andrew, 
 reluctantly, 'but it is his politics I ad- 
 mire.' 
 
88 Better Dead 
 
 * And you are sure his time has come ? 
 Then how do you propose to set about 
 it?' 
 
 * I thought of caUing at his house, and 
 putting it to him.' 
 
 The president's countenance fell. 
 
 * Well, well,' he said, ' that may answer. 
 But there is no harm in bearing in mind 
 that persuasion is not necessarily a passive 
 force. Without going the length of re- 
 moving him yourself, you know, you could 
 put temptation in his way.' 
 
 'If I know my man,' said Andrew, 
 ' that will not be required,' 
 
 The president had drunk life's dis- 
 appointments to the dregs, but it was not 
 in his heart to damp the youth's enthu- 
 siasm. 
 
 Experience he knew to be a com- 
 modity for which we pay a fancy price. 
 
Better Dead 89 
 
 * After that/ said Andrew, * I thought 
 of Henry Irving.' 
 
 ' We don't kill actors,' his companion 
 said. 
 
 It was Andrew's countenance's turn to 
 fall now. 
 
 ' We don't have time for it,' the presi- 
 dent explained. 'When the society was 
 instituted, we took a few of them, but 
 merely to get our hands in. We didn't 
 want to bungle good cases, you see, and 
 it did not matter so much for them.' 
 
 * How did you do it ? ' 
 
 *We waited at the stage-door, and 
 went off with the first person who came 
 out, male or female.' 
 
 ' But I understood you did not take up 
 women ? ' 
 
 ' Nor do we. tTheatrical people con- 
 stitute a sex by themselves — hke curates,' 
 
ga Better Dead 
 
 'Then can't I even do the man who 
 stands at the theatre doors, all shirt-front 
 and diamonds ? ' 
 
 The president shivered. 
 
 * If you happen to be passing, at any 
 rate,' he said. 
 
 ' And surely some of the playwrights 
 would be better dead. They must see 
 that themselves.' 
 
 ' They have had their chance,' said the 
 president. Despite his nationality, Andrew 
 had not heard the story,, so the president 
 told it him. 
 
 ' Many years ago, when the drama was 
 in its infancy, some young men from 
 Stratford-on-Avon and elsewhere resolved 
 to build a theatre in London. 
 
 ' The times, however, were moral, and 
 no one would imperil his soul so far as to 
 give them a site. 
 
Better Dead 91 
 
 * One night, they met in despair, when 
 suddenly the room was illumined by hght- 
 ning, and they saw the devil in the midst 
 of them. 
 
 ' He has always been a large proprietor 
 in London, and he had come to strike a 
 bargain with them. They could have as 
 many sites as they chose, on one condition. 
 Every year they must send him a dramatist. 
 
 'You see he was willing to take his 
 chance of the players. 
 
 * The compact was made, and up to the 
 present time it has been rehgiously kept. 
 But this year, as the day drew near, found 
 the managers very uneasy. They did what 
 they could. They forwarded the best man 
 they had.' 
 
 *What happened?' asked Andrew, 
 breathlessly. 
 
 'The devil sent him back,' said the 
 president. 
 
92 Better Dead 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 It was one Sunday forenoon, on such a 
 sunny day as slovenly men seize upon to 
 wash their feet and have it over, that An- 
 drew set out to call on Mr. Labouchere. 
 
 The leaves in the squares were green, 
 and the twittering of the birds among the 
 boughs was almost gay enough to charm 
 him out of the severity of countenance 
 which a Scotchman wears on a Sunday 
 with his blacks. 
 
 Andrew could not help regarding the 
 mother-of-pearl sky as a favourable omen. 
 Several times he caught himself becoming 
 light-hearted. 
 
Better Dead 93 
 
 He got the great Eadical on the door- 
 step, just setting out for church. 
 
 The two men had not met before, 
 but Andrew was a disciple in the school 
 in which the other taught. 
 
 Between man and man formal intro- 
 ductions are humbug. 
 
 Andrew explained in a few words the 
 nature of his visit, and received a cordial 
 welcome. 
 
 ^Butl could call again,' he said, ob- 
 serving the hymn-book in the other's 
 hand. 
 
 ' Nonsense,' said Mr. Labouchere 
 heartily ; ' it must be business before plea- 
 sure. Mind the step.* 
 
 So saying, he led his visitor into a 
 cheerful snuggery at the back of the house. 
 It was furnished with a careful contempt 
 for taste, and the first thing that caught 
 
'94 Better Dead 
 
 Andrew's eye was a pot of apple jam on 
 a side table. 
 
 *I have no gum/ Mr. Labouchere 
 explained hastily. 
 
 A handsomely framed picture, repre- 
 senting Truth lying drowned at the 
 bottom of a well, stood on the mantel- 
 piece; indeed, there were many things 
 in the room that, on another occasion, 
 Andrew would have been interested to 
 hear the history of. 
 
 He could not but know, however, that 
 at present he was to some extent an in- 
 truder, and until he had fully explained 
 his somewhat delicate business he would 
 not feel at ease. 
 
 Though argumentative, Andrew was 
 essentially a shy, proud man. 
 
 It was very like Mr. Labouchere to 
 leave him to tell his story in his own way. 
 
Better Dead 95 
 
 only now and then, at the outset, inter- 
 jecting a humorous remark, which we 
 here omit. 
 
 * I hope,' said Andrew earnestly, ' that 
 you will not think it fulsome on my part 
 to say how much I like you. In your 
 public utterances you have let it be known 
 what value you set on pretty phrases ; but 
 I speak the blunt truth, as you have 
 taught it. I am only a young man, per- 
 haps awkward and unpolished '. 
 
 Here Andrew paused, but as Mr. 
 Labouchere did not say anything he re- 
 sumed. 
 
 ' That as it may be, I should like you 
 to know that your political speeches have 
 become part of my life. When I was a 
 student it seemed to me that the Eadical- 
 ism of so-called advanced thinkers was a 
 half-hearted sham; I had no interest in 
 
96 Better Dead 
 
 politics at all until I read your attack — 
 one of them — on the House of Lords. 
 That day marked an epoch in my life. 
 I used to read the University library copy 
 of " Truth " from cover to cover. Some- 
 times I carried it into the class-room. 
 That was not allowed. I took it up my 
 waistcoat. In those days I said that if I 
 wrote a book I would dedicate it to you 
 without permission, and London, when I 
 came to it, was to me the town where you 
 lived.' 
 
 There was a great deal of truth in 
 this ; indeed, Mr. Labouchere's single- 
 hearted enthusiasm — be his politics right 
 or wrong — is well calculated to fascinate 
 young men. 
 
 If it was slightly over-charged, the 
 temptation was great. Andrew was 
 keenly desirous of carrying his point, and 
 
Better Dead ' 97 
 
 lie wanted his host to see that he was ouly 
 thinking of his good. 
 
 ' Well, but what is it you would have 
 me do?' asked Mr. Labouchere, who 
 often had claimants on his bounty and his 
 autographs. 
 
 'I want you,' said Andrew eagerly, 
 * to die.' 
 
 The two men looked hard at each 
 other. There was not even a clock in the 
 room to break the silence. At last the 
 statesman spoke. 
 
 'Why?' he asked. 
 
 His visitor sank back in his chair re- 
 lieved. 
 
 He had put all his hopes in the other's 
 common-sense. 
 
 It had never failed Mr. Labouchere, 
 and now it promised not to fail Andrew. 
 
 *I am anxious to explain that,' the 
 
 H 
 
98 Better Dead 
 
 young man said glibly. ' If you can look 
 at yourself with the same eyes with which 
 you see other people, it won't take long. 
 Make a looking-glass of me, and it is done. 
 
 ^ You have now reached a high position 
 in the worlds of politics and literature, to 
 which you have cut your way unaided. 
 
 * You are a great satirist, combining in- 
 struction with amusement, a sort of comic 
 Carlyle. 
 
 ' You hate shams so much that if man 
 had been constructed for it I dare say you 
 would kick at yourself. 
 
 'You have your enemies, but the very 
 persons who blunt their weapons on you 
 do you the honour of sharpening them on 
 " Truth." In short, you have reached the 
 summit of your fame, and you are too 
 keen a man of the world not to know that 
 fame is a touch-and-go thing.' 
 
Better Dead 99 
 
 Andrew paused. 
 
 * Go on/ said Mr. Laboiichere. 
 
 * Well, you have now got fame, 
 honour, everything for which it is legi- 
 timate in man to strive. 
 
 ' So far back as I can remember, you 
 have had the world laughing with you. 
 But you know what human nature is. 
 
 ' There comes a morning to all wits, 
 when their public wakes to find them 
 bores. The fault may not be the wit's,^ 
 but what of that ? The result is the same. 
 
 ' Wits are like theatres : they may have 
 a glorious youth and prime, but their old 
 age is dismal. To the outsider, like my- 
 self, signs are not wanting — to continue 
 the figure of speech— that you have put 
 on your last successful piece. 
 
 ' Can you say candidly that your last 
 Christmas number was more than a reflec- 
 
 H 2 
 
lOO Better Dead 
 
 tion of its predecessors, or that your re- 
 marks this year on the Derby day took as 
 they did the year before ? 
 
 'Surely the most incisive of our 
 satirists will not let himself degenerate 
 into an illustration of Mr. Herbert Spen- 
 cer's theory that man repeats himself, like 
 history. 
 
 'Mr. Labouchere, sir, to those of us 
 who have grown up in your inspiration it 
 would indeed be pitiful if this were 
 so.' 
 
 Andrew's host turned nervously in his 
 chair. 
 
 Probably he wished that he had gone 
 to church now. 
 
 'You need not be alarmed,' he said, 
 with a forced smile. 
 
 ' You will die,' cried Andrew, ' before 
 they send you to the House of Lords ? ' 
 
OP THr, 
 
 u^^IlVE:K:, 
 
 lOI 
 
 * In wHch case the gain would be all 
 t£> those left behind.' 
 
 ' No,' said Andrew, who now felt that 
 he had as good as gained the day ; ' there 
 could not be a greater mistake. 
 
 * Suppose it happened to-night, or even 
 put it off to the end of the week ; see what 
 would follow. 
 
 'The ground you have lost so far is 
 infinitesimal. It would be forgotten in 
 the general regret. 
 
 * Think of the newspaper placards next 
 morning, some of them perhaps edged with 
 black ; the leaders in every London paper 
 and in all the prominent provincial ones ; 
 the six columns obituary in the " Times " ; 
 the paragraphs in the " World " ; the 
 motion by Mr. Gladstone or Mr. Healy 
 for the adjournment of the House ; the 
 magazine articles ; the promised memoirs ; 
 
io2 Better Dead 
 
 the publication of posthumous papers; 
 the resolution in the Northampton Town 
 Council ; the statue in Hyde Park ! With 
 such a recompense where would be the 
 sacrifice ? ' 
 
 Mr. Labouchere rose and jmoed the 
 room in great mental agitation. 
 
 'Now look at the other side of the 
 picture,' said Andrew, rising and following 
 him: "Truth" reduced to threepence, 
 and then to a penny; yourself confused 
 with Tracy Turnerelli or Martin Tupper ; 
 your firiends running when you looked 
 like jesting; the House emptying, the 
 reporters shutting their note-books as 
 you rose to speak ; the great name 
 *oT Labouchere become a synonym for 
 •borel' 
 
 They presented a strange picture in 
 that room, its owner's face now a greyish 
 
Better Dead 103 
 
 white, his supplicant shaking with a passion 
 that came out in perspiration. 
 
 With trembling hand Mr. Labouchere 
 flung open the window. The room was 
 stifling. 
 
 There was a smell of new-mown hay 
 in the air, a gentle breeze tipped the well- 
 trimmed hedge with life, and the walks 
 crackled in the heat. 
 
 But a stone's throw distant the sun was 
 bathing in the dimpled Thames. 
 
 There was a cawing of rooks among 
 the tall trees, and a church-bell tinkled in 
 the ivy far away across the river. 
 
 Mr. Labouchere was far away too. 
 
 He was a round-cheeked boy again, 
 smothering his kitten in his pinafore, 
 prattling of Eed Hiding Hood by his 
 school-mistress's knee, and guddling in 
 the brook for minnows. 
 
I04 Better Dead 
 
 And now — and now ! 
 
 It was a beautiful world, and, ah, life 
 is sweet ! 
 
 He pressed his fingers to his forehead. 
 
 ' Leave me,' he said hoarsely. 
 
 Andrew put his hand upon the shoulder 
 of the man he loved so well. 
 
 ' Be brave,' he said ; ' do it in whatever 
 way you prefer. A moment's suffering, 
 and all will be over.' 
 
 He spoke gently. There is always 
 something infinitely pathetic in the sight 
 of a strong man in pain. 
 
 Mr. Labouchere turned upon him. 
 
 ^ Go,' he cried, ' or I will call the 
 servants.' 
 
 ' You forget,' said Andrew, ^ that I am 
 your guest.' 
 
 But his host only pointed to the door. 
 
 Andrew felt a great sinking at his 
 
Better Dead 105 
 
 heart. They prate who say it is success^ 
 that tries a man. He flung himself at Mr. 
 Labouchere's feet. 
 
 ' Think of the public funeral/ he cried. 
 
 His host seized the bell-rope and pulled 
 it violently. 
 
 'If you will do it/ said Andrew 
 solemnly, *I promise to lay flowers on 
 your grave every day till I die.' 
 
 'John/ said Mr. Labouchere, 'show 
 this gentleman out.' 
 
 Andrew rose. 
 
 ' You refuse ? ' he asked. 
 
 'I do.' 
 
 ' You won't think it over ? If I call 
 again, say on Thursday ' 
 
 ' John ! ' said Mr. Labouchere. 
 
 Andrew took up his hat. His host 
 thought he had gone. But in the hall his 
 reflection in a looking-glass reminded the 
 
io6 Better Dead 
 
 visitor of something. He put his head in 
 at the doorway again. 
 
 ' Would you mind telling me/ he said, 
 ' whether you see anything peculiar about 
 my neck .? ' 
 
 ' It seems a good neck to twist/ Mr. 
 Labouchere answered, a httle savagely. 
 
 Andrew then withdrew. 
 
Better Dead 107 
 
 CHAPTEE Vn. 
 
 This unexpected rebuff from Mr. Labou- 
 chere rankled for many days in Andrew's 
 mind. Had he been proposing for the 
 great statesman's hand he could not have 
 felt it more. Perhaps he did not make 
 suflScient allowance for Mr. Labouchere ; 
 it is always so easy to advise. 
 
 But to rage at a man (or woman) is 
 the proof that we can adore them ; it is 
 only his loved ones who infuriate a Scotch- 
 man. 
 
 There were moments when Andrew 
 said to himself that he had nothing more 
 to Uve for. 
 
io8 Better Dead 
 
 Then he would upbraid himself for 
 having gone about it too hurriedly, and in 
 bitter self-contempt strike his hand on the 
 railings, as he rushed by- 
 Work is the sovereign remedy for this 
 unhealthy state of mind, and fortunately 
 Andrew had a great deal to do. 
 
 Gradually the wound healed, and he 
 began to take an interest in Lord Eandolph 
 Churchill. 
 
 Every day the Flying Scotchman shoots 
 its refuse of clever young men upon 
 London who are too ambitious to do any- 
 thing. 
 
 Andrew was not one of these. 
 
 Seeking to carry off one of the 
 greatest prizes in his profession, he had 
 aimed too high for a beginner. 
 
 When he realised this he apprenticed 
 himself, so to speak, to the president. 
 
Better Dead 169 
 
 determined to acquire a practical know- 
 ledge of his art in all its branches. 
 Though a very young man, he had still 
 much to learn. It was only in his leisure 
 moments that he gave way to dreams over 
 a magnum opus. 
 
 But when he did set about it, which 
 must be before his period of probation 
 closed, he had made up his mind to be 
 thorough. 
 
 The months thus passed quietly but 
 not unprofitably in assisting the president, 
 acquainting himself with the favourite re- 
 sorts of interesting persons and composing 
 his thesis. 
 
 At intervals the monotony was reheved 
 by more strictly society work. On these 
 occasions he played a part not dissimilar 
 to that of a junior counsel. 
 
 The president found him invaluable 
 
no Better Dead 
 
 in his raid on the gentlemen with 
 umbrellas who read newspapers in the 
 streets. 
 
 It was Andrew — though he never got 
 the credit of it — ^who put his senior in 
 possession of the necessary particulars 
 about the comic writers whose subject is 
 teetotalism and spinsters. 
 
 He was unwearying, indeed, in his 
 efforts with regard to the comic journals 
 generally, and the first man of any note 
 that he disposed of was * Punch's ' favourite 
 artist on Scotch matters. This was in an 
 alley off Fleet Street. 
 
 Andrew took a new interest in the 
 House of Lords, and had a magnificent 
 scheme for ending it in half an hour. 
 
 As the members could never be 
 got together in any number, this fell 
 through. 
 
Better Dead iii 
 
 Lord Brabourhe will remember the 
 young man in a straw hat, with his neck 
 covered up, who attended the House so 
 regularly when it was announced that he 
 was to speak. That was Andrew. 
 
 It was he who excitedly asked the 
 Black Eod to point out Lord Sherbrooke, 
 when it was intimated that this peer was 
 preparing a volume of poems for the 
 press. 
 
 In a month's time Andrew knew the 
 likeliest places to meet these and other 
 noble lords alone. 
 
 The publishing offices of 'England,' 
 the only Conservative newspaper, had a 
 fascination for him. 
 
 He got to know Mr. Ashmead Bart- 
 lett's hours of calling, until the sight of 
 him on the pavement was accepted as a 
 token that the proprietor was inside. 
 
112 Better Dead 
 
 They generally reached the House of 
 Commons about the same time. 
 
 Here Andrew's interest was discrimi- 
 nated among quite a number of members. 
 3\/[r. Bradlaugh, Mr. Sexton, and Mr. 
 Marjoribanks, the respected member for 
 Berwickshire, were perhaps his favourites ; 
 but the one he dwelt with most pride on 
 was Lord Eandolph Churchill. 
 
 One night he gloated so long over 
 Sir George Trevelyan leaning over West- 
 minster Bridge that in the end he missed 
 him. 
 
 When Andrew made up his mind to 
 ihave a man he got to like him. This was 
 his danger. 
 
 With press tickets, which he got very 
 cheap, he often looked in at the theatres to 
 acquaint himself with the faces and figures 
 of the constant frequenters. 
 
Better Dead 113 
 
 He drew capital pencil sketches of the 
 leading critics in his note-book. 
 
 The gentleman next him that night 
 at 'Manteanx Noirs' would not have 
 laughed so heartily if he had known why 
 Andrew listened for his address to the 
 cabman. 
 
 The young Scotchman resented people's 
 merriment over nothing ; sometimes he 
 took the Underground Eailway just to 
 catch clerks at ' Tit-Bits.' 
 
 One afternoon he saw some way in front 
 of him in Piccadilly a man with a young 
 head on old shoulders. 
 
 Andrew recognised him by the swing 
 of his stick ; he could have identified his 
 plaid among a hundred thousand morning 
 coats. It was John Stuart Blackie, his 
 favourite professor. 
 
 Since the young man graduated, his 
 
 I 
 
114 Better Dead 
 
 old preceptor had resigned his chair, and 
 was now devoting his time to writing 
 sonnets to himself in the Scotch news- 
 papers. 
 
 Andrew could not bear to think of it, 
 and quickened his pace to catch him up. 
 But Blackie was in great form, humming 
 ' Scots wha hae.' With head thrown 
 back, staff revolving and chest inflated, he 
 sang himself into a martial ecstasy, and, 
 drumming cheerily on the doors with his 
 fist, strutted along like a band of bag- 
 pipers with a clan behind him, until 
 he had played himself out of Andrew's 
 sight, 
 
 Far be it from our intention to 
 maintain that Andrew was invariably 
 successful. That is not given to any 
 man. 
 
 Sometimes his hands slipped. 
 
Better Dead 115 
 
 Had he learned the piano in his 
 younger days this might not have hap- 
 pened. But if he had been a pianist the 
 president would probably have wiped him 
 out — and very rightly. There can be no 
 doubt about male pianists. 
 
 Nor was the fault always Andrew's, 
 When the society was founded, many far- 
 seeing men had got wind of it, and had 
 themselves elected honorary members be- 
 fore the committee realised what they 
 were after. 
 
 This was a sore subject with the 
 president ; he shunned discussing it, and 
 thus Andrew had frequently to discon- 
 tinue cases after he was well on with 
 them. 
 
 In this way much time was lost. 
 
 Andrew was privately thanked by the 
 committee for one suggestion, which, for 
 
 i2 
 
Ii6 Better Dead 
 
 all he knows, may yet be carried out. 
 The president had a wide interest in the 
 press, and on one occasion he remarked to 
 Andrew : 
 
 * Think of the snobs and the prigs who 
 would be saved if the " Saturday Eeview " 
 and the " Spectator " could be induced to 
 cease publication ! ' 
 
 Andrew thought it out, and then pro- 
 duced his scheme. 
 
 The battle of the clans on the North 
 Inch of Perth had always seemed to him 
 a master-stroke of diplomacy> 
 
 * Why,' he said to the president, ' not 
 set the ''Saturday's" staff against the 
 *' Spectator's." If about equally matched, 
 they might exterminate each other.' 
 
 So his days of probation passed, and. 
 the time drew nigh for Andrew to show 
 what stuff' was in him. 
 
Better Dead 117 
 
 CHAPTEE VIIL 
 
 Andrew had set apart July 31 for killing 
 Lord Eandolph Churcliill. 
 
 As his term of probation was up in the 
 second week of August, this would leave 
 him nearly a fortnight to finish his thesis 
 in. 
 
 On the 30th he bought a knife in 
 Holborn suitable for his purpose. It had 
 been his original intention to use an 
 electric rifle, but those he was shown were 
 too cumbrous for use in the streets. 
 
 The eminent statesman was residing at 
 this time at the Grand Hotel, and Andrew 
 thought to get him somewhere between 
 
li8 Better Dead 
 
 Trafalgar Square and the House. Taking 
 up his position in a window of Morley's 
 Hotel at an early hour, he set himself 
 to watch the windows opposite. The 
 plan of the Grand wg^s well known to him, 
 for he had frequently made use of it as 
 overlooking the National Liberal Club, 
 whose membership he had already slightly 
 reduced. 
 
 Turning his eyes to the private sitting- 
 rooms, he soon discovered Lord Randolph 
 busily writing in one of them. 
 
 Andrew had lunch at Morley's, so that 
 he might be prepared for any emergency. 
 Lord Randolph wrote on doggedly through 
 the forenoon, and Andrew hoped he would 
 finish what he was at in case this might l^e 
 his last chance. 
 
 It rained all through the afternoon. 
 The thick drizzle seemed to double the 
 
Better Dead iig 
 
 width of the street, and even to Andrew's 
 Btrained eyes the shadow in the room op- 
 posite was obscured. 
 
 His eyes wandered from the window 
 to the hotel entrance, and as cab after cab 
 rattled from it he became uneasy. 
 
 In ordinary circumstances he could 
 have picked his man out anywhere, but in 
 rain aE men look alike. He could have 
 dashed across the street and rushed from 
 room to room of the Grand Hotel. 
 
 His self-restramt was rewarded. 
 
 Late in the afternoon Lord Eandolph 
 came to the window. The flashing water- 
 proofs and scurrying umbrellas were a. 
 surprise to him, and he knitted his brows, 
 in annoyance. 
 
 By-and-by his face was convulsed with 
 laughter. 
 
 He drew a chair to the window and 
 
I20 Better Dead 
 
 stood on it, that he might have a better 
 view of the pavement beneath. 
 
 For some twenty minutes he remained 
 there smacking his thighs, his shoulders 
 heaving with glee. 
 
 Andrew could not see what it was, but 
 he formulated a theory. 
 
 Heavy blobs of rain that had gathered 
 on the window-sill slowly released their 
 hold from time to time and fell with a 
 plump on the hats of passers-by. Lord 
 Eandolph was watching them. 
 
 Just as they were letting go he shook 
 the window to make the wayfarers look 
 up. They got the rain-drops full in the 
 face, and then he screamed. 
 
 About six o'clock Andrew paid his 
 bill hurriedly and ran downstairs. Lord 
 Eandolph had come to the window in his 
 great-coat. His follower waited for him 
 
Better Dead 12 1 
 
 outside. It was possible that he would 
 take a hansom and drive straight to the 
 House, but Andrew had reasons for think- 
 ing this unlikely. The rain had somewhat 
 abated. Lord Eandolph came out, put 
 up his umbrella, and, glancing at the sky 
 for a moment, set off briskly up St. Martin's 
 Lane. 
 
 Andrew knew that he would not 
 linger here, for they had done St. Martin's 
 Lane already. 
 
 Lord Eandolph's movements these last 
 days had excited the Scotchman's curiosity. 
 He had been doing the London streets 
 systematically during his unoccupied 
 afternoons. But it was difficult to dis- 
 cover what he was after. 
 
 It was the tobacconists' shops that 
 attracted him. 
 
122 Better Dead 
 
 He did not enter, only stood at the 
 windows counting something. 
 
 He jotted down the result on a piece 
 of paper and then sped on to the next shop. 
 
 In this way, with Andrew at his heels, 
 he had done the whole of the W.C. dis- 
 trict,, St. James's, Oxford Street, Piccadilly, 
 Bond Street, and the Burlington Arcade. 
 
 On this occasion he took the small 
 thoroughfares lying between upper Ee- 
 gent Street and Tottenham Court Eoad. 
 Beginning in Great Titchfield Street he 
 went from tobacconist's to tobacconist's, 
 sometimes smiling to himself, at other 
 times frowning. Andrew scrutinised the 
 windows as he left them, but could make 
 nothing of it. 
 
 Not for the first time he felt that there 
 could be no murder to-night unless he 
 saw the paper first. 
 
Better Dead 123 
 
 Lord Eandolph devoted an hour to 
 this work. Then he hailed a cab. 
 
 Andrew expected this. But the 
 statesman still held the paper loosely in 
 his hand. 
 
 It was a temptation. 
 
 Andrew bounded forward as if to 
 open the cab door, pounced upon the 
 paper and disappeared with it up an alley. 
 After five minutes' dread lest he might be 
 pursued, he struck a match and read : 
 
 ^ Great Titchfield Street — Branscombe 
 15, Churchill 11, Langtry 8, Gladstone 4. 
 
 ' Mortimer Street — Langtry 11, Brans- 
 combe 9, Gladstone 6, Mary Anderson 6, 
 Churchill 3. 
 
 ^ Margaret Street — Churchill 7, Ander- 
 son 6, Branscombe 5, Gladstone 4, Cham- 
 berlain 4. 
 
 * Smaller streets — Churchill 14, Brans- 
 
124 Better Dead 
 
 <5ombe 13, Gladstone 9, Langtry 9. Totals 
 for to-day: Churchill 35, Langtry 28, 
 Gladstone 23, Branscombe 42, Anderson 
 12, Chamberlain nowhere/ Then followed, 
 as if in a burst of passion, ' Branscombe 
 still leading — confound her.' 
 
 Andrew saw that Lord Eandolph 
 had been calculating fame from vesta 
 boxes. 
 
 For a moment this discovery sent 
 Andrew's mind wandering. Miss Brans- 
 <5ombe's photographs obstructed the traflS^c. 
 Should not this be put a stop to ? Ah, 
 but she was a woman ! 
 
 This recalled him to himself. Lord 
 Eandolph had departed, probably for St. 
 Stephen's. 
 
 Andrew jumped into a hansom. He 
 felt like an exotic in a glass frame. 
 
 * The House,' he said. 
 
Better Dead 125 
 
 What a pity his mother could not 
 have seen him then! 
 
 Perhaps Andrew was prejudiced. Un- 
 doubtedly, he was in a mood to be easily 
 pleased. 
 
 In his opinion at any rate. Lord Ean- 
 dolph's speech that night on the Irish 
 question was the best he ever delivered. 
 
 It came on late in the evening, and he 
 stuck to his text like a clergyman. He 
 quoted from Hansard to prove that Mr. 
 Gladstone did not know what he was talk- 
 ing about ; he blazed out against the 
 Parnellites till they were called to order. 
 The ironical members who cried ' Hear,, 
 hear,' regretted it. 
 
 He had never been wittier, never 
 more convincing, never so magnificently 
 vituperative. 
 
 Andrew was lifted out of himself. 
 
126 Better Dead 
 
 He jumped in ecstasy to his feet. It 
 was he who led the applause. 
 
 He felt that this was a worthy close to 
 a brilliant career. 
 
 We oldsters looking on more coolly 
 could have seen where the speech was 
 lacking, so far as Andrew was concerned. 
 It is well known that when a great man, 
 of whom there will be biographers, is to 
 die a violent death, his last utterances are 
 strangely significant, as if he foresaw his 
 end. 
 
 There was nothing of this in Lord 
 Randolph's speech. 
 
 The House was thinning when the 
 noble lord rose to go. Andrew joined 
 him at the gate. 
 
 The Scotchman's nervous elation had 
 all gone. A momentary thrill passed 
 through his veins as he remembered that 
 
Better Dead 127 
 
 in all probability they would never be to- 
 gether again. After that he was quite calm. 
 
 The night was black. 
 
 The rain had ceased, but for an oc- 
 casional drop shaken out of a shivering 
 star. 
 
 But for a few cabs rolling off with 
 politicians, Whitehall was deserted. 
 
 The very tax-collectors seemed to 
 have got to bed. 
 
 Lord Eandolph shook hands with two 
 or three other members homeward bound, 
 walked a short distance with one of 
 them, and then set off towards his hotel 
 alone. 
 
 His pace was leisurely, as that of a 
 man in profound thought. 
 
 There was no time to be lost; but 
 Andrew dallied. 
 
 Once he crept up and could have 
 
128 Better Dead 
 
 done it. He thought he would give him 
 another minute. 
 
 There was a footstep behind, and he 
 fell back. 
 
 It was Sir William Harcourt. Lord 
 Eandolph heard him, and, seeing who it 
 was, increased his pace. 
 
 The illustrious Liberal slackened at 
 the same moment. 
 
 Andrew bit his lip and hurried on. 
 
 Some time was lost in getting round 
 Sir William. 
 
 He was advancing in strides now. 
 
 Lord Eandolph saw that he was pur- 
 sued. 
 
 When Andrew began to run, he ran 
 too. 
 
 There were not ten yards between 
 them at Whitehall Place. 
 
 A large man turning the corner of 
 
Better Dead 129 
 
 Great Scotland Yard fell against Andrew. 
 He was wheeled aside, but Mr. Chaplin 
 had saved a colleague's life. 
 
 With a cry Andrew bounded on, his 
 knife glistening. 
 
 Trafalgar Square was a black mass. 
 
 Lord Eandolph took Northumberland 
 Avenue in four steps, Andrew almost on 
 the top of him. 
 
 As he burst through the door of the 
 Grand Hotel, his pursuer made one tre- 
 mendous leap, and his knife catching Lord 
 Eandolph in the heel, carried away his 
 shoe. 
 
 Andrew's face had struck the steps. 
 
 He heard the word ' Fenian.' 
 
 There was a rushing to and fro of 
 lights. 
 
 Springing to his feet, he thrust the 
 shoe into his pocket and went home. 
 
 K 
 
130 Better Dead 
 
 CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 * Tie this muffler round your neck.' 
 
 It was the president who spoke. An 
 
 drew held his thesis in his hand. 
 
 ' But the rooms are so close,' he said. 
 *That has nothing to do with it/ 
 
 said the president. The blood rushed to 
 
 his head, and then left him pale. 
 
 * But why ? ' asked Andrew. 
 
 ' For God's sake, do as I bid you,' said 
 his companion, pulling himself by a great 
 effort to the other side of the room. . 
 
 ' You have done it ? ' he asked, care- 
 fully avoiding Andrew's face. 
 
 * Yes, but ' 
 
Better Dead 131 
 
 'Then we can go in to the others. 
 Eeniember what I told you about omitting 
 the first seven pages. The society won't 
 stand introductory remarks in a thesis.' 
 
 The committee were assembled in the 
 next room. 
 
 When the young Scotchman entered 
 with the president, they looked him full 
 in the neck. 
 
 ' He is suffering from cold,' the presi- 
 dent said. 
 
 No one replied, but angry eyes were 
 turned on the speaker. He somewhat 
 nervously placed his young friend in a 
 bad light, with a table between him and 
 his hearers. 
 
 Then Andrew began. 
 
 * The Society for Doing Without,' he 
 read, ' has been tried and found wanting. It 
 has now been in existence for some years, 
 
 k2 
 
132 Better Dead 
 
 and its members have worked zealously, 
 though unostentatiously. 
 
 ' I am far from saying a word against 
 them. They are patriots as true as ever 
 petitioned against the Channel Tunnel.' 
 
 * No compliments,' whispered the 
 president, warningly. Andrew hastily 
 turned a page, and continued : 
 
 ' But what have they done ? Eemoved 
 an individual here and there. That is 
 the extent of it. 
 
 ' You have been pursuing a half-hearted 
 policy. You might go on for centuries 
 at this rate before you made any per- 
 ceptible difference in the streets. 
 
 ' Have you ever seen a farmer thinning 
 turnips .^ Gentlemen, there is an example 
 for you. My proposal is that everybody 
 should have to die on reaching the age of 
 forty-five years. 
 
Better Dead 133 
 
 ' It has been the wish of this society to 
 avoid the prejudices engendered of party 
 strife. But though you are a social 
 rather than a poUtical organisation, you 
 cannot escape poUtics. You do not call 
 yourselves Eadicals, but you work for 
 Eadicalism. What is Eadicalism ? It 
 is a desire to get a chance. This is 
 an aspiration inherent in the human 
 breast. It is felt most keenly by the 
 poor. 
 
 ' Make the poor rich, and the hovels, 
 the misery, the immorality, and the crime 
 of the East End disappear. It is infamous, 
 say the Socialists, that this is not done at 
 once. Yes, but how is it to be done? 
 Not, as they hold, by making the classes 
 and the masses chaage places. Not on 
 the lines on which the society has hitherto 
 worked. There is only one way, and I 
 
134 Better Dead 
 
 make it my text to-night. Fortunately, 
 it presents no considerable difficulties. 
 
 ' It is well known in medicine that the 
 simplest — in other words, the most natural 
 "—remedies may be the most efficacious. 
 
 ' So it is in the social life. What shall 
 we do, Society asks, with our boys? I 
 reply, Kill off the parents. 
 
 ' There can be little doubt that forty- 
 five years is long enough for a man to live. 
 Parents must see that. Youth is the time 
 to have your fling. 
 
 ' Let us see how this plan would revo^ 
 lutionise the world. It would make 
 statesmen hurry up. At present, they are 
 nearly fifty before you hear of them. 
 How can we expect the country to be 
 properly governed by men in their dotage? 
 
 ' Again, take the world of letters. 
 Why does the literary asph^ant have such 
 
Better Dead 135 
 
 a struggle? Simply because the pro- 
 fession is over-stocked with seniors. I 
 would like to know what Tennyson's age 
 is, and Euskin's, and Browning's. Every 
 one of them is over seventy, and all 
 writing away yet as lively as you like. 
 It is a crying scandal. 
 
 ' Things are the same in medicine, art, 
 divinity, law — in short, in every profession 
 and in every trade. 
 
 ' Young ladies cry out that this is not 
 a marrying age. How can it be a marry- 
 ing age, with grey-headed parents every- 
 where? Give young men their chance, 
 and they will marry younger than ever, if 
 only to see their children grown up before 
 they die. 
 
 'A word in conclusion. Looking 
 around me, I cannot but see that most, if 
 not all, of my hearers have passed what 
 
136 Better Dead 
 
 should plainly be the allotted span of life 
 to man. You would have to go. 
 
 'But, gentlemen, you would do so 
 feeling that you were setting a noble 
 example. Younger, and — may I say.? 
 — more energetic men would fill your 
 places and carry on your work. You 
 would hardly be missed.' 
 
 Andrew rolled up his thesis blandly, 
 and strode into the next room to await 
 the committee's decision. It cannot be 
 said that he felt the slightest uneasiness. 
 
 The president followed, shutting the 
 door behind him. 
 
 ' You have just two minutes,' he said. 
 
 Andrew could not understand it. 
 
 His hat was crushed on to his head, his 
 coat flung at him ; he was pushed out at a 
 window, squeezed through a grating ai^d 
 tumbled into a passage. 
 
Better Dead 137 
 
 *What is the matter?' he asked, as 
 the president dragged him down a back 
 street. 
 
 The president pointed to the window 
 they had just left. 
 
 Half a dozen infuriated men were 
 climbing from it in pursuit. Their faces, 
 drunk with rage, awoke Andrew to a sense 
 of his danger. 
 
 ' They were drawing lots for you when 
 I left the room,' said the president. 
 
 'But 'what have I done?' gasped 
 Andrew. 
 
 ' They didn't like your thesis. At 
 least, they make that their excuse.' 
 
 ^Excuse?' 
 
 *Yes; it was really your neck that 
 did it.' 
 
 By this time they were in a cab, 
 rattling into Gray's Inn Koad. 
 
138 Better Dead 
 
 *They are a poor lot/ said Andrew 
 fiercely, ' if they couldn't keep their heads 
 over my neck/ 
 
 'They are only human/ retorted the 
 president. 'For Heaven's sake, pull up 
 the collar of your coat.' 
 
 His fingers were itching, but Andrew 
 did not notice it. 
 
 ' Where are we going ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' To King's Cross. The midnight ex- 
 press leaves in twenty minutes. It is 
 your last chance.' 
 
 Andrew was in a daze. When the 
 president had taken his ticket for Glasgow 
 he was still groping. 
 
 The railway officials probably thought 
 him on his honeymoon. 
 
 They sauntered along the platform 
 beyond the lights. 
 
Better Dead 139 
 
 Andrew, who was very hot. unloosened 
 his greatcoat. 
 
 In a moment a great change came 
 over his companion. All the humanity 
 went from his face, his whole figure shook, 
 and it was only by a tremendous effort 
 that he chained his hands to his side. 
 
 ' Your neck,' he cried ; ' cover it 
 up.' 
 
 Andrew did not understand. He 
 looked about him for the committee. 
 
 ' There are none of them here,' he said 
 feebly. 
 
 The president had tried to warn him. 
 
 Now he gave way. 
 
 The devil that was in him leapt at 
 Andrew's throat. 
 
 The young Scotchman was knocked 
 into a goods waggon, with the president 
 twisted round him. 
 
140 Better Dead 
 
 At that moment there was heard the 
 whistle of the Scotch express. 
 
 ' Your blood be on your own head,' 
 cried the president, yielding completely to 
 temptation. 
 
 His fingers met round the young 
 man's neck. 
 
 ' My God ! ' he murmured, in a de- 
 lirious ecstasy, ' what a neck, what a 
 neck ! ' 
 
 Just then his foot slipped. 
 
 He fell. Andrew jumped up and 
 kicked him as hard as he could three 
 times. 
 
 Then he leapt to the platform, and, 
 flinging himself into the moving train, fell 
 exhausted on the seat. 
 
 Andrew never thought so much of the 
 president again. You cannot respect a 
 man and kick him. 
 
Better Dead 141 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 The first thing Andrew did on reaching 
 Wheens was to write to his London land- 
 lady to send on his box with clothes 
 by goods train ; also his tobacco pouch, 
 which he had left on the mantelpiece, and 
 two pencils which she would find in the 
 tea-caddy. 
 
 Then he went round to the manse. 
 
 The minister had great news for him. 
 
 The master of the Wheens Grammar 
 School had died. Andrew had only to 
 send in his testimonials, and the post was 
 his. 
 
 The salary was 200/. per annum, with 
 
142 Better Dead 
 
 an assistant and the privilege of calling 
 himself rector. 
 
 This settled, Andrew asked for Clarrie. 
 He was humbler now than he had been, 
 and in our disappointments we turn to 
 woman for solace. 
 
 Clarrie had been working socks for 
 him, and would have had them finished 
 by this time had she known how to turn 
 the heel. 
 
 It is his sweetheart a man should be 
 particular about. Once he settles down 
 it does not much matter whom he 
 marries. 
 
 All this and much more the good old 
 minister pointed out to Andrew. Then 
 he left Clarrie and her lover together. 
 
 The winsome girl held one of the socks 
 on her knee — who will chide her "^ — and 
 a tear glistened in her eye. 
 
Better Dead 143 
 
 Andrew was a good deal affected. 
 
 ' Clarrie,' he said softly, ' will you be 
 my wife ? ' 
 
 She clung to him in reply. He kissed 
 her fondly. 
 
 * Clarrie, beloved,' he said nervously, 
 after a long pause, ' how much are seven 
 and thirteen ? ' 
 
 'Twenty-three,' said Clarrie, putting 
 up her mouth to his. 
 
 Andrew laughed a sad vacant laugh. 
 
 He felt that he would never understand 
 a woman. But his fingers wandered 
 through her tobacco-coloured hair. 
 
 He had a strange notion. 
 
 ' Put your arms round my neck,' he 
 whispered. 
 
 Thus the old, old story was told once 
 more. 
 
 A month afterwards the president of 
 
144 Better Dead 
 
 the Society for Doing Without received by 
 post a box of bride-cake, adorned with the 
 silver gilt which is also largely used for 
 coffins. 
 
 • • • • 
 
 More than two years have passed since 
 Andrew's marriage, and already the 
 minister has two sweet grandchildren, in 
 whom he renews his youth. 
 
 Except during school-hours their 
 parents' married life is one long honey- 
 moon. 
 
 Clarrie has put Lord Eandolph Chur- 
 chill's shoe into a glass case on the piano, 
 and, as is only natural, Andrew is now a 
 staunch Conservative. 
 
 Domesticated and repentant, he has 
 renounced the devil and all her woi:ks. 
 
 Sometimes, when thinking of the past, 
 the babble of his lovely babies jars upon 
 
Better Dead 145 
 
 him, and, still half-dreaming, he brings 
 their heads close together. 
 
 At such a time all the anxious mother 
 has to say is — 
 
 ^ Andrew ! ' 
 
 Then with a start he lays them gently 
 in a heap on the floor, and, striding the 
 room, soon regains his composure. 
 
 For Andrew has told Clarrie all the 
 indiscretions of his life in London, and 
 she has forgiven everything. 
 
 Ah, what will not a wife forgive I 
 
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