'l/i
Ex Libris
C. K. OGDEN
THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
\H^'
Ml
/WtuT-
MR. ZANGWTLVS WORKS.
Six Shillings Each.
THE CELIBATES' CLUB.
DREAMERS OF THE GHETTO.
CHILDREN OF THE GHETTO.
THE MASTER.
THE RING OF SCHJVORRERS.
THE PREMIER AND THE FAINTER.
Issued by other Publishers :— Ghetto Tragedies. —Merely Mary Ann.
— The Big Bozv Mystery.— Without Prejudice.
The Bachelors' Club.
Daily Chronicle: "With all his fun, he is not a 'funny man'; he is a
literary liumorist — in all tlie seriousness of claiming a place in literature. With-
out despising tlie occasional aid of the more obvious means to ludicrous effects,
he nevers fatls to impress one with the feeling that he uses such means as they
would ordinarily be used by a really great genius for comedy, not as main and
constant resources, but as incidental materials that could not be neglected with-
out the suggestion of unnaturalness and pedantry. His eye ranges freely over
the wide scope of human weaknesses and contradictions, ever alert and ever
lambent with essential kindliness. Even when he loosens his wit on the most
palpable of social absurdities, he uses his victim as though he loved him. Every-
where there is the reserve of strength, as well as the profusion of fertility.
There is not one of the chapters of ' The Bachelors' Club ' that any reader with
the rudiments of a sense of humour in his body will think of skipping."
Observer : " The author has a delightful vein of humour."
Spectator : " Mr. Zangwill's humour is genuine, and often fre.sh."
Morning Post : "The author has a manner of touching on the foibles of the
day, full of a )ilayful malice, but quite devoid of bitterness, that is one of the
best gifts of the humorist. "
Vanity Pair: "We may congratulate ourselves upon the acquisition of a
new and original humorist. The whimsicality, smartness of idea and phraseology,
grotesque touches of character, quaint scraps of reflective wit and wisdom, are
fresh, iizarre, and unconventional to the last degree. Mr. Zangwill has plenty of
fantastic ideas, and a delightfully funny way of expressing them, and beneath all
his humour there is a certain philoaophical vein of thought. He has strength as
well as humour."
Speaker: " It is impossible to read this book without being delighted with
it."
World : " Both in prose and verse Mr. Zangwill can show a light hand."
St. James's Gazette : "Some exceedingly clever fooling, and a happy
audacity of whimsical invention. Mr. Zangwill shows a good deal of literary
feeling and knowledge, and has the fads and fashions of the hour at his fingers'
ends."
Boston Herald: "Mr. Zangwill is certainly a brilliant /arcewr, but he is
something more. There is even pathos to be found in some chapters of his book,
and there is wealth of epigram and satire. There is, too, an audacity of invention
that must distinguish this from the majority of 'funny ' books. ' Hamlet up to
Date ' is a short story of marked originality. I am not sure it is not my favourite
chapter ; but then I recall ' The Fall of Israfel,' and I cannot decide which I like
better. At any rate, here is a humorist of the first rank, not born, as we are
wont to suppose humorists must all be, under the Stars and the Stripes." — Louise
Chandler Moulton.
The Old Maids' Club.
Athenseum : " Most strongly to be recommended to all classes of readers.
The book is so rich in wit that to get through too much of it at a sitting would
be like making a meal off wedding-cake."
Daily News: "Told with unflagging humour and occasional touches of
pathos. The author plays with his subject, and invests it with delicate whimsical
lights and shadows, and keen flashes of wit."
Richard Le Gallienne in 'The Star': "He is all the greater wit
because he is greater than his wit."
National Review: "Mr. Zangwill has a very bright, and a very original
humour, and every page of his book is full of point and 'go,' and full, too, of a
healthy satire that is really humorously applied common sense."
New^ York Tribune: "A work of quite ravishing piquancy, which Is
creating a furore in New York."
fill'.'"''
I MET HIM IN THE ATLANTIC AND CONGRATULATED HIM. — T. 21"
The
Celibates' Club
r /
Q^ 'Z6-i, ON rn^ ■vJ£BKEfsi'0''^
BEING THE UNITED STORIES OF
The Bachelors' Club
AND
The Old Maids' Club
BY
I. ZANGWILL
AUTHOR OK 'the MASTER,'
"DREAMERS OF THE GHETTO,'
ETC. ETC.
I. O N D O N
WILLIAM HE IN EM ANN
1898
This Edition enjoys copyright j •f'^AjCK r\(lfi^\
in all countries signatory to l fi)^^ >|iO I '■^^'^^ r\ih
the Bcr„e Treaty, and is not ^ .. -jJU- 1) a/(^ /^^
to be imported into the United
States of America. J
A LAST FOREWORD.
It was inevitaUe that the Bachelors C/uh and the Old
Maids' Club should one day he united, and that the hanns
should he published by my publisher in ordinary. They
are able to live more cheaply together than apart, which
is, perhaps, some excuse for their union. It only remains
for me to prono^mce a paternal benediction, to hope that
they may contimce hound together, for better or for worse,
cancelling each other's faults and enhcmcing each others
virtties, doubling the profits, and halving the losses, till
death doth them part, or — more probably — consign them
to a common oblivion.
I. Z.
July 1898.
<^^
THE BACHELORS' CLUB
WITH ILLUSTRA TIOXS BY GEORGE HUTCHINSON
' A slavery beyond enduring,
But that 'tis of their own procuring.
As spiders never seek thejiy.
But leave him o/hiiiiselft' apply ;
So men are by themselves employed.
To quit the /reedom they enjoyed.
And run their necks into a noose.
They 'd break 'em after to break loose.'
HUDIBRAS.
.4 man may have a quarrel to marry when he will.'
bacon's essays.
PEEFACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION
Since this unpretentious book has reached a sixth edition, it is
plain that ruy fear lest it should make only one reader laugh and
have been written wholly in vain, was unfounded. Among the
readers who have laughed — I have been pleased to learn from
'unsolicited testimonials' — may be counted leading humorists
of the English-speaking world. Either, then, the book must have
some merit as an essay in comedy, or the eminent humorists must
be — jesters. There are pages in it which I myself find rather
forced, and in the Continental edition I have revised away a
whole chapter ; but I have not ventured to take such liberties
with the text in England, where many people foolishly prefer that
chapter to any other, and so I have confined myself to the correc-
tion of three or four clerical or printer's errors. In the couple of
years that have elapsed since the book was kindly welcomed by
the press and the public alike, there has been an amusing reaction
among the critics against any humour that is new. As they do
not seem to care for the old humour either — the humour of the
pun, the pothouse, the police-court, and the pawnshop — one is
driven to conclude that humour itself is under a ban. This is
very serious. The age was sad enough already. It is hard for
Figaro to be deprived of the relief of laughter, and to be com-
pelled to weep always. He must needs laugh, if only at the critics,
and in the privacies of his sleeve. They are, in sooth, excellent
fun — these austere gentlemen — to any writer with a sense of
humour, who does not mind being misunderstood, and has no anile
sensitiveness about his reputation, and can aff'ord to bide his titne,
doing his best as the heart in him pleases, and content to be
eliminated if his best is not fit to survive. For my part, I have
been grieved to see more than one of my fellow-authors morbidly
anxious to cover up their humorous past, in deference to tlu'
xii PREFACE
conventional opinion that the gravity of the owl is a sign of
■wisdom. Too many writers hasten to assume the statue in their
own lifetime, and to compose their public features to a non-human
frigidity. But the premature pedestal does not always prove sus-
taining, for to be non-human is not to be immortal; it is your
Martin Tappers and your University prigs who never descend to
a jest, not your Shakespeares and Heines. ' Let us be serious,
here comes a fool ! ' exclaimed a divine in danger of being
caught disporting himself boyishly. 'Let us be serious, here
comes a critic ! ' the modern author is tempted to exclaim. For
the stock critic, with that suburban insight of his, cannot under-
stand that a serious man may be humorous, still less that a
humorous man is always serious. Literature has taught the
critic that lesson ad nauseam, but he never acquires the lesson,
only the nausea. A high-class paper praises my tragedy and
sneers at my comedy. When I was younger and cruder I wrote
for that paper pseudonym ously, and it was eager to get my
humorous work. Other superior organs have congratulated me
on the development of my art and style, as displayed in Ghetto
Tragedies ; they have rejoiced to see me evolve from the humor-
ous. It seems ungracious after their fine compliments to confess
that the bulk of that little book was not only written but pub-
lished (under the name of the 'Baroness von S.') years before
The Bachelors^ Club was opened by the first reader. It has always
been a great consolation to me in the troubles and throes of
authorship, and especially in the pessimistic periods of humor-
ous composition, to read the newspaper comments on my books
and my person ; and it is mainly because I have heartily enjoyed
them all, and have never once been goaded into contradicting a
critic, not even when he has praised me on wrong grounds, or
described me as five feet high, that I venture humbly to claim the
title of humorist.
L ZANGWILL.
CAUTION
In writing The Bachelors' Club I have not so
much had in view the public interest as my own.
While I have carefully endeavoured to free the book
from anything instructive, I have not shrunk from
making it amusing, even at the risk of being taken
seriously; and if I succeed in making only one reader
laugh, I shall have written wholly in vain. The
subject of the work is one that is full of interest,
especially to readers of either sex, and I venture to hope
that I have treated it as well as it deserves. The book
is hereby dedicated to the bachelors and maidens of the
world, in the hope that they will each buy a copy, and
recommend its purchase to their married friends. It
may be as well to state that the work does not libel any
of the existing Bachelors' Clubs in particular, but all
the others. An index to the jokes is in preparation
and will be forwarded to all professional humourists on
application, in writing, to the publishers. Some of these
jokes have already appeared in Ariel, and I have to
thank myself for my kind permission to reproduce
them. I regret there should be some puns amongst
them, as they will be a difficulty to the Chinese trans-
xiv CAUTION
lator, but lie may rely on my cordial co-operation. I
have also to apologise to my critics for this book not
being some other book, though it shall not occur again,
as my next book will be. In conclusion, I have to
acknowledge my indebtedness to my friend and fellow-
Bachelor, Mr. M. D. Eder, for numerous valuable
suggestions. Whatever the reader or the critic does
"OS"-
not like in this work Mr Eder suggested.
I. Z.
CONTENTS
Prologue : Of the Bachelors, their Beliefs and
By-Laws,
Chap.
I. The Second Ticket,
II. The Feudal Angel,
III. Hamlet up to date,
IV, The Bachelor Abroad,
V. A General Court, .
VI. The Fall of Israfel,
VII. The Logic of Love,
VIII. A Novel Advertisement, .
IX. A New Matrimonial Relation,
X. Marrying for Money,
XI. The Original Sinner,
XII. A Bolt from the Blue,
XIII. Lady-Day, .
PAGE
13
25
36
83
102
121
158
195
214
233
259
288
322
THE BACHELORS' CLUB
PEOLOGUE
OF THE BACHELORS, THEIR BELIEFS AND BY-LAWS
■» M'mm^m. Bacheloes' Club
was a Club in
which all the
members, with-
out exception,
were Bachelors.
But this was its only eccentri-
city. The Committee rightly
thought that they had sacrificed
enough to oddity in excluding
persons who were willing to sub-
scribe to the exchequer of the
Club, but not to its principles.
Tiie principles of the Club may
be summed up in its axiom that
marriage was a crime against
woman for which no punishment, not even exclusion
from tlie Club, could be sudlciently severe. The con-
ditions of meniberaliip were four. No member must
2 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
follow a profession involving celibacy. No member
must have ever had a disappointment in love. No
member must be under thirty. No duly- elected mem-
ber must use a latch-key.
It was incumbent upon all candidates to deposit with
the Secretary two indej)endent certificates of non-
marriage, each signed by a householder (married) who
had known the candidate from his cradle ; and, further-
more, to make oath tliat they held the marriages of
other men, and especially of their fathers, to be failures.
The respectable married householder had to fill up a
printed blue form, containing the following six ques-
tions : —
1. What is the full name of the candidate ?
2. What is his age ?
3. How long have you known him ?
4. Has there ever been any matrimony, or tendency
to matrimony, in his family ?
5. Has he ever had a disappointment in love ?
6. Is his celibacy compulsory ?
No. 3 was rather a trap, as by a simple comparison of
the replies to it and to No. 2, the Secretary could ascer-
tain whether the certifier had really known the candidate
from the cradle. Some babies are so precocious that
one cannot be too careful.
In the early editions of the Celibate Catechism,
which were preserved in the annals of the Club, No. 5
ran simply, "Has he ever been married?" But the
inadequacy of this was early perceived. Though a
candidate had never committed matriniuny, he might
have committed himself in other ways to the matri-
monial heresy. " Has he ever been in love ? " was tried
and found even less comprehensive, plausible as it
BELIEFS AND BY-LAWS 3
looked at first sight. A negative answer, it was per-
ceived, by no means excluded the possibility of the
candidate having married any number of times and
women, whether in Oriental simultaneity or in Occiden-
tal sequence. The form finally chosen, " Has he ever
had a disappointment in love % " was thought to cover
every possible case wdiether of incipient or developed
matrimony in the candidate's past. If a man had loved
but had not married, the disappointment in love was
obvious. ,If he had loved and had married, the dis-
appointment in love was more obvious stilL Thus it
will be seen that the Bachelors spared no trouble to
confine the privileges of the Club to gentlemen who
had a clean record, and whose escutcheon was free from
the suspicion of their having ever had honourable
intentions towards any woman whatsoever. The sixth
question furthermore ensured that they were Bachelors
out of pure love. Priests, junior bank-clerks, and others
are sometimes required to remain single, and in such
celibacy there is obviously no virtue.
As for the provision against the use of latch-keys,
every member had to give his word of honour that, in
the event of his refusing to go home till morning, he
would always on arrival knock or ring, or do both, if so
requested by the device on the door-post. The reason
for fixintj the age of Bachelorhood, in the esoteric sense,
at thirty was based upon the scientific fact that celibacy
in earlier years is too common to be the touchstone of
an elevated soul. It had been originally determined to
frame a condition to exclude those who had ever taken
part in the marriage-ceremony, but on reflection it was
decided not to keep the best men out of the Club, nor
to fail in respect for the Cloth.
4 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Should the various documents, oaths, and assurances
be satisfactory, a matter on which the Secretary reported
before a General Court of members, the candidate was
permitted to be seconded for election. No member was
ever " proposed," as the word was held too redolent of
evil associations. As soon as a candidate was seconded,
he paid his entrance fee and his annual subscription,
and became entitled temporarily to the privileges of the
Club, including a vote. As the presence of one white
ball amid the black was held to constitute sufficient
desire on the part of the Club for the new recruit, the
candidate was generally elected.
Connected with the Club was a small Benefit-
Society. By paying a trifle extra with their monthly
subscription, members could insure their single lives.
The treasurer and actuary, Moses Fitz-Williams, whose
second cousin had been a senior optime, had drawn up
tables showing the average duration of the male single
life ; but as the ordinary agamo-biological statistics
were considerably modified by the superior single
vitality of the members, the sum assured to be paid on
marriage was very large in proportion to the instal-
ments. Thus the unfortunate wife of a departed
bachelor received a very pretty penny in compensation.
In practice the scheme did not work well. Just as
some heavily insured husbands generously die for the
benefit of their widows, so one or two Bachelors quixoti-
cally married for the benefit of their wives. It did not
happen often, for such generosity is rare; but it was a
difficulty. The very first night I visited the Club, Felix
O'Roherty had a motion on the paper recommending the
invalidation of the policy in cases of wilful matrimony,
just as suicide rendered ordinary life-assurance null and
Beliefs and by-laws S
void. Out of respect for O'Eoherty it was referred to
the Executive Committee, and so it passed decently into
oblivion. I may as well mention here that the rules
regulating the admission of visitors were two, and two
only :—
1. No married gentleman admitted.
2. No unmarried lady admitted.
It was plain that if married men were admitted, the
virgin purity of the atmosphere and its freedom from
the reeks of domesticity would be threatened, while if
unmarried ladies were allowed access to the symposia,
the single-mindedness of the members might be
impugned, and their attentions misconstrued into
intentions. Of course the advisability of admitting
ladies was never for a moment in question. It was
universally felt that to isolate themselves from the
society of woman was the surest means of shrouding
her in a halo ; just as, on the other hand, free com-
munion with her was the safest prophylactic against
affection. Nevertheless, in spite of the exclusion of
their husbands ladies rarely availed themselves of the
opportunity of visiting that unknown animal, the
Bachelor, in his native haunts.
To distinguish the waiters from the members, who
many a morning turned up in evening dress, it was
insisted upon that they should belong to the lower caste
of married men. The head waiter owed his supremacy
over the rest of the staff to having served a term of
years for bigamy, though; on the other hand, the rest of
the staff had the consolation of feeling that Ae was
nearer to the bachelor caste than his superior. The
steward was a dusky Indian who had married at the
age of three.
6 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
The apartments of the Club were situated iu Leicester
Square, so that the AUiambra and the Empire music-halls
were within easy walk, at least during the early part of
the eveninfT. When conversation languished at the
Club for scarcity of members, the few faithful Bachelors
frequently repaired in a body to these temples of the
ballet to save the gas and the fires, only going back to
the Club that night if they picked up sufficient members
at the temples to make it worth while. In many cases
the fortunate waiters (who were expected to sleep on
the building, and did so at every opportunity) had the.
Club to themselves for hours together — although these
hours of idleness were usually small.
The premises were neither palatial nor inadequate.
They consisted of two rooms, communicating with each
other by rather loud remarks. The one you entered
first, if you had been careful to ascend two flights of
stairs instead of one, was the smoking-room ; but tho
members always smoked in the other and smaller room,
because a pipe was more of a luxury there on account of
the placard proclaiming " No smoking allowed."
As all the Bachelors were members of the Anti-Anti-
Tobacco League, and were never without a pipe or cigar
in their mouths, except when brushing their teeth of a
morning, and as the cosy little room also contained the
bar, it came about that the better half of the Club was
always deserted by the members — as was perhaps only
consistent.
It was, however, generally occupied by the waiters,
who retired there not to be in the way when members
were getting their drinks from the bar. This was
rather hard upon the poor married fellows on account
of the misogamous texts with which the walls of the
BELIEFS AND BY-LAWS 7
room were hung. Foitunately custom dulls the edge
of environment ; else the revised Decalogue, in which
" Thou shalt not marry " replaced the more conventional
form of the Seventh Commandment, miglit have pro-
cured them incessant conscience-ache. In time they
bore with equanimity the most hateful aphorisms ; and
occasionally dusted them. Tliese dogmas were the
work of the secretary, Mandeville Brown. Here are
the worst of them : — " There is nothing half so sweet
in life as the awakening from Love's young dream."
" Marriage is egotism on a sociable ; bachelorhood altruism
on a bicycle." "At seventeen a ivoman's heart is affected,
at twenty-seven her affection." "Merit makes the man
and 'fVorth' the woman." "Man proposes and ivoman
poses." " Love is the only excuse for marriage ; and
it is not an excuse that will wash or icear well." " You
can give your heart to a woman for life, hit who
can guarantee that she will not lose it ? " " The truest
chivalry to the woman who loves you is to leave her a
spinster." "A love-marriage is a contradiction in terms."
"Marriage is a sacrament of soids and a profession for
women." " Good conduct may lessen the term of other
life-sentences, but bad conduct is the only curtailer of
marriage." " Marriage is a man-trap." " There are three
things which every good wife detests in her secret heart —
tobacco, a faithful income-tax return, and her husband."
" The only true love is love at first sight ; second sight
dispels it!' "Love cannot be bought or sold; traffic
requires realities." " Marriages are made in heaven; but
this brand is not exported." " Genius should only marry
genius; and no woman is a genius." "Marriage is as fatal
to the higher life as the higher life is fatal to marriage."
By the very conditions of the Higlier Bachelorliood
8 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
few of these articles of faith could have been the le2[iti-
mate offspring of experience. Hence the veneration in
which they were held by the sect. They were sacred
and beyond inquiry : a precious heirloom to be handed
down from Bachelor to somebody else's son in holy
apostolic succession. Another mural ornament deserves
mention. It was a sort of fresco, consisting of a great
black-edged oval, on either side of which flew allegorical
figures of Diana and Tolstoi', weeping; at the liead was
inscribed in sombre letters the words " Here lied, "
which surmounted the names of the married and gone
apostates. A small proportion of the space was filled ;
for the Club had naturally been a little unsettled in
its origin. Now, however, that it had steadied itself
we felt sure that it would maintain its equilibrium, and
that the gaps would be left for ever gaping.
There were only twelve Bachelors. The Club was
foolishly superstitious, and dreaded the fatal presage
of matrimony if ever thirteen of tlie members should
be present at once. Limiting their number to twelve
effectually blocked this possibility.
I need not say that these twelve men (or eleven, to
affect modesty) were considerably above the average in
intellect. That is implied in the fact of tiieir member-
ship. When I joined the Club (which was on the 31st
of December, some six months or so after its formation),
it was constituted as follows : —
Andrew M'Gullicuddy, Founder and President.
Moses Fitz-Williams, Treasurer.
Mandeville Brown, Hon. Sec.
These three formed the Committee. The others were —
Osmund Bethel, Israfel Mondego,
Eliot Dickray, Henry Robinson,
Joseph Fogson, M.D., B.Sc, Felix O'Roherty,
Oliver Gkeen, Caleb Twinkletop,
BELIEFS AND B Y-LA IVS 9
and, last but not least, myself. Of these self- chosen
spirits, several had won celebrity, or lost it, in literature,
science, or art. Most of those who had done neither
were trying to. We were all full of humour — good and
bad ; for when the wine was in the wit was out and
could not be restrained. Though some of us were poor,
and two of us were old, the majority were well-to-do
and in their prime to boot. As a rule our hearts were
light and our pockets heavy, and we took no -care for
the morrow beyond staying up for it. The New Year
dawned upon no merrier dozen than that which quaffed
the cup of good-fellowship and puffed the pipe of peace,
and vowed eternal friendship and celibacy in those dear
and expensive old rooms in Leicester Square.
Strange to say, I owed my chance of election to the
duodecimal system which prevailed at the Club, for it
indirectly opened the door to the ejection of Willoughby
Jones, into whose shoes I stepped. Poor Willoughby !
You may read of his crime in the matrimonial columns
of the Daily Wire, ; but what drove him to it has
never before picked its way into print.
Willoughby Jones had got the idea that if twelve
good men and true could be packed into a box, a room
was quite enough for a Bachelors' dozen. So he seconded
a motion that the large room be sublet, and the staff of
waiters and the subscription be reduced by one-half.
Those who were present have told me, individually
and in confidence, that they will never forget the indig-
nation with which this secondation was received by the
others; though, speaking for themselves, it seemed
eminently reasonable. They were not, however, the men
to go against the sentiment of the majority, and declared
hotly that the dignity of the Club required at least two
10 I'HE CELIBATES' CLUB
looms to spread itself over. Besides, as the only way
to the inner room lay through the outer, it was felt that,
when the tenant moved in, grave complications might
ensue, especially if he were domesticated or a musician.
Poor Willoughby tried hard to argue that if the tenant
were a musician, he would probably be an Italian, so
that there would be no necessity for him to practise
his revolutionary music at home ; but he had a weak
case. As for lowering the subscriptions, the Bachelors
unanimously thought the others thought such an idea
could only occur to a low-minded fellow, who might be
expected to turn recreant some day ; and they did not
hesitate to express one another's opinions. The fiery
cross-eyed Moses Fitz-Williams openly taxed him with
flabby convictions ; whereupon the unfortunate young
man lost his head and defied them all, and confessed
that he had cherished the grand passion all along, and
was looking about in his spare hours for a woman to fit
it on to. It was a scene to be remembered, and the
atmosphere was tense with emotion, Willoughby
Jones stood with his curly head thrown back in the
attitude of Ajax defying the telegraph wires ; or an
early Christian Father (if you can call a Bachelor a
Christian Father) inviting the Lions to breakfast. For
a moment the members were paralysed. It was as if a
Government bomb-shell had fallen at their feet and
then exploded. Being Bachelors, they were not used
to being defied and having their sacred emotions
trampled upon. They opened their mouths, but nothing
issued from their lips, except their pipes, which fell
unheeded on the flooi\ At last a member was sent to
fetch the President, who was unfortunately absent in
the hour of crisis. After a long and fruitless search, it
BELIEFS AND B Y- LA WS 1 1
Struck the envoy that M'Gullicuddy might be at home ;
where indeed he was, and in his beauty sleep. But he
rose to the occasion and drove to the Club ; where he
at once prescribed marriage or the payment of the
arrears of Willoughby's subscription. Willoughby's eye
was seen to light up, as though it were a member in the
room where smoking was not allowed, but he said
nothing except that anything was preferable to being out
of debt. When it was too late, the Bachelors remem-
bered that he was heavily insured. Later in the day,
about 9 A.M. to be precise, a lady was hunted up by the
accommodating head-waiter. It was the lady who had
denounced him for marrying another lady before lier,
and had thus procured him five years of state-supported
celibacy. Against her he had long cherished an un-
reasonable grudge. Everything comes to him who waits,
so the head-waiter was at last rewarded by seeing his
widow, by a former marriage, married off to the owner of
the unattached grand passion. When the curly locks he
had thrown back were entirely a memory, Willoughby
pleaded hard to be allowed to rejoin the Club; but
the rules were inexorable. He, however, found sal-
vation by a side-door; for, the by-laws admitting married
men as waiters, Willoughby donned his dress suit and
installed himself in the outer chamber, where, as no-
body ever interfered with him, and he was never called
upon to execute an order, he grew in time to be indis-
tinguishable from the other waiters, and the members
forgot that he had ever occupied the social position
of a Baclielor. He soon got reconciled to seeing his
name under the funereal " Here lied, " and as the Club
hours were from sunrise to sunset and vice versa, he
settled the assurance money upon the head-waiter's first
12
THE CELIBATES'' CLUB
widow, and was regular and punctual in tlie discharge
of his Chib duties, highly satisfied with retaining a
position in the Bachelors' Club and cheerfully con-
tinuing to neglect his subscription in lieu of salary.
But from that day to this no member of the Bachelors'
Club has ever cherished the grand passion, whether for
woman in the abstract or ladies in the concrete.
Which is a record to be proud of.
^^§^fp?2.
CHAPTEE I.
THE SECOND TICKET.
There was always something about me which invited
confidence. It was my tongue. When I saw a
Bachelor (the capital " B " always denotes the esoteric
Bachelor) walking about with a wobegone air, or a new
necktie, or taking his drinks irregularly, I made it a
point to sympathise with him. It is only thus that
I can account for the fact that I was the solitary
recipient of the confidences of nearly every member in
turn. Osmund Bethel once said that I was the dustbin
for the ashes of everybody's past. But then Osmund
always affected cheap epigram, and even tliat at other
people's expense. But let me not speak ill of him. He
is beyond our censure now.
Little Bethel they called him at the Club ; not
because he ever had any Methodism in his madness,
but because they did not like to set themselves up
against the inevitable. Little Bethel was a tall, hand-
some fellow, with a mass of tawny hair and a pair of
sunny eyes. He carried his head high, and a Malacca
cane, but that was before the days of his prosperity.
No happier journalist breathed or lied in England than
Little Bethel till the day when Slateroller, the dramatic
critic of the Whirlpool, died suddenly at a matinie of
a new play, and the editor called Osmund into the
13
14 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
sanctum, and asked him if he would care for the rever-
sion of the post. Osmund's heart gave a great jump, for
lie felt that this was a great leap forwards for him. He
had hitherto been a mere reporter, whose duties were to
attend company meetings and review ethical treatises,
but he always knew he was cut out for a dramatic
critic, because of his contempt for SlateroUer and his
reluctance to struggle for a seat at the pit-door. It was
true that on the only occasion he had understudied
SlateroUer, he had shown such unstudied antipathy to
Slateroller's past record, that the poor man had to spend
the next day in writing letters of apology and explana-
tion to his friends, and that he, Osmund, was sent
ignominiously back to his ethical treatises. But there
must have been something in that article — else, why
should the editor have sent for him now ?
Osmund went to his apartment that night in a
hansom, and gave his landlady notice. His heart
swelled with joyous expectation. He had always loved
the drama ; and now his passion for plays was to be
requited. He would see three hundred a year at nothing
a month. He would be able to bask gratis in the ravs
of the sacred Lamp of Burlesque ; and to gaze freely
into the eyes of Melpomene. He saw himself one of
the critics, ranged neatly in their stalls, who are pointed
out, not in scorn, by the finger of the pittite; a first-
nighter mingling easily with the rank and beauty and
fashion that attend premUrcs for nothing but the love
of the drama. He saw obsequious managers asking him
for plays, and timorous dramatists inviting him to
drink. But this was not all.
The question of marriage had always troubled Osmund
greatly. Life had always been a hard fight to him ; it
THE SECOND TICKET 15
was as much as he could do to exist on the earnings of
a reporter. He led but an insipid, lonely life in his
apartment, and in spite of the occasional delights of the
Bachelors' Club, it was natural he should sometimes
feel a longing to marry. Now, however, he was a com-
paratively well-to-do man; his salary had gone up £95
a year, and he realised with joy that he was at last in a
position not to marry. No ; there would be no necessity
for him now to be false to his principles, no temptation
for him to be untrue to the Bachelors' Club, for the
sake of marrying a woman of means or drawing his
assurance money. In the straits of poverty, the
sturdiest soul may stumble and fall ; and Little Bethel's
soul could not help knowing that it resided in a shapely
body. But, Heaven be thanked ! the matrimonial Satan
was for ever behind him henceforwards.
It is plain that Osmund was afflicted with a
conscience. When a man suffers from a conscience,
you never know where he will end. But for Osmund's
conscience his story might have ended here.
The first ticket he got was a stall for the first night
of a Shakespearian production at the Lymarkct, and
Osmund felt a proud and happy critic. He was a little
damped, however, when his editor told him that he was
not to find fault witli anything but the play or the
author, as the principal actors were above criticism.
" Most young critics start life," said the editor kindly,
" by slating tlie first show they have to do. Unfortu-
nately for your epigrams the first peojile you are called
upon to criticise happen to be public favourites, so I
naturally dread your disagreeing with our readers, who
won't have .seen the show." "But mustn't I think for
myself ? " said Osmund, rather taken aback. " What
i6 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
next ? " replied the editor. " The business of a critic is
to think for the public." Osmund took it out by slating
the second §ho\v.
He did not always get tickets for the stalls. The
high- class theatres, whose seats were at a premium,
generally sent stalls, but the second-rate houses, where
the audience was usually thin, except at the top,
mostly sent him dress-circles. Perhaps it was policy of
this sort that kept them second-rate. Whenever he got
dress-circles, he revenged himself by not dressing.
One fatal day early in January the Frivolity Theatre
sent him two dress-circles. As he tore open the
envelope, a gleam of triumph shot across his features.
" Aha ! " he cried, " they are beginning to read me.
They are beginning to find out that I am not a mere
phonograph like Slateroller. They see that I have ideas
— and that I come by them honestly." The dramatic
department of the Whirlpool was agitated that day ;
even the editor was drawn into the vortex.
When the first flush of exhilaration had died away,
it was borne in on Osmund's mind that somebody would
be able to go with him. Again his heart leaped with
pleasure. He was not only conscientious, he was sym-
pathetic. He remembered, though it was not easy to
recall it, how he had longed for orders for the play in
the far-off unhappy days ; how pleased he would have
been had some good fairy unexpectedly presented him
with a dress-circle. His whole being glowed with
generous anticipation. Some mortal, treading some-
where the thorny path of duty, dreaming in no wise of
things celestial, would have that path illumined by a
ray of purple light — the heavens would open and drop
a dress-circle at his feet. Nay, more ; the favoured
THE SECOND TICKET \^
mortal would sit at his own side, and from that coign
of vantage learn who everybody that was anybody
was, perhaps even pay for the split sodas of the
critics. It only remained to settle who the favoured
mortal should be.
Osmund, let me insist again, had a conscience and
reviewed ethical treatises with it. It is not surprising,
therefore, if he felt that his first duty was to his rela-
tives. Parents he had none. His mother had perished
in the accident of his birth, and as his father had died
a month before, Osmund had commenced life as an
orphan. Now for the first time in his life Osmund
missed his parents. He thought how glad his poor
consumptive mother would have been to go to the
dress-circle and have her narrow horizon illumined by
the Sacred Lamp; how it w^ould have delighted the
heart of his dear white-haired old father to see the play
for nothing. Poor simple folks, few pleasures, indeed,
had fallen to their lot ! As he thought of these things,
his eyes filled with tears. To picture them lying in the
cold, cold ground, when they might have been sitting
comfortably in the dress-circle of the Frivolity — oh the
pity of it! Would that they were alive again, or at
least one of them ! But, alas ! wishes would not recall
them to earth. Mastering his emotion, the poor young
critic thought of his maiden aunt, Lavinia Lobbleby
had brought him up by hand — in such fashion that he
had taken to his lieels at the first opportunity. Still he
owed her some gratitude ; she had been a raven to him
without any suspicion of his being an Elijah in embryo.
She lived in Sydenham, and it would take a day to dis-
cover her mind on the subject. But the performance
was not due for three days yet, so there was plenty of
B
i§ The CELIBATES' CLUB
Lime. He would write to her at once. " At once " did
not come on till the evening, for the Whirlpool received
a solicitor's letter threatening a libel action because its
dramatic critic had said that a certain actor did not
know two words of his part ; so Osmund had to discuss
the subject with his editor. The latter, as is the way
of editors, was for apologising and explaining that the
critic meant two words literally, the actor having said,
" God bless you," when the text said, " Good-bye, God
bless you." But Little Bethel's blood was up, and he
said unless the editor of the Whirlioool upheld the
dignity of his critic, the drama would go to the dogs.
He could prove that the actor was an intimate friend of
the author's and considered himself privileged ; and he
would also put the promp-
ter in the box. Thereupon
the editor reflected that the
actor was impecunious and
unlikely to find a solicitor
to take up the case on sped
so he put the letter in a
(I basket where he was in
the habit of placing
'Xj':] waste-paper. And
~^ in the evening Os-
^^ mund wrote tlie
letter to his aunt.
A day passed
without a reply,
Osmund was no-
ticeably restless
and uneasy. His
liead drooped a little, and his Malacca cane was swung
-^
THE SECOND TICKET ig
a trifle less jauntily. He came into the Club, and
talked with feverish gaiety. I understood afterwards
how his mind must liave been racked by the thouglit
that he might not hear from his aunt, or hear too
late . to allow somebody else to make use of tlie
ticket. Early hardship had taught him economy,
and he could not bear to waste a crumb ; much
less so fruitful a potentiality of pleasure as a ticket
for the dress-circle. All that night he lay tossing
sleeplessly on his bed, waiting for tlie morning post.
The long expected rat-tat sent his heart into his mouth,
and the unwonted morsel almost took away his appetite
for breakfast. The letter ran as follows : —
" My deak Osmund, — I write you these few lines —
]io]jing you are quite well, as, thank God, it leaves me
at present — to say that I am astonished at your insult-
ing one who always tried to do lier duty by you, and
to forget your ungrateful behaviour ; but I am afraid
when young men run off to London they are lost to
virtue, and 1 have heard say they think notliing of see-
ing Ballet girls Tight on the stage, and am ashamed,
and hope you will send me a ticket for the Crystal
Palace, which is near me, and where plays may be seen
in the open air without going into a theatre, which I
have never done, and, please God, never will. Good-
bye. — From your affectionate Aunt, Lavinia."
Osmund was annoyed. lUit he reflected that there
was yet a day in which to give the ticket away, and,
after all, he would have had to see his aunt back to
Sydenham, and to refrain from seeing men between the
acts. While he was eating the breakfast, his brain waa
20 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
whirling with all the remaining possibilities. Who was
the best person to have that ticket ?
His relatives all disposed of, he fell back on his
antecedents. Several persons had done him good turns
iu the past, but he could not get at them in time. He
didn't know the addresses of some ; others, he knew,
would not be found at their addresses in time. There
were his acquaintances of to-day, and his brother
Bachelors ; but there seemed to be no reason to hand it
over to one rather than to another. His was an
eminently philosophic mind, given to weighing pro.s
and con.s, and the balance was so equal as nearly to
send him off his own. M'Gullicuddy's claim was
ethically the highest, but he would feel more pleased if
Oliver Green went with the ticket. On the other
hand, it would do him more good to stand well with
Eliot Dickray. Smith was, perliaps, the most advisable
man on the whole, but then Smith's mother-in-law had
just died, and he might not care to be tempted to
exhibit his joy in public. Eogers lived handy to the
theatre, and Osmund could go and have supper with
him afterwards ; but then Eogers' wife would be jealous
at not having been asked too. He knew several of the
other sex, but he could not ask any of the girls to
accompany him, for Mrs. Grundy would incontinently
publish his engagement to her; the married ladies
would hardly venture to incur the suspicions of their
consorts ; and the widows were either too fresh or too
stale. With an aching brain Little Bethel pushed his
breakfast aside, and reeled to the office.
You may call him a donkey. So he was ; but of the
philosophic species, which starves between two bundles
of hay. About seven in the evening he came into the
THE SECOND TICKET 21
Club, breathless, with a wild liglit in his eyes, hysteri-
cally brandishing a piuk ticket. He had spent his day
in wiring to or hunting up his acquaintances. Nobody
could go with him. But one short hour remained
before the curtain of the Frivolity rose.
I took pity on him, and went with him. I hate the
theatre, with its draughts and stuffy smells. I have
been behind the scenes, and know what a fraud every-
thing is. There is no gilt for me on the green-room
ginger-bread. I know actors and actresses are only
men and women — spoilt. But I went — for this occa-
sion only. It was necessary to save Osmund's reason.
I felt that, and I sacrificed myself. I shall never forget
the wild cry of gratitude with which he fell upon my
bosom. His tears moistened my shirt-front, but he
assured me it didn't matter. He hadn't dressed, him-
self. We were going to the dress-circle.
Next day the threatened writ came to the Whirljjool
office. The actor, for a wonder, had meant what he
said. The case duly came up for trial. Osmund stood
up in the witness-box for the rights of free criticism ;
he bore his cross-examination with truly Christian
patience. The jury misunderstood the case, and
returned a verdict for the defendants, with costs. The
court cheered, the judge threatened to clear it, and the
circulation of the Wldrlpool went up ten quires.
After this the Wldripool's critic got two stalls regu-
larly from all except the very paltriest theatres, and
Osmund aged rapidly. His brow learnt many a wrinkle
one so young should not know. His tawny hair, too,
began to be threaded with silver. Every extra ticket
meant to him hours of distraction, correspondence, and
suspense. Too economical to waste it, too conscientious
22 THE CEIJ RATES' CLUB
to give it away casually, too honourable to sell it — lie
went through agonies of doubt each time. Three
agonies of doubt per week soon tell on a man.
Wliat need to prolong the agony ? The end was
near. One wild bitter day, towards the end of January,
when the floodgates of heaven were opened, and a
cold rain plashed mournfully on the passive pave-
ments of the sombre metropolis, I met him walking
along. His head was bowed, and the Malacca cane ivas
not in his hand! If I live to be a hundred, I shall
never forget that strange and melancholy sight. I
invited confidences in the manner aforesaid. " I am
going to get married," he said abruptly. " Come under
my umbrella." I obeyed, for though I always carry a
bulging umbrella myself, I cannot bear the trouble of
opening it only to fold it up again. " It 's no use, my
dear fellow," he went on hurriedly, anticipating my
remonstrances, " my mind is made up — if it is not to
break down I must get married."
"Why?" I gasped.
" Have you noticed what happens when the average
young man gets engaged to the average young woman ?"
" He buys her a ring," I said feebly.
"Nonsense," he said sternly. "He takes her to the
play. Many a man I know has not got engaged, simply
because he cannot afford to do this. Young men only
marry now-a-days, if they can afford to take the
girl to the play, or if she will go to the pit. This she
is usually too respectable to do — after she is engaged."
The words came out coherently enough, but there was
that in his eyes I did not lilce. Poor Little Bethel !
The rain plashed heavily on the umbrella, dribbling
more gently on our hats, for it was not a new one, having
THE SECOND TICKET 23
probably been pawned by Noah after the Dehige.
Otherwise the silence was tense and painful. " Don't
you follow?" he asked fiercely. " Don't you see that
many a struggling man would give his right hand if he
were only in my position ; that half the pretty girls in
the world would take that right hand to occupy a stall
at all the famous first nights?"
" But surely you will not marry because other men
would?"
" No, of course not," with a strange guttural laugh.
" But don't you see that if I bind myself to a girl, she
will insist on accompanying me and so spare me this
perpetual distraction about the second ticket, which
makes my once happy life no longer worth the living?"
" But your Bachelorship — your vows "
"Broken— but not on principle. I don't wish to
marry the girl : only to be engaged to her, so that she
may accompany me. I would willingly remain engaged
to her for ever, but the narrow vision of society," he
said gloomily, " sees only one issue to engagement —
and that is marriage. I will take her regularly to the
play. She shall bless or damn at my side. And v/hen
she insists upon it, I shall marry her."
He spoke quietly but sadly. The tears came into
my own eyes despite a cynicism I had thought water-
proof. Poor Little Bethel! It was useless to reason
with him in the state he was in.
" Tell me at least who she is ? "
"I do not know. To-day I commence my search.
The woman who loves the play most, to whom the
theatre is a passion and the drama a perpetual delight
—the woman who will never weary in play-going, nor
ever refuse to take my orders — she shall be the critic's
24 THE CEFJ BATES' CLUB
bride." I turned away to hide my emotion. There
was another moment of silence, broken only by the
plash-plash of the rain. Then a soft syllable quivered
on the air.
" Paul."
" Yes, old fellow." I turned towards him, but could
not see him. My eyes were blinded with tears and
rain. " Promise me one last tiling."
" I promise," I breathed huskily.
"Promise me," his voice faltered again, "that you
will break it to M'Gullicuddy."
For answer I pressed his hand. My heart was too
full to speak. Was this to be the end of all that bright
young career ; those roseate promises ? He pressed my
hand in return and unclasped it slowly. Suddenly he
uttered a loud cry as of one in mortal agony, then I
heai'd the rattle of a hansom — and he was <:one.
So Little Bethel married, and the Bachelors' Club
mourned him for ten days, and pilloried him for all
time upon the sable fresco.
*****
The Whirlpool's leap upwards was but a spasm. It
did not remain a waterspout long. The innumerable
penny insurance rag-bags choked its current into slimy
stagnation. The acting-managers send it only one
ticket now.
CHAPTER 11.
THE FEUDAL ANGEL.
Caleb Twinkletop nearly took my breath away one
foggy February morning about four o'clock by inviting
me to dine with liim later in the day. I saw that the
invitation had slipped out inadvertently, and that he
immediately began to bite his lips for the careless way
in which they had kept guard; and as I was very
anxious to solve the mystery of his private life, I
hastened to decline, upon which he naturally became so
pressing that when I ultimately consented he had no
chance of backing out. Yes, there was a mystery in
Caleb Twinkletop's life ; nay, two. The second mystery
was how there came to be a first. For Caleb was a
simple, guileless old fellow, innocent as an unborn
lamb ; who found his sole recreation in playing chess
and the harmonium. He divided his time between the
Bachelors' Club, the City Chess Club, and the prayer-
meetings of the Little Bedlamite Brotherhood ; for his
income was large enough for all these luxuries. He
was understood, too, to be a man of family — which is
of course very different from a family man. Like most
ardent devotees of chess he was a very bad player ; and
the Bachelors used to rally him on being so frequently
mated. "We never tired of the obvious joke; nor did
Caleb. Both sides were certain of the fixity of Caleb's
20
26 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
habits, to say nothing of his opinions; and a joke tliat
lacks the sting of truth is a compliment. Caleb was
the sort of man who would not marry even if he were a
marrying man. He moved in a daily rut which it was
impossible to conceive him diverging from. He was
the tram-car type of man. Whatever change his soul
might be planning, his body would always carry him
along the ancient grooves. Had he been married, he
would have gone on being married day after day, year
after year — all in the same automatic way. But ho
was not married — we had the word of two passing
respectable married householders for that — and so there
was not a single man in the world, or a Bachelor in the
Club, of whom we felt more sure than of Caleb, or
Coelebs, as we called him in our fun. It may be said
that, passive as he was, he was the sort of bachelor
who would fall an easy prey to the first woman who
determined to marry him — even to his own servant, if
she should set her cap at him. But the Bachelors knew
better. Caleb's mind was too busy with chess problems
and gambits to be responsive to solicitations or hints
from without, or to be aware of any attention less marked
than a proposal. Even in the extreme contingency,
his fidelity to the Club might always be counted upon.
And yet there were premature furrows upon Caleb's
brow, in strange contrast with the candid ingenuous
pellicle natural to the forehead of an old bachelor.
Even his eyes were those of a married man. Nothing
could quite extinguish the cherubic twinkle ; but at
times there was a far-off expression in them, as if pos-
terity were already troubling him with its teething. It
was probably only the chess-nuts he could not crack,
for he was the soul of honour, and if he had stumbled
THE FEUDAL AXGEL 27
into matrimony, would have been the first to see the
impossibility of continuing to drink with us. And yet
I felt vaguely that there was a mystery, and made no
effort to repress my natural sympathy with him. But
all I could learn either from himself, or from the
numerous persons to whom I manifested my sympathy
for him, was that he lived by himself in a flat with an
old and faithful housekeeper, who had been left to him
as an heirloom. Though abroad he spent his money as
freely as any one chose to eat or drink at his expense,
he would never join in the meal. He seemed to be
always reserving himself for sybaritic luxuries at home.
No one had ever been invited to cross the threshold of
his lift ; therefore, when Caleb met with the accident of
inviting me to dine with him, you may imagine how
eagerly I jumped at the chance — though, like a man of
the world, I jumped backwards.
But Caleb had tiie good sense to hide his chagrin,
and was all cordiality when I arrived. He did not
even bring up the problem of how to force black to
mate himself in a hundred and twenty-nine moves — the
animated discussion of which had led to my invitation
— till after dinner.
He opened the door himself when I knocked, so that
my expectations of seeing tlie faithful attendant were
not gratified. I began to fear Twinicletop would with-
hold her of malice prepense. The mystery commenced
to thicken. I was on pins and needles to know what
manner of woman she was, and imparted the desired
information as to my state of health as indifferently as
if I were speaking of some one else's. My eye wan-
dered sympathetically about the room, trying to gather
hints of her. Everything was luxurious, not to say
28 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
artistic. There were several handsomely-framed oil-
paintings, and a number of humorous pen-and-ink
drawings, in ebony frames, representing society dinner-
scenes, restaurants, and the crushes at supper buffets in
the gilded salons of Belgravia. There were also some
pretty water-colours, mainly devoted to the portrayal of
picnic parties and filling the room with a suggestion of
youth and summer. A lithograph over the mantelpiece
was only the well-known ecclesiastical "Gourmand."
Struck by the strictly proper tone of these pictures, I
examined the canvases, the largest of which represented
" The Love Feast of the Bedlamite Brothers." A copy
of Paul Veronese's " Wedding Party " also had a promi-
nent position, while the smallest of all was a Teniers-
like domestic interior, comprising a peasant playing
the spinet while his wife lays the table for supper
which is seething in the pot on a hearth of the kind on
which crickets chirp. Depositing my hat on the revolv-
ing book-case, which stood by the harmonium, I glanced
at the backs of the neatly-arranged books, catching
sight of Oliver Wendell Holmes's prose works ; Soyer's
Recipes ; Staunton's Chess Praxis ; Sims's Hoio the Poor
Live ; Dyspepsia and How to Cure it ; and Harmony for
the Household. I do not subscribe to the current maxim
that you can tell a man's character by the books on his
shelves, though you may possibly tell it by those he
returns. I like to draw my conclusion from his pre-
mises as a whole. What I saw rather terrified me. I
perceived that Caleb was in the hands of a Guardian
An2;el with a duster. When a man is in the hands of a
Guardian Angel there is always a danger that he will
realise some day what a trouble he is to the Angel ; and
should the Angel be clad in petticoats, his pity may
THE FEUDAL ANGEL 29
pass over into love. I felt tins, and 1 shivered with
ominous foreboding. With beating heart, and sympathy
grown more acute than ever, I awaited the arrival of
Caleb Tvvinkletop's Angel, stifling as best I could the
dread that she would be kept in the background. She
came at last, and dinner with her. I was glad to see
them. I could barely suppress my j.oy as my eyes met
hers. She was a creature of delight when first she
gleamed upon my sight. I could have sat and looked
at her for hours, content to let the world go by and the
soup grow cold. She was literally the ugliest woman
I had ever seen. Never before had I realised the poten-
tialities of ugliness to which old women may attain if
they live long enough. Not Meg Merrilies herself, nor
the witches in Macbeth, could touch her for hideousness.
Hers was not only a perfect ugliness of ensemlle, every
feature was perfectly ugly.
" Don't you like the soup ? " queried my host, a shade
anxiously, as I sat in complacent reverie, dreaming of
the frightful old crone who had left the room to fetch
the second course.
" Oh yes, it 's very nice," I said mechanically, lifting
the first spoonful to ray lips. I hope that unintentional
lie will be forgiven rue on the Judgnient Day.
I tried to disguise the flavour with pepper and salt,
but in vain. Caleb seemed to be looking at me out of
the corners of his eyes.
" She 's a good old soul," he said, rather irrelevantly.
" She is like a mother to me, and watches over me like
a dog."
I did not point out the animal implications of the
two metaphors taken together, but silently passed the
pepper.
30
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" She is quite a romantic cliaracter, you know," he
went on, mechanically accepting the pepper-box; "old
family retainer, does the whole work of the flat single-
handed, madly jealous of anybody else interfering, a
sort of feudal relic of the time when my people lived in
a moated grange in Lincolnshire, just like Sir Walter
Scott, don't you know ?"
I permitted the dubious statement as to the novelist's
residence to pass, and stuck to the sherry (which was
magnificent.) till the subject of our discourse whisked
away the soup-plates and transformed them into meat-
plates. She did not appear to allow her master fish.
Perhaps it was Lent, and she a devout Catholic. Many
faithful servants do not expect their masters to go
to heaven. The kidneys Avere passable, but unfortu-
nately there was no other guest to pass them to.
THE FEUDAL ANGEL 31
" She is attached to me with the last drop of her
blood," he went on. Personally I shonld have preferred
a more solid method of attachment, and at the worst the
first drop of blood to the last. But I was silent. To
throw all the onus of the conversation upon him was
the surest way of making him indiscreet. But he did
nothing but recommend his '75 Lafitte (indeed a divine
dream) till the joint arrived and the female retainer
departed again.
"The beef is a little overdone, I am afraid," he said
solicitously.
I observed that retainers in their zeal would overdo
things sometimes.
" Yes," he assented, with an undertone of sadness in
his chirrupy accents. " But I am glad you like the
potatoes. For my part I prefer them cooked in their
skins. All the classical works recommend that method,
so I sometimes venture to get one in the streets when
my appetite can bear the strain. Unfortunately, baked
potatoes are not evergreens — they only flourish in the
winter. Cookery is a subject on wliich Tabitha dis-
agrees with me. And her cookeiy sides with her." He
smiled at this way of putting it — a smile pathetic as it
was sweet. It needed not this deeply-felt confession to
apprise me of the relations of the gentle old chess-and-
liarmonium player to his cook. Every look she gave
him was charged with solicitude, every movement she
made in his service was eloquent witli devotion, every
word was tremulous with the tender tyranny of love.
But the marvellous vintages which danced and
bubbled in my glass through this strange uncanny
dinner softened everything for me; and by the time
1 was smoking Caleb's aromatic cigar in Caleb's
32 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
vokiptuous arm-chair, I had come to the Panglossian
conclusion that all was for the best in the best of all
possible flats. The dangers I had imagined for my good
friend Caleb Twinkletop were imaginary. True, I was
hungry and the coffee was impossible, but wliat were
these things in comparison with the knowledge tliat
Twinkletop's Feudal Angel was a hideous crone and a
horrible cook ?
Good wine may need no bush, but it needs something
more to make a good dinner. I would not dine with
Twinkletop again.
A fortnight afterwards I was lounging with a dead
cigar in my mouth in the smoking-room of the
Bachelors' Club, lazily meditating on the principles of
our faith that decorated the walls, when I received a
telegram. I tore it open feverishly. My heart beat
loudly. As my eye darted over the pink paper, I gave
a loud cry of agony which woke up the waiters who
were sleeping on the premises as usual. I had not seen
Twinkletop for a week and my worst fears were con-
firmed. The telegram ran as follows : — " Come at once
in Heaven's name. I am marrying. Twinkletop." To
dash downstairs three at a time and into a lamp-post
was the work of a moment. Eecovering myself, I hailed
a hansom and crawled towards my unhappy friend. I
found him lying in his arm-chair, smoking and smiling
genially. It was the gaiety born of desperation and
drink. By his side stood an open champagne-bottle.
Still I was disappointed to find him so tranquil and
fearless at the approach of marriage.
" Thank you for coming, old friend," he said cheer-
fully. " When I wired you I was in a nervous mood,
THE FEUDAL ANGEL 33
due to reaction and fear of what M'Gullicuddy would
say. Tabitba had just consented to become my wife
after a week's obstinate siege. For seven days I have
been imploring her to take pity on me and become
Tabitha Twinkletop. It has been an anxious time for
her, dear old creature. She has, of course, no blood
and was afraid that by marrying me she would tarnish
the scutcheon of the Twinkletops. Her love for The
Family outweighed her love for Me. But despair lent
me eloquence and at length she returned a blushing
positive. Then the reaction came. I remembered the
Club and wired for you to break it to them, for you are
the only man who has ever known my unhappy secret."
His voice faltered with emotion. I did not speak. My
breath had not yet had time to come back.
He resumed more cheerfully. " But now I have
dared and done. The nightmare is rolled off my life.
A year more and it would have been too late. My
digestion would have been a memory. Now the years
of old age lie before me peaceful and painless." His
eyes lit up in ecstatic vision.
" You have proposed to your housekeeper ? " I
gasped.
" To my flat-keeper," he corrected me ; " to my cook ;
to my feudal devotee." Still the same beautiful look
of happiness upon his gentle brow. Good old Caleb !
" Oh Paul," he went on, " if you only knew what my
life has been up till now, ever since the unhappy day
when the faithful Tabitha was left to me as an heir-
loom under my aunt's will. Her jealous devotion to
me, her pride in me and in The Family, and in our
descent from the Lairds or what 's-a-names of Lincoln-
shire — all this, great Scott ! I could have borne. But
c
34 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
her cooking!" He put his hand on the fifth button of
his waistcoat in tragic silence. The blinds of the room
were down as if in anticipation of the marriage, but the
bright fire threw flickering shadows on the wainscoted
ceiling. One of them fell upon Caleb's face. To me,
sitting with unstrung nerves in that weird room, it
seemed, despite his bright visions, an omen of his
future.
" How can I tell you what I have suffered ? " he
resumed, when he was calmer. " She would not let me
dine out — it would have been an imputation on her
cookery; and who knew what unhealthy things they
might give me ? I could not eat two dinners — my
appetite, though fastidious, is poor. For six months I
tried getting my meals surreptitiously from a restaurant,
and burnt hers or buried them under the floor. Need
I say I nearly got arrested for murder ? "
" But why didn't you get rid of her?"
"Paul, I am surprised at you. You talk idly. Can
a man get rid of even his old pipe or his slippers ? "
I saw I had talked idly. The idea of Caleb's having
strength of mind and initiative enough to break with a
servant ! Why, the dear old fellow would have been
polite to the old man of the sea, and asked him if he
felt quite comfortable on his back.
"I soon wearied," he continued, "of subterfuge and
trickery against the woman whose ideal I was. I tried
to live up to her faith in me." His voice broke and he
dashed away a tear. " I gave up trying to deceive her
and sought consolation in my wine, and my cigars, and
my pictures of banquets, and my treatises on cookery,
to say nothing of the delights of chess, the Bachelors'
Club, and the even higher fellowship with the Little
THE FEUDAL ANGEL 35
Bedlamite Brothers. I bought The Autocrat of the
Breakfast-TaUe, thinking it concerned itself with the
pleasures of the matutinal meal. It will come in handy
for reading now that my Barmecide banquets of the
intellect are to be replaced by the real. But why recall
the dead unhappy past ? It is buried at length, more
surely than my ancient dinners. Tell the Bachelors I
am really mated at last."
Again that beautiful smile of ineffable peace over-
spread Caleb's worn features. His brow began to
unfurrow itself, and all the smoothness of cherubic
childhood settled again upon his wan features. He rose
and opened the harmonium and played some strange
celestial chord. "But this is fool's mate," I cried.
" You are mad ; you are putting yourself beyond the
possibility of ever shaking her off now."
The seraphic smile lit up the eyes again. The marry-
ing musician touched the keys softly, and the haunting
notes rose and fell like a prayer.
" You don't understand," he said. " When she is my
wife, she will allow me to get another cook. The
dignity of a Bride of the Heir of the House of Twinkle-
top will not allow her to do her own cooking." He
ceased, and his head fell back in mute ecstasy, and
through the silence of the dim room I heard the soaring
rhapsodies of the Wedding March rise Heavenwards.
• * * » »
So Caleb Twinkletop married his Feudal Angel, and
the Bachelors' Club mourned him sore, and M'Gulli-
cuddy maltreated his memory upon the mural monu-
ment.
« « « « •
I dine with the Twinkletops often now.
CHAPTEE IIL
HAMLET UP TO DATE.
Eliot Dickray took the blow of Caleb Twinkletop's
marriage most to heart — with the possible exception of
Caleb Twinkletop's cook ! He did not re-appear at the
Club till the Ides of March, and then his face seemed
to have grown some years older. He was always a
strange, irresolute being, and his glance round the
smoking-room was wild and wandering. His eyes
flitted from text to text, he shook his head, he stepped
towards the inner sanctum, he retreated, he read the
texts again.
Eliot Dickray was not Eliot Dickray, but his son. The
Eliot Dickray was the famous novelist, essayist, drama-
tist, and universal provider. Our Eliot Dickray was
the least celebrated of his father's works ; and his popu-
larity was limited to a select circle of friends and
Bachelors. His father's position had of course secured
him a certain measure of prestige ; but at best he was
merely a sucds d'estime. He was of no use in the world
except as a support to the theory that genius is one of
the diseases which are not inherited. The colossal
mental energy of the father had beggared the family
estate ; it is unfortunate for the inheritors of fulfilled
renown that there is no power of intellectual entail.
The paternal geniality was, however, his in plenty ; and
36
HAMLET UP TO DA TE 37
in spite of his occasional fits of taciturnity and depres-
sion, his cronies accepted him on account of his amia-
bility, and the champagne suppers in his chambers
overlooking the Green Park. His generosity was
princely ; he had nothing to do with his money or his
time but spend them, and he did so right royally. But
he paid for his pleasures in ennui. He drifted aimlessly
along the stream of existence, giving heavy toll at all
the locks, and taking little heed of fog-horns. He was
too diffident to steer for anywhere. A low self-estimate
may do credit to a man's judgment, but it will not carry
him far. Modesty is but a poor virtue, though its
ravages are not extensive. I used to shudder to think
what would have become of Eliot Dickray had he been
born sucking the wooden spoon instead of the silver.
He would have swallowed it and choked himself.
O'Koherty came up to him as he fumbled about
with his eyes and legs and asked him if aught ailed
him.
" No ; quite well, quite well," he replied nervously.
He shuffled away from his interlocutor. " I can't
stop," he said. " Good-bye."
" Why, you 're going away before you 've come ! " said
O'lioherty, uplifting his eyebrows.
" I have seen all I wanted to. You must really
excuse me."
" You have seen only me. And apparently you dont
want to."
" Oh yes, I do — I mean I don't. I only came to look
at these texts again."
The arch of O'Pioherty's eyebrows widened. ' I
thought every self-respecting Bachelor knew them by
heart ! "
38 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" Yes, yes ; of course they are engraved upon the
book and volume of my brain ; but still "
" Well, and now you have read them, you are
thinking that — "
Eliot's eyes gleamed with troubled light, — "That,"
he said hesitatingly, " there are more things in heaven
and earth, O'Eoherty, than are dreamed of in our philo-
sophy,"
" What do you mean by our philosophy ? "
" The philosophy of us Bachelors, of course."
O'Eoherty snorted. Eliot's eyes strayed once more
towards the texts. "Do you know," he said, half in
reverie, "what strikes me on looking at these texts
again with fresh eyes — I — I mean after an interval ? "
" Do you take me for a thought-reader ? " growled
O'Eoherty.
" Well, it seems to me, " went on Eliot, in the same
abstracted way, "that there is a note pf regret about
some of them, a smack of sour grapes."
" Eh, mon ! what 's that ? " cried M'Gullicuddy, appear-
ing suddenly from the inner apartment. "Wha's
talkin' aboot sour grapes ? " The President's eyes glared
suspiciously from beneath his horn spectacles.
"Dickray says we are dwelling under sour grape
vines," said O'Eoherty angrily.
" No, no, hardly that," said Eliot. " What I say is
that these texts have not the true grit, the hearty
honest ring of hatred and contempt. That one, for
instance, says that 'Love is the only excuse for mar nag e ;
and it is not an excuse that will ivash or wear well.' Now
the first part of that proposition is a distinct admission
to the enemy. It grants that there is one excuse for
marriage."
HAMLET UP TO DATE 39
" Nay, but dinna fash yersel', mon. The second part
sweeps it brawly away agen," said M'Gullicuddy,
speaking his native Scotch, and taking snuff in his
agitation.
" By no means," persisted Eliot.
" By a' means," said M'Gullicuddy, growing pale at
Dickray's blasphemy. " It 's an awbsolute annihilation
of the love-argument."
" It is very like a wail," said Eliot quietly.
" Yerra like a wail ? " repeated the President, drop-
ping his snuff-box in horror.
"Certainly. It laments that the excuse is not
durable. It says. What an excellent thing a love-
marriage would be ! Only, unfortunately, wedded love
has no staying-power."
"Tell that to Mandeville Brown ! " said M'Gullicuddy
menacingly, as he mopped his brow with his coloured
handkerchief.
"My dear Dickray," added O'Eoherty witheringly,
" if you have made a fool of yourself by falling in love,
say so like a sensible man. But don't go and abuse the
plaintiffs attorney."
Eliot smiled with quiet melancholy. " No," he said
simply, " I am not in love — nor likely to be."
"Then why," said M'Gullicuddy, dropping into
English, " do you call into question all that we hold
unquestionable? I am glad no weaker brother has
overheard you ; it might have unsettled his faith."
" It is for your sakes I call it into question ; your
texts tacitly assume that love is the only motive that
might induce a Bachelor to marry, and they concentrate
themselves upon showing that love, if it be not alto-
gether an invention, is at best as fleeting as the snow-
40 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
fall upon the river. But love is far from being the only
danger to be guarded against ; it is money, position,
convenience, comfort, conscience, social pressure, a thou-
sand and one things that induce men to marry. By
comparison, love is \me qnantiU n4gli(jeaUe. Not one
of your texts admonishes Bachelors against these ; you
muster your apophthegms and dash your serried maxims
against a shadowy foe ; the real enemy lurks in a million
guerilla forms along the route. Kemember how Twinkle-
top fell and Little Bethel. These texts are but the
lamentations of a disillusioned but romantic spirit ;
the jeremiad of a lover who sees the worm at the core
of Eve's apple. They are, I say again, very like a wail."
He turned away more resolutely and strode to the door,
then he took a last glance at the Club, dashed his hand
across his eyes, and was gone.
M'Gullicuddy and O'Koherty looked at each other
aghast. What was the matter? What could have
happened ? What had produced this mental aberra-
tion] Dickray had never spoken so well — nor so
lengthily.
The two men were seriously alarmed. M'Gulli-
cuddy 's dignity kept him taciturn and tragic, but
O'Eoherty came over to my rooms the next morning
and put the case to me. I was chagrined at having
missed witnessing the symptoms for myself. Chcrchez
la fcmme was my conclusion. O'Koherty agreed with
me in fearing the worst.
Woman had robbed us of two of our members ; was
another to be amputated by the same dexterous manipu-
lator ? If she could be found in time we might forbid
the banns or hinder them. But how to get at her ? Ay,
there was the rub. O'Koherty mentioned a detective
HAMLET UP TO DATE 41
agency ; I am afraid he has no delicacy of feeling. It
took me some time to convince him of the meanness of
liaving a fellow-memher spied upon, as if he were a
criminal or a coming co-respondent. I said that so
Ions as I had a footinoj in the Club, no Bachelor should
be dogged by an outsider. O'Roherty wriggled his
mutton-chops, but my veto was absolute. I said that
rather than use such dirty spy-glasses, I would try and
ferret out what I could for myself.
I called upon Dickray in the course of the next day,
but his valet reigned in solitary majesty in the luxu-
rious apartments. He condescended to inform me that
something was worrying his master, who had turned
his bedroom into a promenade instead of a sleeping
chamber. This was all I could extract from the valet,
though I made speech silver for him. I concluded that
the yield of information was exhausted, and abandoned
the shaft.
In the evening I went to the Club ; nothing had been
heard of him. M'Gullicuddy and O'Eohcrty listened
to my want of news with unconcealed anxiety. A
sense of coming misfortune hung over us all. If only
I could find the woman ! I went out into the streets
and wandered aimlessly about, as if expecting to meet
her by a miracle. I looked at every passer-by as if he
or she might be Eliot Dickray or his evil genius.
When the passer-by was two in one, my stare became
almost insulting. Near midnight I found myself at the
end of Nortliumberland Avenue. The March wind
blew cold and keen from the river, but I did not turn
back. Was it Fate that led my steps, or Chance ?
Suddenly I became aware of commotion and bustle
at the entrance of a building facing me, and in another
42 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
instant remembered it was the National Liberal Club.
What was going on % I crossed over. The hall was
filled with an excited conversational throng. A momen-
tary curiosity was succeeded by a flash of recollection.
They were waiting for the verdict of Sloppleton.
The member for Sloppleton had died. The tragedy
of his death was sore. Years of ambitious lying were
crowned by but one anonymous line in the evening
posters, — " Death of an M.P." Sloppleton was a sleepy
place, the inhabitants of which were amiable and stupid,
concerned only about their souls and the local indus-
tries. They would not even go to the poll, except when
driven by a natty coachman to the sound of brass
bands. Naturally, therefore, the eyes of England were
turned on the by-election at Sloppleton ; there was
fixed the axle of Fortune's wheel ; for a week and
a half it was the hub of the universe, the centre of
political power. Justice, Religion, Political Economy,
Foreign Policy were among the things that were being
weighed in the balance — at Sloppleton. Was the flow-
ing tide with the Liberals, or were they drifting back
with the ebb ? Was the "reat heart of the nation still
throbbing for the Tory, or was it aching for the Eadical ?
Such were the questions over which heads were broken
at Sloppleton — where strong things were said and
drunk on both sides impartially. It was an anxious
half hour in Fleet Street, where the leader-writers were
waiting, manuscript in hand, to know whether the vic-
tory they had won was a numerical victory, or merely
a moral victory. It was a no less anxious crisis in
the hall of the National Liberal Club, where the move-
ments of the tape were watched with far from bated
breath. Why do people waste so much loquacity in
HAMLET UP TO DATE 43
speculating on news that will be stale in halt an
hour's time ?
I pushed my way into the Hall. I was never a
member of any London Club except the Bachelors'. I
like to do one thing at a time. But I find it convenient
to turn into one sometimes, especially when I have
been there with a member and the waiters know my
face. So long as you do not take a mean advantage of
the culinary resources of the establishment, nobody is a
penny the worse. The National Liberal Club was at
this time one of my favourite lounging-placcs. It is
such a huge caravanserai, that I have always regarded
myself as an honorary life-member, a kind of under-
study for the Ex-Uncrowned King who has never shown
his face in the place. It frets me to see an honorary
life-membership wasted.
It was Eliot Dickray who had first introduced me
to this happy hunting-ground; perhaps I might find
him here now. I elbowed my way through the crowd
into the smoking-room, which was thickly studded
with argumentative groups and heavy with the cloud-
wreaths from a hundred cigars. I sauntered along,
casting glances to the right and the left and peering
into all the cushioned niches. My quarry was nowhere
to be seen but I was on the right scent, for I met a
man who told me he had seen him in this very room
half an hour ago. While we were talking a change
came over the scene ; a roar was heard outside ; men
pressed towards the entrance ; the news flew from lip to
lip and lit up face after face like a flying electric spark ;
the Liberals had scored an unexpected victory ; the roof
rang with cheers ; the smoke swayed before the waving
hats and handkerchiefs ; some one shouted the majority ;
44 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
it was large ; the excitement redoubled ; everybody was
shaking hands with somebody else ; the crowd tossed
about, huzzahing like a parcel of schoolboys ; somebody
— who was a somebody — jumped on a chair ; there was
a fresh round of cheers ; fresh contingents of Liberals
poured in froirtthe hall and upstairs ; then a deep silence
fell upon the members, as they hung upon the great man's
exultant rhetoric. I gave one last sweeping glance round
the smoking-room, then turned and walked up the noble
staircase — in search of Eliot Dickray. I met a dozen
or so belated members, accompanied by the waiters,
hurrying down from the various rooms towards the
oratory ; otherwise the upper storeys of the Club were
deserted. The library was my last chance ; but even
that had been left alone in its glory. I walked up to
the extreme end of it to see if perchance my man might
lurk in a corner. In vain. It was obvious I had
missed him in the unusual crowd or that he had left
the Club. Keenly annoyed, I threw myself dejectedly
into an arm-chair.
As I sat there brooding, a murmur of voices seemed
to be wafted to my ear. I started up ; no one was near.
What could it be ? A keen gust of wind smote me in
the face and answered me. The balcony ! I had for-
gotten the balcony. I moved stealtliily towards the
glass door of communication. It had been left slightly
open ; hence the draught of words and chill air.
Scarcely breathing in my excitement I peeped cautiously
outside. The night was sombre ; the lights of the river
gleamed redly ; the moon shone fitfully through brackish
cloud ; the leafless branches in the gardens and on the
embankment rustled mournfully. In the furthest
corner of the balcony, before a small round table, with
HAMLET UP TO DATE 45
their faces towards the railway bridge, sat two men —
one slim, the other burly. Both wore overcoats and
crush hats. One back I did not know ; the other was
Eliot Dickray's.
" Very well, Eliot, you are obstinate, I am firm.
There can be no advantage in continuing the conversa-
tion, except to our doctors, for the air bites shrewdly.
It is very cold and my cigar has gone out. This is
the second time you have wasted my time with your
insane demands. Let us go in."
I heard a match strike as he re-lit his cigar. I bit
my lips ; I had come at the end of the conversation.
But the next words rekindled my hopes and heated my
interest to boiling point.
" Father, will you not understand ? "
So this was Eliot Dickray, the, Eliot Dickray. I ven-
tured a long glance at the great literary lion. I had
never seen him before ; he did not keep his son's com-
pany. He was a star, far-off, inaccessible. To-night he
had fallen as near earth as the Club-balcony. I longed
to see the face of the man whose books I had so often
borrowed, but his skull was not transparent. It was
not the back he wore in my ideal portrait. What that
visionary back was I did not know. I only felt it was
not the back before me. Still, the face might be more
in harmony with my preconceptions. Noiselessly I
wheeled a capacious arm-chair towards the window, and
obscured myself in its luxurious depths. With ears
pricked up, I listened to the dialogue as from a stall,
though I and the persons of the drama were back to
back.
"My boy, I understand perfectly — that you are a
fool."
46 THE CELIBATES'' CLUB
" Do you also quite understand what I have resolved
to do ? "
" Certainly — to demonstrate the fact to the world."
" Father, since our first conversation I have thought
over this thing day and night. You have eluded me.
Yes, sir, you may smile, but you have eluded me.
You were never in when I called."
" My dear Eliot, my engagements ! "
" Are not to balk my engagement !"
"To whom?"
" You know whom, father."
" You never told me you had gone so far as to engage
yourself to "
"Yes, father, I am in honour bound. I made the
poor old man a definite promise of redress. What
otlier course was open to me as an honest man when I
learnt the truth ? The sin must be expiated ; cost what
it may, justice must be done."
"My dear Eliot, when you know as much of the
world as I do, you will prefer the heavens to fall."
"Oh yes, I know now how the times are out of
joint."
"You are not the man to set them ridit."
O
" But you are, father."
"Not even I. I tell you ngain you are making a
mountain out of a molehill. Such molehills are the
natural pimples on the unhealthy face of the world of
to-day."
" Yes, sir, I know. You are quoting "
" My own book. Quite right."
" Well, sir, I refuse to accept the sentiment. I had
hoped it was not — yours. I still believe in honour —
and what it asks of us. Come, father, 1 will not believe
HAMLET UP TO DATh 47
that you will set your face against the only righteous
way out of this unrighteous situation. It is hard — it
is a great sacrifice ; but it must be made."
" For the last time, Eliot, if you have taken leave of
your senses, allow me to retain mine." There was the
noise of a chair moving violently. The elder man had
sprung to his feet in a huff.
" Then you refuse ?"
"Absolutely. It will disgrace you no less than
myself."
" Then I must act without your consent."
"You threaten?"
"Nothing. No, father, you know I have not the
strength for that."
" And yet "
"And yet, unless you change, our lives must drift
apart never to meet again. I cannot touch a penny of
your money, sir, henceforwards."
" What ! You will throw up your allowance !"
"Yes, sir; you have always been very good to me;
but now, since you and I are of so vitally different a
mind on the most important crisis in my life, it is
impossible for me to be dependent any longer upon you."
" Oh, but this is stark, staring lunacy ! Why, Eliot,
think a moment. Where does the expiation come in
if you have no money ?"
" I have my youth. I am only thirty-two."
" But what will you live upon ? Upon your youth ?
I have heard that others have lived upon your youth,
but you can't do it yourself."
" I will live upon money earned — honestly."
" Earned how ? You have not been trained for any-
thing "
48 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
"And therefore am ready for everything."
" My dear boy, you are an absolutely incompetent
young man. It seems cruel to say so but it is kindest
to remind you of it. You have never succeeded in any-
thing you have undertaken ; your will is weak, your
execution random, your laziness incorrigible. You are
a shiftless, thriftless being, with a bent for metaphysics
and champagne. Faults or virtues in a man with an in-
come become vices in a man without one ; and as, more-
over, you propose to add honesty to all your other vices,
it needs no prophet to foresee you swirling among the
flotsam and jetsam of humanity within a twelvemonth.
No, my boy, you are not well ; you have been going to
bed too early in the morning. Pack up your portman-
teau and go off to the Riviera for a month, and pitch
your fads and your scruples into the Mediterranean."
" What you say of me, sir, is unfortunately too true.
I have been but a well-dressed tramp, a vagabond in
broadcloth. But I am not too old to turn over a new
leaf."
" And what do you propose to write on this new leaf?"
" A story."
"A story?"
"Yes, sir, a story !"
" You write ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! Well, well, so the leaf
you turn over will be taken out of my book."
" No, sir. I hope to write my own books. And yet,
in a sense, it will be a leaf out of your book."
"Tn what sense ?"
" Does it not strike you, sir — you who have seen so
much of novel-writing — what an excellent germ for a
story we have here ?"
" Damn it, sir ! Do you mean to say you are going to
I
HAMLET UP TO DATE 49
publish this story — that you are going to foul your own
nest and wash your dirty linen in public ?"
"iSTo, sir. I shall publish the story anonymously.
Nobody will ever suspect it has anything to do
with me or you. Besides, it would not do to invite
comparisons between my work and — the other Eliot
Dickray's. I should be damned instanter by all
your enemies, whose malice is impotent to damage
your own popularity. I am not so prolific at plots as
my — my namesake. Why should I trouble to invent
when I have a subject made to my hand ? My first
tottering steps will be best taken if I lean on the go-
cart of reality. 1 shall start my new life and my story
to-morrow."
So long a silence ensued that I thought it would
never end ; all I could hear was their heavy breathing,
as if they were glaring defiance at each other. Then
there came a roar of laughter from the great novelist's
lips.
" Ton my word you are right. It is indeed a plot —
for a farce ! You will make your d^but in fiction by
telling the truth ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Excellent. And
I'll tell you what: you annoy me dreadfully, Eliot
Dickray ; but I 'm hanged if I won't give you an intro-
duction to my old chum, the editor of The Ban-
hury Magazine, and ask him for my sake to publish
your first essay in — truth. Ha! ha! ha!"
" Father — for the last time I use that word — you will
not understand me after all. This is no subject for
levity. It is the deepest tragedy of my life. I am
much older than I was a month ago. I am old enough
to earn my own living now. If your decision is final,
so is mine. My life must henceforwards be lived apart
D
50 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
from yours — not helped by it to the extent of a farthing,
or even of a letter of introduction to any one. For-
tunately — alas! that I should have to say it — my mother
is dead. The tie between us is not a complicated knot,
it concerns you and me only. It can be severed at a
stroke. When I have written my story, it is not to
your friends that I shall go "
"Then go to the devil!" roared the great novelist, as
he burst open the casement door, bumped against my
arm-chair, and strode off with another oath. I had
barely time to catch a glimpse of a handsome sensuous
full-bearded face writhing with vexation.
Would his son follow him % I waited, not daring to
stir a finger. Presently I heard the young man pacing
the terrace with restless, unsteady feet. I shifted
noiselessly in my seat and peered over the back of the
arm-chair. The moon was hidden now by the rack of
clouds, and the sough of the wind among the plane-
trees by the river was the only sound that mingled with
those tragic footsteps. Eliot Dickray paused at last,
and leaned his elbows on the parapet, and gazed long
and intently towards the sombre water that coiled like
a black, red-spotted snake below him. Then I saw his
shoulders heave convulsively. He was sobbing like a
child.
Oh the tragedy of it ! " The deepest tragedy of my
life ! " What a dark tale of sin and shame was here ;
deepened by the cynical worldliness of the father — so
false to the fine teaching of his works, — relieved only
by the resoluteness of the guilty to make atonement.
Eliot, Eliot ! thou whose eccentricities astonished
even the Bachelors, how couldst thou have fallen into so
conventional a gin ? True, thou hast redeemed thyself
HAMLET UP TO DATE 51
somewliat as an original by casting off thy father,
because he will not have thee marry the woman of thy
choice ; but yet, methinks, it were better to have loved
and lost.
» « « » «
Though the broad outlines of the story were clear to
me, I waited with pitying eagerness for the details.
Long before my sympathy was appeased, Eliot had
written the letter of resignation which I expected daily.
Its arrival put the seal upon my hypothesis — if a thing
so certain could be called a hypothesis. Our grief for
the departed was unusually severe, and, for my own
part, I do not know how I should have borne up, if I
had not been sustained by the duty of reading, or rather
skimming, the fiction of the month. To anticipate a
little, I may say at once that during the next few
months I sat several hours a day, with wet towels
round my head, reading everything that might possibly
be the story of Eliot Dickray's secret sin and marriage.
My mind became a chaos of incongruous impossibilities ;
my brain a blood-sodden pulp ; my skull a seething
caldron of inane sentimentalities. But I read on.
Till you tiy to keep pace with it, you have no idea what
an appalling amount of unnecessary lying is turned
out every month. And they are not even new lies, they
are such an old pack. After I had hunted the needle,
sick and dizzy, for a fortnight, it occurred to me that
I was neglecting the American hay. At first I read
everything ; in widening my sphere to take in Trans-
atlantic lying, I found myself driven to select, and to
discard stories whose titles were out of all relation to
the plot of which I was in search. That was why,
when the story did come along, I tossed it aside ; and
52 THE CELIBATES'' CLUB
it was only by the merest accident that I came to read
the following story, under the queer label of
HAMLET UP TO DATE.
One o'clock and a foggy night. No watchman pro.
claimed the tidings, for it was modern London over
which the fog lay, and the contemporary night-patrol
speaks only from the soles of his boots. But the bell of
St. Paul's tolled the hour, and the fog needed no telling.
" Hell is a city very much like London," as Shelley hath
it; but never more so than in February, when the
weird street-lamps serve but to render the darkness
visible. To-night the fog wrapped the metropolis in its
yellow folds so thickly that unfortunate pedestrians
despaired of home and even of England and beauty;
the very cabmen had, as a rule, preferred their beds
to crawling with smarting eyes through the Egyptian
darkness. Up till midnight torch-bearers were to be
had, but now even these men of light and leading were
inaccessible, counting their gains in the doss-houses.
Harold Koss groped his way along, looking for a
hansom. He had retired early from a gay supper-party
in one of the Inns of Court, taken a few steps east-
wards in search of a remembered cab-rank, then lost his
bearings, and was now approaching Fleet Street by way
of a slow succession of buildings and objects quite
unfamiliar to him. He knew the world's great cerebral
nerve as well as most Londoners ; but he knew it by
perches and roods. In a fog you have to feel your
way by inches. You see your own street as under a
microscope and are astonished at the unknown world
that opens upon you at every step. But to Harold
Eoss the revelation of Fleet Street in all its minutiae of
HAMLET UP TO DATE
53
brick wall, iron railing, and quaint portal and alley, was
not sufficiently interesting to compensate for the chok-
ing in his throat, and the exacerbation of his eyeballs.
(j^c^Vj^lTijiijsou.^i
He made up his mind to fight his way back to the
supper-party and abandon the hope of reaching his
comfortable bed in the neighbourhood of Regent's Park.
Naturally, at this point he caught sight of a hansom's
54 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
beacon-fire looming ahead, and making for it, found
that it was one of a series smouldering sullenly through
the murky atmosphere, but flashing to him the message
of hope as the news of the return of Agamemnon was
flashed to Argos. He concluded that he had wandered
away from Fleet Street and stumbled upon a cab-
rank unawares. He hailed the first driver — in more
than one sense. The vehicle was engaged. Still light-
hearted, he accosted the second. He, too, was engaged.
Harold's heart began to sink. Something was going on,
and this file of futile hansoms was but a symbol of it.
A steady progress down the rank convinced our weary
traveller that to him these hansoms were but a mirage,
their beacon-fires but wills-o'-the-wisp. What was
going on, he discovered, was writing. Half-way down,
the resplendent offices of the Daily Wire threw an
electric light on the mystery. The myrmidons of the
press were busy settling the affairs of the universe.
The gods of the modern Olympos were launching their
columned lightnings, and measuring out praise and
blame ; the smudgy sons of Vulcan were manufacturing
their cheap thunderbolts. When the gods and giants
had fulfilled their dread functions, they would be driven
home to their villas in Camberwell by constant Jehus,
who made the usual reduction on taking a quantity.
Harold Koss passed down the ghostly line tempting
the buttoned-up phantoms, and receiving good-natured
banter. It did not matter to him what he paid, nor
which smart journalist suffered. In great crises like
these the best of men are selfish ; and Harold Eoss was
far from being the best of men. He was the thriftless
son of a famous man of letters— a poor rich creature,
fond of chicken and champagne and careless chut; a
HAMLET UP TO DATE 55
lover of literature and art — but a mere dilettante ; a
being without a backbone, a dreamer of dreams, loung-
ing lazily through life, the prey of random impulses
and flickering ambitions, never putting his hand to the
plough without drawing it back ; in brief, one of those
men whose lives are literally the " dream of a shadow "
of the Greek poet.
The last hansom had been left deserted by its driver.
Harold waited patiently for his return, refusing to
extinguish his last hope and half forgetting the lapse
of the minutes in one of his customary reveries. His
thoughts were sad and compassionate. He asked him-
self why these poor men should have been tarrying there
in the wretched fog and cold, whilst he, who had never
in his life done a stroke of work for his fellows, had
been sipping Cbablis and swallowing oysters in a warm
and happy atmosphere of good fellowship ? For the
thousandth time he wallowed in the luxury of pity and
high unselfish thought; conscious all the while he
would never move a finger to help anything or any-
body in the world. His reflections were ended by a tall,
shabby figure lurching up against him. The odour of
the fog was momentarily ousted by a waft of whisky.
" Pardon, guvnor," was jerked in thick, hoarse tones
from the figure, already grown phantasmal half a yard
off. " Didn't know you were there. Whoa ! stand still,
ray beauty." There was a sound of equine impatience
mingled with patting.
" Are you the driver of this cab ? "
" Yessir, not at your service."
" Oh, come now. Don't say that. I '11 give you what
you like to take me to Eegent's Park."
"Wouldn't advise the {hie) canal to-night, sir ; but
56 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
not surprised you 're thinking of suicide. Night like
this would recon(/a'c)cile a murderer to the gallows."
" It '11 be the death of me in any case if I don't get
home," said Harold, rather struck by the man's perfect
English, marred only by the little Latin expletives in
the brackets. " Come, what will you take ? "
" I should say wliisky neat, sir, if it were a more
Christian-like hour, but as the publics are all closed,
thank you for nothing ijiic). Unless you '11 take me into
a club." And the gaunt driver leered with a ghastly
grin through the gloom.
" Come, come," said Harold impatiently, " I '11 give
you a sovereign to drive me to Regent's Park,"
" Sir, I am engaged. My hirer lies yonder." He
flicked his whip in the direction of the Daily Wire
offices. " Whoa, Bucephalus ! "
" Two sovereigns."
" Sir, I am a cab(/ac)man of honour iliic). Still I
cannot afford more than a sovereign's worth of such a
luxury. Jump in."
Harold obeyed with alacrity.
The driver addressed him through the trap-door.
" You won't back out of it afterwards for a couple of
bob ? What 's fare isn't fair in this weather," he added
chuckling.
" It isn't. The four-mile radius is sponged out of
existence. Drive on, my good fellow, and my man
shall give you some grog at the end of the journey."
He let down the window, boxing himself up from the
fog, and relapsed into reverie as the cab crawled
cautiously onwards. How long he mused he knew
not; but when the cab stopped suddenly with a shock
and a tremor, he pushed open the flaps and jumped
HAMLET UP TO DATE 57
out meclianically, thinking they had arrived. Before he
had time to look around, the gaunt driver was at his
elbow with a lighted lantern in his hand.
"Poor brute's injured himself, I fear," he said, more
soberly than he had yet spoken. " Not my fault.
Walked into a pillar-box. Bruised his scapula. Gee
up, my Pegasus. Bear up, Bucephalus." He caught
hold of the bridle and tried to lead the animal along.
It made a few steps, then paused, breathing heavily.
Harold groaned. " What 's to be done ? "
" I am afraid, sir," said the cabman philosophically,
after forcing the horse another few paces, " that this is
one of the situations in which the only thing to do is to
ask what is to be done."
" How far are we ? "
"About half-way. Fortunately, if I am not mis-
taken, we are only within five minutes of the stable. I
will lead Bucephalus there, and forfeit one sovereign
and the grog."
" And what if I refuse to pay ? " said Harold, chok-
ing with annoyance and fog.
" Then, sir, I shall commence to swear. I have the
filthiest and most extensive vocabulary in London."
The unexpected threat so tickled Harold that he
burst out laughing.
" But what is to become of me ? " he said, gasping
from defect of breath and excess of fog.
"I live near the stables, sir, and if my humble
hospitality can be of any service to you, it is freely at
vour disposal. I can work off the second sovereign that
way."
"You are, indeed, a rare bird," laughed Harold, the
Bohemian adventurous instinct taking strong hold of
58 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
him. " I will accept your hospitality as freely as it is
offered — that is, at a charge of a sovereign."
" It is a bargain," said the gaunt cabman. He strode
forwards gallantly, holding the bridle of Bucephalus
with one hand and his lantern in the other. The horse
laboured along no less gallantly, and Harold trudged at
the side of the twain silently, but in no morose humour,
scenting a new experience as keenly as the war-horse
the battle.
In ten minutes' time he was following his host up
the creaking rickety stairs of a slum attic. Streaks of
light descended upon them through the chinks of
a cracked, blistering door.
" Why, who 's wasting my paraffin ? " said the cab-
man. " Surely Jenny is gone to bed ! " In another
moment he threw open the door, disclosing a large but
dingy garret with white-washed sloping ceiling, dimly
lighted by an oil-lamp standing in the centre of a bare
deal table. A pale woman rose as the door opened,
with a piece of calico in her hand.
" Back so soon, father ! "
" Up so late, Jenny ! "
"Yes, father. I expected you home by half-past
three, and as I had a lot of sewing to finish I thought
I might as well sit up and do it, and it 's such a fearful
night that I thought you 'd like some hot coffee when
you "
She paused, catching sight of the stranger.
" Jenny, my love, this is Mr. Fare, a gentleman who
cannot find his way home in the fog, so I have offered
him the shelter of our lowly roof. Mr. Fare, this is my
daughter Jenny. Be careful, sir, or you will bang your
head against the lowly roof in question. SuUimiferiam
HAMLET UP TO DATE 59
sidera vertice. In medio tutissimus ibis, come into
the middle of the room and your crown will be
safe."
Harold Eoss bowed to the cabman's daughter and
the garret's roof. He walked towards the bright fire,
and, having warmed his hands and sloughed his over-
coat, he cast a curious glance at the strange couple who
stood exchanging whispers. For the first time he saw
how hollow-eyed, thin-cheeked, and puny-chested a man
his guide and companion was. The lips were full and
red, the nose was aquiline and carmine. The brow was
high and broad, crowned by masses of tangled grey
hair. Dissipation was stamped on his features ; the
big D of drink was branded like a curse upon his fore-
head. His skeleton was so thinly padded with flesh
that it reminded Harold of a scenario. The daughter's
look was no less cadaverous, but the refinement of her
face, the unflinching earnestness of her sad eyes, spoke
rather of poverty and pain than of culpable physical
bankruptcy. She might have been any age between
thirty and thirty-five. She was slim and tall like her
father, but her print dress was as clean and neat as his
coat was greasy and crinkled. She put down her sew-
ing, and, turning towards Harold, said with exquisite
courtesy, " You will let me give you some coffee, Mr.
Fare."
The cabman seemed to chuckle with his eyes as his
daughter addressed the visitor by name.
" Oh, thanks ! " said Harold, " I am freezing."
The coffee was served in huge clumpy cups, and the
specific aroma which the hon vivant visitor loved was
absent; still it was hot and not unpleasant to swallow.
Jenny spread a coarse table-cloth for the edification of
6o THE CELIBATES' CLUB
the guest and cut some thin bread and butter, of which
Harold did not partake.
"And now, Jenny, you must go to bed," said the
cabman. " To the deuce with your sewing. I am rich
to-night. Long live King Fog !"
"0 father, give it me," pleaded the woman impul-
sively, and her eyes told the story not of cupidity nor
rapacity but of anxious dread. Then she blushed with
infinite delicacy at the betrayal of the family skeleton.
" I want you to make me a birthday present," she said,
laughing nervously.
" My dear, the £ of the £. s. d. is in somebody else's
pocket just now. There are two of them. But I have
no fear as to the transfer. Good-night, Jenny."
She bent down and kissed him as he sat at the
table, then with a "good-night, Mr. Fare; sorry the
accommodation is so bad," she flitted noiselessly through
a door in the wall and Harold heard the key grating in
the lock.
"My daughter," said the cabman proudly, "has
always had her own bedroom. It is the one luxury she
has been able to retain."
" From which remark," said Harold with interest, " I
gather that you have seen "
" Better nights — precisely. Nodes Ambrosiance, sir."
He got up and went to a cupboard and had a tussle
with the handle, which refused to open the door.
" Jenny must have locked it," he said at length, " and
the glasses are there. I had intended offering you some
whisky." He drew a flask from an inner breast-
pocket.
" Not for me, thank you," said Harold. " Another cup
of coffee will do for me. Thank you, I can help myself."
HAMLET UP TO DATE 6l
" In that case, sir," said his host, " there can be no
objection to my sipping at the fountain-head." And he
put the bottle to his lips.
" Can I offer you a cigar ? " said Harold, suddenly
bethinldng himself that he would like to smoke.
" Of course, sir," the cabman said, selecting one from
his guest's case, and kindling it over the lamp. " It 's
not often now I enjoy another man's cigar by more
than the scent of it. But do not let me keep you up ;
there is your bed. You will find it clean, if hard.
Trust Jenny for that."
He pointed to the furthermost corner of the gloomy
room. For the first time Harold noticed a sort of cur-
tained alcove.
" My good fellow, you are very kind, but I can't take
your bed. I can very well smoke by the fire."
" Just what I was thinking of doing, sir. A cigar
like this to my whisky is not to be bartered for a bed
of down — much less a shake-down. Confound the
lamp," he added, as he noticed the dwindling flame,
"the wick wants trimming." He carefully drew off the
lamp-glass and operated on the cotton with the scissors
which lay on his daughter's calico, apparently careless
of the fact that her work would smell of the lamp.
"What a nuisance to have no gas!" he said, adding,
with a splendid American accent, " Yas, I have struck
ile, but it 's tarnation little recommendation in the Old
Country, I guess." He laughed bitterly. "Jenny
ought to be run after by the British peerage."
The lamp burnt steadily for a moment, then the
flame began to sink. " Curse it all, it 's the oil that 's
run out," said the cabman. " I '11 keep the fire up."
He threw some coals on it and choked what flame there
62 ' THE CELIBATES' CLUB
was. " But I haven't got any more paraffin, and I don't
suppose you '11 like to sit up in the dark. Come, sir,
you needn't be afraid of being robbed and murdered
here, though nobody in the world knows of your pre-
sence here to-night and the opportunity is excellent.
Not that I should have the slightest scruples in killing
you, but there 's Jenny to square. Jenny, sir, has old-
fashioned notions, and what is worse, she has absolutely
no sense of humour. Jenny takes life seriously — I, in a
mere spirit of frolicsome irresponsibility ; in that spirit
I should take yours."
The lamp flickered weirdly; the fire smouldered dully ;
the room grew dimmer and dimmer; the spasmodic dying
lamp-flame threw the strange gaunt form of the host
in ghastlier outlines on the frowsy ceiling and the
white-washed walls. The end of his cigar was a circlet
of fire in the gloom. Harold shivered; decidedly, it
would be pleasanter to go to bed like a Christian. He
had not the least fear of robbery or assassination ; the
vein of queerness in his own composition gave him the
instinct to understand the strange being at his side ; he
knew he had to do with a harmless Bohemian exiled
for his sins from his native land. To sit upon a hard
wooden chair in the dark garret might be romantic, but
it were nicer to lose consciousness beneath a counter-
pane. He went to the window, lifted up a corner of the
striped glaze blind, to see if haply the fog had lifted.
There was nothing to be seen but an ocean of opaque
mist. With a gesture of resignation, he betook himself
to the alcove, drawing aside the curtain which slid on
a ring overhead. An iron pallet was revealed, over one
corner of which were two triangular book-shelves fixed
in the angle of the wall.
HAMLET UP TO DATE 63
Not without curiosity Harold's eye rested upon the
books. They seemed familiar. The title of one of
them caught his gaze, but ere he could be sure he had
read it aright, the light failed and the room was plunged
in a dusky fog.
"You are looking at my books," came in strange
sardonic tones from the darkness.
"Yes," said Harold, "I thought " The jet of
flame leapt up defiantly and shone steadily for a moment
in the face of death. Harold uttered a cry. " How
strange!" he said, "why, you have all my father's
books!"
The flame sank, spurted, sank — and rose no more.
There was a moment of intense silence.
" Are you Harold Ross ? " came in strange tones from
the depths behind him.
" Yes, I am the novelist's son. And now you know
who I am, pray tell me in return, who are you ? "
He turned and looked towards where the thin,
haggard figure had stood, but there was nothing visible
through the gloom except very, very faint white wreaths
of smoke curling fantastically round a terrible eye of
fire. A strange eerie sensation came over him. His
blood ran chill. From the centre of tlie vaporous
impalpable Thing there came in sepulchral tones the
words, " Harold, I am thy father's ghost."
Harold's pulse stood still, preparatory to making a
spasmodic spurt. Then he turned away nervously from
the white film and laughed uneasily. He surmised at
once that the man had been an actor in his better nights,
and had thus acquired his fund of quotations, and his
command of language good and bad.
" Come," said Harold, " that 's not a l^ir return for
64
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
my confidences. I told you who I am ; tell me who
you are."
Again the voice came from the centre of the curling
rings, " I am your father's ghost."
HAMLET UP TO DATE 65
Hnrold laughed resignedly. " Well, keep your secrets,
t'oitunately my father is alive, but if he were dead I
hardly think he would be reduced to driving a hansom
in the next world."
" He drives a handsome bargain in this," sneered the
smoke-rincrs.
" If you mean he only allows the publishers a com-
mission "
" And he drove a publisher's hack hard," continued
the smoke.
Harold's blood recovered its warmth. " What do you
know about my father ?"
" As much as a ghost usually knows about the author
of its being, that is all."
" What do vou mean ?" said Harold, his breath com-
ing fast and his chest contracting:.
"I am your father's ghost, and wrote all his books."
" The devil ! "
"Precisely ; that, like the jackal, is another naixe for
it."
Harold rushed at the sardonic smoke-rincrs on chas-
O
tisement bent, but barked his thighs against the table,
and the room rang with hollow laughter.
" My dear Harold, facts are facts. From the noise of
the collision between yourself and my hospitable board,
[ gather that they are also news. T should have thought
there would have been no secrets between you and your
illustrious father."
"Good God, man! are you mad?" said Harold
huskily.
"The critics think me a genius," said the mocking
Mephistopheles.
"I know little or nothing of my father's private
£
66 THE CELIBATES' GLUT
relations," said Harold vehemently. " But 1 know that
you are a liar."
" That is what I am telling you. My lies have filled
your father's volumes and his pockets. All his eulogists
say that I am one of the greatest liars of the age."
" Pah ! you are drunk," said Harold contemptuously.
" Not now," retorted the cabman. " But if I had not
been a disciple of Bacchus neither your father nor my-
self would have been found on the rank we now occupy."
" Good God ! this cannot be true ! My father ! "
"Do you think," said the smoke indignantly, "that I
■would tell a lie for nothing ? Me, an old pressman, who
began life as a penny-a-liar ! "
The room was not warm, but Harold's agony exuded
from his forehead in beads of perspiration. His voice
was hoarse with a terrible fear that the liar was telling
the truth. The conceptions of a lifetime were tottering.
"What proof have you of this?" he demanded
fiercely.
" Proof ? A thousand proofs ! " said the smoke-fiend
sardonically. " The proofs of all your father's novels.
He destroyed the manuscripts (Ross's MSS. will never
be sold at Sotheby's) but in his confident carelessness
he took no steps to prevent me retaining the proofs.
The corrections are all in my handwriting. Of course
he could not correct his books himself. They were not
his own children. To-morrow you shall see them."
" No, I must see them now. \ cannot rest with this
horrible suspicion on my mind."
" Have you cat's eyes ? " queried the ghost.
" No, but poke the fire, man. I shall see by its light."
The devil stirred up the smouldering coal till it stuck
out a mocking tongue of flame and revealed the sub-
HAMLET UP TO DATE 6?
stance of a grinning phantom, which went to the table-
drawer and drew out a heap of printed slips. Harold
knelt by the broken fender to examine them. His
shadow was an amorphous un-human blotch upon the
whitewashed wall. It was a horrible moment. He let
the proofs fall from his hand and put it to his eyes.
The writing was not his father's. AVhen he spoke
again, his voice was tremulous and subdued, and charged
with respect and pity.
"Forgive me for my offensive language," he said.
" If this be true, and you cannot expect me to believe
it without further and different proofs, you are a much-
wronged man."
" I can give you plenty of proofs of that ! " said the
ghost.
There was a long pause before Harold spoke again.
Then he broke the silence suddenly, and there was a
note of hope in his voice.
"My father's new novel was published last week.
You could not have written that."
" No, I did not. When I said I had written all liis
books I was speaking loosely. His last three books
were by another 'hand' in your father's factory. Is it
not a commonplace of criticism that your father is now
in his second manner?"
Harold groaned. It was too true.
" Tiie second manner," pursued the devil implacably,
"in the critic's mouth, implies that the author of the
earlier manner is dead. New experience, fresh ideals,
have gradually modified his first literary personality
till it is completely moulted. So, too, your father
gave up the ghost of his lirst period and hired another'
The critics say ho has struck a rich new vein of char-
68 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
acter and incident, and a maturer manner, and shaken
off the last crudities of adolescent genius for the full
ripeness of the autumn grain. The first part is true,
but I happen to know that the new ghost is barely out
of his teens. They would never recognise my maturity,
even if I had been fifty years in bottle." Again
the drunkard's hollow laughter reverberated through
the room and sent a shudder through the listener's
beinfj. Harold could scarce longer battle with the
belief that his father was a rogue. His filial instincts
bristled defiance ; but his susceptibility to new impres-
sions was a powerful ally on the side of conviction.
" Speak on ; tell me all the story," he muttered.
" The story of the stories ! Yes, I will tell it you.
But get up from your knees and sit down. That's
right," he said, as Harold obeyed mechanically. " Have
a cigar. I can recommend the brand." Harold took
out his cigar-case and his father's ghost selected a
cigar for him and lit it with a wisp of paper.
" Now we are comfortable," said the ghost. " Life is
smoke but smoke is life. Ashes to ashes, but ash to
ash. A ghostly tale should begin and end in smoke.
Tliank you ; yes, I will have another cigar myself. And
now, sir, to my story, which shall be brief as gratitude."
He drained the whisky flask and commenced : —
"Honest labouring man as I am now, I be^an life as
a pressman. I am fallen, fallen, fallen from the Fourth
Estate. I began as a brilliant penny-a-liar, and if ever
my editor complained, I pointed out that I supplied
him with exclusive information, which appeared in no
other paper. By stages far from easy, I mounted from
penny-a-lying to dictating the policy of Th& TwinUer
to an amanuensis. But the intoxication of power was
HAMT.ET UP TO DATE 69
too much for me, and I fell down the ladder I had
climbed so tediously. I was not discouraged, for lajoic
de vivre was always strong in me, and I knew a few
pressmen, who got me occasional work when I proffered
to do it, so that I made enough for bread and cheese
and kisses! They would not trust me with regular
work, that had to be turned out with punctuality and
despatch, but I earned enough to keep body and soul
apart whenever desired. I was recognised in quilldom
as one of those brilliant Lucifers but for whose providen-
tial fall the respectable Gabriels would find no market,
and the mellifluous Michaels be compelled to sheathe
their quills in their wings once more. Then I met your
father. He was a cross between Lucifer and Gabriel —
clever, but commonplace and careful. He wrote very
sn)art articles and lived decorously and gradually
gained a wide reputation as a brilliant but reliable
journalist. He made one or two contributions to the
heavy magazines and became a recognised man of light
and leader-writing. This is the journalist's climacteric
— his most dangerous period. It was never more dan-
gerous than to-day, when the mass of readers has
augmeuted out of all proportion to the number of men
they care to give hearing to. Your father was be-
sieged with invitations from editors and syndicates.
He wrote anonymous dramatic criticisms for eleven
papers — London, provincial, or foreign ; picturesque
parliamentary reports for twelve ; and occasional leaders
and signed articles for about twenty-five. It is so hard
to refuse clieques. But it is harder to earn them. The
task of writing eleven dramatic criticisms, all different,
is not so easy as it looks. When you have said a play
is good, bad, and indifferent, you can only go on ringing
70 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
the changes. The Parliamentary reports are not so bad,
for the politics of the paper you are writing for is a
guide to the shades of colouring.
" It is when writers attempt too much that they go
to the devil. In due course your father came to me.
My beginnings were small and my devillings spasmo-
dic, but I soon became indispensable. I wrote most of
his London Letters for him. He Qot three guineas for
each, which he honestly shared with me. I did not
grumble, for I was spared the trouble of looking for
work, and I hate trouble. I liked writing London
Letters and putting on the grand air of haunting the
Lobby, being hand and glove with all the lions, and
having a private peep-hole in the Cabinet Chamber.
They were no trouble, and the only species of work I
could be trusted to do regularly. I kept sober to do
them. I invented a story in one letter, varied it in a
second, commented on the discrepancies in a third, and
contradicted it in a fourth. The London evening papers
often quoted all the four versions, and I wrote numer-
ous leaderettes for your father commenting on them
all. This was a happy innocent time in my life. I
was more often sober than not, and in short was quite
moralised by my devilry."
" Then my father did not even write his own
articles !"
" Not all of them. How could he ? How can any
respectable journalist get through the work he has to
do ? Why, I know journalists who write descriptions
of ball-dresses who don't know a flounce from a fur-
below."
"And how do they manage ?" inquired Harold sadly.
"They get the blue devils, of course — the learned
HAMLET UP TO DATE 71
lady writers, you know. But your father never got
entangled in the clothesline — at least not directly."
" All this is a revelation to me," said Harold. " My
father never cared for me to mix in his own circle, and
he impressed upon me that I ought to feel grateful
lor being able to live without it, in both senses. But
surely he wrote his first novel himself — Winifred, Wynn
— that made such a sensation ? "
"Not a line. He has no idea of novel- writing. He
is a smart journalist, but he couldn't tell an artistic lie
to save his life."
" But how came he to turn novelist ? "
" Somebody started a magazine and wanted it written
by well-known names. He offered your father ten
guineas for a thousand-word tale."
" But if my father had never won his spurs in fiction
— had never even written the smallest story ! "
" Magazine editors are always on the watch to dis-
cover new talent — in old names. If a man explores
New Guinea, there is a great demand for his views on
the Deceased Wife's Sister's Bill ; if he makes a hit as
a comedian in the House of Commons, editors pester
him for lyrics ; if he invents a patent safety sausage-
machine there is a sure market for his stories of high
life ; and if he distinguishes himself by succeeding to a
peerage, the 'title' pages of the so-called Nineteenth
Century will be thick with his lucubrations."
" Yes, I have noticed something of the kind," said
Harold wearily.
" Well, then," said his father's ghost, " that was how
I took to novel-writing. Your fatlier came to me in
great trouble — he was going to be married and wanted
money — and told me of the offer. He said that hp
72 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
thought my London Letters gave promise of a novelist,
and as he generously offered to share fair and share
alike, I consented to try. The result justified the
editor's sagacity. The little tale created a little sensa-
tion, and I wrote Winifred Wynn. After the success
of that my head was turned and I took to drawing my
money in advance, mitigating my claims in considera-
tion. Somehow, I got very little out of the volumes of
belles lettres — novels, essays, poetry, and the dramas —
that succeeded — in two senses. The more he made the
less I got. But it would not pay me to quarrel with
him, and no publisher would touch my work without
his name on it. Besides, I knew that if I had not been
a literary ghost, I should have been a literal one long
ago. Your father used to lock me up in his room for
months together when a new book or play was on the
stocks, so I was steady perforce. Even then I was
very erratic ; and often and often, when your father got
letters of remonstrance from the publishers, he used to
come iuto my den and indignantly reproach me with
the discredit I was bringing upon his character. But
he ought not to have reckoned without his ghost."
" But how did you fall so low ? "
" To the driver's perch ? Yes, I suppose it is a fall ;
though Carlyle says all work is equally sacred. I did not
drop into that at once. Whether because my invention
flagged, or because I was too uncertain, I forget, but after
twenty years of faithful service your father started
giving me less and less to do. He was feeling for his
second manner. He found him, and I was discharged
— with a caution to hold my tongue."
" And nothing else ? "
"Yes, a hundred pounds or so. A hundred pound?
HAMLET UP TO DATE 73
doesn't go far with me. Earely furtlier than the first
holiday place I get to. This went with me to Brighton.
I returned alone. That was four years ago. Since then
I have tried all sorts of things for a living. I could not
go back to journalism or literature, for / hadn't written
a line for twenty years, but in my struggle for a living
I have drunk in — no, not merely whisky — lots of
materials for another novel. I have been a penny
steam-boat steward, a bum, a dog-fancier, a mesmerist,
and a super. For a year I served in the Salvation
Army; but I was saved by getting a situation as M.C.
in a dancing saloon ; I lost that and supported myself
for six months by Jenny's sewing, after which that
goddess out of the (sewing) machine induced me to
become a 'bus conductor ; from which the transition to
my present position was easy. I sought out an old
friend who had risen to nearly the top of the I).T., and
the memory of our early struggles together in Fleet
Street induced hiin to transfer to me the job of driving
him home after his work — on condition that I did it
cheaper. This I have done — cheaply and expeditiously
— for the last three months; for the night traffic is
light and I should not like to see Jenny's eye if I lost
this regular job. I have been really like a ghost revisit-
ing my old haunts and the pale glimpses of the moon ;
but what may ensue from my leaving my old chum
stranded in the fog to-night, I cannot say. Allow me
to re-liglit my cigar at yours."
Harold was deeply moved as his cigar met the cab-
man's in the masculine substitute for a kiss. The dual
glow was a symbol of mutual sympathy henceforwards.
" But why not publish this novel you have in your
head ? "
74
THE CELinATES' CLUB
The caliman shook the head containincf the novel.
" Who would publish it ? My daughter Jeuuy," he
said witli a despairing chuckle, " is the only thing I
jW^-
S *' 'fWm^ ^'\
have in print now, or am likely to
get into it. Allow me to feel your
face for the smile, as Lamb says."
"Don't be afraid. It is not too
dark for me to see the joke," said
Harold. " But tell me, if your story
is true, why do you allow yourself
to be treated so scurvily ? Why do
you not denounce my father ? "
" What ! Tell the truth ? Where ?
Through what medium ? To whom ?
No doubt I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
would harrow up the soul — but the law of libel has
to be reckoned with, that lovely invention for the
protection of scoundrels and the scourging of honest
journalists. Your father could easily put me into a
prison or a lunatic asylum. The proofs would be
said to be a fabrication ; the accusations malicious or
«;";3oi;
HAMLET UP TO DATE 75
maniacal. Might is Eight, now as ever. There are a
dozen leading organs in which your father could cham-
pion himself and ladle out vilification or badinage to
me."
" Do you mean to say my father is so base that he
would descend to write anonymously about himself ? "
" You forget that his ghost would do it. No ; I am
no hot-headed enthusiast to risk exposing him. I am
an old man, sobered by half a century of drink. Do
you think' I would sacrifice myself on the altar of Truth
at my age ? When I was younger I might have done
it perhaps. But now when I am not the ghost of
his former self ! "
" Then I will do it," cried Harold, starting up.
" You ? "
"Yes; it is monstrous that you should be cheated
out of your reputation and your earnings. Oh to think
that I am the son of a swindler, who has lived by
exploiting the talents of others ! And I — it is your
money that has kept me in luxury all my life ! I dare
not look you in the face ! "
" By the time the sun dawns you will have got over
it, my dear Harold."
" Never," groaned Harold. " You have crippled me
for life. But this injustice must be righted. In all the
catalogues Harold Koss must be replaced by — by "
"Edward Halby, at your service. You're a fine
fellow, Harold, but you don't know your own father.
It 's a wise child that does. I am sorry I told you but
I really couldn't help it. The situation was so odd.
Let us say no more about it. There are only fouv
persons in tlie world who know."
^' Who is the fourth?"
76 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
"Jenny. It is her only happiness to read the old
reviews on your father's books. When she is very
angry with me, she turns to some lofty moral passage
out of one of the books themselves, and then comes and
combs my hair tenderly. She would have married some
honest man long ago and deserted me, if I hadn't
thrown in those soul-moving sentences. 'Cast thy
bread upon the waters,' you see ! "
" Poor girl ! What a lot should have been hers !
A great man's daughter, respected and admired." The
young man bowed his head in grief and abasement.
" Don't take on so. It 's an everyday matter, as I 've
already told you. Most of the famous writers of the
age are quite unknown. Have you not noticed that
some of the most celebrated names are sometimes
affixed to contributions contemptibly weak ? "
" Oh, of course I have. You mean that they have let
ghosts do the work."
" No ; their ghosts have been laid up, and they have
been compelled to understudy themselves. The fact is,
that great baby, the Public, is only a judge of the
quality of names, not of the quality of the writing ; so
that when a man has made a reputation in the literary
line, he follows the example of all successful tradesmen
nowadays and turns himself (though quietly) into a
joint-stock company. Or, if he prefers to retire alto-
gether, he sells his name to a syndicate, which pays him
the capitalised value of it, partly in money, partly in
shares ; calculated according to the number of years his
popularity is likely to last. Then he puts his hands,
together with this lump sum, into his pockets for the
rest of his life, while a score of unknown authors are
employed by the directors to turn out books with the
HAMLET UP TO DATE "jf
special brand on the cover that the Pubh'c raves about,
and containing gore, or psychology, or humour, or piety,
accordinfT to the nature of the first success. Sometimes
they blunder into hiring a very clever hand in the
" works," and the author's reputation is bolstered up for
an unexpected term of years, to the great advantage of
the dividend. Now you understand why the books of
present-day writers are so curiously unequal."
They sat talking till the morning light stole into the
garret. The wasted brilliancy of this consumptive-
looking creature fascinated him. The cabman's mind
was a distorting mirror of paradox, and its reflections
were twisted quaintly and not seldom disagreeably ; but
the flashing phantasmagoria of images held Harold's
attention enchained. He even accepted some breakfast
when the deft-fingered and early-risen Jenny proffered
it. His father's ghost knew so many shady things that
were worth being introduced to. He went away burn-
ing with admiration and righteous indignation, and the
cabman had to go after him to ask for the two
sovereigns.
Harold did not go to bed that morning. He searched,
Japhet-like, for his father, but the great novelist was a
social eel and was always at home at other people's.
A little arithmetical calculation would have shown that
he must have written his books in his sleep ; but nobody
had all the data. After some days Harold hunted him
down. An eminent actor had returned from America,
and was re -opening the Lymarket, with Hamlet,
Knowim,' of the friendship between his father and the
tragedian, Harold purchased a stall. By good fortune
it was behind his father's, but the overture had ceased
before the lion came in. Harold had just time to greet
78 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
him as the ciu'tain went up. Then a religious silence
settled on the house till the entrance of the Danish
Prince set it rocking for four minutes by the clock.
During those minutes he made several efforts to say to
his father what was raging in his soul ; but the great
man's nonchalant complacency and air of distinction
awed him. The easy affability of the novelist's nod to
the celebrities strewn about impressed him. Was it
possible this man, whom he had so reverenced, to whom
the world looked up, was a mere windbag ? He began
to hope again. The smoke-clouds of the garret rolled
off him like a nightmare at sun-dawn. Tlie audience
ceased their applause at last, and the mediaeval Danish
Prince left off grimacing to the nineteenth century.
The play proceeded. The fifth scene arrived.
" Alas, 'poor ghost 1 " said the great tragedian.
" Fity me, not," replied the ghost, " litt lend thy serious
hearing to what I shall unfold."
" Speak," replied Hamlet, " / am hound to hear."
The art of the player, the intensity he put into the
words, held the audience spell-bound. But to Harold
every word struck home, bringhig back the scene and
the agony of the night of the fog.
" So art thou to revenge when thou shall hear." The
dread, sonorous tones smote him like the sound of a
trumpet.
" What?" said Hamlet.
Harold bent forward and hissed in his father's ear,
" I am thy father s ghost, Edward Halby ! "
An electric shock seemed to traverse the novelist's
body. His head fell back, his face pale as death.
"3p ^T ^T 71^ "^
For hours that night his son talked witli him, pacing
HAMLET UP TO DATS. 79
tlie streets of the West End, both unconscious of the
flight of time. Harold's demands for perfect justice
were insistent. He conjured his father to throw away
the worser part of his heart and to acknowledge his
guilt to the world. His father argued, stormed, and
jested, but never budged an inch. The novelist con-
tended that his position was thoroughly justifiable;
nay, one that redounded to his credit, if the ledger were
fairly balanced. He pointed out how the moral effect
of these ' books, which were influencing thousands
for good, would be dissipated if they were known
to be the work of a drunken Bohemian. The Public
abhorred the "devil" and all his works, and stupidly
confused the work of art with the artist. He said he
could easily have written the works himself, if he had
had time, and he had simply acted like the masters in
all trades, sub-letting the work according to a con-
tract that was perfectly free on the side of the employee.
It was a gross breach of confidence and good faith on
the part of the workman to reveal the secrets of the
craft, even to his master's son. Edward Halby had
always been dealt with generously and had all the
inner satisfaction of successful authorship, quite as
much as Sir Walter Scott. He simply published his
books under the pseudonym of Harold Pioss — that was
all. What did it matter if, as the schoolboy said,
Homer was not written by Homer but by another man
of the same name ? It was no concern of the world's.
Besides, lie was not the only person involved. Numerous
critics and publishers and even friends would become
])ublic laughing-stocks, if he made the indiscreet avowal
his son desired. Tliere was that friend and admirer,
the French writer, M. Bourtain. who, in the Itcvuc des
ga THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Deux Monctcs, had sliown the inevitableness of Harokl
Eoss's writings in the light of his birthplace and his
early upbringing, and had cited him as a shining illus-
tration of the theory of heredity and of the applica-
tion of science to literary criticism ? What had the
theory of heredity done to him that he should deal it
such a blow ? If he owed something to Edward Halby's
reputation, he also owed something to his French
friend's. Who should decide which should suffer?
Ethical questions were by no means the simple things
his feather-headed and unworldly son imagined ! They
involved endless conundrums and people; and casuistry
had never yet been reduced to principles.
The son replied hotly that people with principles had
never yet been reduced to casuistry. But his cause was
hopeless. He could not prevail upon his father to dis-
avow even one book, and thus gradually break himself
of his reputation. The dawn found the great man still
as set against sunset and eclipse.
It was when the young man began to realise the
impotency of his wishes, when he felt himself distracted
at the burden of duty set upon his weak shoulders, and
liis reason slipping away down the precipice so sud-
denly opened at his feet, that a gleam of hope burst
upon his brain. It was the idea of vicarious reparation !
To expose his father was beyond his strength ; could he
not expiate the sin ? Could he not rise in the scale of
being and develop into a scapegoat ? What if he took
himself seriously, if he banished his self-mistrust and
gave keener ear to the promptings of literary instinct !
What if he made a reputation and paid it over to
Edward Halby ! His father was a moral bankrupt ;
well then, it behoved the son to discharge his hereditary
HAMLET UP TO DATE 8l
liabilities in full. But Edward Halby was a dying man ;
the sunshine of fame was not for him. One thing alone
remained. Edward Halby had a daughter. If he mar-
ried her, any reputation he might make would be kept
in the family. Edward Halby's blood ran in her
veins and the compensation would be as logical as the
catastrophes of Greek tragedy. Harold Ross had looked
upon himself as a confirmed celibate ; but Fate had
thrust a life-task upon him and he must not shuffle it
off like a coward. Yes, he would marry Jenny Halby,
and take his wife's name. He made a last appeal to
his father — perhaps he might yet be saved from the
cruel necessity of marrying a worn, middle-aged woman,
whom he did not care two straws for.
But of this he said nothing to his father ; he did not
want his father to be swayed by pity for him, but purely
by considerations of right and justice. The final scene
took place at night upon a terrace overlooking the
Thames. It reminded Harold of the battlements of
Elsinore. His father told him to go to the devil. He
went to his father's. He gave up his tainted allowance.
His end was as tragic as Hamlet's. He married Jenny
Halby. His reputation is yet to make.
« « « » «
So ended the enthralling story, to which I alone had
the key. It was rather amateurish in parts, I thouglit,
and the title was rather forced; and, being a ghost story,
it ought to have come out as a summer Christmas
number; but still I followed it with breathless interest.
Whether any one without my reasons would find it so
exciting I could not tell. Of course with this power-
ful clue I easily discovered the real Edward Halby,
whose name was Canning, and the real Jenny. The
F
S2 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
ghost gave up the flesh six months afterwards and
within a week of the funeral Eliot Dickray published a
novel under the name of E. D, Canning. It was at
once hailed as a work of immense power, and so I,
alone in the world, knew that the world was mistaken ;
that Eliot Dickray senior was a sham, and Eliot
Dickray junior the genius. His father had just that
measure of talent which so often sires a genius. His
father's reputation had always overshadowed the son ; it
helped, combined with his natural vacillation and diffi-
dence, to keep him a flaneur. But the sudden demands
made upon him had drawn out the latent genius and
E. D. Canning promises to be one of the glories of con-
temporary literature. His identity will soon leak out,
however, and he will become one of the stock instances
of hereditary genius.
I believe the strangely assorted couple, whose union
was such a blow to the Bachelors' Club, lived happily
ever afterwards, for the woman had a noble and cul-
tured soul.
But quite by accident I discovered one day that she
was only the cabman's step-daughter.
CHAPTEE lY.
THE BACHELOR ABROAD.
By this time the Club was in a reduced condition, not
only as to members but as to finances. We were now
only nine and the drain on the assurance money was
very great. We felt that if any more of us married we
should die.
An extraordinary general meeting was called for
the first of April. The extraordinary thing about it
was that it answered. The first idea hit upon was
Henry .Eobinson's. It was to graft our Insurance
System on to a popular penny paper. We immediately
went to the Editor of Silly Snippets who lived in the
Square and told him that we were willing to become nine
annual subscribers and transfer to him our reserve fund
in exchange for back numbers, if he would insure us
against Matrimony, as he insured his other readers
against Death. He pointed out that he did not insure
them against death but only against accidental death.
He was willing to accept the risks of accidental matri-
mony. If any one of us was found married with a copy of
Silly Snippets in his pocket, he would plank down the
money. But if it could be shown to be a case of mar-
riage of malice prepense — well, he kindly offered to see
us condemned antecedently.
He proceeded to complain that his readers were a
88
84 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
most ungrateful lot, who were hardly worth wasting
scissors and paste upon. He said that tliey had a most
unpleasant habit of going and getting killed in percent-
ages that flew in the face of all statistics. I said that
the frequency of cases of sudden death while reading
8illy Snippets was quite easy to understand. We then
left. We heard afterwards he had looked upon our
visit as an attempted All Pools' Day hoax.
The Editor's refusal to take the risks of deliberate
matrimony naturally damped our spirits. His fear
that we should marry communicated itself to us and we
were sad. Henry liobinson was especially doleful at
the failure of his idea. He had a good position in a
bank and so was supposed to divide the financial genius
of the Club with Moses Fitz- Williams. We returned to
Leicester Square and sat smoking and thinking deeply.
The extraordinary general meeting was resumed. What
made matters worse was that no new applicants now
stepped forward to fill up the gaps in our ranks as they
used to do in the early days of the Club. We did not
wonder at this ; the developed stringency of our con-
ditions and the uncertainty of receiving the minimum
of wiiite balls naturally disheartened any who might
have offered themselves for election. Still their sub-
scriptions would have been welcome.
M'Gullicuddy was the first to stop thinking. "Bide
a wee, lads," he said, and his dropping into his verna-
cular showed how deeply the simple old Scotsman was
agitated by the peril to his Club. "No sae dowie. We
will pay oot na mair siller to a departed Bachelor till he
has been married twa }ears. We tak ower little trouble
to varify the records o' oor members' marriages. We
see the registrar's certeeficatej verra true, But we
THE BACHELOR ABROAD 85
ken riclit weel that clerks will sign marriage certeefi-
cates recklessly for half-a-croon. Gentlemen," said
M'Gullicuddy, blowing his nose impressively with his
picturesque pocket handkerchief, " we maun haud a
post-nuptial examination and speir for oorsels before
we part wi' the bawbees an' toom the exchequer. I
shall be the coroner and you the jury. Gentlemen, if
we conduct the inquest by legal methods, we maun do
it slowly. (Hear, hear.) We couldna do it under twa
years. (Cheers.) Twa years is no ower lang to sit upon a
renegade." (Loud cheers, during which the honourable
old gentleman resumed his seat, flopping down as
vigorously as if the renegade were already ujjon it.)
It was universally felt that M'Gullicuddy had saved
the Club, and we competed eagerly for the honour of
supplying him with whisky. In his anxiety to avoid
invidious distinctions, the good old Scotsman submitted
to taking a " wee drappie " from each of us. He drank
Irish. He knew how the other sort was made.
Thinking it over in calmer moments since, I have
got hopelessly nmddled to understand how staving the
difficulty off for two years could be of any use. But
then Scotsmen always have a talent for finance. In
two years anything may happen. To shift the burden
off the shoulders of to-day, — is not that the whole prin-
ciple of modern business and modern politics ? To-
morrow can take care of itself. It will shift the burden
on to the shoulders of the day-after-to-morrow. There
was a Chancellor of the Exchequer wasted in M'Gulli-
cuddy.
We had hardly concluded the formal passage of the
statesmanlike motion seconded by our venerable Pre-
sident, when we heard a commotion in the Smoking-
86
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
room, and, opening the door, we saw a red-faced woman
(we knew she was a woman because she wore no
gloves) quarrelling with the waiters.
" How dare you insult a honest woman as earns her
bread by washing and doing for gentlemen, you pair of
good-for-nothing shirt-fronts ? "
•' Hey, my sonsie lass, what ails ye ? " said M'Gulli-
cuddy in his broadest Scotch. He generally adopted
that after copious Irish.
"Why, I've come with a telegraph for Mr. 'Enery
Robinson. It's very important I know,
'cause I 'v e
opened it, know-
in' it was very
important, and
so I took the
trouble to bring
it myself as I
had to go this
way. But them
tailor,s' dum-
mies was both
snorin' around
when I came,
and when I
woke 'em up,
they up and asked me if I was a married woman. I
says, what 's that to them ? and then they says, unless
I was married I couldn't come in. As if I wasn't
married in Bow Church five years come next Whit-
suntide, and my certificate is framed in the parlour-
next to the memorial card for my poor sweet William
who flourishes in 'Eaven a twelvemonth come next
THE BACHELOR ABROAD 87
Quarter Day, little knowin' the cowardly aspirations
that would be cast on one who "
" Dry up ! " said Henry Eobinson, blushing violently
and pushing his way to the front.
"Yes, dry up your tears, my good woman," said
Joseph Fogson, M.D., B.Sc, who had a soft heart and
could not bear to see even a fly weep.
Eobinson's blushing face turned white as he read that
telegram. He put his hand to his heart and the pink
paper fluttered slowly downwards. I put out a sympa-
thetic hand to arrest its threatened collision with the
floor and in doing so could not help reading the
message.
" Come at once Albert Gate. Gold discovered. You
must leave England immediately. Eose."
"Thank you, thank you, Paul," said Eobinson,
clutching the telegram feverishly. " Good-night, boys.
Important business. Keep my fire up, Mrs. Twittle, I
shall want some hot coffee about eleven." And with
that he was off.
We looked at one another blankly. My heart was
beating wildly but I said nothing to the Club. Why
should I betray the poor young fellow yet ? Shocked
as I was beyond measure by the awful revelation
latent in that simple telegram, all my sympathy was
still with the unhappy Eobinson. After all he might
be innocent. Eose might not be his wife after all, but
only an accomplice in the robbery. It is so easy to
misjudge our fellow-creatures. Not till I had ascer-
tained beyond all shadow of a doubt that he was guilty
Would I denounce him to the Club. Then, and then
only, would I brand him before the eyes of his fellows
as a married man.
88 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
I allowed a decent interval of five minutes to elapse.
Then T said I had an important appointment to attend.
I flew to the Albert Gate in an omnibus and walked
up and down in the cold for an hour, disguised in a
beard which I always kept in my pocket in case I
sliould be asked to play in charades at evening parties.
Eobinson did not come, though every now and then
I saw some one that looked like Eose. At first I
waited patiently, because I surmised that Eobinson
had taken a cab and would be on presently. But
as the minutes wore on without any signs of him,
I began to be very uneasy about him.
Eobinson was a stumpy young man, somewhere be-
tween thirty-one and thirty-tliree. The Bank he was
in was "Murdoch Brothers," and he was understood
to enjoy the confidence of whoever ran the concern,
Murdoch Brothers of course were dead, poor fellows ;
but all men may be Brothers if they can afford the
shares. " Murdoch Brothers " had ceased to be men.
They were a "house" and Eobinson was in it. He
had a salary of three hundred a year, which would have
sufficed for his wants if he had not contracted the
incurable habit of trying to get his plays produced.
There is no harm in writing plays, but it is expensive
trying to get them produced. It is a habit that grows
on one. Now at last I knew by what means he had
been enabled to indulge it so long. I do not know
why Henry Eobinson wrote plays ; the only reason
I can divine for it is that his name was Eobinson and
he thought Eobinson was as good as Jones. Nobody
but myself in the Club knew that Eobinson tried to
get plays produced, though the way he spent his money
in Strand taverns on supers and disengaged tragedians
THE BACHELOR ABROAD ^9
might have opened the eyes of the blindest. Nobody
but myself knew even the amount of his salary. I am
afraid there is very little mutual sympathy even be-
tween Bachelors.
Thus much I had known about Eobinson before ; but
now a new and lurid light was shed upon his existence.
The confidence he had enjoyed at his bank he had
betrayed. True, it was a small matter ; but a scrap
of paper shows which way the wind lies. How could
I hope that he had been faithful to the higher con-
fidence he had enjoyed at his Club ?
With distracted brain and restless umbrella I
tramped up and down, blowing my fingers and
peering eagerly into the darkness. If Rose was
at the rendezvous, she was as disappointed as I, for
Henry Robinson was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps
the news of the discovery of the gold had been too
much for his weak nerves, shattered by a steady course
of trying to get his plays produced. Perhaps he had
taken flight for the Continent at once, leaving Rose
to shift for lierself. The clocks struck ten. With a
heavy heart I shaved off my beard, put it in my pocket,
and returned to my chambers. I lit my pipe and
settled myself in my rocking-chair before a roaring
fire. But I could not rest. My heart was heavy
with foreboding and aching with sympathy. The wind
began to wail outside like a lost Bachelor. I got up,
walivcd up and down, threw myself on the rug, sat
down again, deposited my legs on the mantelpiece.
All in vain. There was a something tugging at my
breast, urging me not to sit supine while Robinson was
in danger. It was an indefinable feeling, something
like a St. Bernard dog, and it tugged me on in dumb
90 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
piteous insistence — on, on, towards Eobinson's lodgings.
It was eleven o'clock. Eobinson would be liavins: that
hot coffee. I knew Mrs. Tvvittle's coffee. She was not
one of those rare souls who have risen to the secret of
coffee. Still, bad as it might be, Eobinson would be
up and drinking that coffee now. Why should I not
share it, with his other troubles ? Yes, I would no
longer hesitate. I dismissed the tug and ran the rest
of the way to Eobinson's diggings. Tiie wind was
almost cutting now. The stars were still hidden. I
should have been quite cold if I had not run. At
the door I paused. Suppose his instructions to Mrs.
Twittle had been only a blind. Suppose, knowing that
she had read the telegram, he had given them only to
show he did not intend immediate flight. But no ; the
odds were he was at home, packing up his belongings
and swallowing the hot coffee before taking the night
mail. If so, my visit might not strike him as
opportune. However, it was too late to draw back
now, and I was about to perform my peculiar rat-tat
on the knocker when it struck me I should be surer of
a welcome if he fancied it was the neglected Eose come
to reprove him. I therefore simulated the knock of an
irate but cautious female, allowing as well as I could
for the fact that her Christian name was Eose.
I had not long to wait, though my heart compressed
twice as many beats as usual into that short minute.
I heard Eobinson's shuffling step in the passage. He
lived on the ground floor. As he opened the door, there
was a careworn, anxious look upon his face, but the
moment he caught sight of me an expression of relief
took its place and his eyes lit up in welcome.
" Come in, Paul, old man," he said warmly.
The bachelor abroad 91
My dodge had succeeded. He was under the joyous
reaction from an anticipated scene with Eose. Con-
gratulating myself on my knowledge of human nature,
I followed him into his sitting-room.
"Sit down by the fire, old fellow," he said, "and
have a cup of coffee. It 's nice and hot."
It may have been hot but it wasn't nice, if past
brews were to be relied upon. However, I accepted
a cup and began to spill it stealthily in the ashes. The
room wa^ indeed in a litter. All the signs I had
anticipated were present in abundance. A large
travelling-case was yawning in the middle of the room,
and articles of necessity or virtue lay promiscuously
around. A pile of MSS. tottered uneasily in a corner.
Robinson himself walked about the room, neither
tottering nor uneasily. His unperturbed air, as if
there were nothing surprising in being surprised in
preparations to fly the country, convinced me that he
had mistaken his vocation. It was not that of a play-
wright nor a defalcating clerk. Henry Robinson was
a born actor.
" You are the very fellow I wanted to see," he said,
with an admirable assumption of candour. " I was
thinking of writing for you to-morrow. I shall be too
frightfully busy to call on anybody."
" Oh, indeed," said I, with an equal assumption of
ease ; " anything up ? "
" Rather ! Don't you see what a mess I 'm in ? The
fact is, I want you to break it to M'Gullicuddy and
say good-bye for me to the fellows."
Break it to M'Gullicuddy ! As he said those fatal
words, which I had heard so often, my hand shook
so violently that the cup fell from my liand. It did
gi The Celibates'' cluB
not break as it would have done in one of Eobinson'a
plays, and he picked it up and refilled it to the brim,
without noticing the spoilt dramatic effect. As I had
spilt at least half of the stuff before this, I could not
curse my awkwardness sufficiently, especially as I had
to do it all internally.
" Don't be so cut up about it, old fellow," said
Eobinson, as a tear came or was pumped up into his
eye. " It 's the best thing that could happen to me."
" Ah, they all say that ! " I could not help observing.
" But I thought you liked the Club too well to give it up."
" Of course, I shall miss it awfully. Still, there are
compensations. You see I can't afford to throw away
this chance." I could not quite get the hang of the
thing yet, but it was evidently a case of the most
flagrant kind. " Money 1 " I inquired curtly.
" Eight hundred a year."
I whistled ! A braw tocher, as M'Gullicuddy would
have said. Verily, a vile Avorld !
" But of course it won't go so very much further
than my present income, big as it sounds."
" That is self-evident, especially as the years roll
on and you increase and multiply. But what does
Eose ?" As her name slipped out, I bit my
careless lips in vexation.
" Eose ? " he repeated. I knew he would want to
know how I had learnt her Christian name, and it now
dawned upon me that in any case I had hardly the
right to call her by it. " Eose ? " he went on. " He
thinks it 's a splendid thing for me and rightly counts
on my eternal gratitude."
" He counts on your eternal gratitude ! " I gasped.
" Well, after all, Mr. Eose is the bank-manager.
THE BACHELOR ABROAD 93
and has all the say. He promised me long ago
that if there was a new opening for a branch bank,
I should c[0 out and establish it, and it seems he's
heard the first news of a new goldfield in South
America and there's going to be a big rush there
and I 'm to be on the spot to snap up the clicntde first.
It'll be no end of fun. Tliat wire I had from hint
to-night was about it." He handed the damnable
scrap of paper to me. I took it and perused it with
a show of interest. It cost me all my strength not to
crush it between my fingers, as though it were of wax.
" I 've just come back from liose's house," he went on
unconscious of the tempest that raged witliin my breast.
" Awfully swell place in Albert Gate, don't you know 1
No. 32. Wish I had his income, by Jove !"
" Yes, and now you will marry ! " I said bitterly.
He laughed a frank, almost boyish laugh. " No fear of
that, Paul. My plays are my wife and children ; if
they are not my bread and butter. Down among the
diggers I shall get lovely new materials ; besides the
money to pay for matinees when I return. Ke-assure
yourself, old man, there 's as much chance of my turn-
ing traitor to our common principles as of a manager
putting a play of mine in the evening bills."
" And you propose to still continue a member of the
Bachelors' Club?"
" I do not propose — to still continue a member of the
Bachelors' Club," he replied, making a note of the mot
on the summit of the tottering MSS. " Good bit of
repartee, that ! Yes, dear boy, you don't get rid of
Heniy Robinson as quickly as you can mention his
brother Jack's name. To show you how earnest I am,
before I leave England (which I have to do by the end
94 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
of the week) I intend to pay two years' subscription in
advance. It '11 be at least two years before I can
revisit the old country. Cheer up, Paul. Why,
there 's not a sounder Bachelor in the Club than Henry
Eobinson, always excepting you, my dear misogynist ! "
" Don't be so sure," I could not help saying. I
knew how the stoutest of us may fail suddenly, dis-
appearing down one of the trap-doors of that terrible
matrimonial bridge in Addison's wonderful allegory of
the Vision of Marriage.
He laughed a bright defiant laugh.
" You will be very lonely in the New World," I said,
" away from all your old companions and comforts,
among rough diggers with bowie-knives and six-
shooters that you won't care to mix yourself up with.
When night falls on the Sierras you will be glum and
miserable. There will be no Bachelors' Club to go
to ; reason will not feast and soul will not flow. There
will be no music-halls and you will not find Nature's
stars a sufficient substitute. Your characters would,
but you wouldn't yourself. Now frankly, old man, you
wouldn't, would you ? "
Henry hesitated a moment, for, like all the Bachelors
(I do not include myself for obvious reasons), he was
keenly conscientious. Then he laughed heartily once
more, his stumpy figure shaking with merriment.
" Don't be an ass ! " he gasped.
" That 's what I 'm afraid you 'II be," I said gloomily.
"You'll get dull and depressed and in a low state of
health and you '11 go and commit matrimony !"
He laughed again, but this time there was a nervous
tremor in his voice as if he had begun to realise the
danger I foresaw so vividly. " But it takes two to
THE BACHELOR ABROAD 95
make a marriage ! " he said more seriously. " Where
is the other party to come from ? Why, there 's no
creature on earth so rare at the diggings as a woman.
That 's the only place in this wide world where she 's
worth her weight in gold. If man is but dust, then
woman is gold-dust at the diggings. A petticoat is as
rare as a plesiosaurus. As for a baby, it 's so scarce
that they use it for a Salvation Army and an Art
Department, and it moralises and refines a whole camp
of the dregs of humanity."
I shook my head obstinately. Though I could not
meet his arguments, I was not convinced by them.
" The very rarity of woman will enhance her value
in your eyes," I said. " Eead the political economy
books. If there is an insufficient supply of woman
she will become dearer to you."
He began to look troubled.
"And then there is the voyage !" I went on remorse-
lessly. " Look what temptations you will be having on
that voyage. There is sure to be a beautiful young girl
on board with a history, or an Italian grammar, or
something of that sort, which she will draw you into
conversation about. She will swing in a hammock on
the deck, with a straw hat, a muslin dress, and a be-
witching smile, and she will look up artlessly into your
face as you bend over her and she will wonder, opening
her blue eyes to their widest, how you manage to know
everything about currents and compasses and other
things you are ashamed to confess your ignorance of.
And then at night, especially if it is rough, she will
tumble about the deck to look at the Southern Cross or
the Aurora Borealis or things of that kind and she will
catch hold of your shoulder with her dainty hand while
96
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
you slander the Pleiades and take away the character
of the Great Bear. After that the ship will be wrecked
— who knows ? — and then you will be saved."
The thought was too much for me. I broke down,
buried my face in my hands and groaned aloud. Ee-
covering myse^P I went en : "You will be saved. And
she. — You
about in a
where
you will
out in sun-
still look
do every-
taste. Sea-
no power
will divide
looking in-
eyes and
the sky
seascape
lovely ef-
y o u are
fathoms
this means ^"-H"-
escape running into a
would do if you tried to
boat will ultimately
the beach of a desert
two alone. You will be tossed
small boat in the South Seas
there will be nothing to eat but
^-— -^ have to take it
tf{^^ sets. She will
charming and will
thing in faultless
sickness will have
over either. You
the time between
to each other's
admirino-
and
the
and
the
fectswhen
to s
s e d
high.
By
you
will
as
you
^^£^ reef,
I. steer, and the
^ ground upon
island, where
you will find one white-hairy inliabitant, an old gentle-
man who has been marooned half a century ago by
Spanish pirates and who has lived there ever since,
forgotten by the world which flattered him in the
days of his prosperity, and living on the charity
THE BACHELOR ABROAD 97
of his relatives, the monkeys. He will have ap-
proximated to the ape himself by this time, but
the sight of you will bring back some glimmering
recollection of his former state. He will remember
that he used to be a priest. Simian as he is, you will
not dream of doubting his words. You and your fair
companion will now feel that you can be married.
The thought of living in that isle in divided misery all
your lives, the unspoken dread that had hung over you
both like a dark cloud, will be dispelled in an instant.
You will fall upon each other's necks — for the first
time — and weep ! In one of his lucid intervals the
priest will marry you ; in one of your insane intervals
you will be married by the priest. While the
Bachelors' Club is re-echoing with light-hearted merri-
ment, little dreaming of the blow in store, down in that
distant southern isle a man in whom it so trusted as to
be willing to take two years' subscriptions from him in
advance, will be trampling upon his pledges, deserting
his principles, and exhibiting his unexampled dishonour
to the pure round-eyed gaze of a tropical honeymoon."
I looked up. I saw that Eobinson was as pale as a
ghost. I also saw another thing. In my distraction I
had forgotten that odious coffee. My cup was too full.
I pressed Henry's hand convulsively, seized my
umbrella and hurried from the room, as midnight
pealed successively from six of the neighbouring
steeples.
Summoned by special telegraphic whip from me, the
Bachelors' Club (minus M'Gullicuddy, who was too
sacred for every-day use) called in a body on Eobinson
the first thing the next morning, to the disgust of Mrs.
Twittle. We found him calm and his luggage collected,
G
98 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
He wasn't going for three days yet, but he said he liked
to be " packed up " in good time. He told us that he
was glad \ve had come, because he had been thinking
over what I had said the night before and he now fully
felt the force of it. He had quite underrated the
temptation to marry when away from the liealthy con-
tagion of the choice spirits (using the phrase in both its
senses) of the Bachelors' Club and solitary amid the
burning or snow-capped Sierras (he didn't know which
was the right adjective). Nor had he hitherto done
sufficient justice to the ocean-steamer as a marriage-
trap. But the danger had only braced his nerves to
sterner resistance.
My fellows all applauded to the echo and the annoy-
ance of Mrs. Twittle. I alone was still sceptical !
'AVill you bind yourself by an oath not to get
married during the two years you are abroad ? " I
asked maliciously.
" Certainly," he said, without the slightest hesitation.
"Will you bind yourself not to get married while
abroad, even though you remain away longer than you
bargain for — five years, ten years, twenty years, for
" Certainly," he repeated firmly. " For myself I do
not need this oath, but if it will make your minds easier
1 am ready to take it."
They all jum})ed at the idea and we bound him by
a fearful oath. I still shudder at the remembrance of
it. It would almost have turned my beard grey if I
had been wearing it at the time. Think of all the oaths
which the uninitiated fancy that Freemasons have to
take — think of all the most ghastly and gruesome oaths
that the morbidity of a Poe or a De Quincey could
THE BACHELOR ABROAD 99
devise, and you will have some faint idea of the sort of
oath which liobinson took without flincliing ; though
the set rigidity of his muscles and the whiteness of his
clieek showed he was not unconscious of the strength
of his lan"ua£fe. None of us would doubt Robinson's
merest word. Even I believed in him since the rosy
light thrown upon his supposed crime. Had he merely
affirmed, it would have been enough. And yet there
was nothing to be lost by being on the safe side. When
the oath had been administered, a solemn hush fell on
the room. Its awful sanctity and fearsomeness lay upon
the untidy chamber like a heavy pall. We feltstitling.
It was as if a horde of weird and mocking demons we
had raised from Hell had their hands upon our throats.
We gave one last look at Eobinson's white face, then
we turned and fled into the fresh air of the Bloomsbury
morning. It was indeed a last look. None of us ever
saw Robinson again.
« « « « «
I received a letter ten days or so after this grue-
some scene, bearing the postmark of Lisbon. I
uttered a cry of joy. The writing was Robinson's.
During all the interval I had been in a ferment of sym-
pathy about him. He had left his chambers on the
mornincj of the oath and had not returned since. All
my proffered sympathy at " Murdoch Brothers " was met
with chilling agnosticism. I did not know the day he
left England. I did not know by what ship he sailed,
I was denied the consolation of waving my best hand-
kerchief at him as he faded away into the great waters.
With fluttering heart I tore open the envelope. A
piece of cardboard fell out but I did not stop to pick it
ap. The letter read as follows : —
loo THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" The Occident, Eight Bells.
"Dear Paul, — Just a line to inform you that I am
married. You were right. The temptations to marry
abroad would be too great. Since you put the thought
into my head it has never gone out again. Taking
that frightful oath made it worse. After it was done,
I began to think how dreadful a sacrilege it would be
if I were to desecrate it down in those lonely Sierras or
bending over that syren in the hammock. To break
that oath would not be perjury. Perjury is too mild
a word for it. It would be blasphemy beyond the
dreams of atheism. The more I thought about the
danger of violating my oath, the more intense the
danger grew. I cursed myself for having put myself
within the possibility of trampling on such an oath.
And yet I felt I should do it as inevitably as the
moth flies to the chandelier. I was looking down a
frightful abyss and I knew I should get giddy and
crash down its devilish depths. The thought was too
horrible for words. Was there no way of escape ? Yes,
one and one only. I had sworn not to get married
abroad. If I could find some one to be married to before
I left England, the fearful peril and temptation would
be lifted from my soul. Time pressed. The vessel
sailed in three days. I took out a special licence, pro-
posed, was married, and am now sailing with my bride
for a honeymoon in the Sierras.
Ever yours and hers,
Henry PtOBiNSON.
" F.S. — Under the circumstances the Club will excuse
my not forwarding those two years' subscriptions.
The bachelor abroad iot
Instead, I shall claim my assurance money at the end
of the two years, under the new rules."
The letter fell from my nerveless grasp. I picked it
up, and with it the piece of cardboard. It was a plioto-
graph sandwich. I extracted the picture from between
the cardboards. It was the portrait of a middle-aged
but not unprepossessing lady. Across the foot ran the
inscription, Inez Kobinson. Through my tears I recog-
nised the face. It was that of Inez Staunton, the well-
known editress of Woman's Wrongs, the champion of
female independence and the authoress of Mistaken
Marriages, the great work in which the evils of all
alliances not based on a thorough mutual knowledge
and esteem are lucidly exhibited and analysed.
*****
So Henry Eobinson married and the Bachelors
mourned him and had their hair cut and were not
comforted until the even.
CHAPTEE V.
A GENERAL COUKT.
We were all so overwhelmed by this new blow that for
some days we went about like married men. At last
we determined to dine it down and drown the remem-
brance of it in a feast of reason and a flow of soul. The
Eisht of us assembled at the Hotel Cavour, as the
culinary resources of our Indian steward were inade-
quate to anything beyond sandwiches from the adjacent
restaurant. After dinner we adjourned to the Club^
which was fortunately only a minute off, to hold a
General Court and listen to papers. The first paper was
by Moses Fitz-Williams, the treasurer and legal luminary
of the Club, upon " The Centenary of the High Hat."
Moses is such a little spitfire that we had to nudge our-
selves to keep awake. When you have an audience of
seven it is not hard to fix them with your glittering
eyes. Moses had the further advantage of being strabis-
mic, so that he could subdivide the work and let each
eye stand sentry over three-and-a-half of the audience.
But he had to look at his manuscript sometimes ; dur-
ing those precious instants we snatched segments of
slumber. At least the unobserved three-and-a-half of
us did. We knew his essay was going to be published
as a leader in The Times, for, like most successful
barristers, Moses lived by journalism ; and we thought
102
A GENERAL COURT 103
we could just as well read it in print. But that is
always the way with lecturers. They expect you to go
and hear their lecture before it is published and to read
it afterwards. If you don't go they never forgive you,
and if you do go you never forgive them. As we com-
posed ourselves not to listen to Moses Fitz-Wiiliams's
paper, we felt an acute envy of the waiters.
This was Moses's paper, as reprinted by kind per-
mission of the Editor of The, Times : —
THE CENTENARY OF THE HIGH HAT.
Every Englishman is so anxious to celebrate centenaries, from
the centenary of the cholera bacillus to his own, that I am lost in
astonishment at the omission to celebrate the introduction of what
is unquestionably at the head of modem civilisation — I mean the
high hat. Who, when he first saw this ungainly article of head-
gear perched on the human cranium — like Poe's raven on the bust
of Pallas — but would have laughed at the prediction, " It will be
nil the same a hundred years hence" ? And yet so it is. Science
has changed the face of the world ; fashions have come and cut
and come again ; dynasties have been o'ertoppled ; faiths and
forms have changed. But the chimney-pot hat remains, and still
lifts its glossy glories to the wondering heavens. Tiie suns and
snows of a century have fallen on it in vain ; it still stands, like
some mighty Alp, serene and steadfast in the indomitable pride of
its lofty supremacy. High hats perish ; but the high hat remains,
immortal, undyeing. Demure in black or frisky in wliite, squat
with broad brim or rakish with curly, it is still the unchallenged
monarch of the hats of Philistia, before which all other hats remove
their wearers in respectful homage. Its surface manner may be
beaverish or silky, but its power is felt. For every year of the
century has but added to its sovereignty, till now it is become the
seal and symbol of respectability, and the hall-rack mark of a
gentleman. And yet at first its meaning was quite other. It
was a reaction against Benjamin Franklin's simple Quaker's hat,
and he who wore it was stamped as a man of progressive views,
and of liberalism to the race of hatters. Short people, no doubt,
104 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
jumped at it, for it made them rise in the world by many inches
at once. And then tall people were naturally driven to it to assert
their superiority, and to restore, or rather to re-dress, the balance.
As for the medium-sized people, how could they hope to make
headway against a fashion everybody else was adopting? Thus
the hat was enthroned in supreme sovereignty above all human
crowns ; till the fierce republicans and socialists, for whom nothing
is sacred, began to revolt against its brow-beating tyranny. They
indulged in high treason and low hats. They said "the high hat
must be crushed" ; and even the commercial co-operation of the
operatic Gibus could not satisfy their anarchistic aspirations.
Englishmen, they cried, could not be slaves ; and so long as this
foot of cylinder was on their heads they were but as worms that
grovelled. So the lowly hat became what the high hat had started
life as — a mark of heterodoxy and progressive views. William
Morris walked across Hammersmith Bridge in a billycock,
Stepniak sported a sombrero, and John Burns was a man of str.iw.
And the disciples clothed their heads in their several ways till the
funereal funnel became incompatible with sound views on the
doctrine of rent or accurate conceptions of the functions of capital.
And then one day there arose a bold revolutionary thinker, who,
in the columns of the defunct English Socialist Magazine, To-Day,
asked why low hats should be the badge of all their tribe. And
the eccentric editor, who himself wore a shockingly good high hat,
rejoiced and echoed, "Why indeed 1 " And then there raged " The
Battle of the Hats." The high hat has survived To-Day, &ndi it
will survive to-morrow. It is ugly and it is heavy and it is sur-
charged with prosaic modernity. You cannot imagine Homer in a
high hat, nor Shakespeare, nor even Hamlet. But Mr. Grundy
will long go on wearing it ; because his wife orders it. And you
cannot get a divorce from Mrs. Grundy.
The silence that followed ritz-Williams's last words
roused us from our reverie. We discussed his " High
Hat," and crushed it and sat upon it. It was extremely
rude of him to make such personal remarks. Did not
Oliver Green wear a high hat ; did not O'Roherty ?
But even worse than this insinuation of respecta-
A GENERAL COURT 105
bility against his fellow-members was the implicit
coupling of their names with Mrs. Grundy ! As
if a Bachelor could be linked even metaphorically
with a married woman ! Joseph Fogson, M.D., B.Sc,
intimated that if the discussion bore out its early pro-
mise, there would be no time for him to read his
scientific paper. The reminder that we had to face
more papers so imnerved us that for a moment we were
struck dumb; before that moment was over, Fogson
had commenced his paper : —
THE RED TAPE- WORM.
A comatose creature, of the genus bore and constrictor, not to be
confounded with its prey the " Serpentine " species, or the worm
that turns in Hyde Park. Some varieties— especially the English
— attain a monstrous growth. The body is composed of multi-
tudinous rings of an official character, each spiral stripe resembling
a piece of red tape, whence the name. Its heavy, sluggish breath
fascinates all who come near, and reduces them to a state of torpor
as deep as its own. Its grip is fatal. Encircling its victim in its
horrible folds it crushes the heart out of him and squeezes every
drop of blood out of his veins. Living in a Paradise of its own
creation, this sluggard snake is, of course, able to speak. Its voice
is harsh and sibilant. What it says is circumlocutory and peri-
phrastic. Its sentences are as involved as its folds. It covers up
truth with a surface of slaver. It makes promises or rather it
promises to make promises. It never performs unless under com-
pulsion ; and then it is so long about it that the people who yearn
to witness the performance are dead and buried before it begins.
It is hard of hearing. So languid are its nerve-currents that if you
try to set up a sensation at its tail, decades elapse before the
message travels to the brain. Its flesh has the gift of persistent
vitality. Hack it for months with pointed pens, grind it for years
in the Press, lethargic life still lingers in its slimy sinuosities. Cut
it up how you will, each fragment assumes independent existence ;
witli the luxuriousness that comes of independence. Its maw
swallows up millions. It never disgorges. It cannot do wrong
and it never does right.
106 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Loud applause greeted the tail of tliis short tape-
worm. Life would be so much longer if art and litera-
ture were shorter. Fogson mistook the meaning of our
applause and announced, amid ominous silence, that
at the next meeting he would read a paper on two
species of Eing-Worms — the Dramatic Ring-Worm
(vermis annulatus theatralis), and the City Eing-Worm
(vermis annulatus pecuniar ius). After that Israfel
Mondego got up and left. He said he had to sing at a
conversazione at Lady Partington's in Piccadilly. We
were not sorry, because Israfel had done little else than
stroke his beautiful moustache gloomily the whole time,
and had contributed nothing to the discussion but his
ears. He was always saturnine, sad, and picturesque —
especially after dinner — and never said fuimy things like
the rest of us. He was the only member of the Club
absolutely devoid of a sense of humour. When he was
"one, Mandeville Brown observed that he had found out
why Israfel Mondego was in so nmch request at conver-
saziones — it was because his singing was such a stimulus
to conversation. We all laughed. Mandeville expected
it. But we all knew in our hearts that it was quite
untrue, for no lady would have dropped a pin while
Israfel was warbling his erotic nothings. That was
why we hated him. The only virtue we could discover
in Israfel was that he was a Bachelor.
O'Koherty took advantage of our good-humour to ask
whether any of us had been round the studios, the
Spring Art Epidemic being near. Green incautiously
replied that he had — when they were not square — but
that in some cases, where champagne was on tap, the
studios had gone round him. It then transpired that
O'Roherty had readv an oration upon " Show Sunday."
J GENERAL COURT 107
Determining to have a feast of reason is one thing ;
but on the top of a heavy dinner you find it rather
indigestible. We solaced ourselves by waking up the
waiters and demanding lemon-squashes.
" One never knows," said O'Roherty musingly, as if
he had never thought of it before, " what a bore Art is
till
SHOW SUNDAY.
Spring comes and your artistic friends send you cards to view
their pictures. Why they do it can only be explained by their
beastly vanity. Imagine an author sending out cards to his
friends to come and laugh at his newest old joke, or to attend a
reading of his great work on "The Conservation of the Police
Force"; or "The Renaissance in Kamtchatka, 1120 a.d." You
can always write a friend a gushing letter about poems or a novel,
but there is no call on you to read them. Why you should be
drawfed on Show Sunday to see what will either be visible at the
Academy or won't, is beyond my comprehension. An outsider
would imagine that an artist would be disconcerted if his picture
were rejected after lie had cackled over it to his friends ! By no
means ! Acceptance covers him with glory but rejection puts
him at once on tlie level of Turner and other misunderstood
gentlemen of the brush, and he feels certain that Providence is
raising a Ruskin for him, somewhere, somehow.
But I must admit that there are advantages in seeing a picture
in the artist's presence. I do not refer so much to the excellent
exercise it affords in mastering your emotions, as to the fact that
you are provided with a ready-made guide to the painter's inten-
tions, and that, without having the trouble of consulting a
catalogue, you are able to learn whether the picture represents
Amsterdam by Moonlight or the Rape of the Sabines.
Wiien you find that the expression on a cardinal's face is
intended for agonised remorse, and when you further learn that
the face in question is not a cardinal's but an Egyptian mummy's,
you feel a rush of aesthetic rapture in the contemplation of the
Lovely and the True, which you couldn't feel when you were under
toS THE CELIBATES' CLUB
the impression that the luummy was a jolly old church dignitary.
There is nothing so troublesome to remember as a classical legend.
To this day I don't know whether Ulysses killed ^neas or -^neas
killed Ulysses. I only know that one killed the other, or they
both committed suicide, or were killed by somebody else, or ought
to have been killed, or something of that sort, and that they were
called " pious " for doing it. So it 's quite a treat to go and see a
fellow's "Atalanta and Pizarro," or his "Minerva's Farewell to
Mazzini," and have him there to tell you the exact circumstances
of the case. How often in an art gallery have I longed to be
Dr. William Smith ! I wonder, though, whether he knows his
own classical dictionaries.
Mandeville Brown hummed applause. " Of course
not/' he interposed. " A man who has written a learned
book is like a man who has taken a degree in art or
medicine, or crammed up for the civil service. Once
the book is published, or the examination past, he lets
bygones be bygones. But what I have often wanted
to know is why the Academy " Private View " is so
called ? Because it 's not Private or because it 's not a
View ? If it is both, what is Show-up Sunday ?
"A private private view, of course," observed Fog-
sou, M.D., B.Sc, rather querulously,
" Your private views are just what you must keep to
yourself on these occasions," said Mandeville. " But
how much people care about art is shown by the news-
papers, which give more space to the description of the
fashionable ladies at the private views than to the
pictures."
" The fashionable ladies are often the notablest works
of art in the galleries," said O'Koherty, " and the best
painted."
" And the most deserving of hanging by the
Academy they patronise by not paying the shilling
A GENERAL COURT 109
of the vulgar," said Mandeville, nettled at O'Eoherty's
taking the epigram out of his mouth. One does
not lead up to jokes for the sake of one's friends.
O'Eoheity, unabashed, continued to recount his artistic
experiences. He described the pictures of the Forty,
most of whom it appeared were merely flattering them-
selves by imitating themselves. He also read us some
statistics of the number of pinafores, wooden chairs,
rivers, cows, Greek maidens, roses, dogs, buhl cabinets,
snuff-boxes, sand-spades, buckets and other common
objects of the sea-shore he had seen in his travels,
together with an inventory of the wardrobe, and
wound up with a breathless description of his visit to
an unknown artist. "From the pretentious studios
of Belgravia and the palaces of art of St. John's
Wood," said he, " I took the 'bus to the Euston Road.
Here in an attic I saw a poor struggling artist putting
the last touches to a picture on which all his hopes
were staked. He had not been trained in the schools
— he knew naught of the conventionalities of academic
art. His aged father leant over the oils and made
them water-colours with his tears. Need I say the
picture was atrocious ? So, as I am certain it will
be in the Academy, there is no need for me to
expatiate on its beauties, as I should have done had
there been any. But any one who wants to see
pink sea- water and ultramarine cornfields may be
recommended to buy it." This unexpected con-
clusion restored our good humour. Even M'Gulli-
cuddy smiled. But Mandeville's smile was less
genial.
" I will wager a sovereign you are colour-blind,
O'Roherty," he said.
no THE CELIBATES' CLUB
O'Eoherty looked abashed. "Nonsense," he said.
" How do you know ? "
This made us roar and pacified Mandeville. "We
felt more convinced than ever that O'Eoherty was
an Irishman, though we dared not tell him so.
At this point M'Gullicuddy reminded us that we
had again to face the problem of the falling-off in
our membership, and he called upon the secretary to
make a statement upon the situation.
Mandeville Brown arose with a twinkle in his eye,
and a bundle of letters in his hand. " I have received
a number of applications for membership," said he.
We thumped applause and asked why we had not
been told before dinner. "Without replying, Mande-
ville continued, " For the first time in our history,
ladies are asking to join the Bachelors' Club."
There was a dead silence. Then Moses asked :
'•' Married or single ? "
" Both. The married ladies base their claim upon
the fact that they are bachelors of science, art, or music.
The single ladies appear to argue that ' bachelor '
embraces ' spinster,' just as ' man ' notoriously era-
braces ' woman,' according to Acts of Parliament."
"Quibbles, quibbles!" I cried excitedly.
" Order, order, mon," said M'Gullicuddy. " "When
your house is on fire, you maun snatch up a petticoat
if you canna find your breeks."
"We were all aghast. Mandeville went on. "The list
of applicants comprises (I take them as they come) —
MR. VANDYKE BROWNE,
THE MARCHIONESS OF MUDDLETON.
A GENERAL COURT m
Here we all drew a long breath, and O'Eolierty a
champagne cork.
* " -
112 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
SIGNOR GAMMONIO,
ESMERALDA GREE^f,
MR. BULLYVER BIDDLEBERRT,
MR. WILLIAM OLDSCORE,
MISS PENTONVILLE,
LADY ARAMINTA CHAPELTON,
— " one of Israfel Monclego's friends," interpolated the
Secretary, taking pity on our open-mouthedness.
MR. OSWALD ODDLER,
MR. JOSEF SFRINITKOFT,
MR. TOM TALKEY,
The pessimistic Secretary resumed his seat, evidently
in high spirits.
" I shall now, in accordance with custom," said the
President, " call upon the Secretary to report upon the
character of these candidates with a view to their being
seconded, if satisfactory."
The plump little pessimist rose again, amid applause.
" Mr. President and gentlemen, I have the honour of
laying before you tlie usual packets of condensed
essence of life, the result of careful inquiry through
Stubbs and respectable married householders, supple-
mented by the Peerage, The Gazette, The Review of
Reviews, Galton's Genealogies, and the Newgate Calendar.
"Miss Sophonisba De Wallace. — Married. Degree of
Bachelor of Music from a Norwegian University. Latest lessee
of the Novelty Theatre. Like Bismarck's decayed tooth, is of
German extraction. Talent for the boards hereditary. Mother
familiar with the plank-bed from girlhood. Managerial instinct
derived from father, who was born with a cast in his eye. Began
her stage career by playing Chambermaids and Old Harry. First
engagement of importance was to Mr. Seymour Smith, a respect-
able solicitor. Marriage a failure. Miss de Wallace went back
A GENERAL COURT iij
to live with her mother, who had in the meantime been appointed
oakum-selector to the queen. Age uncertain. Twenty-first birth-
day celebrated last Monday. In figure inclined to embonpomt and
want of balance at her banker's. Complexion charming, and her
colour comes and goes in a way that betokens the vivacity of hei
disposition and the contents of her toilette-table drawer. Plays all
the chief parts in the plays she produces and collaborates with the
most celebrated dramatic authors in writing them."
We thought we would not have Miss De Wallace
for her mother's sake. We could easily fill up the four
vacancies without her. If Henry Eobinson had not
left us, we might have voted for her for the sake of
his manuscript plays. I determined not to fail to
write to him of the chance he had missed by his folly.
Mandeville Brown ran his pen through her name and
resumed —
'• Herr Blarnium. — Bachelor. Also a German. Something (not
very particular) in the City. Prime mover in the recent corner in
corner-men. A black business. Talent in finance inherited from
his father, who was one of the earliest discoverers of kleptomania.
Of Herculean strength, derived from his mother — an adept at shop-
lifting. Speaks German detestably. French as well as his
mother-tongue. A gourmand and loves all his accounts well
cooked."
We thought we would not have Herr Blarnium for
his father's sake. Mandeville Brown ran his pen
through his name and resumed —
" Mr. Vandyke Browne. — Bachelor. Received his art educa-
tion in the atelier of a Paris dentist, where he learnt to draw teeth,
customers, and his salary. Afterwards served a term with an oil-
man in Camberwell, and completed his education by making the
acquaintance of several models in the shady groves of the
Evangelist. Greatest as a colourist. His nose, pipe, and state-
ments of fact are chefs d'ceuvre. First great picture exhibited in
back drawing-room of intended father-in-law's lodgings in Stoke
H
ii4 THE CELIBATES' CLU&
Newiiigton. Led to the breaking-off of the engagementi
Promise of his early career has been carried out ; so have some of
those who have been privileged to view his pictures. Main works
on exhibit in his studio — Classic : The Sneeze of the Serpent ;
Apollo on Olympus ; Juno on Washing Day : Death of Mother
Hubbard. Landscape : Under the Strawberry Trees ; Sunset on
Saffron Hill ; Bathing-Machines by Moonlight. Genre : Study
of an old Tin Pot ; The Dustman's Daughter ; Whisky and
Water (a study of Btill Life)."
We thought we would not have Mr. Vandyke Browne
for the sake of his intended father-in-law. Browne's
matrimonial escutcheon had been sullied. The Secre-
tary drew his pen through the name and resumed —
"The Marchioness of Muddleton. — Married. Bachelor of
Arts. Diploma from Dublin. Just started millinery and linen
drapery establishment. The Marquess strongly objected. Said
she spent enough on dress already. Among the features of her
bonnets are to be beaks of birds from her husband's bathtes. Will
sell everything except underclothing, the sale of which she deems
immoral and reprehensible. Gazette has her bankruptcy ready in
type. Tall fierce-looking beauty with green spectacles. In con-
versation slow and stuttering, but what she does say is beneath
contempt. Extremely musical giggle, but a warm human heart
beats beneath her dainty lace and occasionally registers 32°
Fahrenheit. Fond of Wagner and cough-drops."
We thought we would not have her ladyship for her
husband's sake. We did not want scenes with him.
He was too grand for us to kick downstairs if he came
inquiring after her with a horse-whip. Mandeville ran
his pen through her name and resumed —
"SignorGammonio. — Bachelor. Baritone. Very poor in early
life — weaned at the age of six months. As an infant had a very
musical cry, though no one appreciated the music of the future in
it. Once took part in an opera in the Isle of Man. In conversation
delightfully piquant ; the slang dictionary toils after him in vain.
A GENERAL COTTRT 115
The Signer's favourite drink is water ; but from a spirit of self-
denial he confines himself to whiskj'. Is a man of true artistic
bonhomie and will borrow half-crowns even from the Philistines."
We thoufiht we would not have Simor Gammonio
for the sake of his creditors. Maudeville ran his pen
through the name and resumed —
"Miss Esmeralda Green. — Spinster. The popular authoress
of Boometh as a Bumble Bee and other unreadable novels.
Short stout spinster, with the languid, aristocratic manner
of a Persian cat and the moustache of an English guardsman.
An instance of precocious genius. Her distaste for grammar
apparent even before she could speak plainly ; and when she
could, she became an awful liar. Talent from side of father, one
of the most inveterate advertisement canvassers that ever drew
breath and the long-bow. Never writes except on paper. Her
chief work is done at the British Museum, and nothing puts her
out so much as the Librarian and his mercenaries at closing time.
' Esmy,' as her friends call lier. is very fond of pastry, and they
attribute her success to puffs. Takes little sleep, and even when
sleeping protests against it through her nose."
We thought we would not have Miss Green for the
sake of her readers. Maudeville ran his pen through
her name and resumed —
"Mr. Bullyver Biddleherry. — Bachelor. Member of the
Flamingo Club. Originally a collier's lad, he worked his Avay up
to the top of the mine and ran oflf to London. Here he bought a
bad half-crown to commence his career on and sold a publican. Soon
after this his unequalled slogging powers were first demonstrated
in the great city in a battle-royal with a woman. Talent like this
could not go unheeded, and Biddleberry was immediately taken
up by that generous patron of all that is elevated — the policeman.
From the stone jug he passed to the prize-ring, where his claret-
tapping capacities brought him fame, fortune, and a liost of friends
in the peerage. Purchased a stable and in his very first year
carried off the blue ribbon of the turf by feeding the favourite with
corn-plaster. Favourite occupations^figuring in divorce suits and
ii6 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
singing drivellishly dirty comic songs at the Flamingo cham*
pagne fights. Eeason for applying — he is member of all the Clubs
that will admit him.
"iV.£. — Since writing his application he has died."
" Alas ! " said O'Eohevty, " we are but as shadows in
the hands of the reaper and even prize-fighters must
melt away as gossamers before the breeze. May the
earth lie as lightly on him as he lied on it."
We said " Amen," but thought we would not have
Bullyver Biddleberry for the sake of his undertaker.
Our Secretary drew his pen through the name and
resumed —
"Mr. William Oldscore. — Composer, Widower, though
representing himself as a bachelor "
" Enough," thundered M'Gullicuddy, turning as red
as a turkey-cock in his indignation.
"Oh, let's hear what further depths of villainy he
has sunk to," pleaded Pitz-Williams.
We did our best to pacify our outraged President,
and the Secretary went on —
"No better example of hereditary musical genius could be
adduced, for his mother was a wholesale dealer in organ-grinders'
monkeys and his deceased wife's sister was music-mistress at a
deaf and dumb home. Is still a young man, having been born in
Newington Butts. In person is florid and stumpy, and his upper
lip is prematurely bald, but the light of genius that shines in his
glass eye atones for all. Tastes naive and simple. He can sit
listening to his own music for hours at a stretch."
&
We thought we would not have Mr. William Old-
score for the sake of his deceased wife's sister. Man-
deville drew his pen through the name and resumed —
" Miss Pentonville. — Spinster. Charming woman, with lovely
hair and without a fine Roman nose, which she lost in a street
A GENERAL COURT
117
accident fifty-three years ago. An ardent patroness of masked
balls. Is now forty-five and considerably in advance of her age.
Is possessed of considerable debts in her own right ; has the
courage of her opinions, and a good opinion of her courage ; and,
having also an atrocious French accent and a fondness for under-
done steaks, aspires to represent Cripplegate on the County
Council."
We thoucrht we would not have Miss Pentonville
for the sake of her constituents. What a blessing it
was that we had so many candidates to select our four
from that we could waste them with royal careless-
ness and extravagance. Mandeville drew his pen
through her name and resumed —
"Lady Araminta Chapelton. — Spinster. Her 'At Homes'
are among the most successful functions of the London season and
would be more so if she were out. At these receptions all that is
most famous in literary and art circles, all that is most beautiful
and noble in London society, is conspicuous by its absence. Lady
Araminta is herself a wonderful talker and has a heap of remini-
scences at her finger-ends, where those familiar with the language
of her afflicted class may read them. Although she is deaf, few
things are more musical than her laugh. The scratch of a slate-
pencil is, however, one of them. Chiefly employed in attending
on an aged pug-dog. In politics has always sided warmly with
her brother, the Hon. George Walters, whose premature decease
before birth was a heavy blow to his country and the family
' Gamp.' Her ladyship is still on the right side of sixty and her
buoyant vitality is only depressed by the dread that she is among
those whom the gods love."
We thought we would rather not have Lady Araminta
for the sake of her pug-dog. Mandeville shrugged his
shoulders, and, drawing his pen through her name,
resumed —
"Oswald Oddler. — Bachelor. Among the men about town,
without whom no premiere is complete, he undoubtedly holds a
first stall. He talks entirely in epigrams, of the species which he
ii8 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
lias himself defined as ' pertinent impertinences.' Should you
send him a private letter he will publish it in his paper and charge
you with a craving for publicity and with the cost of setting it up
in type. Is awfully smart because he is often made to by the
victims of his epigrams or their authors. Boasts that he writes
plays under noms de x)lume and managerial compulsion, but the
statement, like the Indian juggler and the loafer's wife, is entirely
unsupported. Is famous for championing the undivided skirt for
gentlemen and has a sympathetic admiration for the human calf.
In spite of his intellectual activity is physically weak, and is only
kept going by overdoses of insect-powder. He will soon be quite
gone. His death will leave a blank in journalism which it is to
be hoped nobody will draw."
We thought we would rather not have Oswald for
the sake of his physicians. Mandeville imperturbably
drew his pen through the name and resumed —
"Josef Sprinitzkoff. — Bachelor. Now living in retirement
in a back bedroom in the Old Kent Road, but once regarded as the
great European firebrand. Indeed, his impassioned articles in the
Magnonominal Review still serve to feed the flames of discontent
and the domestic hearth. Has inherited his revolutionary tenden-
cies from his mother, who was a famous waltzer. His very first
entry into the world was characterised by a wail of discontent,
and as his nurse was in the habit of mounting through the attic
trap-door to sun herself on the tiles, he cried aloud from his house-
top at a very early age. Josef was carefully educated as a con-
spirator. Is familiar with all branches of the profession, not
excluding the gallows' tree, from which he has had many escapes
wanting in breadth. His hair is a fiery red, of the exact hue of
the sun seen through a November fog, though, as it was cut off in
a fever, its present whereabouts are unknown. Kings call him a
bald, bad man. His eyes are twins, and traces of a prehistoric
smallpox cast a halo of holeyness over his martyr's countenance.
The great disciple of Rousseau loves to return to the bosom of his
mother earth and may often be seen rolling in the gutter. On
such occasions he is visibly moved by the brutal Force of a priest*
ridden plebs. Is only five feet high but dislikes whelks,"
A GENERAL COURT 119
We thought we would rather not have Josef Sprinit?-
koff for the sake of the police. The Secretary silently
drew his pen through the name and resumed —
"Mr. Tom Talket. — Bachelor. For many years director of
Ananias's Agency. He originally studied for the law and has
taken silk. On the expiration of his sentence for this offence
toured the country in a wig and a musical troupe. Is a staunch foe
of Temperance and has pleaded the rights of Drink at many a bar.
One of his legs is wooden but he has never written for the maga-
zines. His. head also is a chip of the old block. Nothing false
ever comes from his lips except his teeth at bedtime. Only thing
he earned honestly in his life was his father's dying curse, which
he invested in railway stock,"
We thought we would rather not have Tom Talkey
for our own sakes. Then Mandeville Brown smiled
sadly and gat down.
" Go on ! go on ! " we said encouragingly. We felt
kindly towards Mandeville Brown. He had extracted
the essence of the candidates' histories very neatly
indeed and by his skilful presentation of the facts had
saved us the painful distractions of dubiety. We could
not be too careful as to whom we admitted into the
Bachelors' Club.
" There are no more," he said. We looked at each
other.
" Nonsense ! why, there must be dozens," we replied
incredulously.
" Look ! " said the little pessimist laconically. He
held up his list, a succession of black parallel lines.
There was not one candidate in the running : they were
all scratched.
We were intensely annoyed with our stupid Secre-
taiy and called him names by which he had not been
I20 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
christened. We inquired why he had not told lis we
were being reduced to the extremities of the list, and
stated that he had sacrificed Truth to Epigram. "We
also called his attention to the fact that the Devil was
not so black as he was painted. Mandeville replied
that the old gentleman had not presented himself as a
candidate, though strictly eligible and a seasoned
bachelor. M'Gullicuddy then called for silence and
another lemon squash, and suggested that the names of
the male candidates whose characters, as bachelors,
were purest should be written on slips of paper, put in
a High Hat (which, he remarked severely, was highly
useful for such contingencies by virtue of its depth),
and four should be drawn out by Moses Fitz-Williams.
This being done, the following gentlemen were declared
duly elected as candidates : —
MR. OSWALD ODDLER.
MR. VANDYKE BROWNE.
SIGNOR GAMMONIO.
MR. TOM TALKEY.
The Secretary was forthwith instructed to write to
them, asking them to forward the usual non-marriage
certificates, and enclosing a copy of the rules up to
date.
It % % % %
After reading the minutes at the next formal meeting,
Mandeville stated that he had received replies from the
three first-named gentlemen, withdrawing their appli-
cations as they had been misled as to the nature of the
assurance system in connection with the Club. As for
Tom Talkey, he had in the interim again joined the
Junior Convicts' Club at Portland.
CHAPTEE VI.
THE FALL OF ISRAFEL.
"And the Angel Israfel whose heart-strings are a lute and who has the
sweetest voice of all God's creatures." — The Koran.
The Bachelors' Club was crammed to its utmost
capacity. There was a smoking-concert on, and every
Bachelor had availed himself of the privilege of bring-
ing two bachelors with him. Some had even broken
the spirit of the by-law by going outside again to fetch
in two more. There was always great curiosity to see
us on these occasions, as Joseph Fogson, M.D., B.Sc,
settled with the steward and the guests always felt there
was a scientific flavour about the whisky he paid for.
But this time on account of its being the May concert
the crowd was greater than ever, as everybody could
mention to his relatives that he was going to a May
meeting.
In not a few instances I suspected that the
bachelors introduced for these occasions only were no
better than they should be. I did not see the fun of
being wedged uncomfortably between two probably
married men, or of having the room made unbearably
hot by bachelors of questionable hona fides; for so
crowded was the Club that smoking was going on even
jn the smoking-room. Still it was not my business to
121
122 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
expose my fellow-members or their guests ; and I make
it a rule to mind my own business. It is the only way
of making it pay.
The main attraction of these smoking-concerts was
the singing of Israfel Mondego.
Israfel Mondego was the greatest celebrity of whom
the Club could boast. He was one of the most popular
gingers of the day. Thousands hung upon his lips and
his eyebrows. His voice was nothing to speak of, still
less to sing with ; but it was well-trained and many
ladies considered him the primo tenore of the world.
He also wrote and composed most of his own songs-=-
they were always in the minor. He was the most
minor poet and musician ever known. The sale of
these drawing-room ballads far surpassed that of
Beethoven's works, and as he got a royalty on them as
well as on those alien compositions he merely sang,
Israfel made a good thing out of sweet sad nonsense.
Israfel was sweetly pretty; he had dark and rolling eyes,
a passionate moustache, and ineffably melancholic hair.
Israfel's advent to our ranks was a great accession of
strength to us and gave us a good advertisement. For
a man who could have thrown his scented handker-
chief where he would in the selectest circles of beauty
and fashion to dedicate himself to the Higher Bachelor-
hood, was indeed a triumph for the cause. We gloried
in Israfel's membership, and the only bitter in our cup
(as distinct from our glass) was that he would sing at
our smokino-concerts. It was not that we could not
bear the burden of his song — Love, Love, Love ; on the
contrary, we welcomed Israfel Mondego's lyrics as a
strong ally in our war against the tender emotion.
But Israfel's singing imposed a strain upon our self-
THE FALL OF ISRAFEL 123
command which marred the ease and abandon that are
the essence of smoking-concerts. When he turned up
the whites of his eyes to express hopeless yearning, or
flew up the gamut on the wings of some screamingly
serious emotion, we did not like to laugh and give
away his dignity in the presence of our guests. They,
too, I soon found, exercised an equal self-control for
the sake of the hosts. It was really quite painful for
both parties. This was why Mondego's singing was,
as I have said, the main attraction of our smoking-
concerts. The guests, who were pretty nearly always
the same, came to see if the members would laugh
first ; the members came to see if their guests would
laugh first. It was a highly exciting race; but
the result was always a dead silence. The con-
clusion of Mondego's songs was always greeted with
immense salvoes of applause ; after which, at a decent
interval of a minute, the audience always got im-
mensely jocular and Homeric bursts of laughter,
seemingly independent of one another, resounded
throu'di the two rooms.
To-nifflit Israfel was in fine form. He sat himself
down before the hired piano and ran his perfumed
hand over the ivory keys by way of prelude. Then he
sang his very latest success. None of us had heard
it before. None of us had the slightest inkling of
what was to come. It is well that fate stretches a
veil before the future, well most of all lor thee,
M'Gullicuddy !
Israfel sang —
124 1'HE, CELIBACIES'' CLUB
THE ISLAND OF LOVE.
fly with me where amaranthine blossoms
Are pale loith jmssion's flame,
Where larger moons and lither-limb'd opossums
Knoio naught of sin and shame.
Too long the world's cold teaching hath ojrprest us,
My sweetest, sweet sweetheart.
In vain we schooled our hearts to he asbestos,
We cannot, may not, part.
God built an isle where mystic shadoio hovers,
Across the slumbrous seas,
The dim, enchanted isle of love and lovers,
And drowsy melodies.
A dream of restful roses, poppies, lilies,
And lips that lie on lips.
And eyes that burn like ptirple daffodillies^
While Time unnoted slips.
Come, sweet, where day and night are one with twilight,
And breathing one with bliss.
Where sun and moon and stars shall faint in thy light,
And life be one long kiss
At this point a dreadful thing happened. As the
" long kiss " died away up the ceiling, Israfel's eyes kept
on ecstatically examining the chandelier, while his
dainty tapering fingers mechanically played the accom-
paniment. Suddenly an awful roar shook the air —
violent as the rattle of celestial artillery. I shall never
forget the horror of the moment. Inextinguishable
laughter had seized on the Bachelors' Club. The Club
was one chaos of convulsive forms. The Bachelors
were laughing, the bachelors were laughing, M'Gulli-
cuddy was laughing, the dusky Hindoo steward was
laughing, and even the waiters, who had been crowded
on to the landing, were laughing. The worst of it was
THE FALL OF ISRAFEL 125
that the race between the Bachelors and the bachelors
had again ended in a dead heat. You couldn't tell
which had besfun first.
Who has not been in a solemn situation in which he
wanted to laugh and dared not ? You bite your lips,
turn your head away, think of all the sacred or nasty
things in the world, and at last almost forget you want to
laugh. Then you begin to fear your neighbour has not
equal self-control. The very air seems full of Mephisto-
phelian gigglings. You hear or divine strange, suspicious
gurgles all around you. A tickling electric current
seems to run round and connect you with a battery
of irreverence ; your sides shake silently till they ache ;
you stuff your handkerchief into your mouth ; you turn
red and nearly burst your cheeks ; your diaphragm feels
contracted and your ribs seem distended. At last your
neighbour explodes and you follow suit feeling that you
must have your laugh, though you swing for it. Even
so was the air of the Bachelors' Club heavily charged
with lauohinq "as when Israfel sang.
Who broke down first will never be known, but as
Mondego revelled in the " long kiss," ogling us mean-
time as though we were old women, the pent-up
laughter of months broke forth, apparently from all
points of the compass simultaneously. The Bachelors'
Club was doubled up like a collapsible garden chair.
We were all so surprised at the long expected having
happened at last, that it was some seconds before we
could realise that it had happened. Then, as we all
became simultaneously aware that we were laughing,
we felt that we ought to feel ashamed and frozen with
horror, but now the thought that we were laughing was
so exquisitely funny that we could do nothing but roar
t26 TtlE CELIBATES' CLUB
on. So irresistible was the wave of laughter that we
were swept helplessly onwards for full five minutes, and
even when we were left stranded on the shores of
breathlessness, battered and shattered wrecks, rippling
eddies and after-waves of merriment caught us in the
sides and threatened to drag us back again into the
great gulfs and raging torrents of cachinnation. But
the force of the tide grew feebler and feebler, gradually
the mirth subsided to a spent snigger. Then sadness
fell on the scene, and to cover our embarrassment we
picked up the broken glass and the pipes with which
the floor was strewn ; we looked shamefacedly at each
other and realised what we had done ; the charm of the
smoking concerts was at an end; never again would
we Bachelors and bachelors meet with the common
•consciousness and joy of our guilty secret. Even if
Israfel remained in the Club after this deadly insult,
it was doubtful if he would ever make us smile again.
But long before this stage Israfel Mondego had picked
his way disdainfully through our writhing forms and
left tbe Club. As he went through the door he looked
back. The expression of his face was peculiar and
-extensive. Even I could not interpret it. It was a
flue blend of assorted emotions. His face was like a
composite photograph taken from persons in various
stages of sorrow and scorn.
When I came to myself that look was haunting me.
It was, I thought, the look of a man who might go
and do something desperate. We had wounded him
deeply ; who could say to what length he might carry
his retaliation ? Perhaps he would even pay his sub-
scription and resign his membership of the Club. I
felt that we ought not to have allowed him to go from
THE FALL OF LSRAFEL 12?
among US thus. Common decency demanded a wotd of
apology, an expression of sympathy with him in his
righteous indignation ; but it was too late to overtake
him now. And yet — the effort should be made. Per-
haps he had driven off in a hansom ; if so> I might
ascertain the direction he had given ■ perhaps he had
walked on towards Piccadilly, in which case I might
yet come upon him. Besides, Moses PitE-Williams was
just going to recite, and when, in his tragic moments,
Moses's eyes crossed over the bridge of his nose, the re-
sult was too tragic. I slipped downstairs, and muffling
my throat with my false beard (for the night air was
chill after the stifling heat of the Club) I looked around.
With difficulty I suppressed a cry of astonishment.
There, barely two yards from me, leaning against a
lamp-post in the soft May niglit, was Israfel Mondego. I
drew back into the passage. His arms were folded and
the lamp-light falling full on his features disclosed a
face working under deep and apparently painful
thought. There he stood in tragic dignity, wrapped in
his Inverness cape as in a toga, his dark eyebrows drawn
together, his beautiful moustache drooping in sombre
gloom, his lips twitching. Around him surged the
bustling life of Leicester Square : 'Arry and 'Arriet,
Henry and Henrietta, the meerschaum and the penny
cigar, the clay and the cigarette, the journalist, the
music-hall artiste, the policeman, the conspirator, the
barber, the organ-grinder off duty, and the mere
foreigner ; but he heeded nothing. He stood silent
like some better-executed and less grimy London
statue. Small boys tendered him sanguinary evening
papers ; cripples armed with two boxes of matches
invoked the blessing of Providence on his head ; kind
(^o,it^!?'!;^ny
THERK ITE STOOD IN TRAGIC DIGNITY.
THE FALL OF LSRAFEL 129
gentlemen with red noses offered to put their hansoms
at his disposal; flower-girls pressed to decorate his
button-hole ; but he never looked up.
My bosom thrilled with pity ! I dimly realised the
tragedy going on in the breast of the curled darling of
the drawing-room ! Sneered at, derided in his own
Club, he, before whom every head, I mean woman,
bowed in adoration, what a terrible shock it must
have been to him ! What a blessing that, in spite of
all his cantabile confessions, there was nothing wrong
with his heart ! How if he had fallen dead at our
foolish feet 1
I wondered what would be the result of his medita-
tions under that street-lamp. Would he call us out
one by one and shoot us down like dogs or married
men ? Little less seemed proportionate to his dignity
and passionate romanticism. He was always so very
un-English, even it was believed carrying this weakness
30 far as to be born in Brazil, of a family of old
hidalgos. Yes, he would invite us to spend a day with
him on the Continent — perhaps in the Island of Love
where the police organisation did not appear to be very
effective — and there he would despatch us with punctu-
ality and speed, and waste our return tickets. That
was the worst of Mondego. He had no sense of humour.
A man with a sense of humour would have been tickled
])y the situation himself; no be wouldn't, he would
never have sung that song. Mondego had a sense of hon-
our instead — which is an appalling misfortune for a man,
especially when it is of the foreign variety. His admirers
called him a child of the sun; wiiich appears to mean
that he had had a sort of sun-stroke when a child, which
left him crying for the moon all the rest of his unnatural
I
130 THE CELIBATES CLUB
life. He was understood to be always asking for Love
and the Beautiful in Art and Nature, and seeing that he
got it. A morbid over-strung hyper-sensitive tem-
perament like Israfel's was not the sort to make light
of this laughing matter ; oh, if he had only been like
me who can see a joke in everything, except the English
comic papers !
A fracas arising from the unceremonious exit of a
gentleman from the Alhambra swept Mondego from his
lamp-post and aroused him from his reverie. He looked
round vaguely, then instinctively drew out his watch.
It was safe ; as he put it back he caught sight of the
time. His eyes lit up as if with sudden resolution, he
jumped into a passing hansom and acknowledged the
polite attentions of the gamin with a charming smile
and a sixpence. I could not tell which glittered more,
the coin or Israfel's teeth. His smile reflected itself in
my face. The cloud was dispelled — the worst was over.
Mondeoo liad a little sense of humour after all. He
had been piqued and chagrined, but he was not such a
silly romantic ass as he looked — this was what I thought
in my blindness, as I turned to go back to the smoking-
concert. Moses Fitz-Williams's recitation must be over
by now.
"Whitechapel, sir? Yes, sir." The words impinged
weirdly on my ear and set my nerves thrilling afresh.
Could it be Mondego's driver who had thus spoken ? I
looked out again. Yes, there was only one hansom
within ear-shot.
What was Mondego going to do in Whitechapel ? If
he had given a ducal address in Belgravia, if he had
even mentioned Marlborough House, I should not have
been at all alarmed — but Whitechapel !
THE FALL OF LSRAFEL 131
Obeying a sudden impulse and an instinct superior
to reason, I followed the cab. But Mondego could not
have told the driver he was in a hurry, for the hansom
bowled along rapidly. I was quite breathless by the
time I met another disengaged hansom.
My brain was whirling like the wheels of my vehicle
as we pursued the flying tenor at a discreet distance.
Whitechapel was alive and gay, and the pavements were
crowded with an animated populace and picturesque
with costermonGjers' illumiuations, twinkling and fiut-
tering like gigantic fireflies in the balmy air. A cheerful
hubbub of voices floated towards the starry heavens,
and cheap-jacks kept the bawl going merrily. I had
never been in Whitechapel before, except under the
cover of Besant's novels. I wondered if this was the
dark city of joyless savages he had discovered, and de-
termined to be my own Stanley in future — your pro-
fessional explorer always discovers some one to rescue.
And with the thought of Besant came another thouoht
that set my lower lip between my teeth. The People's
Palace ! Yes, that was it ! Mondego had been per-
suaded by a countess or a duchess to sing at the
People's Palace ! He was on his way now. He was a
philanthropist and I was a fool.
Composing myself, I pushed up the trap-door with
my umbrella and made inquiries of the driver. He
informed me we had not yet reached the People's Palace,
but that we should strike it (metaphorically speaking)
in about six minutes. The six minutes crawled like
hours.
"We reached the popular palatial building at last, but
our quarry gave no signs of slowing. "When we were
hopelessly past it I gave a great sigh of relief and lit a
132 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
cigarette. Two minutes after, the leading hansom
diverged to the left, and we went rattling down a dark
stony street, wliich looked rather more like Besant's
streets, though quite as like to numerous by-ways
in Bayswater. After several intricate windings, I was
suddenly jerked forwards by the stoppage of my cab.
Mondego had alighted before a patch of brightness
fifty yards ahead and was paying his cabman. My
heart thumped. I jumped out quickly, threw the
driver half a sovereign, and without pausing to answer
his inquiries as to what I called the coin, ran towards
Israfel, fearing to lose sight of him for a moment. As
I approached the patch of light, I was exposed to a
cross-fire of strange sounds. From the rear came the
quaint curses of the cabman, but they were almost
drowned by the roar which burst upon me from in
front. A number of masculine voices were intoning,
some an octave higlier than the rest, some an octave
lower, the following mysterious chant —
Dontcher do it, old feller, dontcher do it,
Dontcher do it, old feller, dontcher do it,
Just you bash Hs bloomin' 'at,
And then arx 'im who's the flat,
For 'e ain't a-goin' to do you,
No 'e am'i.
No 'e ain't,
For e ain't a-goin' to do you,
No 'e ain't.
The last phrase was given with a demoniac yell of
conscious supremacy, and culminated in a frenzied
burst of hand-clapping, ululation, and foot-stamping.
My alarm for Israfel was now at fever heat. As I
saw him disappear within the public-house whence
these rowdy sounds proceeded, I sped forwards so
THE FALL OL' ISRAFEL 133
quickly that I reached the bar-door ere it had ceased
vibrating. I pushed my way through the crowd of
frowsy revellers of both sexes, rejoicing that unlike
Mondego I was not in evening dress and attracted no
special attention. I caught sight of Mondego's swallow-
tail mounting a flight of stairs that led up from a room
behind the bar. I followed him unhesitatingly. The
choruses that descended to meet us convinced me of
the nature of our destination. At the top of the stairs
a janitor met Israfel with a deferential salutation, and
me with a request for twopence. Israfel's entry was
the signal for an uproarious burst of cheering, under
cover of which I slipped into one of the few empty
seats and called for a clay to smoke and a pewter-pot
to bury my face in if Israfel should chance to look at
me. But I was not very timorous of discovery. I had
great faith in my beard, and would have sworn by it
like any Turk by Mahomet's. "With extreme astonish-
ment I saw the idol of St James's Hall shake hands
with several of the seedy-looking men who sat round
the central long table, especially with the one-eyed man
at the head of it, the hammer in whose hand completed
his resemblance to a Cyclops.
The chairman's right-hand man gave up his distin-
guished seat to Mondego, who took it complacently and
ordered several tankards of refreshment for himself and
his immediate environment. I had never seen him so
radiantly happy. He no longer looked like Werther and
Lord Byron and the Cid rolled into one ; his face had
the beatitudes of Tartarin, Jack ashore, and the brothers
Cheeryble. He looked every inch the king of this free-
and-easy realm, festive with vulgar mirth, foggy
with the vapours of rank tobacco, strident with the roar
FORTY VVJNKS.
THE FALL OF LSRAFEL 135
of undisciplined melody, and repellent with the glare of
coloured sporting prints and the dinginess of discoloured
walls.
The song with the refrain, " Don't you do it," was
soon finished, several curious contingencies being de-
scribed in it, in which refusal to fall in with your
interlocutor's demand was tumultuously advised, supple-
mented by a recommendation to destroy his head-gear.
Then the Cyclops rose, and stated in slightly ungram-
matical language how pleased they were to see their old
pal 'Arry Slapup among them once more. He trusted
Mr. Slapup would not go without giving the company
" Forty Winks." This did not seem to mean that he
was to send them to sleep; for Mondego jumped up
beaming, and declared that he would do it at once.
When the table had ceased to rattle homage, he started —
Did, you ever observe the diversified ways
In which omlar winks may be umnk,
From the wink that's a lightning-like flash in your gaxe,
To your long-drawn-out wink when you 're drunk ?
There 's the wink of the hawk to his partner at whist,
There 's the lawyer's when clients are gone ;
The temperance lecturer's adds to the list,
And philanthropy carries it on!
There 's the wink of the journalist writing a par^
And the wink of the reverend skunk,
But the ivink of the girl at the Frivoli bar
Is the winkedest wink ever wunk.
Chorus.
Forty winks ! Forty winks !
Hear me link them, see me blink them !
Rorty winks ! Rorty winks !
Winks at drinking, xvinks at clinking ;
136 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Naughty winks, naughty winks,
Winks when r inking, rhino chinking,
Winks for prinking, winks at slinking ;
Who would think it, you could wink it
Forty ways, forty winks ?
It was an aspect of the question to which I had
hitherto devoted no attention, but which was borne in
upon me now with convincing comicality. Never have
I heard a comic song lending itself so continuously to
mimetic and gesticulatory illustration, or so transfigured
by it ; never have I seen a comic singer turn his eye to
better account. That the species of winks numbered
two-score, Mondego proved to me by ocular demonstra-
tion. No buffoonery withal, but vis comica of a high
order. Every phase of nictitation was reproduced v/ith
astonishing realism, while the body and the rest of the
face were subtly and instantaneously transformed and
charged with amazingly clever suggestions of character.
The prating politician, the demagogue, the mock prude,
the gay coquette, the swindling attorney, the cringing
sycophant, the swaggering swag-bellied company pro-
moter, the canting cleric, the rollicking tippler, the
amorous dotard, the fuddled masher — all these figures
of the eternal human comedy, comprehensible equally to
the lettered and the unlettered, were hit off with daring
strokes as by some French caricaturist. My umbrella
was enthusiastic in his praise, and the king of the com-
pany had to rise again and again to give encore verses,
expanding in affability each time he sat down. At last
his mauvais sujets let him be ; and, after joining jovially
in the choruses of " She 's a downy Donna," and " What
a bloomin' whopper," he sauntered out, dispensing nods
and becks and wreathed smiles to his riotous lieges. I
THE FALL OF ISRAFEL 137
followed SO close on his heels that I all but galled his
kibe. He walked on, looking for a cab. He stopped to
purchase some roasted chestnuts, the last of the season,
and as he haggled with the vendor I determined to
accost him. I unbearded myself and bearded him.
That night he bought no chestnuts. He took me to his
crowded chambers in Piccadillj^ instead^ and there,
surrounded by the choicest nick-nacks, waste-paper
baskets crammed with signed photographs of pretty
women, book-cases full of beautifully- worked slippers and
nightcaps; card-racks crammed with coroneted invita-
tions, abj^smal arm-chairs heaped with dedicated music,
and frail tables creaking under litters of unopened
Hllets doux and books of (feminine) devotion, he
told me the story of his life and I promised to
respect his confidence. I cannot better show my
respect than by publishing it — for it well deserves
the honour.
" I was born in Whitechapel of rich but honest parents
named Davis. My father was a tailor in a large way
of business, possessing four shops strewn at intervals
along the High Road and sprouting out another branch
in distant Tottenham Court Eoad. I was an only
child, and as I was considered handsome even by
other boys' motliers, you may imagine how my own
idolised me. She said I was as beautiful as any of the
dummies in our shop-windows, and she got me up to
match, with stylish suits and long curls, and I believe
her only regret was that she could not exhibit me
behind the plate-glass of our West-end establishment.
But if I could not be a show-child in that sense, I was
in every other. 1 was put up to sing and recite at
every party, till only my father's sumptuous spreads
138 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
and excellent cigars reconciled his guests to the nuis-
ance of having to make a fuss of me. The seeds thus
scattered fell upon fertile soil, and my first visit to the
pantomime completed my enchantment and sealed my
future. At the age of six I had determined to be a
clown. I communicated my intentions to my father,
who laughed and gave me sixpence. In short, he spoilt
me completely and blamed me for the sequel. At the
age of sixteen I left the ' middle class ' school at which
I had received a ' sound commercial education,' and was
set to keep my father's books. By this time I had
achieved great reputation as an amateur comedian,
having played the leading part in our annual school
theatricals. I was also quick with my pen, and my
lampoons on the head-master were inferior to no boy's.
But my greatest accomplishment was this : I could
sing, as you have seen to-night, a really good comic
song. I always had the germs of the art in me, but I
had learnt a great deal from surreptitious visits to the
numerous concert-rooms in and about Whitechapel and
Bow of the type we have just left. I was taken to them
by an elder boy, who is now breaking stones in Portland.
He was a jolly rollicking chap, was Dabchick, but
beastly poor. I had plenty of pocket-money, and so
between us we managed to have a good deal of fun.
We dared not go to the more pretentious music-halls, of
which there were one or two, because my sartorial pater
sometimes relaxed from his perpetual 'Measure for
Measure ' to entertainment of a less classic order, and
our meetings would not have been cordial. You may
imagine, therefore, that I was not happy in a prosaic
tailor's shop. It was the worst misfit my father had
ever perpetrated. I spoke to the old man, and pointed
THE FALL OF ISRAFEL 139
out that the human being did not grow to pattern, and
that a ready-made environment would not suit me. I
said my soul was not comfortable in a slop-work suit,
that I wasn't a mere dummy to show off his handiwork.
But he would not listen to reason, so one fine morning
he was left childless, to solace himself as best he might
with his wax models, and to extract consolation in his
old age from this style fourteen-and-six. But I kept
in touch with my mother, whose secret missives came
to me blistered with tears and swollen with postal
orders. My adventures were variegated. I toured the
provinces with " Kingsley's Celebrated Comedy Com-
pany," which nobody had ever heard of, and which
placarded the provinces with notices from the great
London newspapers, which any one was at liberty to
look for in the files. I took the name of Harry Slapup,
which, to my puerile imagination, seemed a fine dash-
ing name for a low comedian. It was the name under
which I had sung comic songs at the Crown Concert
Hall. There were many aspirants at the Crown ; it
was a half-way house to professional music-hall singing.
It was good practice, and tradition told of two famous
comic singers who had matriculated at the Crown.
Several lesser lights had undoubtedly first found a
hearing in that smoky alcoholic room. Well, under
the name of Harry Slapup I saw a good deal of life
behind the scenes, and found it was not all beer and
skittles, though there was much more of the former
than the latter. Happily, I was blessed with a strong
sense of humour and a love of change, which reconciled
me to the awful smells, the precipitous ladders, the
death-trapdoors, and the piggish dressing-dens (when
we hadn't to dress in draughty passages) and to the
I40 THE CELIBATES.'' CLUB
fact that the "liost did not alwavs walk, even when we
played Hamlet. But for my mother's letters I should
often have lacked decent food and shelter. I did not
stay long with the Comedy Company, which burst up
suddenly, as though it were a city company. It seemed
a hard life at the time, playing three or fonr parts a week
(though I was always a quick study), but I regretted it
when I joined a company which took a comic opera on
tour, and I had to play the same part every night all
over Great Britain. It was awfully dull all day with
no rehearsals to take up the time, and in some of the
sleepy stupid boroughs of merry England on rainy
winter days I should have died of ennui, if I had not
suddenly remembered my literary gifts and covered
reams of foolscap with burlesques and comic songs. I
even wrote the music to my words, for I could always
evolve an air with tolerable facility, though I had no
idea of orchestration. I shall never forget my pride
when I was allowed to introduce into a comic opera a
humorous song written and composed by myself, the
conductor of the orchestra undertaking to vamp up an
accompaniment ; and my pride was only slightly damped
by its being a frost. I knew it was not my song that
had fallen flat, but the orchestra. Later, I studied the
pianoforte with zeal whenever I found one in my lodgings-
To cut a long story short, I played for seven years in
the provinces, never out of an engagement (for I was
able to waive the question of screw), and never in a
good one. I have played in everything from Hamlet to
Carmen. I sang, and danced, and spouted, and once
my childhood's dream was fulfilled, and I said ' Here
we are again ' for six weeks every night at Chichester.
But that was the high-watermark of my success as a
THE FALL OF LSRAFEL 141
comic mummer. All my other parts were as devoid of
' fat ' as the kine of Pharaoh's first vision. At the end
of seven years Harry Slapiip was as obscure a name as
it is now. But I still believed I was one of the few
men in England who could sing a comic song. I had
heard lots of men try to do it and I knew I only wanted
my chance to go in and win. Then I got a wire from
my mother to come to London. I had seen her once or
twice during her annual fortnight at Eamsgate, where
my father 'only came down for the week end, but I had
never seen the man who thought his progenitorship
gave him the right to trim and clip my life with his
shears to the pattern admired in Whitechapel. Of
course he had disinherited me. He had had a son and
heir, he said, and he was not going to lose one and keep
the other. This did not worry me. The original Adam
was strong in me. I despised clothes. I abhorred the
money that came out of the pockets of trousers,
' warranted to wear.* But this telegram altered
matters and repaired the breaches. My father had
gone bankrupt. How he had managed it with his safe,
steady business puzzled me, as I flew homewards by the
night express. I could not credit him with the requisite
ingenuity. However I soon learnt the cause. He had
tried the fatal experiment of applying the hire system
to his business, forgetting that in case of default of
payment it was an easier matter to strip people's
rooms of furniture than their bodies of raiment. The
calamity broke my father's heart ; he died penniless, and
I lent him the shilling with which to cut me off. I paid
his insurance money to our creditors, and thus my mother
and I were left alone in the world, with nothing to sup-
port us but a comic song that had yet to be sung.
142 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" Well, come what might, I determined to slug it in
London. There was neither gold nor glory to be won
in the provinces. I had as little chance in London as
in the country, so why wander from the centre again ?
I looked over my mss., pieced together an entertain-
ment and made up my mind to go in for something
high class, and not over-crowded. In short, I resolved
to become a society clown. You see the child is father
to the man after all."
He smiled a smile of infinite humour, and poked the
fire. I opened a bottle of champagne that lay in a
cooler and tossed off a glass. I was in a state of nerv-
ous excitement, and while Mondego was talking I was
all ears, and so could not drink. He went on —
" It was in these extremities that I stumbled on my
old friend, Dabchick, the companion of my schoolboy
Bohemianism. I met him in York Eoad, where I
had gone to pick up some wrinkles from the artistes
who hang round the agents' doors, and to chaffer comic
songs, for which I sometimes got a guinea — words and
music. Some of the most popular comic songs of the
day are from my pen, and I have often been disturbed
in the night by hearing my early pot-boilers bellowed
from the throats of tipsy revellers. Dabchick was
exquisitely dressed and richly jewelled, and told me he
was something in a bank. He did not tell me what he
was in the bank, though judging from the amount of
gold on his person he might have been a drawer in it.
He did not cut me even when he found I had no con-
nection whatever with banks. Ah, you will find many
virtues in Portland ! He told me he belonged to a num-
ber of swell clubs, and moved in the highest circles of
the four-mile radius j this was rather imaginative, still
THE FALL OF ISRAFEL 143
it was through his influence that I obtained an appear-
ance at a ' ladies' night ' of the Rovers' Club. The
concert duly took place. The pretty little hall of the
Club was crowded with fair women and gallant men.
Joachim brought his fiddle, and Antoinette Sterling her
organ, and ' Israfel Mondego ' was the only unknown
name on the daintily-printed programme. The name had
been chosen after anxious consultations with Dabchick,
Both of us felt that Harry Slapup was not a name to
climb to fame on, especially as I had now determined
to win it in the higher branches of the comic song. In
any case it would never do for the Eovers' Club. I
must have a high-class name, which might be an im-
pulse to me and a safeguard against low foolery, which
for the rest would never go down at the Rovers' except
in a comedian who had shaken hands with the Prince
of Wales. The name must also be striking and eccen-
tric, for in spite of Shakespeare there is great virtue in
a name. As Solomon says, ' A good name is better
than riches ' — especially to a 'professional.' The 'Israfel'
was my discovery. I chanced on it in Poe's poems.
We both agreed it was bizarre enough to make a reputa-
tion. ' Mondego ' was invented by Dabchick, who also
lent me a dress-suit, which made me regret my father,
it squeezed me so tight. The item on the programme
ran thus (it is burnt on my brain in letters of fire) : —
Ballad . . "A Buried Hope " . Israfel Mondego
Israfel Mondego.
" The words of this song you know. You have seen it
on every drawing-room table, and heard it played from
every barrel-organ."
144 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" Yes," I said, " I could repeat it in my sleep." The
words forced themselves half-involuutarily from my
lips : —
A BURIED HOPE.
TJiough winter winds are chilling,
The buried blossoms blow,
'FJiough Doubt sweet Love is hilling,
The Fates ordain it so.
We parted when the red-breasts
Sang loud mid roses lush,
Yet should our frozen dead-breasts
Refuse to thaw or gush ?
Our Sadness is but Sorrow,
Our Joy is but Delight,
And what will be To-morrow
Can never be To-night.
Our truest Selves with screening
Are hid from friends and foes,
And what on Earth we 're meaning
High Heaven only knoios.
" Vastly pretty words, indeed," I added slyly. " They
would be perfect if they had anything to do with the
title."
" Ah, that was my little secret," said Israfel. " You
of course grasp that this was intended as a skit on the
ordinary drawing-room ballad. The first element of
such a ballad is the complete divorce between the title
and verses. But if the title had no meaning for the
audience, there was no harm in its having a meaning
for me. The ' Buried Hope ' was my hidden trust that
the reputation of a society clown lay enshrined in that
song. Alas ! it was a hope I soon had to bury in a
graver sense."
THE FALL OF LSRAFEL 145
He paused, overcome with emotion.
" And yet, looking back on it, after all these years, I
can honestly say it deserved a better fate. It was an
excellent burlesque of the namby-pamby songs of the
day, and the last quatrain with its double meaning is
extremely clever. The music I wrote myself. I wrote
it in the minor, and I surcharged it with subtle sarcasm.
It was full of inarticulate longing, and sadness, and
weariness, yet it whispered of some ineffable consola-
tion in the far-away whatness of the unintelligible.
I played my own accompaniment, which was limited to
a few melancholy chords. As I came from behind the
screen that hid the artistes' room from the audience
my breath came thick and fast. Stage-fright held me
in its throes, as though I were a beginner. So much to
me and my poor mother depended on that night — my
poor mother who had not even an evening dress to be
present in. I gave a last touch to my white tie and my
black hair, and stepped into the full blaze of two hun-
dred pairs of polite eyes. There was a little perfunctory
clapping, succeeded by a sudden rustling of ladies'
dresses. A dazzling sea of white shirts and bosoms
swam before me ; I sank down on the music-stool with
gratitude that I had to sit. I had intended to preface
my song with the remark, ' Ladies and Gentlemen, —
I beg to introduce to your notice a model specimen of
the English drawing-room ballad.' I intended to
accompany this with a look of dry humour, a sort of
refined wink. But my fingers nervously started the
prelude before I sat down, and I felt my courage oozing
out of their ends. I felt that I could not make that little
speech now, much less wink ; besides, would it not be
an insult to the intelligence of the audience ? There
146 The CELIBATES' CLUB
was no going back ; the weird, pathetic prelude was at
an end and I dashed right away into the song —
Thongh winter winds are chilling —
" It happened to be a seething night of early summer,
but the inaccuracy of a vocal assertion is no bar to its
impressiveness. I put a good deal of shiver and heart-
break into that line, to contrast with the hopefulness of
the next. It was a most artistic skit, but when I
reached the end of the first verse there was a dead
silence. Not a single snigger. My heart sank within
me. My eyes had been turned up in passionate agony.
I now rolled them cautiously towards the audience in
search of a smile. No ; every face was blank and stony.
There were tears of disappointment in my voice as I
sang the second stanza, with its consoling hints of a
far-away whatness. The silence throughout was pain-
ful. My voice was choking with disappointment as I
sang of human effort and asj^iration misinterpreted,
misunderstood —
And what on Earth we 're meaning
High Heaven only knows.
" As the last notes trembled into silence I rose and
dashed from the platform. To my amazement a
thunderous roar pursued me. The hall seemed to rock
with applause. I could hardly believe my ears. Could
I have made a hit after all ? And was seriousness
merely the fashionable method of expressing amuse-
ment ? Somebody pushed me back on the platform ;
I bowed as if in a dream, and turned back dazed. But
the enthusiasm continued. 'Bravo, Bravissima, Bis,
Encore,' resounded in a chorus from all sides, sweet
THE FALL OF ISRAFEL 147
female voices taking up the treble. My heart was too
full to speak. So 1 sang. I sang the last verse again,
making it more maudlin than ever by my tears of joy.
Then, still pursued by that tempest of enthusiasm, I
tottered out of tlie artistes' room into a passage in search
of air. In an instant Dabchick was by my side, wring-
ing my hand in violent congratulation. As he pumped
away, the tears continued to fall from my eyes.
" ' I say, dear boy, you 've knocked 'em,' he said ;
' you '11 have half-a-dozen offers to-morrow. But I
thought you were going to do something comic'
" I stared at him.
" ' Don't be funny, old man,' I said. ' I 'm awfully
indebted to you, so don't spoil it. But I was afraid it
was going to be a frost. They don't laugh up West, do
they ? '
" ' Oh, don't they ? You try them.'
" ' But I have tried them. You don't mean to say you
didn't know that was a refined comic song.'
"'A comic song?' he repeated, staring at me as if
suspecting I was chaffing him — 'a comic song? Are
you serious ? '
" ' Never was more serious in my life ! '
"'That's what they all thought you were just now.
Bai Jove ! this is rich.' And he started laushing
convulsively till his cheeks were as wet as mine. I
stood there, waiting in much annoyance till his foolish
mirth should have spent itself.
" ' Oh but, dear boy,' he said at last, ' your reputa-
tion 's made as a sweet, sad tenor ! I never knew such
a furore. Everybody was snivelling into his or her
handkerchief ; tlie ladies are all in love with you, and
vowing that your singing is just too sweet and lovely
148 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
for anything, and too awfully exquisite; and you're
charming and handsome and a darling ! and they are
raving about your eyebrows and your moustache ! They
were all asking who you were ; and I heard Lady Des-
borough inquiring for your address from the secretary,
and saying you must sing at her next " At Home," Your
fortune is made, old man. You have stumbled into
success. Stick to it. Oh, you dare not sing comic
songs now. It would spoil everything.'
" My heart sank. ' Dare not sing comic songs ? ' I
faltered.
"'No,' he answered emphatically; 'think of your
poor old mother. You have found out where your real
forte lies. Stick to it ! It 's a deuced job to make a
hit in London, I can tell you. It's a terrible uphill
battle in the throng of geniuses and charlatans. Don't
you risk anything else. You '11 only spoil your market.
The public won't stand versatility. Sentimentality is
your line ; sentimental you must remain till the end of
the chapter. Nobody knows you were Harry Slapup.
Harry Slapup, the comic singer, is dead and Israfel
Mondego, the drawing-room onion and passion-flower,
reigns in his stead.'
" I did not give in without a struggle ; but in the end
I saw that Dabchick was wise. My mother's misery
was a daily reproachful argument. I buried the hope
of winning the laurels of comic singing, and I went forth
into the battle of life cloaked in a mantle of hypocrisy.
What my career has been I need not recapitulate. I
have deluged a Puritan people with an ocean of false
sentiment. It is largely through me that they have pre-
ferred moonshine to healthy sunlight. Young persons,
who could not read Martin Tupper without a blush rising
THE FALL OF ISRAFEL 149
to their cheeks, gloried in my vohiptuous effusions. My
waltzes were a caress and my verses a kiss. Detestable
old dowagers, who had sold their daughters to wealthy
husbands, and who in real life were as matter-of-fact as
pillar-boxes, crowded to my concerts, languishing in the
ardours of my poetry and revelling in the aesthetic
raptures of my music."
" And your moustache ! "
He smiled good-humouredly. " I won't deny it,"
he said.
*' But how did you manage to write the music ?"
" Didn't I tell you I had a lot of comic songs in stock
from my old touring days ? I took these tunes,
transposed them into the minor, and slowed them
down."
" And the orchestration ? "
" Oh, there are so many starving musicians in London,
who have taken degrees and all that. They will write
you an accompaniment for a mere song — no pun in-
tended. The words needed even less alteration. Later
on, in the full tide of my success, I was pressed to accept
an appointment at a musical college, and, in the hopes
of learning something from my pupils, I took it. I
picked up a good many hints from their singing, studied
the harmony text-books pari xxf-ssu with them, and com-
pleted my education by allowing them to orchestrate
my compositions."
" Well, you 've had the devil's own luck."
" In truth, the devil's," he repeated gloomily. " When
the excitement of the first struggle was over, none could
feel that more acutely than I. Paul, up to my London
d6but, my conscience was pure. I joyed in my work,
and the thorns on the road to honest success only gave
I50 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
me the rapture of the fight. Now I felt my whole life
was a sham and a disgrace."
" No, no ! " I said, " you earned your money
honestly."
" I did not," he said. " My life was a lie ; I, who was
brimming over with humour, had to wear the cramping
folds of Eomanticism. I wanted to sing ' Forty Winks';
my existence has been one long wink. Everything was
sacrificed to my reputation."
" But suppose somebody had identified you as Harry
Slapup ? "
" Unfortunately that was impossible. How should
those who knew the grub recognise the caterpillar ? "
" Then your secret was safe ? "
" Alas ! yes. My mother knew of my comic aspira-
tions, but the world at large took me quite seriously."
" What about Dabchick ? "
" He was not at large. The only man in the world
who knew my unhappy secret was confined in Portland
for bank defalcations. Imagine then how choked and
stifled my true self has been."
" I do not wonder you dropped into the Crown
occasionally," I said.
" Thank you, thank you, Paul," he said, the tears
coming into his eyes. " But for that I should have
gone mad. It was the only vent. There I threw off
the painful mask and revelled in my real self. They
thousht I had an engagement at some London music-
hall, and were very proud of me. Often I have gone
thither straight from a marchioness's reception and
found relief and recreation."
" But there was consolation in this unreal life — the
feminine devotion you have attracted "
THE FALL OF LSRAFEL 151
" D — n it, Paul," he said brutally, " surely you are
not going to throw that up at me, too ? Why do you
think I joined the Bachelors' Club last year, if it was
not that I was driven into misogyny by this same
feminine devotion, by this undisguised admiration of
silly young girls and sillier old women, by the shoals of
scented notes, the wagon-loads of presents, the marriage
proposals, and the dinner and elopement invitations
received by the gross ? "
" Forgive me," I said gently, " I thought you liked
it."
" Liked it ? Why, don't you know that I was so fond
of singing at your concerts, only because it was one of
the few occasions I could be sure of an audience of
men % Can you not feel how wretched it was for me to
stand up under the ogling gaze of five hundred women,
varied at wide intervals by a solitary man or small boy ?
Oh the horror of it for a modest man ! " He buried his
face in his hands.
" Oh, but you had the satisfaction of supporting your
aged mother in luxury."
" It was my sole consolation. And that brings me
to the crux of the matter. I had gone on appeasing my
conscience with this sop for years, when suddenly, six
months ago, the excuse was taken from me. My poor
old mother " his voice broke, and he wiped away
a tear.
" Died ? "
"No, married. I kept her in such luxury that a
young gentleman, of moderate means, mistook her for a
rich widow and eloped with her. I have forgiven her ;
I hope he has. Anyway she is provided for. The
pangs of conscience now became intolerable. Better, I
152 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
thought, an honest crust than a dishonest cream-
tart. What was to be done ? To become a comic
singer was out of the question. I had gone too far for
that. I could not undo the past. The only course left
to me was to press on to the higher branches of serious
music. I could make the transition gradually and
imperceptibly, leaving behind my sentimentality as the
nautilus moves from its early chambers. I could rise
on stepping-stones of my dead self to higher things !
By this time, what with teaching, what with composing
and criticising, I had picked up a very fair knowledge
of music. 1 could now harmonise my own airs. I took
private lessons from a famous singing-master, and left
no stone unturned to cultivate art earnestly and with
dignity. One day I introduced some classical items
from the great masters into my afternoon programme
and I wrote a little cantata. The change had been well
advertised ; but, to my disgust, the audience remained
unchanged, — an oasis of man in a desert of woman.
Everywhere frocks, frocks, frocks, fans, lorgnettes, hand-
glasses, scented handkerchiefs. Pah ! it made me sick.
My classical items were coldly received. My journal-
istic friends were eulogistic enough in the papers they
were openly connected with. But how they took it out
of me in those for which they wrote in secret. I, with
my airs and graces, my lyrics and my female acolytes,
had long been the butt of the comic papers, but my
efforts to amend only brought down severer satire on
my defenceless head ! And how these epigrams stung !
The chief sting lay in the fact that I could have written
them myself. I knew, too, how they sneered at me in
the Clubs behind my back, and how men said I made
them ill, and expressed an amiable desire to kick me.
THE FALL OF ISRAFEL 153
Paul, if I have seemed to wax fat by charlatanism,
Heaven has not let me go unpunished. If I had earned
a fortune, I had earned also the contempt of every
honest heart, including my own."
" Don't talk so," I cried ; " I, at least, do not despise
you."
" You do, you do ; you must. This must end. I
cannot drag on this life of insincerity. I have read
Ibsen, and I know honesty is the only policy. There
is only one way to free my life from these clogs and
shackles, these sneers and sarcasms — there is only one
path to the higher life of art."
" And that is ? "
" Marriage."
Another ! I closed my eyes. A faintness overcame
me. Israfel's voice sounded far away.
"The thought only came to me last Saturday. A
casual newspaper sarcasm has illumined my life. This
week's Hornet says : — ' Mr. Mondego is the most single-
minded devotee of art in the country. And to this
siuffle-mindedness he owes all his success. The lesson
should be encouraging to musical aspirants.' What a
flood of light this threw on my past ! How blind I
had been ! Tliat was it, that was the stumbling-
block in the path of my progress ! / dared not
marry, — that was what the world was thinking. I
had no artistic dignity ; I had not even conceit enough
to rely on the attractions of my music. I^Iy whole
popularity depended on my remaining single, so as to
keep alive the hopes of all my female admirers ! Well,
they sliould see. These thoughts have been agitating
me for days. My reception at to-night's concert
clinched my resolution. Even my fellow Bachelors
154 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
refused to take me seriously. Why should I trouble
about my allegiance to their principles or let this stand
in the way of the higher life ? "
" And you have resolved finally ? " I breathed.
"Finally. Marriage will strike the key-note of my
future, of my independence, of my artistic seriousness.
It will show I am not a mere caterer for amorous ad-
mirers ; that I supply music, not flirtation. Marriage
will be the transition to the truer life; it alone can
resolve the discord in my existence."
" Or prepare it," I murmured. " And don't you
remember the definition of marriage as the common
chord of two flats ? "
" Japes cannot move me now," he replied. " I must
lay this libellous imputation on my artistic life.
Marriage is the only remedy. After tlie honeymoon
I shall sing no more love-songs."
" That is extremely probable," I muttered.
" I shall write and sing only classical music ; music
to live, not music to live by."
" And what if you fail ? "
" Then at least I fail in a good cause. I do not think
I shall fail, once I have cut myself adrift from the
network of petticoats ; but if the worst come to the
worst, I will emigrate to the Antipodes and under a
new name try to live a new and honest life as a comic
singer in a new land. As a Clown I can always get a
living, and the performance of manhood may yet crown
the expectation of infancy."
"And whom will you marry ?"
"I have thought of that, too. I shall marry the
woman who, of all women in the world, has the least
soul for music and the worst ear."
THE FALL OF LSRAFEL 155
"Why?"
"So that if I fail in ray artistic aspirations, or if it is true
that I am only accepted because I am a Bachelor, she
may not regret it. Besides, one does not care to rehearse
one's songs before a trained ear. It must be so painful
to it. Then you might both want to occupy the piano
at the same time, and the ensuing duet might not be
harmonious. The woman who cannot tell ' God Save
the Queen' from Schubert's 'Serenade,' except by
seeing the people putting on their wraps and overcoats,
is the musician's fittest mate. If I have to turn to
comic singinjj, she will not think it a fall. Your
superior person is so unsuperior to prejudices, and
cannot see that in the Kingdom of Art are many
mansions, each as perfect in its way as the rest."
" And have you such a person in your eye ? "
" I have."
" I am sorry."
" Ah, perhaps some day there will be a beam in your
Dwn eye."
" Xever ; but who is the mote in yours ?"
"One of my pupils ; she is not beautiful, but she is
absolutely a clod in music. Unfortunately for herself,
her people are rich and have as little ear as herself.
So they think she is going to be a great singer, and
don't grudge the expense. She has been with me for
fifteen terms, and if she knows a B from a bull's foot or
an F sharp, it is the extent of her musical acquirements.
She cannot sing a phrase of three notes without
flattening or sharpening. Other girls equally devoid of
ear might develop one later, but hers is tried and
untrue."
" But suppose she refuses you ? "
156 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" Impossible. If she did not admire me she would
not have the worst ear for music in the world."
'•' You are too hard on yourself. Well, good-night. I
know the worst. Thanks for your confidence. Poor
M'Gullicuddy ! I have a hard task before me."
" I have confidence in your tact. And you will be
secret?"
" As the cremation urn."
"Well, good-niglit. Another glass of champagne ?"
" Thank you. Here 's prosperity to the Society Clown.
Good-night."
" Good-night."
* * t * *
The Bachelors had hardly recovered from the
customary period of mourning when they learnt that
Israfel had sailed for the Antipodes — alone. A week
after the following paragraph appeared in The Carrion
Grow : —
"Mr. Israfel Mondego, the popular tenor, whose marriage a
fortnight ago excited so much heartburning, and who has probably
dealt a severe blow to his reputation by his invidious choice, has
left England on an Irish honeymoon — by himself. It is whispered
that the lady who has led him to the altar was so romantically in love
with him that she attended his lessons for fifteen terms — always
marking time (not in a musical sense) rather than progress to the
point at which she would have had no excuse for retaining the
services of her fascinating music-master. Mrs. Israfel Mondego's
first musical matinee at St. James's Hall next TImrsday week should
attract a large audience, for in addition to the natural interest
centring in her, it is understood that she is a most accomplished
pianist and vocalist. It is rumoured that Mr. Mondego intends
trying the experiment of a series of vocal recitals, of an un-
accustomed kind, in Sydney and Melbourne, and that he will as
usual accompany himself, his wife having apparently refused to
do so. . . . "
THE FALL OF ISRAFEL 157
I do not understand how this last bit got into print.
It is true I mentioned it in confidence when I was
writing to my friend, the Editor, but I had no idea he
would dare to print it. And why he should insult me
by sending me a cheque for a guinea I do not under-
stand. Still, one has to pocket so many insults in this
world.
CHAPTER VII.
THE LOGIC OF LOVE.
.UNE found the
Club still sufter-
um from the defection
of Israfel. There was
no member whose loss
could have grieved us
so much. In him the
Club lost at once a
butt and a buttress.
Take him for all in all, we
felt we should not look upon
his like again.
Joseph Fogson, M.D., B.Sc,
had drowned his grief in
medicine. He went practis-
ing in Betlmal Green, just to
oblige an old and overworked
hospital chum who was
laiocked up — too frequently in the dead of night.
Josepli Fogson had no need to practise on help-
less invalids for a living, for he had a private fortune.
It was left to liim unexpectedly, after he had spent the
best years of his youtli in poring over miserable books
and cutting up wretched dry-as-dust corpses. He was
158
THE LOGIC OF LOVE 159
a terrible toiler, and brilliant to boot, and had won all
sorts of medals and scholarships, and had none of the
virtues of the medical charlatan, and never dreamed of
anything but a lifetime of mitigated poverty. So when
the solicitor told him he was worth two thousand a
year he was dreadfully annoyed. Eemorse for his
squandered youth set in severely. He wasted months
in regretting the time he had wasted. Verily, a young
man may sow his wild oats, but conscience will not
digest the- harvest without aches and agonies manifold.
His repentance came too late to avail him ; his youthful
excesses of work had impoverished his system. The
exuberance necessary to enjoyment was for ever
vanished. It was a terrible sermon on the vanity of
labour.
It was no less forcible a homily on the slavery of
habit. Our old vices cannot be cast off like our old
clothes and exchanged for new. We have inoculated
ourselves with them, and they cannot be expelled from
the blood. Thus it was that when Joseph Fogson, M.D.,
B.Sc, went to Bethnal Green as a substitute for his
chum he worked shockingly hard, and did a frightful
amount of good to the sickly residents of the dreary
district.
And all for notliiug, too; which hardly seemed fair.
It was all very well for him to look after my health
without fee, but what claim had these Bethnal Green-
landers upon him ? I was glad to meet him in the
Strand at last, and to divine from his presence theie
that his thankless task was over.
I held out my hand to him warmly, for it was almost
a fortnight since I had seen him.
" How am I ? " I said heartily.
i6o THE CELIBATES' CLUB
He grasped my hand cordially, and placed his finger
upon my wrist.
" You are seedy, old man," he said instantly. " You
are queer."
I was so alarmed and surprised that my umbrella fell
from my other hand, and my head began to ache.
Evidently I had felt the loss of Israfel more deeply than
I had imagined. Joseph rescued my umbrella from
under the feet of a careless chorus girl, who was
trampling on it with the haughtiness of a prima donna.
Then he said —
" And how am /, Paul ? "
" Not quite well, thank you," I said, for his face told
a sad tale of late hours and late patients. It was a fine
handsome sympathetic face at its best, with a noble
forehead, a neat moustache, and dreamy blue-grey eyes.
" You are right," he said wearily. " I feel quite
washed out. Strangehowa week's work floors me. I shall
never make old bones, though I may lecture on them."
His demeanour made me anxious. "And what do
you advise me to take ? " I inquired nervously.
" A holiday," he replied. " Go for a walking-tour."
" Oh, but it 's only June," I said. " Only clerks
leave town in June."
"You can't put off your seedy-time till a more
fashionable month, can you ? "
" No," I replied sadly. " It 's a great nuisance, because
I 'm very fond of walking-tours. But if I go, will you
come witli me ? "
He refused point-blank, but I persuaded him at last.
"We '11 start to-day," he said resignedly. "June is
a lovely month for walking-tours — the sun's not so
scorching as later."
THE LOGIC OF LOVE i6i
" Oh, but I 'm not ready to start," I said.
"Nonsense. You just pack a satchel or knapsack
with a few necessaries. This sort of thing, you know."
He half drew out a cloth-bag from his coat-tail pocket,
then shoved it back.
" You impostor ! " I said. " You have trapped me.
You were looking out for a companion for your own
walking-tour."
He smiled frankly.
" I won't go with you," I said laughingly, " I don't
see why I should go as companion to a gentleman for
nothing."
" Oh, if that 's all, I '11 pay the exes."
I refused point-blank, but he persuaded me at last.
After all it was a shame to see his money giving en-
joyment to no one ; and if I were with him, I might
brighten him up a bit.
" But I prefer a walking-tour by bicycle," I urged.
" Walking-tours on foot are so slow. You get over so
little country."
" But I can't ride a bicycle," answered Joseph Fog-
son, M.D., B.Sc.
I could not either. That was why I wanted to, and
said so with trutii.
I grumbled so at having to make this fresh concession
to Fogson's convenience, that by the time we started it
was understood that I was placing him under a heavy
obligation in allowing him to be responsible for my
expenses. We made a bee-line, more or less, for Ports-
mouth, and, interrupting our walk, we sailed from South-
sea across the crisping channel to the " Garden of
England." We landed safely upon the right tight little
island, secured at every point by a merciless battery
1 62 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
of pier-tolls against all danger of invasion by vagrom
Ishmaels. The weather was glorious, the sky glittered
like a sapphire, the sea sparkled like champagne, and I
felt as if I had swallowed some. EvenFogson was slightly
inebriated by the glow and freshness of an unreal Eng-
lish summer. As we struck across the flowering
odorous isle, inhaling the ozone and watching the many
beautifully-painted butterflies fluttering among the
poppies, Fogson grew quite jolly and told me the
names of everything in Latin. I paid no attention to
him, but I remember not one of those butterflies had a
plain double-jointed Christian name. Each had been
christened as complexly as if it were a peer of the realm.
We did not follow the usual tourist's route, but
explored the interior, which is a maze of loveliness,
abounding in tempting perspectives. Every leafy
avenue is rich in promise ; such nestling farmhouses,
such peeping spires, such quaint red-tiled cottages, such
picturesque old-fashioned mullioned windows, such
delicious wafts of perfume from the gardens and
orchards, such bits of beautiful Old England, as are per-
haps nowhere else so profusely scattered !
Suddenly Fogson heaved a sigh of content.
" "What does this remind you of, Paul ? " he said.
" Of Mandeville Brown," I answered immediately.
" Of Mandeville Brown ? " he echoed incredulously.
" Yes," I said. " I keep thinking what a fool he is
to say life is not worth living. I wish he was here."
" I don't," Fogson burst forth. " He would blight the
deep peace of nature. He would be like the serpent in
Paradise, bringing to it the knowledge of good and
evil. Ah, what a fine old allegory was that ! Oh this
disease of thought! Thought about things was the primi'
THE LOGIC OF LOVE 163
tive curse ; but thought about thought is the modern
malison."
I was surprised to find this vein of sentiment
in the man of science. But you can learn more
of a man by living with him two days than by two
years of superficial association spread over ten.
" But I did not use the word ' remind ' in your sense,"
he went on, more calmly. " What this scene with
its rustic beauty, its idyllic sweetness, its healthy
freshness,' reminds me of is the very antithesis of
Mandeville Brown."
" Yes ? " I said encouragingly, for I do not like to see
a man hesitate on the edge of a revelation. " It reminds
you of "
"No matter, you don't know her."
Her ? I grew pale. " Doesn't matter ? " I said.
" I should like to. It reminds you of "
" It reminds me," he said, and his eyes filled with
soft dreamy light, — " it reminds me of Barbara."
A swarm of gorgeous butterflies seemed whirling
before my eyes but I walked on, keeping time with the
sentimental Doctor of Medicine. Left foot, right foot,
left foot, right foot — so we plod on in our dull mechanic
tasks, thoufdi the universe lies exanimate at our feet.
" And who is Barbara ? " I said at length.
" Barbara is " and again his eyes wore the rapt
ecstatic look of an anchorite beholding a heavenly vision,
of a poet bodying forth the shapes of things unknown.
" Barbara is — the incarnation of all that is most fair
and pure and exquisite in sweet English girlhood. She
is the warmth of the heart and the light of the eyes.
Her instincts are pure as the white rose she wears at her
bosom. She is healthy without coarseness and chaste
t64 the CELIBATES' CLUB
without consciousness or prudery, and she looks at you
candidly with limpid blue eyes. She is joyous and
debonair as a May morning. She dresses in spotless
white with a simple hat of straw. She speaks no
language but her mother-tongue, but oh how the sweet
Saxon words ripple from between her pearly teeth in a
flowing music of syllables. And when she sings some
simple air, the soul of this fair motherland of ours seems
to have entered into the song, and it breathes of new-
mown hay, and harvest wains, and russet orchards, and
snowy hawthorn, and calm lowing kine, and the white
moon, and bowls of bubbly milk, rich and creamy,
and the soft restfulness of nature, and the gentle ordered
life of rustic generations, and the sweet sanctities of
old household ways, and old-fashioned fireplaces ruddy
with rough crackling logs, and wainscoted chambers,
and huge smoking platters, and diamond panes, and
jasmine and eglantine "
He paused suddenly. He had forgotten himself.
He remembered me. He stole a sidelong embarrassed
look at me.
" So that is Barbara," I said, mastering my emotion
and the thought of M'Gullicuddy.
" Yes, that is Barbara."
" Where does she live ? "
" On a farm in the heart of rural England," he
answered readily. " She has never been to London.
She does not play the piano. She has not been philis-
tinised by a ' refined education.' She cuts bread and
makes butter with her own white hands. She milks
the cows in the morning."
" A dairy nuiid," I said.
" No, no. She is the farmer's daughter."
THE LOGIC OF LOVE 165
" Js she tall or short ? "
" Medium. Her figure is lissom ; the curves tremble
upon womanhood. She moves as gracefully as a fawn,
and her heart is as tender as it is true. She is a girl
who will love once and deeply and for ever."
" How long have you known her ? "
" Let me see — it was in my first year at the hospital.
It must be — let me see, yes — it must be quite ten years
now. Ten wasted years," he repeated and his eyes filled
with tears and his mobile mouth trembled. "Ten
years since then. Ah, how the time flies — and life
passes away unemployed, unenjoyed."
"But surely you ought not to complain. You are
young yet and wealthy and have only to ask to
have."
" My dear Paul," he said, smiling sadly and laying
a gentle, trembling hand on my shoulder, "I am too
nmch a spectator of life to seize the happiness that lies
to my hand. But don't let us speak of this subject any
more. It recalls too many bitter memories."
I made no demur; for a week he was mine as the
wedding (niest was the Ancient Mariner's. There was
no hurry to extort the whole truth. He would return
to Barbara of himself soon enough.
My insight was justified. He returned to her that
very night.
We were located in a curious double-bedded room in
a little inland inn. The Doctor of Medicine stood at
the narrow casement, looking over the lovely moonlit
landscape. The rich meadows stretched away peace-
fully and the air was drowsy with sweet country scents.
The Doctor took his pipe from his mouth and pointed
vaguely towards the horizon.
1 66 THE CELIBATE^ ClMB
"Yonder," he said, half to me, half in reverie, — •
"yonder lives Barbara."
So this was why he had come to the Isle of Wight.
Poor M'Gullicuddy ! fl
" We shall probably be seeing her to-morrow, then ? " '^|
I said, with affected cheerfulness. ■
He shook his head. " I am afraid not," he said,
turning towards me a full honest face, shadowed by a
melancholy smile. He sighed, moved away from the
casement, slid it half back, and commenced undressing.
I followed suit and in another few minutes we were in
our beds, with candles extinguished and the moonlight
streaming upon the floor. Only one of us slept. It
was Joseph Fogson, M.D., B.Sc, My brain was too
busy to rest. In vain I tried to think of nothing. It
went clicking away like a tape-machine, turning out
thoughts as the machine turns out inches of news.
There was a little wind in the trees about midnight and
the hour was chimed from some neighbouring steeple
at apparently uneven intervals. These were the only
sounds that came to vary the monotony of my thoughts
till about a quarter past one, when I heard a strange sound
of muttering in the room. My pulse stood still. In
another moment I was smiling at myself. The noise
came from Fogson's bed. He was talking in his sleep.
I strained my ears, but could not catch the words. I
slipped noiselessly from between the slieets, and glided
in my white night-shirt across the strip of moonlight
that lay between our beds. I bent over his lips.
" Barbara ! " he murmured. " Barbara ! "
This time I felt only pity. My indignation was dead.
If Barbara was all he painted her, his sufierings must
indeed be poignant. Not to Imve culled this fresh and
I
THE LOGIC OF LOVE 167
fair young flower of English girlhood must needs make
life bitter to any one who believed in love, — and to
my surprise, Fogson was a recreant to the Club in
theory if not in practice. I placed my hand gently
upon the big forehead. It was burning. Light as
my touch was, it awake him. He stared at me wildly.
" It 's only me — Paul," I said soothingly.
" Thank Heaven ! " he said. " I took you for a ghost
and was afraid "
" Afraid \ " I I'aughed gently. " You, a material-
istic doctor afraid ? "
"Not of the ghost," he repeated. "I didn't care
a jot for that. My fear was that I should have to
recast the psychical theories of a lifetime and eat
spiritualistic humble-pie. But why are you out of bed ? "
" You seemed restless and feverish," I said.
" It is very good of you, Paul," he said gratefully.
"Yes, I suppose I was more knocked up than I imagined,
and our long walk has overtaxed my strength. I sup-
pose I was talking in my sleep."
"You were," I said, watcliing him narrowly as I
probed him with the lancet. " You were talking about
Barbara."
"I do not wonder," he replied without wincing.
"Whenever I get among real English scenery like this^
ivy-clad churches and granges and cows and the scent
of the honeysuckle, my thoughts will go back to her ;
my brain conjures her up of itself. Great is the Law
of Association and it will prevail."
"Well, let it have its way," I said. ''Tell me
about her again. It will ease your brain. The nervous
currents will discharge themselves, tlien you will
sleep quietly."
168 THE CELIBATES'' CLUB
" Bravo, Paul," said the Doctor. " You have trans-
lated the confessional into its physiological equivalents.
You deserve to hear my little story. It will entertain
you and ease me, as you say. But you are sure you
don't want go to sleep ? "
" I do. I haven't been able to. Perhaps your tale
will make me."
" All right," laughed back the Doctor. " But go back
to bed, old fellow, or you'll catch cold, and then
ho ! for gruel and physic. Eeady ! Well, here goes.
. . . Ten years ago I was a student at Sebastian's
Hospital in Glasgow, for I have the honour of being
a countryman of our President. I had little money
and less expectations. I studied day and night, and
eked out my income by winning a few scholarships,
which was easy enough, for I had taken unexpectedly
to the profession and was considerably older than the
average student of my year. I lived quite alone in a
cheerless attic, with a skull, a box of bones, and a
microscope for sole ornament. The district w^as shabby
and gloomy, but it was near the hospital and cheap.
The maid-of-all-work was slatternly and the table-
linen was dirty. I spent the day listening to lectures,
committing to memory dull catalogues of muscles and
chemical formulse, and dissecting one wizened old
woman. Eight of us were at work upon her, like the
dwarfs upon Gulliver — some at the arms, some at the
head, some at the feet, till she was whittled out of
all recognition. I mention these things to show you
that everything combined to make existence a grey
fog. I was working for the degree of B.Sc, at the
same time as for the M.B., so that I babbled of molecules
in my dreams, as I did to-night of Barbara. I had no
THE LOGIC OF LOVE: xOQ
time nor thouglit but for my books and my specimens.
The work was tedious to a degree, much more so to
two degrees, though I had determined to master it.
The treatises were written in an uncouth jargon, and
unenlivened by a gleam of fancy or humour or litera-
ture, and I have always been a lover of the human and
the living. AVhen I said that my existence was a grey
fog I forgot the rifts in it. My sense of humour now
and then emitted a feeble radiance, w^hich pierced the
leaden vapours that were closing in on my soul. The
students were such prigs and fools ; the lines of
demarcation between first year's and second year's,
and third year's were so childishly rigid ; the fellows
had no sense of fun ; Bob Allen and Tom Sawyer
had grown staid and decorous ; they cared so little
for anything but the pecuniary side of the medical
career. The lecturers were rather better, and I got a
little amusement out of their idiosyncrasies. One used
to throw open the door of the lecture-room punctually
at 9 A.M., and ere his hand had relinquished its hold of
the door-handle, he would be heard saying, * The
Oisophagus, gentlemen,' and before he had reached his
desk we knew quite a number of the curiosities of the
oesophagus. Another would say, ' If you please, gentle-
men, the functions of the medulla oblongata are, etc.,'
as if we could alter the constitution of the microcosm
at our own sweet will. I was often very tempted to
say that I was not pleased with the sentience of the
dental nerves, or that I derived no particular satis-
faction from the percentage of white corpuscles in the
blood, or that I strongly objected to the position of the
pancreas, or to muscles being irritated. But I never
succumbed to the temptation. Another old fellow, I
170 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
remember, had a trick of prefacing every sentence with
the phrase, ' As a matter of fact, gentlemen.' I
dubbed him the matter-of-fact professor, though, as a
matter of fact, he was a very amusing and anecdotal
lecturer, and often illumined his discourse by funny
stories, which he admitted to be apocryphal, but which
he invariably commenced with, ' As a matter of fact,
gentlemen.'
" But even these humours soon palled and ceased to
amuse me. They were not enough to counterbalance
the gloom of all my surroundings. After I had got into
the groove of the medical work, I began to take up the
Logic and the Psychology which were necessary for the
B.Sc. I began with the Psychology, as the more novel
and diflficult of the two to tackle. I flattered myself I
had no lack of Logic. But what Psychology might be I
knew not. I had heard vague and awful rumours that it
was stiff, though I was not inclined to attach much im-
portance to that. My predecessors from early school-
boyhood had always called everything stiff. To me the
adjective was chiefly associated with glasses of grog. I
had no use for it in connection with study.
" I started one night at ten, and read on fascinated till
daylight. A new world had opened before me, of which
I had hitherto known nothing. I read on breathlessly,
silent as Cortes upon that peak in Darien. But it was
a world of gloom and horror, of Dis and the ebon
shades, and I explored it with a curiosity that was
morbid. From that day to this I have never had a
thoroughly healthy thought. For introspection was
born in my soul, and introspection is nothing more nor
less than a mental affliction. Introspection is the
highest and most intellectual form of lunacy. Physical
THE LOGIC OF LOVE 171
dissection had made me morbid enougli. To see the
springs of this vaunted life of ours laid bare, to magnify
the grey matter of thought and love two thousand dia-
meters under a microscope, to hack and cut the human
form bestial till every nerve was tracked to its route,
every fibre and filament forced to reveal its function, —
all this had made human life seem to me a poor thing
and a brutish. Isolated from all human relations as I
was, the world became to me but a vast dissecting-
room, wher'e seemingly living beings strutted and fretted
it by the reflex action of galvanised muscles. My
eye undressed the people I met in the street, and
stretched them cold and rigid upon deal boards, and
turned up their muscles. Tliey were but cunning
collocations of cells, informed by an allotropic modifica-
tion of electricity, and hastening to dissolution, disin-
tegrating at the merest trifle. But over all was the
mystery of the human soul ; and now and then in
moments of reaction the inadequacy of unconscious
atoms to evolve their own analysers was flashed fitfully
upon me.
"When I had hearkened to the message of the Psycho-
logists the last vestige of interest in life died away.
The last sparkle was taken from the cup of life, leaving
a dull, insipid fluid. It was the extreme empirical
school into whose hands I had fallen, and they stripped
me of all my faculties and left me not a rag wherewith to
cover my nakedness. I had lost faith in everything else ;
they robbed me of my faith in myself, and left me a
battered wreck. I didn't mind knowing how my body
worked, but I rebelled against my mind being picked to
pieces. Nevertheless, in spite of all my inward revolts, I
was carried along on a stream of remorseless logic. I lost
172 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
my Memory, on which I had hitherto prided myself ; it
was resolved into a bundle of associations, none of
which existed till called for, though they were all wait-
ing patiently outside the door of existence, ready to
come in when wanted. I thought it was very good
of them. Evidently they had been trained in a good
school — empirical as it was. I learnt that there was po
such thing as Personality (though real estate was un-
challenged). I mourned over my lost Personality, till
I discovered that I had several Personalities instead.
But I was not used to my own society, and I felt
rather awkward and shy. I did not like having so
many Personalities. I was jealous of their being Me.
I wanted a monopoly of myself. I had worked hard to
tiain myself from earliest youth, and I didn't see why
these other Personalities should romp in at this ad-
vanced hour. Kings and editors might express them-
selves in the first person plural if they liked, but I
wanted the good old first person singular, which I had
used from childhood. When I learnt that I hadn't used
it from childhood, but had spoken of myself familiarly
by the name of ' Joey,' I gave in with a groan. I
had started with two Personalities, and I must have
grown them like teeth. Perhaps I had thirty-two of
them. I lost my Self in the crowd.
" By this time I was not sorry to discover tliat I did
not exist. Life was, indeed, hardly worth having on
those terms. It saved endless complications with my
selves not to exist. It was rather a nuisance, though,
to have to continue to live, all the same, for it was only
my / that was put out. By a mistaken kindness I was
reprieved and allowed to exist intermittently by a suc-
cession of unrelated pulses of consciousness, which
THE LOGIC OF LOVE 173
mistook themselves for unity. I was reduced to living
from liand-to-mouth, so to speak. Since the publica-
tion of Professor Ward's article in the EncydoiJoedia
Britannica, each student is allowed a transcendental
Personality, as well as an empirical Personality — but
tliat was before my time. The new generation is treated
a good deal better than the old, and has all sorts of
luxuries and facilities that were denied to us. But
there, there, I mustn't envy the young people ; the
world progresses, and I shan't be the man to grudge
them the luck of being born later.
" I had no sooner lost my I than, reading some
Philosophy, I discovered that it was the all in all —
the be-all and the end-all of existence. Without me
(or some of me) nothing could exist. It was only by
virtue of their relation to my consciousness that things
could have any being. This great universe with its
suns and stars and anatomy lectures was depen-
dent upon Me for bare existence. It was a sort of
poor relation of my consciousness, which flourished
when I shed the light of my countenance upon it and
withered away to nothingness when I pitiles^jly shut
my doors in its face. I was indescribably elated at
the discovery, and cracked a bottle of Bass that night
to celebrate it. I slept a drunken sleep of fourteen
hours, and missed my morning lecture. I could not
start for the hospital till eleven in the forenoon, and
when I did I was considerably surprised to see nothing
on the evenin" bills about ' Destruction of the Universe
— full account by our own correspondent.' I felt sure
that, with the competition in the newspaper world, they
would not have missed such an important event. I
had always wished to be alive when tlie world came to
174 THE CELIBATES'' CLUB
an end as so long predicted by Mother Shipton and
other prophets. Not because I desired to be in at the
death, but because I had a strong curiosity to see what
the newspapers would say the day after, especially to
read the indignant letters to the Times and the leader
in the Daily Wire. Anyhow, after this failure of my
nihilistic attempt, I came to the conclusion that not the
Universe but Philosophy was all my I. As for the
assertion that out of our minds nothing could be, I
decided that it was manifestly untrue, since the Philo-
sopliers were all out of theirs. The joke was that even
the books themselves relaxed here, and inserted a
flippant passage in the desert of dulness. They
asked what was Mind, and they said ' No matter.'
They asked what was Matter, and said ' Never mind.'
On the other hand, when you inquired further what
created Mind they said Matter, and when you asked
what created Matter they said Mind — as if Matter
and Mind were members of a sort of you-scratch-my-
back-and-I '11-scratch-yours society. Their arguments
were always going round in circles, so that the realm of
philosophy appeared to me like an intellectual dancing
academy. At last I gave up the attempt to eat my own
head — which constitutes philosophy — but not before a
universal scepticism had settled on my soul. I saw
that we are automata, moved by heredity and hypno-
tism and what not — the playthings of blind forces.
The idea of our arriving at absolute Truth, with a
capital ' T,' savoured to me of grim humour. I be-
came not only a Pyrrhonist but a Pessimist into the
bargain. Picture to yourself, if you can, my soul starv-
ing; among; these arid surroundings, mental and material.
Tiiink of me cutting up bodies by day and minds by
THE LOGIC OF LOVE 175
night ; imagine a being devoid of interest in life, who
would go to weddings without joy and to funerals
without sorrow, studying sedulously and unremittiugly,
because it was more trouble to depart from his rut than
to go on in it ; think of all this and you will have a
dim idea of what I was in the first year of my student
period at Sebastian's Hospitah
"It was while I was in this state that I first met Barbara."
The Doctor of Medicine paused and drew a long
breath. . The streak of moonlight had shifted and lit
up his pale face like a glory. I gazed towards him in
reverent silence. The radiant figure of Barbara seemed
to hover in the wan light — the sweet, sunny English
girl whom my friend had loved and lost. Outside the
wind had risen, the casement clattered, and the yews
rustled mournfully, as if in keeping with the tragedy
that was being re-enacted in memory. A chill air
penetrated through the embrasure. I shivered and
drew the blanket closer around my shoulders. The
Doctor continued —
"I had turned to my Logic at last, to find how mis-
taken I had been in imagining I had any. Not unlike
M. Jourdain I found, after I had been through the mill,
that I had been talking Syllogisms all my life without
knowing it. Tliis dissection of lieasoning was the last
blow. Body and soul had been subjected to the scalpel,
now my very thoughts were generalised and done up into
neat little packets. It maddened me to think that I
could not argue about anything but Aristotle had ticketed
the form of reasoning twenty-two centui-ies before
I was born. I hated Aristotle with a wild and bitter
hatred, which even he could not have syllogised, because
it was unreasoning. The outlook was not improved by
176 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
the incessant reminders of human mortality afforded by
my logical text-books. They had only one text — " all
men are mortal" — and they preached on it in season and
out. Whatever they wanted to prove, they proved by
means of that lively text. Did they want to show
that a certain argumentative process was sound, they
started by remarking that all men were mortal, adding
that Gains was a man, etc. Did they want to show that
the reasoning was unsound, again they trotted out this
time-worn text. So far did they carry their homiletic
harping that the most famous of all of them — Mill —
built up a whole new theory of the Syllogism on the
basis of man's mortality. The text-of-all-work did not
frighten me off the course of logical study, for death
was no bugbear to me. Still it did not contribute to
lighten my gloom. Judge then of what a relief it was
to me to come across Barbara. Never shall I forget
that night. Outside a sooty fog had settled on the town.
It was very cold. I crouched over my bleak cindery
fire in my comfortless apartment, grinding away at
my Logic. Then, in a moment, Barbara came into my
life, and all was changed."
Again he paused and seemed to follow some hoverino-
vision with dreamy upturned gaze. I, too, saw Barbara's
gracious figure gliding into that lonely garret, where the
pale, world-weary, prematurely-aged student bent over
the dying fire, the fresh young presence filling the
room with sunshine. I saw her stooping ever him with
infinite tenderness, and laying her soft white hand upon
his rounded shoulder, while from her rosebud mouth
there rippled the music of a caressing syllable. I saw
an electric thrill traverse his form. He looked up. His
worn face met hers radiant with the joy of life. It was
THE LOGIC OF LOVE 177
!taust and Marguerite over again. Then I saw their
lips pressed together, as they sailed away for Bohemia
in a fairy bark over the syren-haunted waters.
How sad and bad and mad it was,
But oh ! how it was sweet !
The Doctor's voice broke in on my musings.
"Suddenly, as I sat there poring over my book,
I caught sight of something that made my whole being
thrill. The book fell from my hand, and I gave myself
over to a delicious reverie. I had seen Barbara."
" Where ? " I asked, puzzled.
" In my book."
"What! In your Logic?'*
" Yes ; I thought you knew enough of the subject to
understand what happened to me, and why Barbara
should have been such a reviving influence upon my life."
" But who is Barbara ? "
"Barbara is a Mnemonic Form — her figure is the
first, and she is the first in it. She owes her life not to
the father of logic but to some of his mediaeval dis*
ciples. She was created to jog the memory of students.
Her form is most symmetrical — she consists of three
universal affirmative propositions, each of which is
symbolised in logic by A, so that when divested of
clothing she reads AAA. The ancient logicians,
knowing that memory was treacherous, thought their
pupils would forget her after the first meeting, so they
dressed her elusive vowels with consonants, as thus : —
BArbArA, and they linked her with other forms in
a quatrain,
Barbara, Celarent, Darii, Fenoque, prioris, etc. etc.
From which you see that she is the only human
member of the dreary group."
M
178 THE CELIBATES'' CLUB
"What!" I cried in annoyance. "Your vaunted
Barbara is only a logical symbol ! The graceful young
Figure you pictured is only a Mediaeval Mnemonic — a
middle-aged Form ! I thought she was a reality ! "
" To me she is," he said simply. " But if she had
been so to others do you think I could have joined the
Bachelors' Club ? " He pointed proudly to the algae
which floated in the glass button-hole he wore. He
always wore algse or bacteria in his button-hole because
they didn't marry. We unscientific members con-
tented ourselves with " bachelor's buttons," a species of
ranunculus.
" But you led me to believe that she was alive, that
she lived on a farm somewhere about here, and that
she wore "
" Paul," interrupted the Doctor of Medicine
reproachfully, " I distinctly told you the moment you
inquired about her tliat she was ideal — the incarnation
of all that is most fair and pure and exquisite in sweet
English girlhood. She is the warmth of the heart and
the light of the eyes. Her instincts are pure as the
white rose she wears at her bosom. She is healthy
without "
" Yes, yes, you did say so, Joseph," I cried conscience-
stricken. " How could I ever have doubted your fidelity
to the Club ? Oh, how stupid I am ! "
" Perhaps it is my fault," he said soothingly. " But
the thing was so clear to me that I could not imagine
anybody else looking at it in a different light. But
now, I hope, you understand what Barbara has been to
me from the moment she first lit up the pages of my
Logic. She was the first human creature I had met in
those stony solitudes. The name was like magic to
THE LOGIC OF LOVE I79
me — it was an electric spark kindling my romantic
imagination into an instant flame that warmed the rest
of my student life. The dry tinder I had been accu-
mulating served only to add brilliancy to the flame.
Coming to me in my pitiful state, those three sweet
syllables flashed before me a vision of youth and hope
and beauty. My world became transfigured. It was
no longer a prison cell of rusted chains and mouldering
prisoners, but a paradise full of life and light and love-
liness ; green spaces of meadow and water, and red-tiled
cottages, and the song of larks, and the smell of haw-
thorn, and new-mown hay, and ruddy orchards, and
waving leafage; a place of honest love and healthy
labour. Barbara, in short, recalled to me the brighter
side of existence, obscured by the disillusioning tech-
nicalities of knowledge and dulled by the vxltschmerz
of youth. If you have never known how a mere word
can stir the pulses you will not understand me. It is
the secret of all poetry. In youth the name of Barbara
had been among those that set me dreaming. She
stood in the sun, with her shining face and her white
dress, and the corn rustled healthily at her feet. I
fancy her idyllic character, her being of the essence of
Endish rural life, came from Barbara Allen. There
was even a touch about her as of Elia's Quakers, but her
demure simplicity only set off her joyous activity the
more. Such was the maiden whom Logic brought
afresh into my life, to revive my stagnant soul, perish-
ing with blight and drought. You may laugh, and,
indeed, sometimes I ask myself whether it was not in
a moment of madness, induced by overwork, that she
made lier impression upon me, whether I am not mad
whenever I think of her, which is unfortunately only
l8o THE CELIBATES'' CLUB
now and again in my purposeless life. It may be so.
Indeed, as a medical man, who has studied morbid
psychology with curiosity, I believe it is so. But it is a
sweet folly, and it were a greater to be wise. The
thought that the world holds such beings as Barbara
reconciles me to life."
I had read of la folic lueide. Surely Fogson was right
in thinking himself mad. I tried to dispel the un-
healthy air of sentiment that settled in the room.
" Well, if I had met a General Form called Barbara,
I should have conjured up a Salvation Lass."
" She saved me," he said quietly. " I grew tenderer to
my people — as I called my subjects — for her sake. If
I got an isolated arm I used the scalpel more delicately.
Perhaps that arm might be Barbara's. The result was
that I carried off the medal for skilfullest surgery."
"Ah, that was a tangible advantage now," I said.
" Did she ever make you jealous ? "
" Never," he said good-humouredly, for the tenseness
of his emotion was relaxing under my raillery. " I got
her by heart instantly, and she has never quitted me
since."
" Oh, of course, she could not say ' no,' " I rejoined,
"being wholly composed of affirmative propositions.
But did you never try to get hold of her in the
flesh ? "
" Never," he replied again. " There are so few girls
named Barbara. I have never met one and "
" But why not advertise in the agony columns ?
* Barbara — If any girl so named will call at Sebastian's
Hospital, with her certificate of birth, she will hear of
somethino- to her advantage.' Or, ' To Barbara — If the
girl who visited me in my garret on a foggy night ten
THE LOGIC OF LOVE i8i
years ago will return, all sliall be forgotten and for-
given.' "
" Please, let it drop," pleaded the Doctor of Medicine,
taking a turn for tlie worse. " I have never gone out
of my way to find a Barbara, because, as I told you this
morning, I have never been able to take a single step
in search of personal happiness. But if ever Fate
threw in my path a girl so called, well-grounded as my
principles are, I feel that I should drift into marrying
her, and no power on earth could stay me. When I
meditate upon this aspect of the case I grow certain that
I am not sane upon this one point. My case is one of
the myriad curiosities of pathology. We are all mad on
something. This is my foible. Therefore I would
rather not contemplate the contingency. It fevers me."
He ceased and turned upon his other side, and the wind
again possessed the ear in undivided mastery. The
moonlight still lay in a refulgent track across the floor,
" Paul," said the Doctor suddenly, " I cannot sleep.
Turn out the moonlight."
I went to the window and pulled down the blind.
The village clock struck "Two."
o
We had hardly been walking for an hour the next
morning, when the prophecy of the wind fulfilled itself.
Large banks of clouds massed themselves in the sky
and melted into swishing showers — the landscape
became a water-colour. Fogson wanted me to put up
my umbrella, though he had at first objected to my
taking it with me ; l)ut I could not break through my
rule. Besides it was very doubtful whether it would
open, the wires were so stiff. But he had to acknow-
lediie its usefulness later on, when the flood drove us to
1 82 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
take sJielter in a farmhouse and it came in handy to
baffle a bull-dog. A dear old creature received us
beneath the dripping eaves — one of those old family
servants who had ruined Twinkletop — and conducted
us from the picturesque porch into an old-fashioned
parlour, hung with Scriptural engravings. Here a still
dearer and older creature received us with quaint
courtesy. She wore a curiously-fashioned cap over her
snow-white hair and her face was gentle and guileless
and she wore horn spectacles and was evidently got up
at all points, cap-iv-pie, to look like pictures of grand-
mothers in the Sunday-school magazines. She had a
fire lit by which to dry our clothes, though, as she
seemed to think her presence necessary to the opera-
tion, it was not conducted so thoroughly as we could
have wished. But by the time we were accoutred in
wonderful coats that had belonged to her deceased
husband and supplied with glasses of hot brandy and
water, steaming in friendly rivalry with our garments,
we began to feel quite friendly towards her.
" What are you doing in these parts ? " she inquired
kindly.
" Walking," I said.
" What for ? " said she.
" Walking," said Fogson.
" You walk for the sake of walking ? " she quavered
in astonishment.
" We live merely for the sake of living. There is no
other reason that will hold water. Why should we not
walk for the sake of walking ? " Thus the Doctor of
Medicine.
That is the worst of Fogson, he will never adapt his
conversation to the company.
THE LOGIC OF LOVE 183
'^ Ah, you be a Lunnouer," said she to Fogson.
" We are," we said.
"Ah!" said she, and her wrinkled skin lit up.
"Then you know my son John — he went away to
Lunnon this thirty year come Martinmas."
We said that we probably knew him but could not
recall him for the moment, as we had come across so
many people in London,
" Where does he live ? " we asked.
" Oh, he's dead this twenty year," she said cheerfully.
" He was a gasiitter in Lunnon, but he went away to
'Merica after a year or two and died there."
Our acquaintanceship with John wove a new bond
between us and the good old grandame. She pressed
us solicitously to stay to dinner, which would be ready
at one o'clock, when her son and her daughter would be
in, and she would take no refusal, though the unquench-
able sun was shining again. She prattled to us with
childish faith about Christianity and the parson's
sermons, and her comfort in the thought of joining hei
husband and John, though her children were very good
to her, God bless them ; and in return, we gave her con-
siderable information about the crops. Ten minutes be-
fore one she allowed us to go upstairs to a bedroom and
wash. Apparently because it was the tidiest she let us
use a room which had every appearance of femininity.
The walls were hung with dresses and Biblical texts.
The dressing-table was crowded with unmanly articles,
including jewels, which made us regret that we were
honest. Everything was dainty and neat, and faintly
redolent of lavender. It was a large old room, with
oaken beams in the ceiling and queer little windows
through which the sun streamed with mote-laden rays.
i84 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Fogson threw open the folding-windows and looked at
the landscape. He never loses an opportunity of looking
at the landscape. His vision stretched across the farm-
yard over a lovely expanse of rural scenery. Tlie rain-
drops were glistening like diamonds on the hedgerows.
Honeysuckle and jasmine climbed up the wall to meet
him. Everything was fresh and charming,
" This is the spot," he said at last, " in which Barbara
Jives."
He spoke calmly. I shivered.
"The sort of spot," I said with a forced laugh,
" where your virgin in white would live if she existed.
I agree with you."
"Well, do you know," he said, turning from the
window and tucking up his shirt-sleeves for the wash,
" I have a presentiment that Barbara is near."
I guffawed noisily.
As I was washing, I cauglit sight of something
green projecting from under one of the laced pillows of
the bed. I touched it. It was the edge of a book.
Anxious to learn what literature was popular in
these parts, and whether Eliot Dickvay was read, or
O'Eoherty, I drew it out. It was one of Jane Austen's
novels. I was placing it back when I unhappily
bethought myself of the fly-leaf. I turned to it. The
inscription dazed me. Fogson came and peered over
my shoulder. I snapped the cover in haste. Too
late. Fogson stuck his thumb in between and opened
the book again. He stared at the inscription for a full
minute.
" Barlara Grey." So ran the fatal characters in a
neat feminine handwriting.
The Doctor of Medicine's eyes filled with the old
THE LOGIC OF LOVE 185
ecstatic light. We looked at each other with a strange
foreboding. Tlien a fit of trembling seized the Doctor.
He dropped the book and fell back helplessly upon the
bed.
" The old woman's name is Grey, isn't it ? " he
whispered, hoarse with emotion.
" Y-e-es," I faltered. " But on second thoughts, don't
you think we 'd better cut the dinner and get on with
our walk ? We 've made no progress to-day at all."
"Her son — and daughter are coming to dinner," he
whispered, half to himself. " I stay here. You can go
on if you like."
Considering that I had only left town for his sake,
and that he had been constituted Chancellor of the
Exchequer, I thought his behaviour most inconsiderate.
But I bottled up my spleen and prepared for the worst.
In the dining-room the dear old creature introduced us
to a stalwart and sheepisli young farmer, who she said
was her son. I was rejoiced to see no second woman
in the room. The Doctor was boiling over with feverish
anxiety.
" Where is your daughter ? " he asked rudely.
" In the kitchen," quavered the grandame, beaming
placidly from behind her horn spectacles. " She is cook-
ing the dinner herself. It will give her an appetite."
Fogson nodded his head in satisfaction — he even saw
her making butter. And lo ! to my horror, in due course
a gracious apparition tripped into the room, a dish of
baked potatoes poised on her plump white arms. She
curtseyed silently to the visitors, of whose presence
she had evidently been warned, and shot a quick glance
of rustic curiosity from under her long eye-lashes. She
was a dainty little thing, with a complexion like red
1 86 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
roses smothered in cream, with dancing limpid eyes,
and charming features. Her girlisli figure was exquisite
in contour. She was dressed in white, and a full-blown
white rose heaved with her bosom. The Doctor de-
voured her with his eyes, and she spoilt his appetite
for any other dish. As for me, the thought of
M'Gullicuddy nearly choked me. I ate with the
heartiness of despair. The meal passed off without
much conversation. I tried to interest the young
bucolic in cattle and the chances of the harvest, but he
seemed unwilling to learn. I let the taciturn bumpkin
be — secretly amused at the clumsy manner in which he
plied his knife and fork — and tried to draw Barbara out.
" Do you think we shall have any more rain, Miss
Grey ? "
" Oh no ! " she replied at once.
" You are very weather-wise," I said.
" Oh yes," she said, with a little laugh. " It never
rains long unless I have a new hat, and my present hat
is old enough to frighten the crows."
Evidently Barbara was not logical. But it did not
seem to distress the Doctor, who smiled with delight.
T thought there was rather a cultured ring about
Barbara's voice for a farmer's daughter, but the little
attentions she paid to the old lady and the adroit
manner in which she carried off the very primitive
remarks of the dear old creature, left no doubt of the
tender relationship between the twain. The gulf
between the old generation and the new is often so
pathetically great. Fogson spoke little, and hesitatingly ;
but embarrassed though he was, he could say nothing
without revealing his simple, unselfish nature. Dinner
over, the bucolic brother went back to the fields, and
THE LOGIC OF LOVE 187
after a few polite remarks about the route we were
going to take, Barbara naively bade us "good-bye."
I thought Fowson would never let her little hand go.
After this, there seemed nothing for it but to offer
the dear old creature our heartiest thanks and feel our
way as to offering her more, and I was hastening to
execute this delicate task, when Fogson expressed a
reluctance to depart without seeing the kitchen. He
said he loved these old-fashioned kitchens, with their
immensa grates and chimneys, and their hanging hams,
and their rough old comfort. He stated that he made
it a point to see the kitchen whenever he went to a
farmhouse, and it would cut him to the heart to go
away without seeing this one. The guilelessness of
the dear old creature was ill-matched against the
cunning of the madman, and she showed us downstairs,
and there, sure enough ! Barbara, in a great apron, was
washing the dishes. She made a pretty grimace when
she saw us again. The mad but harmless Doctor of
Medicine plucked out his algie aquarium from his
button-hole and ground it under his heel. Then he
weiit up to Barbara without more ado, and in pity I
engaged the dear old creature in conversation at a point
at which she could not hear, but I could. I thought
the attack of insanity had better spend itself. Inwardly
I raged at having been converted into a keeper.
" Miss Grey," said the Doctor in low, tremulous tones,
" I cannot go away without telling you that I love you."
Barbara opened her blue eyes to their widest.
" That I have loved you all my life,"
Barbara laughed low, but without displeasure.
"Were you born only just before dinner?" she said,
with consummate self-possession.
1 88 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
"Do not jest with me," he panted. "Ere seen I
loved, and loved thee seen. I know you care nothing for
money, but I am not poor, and it is not fortune only,
but my whole heart that I would offer you. I will not
go back without you. Come with me to the wider life
of London. Leave these haunts of innocence, and come
and shed fragrance and flavour on the jaded metro-
polis. Bring with you from Arcadia the freshness, and
the restfulness, and the gentle ordered life, and the pure
milk and butter, and the music of the brooks. Come
to the London theatres and bring the scent of hay over
the sweltering stalls. Beautiful as is your soul, in its
statue-like simplicity, let it be mine to wake it to life
and passion. Let me be your Pygmalion. Be my wife,
and my life shall be devoted to you. Under my
culture your soul shall effloresce into a higher beauty,
without losing: auglit of its freshness. I will "
A rinoincr crescendo of laughter filled the old-
fashioned kitchen with music. Then the merry little
minx had her monologue.
" Can't you find a less stale way of proposing, Mr.
Foi:;son ? I 've read and seen all that on the stage a
hundred times. If I got married, it would certainly
not be to have any more lessons. I had enough of
them at Brussels. And as for the piano, I am sick of it,
and am glad to use my fingers for peeling potatoes! Come
back to London indeed ! Why do you suppose I am
here, except to get a breath of country air after the
brick and mortar wilderness of London ? It would
be different if I could go out a lot, for I love waltzing
and the opera and farcical comedies, but my married
sister, with whom I live in London, has got such a large
family now that her whole time is taken up with
THE LOGIC OF LOVE 189
household duties. She is very well off you know.
That was her husband you met at dinner. He is down
here on a visit with me and his youngest baby, which
is in my charge, and my other brother and sister, who
live here with mother on the farm, have gone to our
London house instead. He is Stanton, the famous im-
pressionist artist, who exhibits at the Dudley Gallery
and the Salon. He fell in love with my eldest sister
ten years ago, when he was down here sketching. And
he has been good enough to educate me, too. So now,
sir, you know all my history, and why Prince Charming's
very kind offer does not tempt me, though it has
dropped from the clouds."
" But you cannot, you must not dismiss me like this.
Think of how long I have waited for you, Barbara."
Even the prosaic shearing away of so many of the
attributes of the ideal had not assuaged his distempered
longing.
" Why do you call me Barbara ?"
" Oh, forgive me. I am mad. I know I have not
the right. But I cannot lose you, ]5arbara. I have
found you after such weary years of waiting, — can I
go forth into the world again as though you were not ?
Have pity on me, Barbara, have pity."
" You are making some mistake," said the girl in a
puzzled tone. " I am not Barbara."
" Not Barbara ? " he echoed.
" No," she replied. " My name is Annie."
" But there is a Barbara here," he said desperately.
" Oh yes," said Annie, " I '11 go and fetch her."
The poor monomaniac leaned against the kitchen
mantel, faint with mortal suspense. It was a tragic
moment.
igo THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Annie was back in a moment bearinir a white bundle
in lier arms. On being opened, it proved to be a
chubby-armed baby about eighteen months old, with a
plump undecided face and sparse hair.
" This," said Annie, with a mischievous sparkle in
her eye, — " this is Barbara, my sister Barbara's youngest.
The baby I told you of."
Fogson gazed at Barbara. All the pent-up passion
of a lifetime was in that look.
Not even my conversational resources could keep
the dear old creature from her granddaughter's
side.
" Be careful of Barby ! " she croaked. " Don't drop
Barby ! Oh my ickle booty ! Come to your grand-
mother, come 00 sweet ickle Barbery ! "
She caught the infant up in her arms and strained it
to her bosom. Fogson's eye followed her jealously.
" There, what do you think of her ? " she went on,
dandling the baby in Fogson's face. " Isn't she a little
beauty ? Kiss the gentleman from London."
Barbara turned coyly away and buried her head in
her grandmother's bodice. But the Doctor's eager
hands, trembling with emotion, were already round
Barbara's neck. He pressed his white lips to hers.
That kiss, the hopeless dream of so many years, had
come at last. The sight was too sacred for profane
eyes. I turned away, my cheek moist and a lump in
my throat, Barbara wept too.
In his wildest dreams the poor monomaniac could
not have expected so easy a conquest.
" I love you, Barbara," said Fogson passionately.
" Everybody does," said the dear old creature, glower-
ing with delight. "Hush, hush, my Barby."
(^ llo. tjiitjlnsoj C
AFTER WEAI'.V YEARS.
192 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
"Yes, but I have loved her for years and years,"
said Fogson.
" Before she was born, I suppose," said Annie, a whit
sharply. " Eeally, Mr. Fogson, you are original after
all. Don't look so surprised, granny. The gentleman
is only joking. He said the same thing to me."
" No, no, I was serious ! " cried Fogson earnestly.
"You love us both," said Annie, her eyes quizzing
him merrily.
" I love Barbara," he urged simply.
" Barbara is married. She was married to a relative
of mine, my brother-in-law the artist, ten years ago."
Fo2[son smote his forehead. " When I first dreamt
of her ! But I will wait for this one."
" You will not be true to her for so many years."
" I have, been true to her for so many years."
" Granny," said Annie sedately, " here is a suitor for
Barbara. The gentleman wants to marry her."
"Annie," said granny severely, "how can you talk
so ? You make the gentleman blush."
" No, mammy. His cheek is unblushing. He loves
Barbara because she is a girl whose tastes are simple,
who is not extravagant, who wears her clothes long (very
long), who is not flighty, who doesn't gad about from
ball to party, and who, above all, has an ingenuous
heart that has never thought of love till he appeared in
his beauty and might to call forth the new and
undreamt-of emotion ; who is frail and helpless without
him. That is what men look for in girls, isn't it,
Barbara ? "
She flicked the baby's nose with her finger till it
smiled.
" You 're an awfully good match, aren't you, Barbara?
THE LOGIC OF LOVE 193
You 're a treasure-trove, Barbara ; perfectly good, and
innocent, and simple, and helpless, and stupid." A
flick emphasised each adjective. "Ah me, Barbara,
I am afraid my marrying days are over. Why don't
the men ask us when we 're younger ? Oh, what a
good girl I was in pinafores ! "
" Annie ! " said granny.
" Oh but I was, mammy. Don't take away my char-
acter before the gentlemen. Mais si, messieurs : fUais
affreusem'ent beie, je vous en assure!'
And with that Annie snatched Barbara from tlie
grandmother's arms and fled unceremoniously from the
kitchen. Fogson looked vacantly around, and I took
advantage of this lucid interval to drag him away.
Outside, our friend the bull-dog was waiting for us.
While he was dancing round my umbrella with deep-
mouthed bark, Annie ran out and boxed his ears till the
thunder dwindled to a growl. It was like a story in
the novelettes, only the other way round. I took the
opportunity to whisper to her not to mind Fogson.
He was a fine fellow, with a brilliant intellect, but he
had a delusion that he could marry no one but a girl
named Barbara,
" If I were with him as you are," she whispered
rather contemptuously, " I 'd soon cure him of that
delusion."
Fogson caught the whisper. It sent a sanative
electric shock through him.
" Oh, Miss Grey ! If you only could ! I should be
eternally indebted to you. I know I am not sane on
this point. I am a doctor myself. Couldn't I stay at
the farm ? A week's rest in this peaceful spot would
cure me for ever."
N
194 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
She said it was quite impossible. And so he stayed.
I knew the rest by letter, for I went home to prepare
M'Gullicuddy for the cruel shock.
" Dearest one," said the Doctor of Medicine, as they
walked in the rose-garden amid the shadows and scents
of the rich summer niirht. " There is one last boon I
would crave. When we are married, will you change
your name ? "
"Certainly," she said, looking up archly into his
handsome pleading face. " It is the usual thing."
"No, no," he said, and drew her fluttering form
closer to him. " Not that — I want you to call yourself
Barbara."
" No. I cannot," she said. " It would be infringing
my sister's birthright."
His poor pathetic mouth pleaded on in piteous silence.
It came closer to hers. The moon flew behind a cloud.
" But you may call me Barbara if you like."
CHAPTER VIIL
A NOVEL ADVERTISEMENT.
The Pre.^ident had fallen asleep in his offieial arm-
chair, and O'lioherty was (saving my presence) alone.
The other members had gone up the Square to study
the accuracy of the archaeological details of the new
classical ballet. O'Pioherty did not know I was in the
room, for, as he seemed engrossed in thought, I did not
venture to disturb him. M'Gullicuddy snored steadily.
O'Eoherty was seated in front of the one writing-
table of which the Club could boast, though it didn't ;
for the table was a plain mahogany tiling, studded
with black spots of ink which ought to have been in the
usually parched pewter inkstand. The pens were
generally cross and spluttering; at other times they
were absent.
I saw at once that O'Roherty had got hold of a bad
pen by the way his brow was puckered. At last he
scribbled something in large letters. I could tell
that by the wide sweep of his pen. I>y this time I was
bending over him, but in spite of all my efforts not to
disturb him, the intense sympathy I felt for him
seemed to subtly communicate itself to him, and to
make him aware — by some sacred psychical channel an
irreverent world will learn to admit some day — of my
proximity. In his delight at my unexpected presence
195
196 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
he at once abandoned whatever he was doing, and,
covering his writing with a Large sheet of blotting-
paper, immediately turned his whole attention to me.
" Thought you were at ' Nero ' ? " he said affably.
" I thought you were ? " I said amiably.
" No," he replied, " I have something to think out."
"While he was talking his hand idly strayed under
the blotting-paper, unconsciously drew out the sheet of
paper, and mechanically placed it in his pocket.
" But what keeps you away ? " he went on.
" I cannot stand ballets," I replied. " They involve
too much mental exertion. The effort to invent a plot
for them is too trying."
" Ah, invention of a plot — there is the difficulty.
But it is not the worst, not the worst," he sighed.
" No ; there is the music to listen to," I said.
" Music be bio wed ! " O'Eoherty replied, as if
deciding between wind - instruments and a string
band. " I 'ni not talking of ballets, but of my
books."
" Your books ? Oh yes, they are the worst," I
admitted cheerfully.
" Oh, I don't mind your saying that," said O'Eoherty
good-humouredly, " because you at least read them."
I have never seen O'Eoherty in a real live passion.
The nearest approach to that state he ever exhibits is
when he is taken for an Irishman. He sternly insists
that he is not one. He was born, it is true, in County
Cork, but as the baby was rocked on the cradle of the deep
within a fortnight of its birthday, and the boy lived for
ten years in Tripoli before finally settling down in
Holborn, the man fails to understand how an Irish
infant can be construed into an Irishman. When
A NOVEL ADVERTISEMENT 197
reminded that the child is the father of the man, he
retorts that this only proves that the child, his father,
was an Irishman. In spite of all temptations to be
logically genealogical, he remains a Cockney, and glories
in his country. Nevertheless, every fresh man he meets
makes the old mistake. I fancy it is because he speaks
without the slightest trace of brogue. AVhen a man is
named O'Eoherty he cannot afford to do this. People
think he is only posing as a Cockney.
If he would only learn some broguish words, such as
" yez, avick, spalpeen, acushla, omadhaun, and Caed
mille failthe," I should myself feel less strange with
him. Not that I care two straws whether he was born
in Cork or Cincinnati ; only a man owes a certain duty
to his neighbours when he is called O'Eoherty. For
the rest, O'Eoherty was tall and thin and ruddy-
whiskered, and wore spectacles and a high hat. His
mutton-chops were so sanguineous that they seemed
slightly underdone. His expression was nervous. He
always had the air of awaiting tlie next man going to
twit him with the secret of his birth. I knew he would
not be angry at my chaffing his books so long as I left
liis nationality alone. " I object to being classed among
brilliant Irisli men of letters," he once informed me
pluuiply. The constant irritation added to his con-
stitutional melancholy.
" You at least read my books," said O'Eoherty
again.
It was evidently a sore topic.
" Look here." He drew out a scrap of newspaper,
mounted on the well-known brown background of a
popular press-cutting agency. " Eead this," he said.
I read it.
198 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
From The, Dissenters^ World, July 5th.
"A Summer Idyll.— Mr. O'Eoherty's practised hand is seen to
advantage in this pretty pastoral story of an idle summer. The
love-scenes are exquisite in their union of purity and passion,
while the descriptions of scenery are charming and recall Euskin
in his happiest moments. The tender grace of a holiday that is
dead lives again in these felicitous silhouettes. A Sumtiur
Idyll may be safely recommended to parents and guardians.
Though the author is an Irishman there is no theological bias in
this simple idyll, which may be introduced without fear into the
most Protestant families."
O'Eoherty ground his teeth as I returned the critique.
I knew why. It was not only the allusion to his race
that galled him.
In saying that I read his books, O'Eoherty did me
an injustice. Still, I did skim them, and I had gleaned
sufficient of A Summer Idyll to know that it was
a terribly ironical title, and that the whole of the
sordid tragi-comedy centred round Caraberwell Green.
" Well, and what do you say to this criticism ? " he
said grimly.
" It is too bad," I replied.
" Yes," he said despondently. "It will sell some copies.
The paper has an immense circulation all over the
countryamong families that really buy books — especially
those bad books which are called 'good books.'"
" What an ass the man must be ! " I exclaimed.
" He is not an ass," he retorted indignantly. " He
is my bitterest friend."
" Friend or no friend, he must be an ass to write
like this about one of the most brutally realistic stories
of modern times."
" He is not an ass," he repeated. " He simply didn't
read the book."
A NOVEL ADVERTISEMENT 199
" Oh, then he is certainly not an ass," I admitted,
" but an ingenious deducer of contents from title. It 's
an economical way of reviewing, but you are bound to
go and put your foot in it one day — by a fluke."
" Yes, but I must say he isn't entirely to blame,"
said O'Koherty. " It 's my publisher's fault partly."
" Your publisher ? "
" Yes ; he will allow the sheets to be bound in such
a way that you have to cut the sides to skim the book.
Parker — ihat 's his name — doesn't mind running his eye
along two pages connected at the top, but, when their
union is perpendicular, the thing is impossible."
" But why doesn't he cut the leaves ? "
" What ! and spoil the market-value of the book !
Surely you know that reviewing is the least paying form
of journalism, and that no man with brains would do it if
it were not for the perquisites. But for the sale of the
unread books, criticism in this country would become a
lost art. No, Parker's intentions were admirable. He
saw A Summer Idyll lying about in The Dissenters'
World office, and he saw my name on the thing; so, of
course, he asked the editor to let him do it."
" And he has gone and done it ! " I said. " Well,
never mind, the parents and guardians who buy your
book for their girls will never know of their fearful
mistake. The girls will never tell them. They
will "
" Hush ! " interrupted O'Roherty. " What 's that ? "
We listened to the sudden silence which had caught
the novelist's acute ear. It was M'GuUicuddy not
snoring. We waited anxiously. The president took
up his nasal theme again and we resumed our conversa-
tion. O'lioherty did not care for everybody to know
200 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
that he was t)ie celebrated O'Eoherty. He was very
sensitive on this point ; and, knowing that people will
always peep behind pen-names, he had hit upon the
happy idea of effectually concealing himself by writing
under his real name. I was the only member of the
Club to whom the secret was open. Like most of us
O'Eoherty had to live ; if he had not swallowed some
of his convictions he would have had nothing to eat.
Bitter experience had taught him that the British
public will not read novels without a love-interest ; and
if there was one thing in this world in which O'Eoherty
did not believe (there was nothing in any other world
in which he did) it was love. Having to write " true-
till-death " moonlight scenes fretted him not only as a
man but as a Bachelor. His only consolation was that
their pathos afforded him so much amusement. But
M'Gullicuddy on his sublime snow-clad mountain-peak
of Bachelordom had little sympathy with the frailties
of those that groped in the valley ; that was why
O'Eoherty was in such trepidation on hearing the presi-
dent cease to snore. The steward, who was behind the
bar, listening, we never regarded as an obstacle to con-
fidential conversation ; he was not a human being like
ourselves ; he was a married man.
" Next to the inaccurate statementas to my nationality,
what riles me most in this notice," went on O'Eoherty,
" is the eulogium of my descriptions of scenery. As a
matter of fact there is not a single description of scenery
in the book. Scenery was always my weak point. I
can no more paint a landscape tlian a Eoyal Acade-
mician. I have sometimes stolen a meadow from
Euskin, and I have several skies strongly tinged with
Black ; most of my flowers are picked from the lady
A NOVEL ADVERTISEMENT 201
novelists' back-gardens ; while I get my birds from
Richard Jefferies."
O'Roherty began to get quite doleful in tone.
" Don't be so down in the mouth about it, old fellow,"
I said. " Nobody knows."
" Yes, but what of my own conscience ? Besides, my
wholesale depredations are bound to be brought to light
some day. Then again there 's my antique furniture.
I have always got that at Ouida's. But now the critics
are beginning to say that her Louis Quinze boudoirs are
a fraud, and her cinque cento medallions (I fancy they
are medallions) are coined at the mint of her imagina-
tion. It 's a nice thing when your supports give way
under you in this fashion, and your antique easy-
chair collapses and leaves you on the floor. Then,
look what dreadful suspicions it brings into your
mind ; suppose your lady novelists' botany is a
ghastly imposition — and you are left up a tree! and
you don't even know the name of the tree ! How if
your chaffinches sing in England or your nightingales
perform in London during the season of their foreign
or provincial tours ! How if your artichoke blooms in
the autumn and your chrysanthemum chortles in the
spring ! How if "
"Good heavens!" I interrupted with a cry of pain.
" What is this ? "
While O'lloherty was speaking I had unconsciously
taken up the blotting-paper. There were heavy black
marks upon it. Practice has made me able to read
writing backwards or upside-down as quickly as forwards
or normally. O'Eoherty's face turned the colour of a
sheet of note-paper, of the pink variety.
"What is this?" I repeated sternly, as I pointed
202 THE CELIBATES'' CLUB
with my finger to those ghastly inciiminating stains
upon the pure fluffy surface of the blotting-paper.
" N — nothing," he stammered.
" O'Eoherty ! " I said, with a world of reproach in my
tremulous tones. "On your honour as an Englishman!"'
" Draw your own conclusions," he replied, visibly
softened.
" There is no deduction necessary. The conclusion
is on the premisses," I observed sadly, reading aloud
the infamous inscription —
"WANTED A WIFE."
" Yes, I am advertising for a wife," he replied apolo-
getically and with a meek pathos that went to my
heart. "I can stand the strain no longer. I was just
about to draw up the advertisement when you in-
terrupted me."
" But how ? why ? " I inquired wildly.
"I have told you," he said, snatching the paper
from me and rising in excitement. " Birds, beasts, and
fishes."
Was his mind wandering ? Birds, beasts, and fishes !
What old schoolboy chords were struck by the phrase !
" Are you making game of marriage ? " I said.
'■ No, no, I 'm serious. I want birds, beasts, fishes,
flowers, trees, furniture, bric-a-brac, and a thousand
J NOVEL ADVERTISEMENT 203
odds and ends. I must have them. I must have them,
I tell you." His voice rose to a maniacal scream. I
grew seriously alarmed. Coming on the top of his
(j^ljtTu'c1jii3tO')i^''<>
wish to marry, language like tliis seemed to clinch the
evidence of liis insanity. Was Fogson's monomania
epidemic ?
204 THE CELIBATES'' CLUB
" Hush ! you '11 disturb M'Gullicuddy's snoring ! " I
said softly. " Cannot you get all these things as a
Bachelor?"
" Impossible ! Have I not already explained to you
how my literary life has been one long fraud ? No, I
must have some one to supplement me, to supply all
those ingredients of the novel which O'Eoherty lacks :
beasts, birds, fishes, flowers "
" Spare me the catalogue," I cried severely, " I
understand."
"I knew you would," he returned, a slight misap-
prehension of my meaning bringing a grateful look
into his worried eyes, " You see, to a Cockney like
myself Nature is utterly unknown. I lack that rural
education without which the modern novelist has no
chance. It was all very well for a Dr. Johnson to say,
' Sir, let us take a walk down Fleet Street ! ' In his
day Nature had not been invented. There were certain
stock adjectives which you had to get up — 'azure sky,'
' russet leaves,' ' pearly cloud,' ' translucent brook.'
Once you knew these married couples that went out
together as invariably as Homer's Juno with her ' ox-
eyed ' cavalier, you were set up as a writer. That long
catalogue of a poet's stock-in-trade which convinced
Easselas that it was useless for him to apprentice him-
self to the muse, was a mere flight of Johnson's imagina-
tion, intended to crack up the calling in which he was
then an acknowledged master. To-day it is a sober
reality, and is even more necessary for the novelist than
for the poet, who can always veil himself in the obscur-
ities of misty magnificence. Ah, it was a bad day for
writers when those ancient couples were divorced; when
for the marriages made in the classics were substituted
A NOVEL ADVERTISEMENT 205
the laxer alliances of individual preference, and for the
good old permanence of conjoint relation, the haphazard
and transient associations of modern free selection.
It is a flux and chaos of conjunctions at best, and in
the looser literature of the French decadence it leads
to the most extravac;ant matches of substantives and
epithets. There is no adjective so degraded that it
may not hope to mate with the most proper of nouns ;
no noun so common that it may not find itself in at
least temporary association with the most aristocratic
of adjectives. Nay, so far has this derangement of
epithets gone, that I have known unprincipled writers
wed words that belong to different castes, and talk of
strawberry-coloured symphonies and symphonic straw-
berries."
He paused for want of breath, and I fetched him a
pick-me-up.
" Where was I ? " he asked, when he had gulped it
down.
"Symphonic strawberries," I observed. But he had
lost the thread.
" Well, anyhow, as I was saying, the modern novelist
has a hard time of it. He is expected to know all things
in heaven and earth and in the waters beneath the earth.
The miserable impostors who were first in the field went
and corrupted the reading public by showering down
omniscience from a cornucopia. Of course it was all
faked ; they crammed up as much about hunting, and
shooting, and fishing, and burgling, and will-making,
and gardening, and painting, and sailing, and climbing,
and banking, and bee-keeping ; as much dialect, slang,
idiom, proverb, local colour, history, tradition, and super-
stition, as was wanted for each book ; and before the
2o6 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
book had gone to press it was all clean wiped off their
memories, which had reverted to their original omne-
science. (Excuse the neologism, but the language wants
the word badly). By this sort of behaviour the beggars
have set up a standard which is simply unattainable
by an honest man ; not to mention that they have
snapped up all the best things of their successors.
Analyse the average modern novel. What do you find?"
I made no effort to find anything, but he struggled
with his waistcoat pocket and produced a scrap of
paper, from which he read aloud : —
Scenery (including botany), . .15 per cent.
Journeys, foreign phrases, manners and
customs, ....
Birds, beasts, and fishes, .
Scientific, musical, artistic, historical, and
literary allusions or quotations,
Descriptions of dress.
Theology and ethics (new),
Plot, .....
Ordinary natural dialogue,
Grammatical and other blunders, .
Portraits of hero and heroine,
Character-drawing,.
Wit and humour, . . , .
Unanalysable residua, ,
Total, Three Vols., . . .100 per cent.
I was about to dispute the accuracy of this decom-
position, but he went on : —
" This analysis is at once the cause and excuse
of my marriage. Once I had arrived at these
results I felt that I was a doomed man. You will per-
ceive that nearly half a vol, of a modern novel must be
11
per cent.
10
per cent.
10
per cent.
10
per cent.
10
per cent.
10
per cent.
8
per cent.
6
per cent.
4
per cent.
2
per cent.
0-005
i per cent.
3-992
per cent.
s
A NOVEL ADVERTISEMENT 207
composed of scenery. In addition to my being unable
to tell an oak from an acorn, or a gentian bush from a
gillyflower, or a field of oats from a gorse-clad common,
or an elder from Susannah, I am colour-blind. More-
over, I have no interest in the sunset, and am never up
late enough to witness the sunrise. The sight of the
sea is as sickening to me as if I were on it. What
people can see to rave over in a magnified wash-hand
basin I have never been able to understand. You
smile. You remember my much-praised apostrophe to
the ocean in Betwixt the Gloaming and the Nether Sea.
I have no wish to disguise from you the pricks of con-
science. But I must live. I tell my conscience so,
and point out that if I were to die it would perish too.
To keep my conscience alive, I steal."
" Steal ? " I echoed, " steal what ? "
" Haven't I told you ? — trees, flowers, sunsets,
birds, beasts — all 's fish that comes to my net," said
O'Eoherty. " What can a poor Cockney do ? Take
the second item. I recognise a horse, a dog, a sheep,
a mackerel, a cow, a cock, an elephant, an earthworm,
a sparrow, a donkey, a butterfly, an eel, a baby, and a
few other animals. But even with dogs I can't tell a
dachshund from a poodle, though I give my old maids
poodles and my heroes dachshunds; I know that a
Scotch terrier is the same fore and aft, but that is only
because of Bright's famous comparison of it to the
Fourth Party. Allusions I can manage fairly well
with the help of encyclopa3dias. I dip at random into
omniscience and garnish my dialogue with whatever
comes up. I make pot-sliots at a volume of poems and
ornament my cha})ters with the sjioils. As for dress, I
am hopelessly lost. These superficial details are
2o8 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
infinitely wearisome to me; in real life my eye goes
straight for the psychological essence of a situation,
and I have a soul above buttons. Unfortunately the soul
of the British public is beneath them. And sometimes
I feel that there is something in frocks after all. When
I create a nice heroine I don't like the girl to dress
dowdily. It spoils her charm. When all is said, she
is my own child and I don't want her to look gawky
and blame the old man. I am not stingy, I want her
to dress as magnificently as possible. But my own
ignorance sets up sumptuary laws, and the poor thing
comes off but scantily. I don't know what to put on
her — muslins, silks, a sealskin jacket, my wardrobe
contains little else. In the end I am reduced to stealing
from the fashion-plates, and Myra alone knows what a
mull I make of it. For you see I can use the descrip-
tions but warily, the nomenclature has grown so
beastly technical that I am afraid to venture. I can't
tell a description of a costume from a dinner menu.
What gold galloon, or blue broch^, or jet passementerie,
or basques, or toreadore hats, or silk lisse, or moire, or
pink chiffon, or filoselle, or bengaline, or festooned skirts,
may be, I haven't the faintest idea, but all my heroines
wear them and look natty in them. I can only hope
that they are not indecent. But I can't expect im-
munity for ever. Some day I shall introduce a half-
clad virgin to a respectable dinner party and then the
book will sell by tens of thousands."
His tones trembled sadly into silence. I could offer
him but cold comfort. He went on : —
" I must learn these words if I would avoid such popu-
larity. There's no such word ^'s, faille in the dictionary of
the male novelist. But he has got to admit it. Faille is
A NOVEL ADVERTISEMENT 2O9
becoming very prevalent. I see it in all the ladies'
letters. Are my girls to be out of the fashion ? No,
it shall never be. I will do my duty by them. Oh, if I
knew more of my girls' inner lives ! They say Dickens
detected George Eliot was a woman by the way Hetty
Sorrel combed her hair. How am I to know how
ladies comb their hair ? The novelist must needs be a
Peeping Tom, and if he is he is sent to Coventry.
" In journeys, etc., I am so and so. My first success,
as you know, was due to my infantile recollections of
Tripoli, and to the happy title of my first-born three-
decker, Trijjoli Trijyiets. You remember Tripoli
carried me successfully through my second novel ; and,
through my third, in which the relics of my Tripolese
recollections were hashed up and located in Patagonia.
But my fourth, in which the foreign flavour was replaced
by the scent of English hay, and where the heliotrope
of the lady novelist was substituted for the palms and
pomegranates of Barbary, was only a mild success. And
now this last book, A Summer Idyll, in which I left off
shamming and fell back upon tlie Cockney scenes and
people I really know, is a regular frost, as you might ex-
pect of an English summer. The things I am really good
iu — plot, character-drawing, real human dialogue "
"And unanalysable residua," I reminded him.
"And unanalysable residua, form only twenty-
eight per cent, of the compound I have to
turn out from my Holborn laboratory. I have tried
to do right. I have done my best to learn the differ-
ence between maiden-hair fern and mangelwurzeh It's
no use going to the country unless you have somebody
skilled in plant-lore with you. And there are very few
real savants in those branches, I can tell you."
no The celidatMs^ cluB
" You ought to have gone walking with Fogson be-
fore he got engaged."
"What nonsense ! He onl)' knew the scientific names,
not the real names. He knew a vegetable, I gave
him one day when he was dining with me, was a
Lycopersicum csculcntum, but was surprised to learn
it was a tomato. I spent a whole day once in Kew
Gardens, where the trees are obliging enough to grow
labelled, and I plucked a leaf from every tree and shrub
and scratched its name on the back. Leaving the
Gardens, I noticed a notice-board which informed me I
was liable to prosecution if caught. I was too busy
boiling down a classical botanical treatise into an
edition for the use of schools to attend to my treasures
for some months ; when I did, they were a heap of
withered leaves, like the fabled fairy gold. So perished
my dream of knowledge. Can you wonder, then, that 1
must either marry or give up writing altogether and
turn my liand to something "
" Useful," I concluded. " But where does the neces-
sity of marriage come in ? You want a collaborator,
not a wife."
" I want a wife, not a collaborator. I want some one
to share the work, not the money or the reputation.
Come, help me to draw up the advertisement."
" Very well," I said resignedly. Poor M'Gullicuddy
snored on, in blissful unconsciousness of the coming
blow.
" Wanted — a Wife," wrote O'Eoherty again, in
the boldest of letters, as if to give himself courage.
" Of course," he said pausing, " there are many other
reasons why I should marry. You see it is now some six
years since I set up in London as a genius. I have failed.
A NOVEL ADVERTISEMENT 211
It is time I should now settle down into a steady
popularity. Perhaps, too, when I have made all the
money I want, I may get the reputation of genius after
all by neglecting my wife. If I liave none to neglect,
this avenue of recognition is necessarily closed to me.
Moreover, marriage itself is a considerable fillip to a
man's reputation ; you are bound to get pars in the
papers. It is an immense advertisement. Besides,
your readers like it. They are knit to you by fresli
ties on discovering that romance is a reality with you,
that you do not believe that the honeymoon is made of
green cheese. Many a declining novelist has acquired
a fresh lease of popularity by marriage. The wedding
bells, which usher his characters into the Nirvana of
the Finis, are to the novelist but the joy-bells of
palingenesis."
I fetched him another pick-me-up and he resumed
the concoction of his matrimonial advertisement, keep-
ing up a commentatorial monologue as he went on.
Wanted — a Wife. Musical, Literary, Artistic, Scien-
tific. The more she knows about sonatas in B flat, and
the precise emotion that a soulful heroine must feel
under the prelude to Parsifal, tlie better. I have
always been in danger of letting my people jjolka
to Masses in D minor. She will also save me from
mis-regulating the movements of the planets or con-
founding Botticelli with a kind of liurdy-gurdy. 3Iuch-
travelled in England and the universe generally. That's
for the foreign department. I don't know whether
a Devonshire lass is blonde or brunette, and
there 's nothing like brinrdn" local colour to the clieek
of the young person. Folyglot. That's to keep the
Italian and tlie French and the German in order.
212 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Tlioroughly familiar ivitlo Drcss-maldng, Tailoring,
Kitchen- Gardening, Botany, Mineralogy , Birds, Beasts, and
Fishes, Antique and Modern Furniture, Prize-fighting,
Manners and Customs of Good and Bad Society, and every
other variety of useful or useless imformation.'"
"Why not put ' an encyclop?edia in a petticoat'? It's
shorter."
" Tlie petticoat may be shorter, but at the cost of
lucidity."
" Well, say a ' Universal Provider and a Genius.' "
"A Genius not objected to," added O'lioherty. " Thank
you. Gt^eat imaginative power a recommendation.
There is no harm in her being good at plots and
character-drawing while she is about it."
" Not the least," I assented,
"Is there anything else?" he asked, re-reading it
critically.
" Cookery ? "
" Cookery. Thank you."
" But geniuses can't cook."
" Theoretical only. Thank you, anything else?"
" Beautiful ? "
" Oh, of course ! I can study her attitudes and
toilettes without impertinence or cribbing from the lady
novelists. She shall sit to me — or to herself — as
heroine. Beautiful. Anything else ? "
We paused and racked our brains for five minutes.
M'Gullicuddy snored on. The steward was all
ears.
"Fool !" cried O'Eohertv at last, smacking his brow.
And he solemnly added " No Irish need apply"
Aloud suspicious gurgle burst from the steward's lips.
It sounded like a strangled laugh. M'Gullicuddy
A NOVEL ADVERTISEMENT 213
awoke and yawned. The next moment lie learnt the
news and all was dark to him again.
*****
O'Koherty did not return from his honeymoon in
Tripoli for a year. Then he came back to England
and paid the expenses of publication of Godh Doivn
as a Gossamer, a three - volume novel by Mrs.
O'Eoherty (Pansy Sinclair). He had married a Lady
Novelist. He wrote no more himself; he was pumped
out, anddiis wife kept whatever knowledge and creative
power she possessed for her own works.
" It was my own fault, Paul," lie said, on the only
occasion I met him, for he shunned the abodes of men
and Bachelors, " I forgot to put that limitation in the
advertisement."
"But did she really claim to fulfil all the other
conditions ? "
" She did."
" But does she ?"
" Ah," said O'Eoherty mysteriously, '' she has a great
imagination."
CHAPTER IX.
A NEW MATRIMONIAL RELATION.
August found the premises of the Bachelors' Club
entirely given over to the orgies of the dusky steward,
and of Willoughby Jones and the other waiters, for
London became too hot to hold us. To escape the heat,
Mandeville Browne fled to the Soudan ; Moses !Fitz-
Williams went to Switzerland ; M'Gulli cuddy was
understood to have pitched his tent somewhere amid
his native heather ; while Oliver Green told us that he
had to stay at Brighton with his wealthy uncle, who
had returned from India only last year. Poor Oliver !
It was by no means the first time that he had been
forced to endure the society of his old fogey of a relative.
He said his uncle required a deal of looking after.
Selfish old curmudgeon ! I hated Oliver's uncle, with
his parchment-coloured visage, and his gouty toe, and
his disordered liver. You might call me prejudiced, for
I had never met the man, but who could help disliking
an apoplectic old egotist, who cooped his nephew up in
scorching, stony Brighton, just because he had a few
miserable lacs of rupees to leave behind him ? If I
were Oliver, I thought at first, I would rather die a
pauper than live at the beck of a whimsical, capricious
autocrat.
But there is one advantage I found in havincj a rich
2U
A NE IV MA TRIMONIA L REL A TION 2 1 5
old uncle ; he saves you the trouble of making up your
mind. For nights I lay tossing on my bed, unable to
settle where I should go. Even when I determined
■•' Heads " should be the Continent, and " Tails " Great
Britain, I always lost the toss, and was dissatisfied. I
thought of Oliver's wealthy uncle frequently in my
indecision, and at last began to wish he had been mine.
Then the inspiration came ! I had only to fancy he
was mine, and my doubts were at an end, ray troubles
were over. I, too, would go down to Brighton. The
burden was lifted from my shoulders ; that night I slept
like a top. Steaming down by the luxurious express, I
felt happier than I had been for a long time. I should
not be alone in Brighton. I should be bound to meet
Oliver and his uncle, and then I could tell Oliver what
I thought of his subjection to his yellow-gilded
relative. Perhaps I might even induce him to enfran-
chise himself. I promised myself to put in a good
word for him with his neglected relative after he should
have shaken off the dust of Briiiliton in dudgeon. One
o o
owes these thino[s to one's friends. The task of smooth-
ing down another man's outraged uncle might not be
agreeable, but I registered a mental vow to attempt it.
As soon as I had taken a hurried meal at my hotel I
sallied forth in quest of Oliver ; but he was neither on
the beach, nor the promenade, nor the pier. I looked into
all the bath-chairs, half expecting to find him wheeling
his uncle in one. After several wasted hours I returned
to my hotel fatigued and dispirited. After several
wasted days I returned to London unrefreshed and uneasy.
Oliver was not in lirighton. An exhaustive study of all
the visitors' lists for the past fortnight had made this
well-nigh certain. Where could he be ? Why spread
2i6 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
this false report of his movements ? Could it be that
he was rusticating perforce in London, and that false
shame had made him cover up his poverty ? Impos-
sible ! Oliver had always given proof of ample resources
— much more so than myself. It was this that made
his subservience to his uncle so annoying. No, there
was some more occult reason behind. The mysteries of
my brother-Bachelors had hitherto invariably ended in
marriage. Is it to be wondered at that I instantly
leapt at the truth in this case too ? Alas, that I should
have been a true prophet !
The discovery of Oliver's whereabouts came in this
wise. I was cudgelling my brains to remember if he
had ever given any signs of defection of the heart from
us. As I pondered over the past I could not help being
reminded of the young man's intense truthfulness. On
such occasions as I had taken the trouble to test his
autobiographical statements, I had always found fifty
per cent, of truth in them. The conviction grew upon
me that I had wronged him, that he loas at Brighton
after all, even if with a nearer relative than his uncle,
for perchance he was spending his honeymoon there.
I had but skimmel the faces of the bi-sexual couples,
seeking only a male pair — an old man and a young.
What if I had skipped Mr. and Mrs. Green ?
I resolved to return to Brighton. I consulted an
ABC railway guide. As I gazed, I gave a convulsive
stai't. A name caught my eye — New Brighton. My
instinct is seldom at fault. I started for Liverpool at
once. The same afternoon I saw Oliver Green lying on
the beach. A little dark-featured toddler, of about five
or six, emptied buckets of sand upon his gently heaving
waistcoat. Eecumbent in a half-sitting posture by his
A NEW MATRIMONIAL RELATION 217
side, was a well-dressed lady, whose face I could not
see, for it was shaded by a red parasol, but from the
irritating way the little tyrant occasionally tugged
with his tiny hands at the parasol I could see it was
his mother's. It did not need a second glance to estab-
lish the child's relationship to Oliver. The likeness
was unmistakable ; I could see Green in his eye, and
Oliver in his mouth, and father in the way he allowed
the slimy-shoed bantling to dance on his breast. I
kept cool with a great effort, for it was a broiling day.
I was not so overwhelmed as I should have been six
months before; bitter experience had schooled me.
Still, this was the worst case of all. For some minutes
I looked on in silence at the domestic idyll. I did not
intrude upon it. I stole away, my breast in a tumult.
This, then, was the meaning of Oliver's periodical visits
to his uncle ! He was such an inveterate evader of a
lie that he might even have referred to the raising of
money for surreptitious household expenses.
The next morning I met Oliver in the Atlantic. I
swam up to him, and in a jocund tone gave him good-
morning.
He was so startled that he imbibed a mouthful of
sea-water, retired for a moment, and came up gurgling
and spluttering.
In answer to his spasmodic syllables, I replied that
my coming was fortuitous. I then wished him joy of
his marriage, and remarked clieerfully that his name
would be handed down to eternal execration.
He stared at me with a fishy eye from between the
billows, then threw up his arms and sank. On his
return he replied that he had been laughing like a sub-
marine telephone. He was not married at all.
2i8 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
It was now my turn to feel for the bottom of the
Atlantic. As I rose I felt that Oliver did not deserve
to live. Oh the poor trusting woman with the red
parasol! Oh the pocket-edition of Oliver with the
spade and the sand-bucket !
We met outside our machines, but I turned away in
disgust. Oliver was about to speak, when his little
boy ran up, pursued by a fat, panting ayah. Oliver
caught the little lad up in his arms and kissed him, and
remarked " Oopsi-daisey," and dandled him over his
head, after which he surrendered him to the lady with
the red parasol, who had by this time toiled up.
" How did you like your bath, Oliver ? " she asked,
with a loving glance.
" Glorious ! " he said ; " I wish I could persuade you
to try a dip."
She shook her head.
"But to-morrow the little man must "
j^gain she shook her head. Her face was still half
obscured by a veil, but nothing less opaque than cor-
duroy could hide its harshness and irregularity. It was
bronzed and bearded like a trooper's. Her figure was
less uncomely, being plump and passable. Her age was
certain ; it was over half a century. I wondered at
Oliver's taste. Still, she might have been beautiful in
the far-off happy days.
He turned to me, as I stood glued to the spot.
"Paul," said he, "let me introduce you to Julia —I
mean Miss Blossom."
I blushed for him, as he effected the introduction.
"You haven't introduced me to this little chap," I
said genially, caressing the child's curls.
I was glad to see Oliver blush in his turn. His
A NEW MATRIMONIAL RELATION 219
emljarrassment was most painful. Ho hummed and
hawed and stammered.
"This— this— is little Oliver."
I let a moment of severe silence pass by, then I
said smiling, " And little Oliver is your "
" Uncle ! " he said desperately, — " precisely."
If I had not been resting on a stick I should have sat
down on the sand. Miss Blossom did so instead, and
took ont some crochet, while Oliver's nncle went
trapezing'about the beach, pursued by the ayah.
" Your uncle from India ? " I managed to ejaculate
at last.
" The same ! Be quiet, Oliver ! " he snapped, as his
uncle ran between his legs and nearly upset him.
" Yes, that is he. He is an orphan, and was brought
over last year by his aunt. Miss Blossom. I am his
guardian and trustee under my grand fa tlier's will, and
I feel it my duty to go and see the little beggar three
or four times a year. As I told you before, he requires
a lot of looking after. But please don't tell anybody.
It 's such an abnormal case. It makes me look so
awfully ridiculous, and I try to keep the real fact dark.
You know if there is one thing in the world I hate it 's
being made ridiculous; especially when I 'in not a whit
to blame."
" Oh, you may rely on me," I said, gripping his hand
sympathetically. " But is it possible that a mite of a
lad like that should be your uncle ? "
" I wish it wasn't," he said gloomily. " But it ciphers
outvery simply, extraordinary and unique as it all is. My
grandfather married my grandmother out in India when
she was fourteen. It 's the climate, vou know. She had
a daughter at fifteen, who was my niotlicr. This daughter
220 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
also mavried young — at fifteen, and I was born before
she was sixteen. Her mother — my grandmother — had
gone on bearing children, and her latest success was won
at the abnormal age of forty-eight, which is almost the
extreme possible limit. But she died in the attempt,
leaving little Oliver motherless. That was six years
ago, and his father — my grandfather — dying last year,
the orphan lad was bequeathed to the care of Miss
Blossom (his aunt) and myself."
" I understand," I said mendaciously ; " but would
you mind putting it down on paper ? "
Between us we got down the figures. While I was
studying them a sudden thought flashed upon me that
almost stopped my pulse.
•'Why, Oliver!" I thundered, " this makes you only
twenty-three ! "
He turned sea-green, and his knees shook. His sin
had found him out.
" Paul ! " he said, " don't betray me. I know I
have made and procured false declarations of age. But
what does it matter ? My Indian descent ripened me
early. I had a thick beard at seventeen, almost as thick
as I have now. There was curry in my blood, remem-
ber that, Paul. I may be twenty-three in the letter,
but in the flesh and spirit I am thirty. Ah ! let me be
thirty-one still to Mandeville Brown and M'Gullicuddy.
Is it not a sufficient counterweight that my mature
appearance makes my avuncular relation all the more
ridiculous ? Ah, Paul, you will keep that secret too —
at least till the child grows up % "
" Till death," I replied solemnly.
Oliver thanked me with a look, then ran to disengage
his uncle from the irate clutches of a little girl whom
A NEW MATRIMONIAL RELATION
221
lie had playfully prodded in the nose with his spade.
He carried his strufrnlincr and kicking relative back to
where I stood. Then he shook his uncle from India, and
slapped his hands, and said, " Naughty, naughty."
222 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
His uncle from India yelled like a Cherokee on the
war-path.
" And is he so rich ? " I asked.
" Beastly rich," he said.
He seated his wealthy uncle from India on his
shoulder, and tried to pacify him, but in vain. The
avuncular yoke sat by no means lightly upon his shoul-
ders. Aunt Julia had to get up and entreat the demon
to leave off.
"Tan't leave off till you give me a penny," said the
poor young uncle, sobbing hysterically.
" Where 's the penny I gave you last night ? " said
Oliver.
" I spent it on seed-cake," said his wealthy uncle from
India.
The nephew shook his head at his reprobate, profli-
gate, prodigal young uncle.
" Well, well," he said sternly, " here you are, but not
another penny do you get from me to-day."
The uncle received his nephew^'s bounties without
gratitude. He rrrabbed the coin and climbed down
from Oliver's shoulders. The next minute he was
twenty yards up the beach dissipating his nephew's
hoardings in the society of an apple-woman. woman!
woman !
" It 's no small responsibility to be a nephew," sighed
Oliver, " when one is saddled with a scapegrace young
uncle. Paul, I cannot describe how acutely I feel
the absurdity of this relationship, and I hope you will
not either."
Ajrain I crushed his finc^ers between mine.
But he might just as well not have exacted a promise
from me, for the whole story was in the Porcupine, a
A NEIV MATRIMONIAL RELATION ii%
Liverpool satirical paper, before the week was out. The
port roared ; and busy Liverpudlians went down to
their watering-place, just to see the uncle and the
nephew. The particulars were stated in the big Liver-
pool dailies, and the paragraphs were copied by the
general press, and even formed the staple of an article
in the Daily Wire, which considered the freak of genea-
logy in the light of the Bhagavad Gita, the folklore
of Japan, the CEdipus of Sophocles, the careers of
Charlemagne, Octavius Csesar, Hamlet and Heinrich
Heine, the habits of the Ornithorhynchus, Mr. Glad-
stone, and various other associated topics. That
settled poor Oliver. After he had read the jokes in the
local comic paper he never smiled again. But wlien
the Daily Wire leader, with its elephantine humour,
came within his ken, he was a ruined man. Within a
week the banns were up in New Brighton for the mar-
riage of Oliver Green and Henrietta Blossom.
I went to Oliver to point out the error of his ways.
" Go away, sir," he shouted, " you have made me the
laughing-stock of the country."
" I ? " I exclaimed indignantly.
" Yes, you. Who else sent tlie facts to the PorcupincV
" I don't know," I said hotly, for I was exceedingly
annoyed at having lost the opportunity. Since some
one was to reap the reward of indiscretion, why not I
as well as another ?
" You are too modest," he sneered.
" Wring my withers as you will," I answered, remem-
bering my higli mission, " I have come to save you."
" Bray save yourself — the trouble," he said ; " 1 know
what I am about."
"I doubt it," 1 retorted.
224 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" Do you insinuate that I am mad ? '
" No ; only headstrong."
"A euphemism for weak-headed, I suppose. How-
ever, you shall hear. Then you will judge me more
leniently. Do you know why I am marrying Miss
Blossom ? "
" Assuming you are sane — no."
" Miss Blossom is little Oliver's aunt."
He paused impressively, as if he had revealed the
secret of the universe. My doubts of his sanity
vanished. Tliey were changed into certainties.
" You don't seem to take it in."
" No wonder," I said, " I knew the fact long ago."
"Yes, but put two and two together, man. As
Oliver's nephew I am the scoff and byword of the king-
dom. By marrying his aunt I become his uncle. As
his uncle I shall regain the respect which I have for-
feited by your blabbing."
I allowed the libel to pass unchallenged. I could
hardly utter a syllable for sheer blank astonishment.
The floodgates of speech were checked by a dam.
" Swear away ! " said Oliver. " Add insult to injury.
Don't put yourself in my place. Don't remember how
thin my skin is, and how it quivers under the lash of
ridicule. Tell me that I ought to bear the flail, as if I
were a rhinoceros. Oh, to drag on a wretched existence,
the butt of all the witlings, pointed out by the digit of
derisive Demos, — anything rather than that ! anything
rather than that !"
"Wretch! Coward!" I cried sternly. "And for
mere petty personal considerations you would eclipse
the gaiety of nations !"
" I would. I never set up as an altruist. There are
A NEW MATRIMONIAL RELATION 225
only two exits from this frightful situation. In only
two ways can I cease to be my uncle's nephew. One is
by murder. I can take him out bathing and lose him.
But in this Philistine country that is not, I fear, a prac-
ticable exit. The other is marriage. Only by becoming
my ward's uncle and making him his guardian's nephew
can the normal roles be restored. Then I shall be able
to hold up my head again in the world. I shall be able
to present my young ward without blushing. A new
matrimonial relation will spring up between me and
him. He will be the nephew and 1 shall be the
uncle."
Murder or suicide ! It was indeed a horny dilemma !
" But what does Miss Blossom say 1 " I asked,
" She is willing to sacrifice herself on the altar of my
salvation," he said, in moved tones.
A world of unspoken emotion surged in my chest as
I turned away.
Next day a gleam of hope visited me. In return I
visited Miss Blossom in her private room. She lived
on the Parade, locally known as the Hamanegg
Terrace. I went straight to the point. I said, " I have
come to warn you. Mr. Green cannot marry you."
She put her hand to her bosom.
" Why not ? " she breathed.
" Because there is a secret in his life — something that
you do not know."
" Oh my heart," she gasped, " I feared so ; he is "
"A Bachelor," I said unrelentingly, yet a tremor of
sympathy in my voice.
She briefly informed me of the position of the door.
I was prepared for discourtesy, so was not put out by
it. I appealed to her to have some regard for Oliver's
P
226
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
relatives. She curled her moustache haughtily and
aslied what I meant.
" See here," I said ; " if Oliver is Oliver's uncle, and
Oliver is Oliver's nephew, then if Oliver marries you,
who are Oliver's aunt, Oliver will become Oliver's
nephew, and Oliver will become Oliver's uncle,
therefore Oliver becomes his own great-uucle, and
Oliver "
"Hold on," she said. "Which Oliver is Oliver's
niicle, and which Oliver is Oliver's nephew ? "
A NEW MATRIMONIAL RELATION 227
" Both are either, and each is the other," I said. " It's
as plain as a pikestaff. If Oliver "
" Which Oliver ? " she said desperately.
In deference to her inferior intellect, I went out of
my way to make it as childish as A, B, C.
" Well, let 's call old Oliver, Oliver the First, and little
Oliver, Oliver the Second."
" Yes, yes," she said eagerly.
" Well, then, if Oliver the First, who is the nephew of
Oliver the Second, becomes Oliver the Second's uncle
by marrying Oliver the Second's aunt, then Oliver the
First becomes his own mother's uncle, as well as his own
great-uncle and great-nephew to himself ; and as his
mother is his niece, he is his grandmother's brother,
and as he is both his uncle's uncle and his nephew's
uncle, his uncle is plainly his nephew's brother, and this
uncle is therefore the son of his own sister (which is
rank incest), while his mother becomes his grand-
mother, and as "
" For Heaven's sake, stop a moment ! " Miss Blossom
cried.
I did so, and she sprinkled her forehead with eau-de-
Cologne.
Why she could not have waited to do so till she was
in her own boudoir, I could not understand, but ladies
will be ladies.
" Where was I ? " I said, a little nettled, for it is so
easy to lose the thread of the most babyish argument
when you are dealing with the weaker-headed sex.
" Never mind, go on to Oliver the Second," Miss
Blossom murmured.
I smiled in triumph. Her spirit was crushed, her
conscience weakened. The enormity of what she had
228 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
been about to do in pure ligbtheavtedness was coming
home to her.
" Well, it 's worse with Oliver the Second," I said.
" Because if Oliver the First becomes his uncle, and he
is already the uncle of Oliver the First, then he becomes
the son of his own great-grandfather at a bound, thus
annihilating two generations — his grandfather and his
father, for whose disappearance you are responsible in
justice if not in law ; and, further, by suppressing his
father you make him illegitimate at one stroke, by
which shameful act you not only make a pariah of him
for life, but exclude him from the succession to the
Somerville estate, which thus escheats to the Crown ;
furthermore, as Oliver the First "
Miss Blossom uttered a groan and swayed helplessly
forward. I caught her in my arms. Somebody knocked
at the door, and came in without waiting for an answer.
It was Oliver Green. We looked at each other.
" She has fainted," I said. The information gave
him no concern. He made no effort to relieve me of
the burden,
" How came you here ? " he said. " And what have
you been doing to her ? "
" Through the door," I said curtly. " And telling her
she mustn't marry you."
" Why not % "
" Because you are a Bachelor. Also because the
marriage would be so mixed. She got a little mixed
herself in following my line of thought."
" What do you mean by a mixed marriage % "
He glared at me as if ready to pounce upon me. I
glared back at him across the lady from India. I held
her to my breast like a shield. With her head pillowed
&
A NEW MATRIMONIAL RELATION 229
on my shoulder I felt a sweet sense of security from
all pugilistic ills.
woman, in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please ;
When anger threats to wring the nose,
Thou guardest us from bullies' blows.
Oliver and I had split many a soda together in effusive
amity, little dreaming of the day when a woman would
come between us.
" What do you mean by mixed % " Oliver repeated
with stern white lips.
I was about to relate afresh the catalogue of family
complications. Suddenly a new solution made my
heart thump like a steam-hammer cracking a nut.
" You cannot marry your uncle's aunt," I said.
" You 're collaterally consanguineous."
Oliver staggered back. His jaw fell.
" It 's a lie ! " cried Miss Blossom, extricating herself
from my arms.
" It 's the truth," I said, shifting my position to the
other side of the table. " If you, Miss Blossom, are
Oliver the Second's aunt, then you cannot avoid being
related to Oliver the Second's nephew in the line of
direct descent. It's a collateral anti-connubial con-
sanguinity of the third degree, and unless it 's of the
fourtli degree according to Eoman law, you and Oliver
the First cannot marry. By Oliver the First, I mean
you," I explained to Green.
" I don't care," Oliver the First answered. " We
shall see what the authorities will say."
" Archbishop Parker's Tabic of Kindred and Affinity,
according to Leviticus, and the Constitutions and
Canons Ecclesiastical of 1603, distinctly say "
230 THE CELIBATES'' CLUB
"And I distinctly say that there's the door."
" But vill you imperil your position thus, Miss
Blossom % " I pleaded. " Will you risk your marriage
beincf null and voidi"
Having said this, I picked myself up from the
Hamanegg Terrace, bought some arnica, and lodged a
protest with the officiating clergyman, stating that the
bride was the bridegroom's great-aunt. Yet, two days
after, Oliver the First married his uncle's aunt, and his
uncle was the worst boy at the wedding. Oliver the
Second actually made faces at the pew-opener. I
wondered his nephew — I mean his uncle — did not give
him away. I was in church, for my sympathy was
not entirely extinguished by the careless manner in
which I had been treated. Julia Blossom did not live
up to her name even on her wedding-day, despite the
tulle and the jasmine. She remained a prosaic cauli-
flower to the last. India was chosen for the honey-
moon. The wedding-party drove straight to the station.
It consisted of Oliver Green, Julia Green, their little
nephew, and the native nurse. I was anxious to see
the last of the detestable quartette, and was on the
platform. To my surprise, the ayah and Oliver the
Second were transferred to the care of an unknown
lady. In a flash I saw through the whole idea. Oliver
the First was determined to carry the comedy through
to the bitter end. From the unknown lady — after the
train was gone — I learnt that Julia Blossom was one of
the greatest heiresses of Bombay. It was clear that
nothing less would satisfy my poor friend than to
return from India not only an uncle, but a wealthy
uncle. Thus, and only thus, would the reversal be
complete, and the sting of ridicule be entirely extracted.
J NEW MATRIMONIAL RELATION 231
I went the next day to tlie clergyman to inquire why
lie had gone on with this forbidden marriage. What he
told me quite compensated for the annoyance I had
experienced.
" Almost on your heels," he said, " the late Miss
Blossom called to see me. She said there was an idea
about that she was related to her intended husband,
but that this report was premature. Her husband,
whom she called Oliver the First, believed that she
was the. aunt of his uncle, whom she entitled Oliver
the Second. ' But this,' said she, and proved it by
documents, ' is a very natural false impression. / am
not Oliver the Second's aunt at all. I am related to him,
but in a relationship not yet recognised in law. The fact
is, Oliver the Second's father, before he became Oliver
the Second's mother's husband, asked me to be his
wife. I said I could never think of him in that way
but I would be a sister to him. So it was settled ; I
became his sister by refusal of marriage, and thus in
due course I became Oliver the Second's aunt by
refusal of marriage. So you see, my relationship
to Oliver the First's parental stock was a purely
moral and never a legal one. I often stayed at the
house of my sister-in-law by refusal of marriage, and
when she died she commended Oliver the Second
to my care with her dying breath, her husband
doing ditto last year with his,' The explanation was
quite satisfactory, and as the poor lady seemed quite
distracted by the idea of the marriage being delayed
even by a day, I made no unnecessary difficulties."
Thus the clergyman to my sardonic satisfaction.
I saw it all now. The infatuated woman had traded
upon her supposed relationship to Oliver the Second to
232 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
bring Oliver the First to her feet. It was she who had
put the matrimonial idea into his head, and goaded him
on by sending that paragraph to the Porcupine. My
collateral consanguineous discovery had threatened to
upset her amorous structure, and the woman who had
become morally related to Oliver the Second by refusal
of marriage, bade fair to be debarred from legal rela-
tionship by the same cause. But she had out-
manoeuvred me.
I hugged the revenge which had fallen into my
hands to my bosom, and kept it warm.
When Oliver Green, turned yellow, came back from
India, I was on the landing-stage to meet him, and I
had the satisfaction of informing him that he had
wasted a liver complaint, and that the little seven-year-
old fellow who climbed up his white flannel trousers to
kiss him was his uncle still.
CHAPTER X.
MARRYING FOR MONEY.
Halfway up Mont Blanc two amateur mountaineers
nearly came to blows with their alpenstocks. The
guides' conception of the essential insanity of the
English nature was strengthened. The necessity of
attending to the ascent interfered at points with the
amenities of the dialogue, but they set in severely and
steadily during the halt at the next chalet. It was not
the condition of Europe or of the mountain that made
the travellers' angry passions rise ; they were not con-
tradicting each other on the rate at which they observed
the glaciers moving, nor were they arguing whether it
was the duty of the Canton Council to pave the
crevasses. The point in dispute was financial ; and
Moses Fitz-Williams, as Treasurer of the Bachelors' Club,
or Solicitor to the Treasury (as some of us facetiously
styled the briefless barrister), evidently considered that
his word was law. His disputant had even more self-
respect. Tompas was neither a Bachelor nor a bachelor,
but of the common or domestic variety of man. He
had a wife and a villa at Camberwell, and four children
called him papa. He was one of the myriad metropo-
litan taxpayers who are " something in the City," but
nothing anywhere else. His life was as moral as a
copybook. In politics the Standard agreed with him,
233
234 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
and in religion he belonged to the Sunday-school — the
great sect which keeps its six days sacred to business.
Once a year Tompas's wife and family went to the
seaside ; Tompas went with them or to the Continent
alternately. Such men as Tompas are Britannia's
Bulwarks. Their heads are the real wooden walls of Old
England. As a confirmed family-man, Tompas looked
down on single men, deeming their views on any subject
beneath discussion. Bachelors had not imbedded them-
selves in the great framework of society, and their con-
clusions were vitiated by their aloofness from reality.
Tompas spoke as if marriage were a furnisher or fur-
bisher of intellect, and as if King Solomon had purchased
his pre-eminence in wisdom by taking a quantity of it.
The financial question between him and Moses Fitz-
Williaras having reference to matters domestic, Tompas's
conversation naturally confined itself mainly to the
reduplicated form of "Pooh"; while Moses bleated
" Bah," like a cynical ram. Tompas told Moses quite
frankly that the Treasurer of the Bachelors' Club was
an ass ; and the lawyer spoke his mind quite freely in
reply, not even charging six and eightpence for the
information that Tompas was a nincompoop. Through-
out Tompas endeavoured to shrivel up Fitz-Williams
with the lightning of his glance, himself exposed the
while to a cross fire from Moses's inharmonious eyes.
All the pother arose from the Barrister's official
position in the Bachelors' Club. As Chancellor of the
Exchequer, Moses was preparing a paper for the
next General Court upon "The Financial Aspects of
Marriage." In this paper he intended to show how
much money was annually wasted by people getting
married. He had calculated the sums dissipated by
MARR YING FOR MONE Y 235
the inhabitants of the United Kingdom, and was ready
to prove that if they had not entered it, they would
have amassed sufficient to pay off the National Debt
and unshackle the country. The minimum on which a
man could marry was laid down by Fitz- Williams at
five hundred a year; and he had investigated the whole
literature of this evergreen subject in proof of his con-
tention. There were to be other statistics in the
Treasurer's paper, which, he did not conceal, bade fair
to be a classical contribution to the economics of
marriaoie. Not even from a casual co-climber like
Tompas did his singularly candid nature make any
effort to conceal this probability. But Tompas had a
cantankerous carping disposition. Even though they
were passing a nasty hole when Moses broached the
subject, Tompas did not fall in with him, but made
careless and violent gestures of disapproval of his
estimates. It was sad that these two travellers could
not learn from the Peace of Nature to be kind to each
other. Overhead the sky shimmered lazily, as if it
were painted on canvas, and had no work to do ; above
tliem was pillowed tranquilly the farrowed forehead of
the mountain with its big bald head unpecked even by
the eagle ; at their feet the crevasses yawned sleepily.
Alas ! that man alone should mar the gneiss prospect !
Tompas maintained obstinately that three hundred
pounds a year was an ample income for a family man
while five hundred pounds — Moses's matrimonial mini-
mum — was enough to enable him, arithmetically not
morally speaking, to support two wives and families.
When the speculative financiers arrived at the top of
Mont Blanc they quite forgot to look at the view. The
wrangle continued down hill. Tompas was going on to
236 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Rome and Moses to Rouen, but they altered their
routes now so as to enjoy each other's society. Tompas
wanted badly to go to Rome, and Moses had set his
heart on Rouen ; but, as neither could sacrifice his own
convenience to his companion's, they agreed to travel
together to Berlin so as to thresh out this thing
thoroughly. At an early stage of the duel Tompas had
called in a second. He took it from his pocket-book.
It was a slip of crumbling newspaper. This he unfolded
lovingly and tenderly as one unwraps the face of an
ancestral mummy, and, holding it firmly in his hand,
he bade Fitz-Williams gaze upon it.
It was an old newspaper-cutting containing a table
showing how a man with four children could live on
two hundred and fifty pounds a year. The table was
stated to be an extract from a recent book on How to Live,
on Anything a Year. In a short review of this book,
the newspaper said that it was one of the ablest
financial achievements of the year ; that starting from
nothing a year it gradually worked its way up to a
ducal income^ like a self-made millionaire. The titles
of the chapters were — " How to Live on Nothing a
Year," " How to Live on a Sovereign a Year," " How to
Live on Ten Pounds a Year," and so on in an ascending
scale. The tables were spread with equal hospitality
for the rich and the poor. But the two hundred and
fifty pounder had been selected for quotation by the
critic as the most generally interesting to its readers.
" That table, sir," said Tompas, " was my salvation."
He had been cravenly sniffing about the suburbs of
matrimony, disengaged to the sweetest girl God ever
made, when he came across it.
" It was a wonderful piece of constructive finance, sir,"
ON THE EDGE 0? THK ABYSS.
238 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
said Tompas, "broad and sweeping in conception,
minute and detailed in execution. It was like an
elephant's trunk, sir, which, as you may be aware,
uproots an oak or picks up a pin. The computer had
put down that pin ; nor had he forgotten the oak in
his furniture. The moment I clapped my eyes on this
paper I was a married man. For, understand, the man
of this table had only two hundred and fifty a year.
/ had three hundred ! If he was so happy with his
two-fifty, what joys would not be mine with three
hundred, which was fifty to the good ! "
" To the bad, sir, to the bad," asseverated Moses
solemnly, looking earnestly to the right and the left
simultaneously. " Your logic is out. Even if a man
with two-fifty can marry, it is quite impossible for a
man with three hundred to do so. For the bachelor
with the smaller sum is ex-hypothesi accustomed to grub
along, and so it does not matter whether he is married
or single ; but the man with the higher income being
more exigent towards life is unable to sacrifice himself
to the interests of posterity."
" You are joking," Tompas said.
" That is news to me," said Moses politely. " You
are so dull that you fancy you see a joke when you are
bowled over. It is tlie last resource of little minds.
No, sir, it is no joke, but a serious fact that the poor
marry most nowadays. The higher a man's income, the
less he can afford to marry on it. This is a main posi-
tion of my forthcoming paper. Your reasoning, sir, as
to the two-fifty and the three hundred, involves a fallacy
of simple inspection. It is on a par with the argu-
mentation of the schoolboy who demonstrates, by crude
rule of three, that if one man can do a piece of work in
MARRYING FOR MONEY 239
two days, two men can do it in one day. As a matter
of fact, the two men will gossip or play nap, and the
work will last four days."
" And with this silly wire-drawing you hope to
impose on my common-sense."
" I have no such hope ! "
" But confound it, sir, you must have, or you wouldn't
talk such paradoxical drivel. It is an insult to my
common-sense."
" I hope not, sir," said Moses with concern. " I never
abuse the absent. How can any man of common-sense
suppose that marriage could be undertaken on two-fifty
or three hundred a year ? "
" But d n it, man," roared Tompas, " I did
imdertake it."
" Quite so. That is just my point, sir. If you had
been a man of common-sense you would never have
supposed it could be done."
" But my supposition was proved sound, sir," shrieked
Tompas. " Have I not a wife and a family and fifty
pounds to spare ; all on two-fifty a year ? For I
regulate my expenses strictly according to this table,
sir," he said, rapping it reverently. " We live in clover
on two-fifty a year. We have not a single want
ungratified — such was the genius of our unknown bene-
factor whom my little ones daily remember in their
prayers. We are happy as the day is long. With the
extra fifty we are enabled to purchase all those luxuries
which are necessary to persons in our station — includ-
ing a summer's holiday." Tompas ceased, but kept his
look of conscious rectitude. He belonged to that class
of persons who make a virtue out of the most unpro-
mising materials.
240 THE CELT BATES' CLUB
"And so you and that sweet girl inarried on the
strength of this computation ? " said Moses huskily.
"Yes," replied Tompas, " though I was just a day late
in getting the original sweet girl I mentioned before.
If that book had only been reviewed a day earlier I
should have been a different husband. She got engaged
an hour before the notice appeared. But being then
wrought up to marrying point, I asked another. And
let me tell you, sir, I have never regretted it. I have
lived in comfort, and brought up my children to be
creditable citizens in the twentieth century, and all on
an income which you, with your unpractical theories,
declare to be utterly inadequate. Now, sir, what have
you to say to that ? "
" I say that what you have done is impossible, and
I will prove it. You say you have gone exactly by that
table. Now that table is the most ridiculous collocation
of haphazard figures ever jumbled together!"
"But, sir, I have thriven by it. I have tested it.
That 's trumps."
Moses calmly swept off the trick.
'•' I drew it up."
" You ? Nonsense ! " said Tompas.
" You agree with me already," observed Moses
sweetly. " Yes ; I started life as a bookmaker you
know, for I only ate my dinners in the Inner Temple to
get into journalism. I had nothing to live upon. I
had to answer the problem ' How to get on in life ? '
I wrote a book informing other people ' How to get on
in life.' It did not succeed, and I had to try another
way. There was a temporary rage for household
accounts. I fell in with a publisher who gave me ten
pounds to write the encheiridion that has guided your
MARRYING FOR MONEY 241
life, I was a young unattached scapegrace, living iu
taverns and restaurants. My ideas of expense were as
iiazy as an heiress's, I had never lived much at home^
amdso bad rarely been ipreseut at the domestic squabbles
over expenses ; as for babies, I had but scant recollec-
tion of the expenses of my own equipment in life.
Imagine, therefore, the hash these calculations must
have been. And how, if you had really taken a leaf out
of my book, could you have managed to escape ruin ?
Marriage must, indeed, be a failure, financially speaking,
when run on the basis I recommended in my inept
handbook. No ; model your etiquette on my ' Guide by
a Member of the Aristocracy ' if you will ; ride the higli
horse on my ' Principles of Equitation ' if you like ; and
prognosticate your future life by my ' Vaticination for
the Household, or the Inoculation of Truth by Dreams/
if such be your humour ; but .do not, oh do not attempt
to pilot the vessel of matrimony by the chart I drew up
in my youth and turpitude."
" Out of the mouth of fools and sucklings cometh
forth Wisdom," said Tompas sententiously. " You are
wiser than you calculate. If you really are the inven-
tor of these invaluable calculations, I long to be better
versed in them. I only know the table I married on."
" Do you mean to say that you never bought the
book ? "
"How could II I married immediately, and the
•expense of purchasing it was not allowed for in the
estimate. So I have always felt an unappeased curiosity
■to know ' how to live on nothing a year.' "
" You will learn that secret from Thackeray and his
Becky Sharp. A shorter way is to write the honest
truth about any public man."
242 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" How do you mean ? "
"You will be sent to prison for inditing a false and
malicious libel. If you play your cards well you will
be a first-class misdemeanant. I have taken a first-class
in journalism myself. It was the making of me."
Tompas looked suspicious.
" And how can you live on a sovereign a year ? "
" By marrying her daughter."
" Oh, don't be so absurd ! " cried Tompas pettishly.
" Eeassure yourself. I have no such intention. But
don't you go away with the idea that you have achieved
the impossible. You have read Balzac's Physiologic du
mariage of course V
" No, sir," said Tompas hotly. " I never read French
books."
"Oh, I forgot. There is no translation. I beg your
pardon. Well, anyhow, in this book you will find that
Balzac excludes the greater portion of womankind from
the connotation of the term Femme. He sifts the fine
flour from the bran, and finds that for the purposes of
romantic love only one woman in fifteen is a woman."
" Don't talk to me of love, sir. I am a married man."
" Have patience. I was leaving love and coming to
marriage. In the same way as Balzac refused to call
most women women, I refuse to call most marriages
marriages. Certainly yours was no marriage."
" Sir ! "
" Only in a platonic sense, of course, it was no
marriage. A union in which beggarly economies are
the order of the day is no marriage. It is but book-
keeping by double entry. The wedded spirit, sir, must
expatiate at large in. the atmosphere of art and luxury.
To make both ends meet is a tawdry occupation for
MARRYING FOR MONEY 243
immortal souls. I account no marriage such in the
liigher sense, which is contracted on less than five
hundred. Your defence of half that amount, sir, is a
disgraceful retrogression to lower ideals. Why, sir, a
hundred and fifty years ago some anonymous philan-
thropist, an ancestor in the spirit to M'GuUicuddy "
(the speaker bared his head reverently as he spoke the
President's name) " published a broadsheet entitled Forc-
VMrnd, Fore-arm d; or the Bcdclidors Monitor : Being a
Modest Fstimate of the Fxpcnscs attending the Married
Life. And even in those primitive times, when luxury
had not attained a tithe of its present stature, a decent
marriage was valued as an annual charge of £594. So
well was this acknowledged, alike by friends and foes
of the holy estate, that even the Counterblast to it,
which appeared in the same year under the name of
The Ladies' Advocate ; or an Apology for Matrimony,
did not attempt to eschew this liability, but only essayed
to prove that whereas the first author had appraised the
'expenses' of the Bachelor life at £87, they would
really be £238, so that the additional cost of matri-
mony would only be £356. A sum, mark you, sir, in
excess of yowr entire allowance. Nay more !"
Moses paused impressively, and drew out a note-book
in which he had jotted down miscellaneous materials
for his great effort, and continued : —
" The author of the monition to Bachelors says that his
estimate ' sii})poses that the marry 'd man actually
receives £2000 with his first wife ; and has, in the Com-
pass of Fifteen Years Eight Children, Four of which die,
and Four only are alive at one time.' £2000, sir, to
start on, besides a moderate allowance of children, and
then £594 a year ! I wish I had the allegorical tableau
244 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
here, sir, which accompanied tliis profound calculation,
and demonstrated the cheapness of celibacy through the
medium of figures, with or without clothes or wings, I
wish I could show you the feeble pictorial reply in which
Cupids with hymeneal torches vainly endeavoured to
confute the orioinal figures."
"If there be such a pamphlet it is transparently
absurd. One hundred and fifty years ago the purchas-
ing power of £594 was much greater than now ; and
besides, as you rightly observe, there were not so many
solicitations to expenditure. Who can take up the
colossal catalogue of any self-respecting Store without
feeling that our facilities for spending money have kept
pace with our improved methods of making it ? "
" Which strengthens my argument. If £591 was
the minimum for elegant living in 1741, this should be
double as much now. In fixing it at £500 I have yielded
unduly to the contentions of the superficial. The
Bachelor minimum I take to be £200. Even the
Ladies Advocate could not make it more than £238,
though he made his Bachelor a paragon of extravagance,
and made him spend no less than £5 a year upon
Brushes, Brooms, Mops, and Turners' and Chandlers'
Articles. But, sir, judge of the weakness of the case of
the Ladies Advocate, when he cants to the jury of
marriage as ' the Law of Heaven and the Land, the
Purpose of Life, the End of Nature, a Debt to the
Commonwealth and to Posterity, and a JnstiJicatio7i of
Ones Own Parents 1 ' The Batchelors Monitor keeps a
far higher level of debate, never descending to ethical
considerations. He falls short of the mark rather than
overshoots it, for he assumes far too much moderation
in the expenditure of the household. Imagine that
MARRVTNG FOR MONEY 245
Essences, Powder, Hungary and Lavender water. Elder
Flowers, Pomatums, Washes, Snuff, etc., only come to
£3 a year ! Or that the Christmas Donations of Pater-
familias are only £3 heavier than those of the Bachelor!
And what do you say to the generosity of a Contro-
versialist who expressly leaves out of account the fol-
lowing ' Probable Expenses' (probable, save the mark !) ?
' Country House or Lodgings ; perhaps journeys to Bath,
Tuubridge, Scarborough; Chaise and Pair, or one Horse ;
possibly Saddle -Horse for little Excursions, Riding
Habits, etc. ; Card - playing, an amusement that has
banished the Needle and many useful Employments out
of the Modern Education for Ladies; Presents as Watch
and Equipage, Jewels, Ptings, etc. Perhaps Lap-Dogs,
Parrots, Canary Birds, etc. ! ' To-day wives don't tell
their husbands to go to Bath, they want them to go
much further. Our half-hearted Monitor also admittedly
says ' nothing of the Chance of Extravagance and other
too common Incidents which we forbear to mention out
of Tenderness to the Ladies?' Tenderness to the ladies,
forsooth ! What has a scientific economist to do with
Tenderness — or even with Ladies ? "
" He is dry as dust enough by now," observed Tompas
with satisfaction. " The ignorant incompetent idiot !
If he said a man couldn't marry on less than £594 a
year, he was either a liar or an ignoramus."
" He knew more about domestic economy than you.
Can you tell me what your babies cost you a year ? "
" Do you think I post up my babies separately ? "
" Of course not," said IMoses contemptuously. " You
must go to a Bachelor to know the cost of a baby.
Lookers-on always see most of the game. Our glorious
Pioneer, the warning beacon-fire that saved so many
246 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
lives from social wreckage, was a specialist in babies,
perhaps the most technical and mysterious branch of
domestic economy. He compiled the immortal 'Bahy
Catalogue for Eight children of a year old or under,
often recruited, and Numbers of most of the Particulars.'
Do you know, sir, what a baby involves? In 1741,
sir (and it probably involves twice as much now), it
involved * Child-bed basket, and Pin-cushion, and Pins,
and Chimney -line ; fine Satten Mantle and Sleeves for
the Christening, Cradle and its Furniture, Biggins, Head-
bands, Caps, Short-Stays, Long-Stays, Shirts, Wastecoats,
Clouts, Beds, Blankets, Ptollers, Mantles, Sleeves, Neck-
cloths, Shoes, Stockens, Coats, Stays, Frocks, Bibs,
Quarter-Caps laced, Coral, Ptibbands, Cap and Feather,
Cloak, First Coat and Second, Dozens for the Nurse,
Anodyne Necklace, etc' And how much, Mr. Tompas,
do you think this cost a year ? "
" A hundred pounds ! " replied Tompas faintly.
" Ten guineas ! Did I not say he handicapped him-
self too much ? And yet he won hands down."
Tompas was overwhelmed by this voice from the
dead — this cry from the cradle of an earlier civilisation.
Though a father himself, his heart was not petrified,
and as his eye conjured up that ancient baby-face
swathed in biggins, he turned away and blew his nose.
That day they wrangled no more.
Magnum fuit to tell the tale of their internecine
campaign, or to chronicle their bickerings. On the
way to Berlin Moses had occupied himself in carpen-
tering a series of financial tables, which were to be
henceforth indispensable additions to household furni-
ture. They were intended to supersede his former
jejune attempts. This time he laid down the chart of
MARRYING FOR MONEY 347
expense on the basis of observation and from practical
experience of the reefs and shoals, instead of evolving
it from his inner unconsciousness. Tompas was the
first to have sight of The New Finance, for the initial
expenses in the necessarily interminable series were
made manifest to him in Berlin, in a beer- garden. He
perused Fitz-Williams's formulae with gathering bewil-
derment, but with the air of superiority which he would
have preserved even in the presence of Fluxions.
Tompas would have sat on the Canonical Forms them-
selves, if they had been fashioned by a friend of his.
The New Finance ran as follows :— -
248
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
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MARRYING FOR MONEY 249
"Well, what do you think of them?" said Moses
jauntily, as Tonipas silently let the paper droop. " Will
they do ? "
" Instead of the certificate of two doctors. Sir, you are
stark, staring mad,"
" Hurrah ! " shouted Moses, " now I know I have
made a great discovery." He ordered some more lager
in his exultation. "Drink," said he, "to the New
Napier and the New Finance. What are logarithms to
my batch of budgets ! "
" Budgets ? They are simply numbers scattered from
a lotto-bag."
" Aha ! I thought you did not understand the inner
and interconnected beauties of this architectonic
arithmetical achievement. There is nothing attenu-
ated, naught set down in malice. Every number
bristles with significance, every line is pregnant with
meaning. It is not only a triumph of inductive reason-
ing and a lesson in finance, it is full of sermons on the
text of numbers. If you knew how to pull the strings
the figures would work out ; the sweepings of the lotto-
bag would become kaleidoscopic figures if your eye
brought the needed symmetry. The "
The lager beer arrived, and as Tonipas was fond of
lager beer, he drank to the New Napier, and, a little
mollified thereby, asked for an explanation.
"As well ask for an explanation of the Universe.
Tell me one item you do not understand."
"How can a man spend £222, 17s. lid. when he has
only an income of £80, and "
"My table is empirical. It is a real table — a real
live table — none of your moonshiny, airy, unpractical a
priori theories, such as you have lived by all these years."
350 THE CELIBATES:' CLUB
" But effect a saving ? "
" Empiricism again. Isn't it obvious that if a man
spends ,-£222, 17s. lid., and lias only £80, he must save
£142, 17s. lid.? If he had had it, wouldn't he have
spent it ? You admit that. Very well, then. But he
didn't spend it. Therefore he saved it. That is the
value of ray system. It teaches the JiTieconomical to
save. The ordinary tables address themselves to the
frugal and the thrifty, who don't require teaching.
Anything else?"
" But how can your £200 man spend nothing ?"
"How can you say that when he pays £200 damages
annually? He is a collector, and like all collectors
spends his entire fortune on his pet fad. He has the
greatest collection oifiancies in the kingdom. True, he
abstains from meat, rent, flutes, tooth-powder, and
other more conventional luxuries, but that is because
he is a vegetarian, a care-taker, a teetotaller, and, since
he lives opposite a cigar-shop, an anti-tobacconist."
" But has he left off clothes, too ? "
"Yes, he has left-off clothes given him."
" But what — what does he spend that farthing on ?
Mouse-traps ? "
" He does not spend it. He drops it down a hole.
The law of averages requires that every man shall lose
at least a farthing once a year. Your ordinary Utopian
table coolly passes over this item."
" Well, perhaps you will explain the vagaries of your
£250 man. Why should he spend £300 on furniture ? "
" Blind ! blind ! " muttered Moses pityingly. " Do
you not see that he has ceased to purchase actresses'
portraits, that he spends £10 on flowers and court-
plaster, that he is extravagant in dress, that he wastesi
MARRYING FOR MONEY 251
£8 in writing letters, and purchases inordinate
chocolates. Man, man, were you not yourself engaged
once ? On my system a man may betroth himself at
250, as is plainly written in the tables, though he may
not marry before 500."
" Rather old, isn't it ? " queried Tompas, with a sickly
smile. But he was not to be crushed so easily.
"But why should the £300 man spend £37 on
liquorice ? That at least is inexplicable."
" You forget," replied Moses, with a sweet smile,
" that he is a sweet-stuff dealer."
" But you can't mix that up with his domestic
expenses."
" Why blame me ? He deceives his wife that way.
It is not for the scientific observer to praise or blame
him ; it is his duty simply to record the facts."
"Hum! But if I understand your symbols, the
hundred-pounder saves £80 a year by paying his rent
and taxes. A pretty paradox, forsooth ! "
" A sober fact ! The rent of chambers in the central
district is so extortionate that he is compelled to rent
a whole house in tlie district. He pays £100 for the
house, lets himself extensive chambers for £120, and
the rest of the house for £60, and thus effects a sheer
saving of £80 per annum."
Tompas was so obfuscated that he flew to the other
extreme to cover his confusion.
" But what of the man who, blessed with a thousand
a year, allows his wife a scurvy £1, 17s. 6d. ?"
" Eeally, Tompas, one would think you were born
yesterday. As if a man with a thousand a year would
marry a wife without an income of her own ! The
more man has the more he wants. That £1, 17s. 6d. is
252 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
simply tlie two-guinea present he gives his wife on her
birthday — trade price."
" But do you mean to say such a man spends nothing
on whisky ? "
"Yes, he has only fine wines."
" But you don't mention wines ? "
" They 're included in the Miscellanea."
" And he gives dinners without cheese ? "
" That 's in the Mouse-traps."
" And without cigars ? I see so much — that he is
all show. But surely he must give his friends
cicjars,"
" He does — out of the boxes they have given him. A
man blessed with a thousand a year and a number of
poor friends never need buy cigars."
" But surely he would not spend £250 on rent and
taxes?"
"He spends only £100 in rent. The rest goes in
taxes — especially Income Tax. The assessors happen
to be friends of his, so, as you have acutely noticed, he
has to make a good show. No man likes to be under-
rated — by his friends."
" Well, there is something in that," replied Torapas,
with more respect for the table than he had yet shown.
'•' And your eighty-pounder seems to me to act very
naturally."
"Ah," said Moses with satisfaction, "you are begin-
ning to enter into the spirit of the calculation."
"But why does he spend £15 on correspondence?"
" How else could a man save £142, 17s. lid. a year ?
He has so many promises to pay to write to his creditors,
so many appeals for loans to make to his friends and
relatives."
MARRYING FOR MONEY 253
" But the moment a man gets £500 a year he ceases
to write letters ? "
" You are hopeless. He writes them from his Club."
Tompas began to look dead-beat. " But your third
column ! Nothing on tailors, £15 on chocolate, £50 on
actresses' portraits ! The creature is utterly unreason-
able."
" Of course. It is a woman."
"A woman?"
" Yes,'why should you imagine it was a man? The
usual masculine assumption that the earth is man's and
the tables thereof. Why, everything points to the sex."
" But she must dress ? "
" Of course she must, but she goes to a dressmaker,
not a tailor. I should have thought tlie outlay of £25
on Mouse-traps, etc., would have opened the eyes of the
blindest. And who but the most myopic could miss
the point of the ^d. breach of promise damages ? What
man ever gets let off with a farthing ? "
"Granted. But how can a half-calf edition of the
Epic of Hades be got for Id. ? "
" Good heavens, Tompas ! you don't mean to say
you don't understand that ! She has a guinea subscrip-
tion at Mudie's, and the penny represents the propor-
tional cost of reading this book. Xo one buys books in
England now, except the two-fifty pounder, who pur-
chases the poem as a present to his sweetheart. Don't
you see that he has also got to spend lots on the theatre,
while all the others can afford to wait till the * gigantic
successes' come along, and the orders are flowing
freely ? "
" All the others — when No. 3 spends £5000 on
theatres ! "
254 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" Oil, that is another story. She spends it partly as
lessee, partly on her salary as tragedienne at leading
theatres."
"But how in the d 1 can it be done on £150 a
vear?"
"Gently, sir!" said Moses reproachfully. "Eemem-
ber you are speaking of a lady."
Tompas apologised instantly, but still ventured to
point out that an actress would be the last person in
the world to waste £50 a year on actresses' portraits.
"Most moderate, sir," Moses rejoined suavely.
" Many actresses spend much more than that on their
portraits. Think of the infinite poses, postures, dresses,
and faces an actress hns to be taken in. The £102
for court plaster and flowers are of course to cover
the cost of the bouquets thrown on the stage. All I
have told you, sir, is not a tithe of the manifold
meanings and beauties of this table. Alps rise beyond
Alps in a perspective of boundless glory. The pickaxes
of science would be years mining in their bowels.
The ordinary calculations are so elaborately useless.
They go v/rong with such logical precision. Eeal life
laughs them to scorn. Your table allows you, say, a
sovereign for a dog, and seven and six for his licence; it
does not warn you that that dog will go bitino- the legs
of the legal-minded. Beware of that dog ! Your table
permits you to spend five pounds on a midsummer
holiday at the seaside, and works it out to a farthing,
but it meanly omits to state that you Avill want sand
shoes, that your hat will be blown over the pier, that
you will lose the return-half of your ticket, and that a
female cousin will be staying down there who will
expect to be seasick at your expense. So, more lager,
O'
MARRYING FOR MONEY 255
Waiter ; let us drink again to The New Finance and the
New Napier."
They drank so often to them that they almost came to
blows. They were still brawling and squabbling on the
Channel steamer, and they had no sooner set foot in
London than tliey called upon me and told me the
whole story and asked me to arbitrate. Tompas argued
that a man could marry on two-fifty, much more on
three hundred, and proved it by his life. Fitz-Williams
argued that a man could not marry even on the higher
amount, and proved it by his tables. After abysmally
deep reflection I said there was only one way for me to
decide between them. If I consented to put up for a
week at Tompas's villa in Camberwell, and to watch
his expenditure carefully, I could settle this thing once
for all. Any week taken at random would do. Ex
'pede Ilerculem. From that I could gauge whether he was
really living on three hundred pounds or not. Tompas
was so cocksure of himself that he assented eagerly,
and after some reluctance I agreed to put up with the
old bore for the ensuing week. It was an ideal week for
me, for I learned a great deal, and though Mrs. Tompas
received me affably and boarded me well, the language I
overheard her use to her husband about me in their bed-
room was libellous, and the names she called him bordered
on scurrility. At the end of the week the three of
us assembled in the Bachelors' Club and I gave my
decision. It was in favour of Moses Fitz-Williams.
Tompas swore — that I was prejudiced. But I proved
conclusively that the household expenses for the week
argued an annual outlay of nearly four hundred. I
said that he consumed a frightful amount of gas, and
kept a table far in advance of his income. The wine
256 THE CELIBATES" CLUB
alone which he had supplied to me at dinner would run
away with eighty a year. Tompas bridled up, and said
you could not treat a visitor like your own family, and
besides my expenses must be deducted from the calcu-
lation. This I could not allow, and Moses explained
violently that this was just one of the contingencies
which the stock tables did not foresee, and which real
life was fond of springing upon a man. If a man with
three hundred a year had to entertain another man for
a week, just to show that he only spent three hundred
a year, he must provide for this expense out of his
three hundred. Tompas shrieked "No!" I said it was a
difficult casuistical question, but that all the best Jesuits
and Talmudists were dead, and it would probably never
be settled now. M'Gullicuddy had to interfere to disen-
tangle the disputants.
Next day Moses wired for me. I went to his rooms.
They were luxurious. There were flowers in vases, and
court-plaster on his face. " More than I allowed for ! "
he said, groaning.
"Paul," he said, when I had lit one of his cigars,
*•' there is only one way out of this."
" Yes ? " I said, my heart beating ominously. " What
is it ? "
" You must marry."
My heart stood still. " I ? " I gasped.
"Yes, you. I want to show that a man cannot marry
on three hundred a year. A man in whose integrity
both parties can rely must be the object of the experi-
ment. Now you have more than that, I believe ; but
if you just sequestrate three hundred for this purpose,
and come a cropper in the Bankruptcy Court, my thesis
will be demonstrated to an unbelieving Tompas."
MARK YING FOR MONE V 257
" But why should I many to support yoitV
" Paul, I know it is a great sacrifice I am asking,
and but for the depth of our friendship I would never
dare to ask it. But we are speaking now soul to soul.
You are the only friend I have in the world. I cannot
marry because I am an honorary official of the Bachelors'
Club. Yoic are only a private member ; the blow would
fall gentlier on M'Gullicuddy. It is for his sake I ask
it, my dear old Paul. You worship him no less than L
Besides,! have only the bare sum — ^^just the three hundred
a year. / cannot risk matrimony. True, I might be
mistaken. The income might be adequate. But what
if my marriage were a success ? What if Tompas were
refuted? I should be ruined. And I am certain that
my marriage will not be a failure, and that I shall be
ruined. Come, do not deny me this favour. Kemember
you agreed to arbitrate."
" Moses," I said sternly, " this is the one thing in
the world no man has a right to ask of another. Ask
him to sacrifice fame, fortune, limb — nay, life! but not
his celibacy, Moses, not his celibacy ! If I am arbitrator,
I say it is yott who should marry, not I."
" Well, if yoit think so, as arbitrator," said Moses
readily, " I suppose I must. Do you know any one
who would be suitable ? "
" For the purposes of the experiment she must be an
average woman," I said; "not too extravagant, and not
too parsimonious. For the rest you must please
yourself."
So Moses Fitz-Williams married, with the consent of
Tompas and the curse of M'Gullicuddy. And he
furnished his house on the hire system, so that the
expense might be distributed evenly over a term of
a
•258 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
years. And he gave his wife whatever she asked of
him, without stint, but without overplus. And at the
end of the first year, one sweet September evening, I
audited the accounts and drew up the balance-sheet,
and gave my decision.
It was in favour of Tompas.
Moses swore — that I was prejudiced. He observed
violently that the amount on the debit side must be
colossal, that his wife and he had wallowed in luxury.
It soon transpired that she was an heiress, who, wishing to
be wooed for herself alone, had concealed the fact, and
was paying three-quarters of the bills out of her privy
purse. Poor creature ! She will carry to the grave
with her the delusion that Moses had married her for
love. Wild horses will not tear it from her, nor is
there any likelihood of their trying.
Tompas, with his Philistine mind, once hinted to me
that Moses had known she was an heiress all along,
but I knew that Moses's motives were as pure as the
new-fallen snow, that he married merely for the ex-
periment, and would have done nothing consciously to
vitiate it. He fell a victim to his love of figures, and
drew his assurance money with regret.
But fate was against a settlement, and he still argues
the point with Tompas, and there is no M'Gullicuddy
to disentangle them.
CHAPTEE XL
THE ORIGINAL SINNER.
Time hung heavy on my hands now that the Bachelors'
Club had almost melted away. I could not steel ray-
self to sit for any length of time within those walls
which had so often echoed with single-hearted laughter.
Every sight brought back old memories. I could
hardly look the steward in the face ; nor rid myself of
the feeling that Willoughby Jones spent his day in
gloating. Determined as the remaining three of us
were to run the Club, and remain single till death did
us part, we yet rather shrank from meeting one another
there. We liad given up the hope of hlling up the
vacancies left by the miscreants whose names adorned
the funereal fresco ; the vacancies in men's crania needed
filling up first. The only person who benefited by our
losses was jolly little Mandeville Brown, for they so
upset his mind that he published a volume of verse at
his own expense. It was called Poems of Pessimism.
I was never more surprised in my life than to find the
sale spreading like wildfire. I suppose the title was so
happy. Not being able to write poetry, I took to watch-
ing M'Gullicuddy from an unreasonable and insulting
but irrepressible fear that he might go and get married
next. One fine October evening as we were walking
together down Pimlico way in Indian file, he suddenly
259
26o THE CELIBATES' CLUB
turned upon me and suggested in broad Doric that I
should start a paper. I jumped at the sudden sug-
gestion. He said that such talents as Heaven had
blessed me with ought not to be wasted. In a moment
I saw the idea. The new journalism had invented
interviewing; but interviews were always so short —
on paper. A " new " journal which interviewed the
man of the week in each number, and in all the
number, would hit the public between wind and
water. No sooner conceived than begun. I regis-
tered the title of At Home Every Monday, and
called upon Maudeville Brown, thanking the stars
that had made an old friend famous just in time to
be useful. I was determined to look after Number
One well.
The Pessimist was practising a step-dance when I
arrived, but he graciously desisted and flung himself
upon an ottoman. A faint smell of attar of roses per-
vaded his artistic apartments, decorated with plaques,
colour symphonies, busts of Schopenhauer and Leo-
pardi, French comic papers, pendent guitars and violas,
flowers, photographs from the nude, old porcelain,
proof etchings, and favourable reviews of Poems of
Pessimism.
" Then you wish to interview me about my Poems of
Pessimism^' he said, lighting an aromatic Turkish
cigarette, and leaving me to help myself.
" I do ; I want to know what they mean."
" Have you not read them ? "
" Yes ; that is why I want to know. I do not speak
for myself alone. They have made such a sensation,
and sold so tremendously, that the public wants to know
what they mean."
THE ORIGINAL SINNEk 261
" My dear Paul, I cannot tell you. I have written
the poems. It is for the commentators to provide a
meanino for them."
" Well, at any rate the public wants to know what
you mean."
" Ah ! that is different. Here is your interview with
me. Kindly let me see a proof."
He took out of his drawer a very bulky manuscript
neatly typographed, and handed it to me.
I looked at him inquiringly.
" Don't you understand ? " he said. " I have no time
to be interviewed now that I am famous. While I was
unknown I could have afforded numerous facilities to
interviewers. They did not seize those opportunities.
Foreseeing that my time would be valuable the moment
fame came to me, I devoted some of my numerous
hours of obscure leisure to interviewing myself. I never
put off till to-morrow what I can do to-day, and I con-
gratulate myself on the saving of time thus effected. The
interview is divided into three parts. The first part is
taken up with your impressions, the third with mine. In
the second you will find full particulars of my ancestors,
birth, training, early genius, rise and progress, trousers
and times of writing, manners and income-tax, and my
list of the best Imndred books, pictures, and musical
compositions. This part is extremely interesting. I
cannot imagine anything more so, though you are at
liberty to do so if you please. You have carte blanche
to do with me as you will — make a new man of me, if
you can. There is really no more reason for my taking
up your time. You will find my remarks a good deal
more artistically unpolished than if I had to formulate
my ideas about everything, etc., impromptu. Good-bye,
262 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Paul. "Wish you luck — and don't forget to send me a
proof."
As soon as I was outside, I turned into a restaurant
and feverishly opened the manuscript. I was extremely
curious to know how he had impressed me. The
manuscript was headed in capital letters
THE PRINCE OF PESSIMISTS.
Mandeville Brown Interviewed.
I was glad to see that my impressions were completely
creditable. My observations betokened a ready eye
and a pungent pen. But as I feel some modesty in
obtruding my own impressions upon the reader, I shall
omit this portion of the interview, and reproduce only
Part III.
7^ ^ TP T(t Tp
" You have always been known as a Pessimist ? "
" Yes ; that is the worst of it. I can never enjoy
myself without being called upon to explain that it is
not that I am inconsistent, but that the inquirer is a
fool"
" What is the formula of Pessimism ? "
" That this is the best of all possible worlds."
" But that is the formula of Optimism ! "
" I cannot help it. I do not believe that any better
world than this is possible. That is the awful pity and
pathos of it. Nothing is possible but what is!'
" And what, then, is the formula of Optimism ? "
" The badge of Optimism is the mourning-band ; and
its supreme expression pity for the dead."
" Your poems have a good deal to say about Fate."
" Pate willed it so."
" You don't believe in Free Will then ? "
THE ORIGIiVAL SINNER 263
" No ; we can do as we like, of course, but we can't
like as we like. Free Will is refuted by figures. Kis-
met has been translated into mathematical curves.
Life is an hereditary disease. It is transmitted from
father to son. The persistent immigration of pauper
infants must be checked, or one day there will be an
epidemic of parenticide. At present every well-regu-
lated homicidal mind shrinks from it. In China, when
a man signalises himself they ennoble his ancestors ;
on the same principle, when a man commits a crime,
we ought to punish his parents. That would put the
brake on parentage. Every one can help being a parent :
no one can help being a child."
" Then the criminal is "
" The criminal's parent. If we studied the criminal
instead of his comfort we should know this. The
criminal is the legacy-duty we have to pay on the
civilisation bequeathed to us. Crime is as hereditary
as gout, insanity, or a seat in the House of Lords."
" Then you don't think ' life is serious after aU/ as
a popular dramatist hath it. You think it is a mis-
take."
" I combine both views. Life is a serious mistake."
" Is that why you are a Socialist ? "
" Yes ; why should we not divide the evil ? But I am
none the less an Individualist. I am as self-contradic-
tory as Existence itself. It is intolerable that the fittest
should survive ; it is equally intolerable that we should
have to be looked after by our neighbours."
" Then how would you describe yourself politically ? "
" Like all reasonable men I am a Democrat with a
profound distrust of the People. Politics is a see-saw.
Conservatism creates Radicals by irritating the ill-to-
264 THE CELIBATES'' CLUB
do ; Eadicalism creates Conservatives by contenting
them."
" Then Progress is a fiction ? "
" Fortunately — yes. We never progress ; we ' mark
time/ and, because we have left the past behind us,
think we are in advance of it. The Brotherhood of Man
is a confidence trick. If War is to be killed, it will be
only by the Gospel of Smokeless Powder d hoc genus
omnc. When the scarlet fever can no longer be cured
by blood-letting, because we can't get at the enemy, the
race will pride itself on its civilisation. No ; Progress
is fortunately impossible."
" But why fortunately ? Why should you rejoice if
the coming of justice on earth is impossible ? "
"Because it would be so unjust. Wliy should some
future generation be beastly comfortable, merely through
coming late ? It is a most disgusting ideal."
" It is the ideal of all Social Eeformers,of all religions."
" If they realised what their ideal meant they would
abandon it. Ideals are the result of weak visualisation.
It is only by not defining your ideal that you get the
strength to pursue it."
" But idealists are the salt of the earth, the saving
remnant."
" Idealists are too heavenly for earth, and too earthly
for heaven. They are like Mahomet's cofl&n — out of
touch with either sphere. The one thing these unselfish
dreamers will never understand is that unselfishness is a
physical impossibility, that all human action must be in
the middle voice of the Greeks — with reference to self.
No more surely do we see the world through I-glasses
than we do everything to please ourselves. Oh, if the
idealists would only realise this, they would be at once
THE ORIGINAL SINNER 265
better philanthropists and worse men. It is idealists
who are responsible for the current panacea of Culture.
The race will educate itself away. Self-culture is an
unhealthy hothouse experiment, but it is not so mis-
chievous as universal gardening. Oh, what terrible
riddles the Modern Sphinx sets us, — none of the
childish conundrums which (Edipus plumed himself
on answering."
" But surely you would not return to the days
when the vulgar could not read or write, and there
was no Free Press to represent and mould their as-
pirations ! "
" ' Free Press ! ' shade of JMilton ! Gagged by
Mrs. Grundy and supported by advertisers. Your pill-
vendor or soap-boiler regards himself as the patron saint
of journalism. the advertiser ! He is the true king of
our century. At every turn he sternly commands us
to wash with his soap, smoke his tobacco, or intoxicate
ourselves with his brandy. He would willingly pur-
chase the sunset to paint on the clouds the name of his
nostrum. He would have liked to contract for the
writing on the wall that mystified Belshazzar. Letters
of fire on the firmament would no longer terrify us ; we
should divine a connection with hair-dye or tooth-
powder. Ah, the ' Free Press ' is in a parlous state
when it has to be kept alive by patent medicines ! For
the rest, the less freely we ' examine the works ' of the
Free Press the better. Your average journalist has his
bread buttered literally on both sides ; and it is a mere
fluke which opinions he is paid to denounce. As for
the People he caters for, its chief reading is scraps, and
it prefers life-insurance to literature. When it reads that
if 2,368,759 post-cards were piled one on top of another,
266 THE CELIBATES'' CLUB
you could only read the last one; or that 830,251 A's
were dropped in Seven Dials last Monday, it is happy.
Lotteryture rules the roast, and letters are smothered
beneath prize packets. The genius who divined what
the age wanted deserved the fortune he made. The age
of folios is past. The dear old folios, without which
Charles Ijamb found even heaven incomplete, are left
to the book-worms — philological or entomological.
Parasitic literature — books about books, reviews of
reviews — is the only thing that pays. Intellectual lazi-
ness and the hurry of the age have produced a craving
for literary ' nips.' The torpid brain requires but a
lively fillip ; it has grown too weak for sustained
thought. Brevity must be the soul of everything ; the
wit can take care of itself. Even novels and plays
must be short and not to the point. The book-worm
has developed into the butterfly. The other great
journalistic acliievements of the age are The, Evening
Eavesdropper, The /Society Scandalmonger, and The Finan-
cial Filibuster."
" How one-sided you are ! The number of persons
interested in literature has been immensely raised in
the last half century."
" True ; there never was an age in which so many
people were able to write badly. And to think there is
a man who wants to turn out writers like chartered
accountants, and to grant poetical licences at a training-
school for authors. Oh this modern eruption of black
spots on white paper ! The age needs to be taught to
read, not to write. And it needs most of all to be
taught not to write, especially not to write Eecollections.
Everybody sets about writing his Recollections, though
nobody will recollect his writings. The sense of Art,
THE ORTGINAL SINNER 267
too, is dying. -Novel-writing has become a branch of
pamphleteering. The characters make talk in lieu of
love or scenes. We have lady-writers more theological
than logical, and romances which provoke rejoinders.
Imagine a rejoinder to Vanity Fair, the overture to
Lohengrin, or Millet's ' Angelus.' No, we are not an
artistic people, the free glory of art is not for us. Not
one man in a thousand understands technique in music
or painting, or has a soul responsive to beauty, though
all are willing to criticise freely in that exchange of
ideas which between equals alone is no robbery. We
English are always striving to reduce art to a science ;
it is the foible of all Philistine peoples. You have only
to look at our dresses, our streets, our houses, our public
buildings and statues, to see that as a people we have
not a breath of artistic impulse. If that does not con-
vince you, look at our art galleries.'
" Still, at any rate, the stage is advancing."
" It is ' getting on.' So much so that it has been
taken up by the Church — always a sign of material
prosperity. But it is not advancing. Art is sunk in
the artist or the tradesman. Actors are measured for
their parts, even when they are not mere dummies. The
'star' system and the milky ways of burlesque are the
most prominent objects in the dramatic heavens.
Beauty, as Eossetti said, is genius — on the stage. The
modern Marguerite is an actress, the jewels she craves
are newspaper notices. ' Faust up to Date ' is the man
who can write or buy them for her. Alas for the Mar-
guerite who lacks beauty ! Not for her the furores of
the footlights. Of her, thougli gold be showered like
water, the princeliest Faust can but make a fashionable
beauty."
268 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" But look at the amount of good poetry written
every year ! "
" Granted. The poets are still with us. But they
read one another. Poetry has always been a drug in
the market."
" What ! when Tennyson is worth a guinea a box —
I mean a word ! "
" A drug ! a drug still ! But liaving the Government
stamp it sells like a patent medicine. Still, England
must awake to art soon, for art will be the religion of
the future, as religion was the art of the past."
" Art to be religion ! When the Salvation Army is
the biggest boom of the epoch ! "
" The singing of comic psalms by the army will
develop a sense of humour that will gradually kill it.
The profits of the Salvation Stores will fall off, and the
business will be turned into a joint-stock company.
The Millennium will then be put on the market in one
pound shares, and if it only promises to return a good
percentage, it will be laid on quicker than by the com-
bined efforts of all the preachers since Abraham. To
be serious, the Church of the future will be Catholic —
not that Catholicism which has yet to learn that open
confession is bad for the soul (which comes to take it as
expiation), but the Universal Church which teaches
people not to save their souls but to use them."
" Ah, then, you hope for such a Church ? "
"A little before the next glacial epoch. Human
nature has so much to unlearn, and is cursed with such
a good memory ! Man has come to be a parasite on his
own machinery. He is the slave of the ecclesiastical
and political mechanism he has himself constructed.
He cannot shake off the fetters of his past."
THE ORIGINAL SINNER 269
" That is nonsense. There are always great men who
rise superior to machinery."
" And construct new. But do you still share the
belief in ' The Great Man Myth ' ? The world is really
old enough by now to know better. Some men may be
born great, and some may achieve greatness, but most
people thrust greatness on other people. The 'great
men ' themselves know better than to join the ranks of
their admirers ; if they don't, they are little men.
While the hero-worshippers never think of the object
of their adoration except in his great aspects, the mind
of the hero is chiefly occupied with the consciousness
of his little weaknesses. If he is proud at all, it is
usually but self-conceit ; for the object of his pride is
some ability which he does not possess. The great
painter is puffed up with the thought that he smokes
the most judiciously chosen tobacco ; the great musician
fancies that he can skate very ornamentally ; the great
statesman imagines he can guess the plot of a senscii
tional novel by reading the last page. The thing the
gi-eat man can do consummately is of little concern to
him ; it is the air he breathes, and awakens no admira-
tion in his own mind. The blind man wonders how
any one can see ; the street urchin sees, and does not
marvel. The hero - worshipper stands outside and
admires ; the hero stands inside himself, and is in-
different or disgusted.
" One day, through some sudden loophole, the wor-
shipper, too, gets a glimpse into the interior, and turns
away to pick up some mud. To the ex-worshipper he
is a monster ; to himself he is the same man that he
always was. He finds it hard to understand the change.
What makes it harder in some instances is that by this
270 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
time the fumes of the censers may have got into his
brain, and persuaded him into the popular belief that
he is not a mere man, with human passions and absurdi-
ties, but the peer of the gods. Unshaken by centuries
of exposure, the great man myth still flourishes, and
the educators of the public nourish the delusion which
they may themselves profit by some day. There are
men with great qualities ; there are no great men."
" For all that I still believe in you."
"That is, you don't believe in what I say."
" Carlyle believed in great men."
" Because he believed in himself. He showed the
air is always full of dust ; dust of putrefying creeds
and prejudices and decaying forms, and dust which a
million hirelings throw daily into the eyes of Truth,
and he taught that the universe is swept clean by a
succession of scavengers, one or two a century ; which
is about the saddest theory of life ever formed. No,
there are no great men ; there are only famous men.
And my Lady Fame is a Titania. The men at the top
are too often Bottoms."
" Frankly, Mr. Brown, this is all the craziest paradox,
and you contradict yourself consumedly."
"Paradox is platitude in the making; and self-
contradiction is the essence of candour."
" Then your jaundiced vision sees nothing to praise,
no nascent movement to encourage ?"
" None ; too many others see the rose-colour ; for me,
the yellow side of the shield ! "
" Then you think there is use, as well as abuse, in
the cynic?"
" Understand me. The cynic does not disbelieve in
genuine things, only in the genuineness of things. He
THE ORIGINAL SINNER
271
is the acid that corrodes things foul and of good report.
As such he is indispensable."
" The world were happier without him."
the world does not listen to
is a Eealist, but fortunately
are Eomanticists."
there no hope for humanity f
unless it purchases my
" Happily
him. Nature
her children
" And is
"None,
books tell-
ing it so'."
"Thank
you for your
courtesy. I
understand
imperfectly.
I am sorry to find you
have such a poor opinion
of the Universe. For my
part, I fancy it is all right
when you know it, but
you've got to know it
first. Good-bye, and may
you be happy."
" Thank you," said my
victim, with emotion, " I
shall be when you 're
gone."
* * *
Two weeks after that *^'
I met Mandeville in the(^,»K<c^o?oij,
street. He was laughing
heartily over a Punch and Judy show. When Punch
whacked Judy the Pessimist's plump sides quivered,
/t:
272 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
and tears of delight trickled down his cheeks. He
greeted me effusively, and asked me to come up
the river with him. The clerk of the weather had
imported an Indian summer, and October was as
pleasant as July had failed to be. "We took the train
to Kew and rowed up to Eichmond, I pulling stroke
and he bow, and vice versd too frequently to be
enjoyable. I had never seen him quite so boyish
before ; the success of his Poems of Pessimism had
made a new boy of him; half a dozen times he
insisted on changing seats in mid-stream. He was
so light-hearted that I felt sure we should be cap-
sized. He asked how my At Home Every Monday
was going; I told him I had dropped it after the
second number.
" But I 'm sure everybody I saw had a copy of the
first number," he replied in astonishment.
" I don't doubt you saw everybody had a copy," I
replied ; " but it is not because the thing wouldn't
pay that I relinquished it; it was because I felt myself
unable to grapple with the correspondence it involved.
I was besieged with applications from all parts of the
country from strangers who assured me they were
celebrities. Every post brought me a furlong of inter-
views. What 's the matter ? "
Mandeville had dropped his oar in the river and
fallen back mortally pale.
" Wh — a — a — t ! " he stammered, " other people also
had ready-made interviews ! "
" Hundreds of people," I replied.
Mandeville groaned. " Another illusion gone ! " He
sat up slowly.
" What do you mean ? "
THE ORIGINAL SINNER 273
" I thought I was original," lie said iii a low tone, his
eyes seeking the planks of the boat.
" Well, what matters ? " I said, as I rowed vigorously
towards the drifting oar, and captured it,
" What matters ! " he repeated, " when I have been
all my life in quest of the original ! "
" That 's not an original attitude," I replied.
" No," he said sadly. " The chase is not original, but
the capture — ah ! " he sighed deeply. " Take both the
oars, old' man. I will do all the work. I will entertain
you by laying myself bare to you."
" What ! going to have a swim ? Well, be careful
how you jump off."
" Don't be an ass ! I refer to my psychical nudity.
I need not say that I did not strip for my interview.
But now I will be naked and not ashamed. Know then
that every instant of time I can spare from the duties
and pleasures of life is spent in i'retting at the unelastic
boundaries of existence. I hate this web of conven-
tionality with which I am enmeshed. To be born, to
suckle at the breast, to get the measles and the whoop-
ing cough, to become a boy, to develop a moustache and
adolescent emotions, to grow from a youth into a man,
and from a man to an old man — to have one's whole
life marked out for you from the start without your
leave or consent, — ugh ! it is so conventional ! My
soul sickens at it. And then every day is a life in little.
To get up and wash and dress and feed at intervals and
go to sleep again — to have one's soul fettered and
chained within the same narrow boundaries, to move in
the same rigid rut as everybody else — it is abominable.
Oh the horror of the natural conventional ! The
artificial conventional can be broken through, whatever
s
274 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
the cost ; but the natural conventional ! It holds us
remorselessly in its deadening grip, it squeezes us in
its all-embracing folds, from the initial conventionality
of our birth to the supreme conventionality — Death.
We are all fashioned alike in our beginning, and we are
run into the same mould at the end. My life has been
one long effort to leave the path chalked out for me by
the protoplasmic atoms. It has also been one long
failure. To-day you have trampled upon another liope
of originality; my patent interview has been done
before."
He took out his note-book. " One more must be
added to the list of burst bubbles," he said. " The figure
runs into hundreds. One day I strung some of them
into verse. Would you like to hear it ? "
I replied that nothing would give me greater satisfac-
tion, unless he could combine the recitation with a little
attention to the tiller. Pulling the ropes lazily around
him, the poet commenced : —
DONE BEFORE.
Sick of commonplace mortality, I have sought originality
By all ways I thought untrodden of a predecessor's feet ;
I have always left the highway for the undiscovered by-way,
Haunted only by the terror lest ajootprint I shotdd meet.
When a boy I used to utter mild requests for bread and butler.
Although jam and cake ivere present in a freely -offered store;
And myself on this I flattered, till my first fond dream was shattered
When I read in Siinday- school books it had oft been done before,
I've been rich without frugality, J 've been poor without formality,
I've been oft at home to bore and dun, and out to love and friend,
I have travelled in the first-class with a ticket for the worst class,
And the difference have tendered at the journey's other end.
THE ORIGINAL SINNER 275
/ 've assured a deputation I deserved its gratidation,
I 've accompanied De Reszke or La Diva with a snore ;
I have stayed the year in London, in my search for something undone,
Quite forgetting those odd million folks by whom 'twas done before.
I have practised immorality to the verge of illegality,
Yet have never been a member of a Puritanic league ;
I have walked down Piccadilly, a perambulating lily.
Without boring my companion with my network of intrigue.
To its mx)ther smiling smugly I have called a baby ugly ;
I 've admitted being sick before the vessel reached the Nore,
Though exact Returns of Income will at last to seem a siii come.
When you find that e'en the Revenue has not been " done " before.
Then with what I tliought finality I have bid for immortality.
By revieunng learned books without the hope they 'd be revised.
And poetical collections without setting my affections
On the things therefrom omitted, over those therein comprised.
I've exj)ressed my satisfaction, nor discovered lack of action,
In a drama by an author known in letters from of yore ;
But although I 've sent back proxies for a row of stalls and boxes.
Honest criticism even had been sometimes done before.
I have given hospitality with severe impartiality
To ideas congruous only in their being all my own ;
I have tried to write down motherhood and to found a White Rose
Brotherhood
( With the object of replacing the stray Stuarts on the throne).
Plus ten ultra-modem isms and two neo- Paganisms,
And in analytic diary to strip me to the core ;
But what use my feigned brutality— all my j)seudo-bestialily,
Since mendacious self -exposure had been often done before ?
I have painted Unreality, and composed without tonality,
I have lectured on the Beautiful in trousers, rugs, and hair,
276 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
And my Individuality I 've developed by rascality,
And I 've never lacked a genius (unknown) by whom to swear.
But in vain my comicality flashed in mad conviviality.
When against the bourgeois virtues I led off the tables^ roar ;
Anli-Decalogicality, both in jest and actuality,
Had with vigorous vitality been too often done before.
Thus I 've chased originality, though as if by some fatality.
With unfailing 2^unctiiaUty the thing has been a frost.
Did I sink to criminality, did I rise to high morality,
My ^ ^ Love' s Labour " always turned out most monotonously "Lost.'
I could not escape banality though I shifted my locality
And made search from Pole to centre for a yet untrodden shore.
Should I boil my spirit-kettle up on Popocatepetl,
I shoiddfind within a week the spot had oft been " done " before.
The Pessimist's candid confession shocked me greatly,
for I was so enthralled by it that I allowed the boat to
bump into another. Fortunately both sides came off
with nothing beyond the first syllable of damage. We
moored our vessel below the Star and Garter, and the
Pessimist ate a hearty lunch. My rowing had given
him an appetite ; and he enjoyed his Porterhouse
steak none the less because it had been underdone
before. After he had swallowed three-parts of the
Porterhouse, he grew even more expansive, and showed
me some sheets of his forthcoming book ; his latest snap
at the tantalising Fata Morgana of originality,
" The year is drawing to its end," he said. " Fur the
new year I am preparing a work called The Cyjiids
Calendar. Here is the proof for January." He dis-
played it ou the tablecloth, reading it aloud : —
THE ORIGINAL SINNER
277
THE CYNIC'S CALENDAR.
Being the Calendar for January 1891, with Mottoes for Piotts Reflection.
Th.
15
F.
a.
M.
Tu.
W.
8
9
10
11
12
13
I--
14
Th.
S.
M.
Tu.
W.
Th.
16
F.
New Year resolutions commence to
be broken.
Vouth is the season for enjoyment ; old
age for remorse that we did not enjoy
ourselves more.
Jan. 1st resolutions finally aban-
doned.
Jan. Znd thoughts are best.
Gretna Green marriages abolished,
1857.
Marriage is the primitive mutual ad-
miration society.
Lord Tomnoddy born, 1803.
It is better to be healthy and wealthy than
wise; but if you cunuot be any of the
three, the next best thing is to be an
English peer.
Execution of Fagin.
Honesty is the best policy for a man with
a bad reputation.
Dividend on Consols due.
An honest man is good cmnpany, but tio-
body would take shares in him. He
wouldn't pay— because he would.
St. Distaff.
Spinsterliood is an honourable estate, till
the proprietress commences to rail at
wedlock.
Galileo died, 1642.
The udsest man is happy sometimes.
Napoleon iii. died, 1873.
For success in life two qualities are re-
quired— a strtmg will (ittd a weak con-
science.
Penny Postage established, 1840.
// truth did not live at the bottom of a
well, all social communion would be
impossible.
Cagliostro bom.
The youth's bashfulness ai-ises from his
km/wlejhje of his own iynoratice: tlui
man's assitrance from his knowledge of
other people's.
Hilary Term begins.
Law and journalism are the masculine
substitutes for prostitution.
Dinas colliery explosion, 1879.
A sympathetic heart is tlie most terrMe
of congenital misfortunes.
Oxford Lent Term begins.
Let us all cultivate ourselves, as Die vrise
Goethe teaches. And first of all tlie
dung for manure!
British Museum opened, 1759.
Every questvtn is like a sheet of paper—
much may he said on both sides. But
for journalistic purposes it may otily
be said mi one side.
Saturn sets.
Procrastination is the thief of time, and
steals many an idle hour for us. Put
off death or duty till to-morrow.
17
S.
18
&
19
M.
20
Tu.
21
W.
22
Th.
23
F.
24
S.
25
s>.
20
M.
27
Tu.
28
W.
29
Th.
30
F.
31
S.
Beujamin Franklin born, 1706.
Poor Richard says, " The worst of having
your bread buttered on both sidex is,
that if you drop it, it is sure to fall on
the buttered side."
Second Sunday after Epiphany.
There is a chamber in the heart to uhich
even one's nearest and dearest are not
admitted. It is the unholy of unholies.
John Willves expelled House of Com-
mons, 1704.
No man has the right to bring into the
world propositions which he is unable
to maintain.
David Garrick died, 1779.
Fools follow rules ; wise m£n precede them.
Cleopatra's Needle ariived, 1878.
Beauty is but skin-deep ; but, as humanity
doesn't sit in its bones, that is no draw-
back.
Annual Dinner of the Society for
Promoting Charity Advertise-
ments.
lietter a nominal sumin charity than an
anonymous million.
William Pitt died, 1806.
We all love virtue ; hut few of us hope to
possess her. We forgive ourselves for
erring, for that is human : and for for-
giving ourselves,for that is divine.
Dynamite outrage in London, ISS.'j.
Ihjpocriay is the last infirmity of a
scoundrel.
Burns born, 1759.
Tlie Poet is bom. Who ever maintained
that lie ivas a made man }
Great Famine in China, 1878.
A good dinner is the best joy of the hour
that is; a good digestion of the hour
that will be.
Emperor of Germany born, 1859.
Self-contempt is the one quality that
raises man above tlie angels.
Paris capitulated, 1871.
Few mfire have courage enough to be cow-
ard*.
George m. died, 1820.
The idol that had only feet of clay teas
indeed divine.
Charles 1. beheaded, 1649.
Let him whom the cap Jits wear some-
body else's.
Hilary Law Term ends.
Make the best of a bad bargain,
be bad for the other party.
Let it I
278
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
"Underneath each page," he continued, "will be
meteorological prophecies, with the proviso ' Wind and
weather permitting.' "
" But this has been done before ! " I exclaimed.
" Where ? " gasped the Pessimist.
" In one of the comic papers," I replied.
" And I thought it was a funny idea ! " he groaned,
throwing the sheet into the fireplace, whence I extracted
it for future use.
On the way back to Kew, whom should we meet but
a trio of pretty girls, rowed by a tall young man, whom
I afterwards discovered to be unfortunate enough to be
their brother. To my alarm the girls hailed Mande-
ville Brown laughingly, and he roused himself from his
brooding, and responded with stentorian joviality. The
tall young man and I kept the boats side by side, while
THE ORIGINAL SINNER 279
the introductions were going on. The way Mandeville
flirted across the strait with those three girls at the same
time could only be compared to the achievement of a
juggler who keeps three balls going at once. My alarm
was soon, however, replaced by joy. I reflected that
Mandeville was for ever debarred from marrying by the
fact that it had been done before his birth. Besides,
there was safety in numbers. No, the Bachelors' Club
had crumbled, but the last three atoms were of
adamant.
Our course was lively, for the girls chattered like
magpies, while their brother broke in every now and
again with some satirical remark at their expense. They
were very affectionate though, for they went out of their
way to call him a nice brother every time. Mandeville,
too, was not silent ; he has no talent in that direction ;
but effervesced with quips and cranks and wreathed
smiles. I bore my share of the conversation patiently,
and in silence ; for Mandeville was never the man to
spare a friend and save a joke.
Before we parted with the boat-load of fair maidens,
Mandeville and I had promised to drop in the same
evening for an " informal dance " in their house at Bays-
water. He did not want us to go ; but I intimated to
him that I would not let my personal feelings be an
obstacle. Informality, we found, meant an awning out-
side and a motley package of long-invited guests
inside. I kept an eye on Mandeville, secure as I felt.
He danced with a whole bouquet of wall-flowers ; the
bevies of beauty he left to others. To the guests this
seemed generosity ; to me his motive was as plain as his
partners. For myself, having nothing to fear, I danced
freely with youth and beauty, especially with the
28o THE CELIBATES' CLUB
nymphs of the river. Their names were Alice, Maud,
and Kitty, but I christened them for short The Three
Graces. Presumably they were not triplets, but I could
not tell the eldest from the youngest. I told one of
them so, thinking how fortunate it was that truth and
compliment should coincide. She tossed her head
pertly, and I saw that she was the youngest. But I was
not discomfited. I told her that I meant judging from
their knowledge of the world, and was rewarded by a
sunny smile. Most girls tell you they are not pretty,
and etiquette demands you should call them liars.
Kitty was not like that. She was a vivacious little
thing, sprightly as a jackdaw, and innocent as a dove.
She had violet eyes and pale gold hair, and a lovely
blonde complexion, and danced with enthusiasm, tem-
pered by science. She floated round among the
congested human teetotums like a gossamer in petti-
coats. Almost for the first time I thrilled with the
secret of dancing, and felt in my blood the voluptuous
ecstasy of rliythmic movement. I took her down to
supper out of gratitude. She did not seem hungry. She
supped entirely off Mandeville Brown, washed down by
claret cup. I saw that she was in love with the little
man. It made me heartsick with annoyance. Brown
was lost.
The dance became gayer after supper, the stiffness
relaxing as the collars became limper. I took another
Grace after the meal, and heard further praises of
Mandeville, and learnt that he had presented each of
the Graces with a volume of the Focms of Pessimism
bound in morocco. I blushed for Mandeville, tarnish-
ing these blithe and bonny specimens of English girl-
hood with his nauseous winnings, and defiling their air
THE ORIGINAL SINNER 281
with his sickly unsentimentality. Why should they
be told that existence was a curse, when they were
living in such happy ignorance of the fact ? I asked
my partner, who was Maud, what they thought of his
poems, and she replied that they all considered them
awfully sweet and quite too lovely. I gained further
fuel for suspicion from Alice's lips. I trembled like an
aspen. Brown would marry Kitty, so as to prove to
her that existence was a curse. Some men would rather
abandon a tooth than a theory, and Brown was one of
them. I went to the house of the Graces often to watch
him. Most frequently he was not there, and I was
relieved. Brown could be staunch after all. But, alas
for human anticipation ! Before the month was over
Mandeville Brown, the Secretary to the Bachelors'
Club, the forger of the weapons of our arsenal, the con-
temner of woman and man, the Poet of Pessimism, had
been united in the bonds of unholy wedlock! He
spent his wedding night at the Bachelors' Club,
chatting with M'Gullicuddy and myself about its
prospects. When morning dawned, he informed us he
had been married the day before.
Horror congealed our blood. I was the first to
speak.
" You old sinner ! " 1 cried.
" Yes, but an original sinner, eh?" he said, with a
happy smile.
" Who is she ? " I breathed huskily.
" Oh, some emancipated young woman or other, n^e
Matilda Crock I believe. But don't take this from me
— I only met her the other day."
I turned away to hide my emotion. Tlie President
took up the cue.
282 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" And whar is she, mon ? " he said, in low ominous
tones.
" Am I my wife's keeper ? " demanded the Secretary
in amaze.
" She needs one if she married you," I said liotly.
" Where have you left her ] "
" At the Eegistrar's door of course. Where else
should a man leave his wife 1 She only married me to
achieve independence. Why it should be more respect-
able for her to trollop about alone now than before I
do not understand. However, that is Society's business,
not mine."
M'Gullicuddy was too angry to speak. He shook
his snuff-box, and his jaws quivered, but no sound came
from them. I continued the conversation.
" You have told us why she married you. Why did
you marry her ? "
" Why 1 "
" Yes, why ? Why this divorce from your past ? "
Mandeville's plump sides trembled like a jelly.
" Ho ! Ho ! " he roared. " Did you really expect a
cynic to believe his own maxims ?"
" And so precipitately too ! " I murmured, abashed
at my own simplicity. " There was not even an engage-
ment."
" Of course not. That is part of the originality ;
though not in itself quite uncopyrighted. I hate engage-
ments. They are a failure. Oh the green-sickness of the
betrothed! The sheep-eyed male, the trimanous female!
I was married straight off the reel."
" But wharfor, mon, wharfor ? " shrieked M'Gulli-
cuddy, getting his breath at last.
" Cannot you guess ? "
I have married
THE ORIGINAL SINNER 283
"No, you had nothing to gain. I can see no reason
in the world," I said.
" Thank heaven ! " said Mandeville fervently, " then
I have done it at last !"
"Done what ?" we said in a duet.
" Broken the bonds of predestination,
for no reason in the world.
All the philosophers will
tell you that man cannot
act without a motive. It
is a lie. I made up my
mind to cheat the fates that
have from the moment of
my birth stifled me in the
swaddling clothes of cause
and effect. I determined
at some great crisis to
act without any reason
whatever. There are, as
O'Eoherty once put it, only
three great crises in a
man's life — birth, marriage,
and death. My birth had happened — it was too late
to influence that now. To commit suicide without
reason would meet the case ; but then I should not
have the satisfaction of conscious success. One last
opportunity remained — marriage. I took it."
M'Gullicuddy fixed him with a mocking eye. " There
are evidently more reasons in heaven and earth than
are dreamed of in your philosophy, Mandeville. You
married so as to take some great step without a reason
— is that so ? "
" That is so."
THE TRIMANOCS FEMALE.
284 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" Well, wasna that a reason V
Willonghhy Jones rushed forwards and caught the
fainting Secretary in his arms. But Brown battled
bravely with the dizziness that overcame him and freed
himself from the clasp of his brother in misfortune.
" At least it is the best of all reasons/' he said, with
a pathetic smile. " And if my marriage was a failure
after all, at any rate I can recall my wife now. I have
her address. She will be able to visit us here, too.
She is a married woman, you know. Strictly accord-
ing to by-law, you see."
" Visit lis ? " The President's snuff-box dropped to
the floor.
" Yes, of course I shall continue a member."
" Continue a member, nion, when you are married ! "
shrieked the President.
" Yes," shrieked back the Secretary, as an exultant
gleam shot across his cherubic features. " / shall he
original after all."
" But we shall expel you !" I thundered.
" Indeed !" thundered back the Secretary. "You for-
get the by-laws I drew up. It takes three to make a
quorum."
Willoughby Jones rushed forwards and caught the
fainting President in his arms. But M'Gullicuddy
battled bravely with the dizziness that overcame him
and freed himself from the polluting touch of the lower
caste.
"There is yet one argument left, mon," said M'GulH
cuddy, drawing himself up to his full height.
" Indeed ?" said the little Pessimist mockingly.
The President of the Bachelors' Club took the
Secretary by the scruff of the neck, carried him into the
THE ORIGINAL SINNER " 285
room adorned by his own texts, dropped him down the
six stairs on to the landing, and locked the door.
A minute after the Pessimist beat clamorously at it.
" No admission," I said tauntingly.
" I am not going to make any," yelled the Secretary
outside ; or, to use the conventional phrase, the ex-
secretary. "Bar your doors to me henceforward, as
you will, have not I, a married man, spent a whole night
as a member of the Bachelors' Club ? "
" You have," I said feebly.
" Then I am original after all !"
" No !" thundered the President. " The thing has
been done before."
" Done before ? " I echoed.
"Done before?" came feebly from behind the panel-
ling.
" Yes," said the President, taking triumphant snuff.
" A shameless being has preceded you in this."
His voice sank and trembled at the recollection of
the blasphemy. " Nay, more, he had the audacity to
hecome a member although married, and for some time
no one suspected him. I alone knew it, and I have
hitlierto covered up the scandal in my own aching
bosom. He was a member before your time, Paul, and
even to you the real truth was never known, Mande-
vill — ain ! " he concluded suddenly with a burst of
righteous indignation.
" Will you swear it ?" came in a hoarse despairing
whisper through the keyhole.
"I swear it," said the President solemnly. "By my
immortal soul, I swear it. He was a gey clever knave,
the member by whom the Club has been done before."
A strange muffled rumble penetrated the woodwork
«86 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Terrified, I turned the key and opened the door.
Mandeville Brown had rolled down the six stairs in a
fit.
*****
He lives peacefully at Bedlam now, and indites
epigrams for the magazines and poems for the Mande-
ville Brown Societies. The poems are not so obscure as
before ; the epigrams he turns out automatically with
the old topsy-turvy trick, only occasionally blunder-
ing into sense. Here are a dozen assorted specimens,
which were printed in a leading monthly with stars
twinkling between them. For price per gross apply to
the maker.
" The English are the most un-English of peoples."
"For illiberalism you must go to the Liberals."
"Criticisms of works of imagination are the only
realities." "The best memory is that which soonest
forgets." " Science is systematised ignorance, and the
naturalist is the man who knows nature least."
" Charity is a cloak that disguises many sins." " None
so blind as those who will see." " Goodness is the talent
of fools ; spell Duty with a big, big D." " No man waits
for time or tide." " The villain lives in a villa." " Your
thief is the only honest man ; the rest of the population
are dissemblers." " The worse the artist, the better the
work of art."
He had one lucid interval, though unfortunately he
did not write in it. It occurred in the train that was
bearing him to his new home.
" Where are you taking me ?" he asked.
" To Bedlam," replied his companions.
" It 's no use calling me lamb, for I 'm not going to
bed," he said decisively.
THE ORIGINAL SINNER 287
They explained his real destination.
" But why there ? " he queried querulously.
" Because you have lost your reason," they answered
indiscreetly.
Mandeville Brown rose in spite of all their efforts
and danced a jig on the foot-warmer.
"Heaven be thanked!" he cried. "The fates are
foiled at last. / am going to Bedlam luithout reason."
CHAPTER XII.
A BOLT FEOM THE BLUE,
It was a miserable evening about the middle of
November. All day the sun had been shining brightly,
and had been doing so since the beginning of the
month. This wretched perversity in the weather had
unsettled everybody. People were afraid to go out at
night for fear of losing their way in the coming fog.
But the sky remained beautifully blue and starry.
Since the unreasonable behaviour of Mandeville
Brown, M'Gullicuddy and myself had been constant in
our attendance at the Bachelors' Club. Tliere was a
considerable sum of money in the exchequer, owing to
the working of the New Insurance System, and it had
been swollen recently by one or two anonymous sub-
scriptions from married ladies who lamented that their
husbands had not had the benefit of a similar institu-
tion while they were yet celibates. If only the idea
that we were a charitable organisation should spread
abroad among the uninquiring, the reversion of the
treasuryship would be worth having. Mandeville
Brown had uncomplainingly added the post to his
secretariat when Moses Fitz-Williams departed this
life of ours ; but now that Brown, too, had gone over to
the majority, it became a serious question which of the
remaining members should assume the weighty respon-
2S8
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 289
sibility. It spoke well for the tenacity of purpose still
inherent in the Bachelors' Club, that each and all of the;
members were anxious for the burden. We were
ranged in two parties, — one in favour of the candida-
ture of the President, the other of mine. There seemed
no chance of settling the thing, for each side was
unwavering in its unity. That was why, in spite of
the attractions of the house of the Graces to which I
was frequently invited, I went to the Club regularly,
for fear M'Gullicuddy should pass illegal measures in
my absence. M'Gullicuddy almost lived at the Club
for a similar reason. The nuisance was that, thouoh
we were always together, we could get " no forrarder " ;;
for not only were both parties evenly balanced, and so
perfectly generalled that they moved as one man, but it^
was impossible for us to muster sufficient members to.
form a quorum. We compromised it at last by agree-
ing to divide the duties and other things, and to clieck
each other's accounts and expenditure. Then the white
wings of peace hovered once more over the Bachelors'
Club, and all was bliss and brotherhood.
It was wliile doing our best to supply Nature's
deficiencies in the way of November fog, by creating one
in the inner sanctum of the Bachelors' Club, that the
President and I heard a strange feminine voice in the
smoking-room.
M'Gullicuddy's glass fell, like a barometer before a
storm. I, too, was agitated by the novelty of a visitor.
"You must go out again," we heard the faithful
Willoughby remark. :
"We'll see about that," came the reply, in slow
acidulated drops of sound. " Stand aside, or I '11 send
for a policeman."
T
290 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
At the mention of a policeman M'Gullicuddy started
to his feet as if shot up by a spring. A policeman
in the Bachelors' Club ! The indignity was beyond
forbearance.
" Only married ladies are admitted," said Willoughby
in deprecatory tones.
" Aha ! " hissed the lady, " then look at my marriage
certificate."
From this " open sesame " there was no appeal.
" Very well, Mrs O'Flanagan," Willoughby was heard
to say respectfully, " who is it you wish to see ? "
" Mr. Andrew M'Gullicuddy," came the answer in
clear vibrant accents.
" No ! no ! " gasped the President. He rushed to the
door of communication and barricaded it with his back.
I looked at my co-secretary in surprise. His face was
ashen as his cigar-tip.
Willoughby Jones rattled the door, surprised at its
unwonted refusal to comply with his wishes. " Mr.
M'Gullicuddy," he called out, " here 's a lady to see
you — married, — Mrs. Patrick O'Flanagan."
" Say I 'm not here," the President whispered to
me.
Eeally, the calm way in which people ask you to
imperil your immortal soul by telling lies for them is
quite wonderful. Besides, I did not wish my friend to
be found out by this woman, whoever she was ; so I
whispered to him that it was useless, for Willoughby
liad admitted that he was in by admitting the visitor.
" Say I 'm not in," gestured the President to the
dusky steward.
He was evidently bent on self-denial ; but I do not
believe in any form of tlmfc virtue.
A BOLT FA' 0.^/ 7 HE BLUR 2gi
" M'Gullicuddy," I said, "can you show any cause
of just impediment to this lady's entry by by-law ?"
"She is not married," M'Gullicuddy whispered
hoarsely.
" How do you know ? "
M'Gullicuddy was silent.
"Canna ye believe me, mon?" he said. "I ken her
history."
I could see how excited he was by his dropping
into his native Scotch. I sympathised with him
deeply.
" Paul," he went on, " ye are a braw good fellow ;
tak' the lass away."
The shaking of the door continued.
"Open the door, M'Gullicuddy," said the lady in
withering tones. " You won't slip through ray fingers
any more, I warrant."
At the word warrant the President trembled like a
pet spaniel Obeying an agonised sign from him I
placed my back against the door. M'Gullicuddy then
ran to the window, lifted the sash, and threw his left leg
over the sill. I feared he meant suicide. The thought
of the nocturnal fall of the President of the Bachelors'
Club upon the pavement of Leicester Square filled me
with horror. I rushed forward and caught him by the
remaining lecf, before I remembered the few inches of
balcony on which he had meditated taking refuge. The
door flew open behind me. The lady rushed in. I let
20 the President's writhin»4 limb which hastened out
upon the ledge; then I slammed the window down
violently and turned round. Mrs. Patrick O'Flanagan
and I were face to face.
" Stand aside, sir," said the tall, plump lady, waving
292 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
her marriage certificate. " I saw the calf. I recognised
it. I would know it among a herd of calves."
" What calf ? " I said ingenuously.
" Oh, you are all leagued together ! " she cried.
" Stand aside, sir. I saw the leg."
" What leg ? " I repeated.
" My leg," she answered. " Mine, if there is law in
England."
" Excuse me, madam," said I, suspecting I had to do
with a mad woman, " so far as I can see, you appear
to me to have the usual quantity already."
" How dare you insult me, sir ? " said the lady, flash-
ing a small lightning-storm from her eyes, and drawing
her skirts closer around her. " How dare you stand
between husband and wife ? "
" Husband and wife ! " I said. " My dear lady,
you have come to the wrong shop. This is a
Bachelors' Club — we keep no husbands on these
premises."
" No, indeed," she said, " they are off. Look there."
I turned in the direction of her finger. The President's
white face was pressed in agony against the glass ; his
head was hoary with snow, which had suddenly com-
menced to fall. I remembered that the ledge was short
and narrow, and that it was dangerous to move hand
or foot out there. Without assistance the President
could not even get in again.
" That," I said, " is Mr. Andrew M'Gullicuddy."
"That," said she, "is Mr. Patrick O'Elanagan, my
husband."
" It 's a dom'd lee," shrieked the President, his voice
coming dim and faint through the panes. "As I hope
for salvation, I am not this woman's husband."
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 293
•' You wretch ! " shrieked the lady. " Whose portrait
is this, then ? "
I turned to look at the photo, and banged my head
against several other heads. They were the waiters'
and the stewards' all bending down eagerly at the same
instant. All the relics of the Bachelors' Club were
gathered to watch this fateful scene. Things had,
indeed, come to a pretty pass when the waiters were
all awake together. I felt quite sore over it, and, with
as much dignity as I could command, ordered them to
withdraw. I was left in the room with the alleged
wife of the President. I was determined that our under-
lings should not witness this crowning humiliation
except through the keyhole.
The photo was not a bit like M'Gullicuddy, and under-
neath were the words, "Ever thine, Patrick OTlanagan."
This was enough. The photo was evidently the work
of an artistic photographer, and the handwriting was
plainly M'Gullicuddy's, sloped to the left. Some men
have such poverty of resources.
I opened the window indignantly and assisted his
wife in haling him into the room.
" Paul, I am innocent," shrieked M'Gullicuddy in his
broadest Scotch, as we deposited him on the writing
table, where the blotting-paper thirstily drank up his
coat of snow.
" Ah, you are a gentleman," Mrs. OTlanagan said to
me with fine discernment. " You, sir, shall judge be-
tween us. About eighteen months ago this man came
down to Long Stanton, in Cambridgeshire, where I
dwelt in my youth and innocence, and wooed and won
my trusting heart."
She wiped away a tear with the marriage certificate
294 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
whicli slie still held in her hand. There was something
confiding and candid about the very name of the
fe^j-i^^'a-f-
place which added to the heinousness of M'Gullicuddy's
offence. Long Stanton in Cambridgeshire !
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 295
" It 's a dom'd lee," repeated the ungentlemanly person
on the dripping writing-table.
"It's gospel truth," said Mrs. O'Flanagan. "My
heart went out to the breezy Irishman with his bright
spirits and his lovable brogue. Up till that date, sir, I
had been a confirmed opponent of marriage. I had a
younger sister who had married three times within four
years ; her husbands all dying within a year of marriage.
I was afraid it might run in the family, and so I
scrupulously refrained from being asked in marriage,
for the sake of my husbands. But when Patrick
O'Flanagan came through the door, my scruples flew
out of the window. On a fair summer morning, no
brighter than my heart, I placed my hand within his,
and we were wed before the Registrar, for he would
not go to church."
" It 's a dom'd lee," said the President.
" Sit down," I said to the poor victim, as I wheeled
her an arm-chair. " Go on."
" On leaving the Registrar's office, we took the train to
Harwich en route for Holland, where we had located
our honeymoon. On the way we chatted freely, for
the train was crowded. All at once, as I was talking,
Patrick turned pale. I asked what was the matter.
He said he felt a little sick, the carriage was so stuffy.
Shortly afterwards we arrived at a junction. The train
stopped for five minutes for refreshment. Patrick got
out to get a drop of brandy to put him riglit. The five
minutes passed, the bell rang ; I rushed to the window
in case my husband had forgotten the carriage. I looked
wildly up and down. Men were jumping in all along
the station. ' Stand away there ! ' shouted the guard.
He waved his flag, the station slid backwards, and
296 THE CELIBATES'' CLUB
we were off. Anxiety gnawing at my bosom, I com-
forted myself with the thought that he had just had
time to pop into another carriage. But soon I learned
the bitter truth. That junction was the parting of our
lives. Like a true Irishman my husband preferred to
spend his honeymoon alone. I never set eyes on him
from that day to this. But my search has been suc-
cessful at last, thanks to my having means and spending
them freely in the search. By the aid of a private
detective agency I learned that my husband passed
under the name of M'Gullicuddy, and that this Club
was his favourite resort." She turned to the President
who still lay huddled together on the writing-table, his
face as white as the driven snow outside.
"Now, Patrick," she said, "will you come away
quietly with me to Holland for our honeymoon ? "
The question made him sit up. But he did nothing
but stare at her.
" Come, Patrick," she said, " come away, and all
shall be forgotten and forgiven. Drink that glass
of brandy and rejoin me in the train." She drew a
gold watch from her bodice. " It leaves Liverpool St.
Station for Harwich in eighty-five minutes. At 9 A.M.
to-morrow we shall be in Kotterdam."
" How do you know ? " gasped M'Gullicuddy.
" How do I know ? " said Mrs. OTlanagan, her voice
breaking with infinite pathos and tenderness. " Have
I not waited weary months for this hour ? Have I not
had ample leisure to study my Bradshaw ? It has been
the one relaxation in my misery. What has buoyed
me up and kept me well and strong ? Only the thought
that some day, somewhere, you and I would meet
again, Patrick ; that some day, somewhere, again you
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 297
would place your hand in mine, love ; tliat some
day, somewhere, you and I would walk to the book-
ing-office together, and again I would take the tickets
for Holland ; that some day, dear, whether vid Don-
caster or Eugby, vid Bradford or Glasgow, we should
arrive at Parkeston Quay together, and together board
the 9.50 Dutch boat, as if our honeymoon had never
been interrupted, and the interim were an evil dream.
When my search was weariest, and my courage lowest,
and the horizon darkest, I turned to my Bradshaw and
read for the thousandth time the message of hope and
peace, and found therein comfort and courage. The
pages are bedewed with my tears ; but they are the
tears of hope — not of despair."
My own eyes were wet as I listened. Oh the sublime
patience and fortitude of woman !
" Come, darling," said Mrs. O'Flanagan. " The Har-
wich express starts in one hour twenty-one minutes."
" It 's a dom'd lee," said M'Gullicuddy automatically.
" Come, darling," repeated the poor, wronged lady,
and every syllable was a caress and a pardon.
" Go away ! " shouted M'Gullicuddy.
"Yes, that's just what I mean, — go away," she said,
" by the 8 p.m."
M'Gullicuddy got off the table and stood facing us.
" Paul," he said pleadingly, " tak the creature awa' !
See her into the 8 p.m. express."
"My dear fellow," I said, "that is expressly your
duty."
" Wliat ! " he cried in anguish. " Surely yoii, don't
believe I am this woman's husband."
" I do."
"But, Paul, my dear old friend, on my word of
298 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
honour as President of the Bachelors' Chib, she is no
wife of mine. Don't you believe me ? Yes, surely you
believe me, Paul ? "
I was silent. I remembered his vanisliing leg. I
remembered the photo. Decidedly appearances were
against him.
" I cannot believe you," I said, groaning.
M'Gullicuddy echoed the groan and covered his
spectacles with his hands. Mrs. OTlanagan laid her
hand tenderly on his head. He shook it off (the hand)
and faced us again. A light, as of truth, gleamed from
his eyes.
" Some day, Paul," he said, " you will recognise the
injustice you are doing me. I am not this woman's
husband. I swear it by all that I hold dear."
This was an awful oath ; for there were few things
which the economical Scotsman did not hold dear.
" Will you come by the 8 p.m. ? " said Mrs.
O'Flanagan imperturbably. "Come. By 9 a.m. we
shall be in Potter "
The President finished the sentence, and continued
resolutely: "Even if I am your husband I am not
bound to live with you. That has been settled by
law."
"Pardon me," said Mrs. OTlanagan, "the decision
to which you refer merely frees the v/ife from conjugal
bonds. The husband has no such freedom."
" Then the sooner a Men's Eights Party is formed the
better," said the President.
" The sooner men do what is right the better," retorted
the lady. "Patrick OTlanagan, I remind you once
again that you have taken upon yourself the solemn
oblio-ation to be loved, honoured, and obeyed by me.
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 299
Isabella Fallowsmith, till death us do part. Come,
Patrick, let us catch the 9.50 Dutch boat."
" Paul," said the poor President, " you believe this
strange woman rather than your own colleague •? What
if I could prove her mistaken ? "
" Then you may send for a strait waistcoat for me,"
said the lady impulsively.
"Will you go away, as my friend asks you, if he
proves you are not his wife ? " I said.
" I will. If he is not my husband, I will obey his
wishes."
" Good," said M'Gullicuddy. " Look at me. Miss Fal-
lowsmith ; do you recognise me as Patrick OTlanagau ? "
" I do," she answered in a clear steady voice.
" You would identify me anywhere ? "
" Anywhere."
M'Gullicuddy passed his hand over his face like a
conjurer.
"iVbw do you recognise me as Patrick O'Flanagan ? "
A cry of surprise burst from our four lips. The
President had put quite a new face and complexion on
the matter. His spectacles lay on tlie floor and woe-
begone wisps of beard and wig were fluttering towards
them. The President had stripped his face to the skin.
I no longer knew him, Joy overcame my astonishment.
I turned triumphantly towards Mrs. O'Flanagan. The
honour of the Club was safe.
"Now do you recognise him," I repeated sternly,
" as Patrick O'Flanagan ? "
"Ah, Patrick! Patrick!" sobbed Mrs. O'FJauagan,
throwing herself passionately on the President's bosom.
" Now at last I recognise you. Oh, why did you hide
yourself so long from your poor Isabella ? "
300 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
With one hand she encompassed his neck, with the
other she tendered me the photo afresh. I scanned it
again. Yes, it had not been taken by an artist after
all. M'Gullicuddy had not counted on that photo when
he played his little game of brag with the woman who
had circumvented him at it. The expression on his
new countenance alone belied the smirking photo.
" I felt sure it was you, dear," sobbed his wife, " by
your getting out of the window for refreshments when
I came along. I did not recognise you in the least but
I had faith in you, and went on appealing to the old
memories, thinking that if you were you I should find
a soft spot in your heart at last."
She had found a soft spot — only it was in his head.
I was disgusted with his stupidity. To have been
double-faced to so little purpose !
M'Gullicuddy disentangled himself from Mrs. O'Flau-
agan.
"Well, now you recognise me, Miss Fallowsmith,"
he said, " I had best tell the truth ; but not unless you
swear to keep what I say secret."
We swore. "Good," said M'Gullicuddy. "Now I
can speak."
At this Ibsenite commencement I prepared for the
worst.
" Kemember," he said. " You have promised me the
privilege of the confessional ! I am speaking not to
phonographs but to priests."
We were awed by his manner. I stole to the
door, threw it open suddenly, and allowed Willoughby
Jones to fall forward into the inner room, the other
married men coming tumbling after. Eavesdroppers
never hear any good of others — nor want to. I
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 301
spurned the squirming heap with my foot, and swept it
outside. I then gave it a holiday for half an hour, and
it scampered down-stairs. I locked the outer portal of
the Bachelors' Club, and the apartments were converted
into a sanctuary. I returned to the inner chamber.
" Now," said I, " we are alone. Now let us have the
promised truth."
"I will do my best," he replied modestly. "The
truth about me is very simple. I am not Mr. OTlana-
gan, and I am not the husband of this lady."
" But if that 's the truth, you 've told us it before ! " I
cried, a wild hope resurgent in my breast.
"Yes, I could not help it," he said deprecatingly.
" Please don't interrupt me, Paul. I cannot be this lady's
husband because I married another lady a year before
she claims my hand. Don't interrupt me. Miss Fallow-
smith. You see, Paul, you wouldn't have confidence in
my innocence under this cruel charge," he said plain-
tively. " Such is friendship. My name is not O'Flana-
gan at all. It is Parker — Peter Parker. My marriage
took place at Macclesfield. The circumstances of the
wedding were rather out of the way. I regret I was not
one of them at the time. But a mocking Fate overrules
our destinies.
" All my misfortunes in life have arisen from the un-
fortunate age at which ray father died. If he had died a
little later I should never have been married ; if he had
died a little earlier, I should never have been born.
Not having had time to discover his vices, my mother
cherished the memory of his virtues. She thought him
a paragon among men, and believed even in his epitaph.
She wore black for him all the days of her life. Her
mournin" habit became a second nature to her. She
'o
302 THE CELIBATES- CLUB
was beautiful, as you may judge, and was often pressed
to many again. But her constancy was proof against
all solicitations. She told her suitors that she had vowed
to wear widow's weeds for her first husband while life
lasted ; and so they
went their ways. But
at last a young Scots-
man from St. An-
drews University
came along and fell
in love with her, and
wrote sonnets on hex
eyebrow and other
inconvenient places.
He asked her hand
and she pointed to
her bonnet. He re-
flected that it would be very economical to have a wife
who always dressed in black, and so they were married.
The bride went to church in a mourning coach, and
wore a long crape veil and a black silk gown, trimmed
with sprays of yew, for she was not one who took her
grief in lightening shades. My step-father did not effect
the saving he had reckoned, for his wife indulged in all
the luxuries of woe, and dealt only at the most artistic
establishments. People used to call him the widower
till my dear mother died ; then in self-defence, they were
forced to call him the Bachelor. My motlier's death
affected me deeply — it seemed as if the light and joy
of the house had departed when her sable robes ceased
to trail and rustle about the rooms. From earliest
childhood those funereal garments had been part of
my consciousness. All my infant associations were
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 303
entwined round those widow's weeds. My heart's
tendrils wound themselves about her crape-wreathed
bonnets. Her touching devotion to my father, while life
pulsed in her veins, consecrated our home life with a
halo of purity and poetry, to which even my step-father
was not insensible. I felt I was not as other children.
That high example of steadfast pursuit of an ideal amid
all the sordid pettinesses of existence made life a
deeper and a nobler thing for me than for my playmates,
and I always selected black marbles and tops, and
manifested an early preference for blackberries. My
mother was the only woman I ever cared for. Please
don't interrupt. Miss Fallowsmith. Her death left me
heart-broken. The only consolation was her wardrobe.
I wandered amid the black hangings with which all
the cupboards were thickly lined, as some pensive poet
wanders in the sombre glades of a pine-forest. But I
had reckoned without my step- father. He promptly
sold off my mother's leavings, and it was only with
difticulty that 1 could secure the wedding-robes and
the other appurtenances of a widow's outfit. The care
of these henceforth became the solemn charge of my
life. I wrestled with the moths and did battle with the
rust. As from her grave my gentle mother's influence
was still upon me ; I owed to her still an ennobling
ideal and a sanctifying mission. Her weeds saved me
from suicide. They kept me straight in the tangles of
temptation. My step-father married again. Unmoved
by that high example of fidelity to the dead afforded
him by my mother, he took another wife to his
bosom. To see my step-step-mother flaunting in white
jarred upon a vision habituated to sable of the deepest
dye. My deepest emotions were outraged. I left the
304
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
1.,<J
liouse almost immediately after the wedding breakfast.
Bearing with me only my mother's drapings and trap-
pings of woe in a Gladstone bag, and leaving behind me
nothing but a
curse, I shook
the rice of the
threshold off my
patent leather
shoes and went
forth into the
wide, wide world.
Not that I had
not been in the
world before — I
only mean I went to the Con-
tinent. Henceforward the ab-
sorbing thought of my life
absorbed me deeper still. Due
honour and respect must be
paid to my mother's widow's
weeds. They should not grow
rank upon her grave. Her
clothes should not moulder
away like her dear self. But
who was worthy to wear those
relics ? To whom would those
supreme honours most appro-
priately accrue ? Whom would
those garments fit ?
" There was only one possible answer. My mother's
mourning could only be worn by her son's widow.
Those hallowed relics and heirlooms could enshroud no
woman less sacred. None but her sou's widow could
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE
305
step into her shoes. They must be kept in the family.
Hitherto I had been a confirmed bachelor. I had
wished no woman's face to come between me and my
mother's. But now it was borne in on me that it was
my sacred duty to marry. It behoved me to take a
wife. How otherwise could I create a widow to be a
background to those dresses ? The model widow for
those weeds must be my own. I obeyed the voice of
conscience ; I looked out for a widow. Often I thought
I had found a fitting wearer for those precious gar-
ments ; often I was on the point of proposing to
lovely virgins, on whom they would have looked
beautiful; often when I sat
with some fair jrentle maiden
in the green gloom of con-
servatories, or sauntered with
her beneath the fretted vault
of heaven or glided beside
her on the quiet
moonlit lake, or
watched with her
to see the sun set
in serene splen- ' '
dour behind the
everlasting hills
— often have I
measured her
waist with my
circumambient
arm to see if she were the fitting bride for me. In
five cases the dimensions were suitable. I measured
again and again till tlierc could be no possibility
of mistake. Only three maidens stood this more
u
llii':
3o6 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
searching test. These I was within an ace of select-
ing. Flushed witli the emotions of the moment,
enraptured by the perfection of the measurements,
overwhelmed by the glories of sunset or moonlight,
I have three times been on the point of asking
some lovely damsel to be my widow ; to link her
life with my death ; to be mine in the heart's beat,
mine in the breath, and follow me to the world's end
in the next carriage to mine. But I always restrained
myself. In the supreme crisis one thought always
arrived with a respite. How did I know that tliis
beautiful girl, whom I was on the point of rashly
asking to be my widow, would outlive me ? Suppose
I took her to my hearth and home, and then she died
before me, leaving me with my mother's mourning on
my hands again ! No, I must be prudent. True, each
of these beautiful girls was radiant with life and
happiness, overflowing with buoyancy and freshness
like a spring morning. But we have it on authority
that all flesh is grass, and we are cut down in a moment
as by a reaper's sickle.
"No, marriage is at best a lottery. What if I found
myself saddled with a woman who would not be able to
fulfil the functions of widowhood? I should be unable
to get the marriage set aside, for the stupid law had not
provided for the contingency. No, I would not take a
leap in the dark. If I married, I must choose my widow
wisely and well. My marriage must not be a failure.
" Now you understand why I sought the hand of Mrs.
Carcanet. After months of misery at Paris and
Monaco, I returned to England. Fate took me to
Macclesfield and introduced me to Mrs. Carcanet.
— Please, be silent, Miss Fallowsmith.
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 307
"Mrs. Carcanet was at that time the talk of the town.
She was a professional widow — not a raw and in-
experienced widow like my mother, for she had been
bereaved three times. There was nothing particularly-
attractive about her, yet she changed her name as
frequently as a stage-adventuress. Nor was there the
slightest breath of scandal against her, for though her
three husbands had perished, they had done so under
circumstances beyond her control. One had been
attacked with cramp while swimming, another had
succumbed to measles, and the third had won a
thousand pounds in a railway accident.
" The curious part of it was that all three had died
within a year of marriage. Yes, yes, sit down. Miss,
I know exactly what you 're thinking about. When I
have finished, you shall speak. The third man was
warned by all his relatives, and the local insurance
branch wanted a higher annual premium, but he
laughed at their superstitions. When the crash came
and his dead body was identified in the mortuary, few
had sympathy witli the blasphemer. His death was
felt to be a judgment, as his living over the twelve-
month would have been considered a want of it on
the part of the higher powers.
" I felt at once this was the woman for my matrimony.
She at least would make a true widow for me. I
thought of her as more literally 'The Mourning
Bride ' than Congreve's heroine ; she was always just
wed or just widowed. Her life was like the first
column of The Tmes— nothing but Births, Marriages,
and Deaths. If I married her, I should die within a
twelvemonth, and my marriage would be consummated.
The claims of filial piety would be satisfied, for I was
3o8 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
confident that with the opportunity of quietly tallcing
things over, afforded by the honeymoon, I should be able
to induce my wife to mourn for me in the same sacred
clothes in which my mother had mourned for my
father.
" It was no easy task to secure the hand I coveted,
for after she had saved the thousand pounds from the
crash to which her third husband had fallen a victim,
Mrs. Carcanet became again the cynosure of all neigh-
bouring bachelors' eyes. There was a morbid fascination
about her which impelled men to throw themselves at
her feet, as though they had been moths and her toes
luminous.
"But none had so much at stake as I; the thought of
my mother's ebon clothes lent me eloquence, and filial
devotion carried the day. When our engagement
leaked out, the stonemasons of Macclesfield touched
their caps respectfully when I passed.
" For nine months I lived in perfect happiness with
my intended widow. Everything had been arranged
for my decease ; the woman who had plighted her troth
to me, to become ray widow when death did us part,
had engaged to lament me in the hereditary weeds of
the family. My will was made. Everything had been
left to my future widow on that understanding.
"During the tenth month I began to get uneasy. No
signs of sickness had appeared. I felt as strong as a
drayhorse and as healthy as a hippopotamus. The
eleventh month passed ; still not a shade of a shadow
of a symptom of bodily derangement. I could not feel
unwell though I tried. I read all the quack medicine
advertisements. I pored over the properties of the
patent pills, which no family should be without. I
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 309
studied the records of the supernatural syrups. Not
even thus could I experience any unpleasant sensation.
My head was not dizzy, nor were my loins heavy, nor was
my digestion sluggish. Little black spots did not dance
before my eyes. My pulse was methodical, my respira-
tion easy, and my tongue did not wear a morning coat.
I began to get seriously alarmed. The days slipped
by slowly ; but at last the twelfth month arrived. The
townsfolk stared after me now when I walked in the
street, 'and necks were craned out of windows, as
though T were a condemned criminal en route, to the
scaffold. The notoriety became disagreeable, and during
the last month of my existence, I determined to be a
celebrity at home. In the third week an old school-
fellow named Eaveson called on me. He asked me
how I felt. I said I was sorry to say I had been
feeling far from ill lately. He inquired what were the
prospects of my dissolution. I said that death from
natural causes seemed improbable, but I was looking
confidently forward to an accident, and hoped, by care
and attention, to meet with one within a few days.
He warned me not to build too much on that chance,
for accidents would happen even in the best calculated
schemes. I replied that if I stopped at home, as I
intended to, I had every right to rely on the accident
coming off. I reminded him of what the Lancet
told us every week of the perils that bestrewed our
paths, the poison that lurked in the pot, and the disease
that dribbled from the kettle ; of the contagion that
clung to bootlaces, and the arsenic that was wafted
from the wall-paper ; I recalled to him the dangers of
fires and gas explosions and armed burglars and over-
toppling mirrors and falling chandeliers ; and I read out
310 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
to him a graphic account of the germs and insidious
particles that were fooling around in the domestic
atmosphere, and whicli could only be foiled by
Badberry's Cocoa, from the use of which I carefully
abstained. But he shook his head sceptically and
went off, leaving me forlorn and discomforted. Next
day he returned and inquired after my health again.
His face brightened when I told him my condition was
unchanged. He said I must not mind if he came to
inquire every day, and even twice a day^ because he
felt very anxious about my health. I told him it was
very good of him, and pressed his hand affectionately,
and said that I had never believed in friendship l)efore,
but now I should carry to my grave the memory of In's
disinterested anxiety.
" ' Never say die ! ' he replied cheerily. ' I always
said you would weather the marriage. And what 's
more, I don't mind telling you now, I 've backed my
opinion heavily. I have ten thousand pound* on you.'
" ' What do you mean ? ' I gasped.
" ' Why, I 've made wagers amounting in all to ten
thousand pounds, partly with natives, partly outside,
that you will live beyond the usual twelvemonth. At
first I got large odds, for the starting-price was what-
ever I pleased, as I stood almost alone in my belief in
you. Then the betting became level, while now that you
have only a few days to die, the tide has turned and
I have had to give three to two. Yes, my boy, I have
stood by you all along,' he said, slapping me cheerily on
the back ; ' I am none of your fair-weather friends to fire
salute guns only when you get into port. When every
one spoke ill of you, and speculated on your death, I
alone was your friend for life. When things looked
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 311
blackest and most funereal, I alone believed in you and
defended your life against all odds.'
" I said with emotion that I would remember him in
my will, and that he might look for a legacy in a few
days. He answered warmly that he preferred my life
to any legacy I could leave him. Again I pressed his
hand, and the faithful fellow took his leave.
" But he left me food for reflection, which I was not
slow to digest. When Eavesou called the next day, I
asked him if he was sure to get his ten thousand if I
remained alive. He said that the losers were all reli-
able persons, and in any case he could recover these
debts legally, as the transaction was not a gambling one
but a form of life assurance. I then informed him that
unless he went halves with me I should die. He
grew pale, and besought me to reconsider my deter-
mination. I said I had always lived to please myself,
I was not going to live to please him now. He said
he would leave no stone unturned to save my life. I
said that if it were saved in mere consols it would tot
up to nearly £300 a year ; and that unless I could save
half my life for myself, I would have none of it.
The only way to prevent my death was to give me the
£5000. I pointed out that if I lived, Eaveson would
get all the meat and I all the bones ; that he would
net £10,000 while I should be left married to an unat-
tractive and faded widow who was not even my widow.
I wanted to know what there was for me to live for?
" In the end it was agreed to split my life fairly
between us both, Eaveson trying in the meantime to
increase its value. And now all my thoughts changed
as by magic. The will to live took the place of tlie
readiness to die. The chance of realising £5000 comes
312 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
but rarely in a lifetime ; the chance of dying is always
to be had. There was plenty of time yet to provide a
widow to wear my mother's clothes ; they should be
shelved but not forgotten, I had perhaps been need-
lessly precipitate. The revived will to live brought
with it all the anxieties of which Stoics, Quietists, and
Buddhists warn us. To wish to live is to fear to die.
Now that I craved for life, a terror that I should die
within the week whelmed my soul. Was I really
destined to escape my wife's baneful spell ? Why
should I be luckier than the three men who had gone
before ? I communicated my fears to Eaveson, The
panic seized him too. What was to be done ?
" The solution Hashed upon me suddenly. The mortal
peril that threatened me arose from my marital relation to
the fatal widow. If I ceased to be her husband, the
spell would probably not work. But unfortunately a
divorce in this unhappy country takes time, and the
end of my year was bearing down upon me like some
grim express. A divorce was out of the question ; I
must be content with the next best thing. To cease
being Mrs. Carcanet's husband I must become some-
body else's. That, if not a legal divorce, would, at least,
be a moral one. I told Eaveson the idea. He said that
it was bigamy. I said that that didn't matter. Even
bigamy ceased to be a crime when one's life was in
danger. Crimes committed in self-defence, to save
one's life, were whitewashed by the codes of all coun-
tries. Desperate evils required desperate remedies. In
my situation, I said, bigamy would be quite laudable.
The only trouble was to find a fresh bride to be my
widow. I dared not look for her in Macclesfield, because
she would know of the existing wife, which would
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 313
probably set her against the match. But if I left the
town, then, as Eaveson pointed out, there would be some
difficulty in proving that I was alive. True I might
retui-n temporarily to Macclesfield just to be identified,
but then my first wife might get hold of me, and I could
not bear the idea of living any longer with the insipid
partner I had selected only to die by. It was, indeed,
a dilemma. This time Eaveson came to the rescue. I
was to leave Macclesfield on a pretext to my wife, who
was unaware of the dead-and-alive gossip that circled
round us. The gossips would think I had crawled off
like a wounded snake to die alone. After the honey-
moon, which would be also after the magic twelvemonth,
I was to return to Macclesfield on a pretext to my
wife (number two), but only to visit my lawyer and
other reputable citizens on pretended matters of busi-
ness. I was also to be casually photographed ; so that
after I had gone, the developed negatives might be posi-
tive evidences to my identity. Then, before the news
of my coming had spread to my wife, I was to fly again,
returning to my second wife or not as inclination
prompted.
" Trembling for my life, I put into execution the plan
so hurriedly sketched out. I told my wife a relative had
died, and I had to go and see about some property he
had left me. The dwelling-place of my second wife I
ascertained by sortilege. I opened my Bradshaw at
hazard, and stuck a pin into the leaf. It made a hole
in Long Stanton. I was in Loug Stanton next day with
my mother's weeds in a Gladstone bag, and barely a
week to spare. My life trembled in the balance. Only
a second marriage could save me from the maleficent
baleful magnetism radiating from my first wife, who
314 THE CELIBATED CLUB
seemed to hypnotise her husbands away. Could I find
another wife in a week ? On tliat question hinged my
whole existence. I adopted the name of O'Flanagan
with brogue and beard to match. I met an old, I
mean, I met Miss Fallowsmith, and married her before
the Eegistrar, as she has told you. Will you sit down and
let me finish my story ? Now you shall hear why I left
you. Oh, but of course you have guessed it by now. Miss
Fallowsmith. You are Mrs. Carcanet's sister, you had
quarrelled years ago, and lived apart, and without
corresponding with each other. When on our first
wedding journey you blundered into saying something
which revealed to me the fatal truth, I felt that death
were, indeed, better. It was horrible, nefarious 1)eyond
the dreams of a Caligula or a Cenci. I liad married my
iindeccased luifes sister. At the lirst stopping-place after
that awful revelation I jumped out and left you. You
will admit it was the most honourable course. Don't
sob on my breast, please, I only did my duty. Do sit
down, there 's a good creature. From the moment I left
yon my life has been one long haunting terror. I had
contemplated merely bigamy, but I had committed the
unpardonable sin, for which there can be no forgive-
ness in earth or heaven. If to marry one's deceased
wife's sister is so revolting an offence, what must it be
to marry one's -zmdeceased wife's sister ? It is iniquity
so dire and unspeakable that the very law has neglected
to provide against it. The awfulness of this form of
bigamy is increased by the fact that there is no repair-
ing the evil. If your first wife dies, you cannot patch
up the past, for you cannot legitimise your second
wife, since she is your deceased wife's sister. If, on the
other hand, your second wife dies, the case is worse, for
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE
315
you remain actually married to your deceased wife's
sister, having moreover inveigled the law into solemnis-
ing a marriage it prohibits. No, no, my dear Miss
Fallowsmith, let me
finish. Can you
wonder that I dared
not return to Mac-
clesfield lest my sin
should find me out ?
How Eaveson fared
I have never learnt.
I trembled at my
own shadow, think- "<j=^
ing it a policeman
on my track. My
day was one Ioul;
bolt from the blue-
coated officials. I
dared not leave tlie
country lest my per-
turbation should ex-
cite suspicion.
There are always
so many detectives
about the docks.
The one safe place
for me was London,
the great wilderness
of London ; the one
safe disguise that of
a Scotchman. I had been an Irishman.
Englishnum. As a Scotchnuin I should
paratively secure,
!. am an
be com-
I bought a piiir of goggles with
3l6 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
plain glasses (for my sight is excellent), a snuff-
box, and a coloured handkerchief, and took the name
of Andrew M'Gullicuddy. But it was too much
trouble to speak like an anglicised Scotchman all day
long. Besides, there was always the danger that I
would forget the accent when my temper was ruffled.
I hit upon the happy idea of speaking Scotch (so-
called) only when I was in a passion or excited. Not
only would the strain be less, but the genuineness so
much more convincing. The most cultured speaker of
a foreign tongue slips into his native idiom under
excitement. With a little care I trained myself to talk
Scotch whenever I felt angry or otherwise moved. The
dodge succeeded perfectly. Not even you, Paul, have
ever suspected me of being a Birmingham man, plain
Peter Parker. But I was yet far from easy. The fear
of detection still made life a nightmare. My disguise
was not yet impenetrable. Something more novel and
audacious was necessary to cover up my trail. What
fresh red-herring could T draw across my track ? The
idea was long in coming, but it came at last. /
invented the Bachelors' Cluh. If I founded a society
based on celibacy and misogyny, my guilt would be
buried beyond the fear of exhumation. Who would
ever dream of identifying Andrew M'Gullicuddy,
President and Founder of the Bachelors' Club, with
Peter Parker alias Patrick O'Flanagan, bigamist, married
to his undeceased wife's sister ? "
" You double-disguised villain ! " I burst out, for I
could contain myself no longer. "So this was your
pretty design, eh ? " I rushed wildly at the epigram-
matic tapestry, and clawed at it in my rage. "Out
upon you, foul Chimera, compact of perjury and
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 317
falsehood ! So you have used your friends and abused
your office but to cover up your trail. While I was
trembling to acquaint you with a secession, you were
yourself a marital monster, a double-dyed husband.
There is not a single law or by-law of the Club but you
have trampled upon it."
" Pardon me, Paul," replied the President, his voice
quivering with emotion. " This is too much. Call me
a bigamist if you will, but do not say I have trampled
upon the code of the Club, for it is a meanness I would
shrink from. Am I not over thirty years of age ? I
am. Have I ever had a disappointment in love ? I
have not, for I have never loved. At first we used to
ask of the candidate ' Has he ever been married ? ' and
as I, the President, was more than married, my
conscience used to wince a little. But I took advantage
of your weak-minded striving for epigram to suggest
the later form ' Has he ever had a disappointment in
love ? ' You all snapped greedily at the bait, forgetting
that the formula did not exhaust all the possibilities,
but allowed a man who had married, but not for love, to
slip through. Besides, you forget / was never a candi-
date."
The President's arguments left me breathless.
" But at first — at the foundation ? " I gasped.
"Well, what of that?" inquired M'Gullicuddy.
" Did I ever tell a single syllable of untruth about it ?
Did any one ever ask whether / was married ? No ; it
was I who organised this Club ; it was I who broached
the idea to Mandeville Brown, and he jumped at it
eagerly, for it fell in with his humour. But I told him
I would not allow him to co-operate with me unless he
could satisfy my most searching inquiries as to the
3i8 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
integrity of his bachelorhood and the wholeness of his
heart. He submitted willingly to my examination, and
I passed him with honours. It never struck him to exa-
mine his examiner. (Even when I crushed his claim to
originality by assuring him that another married man
had previously remained in the Club, it never struck
him that it was I.) We two sought out a third and
so on. My inquiries into each neophyte's antecedents
were so minute and detailed that they never dreamt of
asking for mine. My criticism was so severe, ray scorn
for the Benedict so unconcealed, that my power and
position were never once questioned in the whole history
of the Bachelors' Club. I never evaded the tests, for I
was never tried by them. Do me the justice, Paul, to
admit that I have always striven with veritable single-
hearted zeal to uphold the dignity and the laws of our
Society, now, alas ! moribund, and that I have been an
impeccable President of the Bachelors' Club."
I saw that he was right. How I had wronged this great
and good man ! Eemorse rent my over-charged bosom.
I fell at his feet and craved his pardon and his blessing.
" Piise, Paul," said the kindly President, in tremulous
accents, " you are forgiven."
"And you are forgiven, my dear, good Patrick!"
came suddenly from the lips of the woman, whom we
had both forgotten in the last exciting moments of
M'Gullicuddy's monologue. " I may speak now ? "
"Yes, Miss Fallowsmith, you may speak now," said
the President wearily.
" Then, Patrick, there is yet time to catch the Har-
wich boat."
" Eh, lass ? " said Peter Parker, so startled that he
slipped perforce into M'Gullicuddy.
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 319
" Yes, you are my husband now, if not when you
married me. I was right after all when I claimed you
as mine."
" I cauna be your husband."
"You can, and are. My sister is dead. She died
soon after your leaving her. Your disappearance, taken
in conjunction with the deaths of her three other hus-
bands, excited suspicion. She was alleged to have made
away with you. The investigation conducted in conse-
quence so upset her that she died."
" False deceptive creature ! " cried the President.
" Then she will never wear my mother's weeds after all !
I had intended leaving her a dying confession and these
clothes, with fresh testamentary adjurations to wear
them. But tliat is over now." He wept silently.
"Do not take on so, Patrick," said Miss Fallowsmith,
with infinite tenderness, as she passed a gentle hand
over the remains of his hair. " There is yet balm in
Gilead. Is not your own Isabella here to bear your
burdens and to soothe your sorrows? Come, love,
remember that if you have lost your first widow you
have still a widow left to you. I will wear those gar-
ments for you when you are no more, oh how gladly ! "
Peter Parker looked up. The tear in his eye was
blent with a sunny gleam of hope. Then the rainbow
faded away again into mist.
" I5ut they do not fit you."
" Oh yes, love, measure me, measure me," she cried
eagerly, placing his arm round her waist.
"Your diameter is too extensive," he said sadly.
" You will burst your cerements — I mean my mother's
mourning."
"No, no!" she cried ecstatically. "If that is all,
320 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Patrick, do not spurn me as unlit to be your mate and
widow. I can reduce my weight, dear; I will take
daily exercise, darling ; I will use anti-fat, love; any-
thing to make me worthy to be your widow. Oh, if
there is no other way, Patrick, I would willingly starve
to make you happier, dearest. Only give me leave to
try, and you shall see that I will fit them, my darling,
my own and only love." Her eyes lit up in sublime
abnecration. Her look was that of a saint. Oh the
mirific workings of love, transforming the most prosaic
clay to the similitude of an angel !
" But you are my deceased wife's sister," faltered the
President.
" What is that, love % Come, let us catch the Dutch
boat. Other countries are not so cruel as ours. Let
us continue our interrupted honeymoon to Holland.
There we shall be made one."
" But it 's such an unco awf u' nicht for the passage ! "
pleaded M'Gullicuddy excitedly.
"The night will be all right," she replied optimistically.
" Tell Willoughby to fetch me a cab," groaned the
President helplessly.
Deeply moved by the pathetic scene I darted out,
unlocked the outer door, and looked down the stairs.
Neither Willoughby Jones nor any of the waiters was
to be seen. I ran down into the twinkling square ; the
snow was still falling, and in tremendous flakes. I
hailed a four-wheeler myself. The bridal pair were
close on my heels. They jumped in.
" Liverpool Street, viA Brunswick Square," called out
the President. " I must get the Gladstone bag with my
mother's weeds," he explained to his intended widow.
" Drive for your life," said Mrs. M'Gullicuddy, alia&
J BOLT FROM THE BLUE 321
OTlanagan, alias Parker. " A sovereign if you catch
the 8 P.M."
I closed the door of the cab.
" Here, Paul," said the President, holding out some-
thing to me. For a moment I thought he had mistaken
me, in his perturbation, for the usual loafer, and was
handing me a copper. But it was a bulkier object that
my palm closed upon.
"My snuff-box, Paul," said M'Gullicuddy with
emotion, " I shall not want it now. Keep it as a
memento."
" A memento marry," I said sadly,
" Yes," said M'Gullicuddy. " It is the common fate.
No man can escape. All right, Isabella, we 're off now.
Well, good-bye, Paul. To think that my first wife was
dead all along, and that if I had only read The, Macdes-
Jield Courier the Bachelors' Club would never have
been ! It was founded all in vain."
" All in vain ! " I echoed with a sigh.
The driver clucked, the horse advanced his foreleg,
and the President of the Bachelors' Club was whirled
off towards Holland to marry his deceased wife's sister.
The snow fell. The cab became a frosted wedding-
cake as it Ueeted from my ken.
CHAPTEll XIIL
LADY-DAY.
I don't think I mentioned what a charming woman the
mother of the Graces is. She belongs, in a sense, to
what plain, honest, mice-fearing ladies call the shrieking
sisterhood, for she is a Blue Ribbonite, and speaks in
public. This is not so bad as a Bluestocking, for
althouQ-h it seems to be agreed that a woman cannot
know anything and yet be beautiful, there appears to
be nothing in Temperance that is noxious to feminine
charms. Charis, so I in my own mind think of the mother
of the Graces, is a Juno-like woman, with a neck like
one of the same goddess's swans. Her beautiful features
are alive with intelligence and kindliness ; her voice is
soft and musical ; her manners are sweet and perfect.
She is the incarnation of all that is most adorable in
woman. Her husband is a stockbroker. His only
pleasure is in his wine-cellar, which is stocked with
the finest vintages.
Daily contact with this charming lady had matured
an idea engendered in my mind already at our second
meeting. Charis could be made a force to raise and
purify tlie standard of English humour. Her sweet and
ffracious life had hitherto illumined but a narrow circle ;
what if I made its beams co-extensive with tlie country ?
What nobler mission could a woman ask to be born for
322
LAD y-DA Y 323
than to do such needed service to our decadent comic
literature ?
After the death of At Home, Every Monday I had
been gratified to receive from an old friend the offer of
the editorship of a new comic paper he was projecting.
It was to have an entirely original feature in the shape
of jokes. This was the only condition the proprietor
made ; the rest was to be left entirely to my discretion.
I had long ago analysed modern English humour, even
as O'Eoherty had analysed the modern English novel,
though with more accuracy. Twenty per cent, of the
stuff' is of complex composition, embracing numerous
infifredients, some of which would make even blue litmus-
paper blush. The rest resolves itself simply into two
great genera, technically called " Drunks " and " Mother-
in-laws." Tliere are sixty per cent. " Drunks " to twenty
per cent. "Mother-in-laws," although the division is
rather cross. Under " Drunks " are comprised numerous
species, involving latciikeys, cabmen, lamp-posts, stair-
cases, vigil-keeping wives, gutters, etc. Under " Mother-
in-laws" are embraced every variety of connubial
kill-joy, including even other women. It was obvious
that in my comic paper these elements must be eschewed.
But could I entirely eliminate them ? They are so
easily invented. I miglit be so easily tempted to put
in one or the other as a fill-up. Besides, what rigid
watchfulness would be required to keep them out of the
contributors' copy ! The thought of the Herculean task
before me unnerved me. I was on the point of declin-
ing. Then I met Charis.
If I could prevail upon Charis to be my mother-in-
law, I could edit this paper with a cheerful self-reliance.
This pure and precious thing in mothers-in-law— (his
324 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
combination of the Temperance Oratress with the Angel
— would effectually drive off all " Drunks" and " Mother-
in-laws," as by centrifugal force. Apart from her dread
criticism of such imbecilities after the fact, the thought
of her sweet and gracious ways would inevitably keep
them out in the first instance. I should be driven to
insert real wit and humour. To have the conventional
fatuities about mothers-in-law would not only be a libel
on the kind, it would be an insult to my own. Con-
sidering that every man's mother is a potential mother-
in-law, there seems to be something verging on filial
disrespect in this constant chevying of legal maternity.
As for "Drunks," there can be no doubt that the
good-humoured rollicking treatment of a bestial subject
does much to perpetuate the evil. The drunkard is
pictured as a comic personage instead of a disgusting
animal. Charis was great on this. She said that the
"Drunks," whatever disagreeable difficulties they de-
picted the drunkard in, never served as a moral deter-
rent to any one. No comic paper had ever lured one
single bibulous being from the paths of adulterated
alcohol. "Drunks," she had said from the platform,
were like the intoxicated blackguard whom the good
son of the Talmud, taking his father for a constitutional,
pointed out to his vinous parent, as a scarecrow and a
warning. The good-for-nothing Hebrew prodded the
refuse of the roadway with his foot till the miserable
creature rolled on his back and gaped. Then the father
asked him where he got such good wine from.
Evidently, then, the salvation of English humour lay
in securing Charis for a mother-in-law. Such an
opportunity occurs but once in a generation. This god-
send to helhs lettres had fallen at my feet; was I to
11 i|v#
ASKED HIM WUERE HE GOT SCCU GOOD 'WISE FROM.
326 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
turn away impiously ? In my hands Charis had been
appointed an instrument for the renaissance of English
comic writing. Should I approve myself too weak to
wield it ? No, the hour had come, and the mother-in-
law. The man should not lag behind.
The one drop of bitter in my cup was that this great
thin" — like all great things — could not be achieved
without sacrifice. I should have to marry. And with
me the President, Treasurer, and Secretary, the Com-
mittee, and all the members of the Bachelors' Club
would have to marry. It was not a mere sacrifice that
was demanded by the interests of art, but a holocaust. I
could martyr myself with pleasure, but was I justified
in sacrificing the Bachelors' Club on the altar of mar-
riage ? Did it not behove me to be all the stronger that
the yoke had been left on my unaided neck ? Should I
not stand like a rocky pillar against the whole Atlantic
of matrimony ? Were it not better that there should
be written on my tombstone : —
Impavidum ferient ruince ?
Let English humour perish. The Bachelors' Club must
be saved !
And yet there were other sides to this perplexing
polygon. Why should the Bachelors' Club be wound
up, even if I married ? Could I not keep it up till such
time as new candidates appeared ? There was only the
rent to pay — the waiters had sacked themselves like
rats deserting a sinking ship. They never returned
since I put them out on that memorable night when the
great snow — which has been falling ever since — com-
menced to fall. And even if no fresh members ever
appeared, the impression that it was a charity, perhaps
LADV-nAV 327
a refuge for poor creatures who could not get wives,
might gain ground. More donations might accrue,
especially if the institution were judiciously advertised
by misleading paragraphs in the newspapers, sanctimo-
nious circulars and broadcast publication of the names
of donors. Were there not many instances of similar
charities ? And do they not play a noble part in the
economy of existence, fostering the higher feelings of
our nature, and bringing opportunities for abnegation
to our very doors ? But for false beggars there would
be little true charity in this world. The Bachelors'
Club was a going concern ; it would be sheer extrava-
gance to wind it up if I married, especially as I should
then want money. It might still go on of itself, and if
it got good endowments it might loom large in men's
eyes and make a brave show, though it had not a
single member in the world. No, the Bachelors' Club
need be no obstacle to my securing Charis. This
settled, the advantages of matrimony rushed upon me
in a cohort. I had always felt it hard to give away
costly wedding-presents and get only miserable bits of
wedding-cake. If I married I should reverse the sides
of the bargain, and get the better of it. The money
expended on presents would then only have been lying
out at compound interest. It is so provoking to be
fleeced by one's best friends. Lifelong celibacy would
mean the entire loss of all these investments. It would
never occur to these cooing couples to say : " Paul is
going on a month's holiday ; let us club together and
give him a good send-off ; " or, " Paul has cut a new
tooth, let us give him a new umbrella, his present one
is so bad and bulging." No, they would stick to my
money and never say a word about it, unless I made a
328 THE CELIBATES'' CLUB
weddins?- feast and invited them to send it back. If for
nothing else but to annoy his i'riends, a man ought to
marry.
Again, I am very fond of walking-tours in the
country. But, as I have remarked before, done on foot
they are tiresome and tedious. I have always envied
the man who flew along on a bicycle while I was
toiling footsore towards the mocking mile-post.
But I have never ventured to bestride a bicycle.
It is an animal that I hold in suspicion. It has
no discipline, no steadiness ; it reels to the right
or the left, as though it were drunk, and lurches
towards the gutter. It is a machine that can only be
recommended to suicides. A tricycle I consider an
unmanly and cowardly substitute. But if I could com-
bine safety with temerity by using a sociable, one of the
dearest dreams of my life would be realised, and walk-
ing-tours would be robbed of their thorn. Now you
cannot divide a sociable with a man, because, like a
tandem, it is so obvious a mask of cowardice. Two
men might just as well ride two bicycles. No, it is
only with a woman that one can share a sociable, for
then it is a concession to her weakness, and the mark
of a nature solicitous for others. Such a partner on
protracted walking-tours can only be obtained by mar-
riage.
Then there was the great snow. The downfall that
had started in November, and had continued for three
weeks, and was still going on, had been unprecedented.
The oldest inhabitants of the English workhouses could
not remember anything like it, though this may have
been the fault of their ailing aged memories. The snow
stood in heaps like the congealed waters of the
LADY-DAY 329
Eed Sea; while the traffic passed through the
middle, like the army of the Israelites. Millions
of men found employment in shunting the snow
towards the gutters and side-walks as soon as it
fell. Architecture was reduced to a dead level of
amorphous white, and the tons of snow on the roofs
caved in numerous buildings. The world was one wide
whirl of fleecy flakes, waltzing round to the music of
the winds. It was a hard time for the poor, and for
widows and orphans, whose mourning was quite blanched
by the ceaseless snow. But everybody was happy
though avalanches slid down the chimneys and put out
the fires, and fountains percolated through the ceilings,
and cascades poured from the tiles. Such a snow-
storm had never happened before ; the like of it had
never been seen in the memory of Englishmen. Perhaps
it was turned on for this occasion only. It might
never happen again in the whole history of England ;
and if it did, every one had a chance of being the oldest
inhabitant by that time. What a tale to tell in the
dim years of the future, when posterity boasted of its
snow-storms ! How we would annihilate the miserable
pretensions of our descendants when they boasted of
the rigour of their winters ! How we should recount it
to our grandsons again and again ; how we should
freeze their young blood with the tale of the great
snow ! Why should I be debarred from this supreme
enjoyment, in itself enough to counterpoise years of
suffering? I had no grandchildren, nor was likely to
have any at the rate I was going on. Decidedly I
must marry and have grandchildren to whom to tell the
tale of the great snow. And I must marry quickly, or
else I might have to leave without seeing them.
330 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Moreover, unless I married shortly I should probably
never marry at all. A few days after I had concluded
that my reth^ement need make no difference to the exist-
ence and prosperity of the Bachelors' Club, I received
a lucrative offer for the transfer of our rooms. This
decided me to drop the idea of keeping up the Club,
especially as I was anxious to utilise my experiences of
it in book-form, and the charity could always be con-
tinued under another name, and count even the readers
of these lines among its donors. So I closed with the
offer, though there was more in it than I bargained for.
Too late I discovered that the Club apartments were to
be converted into a newspaper office. In due course
the editor of the Matrimonial Noose was installed in our
sanctum ; while the pernicious paper itself was pub-
lished in the smoking-room, and the contents bills were
posted over our maxims. But this by the way. To
return to my marriage. If I published The Bachelors'
Cliih, necessarily embodying so much misogyny and
such fell high-treason to the Queen of Hearts, the odds
were I should never get a wife. I did not want one at
present, but who knew that I might not want one some
day ? Wives have many uses, as Bacon has pointed
out. Was it wise, was it prudent to cut myself off
from all chance of getting one ? No ; if I was ever to
marry, it must be before the publication of The
Bachelors' Club. And there was another consideration
which limited my time of single blessedness still more
straitly. Christmas was coming. If I nu^rried on
Christmas Day a great economy of enjoyment would be
effected. The Christmas party would do as the
wedding party. It is such a bore to be jolly, and if you
can kill two birds with one stone, proverbial sagacity
LADY-DAY 331
recommends the massacre. The Christmas dinner would
do for the wedding dinner also. Instead of the dietary
fal-lals we should have wholesome roast beef and plum
pudding. There was no time to lose. It is a matter
of common remark that Christmas comes but once a
year. By next Christmas my book would be published.
Then the gate of matrimony would for ever be shut
in my bachelor face, and to me, as to the equally foolish
virgins, a voice would wail —
" Too late, too late, you cannot enter now."
Besides, unless I married I should never be able to
utilise that witty wedding-speech which I found
among Mandeville Brown's manuscripts. The date
of the wedding settled, the only problem now left
was by which of Charis's daughters to become her
son-in-law and save English humour. Maud, Alice, or
Kitty, — each was as good as the other. Was there any
way by which I could choose among them ? It is
always unpleasant to marry one out of several daughters,
because it makes such invidious distinctions. This
shows the advantages of polygamy over monogamy.
The unpleasantness was increased for me by the fact
that there was no reason why I should make any dis-
tinction at all. Tossing up suggested itself to me. But
I am averse from gambling. For hours I was racked
by doubt. Then I bethought myself that if I tvas to be
martyred, I might as well make as good a thing out of
it as any other martyr. Why not choose the girl who
was best adapted to my idiosyncrasies ?
The reader may have gathered from these records
that I am one of those unfortunate persons who find it
difficult to leave a room. When I pay a visit I never
332 THE CELT BATES' Cl.UB
know when to go. The personal magnetism of the
company draws me like a bit of steel. I cannot tear
myself away. I sit listening and looking about me till
I fancy my entertainers get annoyed. Half-a-dozen
times I get up awkwardly to go away, but I sit down
again without success. As a visitor, I have too much
staying-power. Now if I could go out visiting with a
companion who would always give me the cue when to
go, who would take me away despite all my uneasy
efforts to remain, this shadow on my life would be
lifted. As I was to marry, I might as well marry a
woman who would do this. I set myself to watch the
three Graces carefully so as to ascertain which could
leave a room quickest. It did not take me long to
discover that it was Kitty. When I came into any
room and she was there, she always left it quicker than
any one else of the company. Kitty then must be my
future mother-in-law's first married daughter.
I took an early opportunity of informing Kitty of
the fact. I waylaid the bright, violet-eyed creature
with the sunny hair and the dainty figure and the
saucy tongue in a curtained niche of the ball-room, for
no niveous deluge could give pause to the pleasures of
Bayswater. She did not seem at all surprised, which
surprised me ; and she declined, which surprised me
still more. She made the usual sororal protestations ;
but if she became my sister, Charis would have become
my mother. And it was not a mother I was marrying
for, but a mother-in-law. I had a mother. I had had one
from my earliest infancy. I pressed Kitty for reasons,
and she confessed with a pretty blush and a sigh that
her heart was seared. I saw that she still cherished
the memory of Mandeville Brown. I took her soft
LADV-DAV 333
tiny hand and pressed it and my suit hard. As she
stood there in all the flush of youth and insolent loveli-
ness, with her heart beating quickly beneath her gauzy
ball-dress, and the voluptuous music of the waltz
swinging dreamily to and fro, I felt quite piqued by her
refusal. As I looked into her beautiful eyes, I felt that
I had been right in deciding upon marriage. It was
well that English humour should be purified and
elevated. High ideals in life and literature seemed
easy to discern and to follow by the light of those
violet orbs. All things fair and noble seemed fairer
and nobler while I held her gentle fingers. It seemed
to me as if the world would grow dark and my new
paper would not contain jokes, if she took those dainty
digits away. I felt that I should not even need to run
a charity, if she only consented to become my mother-
in-law's daughter. What mattered to me that she still
thought of Mandeville Brown ; that she loved the
Bedlamite ? I did not want her love, any more than
slie could have mine. She did not love me, true, but
then I did not love her. Surely two negatives like that
should result in an affirmative, when I made my
proposal ! But she still shook her head in a silence
that was not consent. Her obstinacy was maddening
me. The waltz swang on.
"And you are determined to ruin my life?" 1
whispered hoarsely, as I thought of the coming comic
paper with its " drunks " and its " mother-in-laws."
" It is not my fault," she said plaintively, " I am sure
I am very sorry. Please, let me go, the waltz is half
over and my partner must be looking for me everywhere."
" Your partner stands here," I answered her, gripping
lier hand more fiercely. " Your partner for life."
334 rHE CELIBATES' CLUB
" No, I cannot give you the whole programme," she
rejoined resolutely.
"There must be some reason behind this — something
you are hiding from me," T said bitterly. " You led me
on to believe that you did not love me, and now you
are throwing me over, as if that were a sufficient
excuse. No, there is something else. Till you tell me
what it is I will not let you go."
"Then I will tell you," she said. "You off'er me
your name and fortune. I do not object to the fortune.
But the name I can never take. I do not mind the
Paul — that is nice enough. But Pry ! Become Mrs.
Paul Pry, indeed ! Ugh!"
"What is the matter with the name ?" I asked hotly.
" It is a lovely alliterative name, and this is the first
time I have heard any one find fault with it." •
" That may be," said the beautiful little minx, tossing
her golden hair. " But I prefer my own."
" Oh, Kitty, that is such a nominal difficulty !" I cried.
" It is fatal," she said decisively. " So now you
know. Cheer up. You '11 get over it."
"Never," I cried, as I thought of poor English
humour.
"No ?" she said, her violet eyes overbrimming with
saucy light. " What will you do then ? "
Her question restored me to myself. My duty
faced me, cold and stern.
" I shall marry Maud or Alice," I said quietly.
Kitty flushed. " None of my sisters shall be Mrs.
Pry," she said hotly and impulsively.
" Indeed ? " I sneered. " We shall see." Her selfish
indifference to the interests of English humour braced
rae to suffer and be strong
LADY-DAY 335
" Yes, we shall see," she flashed back, her lovely lips
twitching. " It shall never be."
"Why, who will prevent it?" I said indignantly.
" I will," she said defiantly.
I laughed scornl'ully.
" You ?" I said. " And how, pray ? "
" I will become Mrs. Pry myself."
The ball-room swayed round nie, as though it had
joined in the waltz. The dreamy music sounded far-
off, like the strains of some celestial melody. The
blood coursed in delicious delirium through my veins.
I caught the bewitching little beauty in my arms and
kissed her. English humour would be safe after all.
For the love of letters I kissed her thankfully again
and again. i\Iy lips were grateful to hci-.
« *
The proprietor of the proposed comic paper insisted
on sitting next to us at supper, much to our annoyance,
and told me he had given up the idea. All his friends
had warned him that it would never do to give the public
new jokes. That they would never recognise them.
That they liked to see old friends, and never tired of
" drunks " and " mother-in-laws." That if a man made
a joke that tickled the public, he could make his
fortune by repeating that joke for the rest of his life.
That they would not let him do anything else ; and that
if he made another joke, his reputation as a humourist
would be gone. That new jokes were like new men, it
took them a long time to achieve recognition. That it
was better to stick to the old jokes. And that he pre-
ferred dropping the idea to dropping a lot of coin over
it. " Even this Bachelors' Club of yours," he said, ' will
fall flat."
336 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
I said 1 would go through the manuscript carefully
and cut out all the jokes, so that the critics might
praise my artistic restraint, and the public buy my
book. I also pointed out that, like many a greater
fool, 1 relied largely on my title and that a book with
such a title ought to go, even if it were worth reading ;
for it could not fail to excite the liveliest interest in
matrimonial circles. I said that a faithful prosaic
chronicle of facts always had a charm for the public as
might be seen from the success of the Police News and
the Stock Exchange Quotations. I admitted that the
reasons which had induced my fellow-members to
marry were rather commonplace. None of the Bache-
lors had a spark of the wild originality of the gentle-
man who advertised recently in a Mauritius paper as
follows : — " A Stamp-collector, the possessor of a collec-
tion of 12,544 stamps, wishes to marry a lady who is
an ardent collector, and the possessor of the blue penny
stamp of Mauritius, issued in 1847." Still I ventured
to think that ordinary as were the stories I had to tell,
something was gained by sticking close to Truth in all
its naked and unenamelled beauty.
And, pressing Kitty's hand to reassure myself that I
did not intend to back out and blight her life now that
English humour could not be saved after all, I added
that I didn't care if The Bachelors' Cltih was a failure.
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
And now, as I sit on the last night of this strange
and mournful year and gaze from the window of the
Bournemouth hotel towards the sea that moans be-
neath, a phantasmagoria of recollections hovers in the
cold starlight. My eyes fill with tears and Kitty's
living face grows dim as those wed faces of my
LAD y-DA Y 337
comrades gleam in the spectral air. One short year ago
we sat all together iu the Bachelors' Club, speeding
the parting year with careless carousal and cynic chat —
and now, we are scattered as leaves before the blast.
How fast has brother followed brother from sunshine
to the honeymoon land ! Twelve brief months ago, all
gay and healthy, in the pride of single life, and the
flower of celibacy, and now we lie wed and married
in the four corners of the earth — Henry Eobinson in
the snow- clad Sierras of South America, and Oliver
Green in the torrid plains of India, and Israfel Mondego
in the droughty deserts of Australia, and M'Gullicuddy
beneath the red sunsets of Rotterdam. Poor President
— thee I pity most, for surely no man was ever so sorely
circumstanced as thou, M'Gullicuddy, with thy Maccles-
field marriage.
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces — gone to
that bourne whence no bachelor returns. At this
solemn season of the year I think of you all with for-
bearance, my anger softened by your end. Of thee,
Fogson, in thy farmhouse, with thy pseudo- Barbara ;
and thee, O'Roherty, with thy lady-novelist ; and thee,
Little Bethel, with thy play-loving partner ; and thee,
Dickray, with thy Jenny, ghostliest of brides and
counsellors. Nor shall the throb of pity be denied to
thee, Fitz-Williams, with thy rich consort ; nor to thee,
Twinkletop, with thy cook ; least of all to thee,
epigrammatic Bedlamite, Mandeville Brown. I extend
amnesty to you all. By my pious hand have ye all
been preserved in memory on the funereal fresco,
though for me there was none to perform the last
sad offices. Yea, even to thee, Willoughby Jones, and
to thee, dusky steward, my soul goes out in silent
Y
338
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
sympathy. Bequicscatis omnes. Towards the Chib-
rooms, too, I raise my hand in peaceful benediction,
though they likewise are married, so to speak, and
subserve base matrimonial operations.
All gone — vanished like last year's great snow.
Clash ! clash ! Ding ! dong ! The joy-bells uslier
in the New Year. Kitty's face is close to mine. Our
tears mingle.
Farewell, farewell, boon companions, farewell — a
last, sad farewell.
Marriendum est omnibus.
(^,-m<:yt^w\x
THE OLD MAIDS' CLUB
WITH FORTY-FOUR ILLUST RATIONS ISV F. It. TOWNSEND
INTRODUCTION
THE READER MY BOOK
MY BOOK THE READER
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. The Algebra of Love, Plus other Tl
II. The Honorary Trier,
III. The Man in the Ironed Mask,
IV. The Club gets Advkrtised, .
V. The Princess of Port.man Square
VI. The Grammar of Love, .
VII. The Idyl of Trepolpen,
VIII. More about the Cherub,
IX. Of Wives and their Mistresses,
X. The Good Young Men who Lived,
XL Adventures in Search of ihe Pole,
XII. The Arithmetic and I'hvsiology of I
XIII. "The English Shakespeare,"
XIV. The Old Young Woman and the New
XV. The Mysterious Advertiser, .
INGS,
IFE,
PAClir
345
355
363
37«
385
422
435
4^J3
471
484
498
526
536
562
5S1
cccxliv
CONTENTS
XVI. The Club becomes Popular,
XVII. A Musical Bar,
XVIII. The Beautiful Ghoul, .
XIX. La Femme Incomprise, .
XX. The Inaugural Soiree,
PAGE
600
613
627
645
655
CHAPTER I
THE ALGEBRA OF LOVE
PLUS
OTHER THINGS
HE OLD MAIDS' CLUB was founded by Lillie
l_J Dulcimer in her sweet seventeenth year. She
had always been precocious, and could analyse her
own sensations before she could spell. In fact, she divided
her time between making sensations and analysing them.
She never spoke early English — the dialect which so
enraged Dr. Johnson — but, like John Stuart Mill, she wrote
a classical style from childhood. She kept a diary, not
necessarily as a guarantee of good faith, but for publication
only. It was labelled " Lillie Day by Day," and was posted
up from her fifth year. Judging by the analogy of the rest,
one might construct the entry for the first day of her life.
If she had been able to record her thoughts, her diary
would probably have begun thus : —
Sunday, September ird. — My birthday. Wept at the
sight of the world in which I was to be so miserable. The
atmosphere was so stuffy — not at all pleasing to the esthetic
faculties. Expected a more refined reception. A lady, to
whom I had never been introduced, fondled me and ad-
346 THE CELIBATE!^' CLUB
dressed me as " Petsie-tootsie-wootsie." It appears that
she is my mother, but this hardly justifies her in degrading
the language of Milton and Shakespeare. Later on a man
came in and kissed her. I could not help thinking that
they might respect my presence. I understood later that
I must call the stranger " Poppy," and that I was not to
resent his familiarities, as he was very much attached to my
mother by Act of Parliament. Both the man and the
woman seem to arrogate to themselves a certain authority
over me. How strange that two persons you have never
seen before in your life should claim such rights of inter-
ference ! There must be something rotten in the constitu-
tion of society. It shall be one of my life-tasks to discover
what it is. I made a light lunch off milk, but do not care
for the beverage. The day passed slowly. I was dread-
fully bored by the conversation in the room — it was so
petty. I was glad when night came. Oh, the intolerable
ennui of an English Sunday ! I divine already that I am
destined to go through life perpetually craving for I know
not what, and that I shan't be happy till I get it.
Lillie was a born heroine, being young and beautiful
from her birth. In her fourth year she conceived a Platonic
affection for the boy who brought the telegrams. His
manners had such repose. This was followed by a hope-
less passion for a French cavalry officer with spurs. Every
one feared she would grow up to be a suicide or a poetess ;
for her earliest nursery rhyme was an impromptu distich
discovered by the nursery-maid, running :
Woonded i crawl out from the battel,
Life is as hollo as my raitel.
And her twelfth year was almost entirely devoted to literary
composition of a hopeless character, so far as publishers
THE ALGEBRA OF LOVE PLUS OTHER THINGS ^^7
were concerned. It was only the success of Woman as a
Waste Force, in her fourteenth year, that induced them to
compete for her early manuscripts, and to give the world
the celebrated compilations, Ibsen for Infants, Broivning
for Babies, Carlyle for the Cradle, Newman for the Nursery,
Leopardi for the Little Ones, and The Schoolgirls Schopen-
hauer, which, together with Tracts for the Tots, make up
the main productions of her First Period.
After the loss of the French cavalry officer she remained
blas'ee till she was more than seven, when her second grand
passion took her. It was a very grand passion indeed this
time — and it lasted a full week. These things did not
matter while Lillie had not yet arrived at years of indis-
cretion ; but when she got into her teens, her father began
to look about for a husband for her. He was a millionaire,
and had always kept her supplied with every luxury. But
Lillie did not care for her father's selections, and sent them
all away with fleas in their cars instead of kind words.
And her father was as unhappy as his selections. In her
sixteenth year, her mother, who had been ailing for sixteen
years, breathed her last, and Lillie more freely. She had
grown quite to like Mrs. Dulcimer, which prevented her
having her own way. The situation was now very simple.
Mr. Dulcimer managed his immense affairs, and Lillie
managed Mr. Dulcimer.
He made one last effort to get her to manage another
man. He discovered a young nobleman who seemed fond
of her society, and who was in the habit of meeting her
accidentally at the Academy. The gunpowder being thus
presumably laid, he set to work to strike the match. But
the explosion was not such as he expected. Lillie told him
that no man was further from her thoughts as a possible
husband.
348 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
"But, Lillie," pleaded the millionaire, "not one of the
objections you have impressed upon me applies to Lord
Silverdale. He is young, rich, handsome "
"Yes, yes, yes," answered Lillie, " I know."
" He is rich, and cannot be after your money."
" True,"
" He has a title, which you consider an advantage."
" I do."
" He is a man of taste and culture."
" He is."
" Well, what is it you don't like ? Doesn't he ride or
dance well ? "
•' He dances like an angel, and rides like the devil."
"Well, what in the name of angels or devils is your
objection, then } "
"Father," said Lillie very solemnly, "he is all you claim,
but " The little delicate cheek flushed modestly. She
could not say it.
" But " said the millionaire impatiently.
Lillie hid her face in her hands.
" But " said the millionaire brutally.
" But I love him ! "
"You what?" roared the millionaire.
" Yes, father ; do not be angry with me. I love him
dearly. Oh, do not spurn me from you, but I love him
with my whole heart and soul, and I shall never marry any
other man but him." The poor little girl burst into a
paroxysm of weeping.
" Then you will marry him ? " gasped the millionaire.
" No, father," she sobbed solemnly, " that is an illegiti-
mate deduction from my proposition. He is the one man
on this earth I could never bring myself to marry."
" You are mad ! "
THE ALGEBRA OF LOVE PLUS OTHER THINGS 349
" No, father. I am only mathematical. I will never
marry a man who does not love me. And don't you see
that, as I love him, the odds are that he doesn't love me ? "
" But he tells me he does ! "
" What is his bare assertion — weighed against the doctrine
of probabihty ? How many girls do you suppose Silverdale
has met in his varied career ? "
"A thousand, I daresay."
"Ah, that's only reckoning English society (and theatres).
And then he has seen society (and theatres) in Paris, Berlin,
Rome, Boston, a hundred places ! If we put the figure at
three thousand it will be moderate. Here am I, a single
girl "
"Who oughtn't to remain so," growled the millionaire.
"One single girl. How wildly improbable that out of
three thousand girls, Silverdale should just fall in love with
me ! It is 2999 to one against. Then there is the pro-
bability that he is not in love at all — which makes the odds
5998 to one. The problem is exactly analogous to one
which you will find in any Algebra. Out of a sack contain-
ing three thousand coins, what is the odds that a man will
draw the one marked coin ? "
" The comparison of yourself to a marked coin is correct
enough," said the millionaire, thinking of the files of fortune-
hunters to whom he had given the sack. " Otherwise you
are talking nonsense."
"Then Pascal, Laplace, Lagrange, De Moivre talked
nonsense," said LiUie hotly; "but I have not finished. We
must also leave open the possibility that the man will not
be tempted to draw out any coin whatsoever. The odds
against the marked coin being drawn out are thus 5998 to
one. The odds against Silverdale returning my affection
are 5998 to one. As Butler rightly points out, probability
3SO THE CELIBATES' CLUB
is the only guide to conduct, which is, we know from
Matthew Arnold, three-fourths of life. Am I to risk ruining
three-fourths of my life, in defiance of the unerring dogmas
of the Doctrine of Chances ? No, father, do not exact this
sacrifice from me. Ask me anything you please, and I will
grant it — oh, so gladly ! But do not, oh do not, ask me to
niarry the man I love ! "
The millionaire stroked her hair and soothed her in
piteous silence. He had made his pile in pig-iron, and had
not science enough to grapple with the situation.
"Do you mean to say," he said at last, "that because
you love a man, he can't love you ? "
" He can. But in all human probability he won't. Sup-
posing you put on a fur waistcoat, and went out into the
street, determined to invite to dinner the first man in a straw
hat, and supposing he replied that you had just forestalled
him, as he had gone out with a similar intention to look for
the first man in a fur waistcoat, what would you say ? "
The millionaire hesitated. "Well, I shouldn't like to
insult the man," he said slowly.
" You see ! " said Lillie triumphantly.
"Well, then, dear," said he, after much pondering, "the
only thing for it is to marry a man you don^t love."
" Father ! " said Lillie, in terrible tones.
The millionaire hung his head shamefacedly at the out-
rage his suggestion had put upon his daughter.
"Forgive me, Lillie," he said, "I shall never interfere
again in your matrimonial concerns."
So Lillie wiped her eyes, and founded the Old Maids'
Club.
She said it was one of her matrimonial concerns, and so
her father could not break his word, though an entire suite
of rooms in his own Kensington mansion was set aside for
THE ALGEBRA OF LOVE PLUS OTHER THINGS 351
the rooms of the Club. Not that he desired to interfere.
Having read The Bachelors' Club, he thought it was the
surest way of getting her married.
The object of the Club was defined by the foundress as
" the depolarisation of the term ' Old Maid ' ; in other
words, the dissipation of all those disagreeable associations
which have gradually and most unjustly clustered about it,
the restoration of the homely Saxon phrase to its pristine
purity, and the elevation of the enviable class denoted by it
to their due pedestal of privilege and homage."
The conditions of membership, drawn up by Lillie,
were : —
I. Every candidate must be under twenty-five. 2. Every candidate
must be beautiful and weahhy, and undertake to continue so. 3.
Every candidate must have refused at least one advantageous offer of
marriage.
The rationale of these rules was obvious. Disappointed,
soured failures were not wanted. There was no virtue in
being an Old Maid when you had passed twenty-five.
Such creatures are merely old maids — Old Maids (with
capitals) were required to be in the flower of youth and the
flush of beauty. Their anti-matrimonial motives must be
above suspicion. They must despise and reject the married
state though they would be welcomed therein with open
arms. Only thus would people's minds be disabused of the
old-fashioned notions about old maids. The Old Maids
were expected to obey an elaborate array of by-laws, and
respect a series of recommendations.
According to the by-laws they were required —
I. To regard all men as brothers. 2. Not to keep cats, lap-dogs,
parrots, pages, or other domestic pets. 3. Not to have less than one
birthday per year. 4. To abjure medicine, art classes, and the confes-
sional. 5. Never to sjicak to a curate. 6. Not lo have an)' fads or to
352 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
take part in woman's rights movements, charity concerts, or other
platform demonstrations. 7. Not to wear caps, curls, or similar
articles of attire. 8. Not to kiss females.
In addition to these were the general recommenda-
tions : — Never refuse the last slice of bread, etc., lest you
be accused of dreading celibacy. Never accept bits of
wedding cake, lest you be suspected of putting them under
your pillow. Do not express disapproval by a sniff. In
travelling, choose smoking carriages ; pack your umbrellas
and parasols inside your trunk. Never distribute tracts.
Always fondle children, and show marked hostility to the
household cat. Avoid eccentricities. Do not patronise
Dorothy Restaurants or the establishments of the Aerated
Bread Company. Never drink cocoa-nibs. In dress it is
better to avoid mittens, crossovers, fleecy shawls, elastic-
side boots, white stockings, black silk bodices with
pendent gold chains, and antique white lace collars.
One - button white kid gloves are also inadvisable for
afternoon concerts. Nor should any glove be worn with
fingers too long to pick up change at booking offices.
Parcels should not be wrapped in whitey-brown paper, and
not more than three should be carried at once. Watch-
pockets should not be hung over the bed. Sheets and
mattresses should be left to the servants to air, and rooms
should be kept in an untidy condition. Refrain from
manufacturing jam, household remedies, gossip or goose-
berry wine. Never nurse a cold or a relative. It is advis-
able not to have a married sister, as she might decease,
and the temptation to marry her husband is such as no
mere human being ought to be exposed to. For cognate
reasons, eschew friendship with cripples and hunchbacks
(especially when they have mastered the violin in twelve
lessons), men of no moral character, drunkards who wish
THE ALGEBRA OF LOVE PLUS OTHER THINGS 353
to reform themselves, very ugly men, and husbands with
wives in lunatic asylums. Cultivate rather the acquaint
ance of handsome young men {who have been duly
vaccinated), for this species is too conceited to be
dangerous.
On the same principle were the rules for admitting
visitors : —
I. No unmarried lady admitted. 2. No married gentleman ad-
mitted.
If they admitted single ladies there would be no privilege
in being a member, while if they did not admit single
gentlemen they might be taunted with being afraid that
they were not fireproof. When Lillie had worked this out
to her satisfaction, she was greatly chagrined to find the two
rules were the same as for "The Bachelors' Club." To
show their Club had no connection with the brother insti-
tution, she devised a series of counterblasts to their misogynic
maxims. These were woven on all the antimacassars ; the
deadliest were : —
The husband is the only creature entirely selfish. He is a low
organism, consisting mainly of a digestive apparatus and a rude mouth.
The lover holds the cloak ; the husband drops it. Wedding dresses
are webs. Women like clinging robes ; men like clinging women.
The lover will always help the beloved to be helpless. A man likes
his wife to be just clever enough to comprehend his cleverness and just
stupid enough to admire it. Women who catch husbands rarely
recover. Marriage is a lottery ; every wife does not become a widow.
Wrinkles are woman's marriage lines, but when she gets them her
husband will no longer be bound.
The woman who believes her husband loves her, is capable of be-
lieving that she loves him. A good man's love is the most intoleraiile
of boredoms. A man often marries a woman because they have the
same tastes and prefer himself to the rest of creation. If a woman
could know what her lover really thought of her, she would know what
354
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
to think of him. Possession is nine points of the marriage law. It is
impossible for a man to marry a clever woman. Marriages are made
in heaven, but old maids go there.
Lillie also
painted a
cynical
picture of
dubious
double-edged
incisive-
ness. It was
called " Lat-
ter-day Love,"
and repre-
sented the ill-
hap of Cupid,
neglected
and superfluous, his quiver full, his arrows rusty, shivering
with the cold, amid contented couples passing him by with
LATTER-DAY LOVIC.
THE HONORARY TRIER 355
never an eye for the lugubrious legend, " Pity the poor
blind."
The picture put the finishing touch to the rooms of the
Club. When Lillie Dulcimer had hung it up, she looked
round upon the antimacassars and felt a proud and happy
girl.
The Old Maids' Club was now complete. Nothing was
wanting except members.
CHAPTER II
THE HONORARY TRIER
Lord Silverdale was the first visitor to the Old Maids'
Club. He found the fair President throned alone among
the epigrammatic antimacassars. Lillie received him with
dignity, and informed him that he stood on holy ground.
The young man was shocked to hear of the change in her
condition. He, himself, had lately spent his time in pluck-
ing up courage to ask her to change it — and now he had
been forestalled.
" But you must come in and see us often," said Lillie.
" It occurs to me that the by-laws admit you."
" How many will you be ? " murmured Silverdale, heart-
broken.
" I don't know yet. I am waiting for the thing to get
about. I have been in communication with the first candi-
date, and expect her any moment. She is a celebrated
actress."
" And who elects her ? "
" I, of course ! " said Lillie, with an imperial flash in her
356 THE CELTBATES' CLUB
passionate brown eyes. She was a brunette, and her face
sometimes looked like a handsome thundercloud. " I am
the President and the Committee, and the oldest Old
Maid. Isn't one of the rules that candidates shall not
believe in woman's rights? None of the members will
have any voice whatever."
"Well, if your actress is a comic opera star, she won't
have any voice whatever."
"Lord Silverdale," said Lillie sharply, "I hate puns.
They spoiled the Bachelors' Club."
His lordship, who was the greatest punster of the peers,
and the peer of the greatest punsters, muttered savagely that
he would like to spoil the Old Maids' Club. LiUie punned
herself sometimes, but he dared not tell her of it.
" And what will be the subscription ? " he said aloud.
" There will be none. 1 supply the premises."
"Ah, that will never do. Half the pleasure of belonging
to a club is the feeling that you have not paid your sub-
scription. And how about grub ? "
" Grub ! We are not men. We do not fulfil missions
by eating."
"Unjust creature! Men sometimes fulfil missions by
being eaten."
"Well, papa will supply buns, lemonade, and ices.
Turple the Magnificent, as you call him, will always be
within hail to hand round the things."
" May I send you in a cwt. of chocolate creams? "
" Certainly. Why should weddings have a monopoly of
presents ? This is not the only way in which you can be of
service to me, if you will."
"Only discover it for me, my dear Miss Dulcimer.
Where there's a way there's a will."
"Well, I should like you to act as trier."
THE HONORARY 7R1ER 357
" Eh ! I beg your pardon ? "
" Uon't apologise ; to try the candidates who wish to be
Old Maids."
" Try them ? No, no. I'm afraid I should be prejudiced
against bringing them in innocent."
" Don't be silly. You know what I mean. I could not
tell so well as you whether they possessed the true apostolic
spirit. You are a man — your instinct would be truer than
mine. Whenever a new candidate applies, I want you to
come up and see her."
"Really, Miss Dulcimer, I — I can't tell by looking at
her!"
" No, but you can by her looking at you."
"You exaggerate my insight."
" Not at all. It is most important that something of the
kind should be done. By the rules, all the Old Maids
must be young and beautiful. And it requires a high
degree of will and intelligence "
"To be both?"
" For such to give themselves body and soul to the Cause.
Every Old Maid is double-faced till she has been proved
single-hearted."
" And must I talk to them ? "
"In plain English "
" It's the only language I speak plainly."
"Wait till I finish, boy ! In plain English, you must flirt
with them."
" Flirt ?" said Silverdale, aghast. "What! With young
and beautiful girls ?"
" I know it is hard. Lord Silverdale, but you will do it
for my sake ? " They were sitting on an ottoman, and the
lovely face which looked pleadingly up into his was very
near. The young man got up and walked up and down.
3S8 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" Hang it ! " he murmured disconsolately. " Can't you
try them on Turple the Magnificent ? Or why not get a
music-master or a professor of painting ? "
" Music-masters touch the wrong chord, and professors of
painting are mostly old masters. You are young and
polished, and can flirt with tact and taste."
" Thank you," said the poor young peer, making a wry
face. " And therefore I'm to be a flirtation machine ? "
" An electric battery if you like. I don't desire to mince
my words. There's no gain in not calling a spade a
spade."
" And less in people calling a battery a rake."
" Is that a joke? I thought you clubmen enjoyed being
called rakes ? "
" That is all most of us do enjoy. Take it from me that
the last thing a rake does is to sow wild oats."
*' I know enough of agriculture not to be indebted to you
for the information. But I certainly thought you were a
rake," said the little girl, looking up at him with limpid
brown eyes.
"You flatter me," he said, with a mock bow, "you are
young enough to know better."
" But you have seen society (and theatres) in a dozen
capitals ? "
" I have been behind the scenes of both," he answered
simply. " That is the thing to keep a man steady."
" I thought it turned a man's head," she said musingly.
"It does. Only one begins manhood with his head
screwed the wrong way on. Homoeopathy is the sole curat-
ive principle in morals. Excuse this sudden discharge of
copy-book mottoes. I sometimes go off that way, but you
musn't take me for a Maxim gun. I am not such a bore, I
hope."
THE HONORARY TRIER
359
Lillie flew off at a feminine tangent
" All of which only proves the wisdom of my choice in
selecting you."
" What ! To pepper them with pellets of platitude ? " he
said, dropping despairingly into an arm-chair.
-\
>'.
"TAKE CARE, VOU'RE SITTING ON AN EPIGKAM I'
" No. With eyeshot. Take care ! '*
"What's the matter?"
"You're sitting on an epigram." The young man started
as if stung, and removed the antimacassar, without how-
ever seeing the point.
36o THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" I hope you didn't mind my inquiring whether you
have any morals ? " said Lillie.
" I have as many as ^sop ; the strictest investigation
courted ; references given and exchanged," said the peer
h'ghdy.
" Do be serious. You know I have an insatiable curiosity
to know everything about everything — to feel all sensations,
think all thoughts. That is the note of my being." The
brown eyes had an eager, wistful look.
"Oh yes — a note of interrogation."
" Oh that I were a man ! What do men think ? "
" What do you think ? Men are human beings first, and
masculine afterwards. And I think everybody is like a
suburban assembly hall — to-day a temperance lecture,
to-morrow a dance, next day an oratorio, then a farcical
comedy, and on Sunday a religious service. But about this
appointment ? "
" Well, let us settle it one way or another," Lillie said.
" Here is my proposal "
"I have an alternative proposal," he said desperately.
" I cannot listen to any other. Will you. or will you not,
become Honorary Trier of the Old Maids' Club ? "
" I'll try," he said at last.
" Yes or no ? "
" Shall you be present at the trials ? "
" Certainly ; but I shall cultivate myopia."
"It's a short-sighted policy, Miss Dulcimer. Still, sus-
tained by your presence, I feel I could flirt with the most
beautiful and charming girl in the world. I could do it,
even unsustained by the presence of the other girl."
" Oh no ! You must not flirt with me. I am the only
Old Maid with whom flirtation is absolutely taboo."
" Then I consent," said Silverdale, with apparent irrele-
THE HONORARY TRIER 361
vance. And, seating himself on tlie piano-stool, after care-
fully removing an epigram from the top of the instrument,
he picked out "The Last Rose of Summer" with a facile
forefinger.
" Uon't ! " said LilHe. " Stick to your lute."
Thus admonished, the nobleman took down Lillie's banjo
which was hanging on the wall, and struck a few passionate
chords.
" Do you know," he said, " I always look on the banjo as
the American among musical instruments ? It is the guitar
with a twang. Wasn't it invented in the States ? Anyhow,
it is the most appropriate instrument to which to sing you
my Fin de Siecle Love Song."
" For Heaven's sake, don't use that poor overworked
phrase ! "
" Why not ? It has only a few years to live. List to my
sonnet."
So saying, he strummed the strings and sang in an aristo-
cratic baritone : —
AD CHLOEN— A Valedictory
O Chloe, you are very, very dear,
And far aVjove your rivals in the town,
Who all in vain essay to beat you down,
Embittered by your haughtiness austere.
Too high you are for lowly me, I fear.
You would not stoop to pick up e'en a crown.
Nor cede the slightest lowering of a gown,
Though in men's eyes far fairer to appear.
With this my message, kindly current go,
At halfpenny per word — it should be less—
To Chloe, telegraphical address
(Thus written to economise two-(/.)
Of Messrs. Robinson, De Vere & Co.,
Coslumers, 90, Ludgate Hill, E.G.
302 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Lillie laughed. " My actress's name is something like
Chloe. It is Clorinda — Clorinda Bell. She tells me she is
very celebrated."
" Oh yes, I've heard of her," he said.
" There is a sneer in your tones. Have you heard any-
thing to her disadvantage ? "
"Only that she is virtuous and in society."
" The very woman for an Old Maid ! She is beautiful,
too."
" Is she ? I thought she was one of those actresses who
reserve their beauty for the stage."
" Oh no. She always wears it. Here is her photograph.
Isn't that a lovely face ? "
" It is a lovely photograph. Does she hope to achieve
recognition by it, I wonder ? "
"Sceptic !"
" I doubt all charms but yours."
" Well, you shall see her."
" All right ; but mention her name clearly when you intro-
duce me. Women are such changing creatures — to-day
pretty, to-morrow plain, yesterday ugly. I have to be rein-
troduced to most of my female acquaintances three times a
week. May I wait to see Clorinda ? "
" No, not to-day. She has to undergo the preliminary
exam. Perhaps she may not even matriculate. Where
you come in, is at the graduation stage."
" I see. To pass them as Bachelors — I mean Old
Maids. I say, how will you get them to wear stuff gowns ?"
The bell rang loudly. " That may be she. Good-bye,
Lord Silverdale. Remember you are Honorary Trier of
the Old Maids' Club, and don't forget those chocolate
creams."
THE MAN IN THE IRONED MASK 363
CHAPTER III
THE MAN IN THE IRONED MASK
The episode that turned Clorinda Bell's thoughts in the
direction of Old Maidenhood was not wanting in strange-
ness. She was an actress of whom everybody spoke well —
excepting actresses. This was because she was so respect-
able. Respectability is all very well for persons who
possess no other ability; but Bohemians rightly feel that
genius should be above that sort of thing. Clorinda never
went anywhere without her mother. This lady — a portly
taciturn dame, whose hair had felt the snows of sixty
winters — was as much a part of her as a thorn is of a rose.
She accompanied her always — except when she was singing
— and loomed like some more substantial shadow before or
behind her at balls and receptions, at concerts and operas,
private views and church bazaars. Her mother was always
with her behind the scenes. She helped her to make up
and to unmake. She became the St. Peter of the dressing-
room in her absence. At the Green Room Club they will
tell you how a royal personage, asking permission to come
and congratulate her, received the answer : " I shall be
most honoured — in the presence of my mother."
There were those who wished Clorinda had been born an
orphan.
But the graver sort held Miss Bell up as a typical
harbinger of the new era, when actresses would keep
mothers instead of dog-carts. There was no intrinsic
reason, they said, why actresses should not be received at
Court, and visit the homes of the poor. Clorinda was very
charming. She was tall and fair as a lily, with dashes of
364 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
colour stolen from the rose and the daffodil, for her eyes
had a sparkle and her cheeks a flush, and her hair was
usually golden. Not the least of her physical charms was
the fact that she had numerous admirers. But it was
understood that she kept them at a distance and that they
worshipped there. The Society journals, to which Clorinda
was indebted for considerable information about herself,
often stated that she intended to enter a convent, as her
higher nature found scant satisfaction in stage triumphs,
and she had refused to exchange her hand either for a
coronet or a pile of dollars. They frequently stated the
opposite, but a Society journal cannot always be con-
tradicting a contemporary. It must sometimes contradict
itself as a proof of impartiality. Clorinda let all these
rumours surge about her unheeded, and her managers had
to pay for the advertisement. The money came back to
them, though, for Clorinda was a sure draw. She brought
the odour of sanctity over the footlights, and people have
almost as much curiosity to see a saint as a sinner —
especially when the saint is beautiful.
Gentlemen in particular paid frequent pilgrimages to the
shrine of the saint, and adored her from the ten-and-
sixpenny pews. There was at this period a noteworthy
figure in London dress-circles and stalls, an inveterate
first-nighter, whose identity was the subject of considerable
speculation. He was a mystery in a swallow-tail coat. No
one had ever seen him out of it. He seemed to go through
life armed with a white breastplate, starched shot-proof and
dazzling as a grenadier's cuirass. What wonder that a wit
(who had become a dramatic critic through drink) called
him " The Man in the Ironed Mask ! " Between the acts
he wore a cloak, a crush-hat, and a cigarette. Nobody
ever spoke to him, nor did he ever reply. He could not be
THE MAN IN THE IRONED MASK 365
dumb, because he had been heard to murmur, " Brava,
bravissima," in a soft but incorrect foreign manner. He
was very handsome, with a high white forehead of the
Gothic order of architecture, and dark Moorish eyes.
Nobody even knew his name, for he went to the play quite
anonymously. The pit took him for a critic, and the
critics for a minor poet. He had appeared on the scene
(or before it) only twelve months ago, but already he was a
distinguished man. Even the actors and actresses had
come to hear of him, and not a few had peeped at him
between their speeches. He was certainly a sight for the
"gods."
Latterly he had taken to frequenting the Lymarket, where
Miss Clorinda Bell was " starring " for a season of legitimate
drama. It was the only kind the scrupulous actress would
play in. Whenever there was no first night on anywhere
else, he went to see Clorinda. Only a few rivals and the
company knew of his constancy to the entertainment.
Clorinda was, it will be remembered, one of the company.
It was the entr'acte, and the orchestra was playing a
gavotte, to which the eighteenth-century figures on the
drop-scene were dancing. The Man in the Ironed Mask
strolled in the lobby among the critics, overhearing the
views they were not going to express in print. Clorinda
Bell's mother was brushing her child's magnificent hair into
a more tragical attitude in view of the fifth act. The little
room was sacred to the "star," the desire of so many
moths. Neither maid nor dresser entered it, for Mrs. Bell
was as devoted to her daughter as her daughter to her, and
tended her as zealously as if she were a stranger.
"Yes, but why doesn't he speak?" said Clorinda.
"You haven't given him a chance, darling," said her
mother.
366 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" Nonsense — there is the language of flowers. All my
lovers commence by talking that."
"You get so many bouquets, dear. It may be — as you
say his appearance is so distinguished — that he dislikes so
commonplace a method."
" Well, if he doesn't want to throw his love at my feet, he
might have tried to send it me in a billet-doux."
"That also is commonplace. Besides, he may know
that all your letters are delivered to me and opened by me.
The fact has often enough appeared in print."
" Ah yes ; but genius will find out a way. You remember
Lieutenant Campbell, who was so hit the moment he saw
me as Perdita, that he went across the road to the telegraph
office, and wired, ' Meet me at supper, top floor, Piccadilly
Restaurant, 11.15,' so that the doorkeeper sent the message
direct to the prompter, who gave it me as I came off with
Florizel and Camilla. That is the sort of man I admire ! "
"But you soon tired of him, darling."
" O mother ! How can you say so ? I loved him the
whole run of the piece."
" Yes, dear, but it was only Shakespeare."
" Would you have love a burlesque ? ' A Winter's Tale '
is long enough for any flirtation. Let me see, was it
Campbell or Belfort who shot himself? I for — oh ! oh !
that hair-pin is irritating me, mother."
" There ! there ! Is that easier ? "
" Thanks ! There's only the Man m the Ironed Mask
irritating me now. His dumb admiration provokes me."
" But you provoke his dumb admiration. And are you
sure it is admiration ? "
"People don't go to see Shakespeare seventeen times.
I wonder who he is — an Italian cornt most likely. Ah,
how his teeth flash beneath his moustache ! "
THE MAS^ IN THE IRONED MASK 367
"You make me feel quite curious about him. Do you
think I could peep at him from the wing?"
" No, mother, you shall not be put to the inconvenience.
It would give you a crick in your neck. If you desire to
see him, I will send for him."
"Very well, dear," said the older woman submissively,
for she was accustomed to the gratification of her daughter's
whims.
So, when the Man in the Ironed Mask resumed his seat, a
programme girl slipped a note into his hand. He read it, his
face impassive as his ironed mask. When the play was over,
he sauntered round to the squalid court in which the stage
door was located, and stalked nonchalantly up the stairs.
The doorkeeper was too impressed by his air not to take
him for granted. He seemed to go on instinctively till he
arrived at a door, placarded " Miss Clorinda Bell — Private."
He knocked, and the silvery accents he had been listen-
ing to all the evening bade him come in. The beautiful
Clorinda, clad in diaphanous white, and radiating perfumes,
received him with an intoxicating smile.
" It is so kind of you to come and see me," she said.
He made a stately inclination. " The obligation is
mine," he said. " I am greatly interested in the drama.
This is the seventeenth time I have come to see you."
" I meant here," she said, piqued, though the smile
stayed on.
"Oh, but I understood " His eyes wandered inter-
rogatively about the room.
" Yes, I know ; my mother is out," she replied. " She
is on the stage picking up the bouquets. I believe she
sent you a note. I do not know why she wants to see you,
but she will be back soon. If you do not mind being left
alone with me "
36S THE CELIBATES' CLUB
"Pray do not apologise, Miss Bell," he said consider-
ately.
" It is so good of you to say so. Won't you sit down ?"
The Man in the Ironed Mask sat down beside the
dazzling Clorinda and stared expectantly at the door.
There was a tense silence. His cloak hung negligently upon
his shoulders. He held his crush hat calmly in his hand.
Clorinda was highly chagrined. She felt as if she could
slap his face and kiss the place to make it well,
" Did you like the play ? " she said at last.
He elevated his dark eyebrows. " Is it not obvious ? "
"Not entirely. You might come to see the players."
" Quite so, quite so."
He leaned his handsome head on his arm and looked
pensively at the floor. It was some moments before he
broke the silence again. But it was only by rising to his feet.
He walked towards the door. " I am sorry I cannot
stay any longer," he said.
" Oh no ! You mustn't go without seeing my mother.
She will be terribly disappointed."
" Not less so than myself at missing her. Good-night,
Miss Bell." He made his prim, courtly bow.
" Oh, but you must see her ! Come again to-morrow
night, anyhow," exclaimed Clorinda desperately. And
when his footsteps had died away down the stairs, she could
not repress several tears of vexation. Then she looked
hurriedly into her mirror, and marvelled silently.
"Is he gone already?" said her mother, entering after
knocking cautiously at the door.
"Yes ; he is insane."
" Madly in love with you ? "
" Madly out of love with me."
He came again the next night, stolid and courteous. To
THE MAN IN THE IRONED MASK 369
Clorinda's infinite regret, her mother had been taken ill, and
had gone home early in the carriage. It was raining hard.
Clorinda would be reduced to a hansom.
"They call it the London gondola," she said, "but it is
least comfortable when there's most water. You have to be
framed in like a cucumber in a hot-house."
" Indeed ! Personally I never travel in hansoms. And
from what you tell me I should not like to make the experi-
ment to-night. Good-bye, Miss Bell; present my regrets to
your mother."
" Deuce take the donkey ! He might at least offer me a
seat in his carriage," thought Clorinda. Aloud she said,
" Under these circumstances, may I venture to ask you to
see my mother at the house ? Here is our private address.
Won't you come to tea to-morrow ? "
He took the card, bowed silently and withdrew.
In such wise the courtship proceeded for some weeks,
the invalid being confined to her room at tea-time, and
occupied in picking up bouquets by night. He always came
to tea in his cloak, and wore his Ironed Mask, and was
extremely solicitous about Clorinda's mother. It became
evident that so long as he had the ghost of an excuse for
talking of the absent, he would never talk of Clorinda her-
self At last she was reduced to intimating that she would
be found at the matinee of a new piece next day (to be given
at the theatre by a debutante)^ and that there would be
plenty of room in her box. Clorinda was determined to
eliminate her mother, who was now become an impediment
instead of a pretext.
But when the afternoon came, she looked for him in vain.
She chatted lightly with the acting- manager, who was loung-
ing in the vestibule, but her eye was scanning the horizon
feverishly.
2a
370 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
"Is this woman going to be a success?" she asked.
" Oh yes," said the acting-manager promptly.
" How do you know ? "
o "^ A L L S [
'I JUST SAW THE FLOWERS DRIVE MV.
" I just saw the flowers drive up."
Clorinda laughed. "What's the piece Uke?"
** 1 only saw one rehearsal. It seemed great twaddle.
THE MAN IN THE IRONED MASK yj\
But the low com. has got a good catchword, so there's some
chance of its going into the evening bills."
"Oh, by the way, have you seen anything of that — that
— the Man in the Ironed Mask, I think they call him?"
" Do you mean here— this afternoon ? "
"Yes."
" No. Do you expect him ? "
" Oh no, but I was wondering if he would turn up. I
hear he is so fond of this theatre."
" Bless your soul, he'd never be seen at a matinee ! "
" Why not ? " asked Clorinda, her heart fluttering violendy.
" Because he'd have to be in morning dress," said the
acting-manager, laughing heartily.
To Clorinda his innocent merriment seemed the laughter
of a mocking fiend. She turned away, sick at heart.
There was nothing for it but to propose outright at tea-
time. Clorinda did so, and was accepted without further
difficulty.
"And now, dearest," she said, after she had been allowed
to press the first kiss of troth upon his coy lips, " I should
like to know who I am going to be?"
"Clorinda Bell, of course," he said. "That is the
advantage actresses have. They need not take their
husband's name in vain."
" Yes, but what am / to call you, dearest ? "
" Dearest ! " he echoed enigmatically. " Let me be
dearest — for a little while."
She forbore to press him further. For the moment it
was enough to have won him. The sweetness of that
soothed her wounded vanity at his indifference to the prize
coveted by men and convents. Enough that she was to be
mated to a great man, whose speech and silence alike bore
the stamp of individuality.
372 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" Dearest be it," she answered, looking fondly into his
Moorish eyes. " Dearest ! dearest ! "
"Thank you, Clorinda. And now, may I see your
mother? I have never learned what she has to say to me."
" What does it matter now, dearest ? "
*' More than ever," he said gravely, " now she is to be my
mother-in-law."
Clorinda bit her lip at the dignified rebuke, and rang for
his mother-in-law elect, who came from the sick-room in
her bonnet.
" Mother," she said, as the good dame sailed through the
door, "let me introduce you to my future husband."
The old lady's face lit up with surprise and excitement.
She stood still for an instant, taking in the relationship so
suddenly sprung upon her. Then she darted with open
arms towards the Man in the Ironed Mask, and strained
his mask to her bosom.
" My son ! my son ! " she cried, kissing him passionately.
He blushed like a stormy sunset, and tried to disengage
himself.
" Do not crumple him, mother," said Clorinda pettishly.
" Your zeal is overdone."
" But he is my long-lost Absalom ! Think of the rapture
of having him restored to me thus. Oh, what a happy family
we shall be ! Bless you, Clorinda. Bless you, my children.
When is the wedding to be ? "
The Man in the Ironed Mask had regained his composure.
" Mother," he said sternly, " I am glad to see you looking
so well. I always knew you would fall on your feet if I
dropped you. I have no right to ask it — but as you seem
to expect me to marry your daughter, a little information as
to the circumstances under which you have supplied me
with a sister would be not unwelcome."
THE MAN IN THE IRONED MASK
373
" Stupid boy ! Don't you understand that Miss Bell was good
enough to engage me as mother and travelling companion
when you left me to starve ? Or rather, the impresario who
brought her over from America engaged me, and Clorinda
has been, oh, so good to me ! My little drapery business
failed soon after you went off, leaving me to get a stranger
in the shop. I had no resource but — to go on the stage."
A FAMILY RE-UNION.
The old woman was babbling on, but the cold steel of
Clorinda's gaze silenced her.
The outraged actress turned haughtily to the Man in the
Ironed Mask.
"So this is your mother?" she said, with infinite scorn,
"So this is not your mother?" he said, with infinite
indignation.
374 THE CETIBATES' CI.UR
"Were you ever really simple enough to suspect me of
having a mother ? " she retorted contemptuously. "I had
her on the hire system. Don't you know that a combina-
tion of maid and mother is the newest thing in actresses'
wardrobes? It is safer than having a maid, and more
comfortable than having a mother."
" But I have been a mother to you, Clorinda," the old
dame pleaded.
" Oh yes, you have always been a good, obedient woman.
I am not finding fault with you, and I have no wish to part
with you. I do find fault, and I shall certainly part with
your son."
" Nonsense," said the Man in the Ironed Mask. *' The
situation is essentially unchanged. She is still the mother
of one of us ; she can still become the mother-in-law of the
other. Besides, Clorinda, that is the only way of keeping
the secret in the family."
" You threaten ? "
"Certainly. You are a humbug. So am I. United we
stand ; separated, you fall."
"You fall too."
" Not from such a height. I am still on the first rungs."
" Nor likely to get any higher."
"Indeed? Your experience of me should have taught
you different. High as you are, I can raise you yet higher
if you will only lift me up to you."
" How do you climb ? " she said, his old ascendancy
reasserting itself.
" By standing still. Profound meditation on the philo-
sophy of modern Society has convinced me that the only
way left for acquiring notoriety is to do nothing. Every
other way has been exploited, and is suspected. It is only
a year since the discovery flashed upon me ; it is only a
THE MAN IN THE IRONED MASK 375
year that I have been putting it into practice. And yet,
mark the result ! Already I 3m a known man. I had the
entree to no society ; for half-a-guinea a night (frequently
paid in paper money) I have mingled with the most ex-
clusive. When there was no premiere anywhere, I went to
see you — not from any admiration of you, but because the
Ly/narket is the haunt of the best society, and, in addition,
the virtue of Shakespeare and of yourself attracts there a
highly respectable class of bishops whom I have not the
opportunity of meeting elsewhere. By doing nothing I
fascinated you — somebody was sure to be fascinated by it
at last, as the dove flutters into the jaws of the lethargic
serpent — by continuing to do nothing I completed my con-
quest. Had I met your advances, you would have repelled
mine. My theories have been completely demonstrated, and
but for the accident of our having a common mother "
" Speak for yourself," said Clorinda haughtily.
" It is for myself that I am speaking. When we are one,
I shall continue this poUcy of masterly inactivity of which
I claim the invention, though it has long been known in
the germ. Everybody knows, for instance, that not to
trouble to answer letters is the surest way of acc^uiring the
reputation of a busy man ; that not to accept invitations is
an infallible way of getting more ; that not to care a jot
about the feelings of the rest of the household is an unfail-
ing means of enforcing universal deference. But the glory
still remains to him who first grasped this great law m its
generalised form, however familiar one or two isolated cases
of it may be to the world. ' Do nothing ' is the last word
of social science, as 'Nil admirari' was its first. Just as
silence is less self-contradictory than speech, so is inaction
a safer foundation of fame than action. Inaction is perfect.
The moment you do anything you are in the region of
376 THE CEr /BATES' CLUB
incompleteness, of definiteness. Your work may be out-
done — or undone. Your inventions may be improved
upon, your victories annulled, your popular books ridiculed,
your theories superseded, your paintings decried, the seamy
side of your explorations shown up. Successful doing
creates not only enemies, but the material for their malice
to work upon. Only by not having done anything to
deserve success can you be sure of surviving the reaction
which success always brings. To be is higher than to do.
To be is calm, large, elemental ; to do is trivial, artificial,
fussy. To be has been the motto of the English aristo-
cracy ; it is the secret of their persistence. Qui s'excuse
s'acaise. He who strives to justify his existence imperils it.
To be is inexpugnable ; to do is dangerous. The same
principle rules in all departments of social life. What is a
successful reception ? A gathering at which everybody is.
Nobody does anything. Nobody enjoys anything. There
everybody is — if only for five minutes each, and whatever
the crush and discomfort. You are there — and there you
are, don't you know ? What is social ambition ? A desire
to be in better people's drawing - rooms. What is it for
which people barter health, happiness, even honour? To
be on certain pieces of flooring inaccessible to the mass.
What is the glory of doing compared with the glory of
being ? Let others elect to do ; I elect to be."
" So long as you do not choose to be my husband "
" It is husband or brother," he said threateningly.
" Of course. I become your sister by rejecting you, do
I not ? "
" Don't trifle. You understand what I mean. I will let
the world know that your mother is mine."
They stood looking at each other in silent defiance. At
last Clorinda spoke :
THE MAN TN THE IRONED MASK 377
" A compromise 1 Let the world know that my mother
is yours."
" I see. Pose as your brother ? "
" Yes. That will help you up a good many rungs. I
shall not deny I am your sister. My mother will certainly
not deny that you are her son,"
" Done ! So long as my theories are not disproved :
Conjugate the verb 'to be,' and you shall be successful.
Let me see. How does it run ? I am — your brother ; thou
art — my, sister; she is — my mother; we are — her children ;
you are— my womankind ; they are — all spoofed."
So the Man in the Ironed Mask turned out to be the
brother of the great and good actress, Clorinda Bell. And
several people had known it all along, for what but fraternal
interest had taken him so often to the Lymarkefi And
when his identity leaked out, Society ran after him, and he
gave the interviewers interesting details of his sister's early
years. And every one spoke of his attachment to his
mother, and of his solicitous attendance upon her. And
in due course the tale of his virtues reached a romantic
young heiress, who wooed and won him. And so he con-
tinued being till he was — no more. By his own request
they buried him in an Ironed Mask, and put upon his
tomb the profound inscription :
Here lies
THE Man who was.
And this was why Clorinda, disgusted with men and
lovers, and unable to marry her brother, caught at the
notion of the Old Maids' Club, and called upon Li Hie.
It was almost as good a cover as a mother, and it was
well to have something ready in case she lost her, as you
378 THE CE/. I BATES' CLUB
cannot obtain a second mother even on the hire system.
But Lord Silverdale's report consisted of one word, " Dan-
gerous !" — and he rejoiced at the whim which enabled him
thus to protect the impulsive little girl he loved.
Clorinda divined from Lillie's embarrassment next day
that she was to be blackballed.
" I am afraid," she hastened to say, " that on second
thoughts I must withdraw my candidature, as I could not
make a practice of coming here without my mother."
Lillie referred to the rules. "Married women are
admitted," she said simply. " I presume, therefore, your
mother ? "
" It's just like your presumption," interrupted Clorinda,
and, flouncing angrily out of the Club, she invited a
journalist to tea.
Next day the Moon said she was going to join the Old
Maids' Club.
CHAPTER IV
THE CLUB GETS ADVERTISED
"I SEE you have disregarded my ruling, Miss Dulcimer?"
said Lord Silverdale, pointing to the paragraph in the Moon.
" What is the use of my trying the candidates if you're
going to admit the plucked ? "
" I am surprised at you. Lord Silverdale. I thought you
had more wisdom than to base a reproach on a Moon para-
graph. You might have known it was not true."
"That is not my experience. Miss Dulcimer. I do not
think a statement is necessarily false because it appears in
the newspapers. There is hardly a paper in which I have
THE CLUB GETS ADVERTISED 379
not, at some time or other, come across a true piece of
news. Even the Moon is not all made of green cheese."
" But you surely do not think I would accept Clorinda
Bell after your warning? Not but that I am astonished.
She assured me she was ice."
" Precisely. And so I marked her ' Dangerous.' Are
there any more candidates to-day ? "
" Heaps and heaps ! From all parts of the kingdom
letters have come from ladies anxious to become Old
Maids. There is even one application from Paris. Ought
I to entertain that ? "
"Certainly. Candidates may hail from anywhere — ex-
cepting, naturally, the United States."
" But what, I wonder, has caused this tide of applica-
tions ? "
" The J/^^?/?, of course. The fiction that Clorinda Bell
intended to take the secular veil has attracted all these
imitators. She has given the Club a good advertisement in
endeavouring merely to give herself one."
" You suspect her, then, of being herself responsible for
the statement that she was going to join the Club ? "
" No. 1 am sure of it. Who but herself knew that she
was not ? "
" I can hardly imagine that she would employ such base
arts," said Lillie.
" Higher arts are out of employment now-a-days."
" Is there any way of finding out ? "
" I am afraid not. She has no bosom friends. Stay —
there is her mother ! "
" Mothers do not tell their daughters' secrets. They do
not know them."
" Well, there's her brother. I was introduced to him the
other day at Mrs. Leo Hunter's, But he seems such a
38o THE CELIBATES CLUB
reticent chap. Only opens his mouth twice an hour, and
then merely to show his teeth. Oh, I know ! I'll get at
the Moon man. My aunt, the philanthropist, who is quite
a journalist (sends so many paragraphs round about herself,
you know), will tell me who invents that sort of news, and
I'll interview the beggar."
"Yes; won't it be fun to run her to earth?" said Lillie
gleefully.
Silverdale took advantage of her good-humour.
"I hope the discovery of the baseness of your sex will
turn you again to mine." There was a pleading tenderness
in his eyes,
" What ! to your baseness ? I thought you were so
good."
" I am no good without you," he said boldly.
" Oh, that is too rich ! Suppose I had never been
born?"
" I should have wished I hadn't."
" But you wouldn't have known /hadn't."
" You're getting too metaphysical for my limited under-
standing."
" Nonsense, you understand metaphysics as well as I
do," protested Lillie gravely.
" Do not disparage yourself. You know I cannot endure
metaphysics."
" Why not ? "
" Because they are mostly made in Germany. And all
Germans write as if their aim was to be misunderstood.
Listen to my simple English lay."
" Another love-song to Chloe ? "
" No ; a really great poem, suggested by the number of
papers and forms I have already seen this Moon paragraph
in."
THE CLUB GETS ADVERTISED 381
He took down the banjo, thrummed it, and sang
THE GRAND PARAGRAPHIC TOUR
I composed a little story
About a cockatoo,
With no desire of glory,
To see what would ensue.
It took the public liking
From China to Peru ;
The point of it was striking,
Though perfectly untrue.
It began in a morning journal.
When gooseberries were due,
The subject seemed eternal,
So many scribes it drew.
And in every evening column
It made a great to-do,
Sub-editors so solemn
Just adding thereunto.
In the "London Correspondence"
'Twas written up anew,
And then a fog came on dense
And hid me quite from view.
And some said they had heard it
From keepers in the Zoo ;
While others, who averred it.
Had seen that cockatoo.
It lived, my little fable,
I chuckled and I crew,
As, at my very table,
Friends twisted it askew.
382 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
It leapt across the Channel —
A bounding kangaroo ;
It did not shrink like flannel,
But gained in size and hue.
It appeared in French and Spanish,
With errors not a few ;
In Russian, Greek, and Danish,
Inaccurately, too.
And waxing more romantic
With every wind that blew,
It crossed the broad Atlantic,
And grew and grew and grew.
At last like boomerang it
Sped back across the blue,
And tall and touched with twang it
Appeared whence first it flew.
An annual affliction,
It tours the wide world through,
And I, who bred the fiction,
Have come to think it true.
Life's burden it has doubled.
My peace of mind it slew.
My dreams by it are troubled.
My days are filled with rue.
Its horrors yearly thicken,
It sticks to me like glue ;
And, sad and conscience-stricken,
I curse that cockatoo.
" That's what will happen with Clorinda Bell's member-
ship of our Club," continued the poet. " She will remain
a member long after it has ceased to exist. Once a thing
has appeared in print, you cannot destroy it. A published
lie is immortal. Age cannot wither it, nor custom stale its
THE CLUB GETS ADVERTISED
3S3
infinite variety. It thrives by contradiction. Give me a cup
of tea, and I will go and interview the Mooti man at once."
The millionaire, hearing tea was on the tray, came in to
join them, and Silverdale soon went off to his aunt, Lady
Goody-GoodyTwoshoes, and got the address of the man on
the Moon.
"Lillie, what's this I see in the Moon about Clorinda
Bell joining your Club?" asked the millionaire.
" An invention, father."
The millionaire looked disappointed.
"Will all your Old Maids
be young?"
"Yes, papa. It is best to
catch them young."
" I shall be dining at the
Club sometimes," he an-
nounced irrelevantly.
"Oh no, papa. You are
not admissible during the
sittings."
"Why, you let Lord Silver-
dale in ! "
" Yes ; but he is not married."
"Oh!" And the millionaire went away with a brighter
brow.
The rest of the afternoon Lillie was busy conducting the
preliminary examination of a surprisingly beautiful girl who
answered to the name of "Princess," and would give no
other name for the present, not even to Turple the Mag-
nificent.
"You got my letter, I suppose ? " asked the Princess.
" Oh yes," said the President ; " I should have written to
you."
THE MILLIONAIRE.
3S4 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" I thought it best to come to see you about it at once,
as I have suddenly determined to go to Brighton, and I
don't know when I may be back. I had not heard of your
Club till the other day, when I saw in the Moon that
Clorinda Bell was going to join it, and anything she joins
must of course be strictly proper, so I haven't troubled to
ask the Honourable Miss Primpole's advice — she lives
with me, you know. An only orphan cannot be too
careful."
" You need not fear," said Lillie ; " Miss Bell is not to
be a member. We have refused her."
" Oh, indeed ! Well, perhaps it is as well not to bring
the scent of the footlights over the Club. It is hard upon
Miss Bell : but if you were to admit her, I suppose other
actresses would want to come in. There are so many of
them that prefer to remain single."
" Are you sure you do ? "
'* Positive. My experience of lovers has been so harass-
ing and peculiar, that I shall never marry ; and as my best
friends cannot call me a wall-flower, I venture to think you
will find me a valuable ally in your noble campaign against
the degrading superstition that old maids are women who
have not found husbands, just as widows are women who
have lost them."
" I sincerely hope so," said Lillie enthusiastically. " You
express my views very neatly. May I ask what are the
peculiar experiences you speak of ? "
"Certainly. Some months ago I amused myself by
recording the strange episodes of my first loves, and in
anticipation of your request I have brought the manu-
script."
" Oh, please read it ! " said Lillie excitedly.
" Of course I have not given all the real names."
THE PRINCESS OF PORTA! AN SQUARE 385
"No ; I quite understand. Won't you have a chocolate
cream before you commence ? "
" Thank you. They look lovely. How awfully sweet ! "
" Too sweet for you ? " inquired Lillie anxiously.
"No, no. I mean they are just nice."
The Princess untied the pretty pink ribbon that enfolded
the dainty scented manuscript, and, pausing only to munch
an occasional chocolate cream, she read on till the shades
of evening fell over the Old Maids' Club, and the soft glow
of the candles illumined its dainty complexion.
CHAPTER V
THE PRINCESS OF PORTMAN SQUARE
*' I AM an only child.
" I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and
although there was no royal crest on it, yet no princess
could be more comfortable in the purple than I was in
the ordinary trappings of babyhood. From the cradle
upwards I was surrounded with love and luxury. My pet
name ' Princess' fitted me like a glove. I was the autocrat
of the nursery, and my power scarce diminished when I
rose to the drawing-room. My parents were very obedient,
and did not even conceal from me that I was beautiful. In
short, Ihey did their best to spoil me, though I cannot admit
that they succeeded. I lost them both before I was sixteen.
My poor mother died first, and my poor father followed within
a week — whether from grief, or from a cold caught through
standing bare-headed in the churchyard, or from employing
the same doctor, I cannot precisely determine.
" After the usual period of sorrow, I began to pick up a
2ii
386 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
bit and to go out under the care of my duenna, a faded
flower of the aristocracy, whose declining years my guardian
had soothed by quartering her on me. She is a gentle
old spinster, the seventh daughter of a penniless peer ; and
although she had seen hard times, and had almost been
reduced to marriage, yet she had scant respect for my ten
thousand a year. She has never lost the sense of con-
descension in living with me, and would be horrified to
hear she is in receipt of a salary. It is to this sense of
superiority on her part that I owe a good deal of the liberty
I enjoy under her regime. She does not expect in me that
rigid obedience to venerable forms and conventions which
she prescribes for herself; she regards it as a privilege ot
the higher gentlewoman to be bound hand and foot by
fashionable etiquette, and so long as my liberty does not
degenerate into licence I am welcome to as much as I
please of it. She has continued to call me ' Princess,'
finding doubtless some faint reverberation of pleasure in
the magnificent syllables. I should add that her name is
the Honourable Miss Primpole, and that she is not afraid
of the butler.
" Our town house was situated in Portman Square, and
my parents tenanted it during the season. There is nothing
very poetic about the Square, perhaps, not even in the
summer when the garden is in bloom, yet it was here that
I first learnt to love. This dull parallelogram was the
birth-place of a passion as spiritual and intangible as
ever thrilled maiden's heart. I fell in love with a
Voice.
" It was a rich baritone Voice, with a compass of two and
a half octaves, rising from full bass organ-notes to sweet
flute-like tenor tones. It was a glorious Voice, now
resonant with martial ecstasy^ ngw faint with mystic rapture,
THE PRINCESS OF PORTMAN SQUARE 387
Its vibrations were charged with inexpressible emotion, and
it sang of love and death and high heroic themes.
" I heard it first a few months after my father's funeral.
It was night. I had been indoors all day, torpid and
miserable, but roused myself at last and took a few turns
in the Square. The air was warm and scented, a cloudless
moon flooded the roadway with mellow light, and sketched
in the silhouettes of the trees in the background. I had
reached the opposite side of the Square for the second time
when the Voice broke out. My heart stood still, and I
with it.
"On the soft summer air the Voice rose and fell; it
was accompanied on the piano, but it seemed in subtler
harmony with the moonlight and the perfumed repose of
the night. It came through an open window, behind which
the singer sat in the gloaming. With the first tremors of
that Voice my soul forgot its weariness in a strange sweet
trance that trembled on pain. The song seemed to draw
out all the hidden longing of my maiden soul, as secret
writing is made legible by fire. When the Voice ceased a
great blackness fell upon all things, the air grew bleak. I
waited and waited, but the Square remained silent. The
footsteps of stray pedestrians, the occasional roll of a
carriage, alone fell on my anxious ear. I returned to my
house, shivering as with cold.
" I had never loved before. I had read and reflected a
great deal about love, and knew nothing about it. I did not
know that I loved now — for that discovery only came later,
when I found myself wandering nightly to the other side of
the parallelogram, listening for the Voice. Rarely, very
rarely, was my pilgrimage rewarded, but twice or thrice a
week the Square became an enchanted garden, full of
roses, whose petals were music. Round that baritone
388 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Voice I had built up an ideal man — tall and straight-
limbed and stalwart, fair-haired and blue-eyed and noble-
featured, like the hero of a Northern saga. His soul was
vast as the sea, shaken with the storms of passion, dimpled
with smiles of tenderness. His spirit was at once mighty
and delicate, throbbing with elemental forces, yet keen and
swift to comprehend all subtleties of thought and feeling.
I could not understand myself, yet I felt that he would
understand me. He had the heart of a lion and of a little
child ; he was as merciful as he was strong, as pure as he
was wise. To be with him were happiness, to feel his kiss
ecstasy, to be gathered to his breast delirium. But,
alas ! he never knew that I was waiting under his
window.
"I made several abortive attempts to discover who he
was, or to see him. According to the Directory, the house
was occupied by Lady Westerton. I concluded that he
was her eldest son. That he might be her husband— or
some other lady's — never even occurred to me. I do not
know why I should have attached the Voice to a bachelor,
any more than I can explain why he should be the eldest
son, rather than the youngest. But romance has a logic
of its own. From the topmost window of my house I
could see Lady Westerton's house across the trees, but I
never saw him leave or enter it. Once, a week went by
without my hearing him sing. I did not know whether to
think of him as a sick bird, or as one flown to warmer
climes. I tried to construct his life from his periods of
song, and watched the lights in his window ; my whole life
circled round him. It was only when I grew pale and
feverish, and was forced by the doctors and my guardian
to go yachting, that my fancies gradually detached them-
selves from my blue-eyed hero. The sea-salt freshened my
THE PRINCESS OF PORTMAN SQUARE 389
thoughts, and I became a healthy-minded girl again, carol-
ling joyously in my cabin, and taking pleasure in listening to
my own voice. I threw my novels overboard (metaphorically,
that is), and set the Hon. Miss Primpole chatting instead,
when the seascape palled upon me. She had a great fund
of strictly respectable memories. Most people's recollec-
tions are of no use to anybody but the owner, but hers
afforded entertainment for both of us. By the time I was
back in London the Voice was no longer part even of my
dreams, though it seemed to belong to them. But for
accident, it might have remained for ever 'a Voice and
nothing more.'
"The accident happened at a musical afternoon in
Kensington. I was introduced to a tall, fair, handsome
blue-eyed guardsman, Captain Athelstan by name. His
conversation was charming, and I took a lot of it, while
Miss Primpole was busy flirting with a seductive Spaniard.
You could not tell Miss Primpole was flirting, except by
looking at the man. In the course of the afternoon the
hostess asked the Captain to sing. As he went to the
piano my heart began to flutter with a strange foreboding.
He had no music with him, but plunged at once into the
premonitory chords. My agitation increased tenfold. He
was playing the prelude to one of the Voice's songs — a
strange, haunting song, with a Schubert atmosphere — a song
which I had looked for in vain among the classics. At
once he was transfigured to my eyes; all my sleeping
romantic fancies woke to delicious life ; and in the instant
in which I waited, with bated breath, for the outbreak of
the Voice at the well-known turn of the melody, it was
borne in upon me that this was the only man I had ever
loved, or would ever love — my saga-hero ! my Berserker 1
my Norse giant !
390
THE CELIBATES' cLVh
" When the voice started it was not my Voice. It was a
thin, throaty tenor. Compared with the Voice of Portman
'^^^^^'
MISS PRIMPOLE WAS FLIRTING WITH A SEDUCTIVE SPANIARD.
Square, it was as a tinkling rivulet to a rushing full-
THE PRINCESS OF PORTMAN SQUARE 391
volumed river. I sank back on the lounge, hiding my
emotions behind my fan.
"When the song was finished, he made his way through
the ' bravas ' to my side.
" 'Sweetly pretty ! ' I murmured.
" ' What is ?' he asked, with a smile. 'The song or the
singing ? '
" 'The song,' I answered frankly. *Is it yours ?'
*' ' No, but the singing is.' His good-humour was so
delightful that I forgave his not having my Voice.
" 'What is its name?'
" ' It is anonymous — like the composer.'
" ' Who is he ? '
'"I must not tell.'
" ' Can you give me a copy of the song ?'
" He became embarrassed.
" ' I would with pleasure, if it were mine. But the fact
is — I — I — had no right to sing it at all, and the composer
would be awfully vexed if he knew.'
" * Original composer ? '
" ' He is, indeed. He cannot bear to think of his songs
being sung in public'
" ' Dear me ! What a terrible mystery you are making ! '
I laughed.
*' * R — eally there is no abracadabra about it. You mis-
understand me. But I deserve it all for breaking faith,
and exploiting his lovely song so as to drown my beastly
singing.'
" ' You need not reproach yourself,' I said. ♦ I have
heard it before.'
'* He started perceptibly.
" * Impossible ! ' he gasped.
" ' Thank you,' I said freezingly.
39^ THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" ' But how ? '
" ' A little bird sang it me.'
" ' It is you who are making the mystery now.'
" ' Tit for tat. But I will discover yours.'
" ' Not unless you are a witch.'
" ' A what ? '
" ' A witch.'
" ' I am,' I said emphatically. ' So you see it's of no use
hiding anything from me. Come, tell me all, or I will
belabour you with my broomstick.'
'"If you know, why should I tell you?'
" ' I want to see if you can tell the truth.'
" ' No, I can't.' We both laughed. * See what a cruel
dilemma you place me in ! ' he said beseechingly.
" ' Tell me, at least, why he won't publish his songs. Is he
too modest, too timid ? '
" ' Neither. He loves art for art's sake — that is all.'
" * I don't understand.'
" * He writes to please himself. To create music is his
highest pleasure. He can't see what it has got to do with
anybody else.'
" ' But surely he wants the world to enjoy his work ? '
" ' Why ? That would be art for the world's sake, art for
fame's sake, not to mention art for money's sake ! '
" ' What an extraordinary view ! '
" * Why so ? The true artist — the man to whom creation
is rapture — surely he is his own world ? Unless he is in
need of money, why should he concern himself with the
outside universe? My friend cannot understand why
Schopenhauer should have troubled himself to chisel epi-
grams or Leopardi lyrics, to tell people that life was not worth
living. Had either been a true artist, he would have gone
on living his own worthless life, unruffled by the applause of
THE PRINCESS OF PORT MAM SQUARE 393
the mob. My friend can understand a poet translating into
inspired song the sacred secrets of his soul, but he cannot
understand his scattering them broadcast through the
country, still less taking a royalty on them. He says it is
selling your soul in the market-place, and almost as degrad-
ing as going on the stage.'
" ' And do you agree with him ? '
•' * Not entirely, otherwise I should never have yielded to
the temptation to sing his song to-night. Fortunately he
will never hear of it. He never goes into society, and I am
his only friend.'
" ' Dear me ! ' I said sarcastically. * Is he as careful to
conceal his body as his soul ? '
"His face grew grave. 'He has an affliction,' he said, in
low tones.
" ' Oh, forgive me ! ' I said remorsefully. Tears came into
my eyes as the vision of the Norse giant gave way to that
of an English hunchback. My adoring worship was trans-
formed to an adoring matronly tenderness. Divinely-gifted
sufferer, if I cannot lean on thy strength, thou shalt lean on
mine !
" So ran my thought, till the mist cleared from my eyes,
and I saw again the glorious saga-hero at my side, and
grew strangely confused and distraught.
" ' There is nothing to forgive,' answered Captain Athel-
stan ; 'you did not know him.'
" • You forget that I am a witch. But I do not know him
— it is true. I do not even know his name. Yet within a
week I undertake to become a friend of his.'
"He shook his head. 'You do not know him.'
" ' I admitted that,' I answered. ' Give me a week, and
he shall not only know me, he shall abjure those sublime
principles of his at my request.'
394 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
"The spirit of mischief moved me to throw down the
challenge — or, was it some deeper impulse ?
" He smiled sceptically.
*' ' Of course, if you know somebody who will introduce
you ' he began.
" ' Nobody shall introduce me,' I interrupted.
" ' Well, he'll never speak to you first,'
" ' You mean it would be unmaidenly for me to speak to
him first. Well, I will bind myself to do nothing of which
Mrs. Grundy would disapprove. And yet the result shall
be as I say.'
" ' Then I shall admit you are indeed a witch.'
" * You don't believe in my power— that is. Well, what
will you wager ? '
" ' If you achieve your impossibility you will deserve
anything.'
" ' Will you back your incredulity with a pair of gloves ? '
"'With a hundred.'
" ' Thank you, I am not a Briareus. Let us say one pair,
then.'
" ' So be it'
" ' But no countermining. Promise me not to communi-
cate with your mysterious friend in the interval.'
"'I promise. But how shall I know the result?'
" I pondered. ' I will write — no, that would be hardly
proper. Meet me in the Royal Academy, room six, at the
portrait of a gentleman, about noon to-morrow week.'
" ' A week is a long time ! ' he sighed.
" I arched my eyebrows. ' A week a long time for such
a task ! ' I exclaimed.
" Next day I called at the house of the Voice. A gor-
geous creature in plush opened the door.
" * I want to see — to see Gracious ! I've forgotten his
THE PRINCESS OF POkTMAN SQUARE 395
name ! ' I said, in patent chagrin. I clucked my tongue,
puckered my lips, tapped the step with my parasol, then
smiled pitifully at the creature in plush. He turned out to
be only human, for a responsive sympathetic smile flickered
across his pompous face. * You know — the singer ! ' I said,
as if with a sudden inspiration.
" ' Oh, Lord Arthur ? ' he said.
" ' Yes, of course ! ' I cried, with a little trill of laughter.
' How stupid of me ! Please tell him I want to see him on
an important matter.'
" ' He — he's busy, I'm afraid, miss.'
" ' Oh, but he'll see me,' I said confidently.
" ' Yes, miss ; who shall I say, miss ? '
"'The Princess.'
" He made a startled obeisance, and ushered me into a
little room on the right of the hall. In a few moments he
returned, and said, ' His lordship will be down in a second,
your Highness.'
" Sixty minutes seemed to go to that second, so racked was
I with curiosity. At last I heard a step outside and a hand
on the door, and at that moment a horrible thought flashed
into my mind. What certainty was there my singer was a
hunchback ? Suppose his affliction were something more
loathly ? What if he had a monstrous wen ? For the
instant after his entry I was afraid to look up. When I did,
I saw a short, dark-haired young man, with proper limbs
and refined features. But his face wore a blank expression,
and I wondered why I had not divined before that my
musician was blind.
"He bowed and advanced towards me. He came straight
in my direction, so that I saw he could see. The blank
expression gave place to one of inquiry.
"'I have ventured to call upon your lordship in reference
396 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
to a charity concert,' I said sweetly. ' I am one of your
neighbours, living just across the Square, and as the good
work is to be done in the district, I dared to hope that I
could persuade you to take part in it.'
" I happened to catch sight of my face in the glass of a
chiffonier as I spoke, and it was as pure and candid and
beautiful as the face of one of Guido's angels. When I
ceased I looked up at Lord Arthur's ; it was spasmodically
agitated, the mouth was working wildly. A nervous dread
seized me.
" After what seemed an endless interval, he uttered an ex-
plosive 'Put!' following it up by, 'm— m— m — m — e
d— d — own f— f — f— f— f^f—f — or two g — g — g — g — g —
g— g— g '
" ' It is very kind of you,' I interrupted mercifully. 'But
I did not propose to ask you for a subscription. I wanted
to enlist your services as a performer. But I fear I have
made a mistake. I understood you sang.' Inwardly I
was furious with the stupid creature in plush for having
misled me into such an unpleasant situation.
" 'I d — d— do s— s — s— s— s ' he answered.
"As he stood there hissing, the truth flashed upon me
at last. I had heard that the most dreadful stammerers
enunciate as easily as anybody else when they sing, because
the measured swing of the time keeps them steady. My
heart sank as I thought of the Voice so mutilated ! Poor
young peer! Was this to be the end of all my beautiful
visions ?
" As cheerfully as I could I cut short his sibilations.
" Oh, that's all right, then,' I said. * Then I may put
you down for a couple of items ? '
"He shook his head and held up his hands deprecat
ingly.
THE PRINCESS OF PORTMAN SQUARE 397
"'Anything but that!' he stammered. 'Make me a
patron, a committee-man, anything ! I do not sing in
pubHc'
" While he was saying this I thought long and deeply.
The affliction was after all less terrible than I had a right
to expect, and I knew from the advertisement columns that
it was easily curable. Demosthenes, I remembered, had
stoned it to death. I felt my love reviving, as I looked
into his troubled face, instinct with the double aristocracy
of rank and genius. At the worst the singing voice was
unaffected by the disability — and as for the conversational,
well, there was consolation in the prospect of having the
last word, while one's husband was still having the first.
En attendant, I could have wished him to sing his replies
instead of speaking them, for not only should I thus enjoy
his glorious voice, but the interchange of ideas would pro-
ceed less tardily. However, that would have made him
into an operatic personage, and I did not want him to look
so ridiculous as all that.
" It would be tedious to recount our interview at the
length it extended to. Suffice it to say that I gained
my point. Without letting out that I knew of his theories
of art for art's sake, I yet artfully pleaded that, whatever
one's views, charity alters cases, inverts everything, justifies
anything.
" ' For instance,' I said, with charming naivete, ' I should
not have dared to call on you but in its sacred name.'
" He agreed to sing two songs — nay, two of his own songs.
I was to write to him particulars of time and place. He
saw me to the door. I held out my hand, and he took it,
and we looked at each other, smiling brightly.
" ' B — but — I d — d — d — on't know your n — n — n — ame,'
be said suddenly. ' P — p — p — rincess what ? '
398 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
"He spoke more fluently, now he had regained his com-
posure.
'' ' Princess,' I answered, my eyes gleaming merrily.
'That is all. The Honourable Miss Primpole will give
me a character, if you require one.'
"He laughed — his laugh was like the Voice — and followed
me with his eyes as I glided away.
" I had won my gloves — and in a day. I thought remorse-
fully of the poor saga-hero destined to wait a week in sus-
pense as to the result. But it was too late to remedy this,
and the organisation of the charity concert needed all my
thoughts. I was in for it now, and I resolved to carry it
through. But it was not so easy as I had lightly assumed.
Getting the artistes, of course, was nothing — there are always
so many professionals out of work or anxious to be brought
out, and so many amateurs in search of amusement. I
could have filled the Albert Hall with entertainers.
" Nor did I anticipate any difficulty in disposing of the
tickets. If you are at all popular in society, you can get a good
deal of unpopularity by forcing them on your friends. No,
the real difficulty about this charity concert was the discovery
of an object in aid of which to give it. In my innocence
I had imagined that the world was simply bristling with
unexploited opportunities for well-doing. Alas, I soon
found that philanthropy was an overcrowded profession.
There was not a single nook or corner of the universe but
had been ransacked by these restless free lances — not a gap,
not a cranny, but had been filled up. In vain I explored
the map, in the hopes of lighting on some undiscovered
hunting-ground in Far Cathay or where the khamsin sweeps
the Afric deserts. I found that the wants of the most
benighted savages were carefully attended to, and that,
even when they had none, they were thoughtfully supplied
THE PRINCESS OF PORTA! AN SQUARE 399
with them. Anxiously I scanned the newspapers in search
of a calamity the sufferers by which I might relieve, but
only one happened during that week, and that was snatched
from between my very fingers by a lady who had just been
through the Divorce Court. In my despair I bethought
myself of the preacher I sat under. He was a very hand-
some man, and published his sermons by request.
" I went to him, and I said, ' How is the church?'
" ' It is all right, thank you,* he said.
" 'Doesn't it want anything done to it ?'
" ' No, it is in perfect repair. My congregation is so very
good ! '
"I groaned aloud. ' But isn't there any improvement that
you would like ? '
'"The last of the gargoyles was put up last week.
Mediaeval architecture is always so picturesque. I have
had the entire structure made mediaeval, you know.'
" ' But isn't the outside in need of renovation ? '
" ' What ! When I have just had it made mediaeval ! '
" ' But the interior — there must be something defective
somewhere ? *
" * Not to my knowledge.*
"'But think! think!' I cried desperately. 'The aisles,
transept, nave, lectern, pews, chancel, pulpit, apse, porch,
altar-cloth?, organ, spire, — is there nothing in need of
anything?'
"He shook his head.
" ' Wouldn't you like a coloured window to somebody? '
" 'AH the windows are taken up. My congregation is so
very good.'
" ' A memorial brass, then ?*
" He mused. ' There is only one of my flock who has
done anything memorable lately.'
400 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" My heart gave a great leap of joy. ' Then why do you
neglect him?' I asked indignantly. 'If we do not per-
petuate the memory of virtue *
" ' He's alive,' he interrupted.
" I bit my lip in vexation.
" ' I think you need a few more choristers,' I murmured.
" ' Oh no, we are sending some away.'
" * The Sunday-school Fund — how is that ? '
'* ' I am looking about for a good investment for the sur-
plus. Do you know of any ? A good mortgage, perhaps ? '
" ' Is there none on the church ? ' I cried, with a flicker of
hope,
".* Heaven forbid !*
" I cudgelled my brains frantically.
" ' What do you think of a lightning-rod ? '
" ' A premier necessity. I never preach in a building
unprotected by one.'
*' I made one last wild search.
** ' How about a reredos ? '
" He looked at me in awful, pained silence. I saw I had
stumbled. ' I — I — mean — a new wing,' I stammered.
" ' I am afraid you are not well this morning,' said the
preacher, patting my hand soothingly. ' Won't you come
and talk it over — whatever it is — another time ? '
" ' No, no,' I cried excitedly. ' It must be settled at once.
I have it, A new peal of bells ! '
" ' What is the matter with the bells?' he asked anxiously.
' There isn't a single one cracked.'
" I saw his dubiety, and profited by it. I learnt afterwards
it was due to his having no ear of his own.
"'Cracked! Perhaps not,' I replied, in contemptuous
accents. ' But they deserve to be. No wonder the news-
papers keep correspondence going on the subject ! '
The pRiNckss OF PortmaN- square 40 1
" ' Yes ; but what correspondents object to is the bells
ringing at all,'
" ' I don't wonder,' 1 said. ' I don't say your bells are
worse than the majority, or that I haven't got a specially
sensitive ear for music, but I know that when I hear their
harsh clanging, I — I — well, I don't feel inclined to go to
church, and that's the truth. I am quite sure if you had a
really musical set of chimes, it would increase the spiritu-
ality of the neighbourhood.'
" ' How so ? ' he asked sceptically.
" ' It would keep down swearing on Sundays.'
" * Oh ! ' He pondered a moment ; then said, ' But that
would be a great expense.'
" ' Indeed ? I thought bells were cheap.'
"'Certainly — area bells, hand bells, sleigh bells. But
church bells are very costly. There are only a few foundries
in the kingdom. But why are you so concerned about my
church ? '
" * Because I am giving a charity concert, and I should
like to devote the proceeds to something,'
" ' A very exemplary desire. But I fear one bell is the
most you could get out of a charity concert.'
" I looked disappointed. ' What a pity ! It would have
been such a nice precedent — to improve the tone of the
church. The "constant readers" would have had to cease
their letters.'
"'No, no, impossible. A "constant reader" seems to
be so called because he is a constant writer.'
" ' But there might have been leaders about it.'
" ' Hardly sensational enough for that. Stay, I have an
idea. In the beautiful ages of faith, when a church bell
was being cast, the pious used to bring silver vessels to be
fused with the bell-metal in the furnace, so as to give the
2c
46i THE CELIBATES' CLUB
boll a finer tone. A mediaeval practice is always so poetical.
Perhaps I could revive it. My congregation is so very
good.'
" ' Good ! ' I echoed, clapping my hands.
" ' But a concert will not suffice— we shall need a bazaar,'
said the preacher.
*' ' Oh, but I must have a
concert ! '
" • Certainly. Bazaars in-
clude concerts.'
"That was how the Great
Church Bazaar originated, and
how the Rev. Melitos Smith
came to resurrect the beauti-
ful medieval custom that
brought him so much kudos,
and extracted such touching
sentiments from hardened
journalists. The bazaar lasted
a week, and raised a number
of ladies in the social scale,
and married off three of my
girl friends, and cut me off the
visiting hst of the Duchess of
Dash. She was pining for a
chance of coming out in a
comic opera chanson, but,
this being a church bazaar, I
couldn't allow her to kick up her heels.
" Everything could be bought at that bazaar, from photo-
graphs of the Rev. Melitos Smith to impracticable mouse-
traps, from bread and cheese to kisses. There were endless
side-shows, and six gipsy girls scattered about the rooms, so
HOW THE DUCHESS WANTED
TO APPEAR.
THE PRINCESS OF' POliTMAM SQUARE 403
that you could have your fortune told in six different ways.
I should not like to say how much that bazaar cost me
when the bill for the bells came in ; but then Lord Arthur
sang daily in the concert hall, and I could also deduct the
price of the pair of gloves Captain Athelstan gave me. Yox
the Captain honourably stood the loss of his wager, — nay
more, cheerfully accepted his defeat, and there on the spot
— before the portrait of another gentleman — offered to
enlist in the bazaar. And very useful he proved, too. We
had to be together, organising it, nearly all day, and I don't
know what I should have done without him. I don't know
what his regiment did without him, but then I have never
been able to find out when our gallant officers do their
work. They seem always to be saving it up for a rainy day.
" I was never more surprised in my life than when, on
the last night of the bazaar-boom, amid the buzz of a brisk
wind-up. Lord Arthur and Captain Athelstan came into the
little presidential sanctum which had been run up for me,
and requested a special interview.
" ' I can give you five minutes,' I said, for I felt my finger
was on the pulse of the bazaar, and my time correspond-
ingly important.
"They looked grateful, then embarrassed. Captain Athel-
stan opened his mouth — and closed it
" * You had better tell her ! ' he said nervously to Lord
Arthur.
•' ' N-n-no, y_y-y_y '
" ' What is it, Captain Athelstan ? ' I interrupted pointedly,
for I had only five minutes.
" ' Princess, we both love you,* began the Captain, blush-
ing like a hobbledehoy, and rushing in niedias res. I
allowed them to call me Princess, because it was not my
Christian name.
404
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" ' Gentlemen ! ' I expostulated wearily, * is this the
time, when I am busy feeling the pulse of the bazaar ? '
" ' You gave us five minutes,' pleaded the Captain, deter-
mined to do or die, now he was in the thick of it.
> n|V>^«'fe..to '"^^
BAZAAR PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE.
" ' Go on,' I said. ' I will forgive you everything — even
your love of me — if you are only brief.'
THE PRINCESS OF PORTMAN SQUARE 405
" * We both love you. We are great friends. We have no
secrets. We told each other. We are doubtful if you love
either — or which. We have come together.'
" He fired off the short sharp sentences as from a six-
barrelled revolver.
" ' Captain Athelstan — Lord Arthur,' I said, ' I am deeply
touched by the honour you have done your friendship and
me. I will be equally frank — and brief — with you. I can-
not choose either of you, because I love you both. Like
every girl, I formed an ideal of a lover. I have been for-
tunate in finding my ideal in the flesh. I have been
unfortunate in finding it in two pieces. Fate has bisected
it, and given the form to one and the voice to the other.
My ideal looks like you, Captain Athlestan, and sings like
you, Lord Arthur. It is a stupid position, I know, and I
feel like the donkey between two bundles of hay. But,
under the circumstances, I have no choice.'
"They looked at each other half-rapturously, half-despair-
ingly.
" * Then what's to be done ? ' cried the Captain.
" ' I don't know,' I said hopelessly. ' Love seems not
only blind, but a blind alley this time.'
" ' D — d — d' you m — m — mean,' asked Lord Arthur :
' How happy could I be with either, were t'other dear charmer away?'
" I was glad he sang it, because it precipitated matters.
" ' That is the precise position,' I admitted.
" ' Oh then, Arthur, my boy, I congratulate you,' said the
Captain huskily.
" ' N — n — no, I'll g — g — go away,' said the singer.
" They wrangled for full ten minutes, but the position
remained a block.
"'Gentlemen,' I interposed, 'if either of you had con-
4o6 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
sented to accept the other's sacrifice, the problem would
have been solved ; only 1 should have taken the other. But
two self-sacrifices are as bad as none.'
"'Then let us toss up, Princess,' said the Captain
impulsively.
" ' Oh no ! ' I cried, with a shudder. ' Submit my life to
the chances of head or tail ! It would make me feel like a
murderess, with you for gentlemen of the jury.'
"A painful silence fell upon the sanctum; unwitting of
the tragedy playing within, all the fun of the fair went on
without.
" ' Listen,' I said at last. * I will be the wife of him who
wins me. Chance shall not decide, but prowess. Like the
Princesses of eld, I will set you a task. Whoever accom-
plishes it, shall win my hand.'
" ' Agreed ! ' they said eagerly, though not simultaneously.
"'Ah, but what shall it be?' I murmured.
" ' Why not a competition ? ' suggested the Captain.
"'Very well, a competition — provided you promise to
fight fair, and not play into each other's hands.'
"They promised; and together we excogitated and rejected
all sorts of competitions. The difficulty was to find some-
thing in which each would have a f^iir chance. At length
we arranged that they should play a game of chess, the
winner to be mated. They agreed it would be a real
' match-game.' The five minutes had by this time lasted
half-an-hour, so I dismissed them and hastened to feel the
pulse of the bazaar, which was getting more and more
feverish as the break-up drew nigh.
" They played the game in Lord Arthur's study. Lord
Arthur was 'white' and the Captain 'black.' Everything
was fair and above-board. But they played rather slowly.
Every evening I sent the butler over to make inquiries.
THE PRINCESS OF PORTMAN SQUARE 407
"'The Princess's compliments,' he was told to say, 'and
how is it to-day ? '
" ' It is getting on,' they told him, and he came back with
a glad face. He was a kind soul, despite his calves, — and
he thought there was a child dying.
"Once a week I used to go over and look at it. Ostensibly
I called in connection with the bazaar accounts. I could
not see any difference in the position from one week's end
to another. There seemed to be a clump of pawns in the
middle, with all the other pieces looking idly on ; there was
no thoroughfare anywhere.
" They told me it always came like that when you played
cautiously. They said it was the French opening. I could
not see any opening anywhere; it certainly was not the
English way of fighting. Picture my suspense during those
horrible weeks !
" ' Is this the way all match-games are played ? ' I said once.
"'N— n— o!' admittted Lord Arthur. 'We for—
g — g — g — ot to p— p — p — ut a t — t — t — t — t — t — ime-
limit.'
" ' What's the time-limit ? ' I asked the Captain, wishing
my singer could learn to put one to his sentences.
" ' So many moves must be made in an hour — usually
fifteen. Otherwise the younger champion would always
win, merely by outliving the elder. We forgot to include
that condition.'
"At length our butler brought back word that ' it couldn't
last much longer.' His face was grave, and he gave the
message in low tones.
" ' What a blessing 1 It's been lingering long enough ! I
wish they would polish it off !' I murmured fretfully. After
that I frequently caught him looking at me as if I were
Lucrezia Borgia.
4o8 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
*' The end came suddenly.
"The butler went across to make the usual inquiry. He
returned, with a foolish face of horror, and whispered, ' It
is all over. It has been drawn by perpetual check ! '
" * Great heavens ! ' I cried. My consternation was so
manifest that he forgave the utterance of a peevish moment.
I put on my nicest hat at once and went over. We held a
council of war afresh,
" ' Let's go by who catches the biggest trout,' suggested
the Captain.
" ' No,' I said, ' I will not be angled for. Besides, the
biggest is not grammatical. It should be the bigger.'
" Thus reproved, the Captain grew silent, and we came
to a deadlock once more. I gave up the hunt at last.
" 'I think the best plan will be for you both to go away
and travel. Go round the world, see fresh faces, try to
forget me. One of you will succeed.'
" ' But suppose we both succeed ? ' asked the Captain.
" * That would be more awkward than ever,' I admitted.
" * And if neither succeed ? ' asked Lord Arthur at some
length.
"*I should say neither succeeds,' I remarked severely.
' Neither takes a singular verb.'
" ' Pardon me,' said Lord Arthur, with some spirit. * The
plurality is merely apparent. "Succeed" is subjunctive
after " if." '
" ' Ah, true ! ' I said. * Then suppose you go round the
world, and I give my hand to whoever comes back and
proposes to me first ? '
" ' Something like the men in Jules Verne ! ' cried the
Captain. ' Glorious ! '
" ' Except that it can be done quicker now, ' I said.
" Lord Arthur fell in joyously with the idea, which was
THE PRINCESS OF PORTMAN SQUARE 409
a godsend to me, for the worry of having about you two
men whom you love, and who love you, cannot be easily
conceived by those who have not been through it. They,
too, were pining away, and felt the journey would do them
good. Captain Athelstan applied for three months' fur-
lough. He was to put a girdle round the earth from West
to East ; Lord Arthur, from East to West. It was thought
this would work fairly — as, whatever advantages one out-
going route had over the other would be lost on the return.
Each drew up his scheme and prepared his equipment.
The starting-point was to be my house, and, consequently,
this was also the goal. After forty-eight days had passed
(the minimum time possible), I was to remain at home day
and night, awaiting the telegram which was to be sent the
moment either touched English soil again. On the receipt
of the telegram I was to take up my position at the front
window of the ground floor, with a white rose in my hair to
show I was still unwon, and to wait there day and night
for the arrival of my offer of marriage, which I was not to
have the option of refusing. During the race they were not
to write to me.
" The long-looked-for day of their departure duly arrived.
"Two hansoms were drawn up, side by side, in front of
the house. A white rose in my hair, I sat at the window.
A parting smile, a wave of my handkerchief, and my lovers
were off. In an instant they were out of sight.
"For a month they were out of mind too. After the
exhausting emotions I had undergone, this period of my life
was truly halcyon. I banished my lovers from my memory,
and enjoyed what was left of the season and of my girlish
freedom. In two months I should be an affianced wife,
and it behoved me to make the best of my short span of
spinsterhood. The season waned, fashion drifted to Cowes ;
41 o THE CELIBATES' CLUB
I was left alone in empty London. Then my thoughts
sauntered back to the two travellers. As day followed day,
my anxiety and curiosity mounted proportionately. The
forty-eight days went by, but there was no wire. They
passed slowly — oh, so slowly — into fifty, while I waited,
waited, from dawn to midnight, with ears pricked up, for
that double rat-tat which came not, or which came about
something else. The sands of September dribbled out,
and my fate still hung in the balance. I went about the
house like an unquiet spirit.
" In imagination I was seeing those two men sweeping
towards me — one from the East of the world, one from the
West. And there I stood, rooted to the spot, while from
either side a man was speeding inevitably towards me,
across oceans and continents, through canals and tunnels,
along deserts or rivers, pressing into his service every human
and animal force, and every blind energy that man had
tamed. To my fevered imagination I seemed to be be-
tween the jaws of a leviathan, which were closing upon me
at a terrific rate, yet which took days and days to snap
together, so wide were they apart, so gigantic was the
monster. Which of the jaws would touch me first?
"The fifties mounted into the sixties, but there was no
telegram. The tension became intolerable. Again and
again I felt tempted to fly, but a lingering sense of honour
kept me to my post.
" On the sixty-first day my patience was rewarded. Sitting
at my window one morning, I saw a telegraph boy saunter-
ing along. He reached the gate. He paused. I rushed
to the door and down the steps, seized the envelope, and
tore it frantically open :
"Coming, but suppose all over. — Arthur,
1
THE PRINCESS OF PORTMAN SQUARE 411
" I leaned against the gate, half fainting. When I returned
to my room, I read the wire again, and noted it had been
handed in at Liverpool. In four or five hours at most I
should cease to belong to myself. I communicated the
news to the Honourable Miss Primpole, who congratulated
me cordially. She made no secret of her joy that the
nobleman had won. For my part I was still torn with con-
flicting emotions. Now that I knew it was to be the one,
I hankered after the other. Yet in the heart of the
storm there was peace, in the thought that the long suspense
was over. I ordered a magnificent repast to be laid for the
home-coming voyager, which would also serve to celebrate
our betrothal. The Honourable Miss Primpole consented
to grace the board, and the butler to surrender the choicest
vintages garnered in my father's cellar.
" Two hours and a half dragged by ; then there came
another wire. I opened it with some curiosity, but as my
eye caught the words I almost swooned with excitement.
It ran :
*' Arrived, but presume too late. — Athelstan.
*' With misty vision I strove to read the place of despatch.
It was Dover. A great wave of hope surged in my bosom.
My saga-hero might yet arrive in time. Half-frenziedly I
turned over the leaves of Bradshaw. No ; after sending
that wire he would just have missed the train to Victoria !
Cruel ! cruel ! But stay ! there was another route. He
might have booked for Charing Cross. Yes ! Heaven be
praised ! If he did that he would just catch a train. And
of course he would do that — surely he would have planned
out every possibility while crossing the Channel, have
arranged for all — my Captain, my blue-eyed Berserker !
But then Lord Arthur had had two and a half hours' start.
412 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
I turned to Liverpool, and essayed to discover whether
that was sutficient to balance the difterence of the two dis-
tances from London. Alas ! my head swam before I had
travelled two stations. There were no less than four routes
— to Euston, to St. Pancras, to King's Cross, to Paddington!
Still I made out that if he had kept his head very clear,
and been verj', very fortunate, he might just get level with
the Captain. But then on a longer route the chances of
accidental delays were more numerous. On the whole the
odds were decidedly in favour of the Captain. But one
thing was certain — that they would both arrive in time for
supper. I ordered an additional cover to be laid, then I
threw myself upon a couch and tried to read. But I could
not. Terrible as was the strain, my thoughts refused to be
distracted. The minutes crawled along — gradually peace
came back, as I concluded that only by a miracle could
Lord Arthur win. At last I jumped up with a start, for
the shades of evening were falling, and my toilette was yet
to make. I dressed myself in a dainty robe of white,
trimmed with sprays of wild flowers, and I stuck the white
rose in my hair — the symbol that I was yet unasked in
wedlock, the white star of hope to the wayworn w\inderer !
I did my best to be the fairest sight the travellers should
have seen in all the world.
" The Honourable Miss Primpole started when she
saw me. 'What have you been doing to yourself.
Princess?' she said. 'You're lovelier than I ever
dreamed.'
"And indeed the crisis had lent a flush to my cheek and a
flash to my eye which I would not willingly repay. IMy
bosom rose and fell with excitement In half-an-hour I
should be in my saga-hero's arms !
" I went down to the ground-floor front, and seated myself
THE PRINCESS OF PORTMAN SQUARE 413
at the open window, and gazed at the Square and the fiery
streaks of sunset in the sky.
"The Honourable Miss Primpole lay upon an ottoman,
less excited. Every now and again she asked :
" ' Do you see anything, Princess ? '
"'Nothing,' I answered.
" Of course she did not take my answer literally. Several
times cabs and carriages rattled past the window, but with
no visible intention of drawing up. Duskier, duskier grew
the September evening, as I sat peering into the twilight.
" ' Do you see anything, Princess ? '
" ' Nothing.'
" A moment after a hansom came dashing into sight — a
head protruded from it. I uttered a cry and leant forward,
straining my eyes.
" Captain Athelstan !
" Yes ! No ! No ! Yes ! No ! NO !
" Will it be believed that (such is the heart of woman) I
felt a sensation of relief on finding the issue still postponed ?
For, in the moment when the Captain seemed to flash upon
my vision, it was borne in upon me like a chilling blast
that I had lost my Voice. Never would that glorious
music swell for me as I sat alone with my husband in the
gloaming.
" The fiery streaks of sunset faded into grey ashes.
" ' Do you see anything. Princess ?
" ' Nothing.'
" Even as I spoke I heard the gallop of hoofs in the
quiet Square, and, half paralysed by the unexpected vision,
I saw Lord Arthur dashing furiously up on horseback — Lord
Arthur, bronzed and bearded and travel-stained, but Lord
Arthur beyond a doubt. He took off his hat and waved it
frantically in the air when he caught sight of my white
414 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
figure, with the white rose of promise nesthng in my hair.
My poor saga-hero !
Ill
_ tnj^iVC^E
Erie
\
a
AT THE WINNING-POST.
" He reined in his beautiful steed before my window,
and commenced his proposal breathlessly :
7 HE PRINCESS OF PORTA! AN SQUARE 415
"Even Mr. Gladstone, if he had been racing as madly
as Lord Arthur, might well have been flustered in his
speech,
*' The poor singer could not get out the first word, try as
he would. At last it came out like a soda-water cork, and
*jw/' with it. But at the 'be' there was— oh, dire to tell
— another stoppage.
" ' B—b—b—b—b '
" ' Fire ! fire ! Hooray ! ' The dull roar of an advan-
cing crowd burst suddenly upon our ears, mingled with
the more piercing exultation of small boys. The thunderous
clatter of the fire-engine seemed to rock the soil of the
Square.
" But neither of us took eyes off the other.
" * j9^ / ' It was out at last. The end was near. In
another second I should say ' Yes.'
*' * Fire ! fire ! ' shrieked the small boys,
*' ' M—m — jii—y.'
" Lord Arthur's gallant steed shifted uneasily. The fire
engine was thundering down upon it.
" ' IV—w—w '
" * Will you be ' The clarion notes of the Ca))tain
rang out above the clatter of the fire-engine, from which he
madly jumped.
^ -^ ; the two travellers exclaimed together.
'''Mine?' \ ^
" ' Dead heat,' I murmured, and fell back in a dead
faint. My overwrought nerves could stand no more.
Nevertheless it was a gay supper-party; the air was
thick with travellers' tales, and the butler did not spare the
champagne. We could not help being tickled by the
4l6 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
quaint termination of the colossal globe-trotting competition ;
and we soothed Lord Arthur's susceptibilities by declaring
that if he had only remembered the shorter proposal formula
employed by his rival, he would have won by a word. It
was a pure fluke that the Captain was able to tie, for he had
not thought of telegraphing for a horse, but had taken a
hansom at the station, and only exchanged to the fire-
engine when he heard people shouting there was a fire
in Seymour Street. Lord Arthur obliged five times during
the evening, and the Honourable Miss Primpole relaxed
more than ever before, and accompanied him on the banjo.
Before we parted I had been persuaded by my lovers to
give them one last trial. That night three months I was to
give another magnificent repast, to which they were both to
be invited. During the interval each was to do his best to
become famous, and at the supper-party I was to choose
the one who was the more widely known throughout the
length and breadth of the kingdom. They were to place
before me what proofs and arguments they pleased, and I
was to decide whose name had penetrated to the greater
number of people. There was to be no appeal from my
decision, nor any limitation to what the candidates might
do to force themselves upon the universal consciousness, so
long as they did not merely advertise themselves at so much
a column or poster. They could safely be trusted not to
do anything infamous in the attempt to become famous,
and so there was no need to impose conditions. I had a
secret hope that Lord Arthur might thus be induced to
bring his talents before the world and get over his objection
to the degradation of public appearances. My hope was
more than justified. I grieve to say that neither strove to
benefit his kind. His lordship went on the music-hall stage,
made up as a costermonger, and devoted his wonderful
THE PRINCESS OF PORTMAN SQUARE
417
voice and his musical genius to singing a Cockney ballad,
with a chorus consisting of the words, ' Ba, ba, ba, boodle-
dee,' repeated sixteen times. It caught on like a first-class
epidemic — ' Ba, ba, ba, boodle dee ' microbes floated in
every breeze. The cholera-chorus raged from Piccadilly
Circus to Land's End, from Kensington to John O Groat's.
The swarthy miners
hewed the coal to it ;
it dropped from pass-
ing balloons ; the sailors
manned the capstan
to it, and the sound of
it superseded fog-
horns. Duchesses
danced to it, and
squalid infants cried
for it. Divines with
difficulty kept it out of
their sermons ; philo-
sophers drew weighty
lessons from it ; critics
traced its history ; and,
as it didn't mean any-
thing, the greatest
Puritans hummed it
inaccurately. * Ba, ba,
ba, boodle-dee,' sang
Lord Arthur nightly at
six halls and three theatres, incidentally clearing off all the
debts on the family estates ; and, like a flock of sheep, the
great British public took up the bleat, and in every hall and
drawing-room blossomed the big pearl buttons of the
Cockney costermonger.
2d
m
BA, BA, BA, BOOnLE-DEE.
4iS THE CELlBATkS' CLUB
"But Captain Athelstan came to the front far more
easily, if less profitably. He sent a testimonial to the
Perfect Cure Elixir. The Elixir was accustomed to testi-
monials from the suffering millions. The spelling had
generally to be corrected before they were fit for publication.
It also received testimonials which were useless, such as, ' I
took only one bottle of your Elixir, and I got fourteen days.'
But a testimonial from a Captain of the Guards was a gold
mine. The Captain was the best name the Elixir had ever
had ; and he had enjoyed more diseases than it had ever
professed to cure. Astonished by its own success, the
Elixir resolved to make a big spurt and kill off all its rivals.
" For the next few months. Captain Athelstan was rammed
down the throats of all England. He came with the
morning milk, in all the daily papers; he arrived by the
first post in a circular ; he stared at people from every dead
wall when they went out to business ; he was with them
at lunch in little plaques and placards in every restaurant ;
he nodded at them in every bar; ro.le with them in every
train and tram-car, either on the wall or on the back of the
ticket ; joined them at dinner in the evening papers, and
supplied the pipe-lights after the meal ; you took up a
magazine, and found he had slipped between the sheets ;
you went to bed, and his diseased figure haunted your
dreams. Life lost its sweetness, literature its charm. The
loathsome phantasm of the complexly-afflicted Captain got
between you and the sunshine. Stiff examination papers
(compiled from the Captain) were set at every breakfast
table, and you were sternly interrogated as to whether you
felt an all-gone sensation at the tip of your nose, and you
were earnestly adjured to look up your old diseases. You
began to read an eloquent description of the Alps, and lo I
there was the Captain perched on top. You started a
THE PRINCESS OF PORTMAN SQUARE 419
thrilling story of the sea, and the Captain bobbed up from
the bottom. You began a poetical allegory concerning
the Valley of the Shadow, and you found the Captain had
been living there all his life — till he came upon the Elixir.
A little innocent child remarked, ' Pater, it is almost bath
time,' and you felt for your handkerchief in view of a
touching domestic idyll ; but the Captain froze your tears.
'Why have sunstroke in India?' you were asked; and the
Captain supplied the answer. Something came like a thiet
in the night ; it was the Captain. You were startled to see
that there was ' a blight over all creation,' but it turned
out to be only the Captain. Everything abutted on the
Captain— Shakespeare and the musical glasses, the Venus
of Milo and the ' Mikado ' \ day and night and all the
seasons, the potato harvest and the Durham coal strike, the
advantages of early rising and the American Copyright Act.
He was at the bottom of every passage, he lurked in every
avenue, he was at the end of every perspective. I'he whole
world was familiar with his physical symptoms, and his sad
history. The exjjloits of Julius Caesar were but a blur in
the common mind, but everybody knew that the Captain's
skin grew Gobelin blue ; that the whites of his eyes turned
L;reen ; that his tongue stuck in his cheek ; and that the
rest of his organism behaved with corresponding gruesome-
ness. Everybody knew how 'they dropped off, petrified
by my breath ' ; and how his sympathetic friends told him
in large capitals,
'VOU WILL NEVER GET BETTER, CAPTAIN';
and how his weeping mother, anxious to soothe his last
hours, remarked, in reply to his request for another box of
somebody else's pills, ' The only box you'll ever want will
be a coffin'; how 'he thought it was only cholera,' but
420 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
how one dose of the EHxir (which new-born babies clamoured
for in preference to their mother's milk) had baffled all
their prognostications and made him a celebrity for life.
"In private the Captain said that he really had these
ailments, though he only discovered the fact when he read
the advertisements of the Elixir. But the mess had an
inkling that it was all done for a wager, and christened him
'The Perfect Cure.' To me he justified himself on the
ground that he had scrupulously described himself as
having his tongue in his cheek, and that he really suffered
from love-sickness, which was worse than all the ills the
Elixir cured.
" I need scarcely say that I was shocked by my lovers'
practical methods of acquiring that renown for which so
many gifted souls have yearned in vain, though I must
admit that both gendemen retained sufficient sense of
decorum to be revolted by the other's course of action.
They remonstrated with each other gently but firmly.
"The result was that their friendship snapped, and a
week before the close of the competition they crossed the
Channel to fight a duel. I got to hear of it in time, and
wired to Boulogne that if they killed each other, I would
marry neither ; that if only one survived, I would never
marry my lover's murderer; and that a duel excited so
much gossip, that, if both survived, they would be equally
famous and the competition again a failure.
" These simple considerations prevented any mishap. The
Captain returned to his regiment, and Lord Arthur went on
to the Riviera to while away the few remaining days, and
to get extra advertisement out of not appearing at his halls
through indisposition. At Monte Carlo he accidentally
broke the bank, and explained his system to the inter-
viewers.
THE PRINCESS OF PORT MAN SQUARE 421
" To my chagrin, for I was tired of see-sawing, this brought
him level with the Captain again. I had been prepared to
adjudicate in favour of the latter, on the ground that
although 'Ba, ba, ba, boodle-dee' was better known
than the Patent Cure Elixir, yet the originator of the song
remained unknown to many to whom the Captain was a
household word, and this in despite of the extra attention
secured to Lord Arthur by his rank. The second supper-
party was again sicklied over with the pale cast of thought.
' No more competitions ! ' I said. ' You seem destined to
tie with each other instead of with me. I will return to
my original idea. I will give you a task which it is not
likely both will perform. I will marry the man who asks
me, provided he comes to me neither walking nor riding,
neither sailing nor driving, neither skating nor sliding nor
flying, neither by boat nor by balloon nor by bicycle,
neither by swimming nor by floating, nor by anybody
carrying or dragging or pushing him, neither by any move-
ment of hand or foot nor by any extraordinary method
whatever. Till this is achieved neither of you must look
upon my face again.'
" They looked aghast when I set the task. They went
away, and I have not seen them from that day to this. I
shall never marry now, so I may as well devote myself to
the cause of the Old Maids you are so nobly championing."
She rolled up the MS.
" But," said Lillie excitedly, breaking in for the first
time, " what is the way you want them to come ? "
The Princess laughed a silvery laugh.
" No way. Don't you understand ? It was a roundabout
way of saying I was tired of them."
" Oh ! " said LiUie.
" You see I got the idea from a fairy tale," said the
422 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Princess. " There the doer evaded the conditions by being
dragged at a horse's tail. I have guarded against this, so
that now the thing is impossible."
Again her mischievous laughter rang through the misan-
thropic room.
Lillie smiled too. She felt certain Lord Silverdale would
find no flaw in the Princess's armour, and she was exultant
at so auspicious an accession. For the sake of formality,
however, she told her that she would communicate her
election by letter.
The next day a telegram came to the Club : " Compelled
to withdraw candidature. Feat accomplished. — Princess,
Hotel Metropole, Brighton.''
Equally aghast and excited, Lillie wired back : " How ? "
and prepaid the reply.
'■' Lover happened to be here. Came 2ip in lift as I was
waiti?ig to go down."
Still intensely piqued by curiosity and vexation, Lillie
telegraphed : " Which .?"
^^ Leave you to guess,'' answered the electric current.
CHAPTER VI
THE GRAMMAR OF LOVE
The Moon man's name was Wilkins, and he did nine-tenths
of the interviews in that model of the new journalism.
Wilkins was the man to catch the weasel asleep, hit off
his features with a kodak, and badger him the moment he
awoke as to why he went pop. Wilkins lived in a flat in
Chancery Lane, and had his whiskey and his feet on the
THE GRAMMAR Of LOVE 423
table when Silverdale turned the handle of the door in the
twilight.
" What do you want?" said VVilkins gruffly.
" I have come to ask you a few questions," said Silver-
dale politely.
'• But I don't know you, sir," said Wilkins stiffly. " Don't
you see I'm busy? "
" It is true lama stranger ; but remember, sir, I shall
not be so when I leave. I just want to interview you about
I hat paragraph in the Moon, stating "
" Look here ! " roared Wilkins, letting his feet slide from
the table with a crash. " Let me tell you, sir, I have no
time to listen to your impertinence. My leisure is scant
and valuable. I am a hard -worked man. I can't be
pestered with questions from inquisitive busybodies. What
next, sir ? What I write in the Moon is my business and
nobody else's. Damn it all, sir, is there to be nothing
private ? Are you going to poke and pry into the concerns
of the very journalist ? No, sir, you have wasted your time
as well as mine. We never allow the public to go behind
what appears in our paper."
" But this is a mere private curiosity- what you tell me
shall never be published."
" If it could be, I wouldn't tell it you. I never waste
ropy."
" Tell me — I am willing to pay for the information — who
wrote the paragraph about Clorinda Bell and the Old
Maids' Club?"
" Go to the devil ! " roared Wilkins.
"I thought you would know more than he," said Silver-
dale, and left. Wilkins came down-stairs on his heels in a
huff, and walked towards Ludgate Hill. Silverdale thought
he would have another shot, and followed him unseen. The
424 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
two men jumjied into a train, and after an endless-seeming
journey arrived at the Crystal Palace. A monster balloon
was going off from the grounds. Herr Nickeldorf, the
great aeronaut, was making in solitude an experimental
night excursion to Calais, as if anxious to meet his fate by
moonlight alone. Wilkins rushed up to Nickeldorf, who
was standing among the ropes giving directions.
" Go avay ! " said Nickeldorf, when he saw him, " I haf
noding to say to you. You make me schwitzen." He
jumped into the car and bade the men let go.
Ordinarily Wilkins would have been satisfied with this
ample material for half a column, but he was still in a bad
temper, and, as the car was sailing slowly upwards, he
jumped in, and the aeronaut gave himself up for pumped.
In an instant, moved by an irresistible impulse, Silverdale
gave a great leap and stood by the Moon man's side. The
balloon shot up, and the roar of the crowd became a fainf
murmur as the planet flew from beneath their feet.
" Good evening, Mr. Wilkins," said Lord Silverdale. " I
should just like to interview you about "
" You jackanapes ! " cried the Moon man, pale with
anger. " If you don't go away at once, I'll kick you
down-stairs."
" My dear Mr. Wilkins," suavely replied Lord Silver-
dale, " I will willingly go down, provided you accompany
me. I am sure Herr Nickeldorf is anxious to drop both
of us."
" Gezvissl' replied the aeronaut.
" Well, lend us a parachute," said Silverdale.
" No, tanks. Peoples never return parachutes."
'■ Well, we won't go away without one. I forgot to bring
mine with me. I didn't know I was going to have such a
high old time."
#
THE GRAMMAR OF LOVE 425
" By what right, sir," said Mr. Wilkins, who had been strug-
"GO away, or r'l.I. KICK VOU DOWN-STAIKS."
gling with an attaclc of speechlessness, " do you persecute
me like this ? You are not a member of the Fourth Estate."
426 THE CELIBATES' CT.UR
" No, I belong merely to the Second."
" Eh ? what ?— a Peer ! "
" I am Lord Silverdale."
" No, indeed ? Lord Silverdale ! "
" Lord Silverdale ! " echoed the aeronaut, letting two
sand-bags fall into the clouds. Most people lose their
ballast in the presence of the aristocracy.
" Oh, I am so glad ! I have long been anxious to meet
your lordship," said the Moon man, taking out his note
hook. " What is your lordship's opinion of the best fifty
books for the working man's library ? "
"I have not yet written fifty books."
"Ah!" said the Moon man, carefully noting down the
reply.
" And when is your lordship's next book coming out ? "
" I cannot say."
"Thank you," said the Moon man, writing it down.
" Will it be poetry or prose ? "
"That is as the critics shall decide."
"Is it true that your lordship has been converted to
Catholicism ? "
" I believe not."
" Then how does your lordship account for the rumour?"
" I have an indirect connection with a sort of new
nunnery, which it is proposed to found— the Old Maids'
Club."
" Oh yes, the one that Clorinda Bell is going to join."
" Nonsense ! who told you she was going to join ? "
The Moon man winced perceptibly at the question, as he
replied indignantly, " Herself ! "
"Thank you. That's what I wanted to know. Yon
may contradict it on the authority of the President. She
only said so to get an advertisement "
THE GRAMMAR OF LOVE 427
"Then why give her two by contradicting it?"
"That is the woman's cleverness. Let her have the
advertisement, rather than that her name should be con-
nected with Miss Dulcimer's."
"Very well. Tell me something, please, about the
Club?"
" It is not organised yet. It is to consist of young and
beautiful women vowed to celibacy, to remove the reproach
of the term ' Old Maid.' "
" It is a noble idea ! " said the Moon man enthusiastic-
ally. "Oh, what a humanitarian time we are having !"
" Lord Silverdale," said Herr Nickeldorf, who had been
listening with all his ears, " I haf to you given de hospit-
ality of my balloon. Vill you, in return, take meine Frau
into de Old Maids' Club?"
" As a visitor ? With pleasure, as she is a married
woman."
" Nein, nein. I mean as an Old Maid. Ich katni sie 7iicht
mehr gebrauchen. I do not require her any longer."
" Ah, then, I am afraid we can't. You see she isn't an
Old Maid ! "
" But she haf been."
"Ah, yes, but we do not recognise past services."
"Oh, warum wasn't de Club founded before I married?"
groaned the old German. " Himmel, vat a terrible mistake!
It is to her I owe it dat I am de most celebrated aeronaut
in der ganzen Welt. It is de only profession in vich I
escape her sicker /ich. She haf de Kopf too schwach to rise
mit me. Ach, when I com aw/ here, it is Bimmel."
" Rather taking an unfair rise out of your partner, isn't
it?" queried the Moon man, with a sickly smile.
"And vat vould you haf done in — wjs sagl man — in my
bouts?"
428 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
The Moon man winced.
" Not put them on."
" You are not yourself married ? '^
The Moon man winced,
" No, I'm only engaged."
" Mein Herr,^' said the old German solemnly, " I haf
noding but drouble from you. You make to me mein
life von burden. But I cannot see you going to de altar
widout putting out de hand to safe you. It vas dumm to
yourself engage at all — but now dat you haf committed de
mistake, shtick to it ! "
" How do you mean ? "
" Keep yourself engaged. Change not your condition
any more." He pulled the valveline and relapsed into
silence.
"What do you say, Lord Silverdale?" said the Moon
man anxiously.
" I am hardly an authority. You see I have so rarely
been married. It depends on the character of your be-
trothed. Does she long to be of service in the world ?"
The Moon man winced.
" Yes, that's why she fell in love with me. Thought a
Moo}i man must be all noble sentiments like the Moo?i
itself!"
" She is, then, young," said Silverdale musingly. " Is
she also beautiful ? "
The Moon man winced.
" Bewitching. Why does your lordship ask ? "
" Because her services might be valuable as an Old
Maid."
"Oh, if you could only get Diana to see it in that
light ! "
" You seem anxious to be rid of iier ? "
THE GRAMMAR OF LOVE 429
" I do. I confess it. It has been growing on me for
some time. You see hers is a soul perpetually seeking
more light. She is always asking questions. This thirst
for information would be made only more raging by mar-
riage. You know what Stevenson says, — 'To marry is to
domesticate the Recording Angel.' At present my occu-
pations keep me away from her — but she answers my
letters with as many queries as a ' Constant Reader.' She
wants to know all I say. do, or feel, and I never see her
without having to submit to a string of inquiries. It's like
having to fill up a census paper once a week. If I don't
see her for a fortnight she wants to know how I am the
moment we meet. If this is so before marriage, what will
it be after, when her opportunities of button-holing me will
be necessarily more frequent ? "
"But I see nothing to complain of in that!" said Lord
Silverdale. " Tender solicitude for one's betrothed is the
usual thing with those really in love. You wouldn't like her
to be indifferent to what you were doing, saying, feeling?"
The Moon man winced.
" No, that's just the dilemma of it, Lord Silverdale. I am
afraid your lordship does not catch my drift. You see, with
another man, it wouldn't matter ; as your lordship says, he
would be glad of it. But to me all that sort of thing's ' shop.
And I hate 'shop.' It's hard enough to be out interviewing
all day, without being reminded of it when you get home and
want to put your slippers on the fender and your feet inside
them, and be happy. No, if there's one thing in this world
I can't put up with, it's 'shop' after business hours. I want
to forget that I get my gold in exchange for notes of
interrogation. I shudder to be reminded that there are
such things in the world as questions — I tremble if I hear
a person invert the subject and predicate of a sentence. I
430 7///^' CELIBATES' CLUB
can hardly bear to read poetry, because the frequent inver-
sions make the lines look as if they were going to be
inquisitive. Now you understand why I was so dis-
courteous to your lordship, and I trust that you will pardon
the curt expression of my hyper-sensitive feelings. Now,
too, you understand why I shrink from the prospect of
marriage, to the brink of which I once bounded so heed-
lessly. No ; it is evident a life of solitude must be my
portion. If I am ever to steep my wearied spirit in forget-
fulness of my daily grind, if my nervous system is to be
l)reserved from premature break-down, I must have no one
about me who has a right of interrogation, and my house-
keeper must prepare my meals without even the preliminary
'Chop or Steak, sir?' My home-life must be restful,
peaceful, balsamic — it must exhale a papaverous aroma of
categorical propositions."
"But is there no way of getting a wife with a gift of
categorical conversation ? "
•' Please say, ' There is no way, etc,' for unless you your-
self speak categorically, the sentences grate upon my ear.
I can ask questions myself, without experiencing the
slightest inconvenience, but the moment I am myself
interrogated, every nerve in me quivers with torture. No,
I am afraid it is impossible to find a woman who will
eschew the interrogative form of proposition, and limit
herself to the affirmative and negative varieties ; who will,
for mere love of me, invariably place the verb after the
noun, and unalterably give the subject the precedence over
the predicate. Often and often, when my Diana in all her
dazzling charms looks up pleadingly into my face, I feel
towards her as Ahasuerus felt towards the suppliant queen
Esther, and I yearn to stretch out my reporter's pencil
towards her, and to say, ' Ask what you will — even if
THE GRAMMAR OF LOVE 43t
it be half my income — so long as you do not ask a
question.' "
"But isn't there — I mean there is — such a thing obtain-
able as a dumb wife ! "
" Mutes are for funerals, not for marriages. Besides, then,
everybody would be asking me why I married her. No ;
the more I think of it, the more I see the futility of my
dream of matrimonial felicity. Why, a question lies at the
very threshold of marriage — ' Wilt thou have this woman to
be thy wedded wife ? ' — and to put up the banns is to
loose upon yourself an interviewer in a white tie. No, leave
me to my unhappy destiny. I must dree my weird. And
anything your lordship can do in the way of enabling me
to dree it, by soliciting my Diana into the Old Maids'
Club, shall be received with the warmest thanksgiving, and
will allow me to remain your lordship's most grateful and
obedient servant, Daniel Wilkins."
" Enough ! " said Lord Silverdale, deeply moved. " 1
will send her a circular. But do you really think you
would be happy if you lost her ? "
"If!" said the J/<?(^« man moodily. "It would require
a great many 'ifs' to make me happy. As I once
wrote :
If cash were always present,
And business always jmid ;
If skies were always pleasant,
And pipes were never laid ;
If toothache emigrated,
Dyspepsia disappeared,
And babies were cremated,
And boys and girls were speared ;
If shirts were always creamy,
And buttons never broke j
If eyes were always beamy,
And all could see a joke ;
432 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
If ladies never fumbled
At railway-ticket holes ;
New villas never crumbled,
And lawyers boasted souls ;
If beer was never swallowed,
And cooks were never drunk.
And trades were never followed,
And thoughts were never thunk ;
If sorrow never troubled,
And pleasure never cloyed,
And animals were doubled.
And humans all destroyed : —
Then—i{ there were no papers,
And more words rhymed wilh "giving" —
Existence might be capers.
And Hfe be worth the living.
" Your lordship might give me a poem in exchange,"
concluded the Moon man conceitedly, "An advance-
quote from your next volume, say."
"Very well." And the peer good-naturedly began to
recite the first fytte of an old English romance :
Ye whyte moon sailed o'er ye dark-blue vault,
And safelie steered 'mid ye fleet of starres,
And threw down smiles to ye antient salt,
While Venus flyrtede with wynkynge Mars.
Along ye sea-washed slipperie slabbes
Ve whelkes were stretchynge their weary limbs,
While prior to going to bedde ye crabbes
Were softlie chaunting their evenynge hymnes.
At this point a sudden shock threw both bards off their
feet, inverting them in a manner most disagreeable to the
Moon man. While they were dropping into poetry, the
balloon had been dropping into a wood, and the aeronaut
had thrown his grapnel into the branches of a tree.
" What's the matter ? " they cried.
" Aiies shtand out here for London !" said the Herr
THE GRAMMAR OF LOVE 433
phlegmatically, " unless you vant to go mit me to Calais.
In five minutes I shall be overgoing de Channel."
" No, no, put us down," said the Moon man. '* I never
could cross the Channel. Oh, when are they going to make
that tunnel ? " Thereupon he lowered himself into the
tree, and Lord Silverdale followed his example.
" Gute Nacht ! " said the Herr. " Folkestone should be
someveres about. Fortunately, de moon shines, and you
may be able to find it ! "
" I say ! " shrieked the Moof/ man, as the balloon began
to free itself on its upward flight, " How far off is it ?"
" I vill not be — zvie heisst es gkich ? —interviewed. Gute
Nacht."
Soon the great sphere was no bigger than a star in the
heavens.
" This is a nice go," said the Moon man, when they had
climbed down.
"Oh, don't trouble. I know the south-east coast well.
There is sure to be a town within a four-mile radius."
" Then let us take a hansom," said the Moon man.
"Wilkins, are you — I mean you are — losing your head,"
said Lord Silverdale. And, linking the interviewer's arm in
his, he fared forth into the darkness.
" Do you know what I thought," said Wilkins, as they
undressed in the lonely roadside inn (for ballooning makes
us acquainted with strange bed-fellows), " when I was slid-
ing down the trunk, with you on the branches above ? "
" No — what did you — I mean you did think what ! "
"Well, I'm a bit superstitious, and I saw in the situation
a forecast of my future. That tree typifies my genealogical
tree ; for when I have grown rich and prosperous by my
trade, there will be a peer perched somewhere on the upper
branches. Debrett will discover him."
2e
COMING DOWN KKOM THE CLOUDS.
THE IDYL OF TREPOLPEN 435
"Indeed, I hope so," said the peer fervently, "for in the
happy time when you shall have retired from business you
will be able to make Diana happy."
CHAPTER VII
THE IDYL OF TREPOLPEN
" No, we can't have Diana," the President said, when Lord
Silverdale reported the matter. " That is, not if the Moon
man breaks off the engagement. According to the rules,
the candidate must have herself discarded an advantageous
marriage, and that Miss Diana will give up Mr. Wilkins is
extremely questionable."
" Like everything connected with the Moon man's bride.
However, my aerial expedition has not been fruitless ; if I
have not brought you a member from the clouds, at least
we know how right I was to pluck Clorinda Bell."
" Yes, and how right I was to appoint you Honorary
Trier ! " said Lillie. " I have several more candidates for
you, chosen from my last batch of applications. While you
were in the clouds I was working. I have already inter-
viewed them. Tliey fulfil all the conditions. It only
remains for you to do your part."
" Have they given good reasons for their refusal to marry
their lovers ? "
" Excellent reasons. Reasons so strange as to bear the
stamp of truth. Here is the first reduced to writing. It is
compounded of what Miss Ellaline Rand said to me and of
what she left unsaid. Read it, while I put another of these
love stories into shape. I am so glad I founded the Old
436 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Maids' Club. It has enlarged my experience incalcul-
ably."
Lord Silverdale took the manuscript, and read : —
"When John Beveridge went to nurse his misanthropy in
the obscure fishing village of Trepolpen, he had not bar-
gained for the presence of Ellaline Rand. And yet there
she was, living in a queer little cottage on the very top of
the steep hill which constituted Trepolpen, and sloped
down to a pebbly beach where the dark nets dried and the
trawl boats were drawn up. The people she was staying
with were children of the soil and the sea — the man, a
rugged old fish-dealer who had been a smuggler in his time ;
the woman, a chirpy grandame whose eyes were still good
enough to allow her to weave lace by lamp-light. The
season was early June, and the glittering smile on the broad
face of the Atlantic made the roar of the breakers sound
like stentorian laughter. There was always a whiff of fish
— a blend of mackerel and crabs and mullet — striking up
from the beach, but the salt in the air kept the odoriferous
atoms fairly fresh. Everything in Trepolpen was delight-
fully archaic, and even the far-away suggestions of antiquity
about the prevailing piscine flavour seemed in poetic keep-
ing with the spirit of the primitive little spot.
" In a village of one street it is impossible not to live in it,
unless you are a coastguard, and then you don't live in the
village. This was why John Beveridge was a neighbour of
Ellaline's. He lived much lower down, where the laugh of
the Atlantic was louder and the scent of the fish was
stronger; and before he knew of Ellaline's existence he used
to go downhill (which is easy) to smoke his pipe and chat
with the trawlers and lie on his back in the sun. After
they had met, he grew less lazy and used to take exercise
THE IDYL OF TREPOLPEN 437
by walking up to the top of the hill. Probably by this
time the sea-breezes had given him strength. Sometimes
he met EUaline coming down ; which was accident. Then
he would turn and walk down with her ] which was design.
The manner of their first meeting was novel, but in such a
place it could not be long delayed. Beveridge had obeyed
a call from the boatmen to come and help them drag in the
seine. He was tugging with all his might at a section of
the netting, for the fishers seemed to be in luck and the
fish unfortunate. Suddenly he heard the pit-pat of light
feet running down the hill, and the next moment two little
white hands peeping out of white cuffs were gripping the
net at the side of his own fleshy brown ones. For some
thirty seconds he was content to divine the apparition from
the hands. There was a flutter of sweet expectation about
his heart, a stirring of the sense of romance.
" The day was divine. The sky was a brooding blue ; the
sea was a rippling play of light on which the seine-boat
danced lightly. One little brown sail was visible far out in
the bay, the sea-gulls hovering about it. It seemed to
Beveridge that the scene had only been waiting for those
gentle little hands, whose assistance in the operation
of landing the spoil was such a delicious farce. They
could be no native lass's, these soft fingers with their pink
little nails Hke pretty sea-pearls. They were fingers that
spoke (in their mute digital dialect) of the crayon and the
violin-bow, rather than of the local harmonium. There was
something, too, about the coquettish cuffs, irresistibly at
variance with the village Wesleyanism. Gradually, as the
net came in, Beveridge let his eyes steal towards her face.
The prevision of romance became a certainty. It was a
charming little face, as symmetrically proportioned to the
hands as the face of a watch is. The nose was retrousse
43S THE CELIBATES' CLUB
and piquant, but the eyes contradicted it, being demure and
dreamy. There was a little Cupid's bow of a mouth, and
between the half- parted rosy lips a gleam of white teeth
clenched with the exertion of hauling in the seine. A
simple sailor's hat crowned a fluff of flaxen hair, and her
dress was of airy muslin.
" She was so absorbed in the glee of hauling in the fish,
that it was some moments before she seemed to notice that
her neighbour's eyes were fixed upon her, and that they
were not set in the rugged tan of the local masculine face.
A little blush leapt into the rather pale cheeks, and went
out again like a tiny spurt of rosy flame. Then she strained
more desperately than ever at the net. It was soon ashore,
with its wild and whirling mixture of mackerel, soles, dabs,
squids, turbot — John Beveridge was not certain but what
his heart was already among the things fluttering there in
the net at her feet !
"While the trawlers were sorting out the fish, spreading
some on the beach and packing the mackerel in baskets,
Ellaline looked on, patently interested in everything but her
fellow amateur. After all, despite his shaggy coat and the
clay pipe in his mouth, he was of the town, towny ; some
solicitor, artist, stockbroker, doctor, on a holiday ; perhaps,
considering the time of the year, only a clerk. What she
had come to Trepolpen for was something more primitive.
And he ! Surely he had seen and loved pretty women
enough, not to stir an inch nearer this dainty vision. For
what but to forget the wiles and treacheries of women of the
town had he buried himself here ? And yet, was it the un-
expectedness — was it that, while bringing back the atmo-
sphere of great cities, she yet seemed a creature of the woods
and waters — he felt himself drawn to her ? He wanted to
talk to her, to learn who she was and what she was doing
THE IDYL OF TREPOLPEN 439
here, but he did not know how to begin, though he had
the gift of many tongues. Not that he deemed an intro-
duction necessary — in Trepolpen, where not to give every-
body you met 'good morning' was to court a reputation
for surliness. And it would have been easy enough to
open on the weather, or the marine harvest they had both
helped to gather in. But somehow John Beveridge learnt
embarrassment in the presence of this muslined mermaiden,
who seemed half of the world and half of the sea. And so,
amid the bustle of the beach, the minutes slipped away and
Beveridge spoke no word, but leaned against the cliff, con-
tent to drowse in the light of the sun and Ellaline.
" The dealers came down to the beach — men and women
— ^among them a hale, grizzly old fellow, who clasped
Ellaline's hand in his huge, gnarled fist. The auction
began. John Beveridge joined the crowd at a point behind
the strangely assorted couple. Of a sudden Ellaline
turned to him with her great limpid eyes looking candidly
into his, and said, 'Some of those poor mackerel are not
quite dead yet — I wonder if they suffer?' John Beveridge
was taken aback. The last vestiges of his wonted assurance
were swept away before her sweet simplicity.
" ' I — I — really — I don't know — I've never thought about
it,' he stammered.
" ' Men never do,' said Ellaline, with a gentle reproachful
look. ' They think only of their own pain. I do hope
fish have no feelings.'
'"They are cold-blooded,' he reminded her, beginning to
recover himself.
" ' Ah ! ' she said musingly. ' But what right have we to
take away their lives ? They must be — oh, so happy I — in
the beautiful wide ocean !— I am sorry T had a hand in
destroying them. I shall never do it again.'
440 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" 'You have very little to reproach yourself with,* he said,
smiling.
" * Ah ! now you are laughing at me. I know I'm not big
and strong, and that my muscles could have been dispensed
with. But the will was there, the intention was there,' she
said, with her serious air.
" ' Oh, of course you are a piscicide in intention,' he
admitted. 'But you will enjoy the mackerel all the
same.'
" ' No, I won't,' she said, with a charming little shake of
the head. ' I won't eat any.'
" 'What ! you will never more eat fish?'
" ' Never,' she said emphatically. ' I love fish, but I
won't eat 'em ! only tinned things, like sardines. Oh, what
a little stupid I am ! Don't laugh at me again, please. I
forgot the sardines must be caught first, before they are
tinned, mustn't they?'
" ' Not necessarily,' he said. ' It often suffices if sprats
are caught.'
" She laughed. Her laugh was a low musical ripple, like
one of the little sunlit waves translated into sound.
" 'Twenty-two shillings ! ' cried the owner of a lot.
" ' I'll give 'ee eleven ! ' said Ellaline's companion ; and the
girl turned her head to listen to the violent chaffering that
ensued, and when she went away she only gave John
Beveridge a nod and a smile. But he followed her with
his eyes as she toiled up the hill, growing ever smaller and
daintier against the horizon. The second time he met her
was at the Cove, a little way from the village, where great
foliage-crowned cliffs came crescent-wise round a space of
shining sand, girdled at its outer margin by tumbling, green,
foam-crested surges. Huge mammoth-like boulders stood
about, bathing their feet in the incoming tide, the cor-
THE IDYL OF TREPOLPEN 441
morants perching on their pachydermatous backs. John
Beveridge came slowly and cautiously down the precipitous
half-worn path that led to the sands. There was a point
at which the landward margin of the shore beneath first
revealed itself to the descending pedestrian, and it was a
point so slippery that it was thoughtless of Fate to have
included EUaline in the area of vision. She was lying,
sheltered by a blue sunshade, on the golden sand, with her
head against the base of the cliff, abstractedly tearing a
long serpentine weed to dark green ribbons, and gazing out
dreamily into the throbbing depths of sea and sky. There
V an open book before her, but she did not seem to be
reading. John Beveridge saved himself by grasping a
stinging bush, and he stole down gently towards her, for-
getting to swear.
*' He came to her with footsteps muffled by the soft sand,
and stood looking down at her, admiring the beauty of the
delicate flushed young face and the flaxen hair against the
sober background of the aged cliff with its mellow subtly-
fused tints.
" ' Thinking of the little fishes — or of the gods ?' he said
at last, in a loud, pleasant voice.
" Rllaline gave a liitle shriek.
" ' Oh, where did you spring from ? ' she said, half raising
herself.
*' ' Not from the clouds,' he said.
" ' Of course not. I was not thinking of the gods,' said
Kllaline.
" He laughed. ' I am not even a Perseus,' he said, ' for
the tide, though coming in, is not yet dangerous enough to
be likened to the sea-monster, though you might very well
pass for Andromeda.'
" Rllaline blushed and rose to her feet, adjusting a wrap
442 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
round her shoulders. ' I do not know,' she said, with
dignity, 'what I have done to encourage such a com-
parison.'
" John Beveridge saw he had slipped. This time there
was not even a stinging bush to cling to.
" 'You are beautiful, that is all I meant,' he said apolo-
getically.
" ' Is it worth while saying such commonplace things?' she
said, a little mollified.
" It was an ambiguous remark. From her it could only
mean that he had been guilty of compliment.
" ' I am very sorry. A thousand pardons. But pray do
not let me drive you away. You seemed so happy here. I
will go back.' He made a half-turn.
" ' Yes, I was happy,' she said simply. ' In my foolish
little way I thought I had discovered this spot — as if any-
thing so beautiful could have escaped the attention of those
who have been near it all their lives.'
" Her words caused him a sudden pang of anxious jealousy.
Must they not be true of herself?
" ' And you too seem to have discovered it ? ' she went
on. ' Doubtless you know all the coast well, for you were
here before me. Do you know,' she said, looking up at his
face with her candid grey eyes, ' this is the first time in my
life I have seen the sea, so you must not laugh if I seem
ignorant ; but oh , how I love to lie and hear it roar, tossing
its mane like some great wild animal that I have tamed and
that will not harm me.'
"'There are other wild animals that you may tame, here
by the sea,' he said.
" She considered for a moment gravely.
"'That is rather pretty,' she announced. 'I shall re-
member that. But please do not tell me again I am
THE IDYL OF TREPOLPEN 443
beautiful.' She sat down on the sand, with her back to the
diff, re-adjusting her parasol.
"'Very well. I sit reproved,' he replied, taking up his
position by her side. ' What book is that you are
reading ? '
" She handed him the little paper-covered, airily-printed
volume, suggesting summer in every leaf.
" ' Ah, it is The Cherub That Sits Up Aloft 1 ' he said,
with a shade of superciliousness blent with amusement.
" ' Yes ; have you read it ? ' she asked.
" ' No,' he said ; ' I have heard of it. It's by that new
woman who came out last year, and calls herself Andrev/
Dibdin, isn't it ? '
" ■ Yes,' said EUaline. * It made an enormous hit, don't
you know ? '
" ' Oh yes, I know,' he said, laughing. ' It's a lot of
sentimental rot, isn't it ? Do you like it ? '
" * I think it is sweetly pretty,' she said, a tear drop of
vexation gathering on her eye-lid. ' If you haven't read it,
why should you abuse it ? '
" ' Oh, one can't read everything,' he said. ' But one
gets to pick up enough about a book to know whether he
cares to read it. Of course, I am aware it is about a little
baby on board a ship, that makes charming inarticulate
orations, and is worshipped by everybody, from the captain
to the little stowaway, and is regarded by the sailors as the
sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, etc., and that there is
a sensational description of a storm at sea — which is Clark-
Russell and water, or rather Clark-Russell and more water.'
" ' Ah, I see you're a cynic,' said Ellaline. ' I don't like
cynics.'
" ' No, indeed, I am not,' he pleaded. ' It is false, not
true, sentiment I object to.'
444 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
"'And how do you know this is false sentiment?' she
asked, in honest indignation, ' when you haven't read it ? '
" ' What does it matter ? ' he murmured, overwhelmed by
her sense of duty. She was evidently unaccustomed to the
light flippancies of elegant conversation.
" ' Oh, nothing. To some people nothing matters. Will
you promise to read the book if I lend it you ? '
" ' Of course I will,' he said, delighted at the establish-
ment of so permanent a link. ' Only I don't want to
deprive you of it — I can wait till you have finished with it.'
" ' I have finished. I have read it over and over again.
Take it.' She handed it to him. Their finger-tips met.
" ' I recant already,' he said. ' It must have something
pure and good in it to take captive a soul like yours.'
" And indeed the glamour of EUaline was over every page
of it. As he read, he found tears of tenderness in his eyes,
when otherwise they might have sprung from laughter. He
adored the little cherub who sat up aloft on the officers'
table, and softened those crusty sea-dogs whose hearts were
become as ship's biscuits. He could not tell what had
come over himself, that his own sere heart should be so
quick again to the beauties of homely virtue and duty, to
the engaging simplicity and pathos of childhood, to the
purity of womanhood. Was it that Ellaline was all these
things incarnate ?
" He avowed his error and his conversion, and gradually
they came to meet often in the solitary creek, as was but
right for the only two intellectual people in Trepolpen.
Sometimes, too, they wandered further afield, amid the
ferny lanes. But the Cove was their favourite trysting-
place, and there, lying with his head in her lap, he would
talk to her of books and men and one woman.
" He found her tastes were not limited to The Cherub That
7.
<
O
w
z
o
a
z
<
z
446 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Sits Up Aloft, for she liked Meredith. ' Really,' he said,
' if you had not been yourself, I should have doubted
whether your admiration was genuine.'
"'Yes, his women are so real. But I do not pretend to
care for the style.'
" ' Style ! ' he said ; * I call it a five-barred fence. To me
style is everything. Style alone is literature, whether it be
the man or not.'
" ' Oh, then, you are of the school of Addiper ? '
" ' Ah, have you heard of that ? I am. I admire Addiper,
and agree with him. Form is everything — literature is only
a matter of form. And a book is only a form of matter.'
" ' I see,' she said, smiling. ' But I adore Addiper
myself, though I regret the future seems likely to be his.
I have read all he has written. Every line is so lucid. The
form is exquisite. But as for the matter I '
" ' No matter ! ' summed up John Beveridge, laughing
heartily.
" ' I am so glad you agree with me sometimes,' said
EUaline. ' Because it shows you don't think I am so very
stupid after all.'
" ' Of course I don't — except when you get so enthusiastic
about literary people, and rave about Dibdin and Addiper
and Fladpick, and the rest. If you mixed with them, my
little girl, as I have done, you would soon lose your rosy
illusions. Although perhaps you are better with them.'
"'Ah, then you're not a novelist yourself?' she said
anxiously.
" ' No, I am not. What makes you ask ? '
" ' Nothing. Only sometimes, from your conversation, I
suspected you might be.'
"'Thank you, Ellaline,' he said, 'for a very dubious
compliment. No, I am afraid I must forgo that claim
THE IDYL OF TREPOLPEN 447
upon your admiration. Unless I tell a lie and become
a novelist by doing so. But then wouldn't it be the
truth ? '
" 'Are you, then, a painter or a musician ? '
" He shook his head. ' No, I do not get my living by
art.'
"' Not of any kind?'
" ' Not of any kind.'
" ' How do you get it ? ' she asked simyily, a candid light
shining in the great grey eyes.
" ' My father was a successful saddle-maker. He is
dead.'
"'Oh!' she said.
" ' Leather has made me from childhood up — it has
chastised, supported, educated me, and given me the entree
everywhere. So you see I cannot hold a candle to your
demi-gods.'
"*Ah, but there is nothing like leather,' said Elialine,
and stroked the head in her lap reassuringly.
" The assurance permeated John Beveridge's frame like a
pleasant cordial. All that was hard and leathery in him
seemed to be soaked soft. Here, at last, was a woman who
loved him for himself — an innocent trusting woman, in
whose weakness a man might find strength. Her pure lips
were like the wayside well at which the wearied wanderer
from great stony cities might drink and be refreshed. And
yet, delightful as her love would be in his droughty life, he
felt that his could not prove less delightful to her. That
he, John Beveridge, with the roses thrusting themselves
into his eyes, should stoop to pick the simple little daisy
at his feet, could not fail to fill her with an admiring
gratitude that would add the last charm to her passion for
him.
448 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" But it was not till a week afterwards that the formal
proposal, so long impending, broke. They were resting in a
lane, and discussing everything they didn't want to discuss,
the unspoken playing with subtle sweetness about the
spoken.
" ' Have you read Mr. Gladstone's latest ? ' she asked at
last.
" ' No,' he said ; ' has Mr. Gladstone ever a latest ? '
" ' Oh yes ; take him hour by hour, like an evening paper.
I'm referring to his article on " Ancient Beliefs in a Future
State."'
" ' What's that — the belief of old maids that they'll get
married ? '
" ' Now you are blasphemous,' she cried, with a pretty pout.
" ' How ? Are old maids a sacred subject ? '
" * Everything old should be sacred to us,' she said simply.
' But you know that is not what I mean.'
" ' Then why do you say it ? ' he asked.
" ' Oh, what a tease you are ! ' she cried. ' I shan't be
sorry to be quit of you. Your flippancy is quite dreadful'
" ' Why, do you believe in a future state ? ' he said.
" ' Of course I do. If we had only one life, it would not
be worth living.'
" ' But nine times one life would be worth living. Is
that the logic ? If so, happy cats ! I wonder,' he added
irrelevantly, ' why the number nine always goes with cats —
nine lives, nine tails, nine muses?'
" EUaline made a moue, and shrank petulantly away from
him. ' I will not discuss our future state, unless you are
prepared to do it seriously,' she said.
" ' I am,' he repHed, with sudden determination. • Let
us enter it together. I am tired of the life I've been lead
ing, and I love you.'
THE IDYL OF TREPOLFEN 449
" ' What ! * she said, in a little horrified whisper. ' You
want us to commit suicide together ? '
" ' No, no — matrimony. I cannot do it alone — I have
never had the courage to do it at all. With you at my
side, I should go forward, facing the hereafter cheerfully,
with faith and trust.'
" ' I — I — am — afraid — I ' she stammered.
" ' Why should you be afraid ? ' he interrupted. ' Have
you no faith and trust in me ? '
" 'Oh yes,' she said, with a frank smile. ' If I had not
confidence in you, I should not be here with you.'
" 'You angel!' he said, his eyes growing wet under her
clear, limpid gaze. ' But you love me a little, too ? '
" ' I do not,' she said, shaking her head demurely.
"John Beveridge groaned. After so decisive an avowal
from the essence of candour, what remained to be said ?
Nothing but to bid her and his hopes farewell — the latter
at once, the former as soon as she was escorted back to
Trepolpen. His affection had grown so ripe, he could not
exchange it for the green fruit of friendship. And yet, was
this to be the end of all that sweet idyllic interlude
a jarring note, and then silence for evermore ?
" ' But could you never learn to love me ? '
" She laughed her girlish ringing laugh.
" ' I am not so backward as all that,' she said. * I
mastered it in a dozen lessons.'
" He stared at her, a wild hope kindling in his eyes. 'Did
I hear aright ? ' he asked, in hoarse tones.
" She nodded, still smiling.
" ' Then I did not hear aright before ?'
" ' Oh yes, you did. I said I did not love you a little. I
love you a great deal.'
"There were tears in the grey eyes now, but they smiled
2f
450 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
on. He caught her in his arms, and the Devonshire lane
was transformed to Eden. How exquisite this angehc
frankness, when the words pleased ! How delicious the
candour of her caress when words were de trop !
" But at last she spoke again. ' And now that I know you
love me for myself, I will tell you a secret.' The little
hands that had first clasped his attention were laid on his
shoulders, the dreamy face looked up tenderly and proudly
into his. ' They say a woman cannot keep a secret,' she
said. ' But you will never believe that again, when I tell
you mine ? '
"'I never believed it,' he said earnestly. 'Consider
how every woman keeps the great secret of her age.'
" * Ah, that is not what I am going to tell you,' she said
archly. ' It is another of the great secrets of my age. You
remember that book you liked so much — The Chenib That
Sits Up Aloft V
" ' Yes ! ' he said wonderingly.
" ' Well, I wrote it ! '
" ' You ! ' he exclaimed, startled. His image of her
seemed a pillar of sand upon which the simoom had burst.
This fresh simple maiden a complex literary being, a slave
of the midnight lamp !
" 'Yes, I — I am Andrew Dibdin — the authoress who drew
tears from your eyes.'
" ' You Andrew Dibdin ? ' he repeated mechanically.
" She nodded her head with a proud and happy smile. 'I
knew you would be pleased ; but I wanted you to love me,
not my book.'
" ' I love both,' he exclaimed. The new conceptions had
quickly fitted themselves into the old. He saw now what
the charm of the little novel was — the book was Ellaline
between covers. He wondered he had not seen it before.
THE IDYL OF TREPOLPEN 451
The grace, the purity, the pathos, the sweet candour, the
recollections of a childhood spent on the great waters in
the com-
pany of
kindly
mariners,
—all had
flowed out
at the
point of
her pen.
She had
put her-
self into
her work.
He felt a
subtle
jealousy
of the
p eo J) 1 e
THE CONFESSION OF EI.LAI.INE.
who bought her on the bookstalls for a shilling-
-or even
452 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
for ninepence at the booksellers'. He wanted to have
her all to himself. He experienced a mad desire to buy
up the edition. But then there would be a new one.
He realised the feelings of Othello. Oh, if he could
but arrest her circulation !
" ' If you knew how happy it made me to hear you say
you love my book ! ' she replied. ' At first I hated you
because you sneered at it. All my friends love my books —
and I wanted you to be a friend of mine.'
" ' I am more than that,' he said exultantly. * And I
want to love all your books. What else have you written ? '
" ' Only two others,' she said apologetically. ' You see I
have only been in literature eight months, and I only write
straight from the heart.'
" * Yes, indeed ! ' he said. * You wear your heart upon
your leaves.'
" Jealous as he was of her readers, he felt that there was
balm in Gilead. She was not a hack-writer, turning out
books for the market of malice aforethought ; not the
complex being he had figured in the first moment of con-
sternation, the literary quack with finger on the pulse of the
public. She did but write as the birds carolled — less the
slave, than the genius, of the midnight lamp.
" ' But I must not wear my heart out,' she replied, laugh-
ingly. 'So I came down here for a month to get fresh
material. I am writing a novel of Cornish peasant life —
I want to photograph the people with all their lights and
shades, all their faiths and superstitions, all their ways of
speech and thought,— the first thorough study ever made of
a fast-fading phase of Old English life. You see, I didn't
know what to do : I feared the public would be tired of my
sailor-stories, and I thought I'd locate my next story on
land. Accident determined its environment. I learnt, by
THE IDYL OF TKEPOLPEN 4<;3
chance, that we had some poor relatives in Trepolpen,
whom my people had dropped, and so I thought I'd pick
them up again, and turn them into "copy," and I welcomed
the opportunity of making at the same time the acquaint-
ance of the sea, which, as I think I told you, I have never
seen before. You see I was poor myself till The Cherub
That Sits Up Aloft showered down the gold, and, being a
Cockney, I had never been able to afford a trip to the sea-
side.'
" ' My poor EUaline ! ' he said, kissing her candid lips.
She was such an inveterate truth-teller that he could only
respect and admire and adore — though she fell from heaven.
Her candour infected him. He felt an overwhelming
paroxysm of veracity.
" The mask could be dropped now : did she not love John
Beveridge ?
" ' Now I see why you rave so over literary people ! ' he
said. 'You arc dipped in ink yourself.'
"'Yes,' she said, with a happy smile, 'there is nobody I
admire so much as our great writers. '
" * But you would not love me more, if I were a great
writer ! ' he said anxiously.
" 'No, certainly not. I couldn't,' she said decisively.
" He stooped and kissed her gratefully. ' Thank you for
that, my sweet Ellaline. And now I think I can safely
confess that I am Addiper.'
"She gave a little shriek. Her face turned white.
* Addiper ! ' she breathed.
" ' Yes, dearest, it is my nom de guerre. I am Addiper, the
writer you admire so much, the man with whose school you
were pleased to say the future lies.'
" ' Addiper ! ' she said again. ' Impossible ! why, you said
you did not get your living by art of any kind ? '
454 THE CELIBATES' CLVB
" ' Of course I don't ! ' he said. ' Books like mine— all
style, no sentiment morals or theology — never pay.
Fortunately I am able to publish them at my own expense.
I write only for writers. That is 'fi\vy you like me. Success- J
ful writers are those who write for readers, just as popular \
painters are those who paint for spectators.'
"The poor little face was ashen grey now. The surprise
was too much for the fragile little beauty. ' Then you
really are Addiper ? ' she said, in low slow tones.
" ' Yes, dearest,' he said, not without a touch of pride. * I
am Addiper — and in you, love, I have found a fresh fount
of inspiration. You shall be the guiding star of my work —
my rare Ellaline, my pearl, my beryl. Ah, this is a great
turning-point in my life. To-day I enter into my third
manner.'
" ' This is not one of your teasing jokes ? ' she said appeal-
ingly, her piteous eyes looking up into his.
'"No, my Ellaline. Do you think I would hoax you
thus — to dash you to earth again ? '
" ' Then,' she said slowly and painfully, ' then I can never
marry you. We must say "good-bye."'
" Her lover gazed at her in dazed silence. The butterflies
floated in the summer air, a bee buzzed about a wayside
flower, from afar came the tinkle of a brook. A deep peace
was on all things— only in the hearts of the two litterateurs
was pain and consternation.
" ' You can never marry me ! ' repeated John Beveridge
at last. * And why not ? '
" ' I have told you. Because you are Addiper.'
" ' But that is no reason.'
" ' Is it not ? ' she said. ' I thought Addiper would have
a subtler apprehension.'
" 'But what is it you object to in me?'
THE IDYL Of TREPOLPEN 455
" ' To your genius, of course.'
" * To my genius ! '
" ' Yes ; no mock modesty. Between authors it won't do.
Every author must know very well he stands apart from the
world, or he would not set himself to paint it. I know
quite well I am not as other women. What is the use of
paltering with one's consciousness?'
'* Still the same delicious candour shone in the grey eyes.
John Beveridge, not at all grasping his dismissal, felt an
unreasonable impulse to kiss them.
"'Well, supposing I am a genius,' he said instead,
* Where's the harm ? '
" ' No harm till you propose to yoke me with it. I
never will marry a genius.'
" ' Oh, don't be so absurd, Ellaline ! ' he said. ' You've
been reading the foolish nonsense about geniuses necessarily
making bad hu.sbands. No doubt in some prominent
instances geniuses have not been working models of the
domestic virtues, but, on the other hand, there are scores of
instances to the contrary. And blockheads make quite as
bad husbands as your Shelleys and your Byrons. Besides,
it was only in the past that geniuses were blackguards ]
to-day it is the correct thing to be correct. Respectability
now-a-days adds chastity to studies from the nude ; marital
fidelity enhances the force of poems of passion ; and philan-
thropy adds the last touch to tragic acting. So why should
I suffer for the sins of my predecessors? If I may judge
myself by my present sensations, what I am gifted with is a
genius for domesticity. Do not sacrifice mc, dearest, to an
unproved and unscientific generalisation.'
" ' It is not of that I am thinking,' Ellaline replied, shaking
her head sadly. ' In my opinion, the woman who refused
Shakespeare merely on the ground that he wrote Shake-
4S6 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
speare's Works, should be sent to Coventry as a coward.
No, do not fancy I am that. I may not be strong, but I
have courage enough to marry you, if that were all. It is
not because I am afraid you would make me unhappy.'
'"Ah, there is something you are hiding from me,' he
said anxiously, impressed by the gravity and sincerity of
her tones.
" ' No, there is nothing. I cannot marry you because you
are a genius.
" He saw what she meant now. She had been reading
the modern works on genius and insanity.
*' ' Ah, you think me mad ? ' he cried.
** ' Mad — when you love me ? ' she said, with a melancholy
smile.
"'You know what I mean. You think that "great wits
to madness nearly are allied ;" that sane as I appear there is
in me a hidden vein of madness. And yet, if anything, the
generalisation connecting genius with insanity is more
unsound than that connecting it with domestic infelicity.
It would require a genius to really prove such a connection,
and as he would, on his own theory, be a lunatic, what
becomes of his theory ? '
" ' Your argument involves a fallacy,' replied Ellaline
quietly. " It does not follow that if a man is a lunatic
everything he says or does has the taint of madness. A
genius who held that genius meant insanity might be sane
just on this one point'
'"Or insane just on the one point. Seriously, Ellaline,'
said John Beveridge, beginning to lose his temper, 'you
don't mean to say that you believe that genius is really a
degenerative psychosis of the epileptoid order. If you do
you must be mad yourself, that's all I can say.'
' ' Of course I should have to admit I am mad myself
I
THE IDYL OF TREPOLPEN 457
if I held the theory that genius meant insanity. But I
don't.'
"'You don't!' he said, staring blankly at her. 'You
don't believe I'm insane, and you don't believe I'll make a
bad husband — I should be insane if I did, my sweet little
EUaline. And you still wish to cry off ? '
•"I must.'
" * Then you no longer love me ! '
*' ' Oh, I beg of you do not say that ! You do not know
how hard it is for me to give you. up — do not make our
parting harder.'
" ' Ellaline, in Heaven's name, vex me no further. What
is this terrible mystery? Why can you no longer think of
me?'
" * If you only thought of me a little you would guess.
But men are so selfish. If it were only you that had
genius, the thing would be simple. But you forget that
I too ' She paused; a little modest blush completed
the sentence.
"*Yes, I know you are a genius, my rare EUaline. But
what then ? ' he cried, ' I only love you the more for it.'
"'Yes; but if we marry,' said Ellaline, 'we two geniuses,
look what will happen.'
" He stared at her afresh — she met his gaze unflinchingly.
'What new scientific bogie have you been conjuring up?'
he murmured.
" ' Oh, I wish you would drive science out of your head,'
she replied pettishly. ' What have I to do with science ?
Really, if you go on so stupidly, I shall believe you are not
a genius after all.'
"'And then you will marry me ?' he said eagerly.
'" Don't be so stupid ! To speak plainly — for you seem
as dull as a clodhopper to-day — I cannot afford to marry a
458 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
genius, and a recognised genius to boot. I am only a
struggling young authoress, with a considerable following, it
is true, but still without an unquestioned position. The
high-class organs that review you all to yourself still take
me as one of a batch, and are not always as complimentary
as they might be. The moment I marry you, and my rush-
light is hidden in your bushel, out it goes. I become
absorbed simply in you, a little satellite circling round your
planetary glory. I shall have no independent existence —
the fame I have toiled and struggled for will be eclipsed in
yours. " Mrs. Addiper — the wife of the celebrated writer,
scribbles a little herself, don't you know ! Wonder what he
could see in her." That's how people will talk of me.
When I go into a room, we shall be announced, " Mr. and
Mrs. Addiper " \ and everybody will rush round you and
hang on your words, and I shall be talked to only by way
of getting you at second-hand, as a medium through which
your personality is partially radiated. And parties will be
given " to meet Mr. Addiper," and I shall accompany you
for the same reason that your dress-coat will — because it is
the etiquette.'
" ' But, Ellaline ' he protested.
" ' Let me finish. I could not even afford to marry you
if my literary position were equal to yours. Such a union
would do nothing to enhance my reputation. No woman
of genius should marry a man of genius — were she even the
greater of the two she would become merged in him, even
as she would take his name. The man I must marry, the
man I have been waiting to fall in love with and be loved
by, is a plain honest gentleman, unknown to fame and
innocent of all aspiration but that of making me happy.
He must devote his life to mine, sink himself in me,
sacrifice himself on the altar of my fame, live only for the
460 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
enhancement of my reputation. Such a man I thought I
had found in you — but you deceived me. I thought, here
is a man who loves me only for myself, but v/hose love will
increase tenfold when he learns that I stand on a pedestal
of glory, and who will rejoice at the privilege of passing the
rest of his days uplifting that pedestal to the gaze of the
world, a man who will say of me what I can hardly say
of myself, who will drive the bargains with my publishers,
wrap me up against the knowledge of malicious criticisms,
conduct my correspondence, receive inconvenient callers,
arrange my interviews, and send incessant paragraphs to
the papers about me, commencing Mrs. John Beveridge
(Andrew Dibdin), varied by Andrew Dibdin (Mrs. John
Beveridge). Here is a man who will be a living gratuitous
advertisement, inserted daily in the great sheet of the
times, a steadfast column of eulogy, a pillar of praise.
Here is a man who will be as much a halo as a husband.
When I enter a drawing-room with him (so ran my innocent
maiden dream), there will be a thrill of excitement ; every-
body will cluster round me ; he will efface himself or be
effaced; and, even if he finds anybody to talk to, it is
about me he will talk. Invitations to our own " At Homes "
will be eagerly sought after — not for his sake, but for mine.
All that is famous in literature and art will crowd our salon
— not for his sake, but for mine. And while I shall be the
cynosure of every eye, it will be his to jot down the
names of the illustrious gazers, in Society paragraphs
beginning Mrs. John Beveridge (Andrew Dibdin), alter-
nating with Andrew Dibdin (Mrs. John Beveridge). And
am I to give up all this merely because I love you?'
" ' Yes, why not ? ' he said passionately. ' What is fame,
reputation, weighed against love ? What is it to be on the
world's lips, if the lips we love are to be taken away ? '
THE IDYL OF TREPOLPEN 461
"'How pretty!' she said, with simple admiration. 'If
you will not claim the phrase, I should like to give it to my
next heroine.'
"'Claim it?' he said bitterly. 'I do not want any
phrases — I want you.'
" ' Do you not see it is impossible ? If you could become
obscure again, it might be. You say fame is nothing
weighed against love. Come, now, would you give up
your genius, your reputation, just to marry me?'
" He was silent.
" ' Come,' she repeated. ' I have been frank with you,
have I not?'
" ' You have,' he admitted, with a melancholy grimace.
" ' Well, be equally frank with me. Would you sacrifice
these things to your love for me ? '
" 'I could not if I would.'
" ' But would you if you could ? '
" He did not answer.
" ' Of course you wouldn't,' she said. ' I know you as I
know myself.'
" ' What is the use of thinking of what can never be ? '
he said impatiently.
" ' Just so. That is what I say. I can never give you
my hand ; so give me yours, and we'll turn homewards.'
" He gave her his hand, and she jumped lightly to her
feet. Then he got up and shook himself, and looked, still
in a sort of daze, at the gentle face and the dainty figure.
" He seized her passionately by the arms.
" ' And must this be the end ? ' he cried hoarsely.
" ' Finis,' she said decisively, though the renewed pallor
of her face showed what it cost her to complete the idyl.
'"An unhappy ending?' he said, in hopeless interroga-
tion,
\
I
462 r//E celibates:' club
" ' It is not my style,' she said simply, ' but after all this
is only real life.'
" He burst forth in a torrent of half-reproachful regrets — ■
he, Addiper, the chaste, the severe, the self-contained. "
"'And you, the sweet innocent girl who won the heart I
no longer hoped to feel living, — you would coldly abandon
the love for wliose existence you are responsible. You,
who were to be so fresh and pure an influence on my
work, are content to deprive literature of those master-
pieces our union would have called into lieing. Oh, but •]
you cannot unshackle yourself thus from my life — for good
or evil your meeting with me determined my third manner.
Hitherto I thought it was for good ; now I fear it will be
for evil.'
" ' You seem to have forgotten all your manners,' she
said, annoyed. ' And if our meeting was for evil, at least
our parting shall be for good.'
" John Beveridge and Ellaline Rand spake no more, but
walked home in silence through the country lanes, on
which the sunlight seemed to lie cold. The past was but
a dream — not for these two the simple emotions which
cross with joy or sorrow the web of common life. At the
cottage near the top of the hill, where the sounds and
scents of the sea were faintest, they parted. The idyl of
Trepolpen was ended.
" And John Beveridge went downhill"
MORE ABOUT THE CHERUB 463
CHAPTER VIII
MORE ABOUT THE CHERUB
The trial interview between Lord Silverdale and Ellaline
Rand took place in the rooms of the Old Maids' Club, in
the presence of the President. Lillie, encouraged by the
rush of candidates, occupied herself in embroidering another
epigrammatic anti-macassar — " It is man who is vain of
woman's dress." She had deliberately placed herself out of
earshot. To Miss Rand, Lord Silverdale was a casual
visitor with whom she had drifted into conversation, yet she
behaved as prettily as if she knew she was undergoing the
viva voce portion of the examination for entranceship.
There are two classes of flirts — those who love to llirt, and
those who flirt to love. There is little to be said against
the latter, for they are merely experimenting. They intend
to fall in love, but they can hardly compass it without
preliminary acquaintance, and by giving themselves a wide
and varied selection are more likely to discover the fitting
object of affection. It is easy to confound both classes of
flirts together, and heart-broken lovers generally do so,
when they do not use a stronger expression. But, so far as
Lord Silverdale could tell, there was nothing in Miss Rand's
behaviour to justify him in relegating her to either class, or
to make him doubt the genuineness of the anti-hymeneal
feelings provoked by her disappointment in Trepolpen.
Her manner was simple and artless; she gushed, indeed,
but charmingly, like a daintily-sculptured figure on a marble
fountain in a fair plcasaunce. You could be as little
offended by her gush as by her candid confessions of her
own talents. The Lord had given her a good conceit of
464 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
herself, and given it her so gracefully that it was one of her
chiefest charms. She spoke with his lordship of Shakespeare
and others of her profession, and mentioned that she was
about to establish a paper called The Cherub, after her
popular story The Cherub That Sits Up Aloft.
" I want to get into closer touch with my readers," she
explained, helping herself charmingly to the chocolate
creams. "In a book, you cannot get into direct rapport
with your public : your characters are your rivals, and
distract attention from the personality of the author. In a
journal I shall be able to chat with them freely, open my
heart to them, and gather them to it. There is a legitimate
curiosity to learn all about me — the same curiosity that I
feel about other authors. Why should I allow myself to be
viewed in the refracting medium of alien ink? Let me
sketch myself to my readers, tell them what I eat and
drink, how I write and when, what clothes I wear and how
much I pay for them, what I think of this or that book of
mine, of this or that character of my creation, what my
friends think of me, and what I think of my friends. All
the features of the paper will combine to make my face ; I
shall occupy all the stories, and every column will have me
at the top. In this way I hope not only to gratify my
yearning for sympathy, but to stimulate the circulation of
my books. Nay more, with the eye of my admirers thus
encouragingly upon me, I shall work more zealously.
You see, Lord Silverdale, we authors are a race apart —
without the public hanging upon our words we are like
butterflies in a London fog, or actors playing to an empty
auditorium,"
"I have noticed that," said Lord Silverdale dryly.
" Before authors succeed, it takes them a year to write a
book ) after they succeed it takes them only a month,"
MORE ABOUT THE CHERUB 465
"You see I am right," said EUaline eagerly. "That's
what the sun of pubhc sympathy does. It ripens work
quickly."
" Yes ; and when the sun is very burning, it sometimes
takes the authors no time at all."
"Ah, now you are laughing at me. You are speaking of
♦ghosts.'"
" Yes. Ghost stories are published all the year round —
not merely at Christmas. Don't think I'm finding fault. I
look upon an author who keeps his ghost as I do on a
tradesman who keeps his carriage. It is a sign he has
succeeded."
" Oh, but it's very wicked, giving the public under-
weight like that ! " said Ellaline, in her sweet, serious way.
"How can anybody write as well as yourself? But
why I mentioned about the The Cherub is because
it has just struck me the paper might become the
organ of the Old Maids' Club, for I should make a
point of speaking freely of my aims and aspirations in
joining it. I presume you know all about Miss Dulcimer's
scheme ? "
" Oh yes. But I don't think it feasible."
"You don't?" she said, with a little tremor of astonish-
ment in her voice. " And why not ? " She looked anxiously
into his eyes for the reply.
"The candidates are too charming to remain single," he
explained, smiling.
She smiled back a little at him, those sweet grey eyes
still looking into his.
" You are not a literary man ? " she said irrelevantly.
"I am afraid I must plead guilty to trying to be," he said.
"The evidence is down in black and white. '
The smile died away, and for an instant EUaline's brow
2(J
466 THE CELIBATES CLUB
went into black for it. She accepted an ice from Turple
the Magnificent, but took her leave shortly afterwards,
Lillie promising to write to her.
" Well ? " said the President, when she was left alone with
the Honorary Trier.
That functionary looked dubious. " Up till the very last
she seemed single-hearted in her zeal. Then she asked
whether I was a literary man. You know her story. What
do you conclude ? "
"I can hardly come to a conclusion. Do you think
there is still a danger of her marrying to get some one to
advertise her?"
•'I think it depends on The Cherub. If The Cherub is
born and lives, it will be a more effectual advertising
medium than even a husband, and may replace him. A
paper of your own can puff you rather better than a husband
of your own — it has a larger circulation and more oppor-
tunities. An authoress - editress — her worth is far above
rubies ! Her correspondents praise her in the gates, and
her staff shall rise up and call her blessed. It may well
be that she will arrive at that stage at which a husband is
an incubus and marriage a manacle. In that day the
honour of the Club will be safe in her hands."
" What do you suggest, then ? " said Lillie anxiously.
" That you wait till she is delivered of J he Cherub before
deciding."
"Very well," she replied resignedly. "Only I hope we
shall be able to admit her. Her conception of the use of
man is so sublime ! "
Lord Silverdale smiled. " Ah, if the truth were known,"
he said, " I daresay it would be that pretty women regard
man merely as a beast of draught and burden, a creature to
draw their cheques and carry their cloaks."
MokB about The cherub 46^
Lillie answered, "And men look on pretty women either
as home pets or as drawing-room decorations."
Silverdale said further, " I do not look on you as
either."
To which Lillie, *' Why do you say such obvious things ?
It is unworthy of you. Have you nothing worthy of you
in your pockets to-day ? "
"Nothing worthy of your hearing. Just a little poem
about another cherub."
AN ANCIENT PASSION
Mine is no passion of to-day,
Upblazing like a rocket ;
To-morrow doomed to die away
And leave you out of pocket.
Nor is she one who snared my love
By just the woman's graces ;
I loved her when, a sucking dove,
She cooed and made grimaces.
And when the pretty darling cried,
I often stooped and Idj^scd her,
Though cold and faint her lips replied,
As though she were my sister.
I loved her long but loved her still
When she discarded long-clothes,
Yet here, if she had had her will,
Would this romantic song close.
For though we wandered hand in hand,
Companions close and chronic.
She always made me understand
Hey motives were Platonic.
468 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
She said me "Nay" with merry mien,
Not weeping like the cayman,
When she was Mab, the fairy Queen,
And I Tom King, highwayman.
'Twas at a Children's Fancy Ball
I got that first rejection ;
It did not kill my love at all,
But heightened its complexion.
My love to tell, when she grew up.
Necessitates italics.
Her hair was like the butter-cup
(Corolla not the calyx).
Her form was slim, her eye was bright,
Iler mouth a jewel-casket,
Her hand it was so soft and white
I often used to ask it.
And so from year to year I wooed,
My passion growing fiercer.
Though she in modest maiden mood
Addressed me as "My dear sir."
At twenty she was still as coy,
Her heart was like Diana's ;
The future held for me no joy
Save smoking choice Havannahs.
At last my perseverance woke
A sweet responsive passion,
And of her love for me she spoke
In woman's wordless fashion.
I told her, when her speech was done,
The task would be above her
To make a happy man of one
Who long had ceased to love her.
Kl'.JECTKI > A 1 )nK KSKKS,
470 THE CELIBATES,'' CLUB
LilHe put on an innocently analytical frown. " I think
you behaved very badly," she exclaimed. '* You might
have waited a little longer."
" Do you think so ? Then I will leave you to your
labours," said Lord Silverdale, with his wonted irrelevancy.
Lillie sat for a long time with pen in hand, thinking
without writing. As a change from writing without thinking,
this was perhaps a relief.
" A penny for your thoughts ! " said the millionaire,
stealing in upon her reflections.
Lillie started and blushed.
" I am not Ellaline Rand," she said, smiling. " Wait
till The Chenib comes out, and you will get hers at that
price."
" Was Ellaline the girl who has just gone ? "
" Did you see her? I thought you were gardening."
" So I was, but I happened to go into the dining-room
for a moment and saw her from the window. I suppose
she will be here often ? "
*' I suppose so," said Lillie dubiously.
The millionaire rubbed his hands.
*' Miss Eustasia Pallas," announced Turple the Magni-
ficent.
" A new candidate, probably," said the President.
"Father, you must go and play in the garden 1 "
The millionaire left the room meekly.
OF WIVES AND THEIR MISTRESSES 471
CHAPTER IX
OF WIVES AND THEIR MISTRESSES
"No, no," said Miss Eustasia Pallas; "you misapprehend
me. It is not because it would be necessary to have a
husband and a home of one's own, that I object to marriage,
but because it would be impossible to do without servants.
While a girl lives at home, she can cultivate her soul while
her mother attends to the menage. But after marriage
the higher life is impossible. You must have servants.
You cannot do your own dirty work — not merely because it
is dirty, but because it is the thief of time. You can hardly
get literature, art, music, and religion adequately into your
life even with the whole day at your disposal, but if you
had to make your own bed too, I am afraid you wouldn't
find time to lie on it."
" Then why object to servants ? " inquired Lillie.
" Because servants are the asphyxiators of the soul.
But for them I should long since have married."
" I do not quite follow you. Surely if you had servants
to relieve you of all the grosser duties, the spiritual could
then claim your undivided attention?"
" Ah, that is a pretty theory. It sounds very plausible.
In practice, alas ! it does not work. Like the servants. I
have kept my eyes open almost from the first day of my
life. I have observed my mother's household and other
people's — I speak of the great middle-classes mainly ; my
unalterable conviction is that every faithful wife who aspires
to be housekeeper too, becomes the servant of her servants.
They rule not only her but all her thoughts. Her life
circles round them. She can talk of nothing els^. Whel,her
472 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
she visits or is visited, servants are the staple of her con-
versation. Their curious habits and customs, their love-
affairs, their laches, their impertinences, — these gradually
become the whole food of thought, ousting every higher
aim and idea. I have watched a girl — my bosom-friend at
Girton — deteriorate from a maiden to a wife, from a wife to
a bondswoman. First she talked Shelley, then Charley,
then Mary Ann. Gradually her soul shrank. She lost
her character. She became a mere parasite on the back
kitchen, a slave to the cook's drink and the housemaid's
followers. Those who knew my mother before she was
married speak of her as a bright bonny girl, all enthusiasm
and energy, interesting herself in all the life of her day and
even taking a side in politics. But when I knew her, she
was haggard and narrow. She never read, nor sang, nor
played, nor went to the Academy. The greatest historical
occurrences left her sympathies untouched. She did not
even care whether Australia or England conquered at
cricket, or whether Browning lived or died. You could not
get her to discuss Whistler or the relations of Greek drama
to " Gaiety " burlesque, or any other subject that interests
ordinary human beings. She did not want a vote. She
did not want any alteration in the divorce laws. She did
not want Russia to be a free country, or the Empire to be
federated. She did not want darkest England to be
supplied with lamps. She did not want the working classes
to lead better and nobler lives. She did not want to pre-
serve the commons or to abolish the House of Lords. She
did not want to do good or even to be happy. All she
wanted was a cook or a housemaid or a coachman, as the
case might be, and she was perpetually asking all her
acquaintance if they knew of a good one, or had heard pf
the outrageous behaviour of the Igst,
OF WIVES AND THEIR MISTRESSES 473
" In her early married days, my father's income was not
a twentieth of what it is to-day, and so she was fairly happy
with only one servant to tyrannise over her. But she
always had hard mistresses, even in those comparatively
easy years. Poor mother ! One scene remains vividly
stamped upon my mind. AVe had a girl named Selina, who
would not get up in the morning. We had nothing to
complain of in the time of her going to bed, — I think she
went about nine, — but the earliest she ever rose was eight,
and my father always had to catch the eight-twenty train to
the city, so you may imagine how much breakfast he got.
My mother spoke to Selina about it nearly every day, and
Selina admitted the indictment. She said she could not
help it, she seemed to dream such long dreams and never
wake up in the middle. My mother had had such difficulty
in getting Selina that she hesitated to send her away and start
hunting for a new Selina, but the case seemed hopeless.
*' The winter came on, and we took to sending Selina to
bed at six o'clock, so that my father might be sure of a hot
cup of coffee before leaving home in the morning. But she
said the mornings were so cold and dark it was impossible
to get out of bed, though she tried very hard and did her
best. I think she spent only nine hours out of bed on the
average. My father gave up the hope of breakfast. He
used to leave by an earlier train and get something at a
restaurant. This grieved my mother very much — she cal-
culated it cost her a bonnet a month. She became deter-
mined to convert Selina from the error of her ways.
" She told me she was going to appeal to Selina's higher
nature. Reprimand had failed, but the soul that cannot be
coerced can be touched. 'I'hat was in the days when my
mother still read poetry and was semi-independent.
•"Pnje |jleak bitter dawn, my mother rose shivering^
474 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
dressed herself, and went down into the kitchen, to the
entire disconcertion of the chronology of the black beetles.
She made the fire and put the kettle on to boil and swept the
kitchen. She also swept the breakfast-room and lighted
the fire and laid the breakfast. Then she sat down, put on
a saintly expression, and waited for Selina.
" An hour went by, but Selina did not make her appear-
ance. The first half- hour passed quickly, because my
mother was busy thinking out the exact phrases in which
to touch her higher nature. It required tact. A single
clumsy turn of language, and she might offend Selina
instead of elevating her. It was really quite a literary
effort, the adequate expression of my mother's conception
of the dignity and pathos of the situation,— in fact, it was
that most difficult branch of literature — the dramatic — for
my mother constructed the entire dialogue, speaking for
Selina as well as for herself. Like all leading ladies, especi-
ally when they write their own plays, my mother allotted
herself the ' tag,' and the last words of the duologue were :
" ' There ! there ! my good girl ! Dry your eyes. The
past shall be forgotten. From to-morrow a new life shall
begin. Come, Selina ! Drink that nice hot cup of tea—
don't cry and let it get cold. Thafs right.'
"The second half-hour was rather slower, my mother
listening eagerly for Selina's footsteps, and pricking up her
ears at every sound. The mice ran about the wainscotting,
the kettle sang blithely, the little flames leapt in the grate,
the kitchen and the breakfast-room were cheerful and redol-
ent of the goodly savours of breakfast. A pile of hot toast
lay upon a plate. Only Selina was wanting.
" All at once my mother heard the hall-door bang, and,
running to the window, she saw a figure going out into the
grey, freezing fog. It was my father hurrying to catcl^ his
OF WIVES AND THEIR MISTRESSES 475
train. In the excitement of the experiment my mother
had forgotten to tell him that, for this morning at least,
breakfast could be had at home. He might have had such
beautiful tea and coffee, such lovely toast, such exquisite
eggs, — and there he was hastening along in the raw air on
an empty stomach ! My mother rapped on the panes with
her knuckles, but my father was late and did not hear.
Her own soul a little ruffled, my mother sat down again in
the kitchen and waited for Selina. Gradually she forgot
her chagrin — after all, it was the last time my father would
ever have to depart breakfastless. She went over the
dialogue again, polishing it up and adding little touches.
" I think it was past nine when Selina left her bedroom,
unwashed and rubbing her eyes. By that time my mother
had thrice resisted the temptation to go up and shake her,
and it was coming on a fourth time when she heard Selina's
massive footstep on the stair. Instantly my mother's
irritation ceased. She reassumed her look of sublime
martyrdom. She had spread a nice white cloth on the
kitchen table, and Selina's breakfast stood appetisingly
upon it. Tears came into her eyes as she thought of how
Selina would be shaken to her depths by the sight.
" Selina threw open the kitchen door with a peevish push,
for she disliked having to get up so early in these cold,
dark winter mornings, and vented her irritation even upon
insensitive woodwork. But when she saw the deep red
glow of the fire, instead of the dusky chillness of the normal
morning kitchen, she uttered a cry of joy, and, rushing
forwards, warmed her hands eagerly at the flame.
" ' Oh, thank you, missis !' she said, with genuine gratitude.
'* Selina did not seem at all surprised. But my mother
did. She became confused and nervous. She forgot her
words, as if from an attack of stage-fright. There was no
476 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
prompter; and so for a moment my mother remained
speechless.
"SeHna, having warmed her hands sufficiently, drew her
chair to the table, and lifted the cosy from the teapot. I
" ' Why, you've let it get cold,' she sighed reproachfully, |
feeling the side of the pot.
" This was more than my mother could stand.
" ' It's you that have let it get cold,' she cried hotly.
" Now this was impromptu ' gag,' and my mother would
have done better to confine herself to the rehearsed dia-
logue.
"'Oh, missis!' cried Selina, 'how can you say that?
Why, this is the first moment I've come down ! '
" ' Yes ! ' said my mother, gladly seizing the opportunity
of slipping back into the text. ' Somebody had to do the
work, Selina. In this world no work can go undone. If
those whose duty it is do not do it, it must fall on the
shoulders of other people. That is why I got up at seven
this morning instead of you, and have tidied up the place
and made the master's breakfast.'
" ' That was real good of you ! ' exclaimed Selina, with
impulsive admiration.
" My mother began to feel that the elaborate set piece
was going off in a damp sort of way, but she kept up her
courage and her saintly expression and continued :
'"It was freezing when I got out of my warm bed, and
before I could get the fire alight here, I almost perished
with cold. I shouldn't be surprised if I have laid the seeds
of consumption.'
" ' Ah,' said Selina, with satisfaction. • Now you see what
I have had to put up with.' She took another piece of
toast.
" Selina's failure to give the cues extremely disconcerted
OP mvPS AND THEIR Jl//ST/?£SS£S 477
my mother. Instead of being able to make the high moral
remarks she had intended, she was forced to invent re-
partees on the spur of the moment. The ethical quality
of these improvisations was distinctly inferior.
" ' But you are paid for it, I'm not,' she retorted sharply.
" ' I know. That is why I say it is so good of you,' replied
Selina, with inextinguishable admiration. ' But you'll reap
the benefit of it ! Now that I've had my breakfast without
any trouble I shall be able to go about my work a deal
better. It's such a struggle to get up, missis, it tires me
out for the day, I assure you. Might I have another egg? '
" My mother savagely pushed her another egg.
" ' I'm thinking it would be a good plan,' said Selina,
meditatively opening the egg with her fingers, ' if you would
get up instead of me every morning. But perhaps that was
what you were thinking of?'
" ' Oh, you would like me to, would you ? ' said my mother.
** * I should be very grateful, I should indeed,' said Selina
earnestly, 'and I'm sure the work would be better done.
There don't seem to be a speck of dust anywhere,' — she
rubbed her dirty thumb admiringly along the dresser, —
' and I'm sure the tea and toast are lots nicer than any I've
ever made.'
" My mother waved her hand dcprecatingly, but Selina
continued : ' Oh yes, you know they are. You have often
told me I was no use at all in the kitchen. I don't need
to be told of my shortcomings, missis, — all you say of me
is quite true. You would be ever so much more satisfied
if you cooked everything yourself, — I'm sure you would.'
" 'And what would you do under this beautiful scheme?'
inquired my mother, with withering sarcasm.
" ' I haven't thought of that yet,' said Selina simply. ' But
no doubt, if I looked around carefully, I should always find
478 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
something to occupy me. I couldn't be long out of work, I
feel sure.'
" Well, that was how my mother's attempt to elevate Selina
by moral means came to be a fiasco. The next time she
tried to elevate her, it was by physical means. My mother
left the suburbs, and moved to a London flat very near the
sky. She had given up hopes of improving Selina's matutinal
habits, and made the breakfast hour later, through my
father having now no train to catch, but she thought she
would cure her of followers. Selina's flirtations were not
confined to our tradespeople and the local constabulary.
She would exchange remarks about the weather with the
most casual pedestrian in trousers. My mother thought
she would remove her from danger by raising her high
above all earthly temptations. We made the tradesmen
send up their goods by lift, and the only person she could
flirt with was the old lift-attendant. My father grumbled a
good deal in the early days because the lift was always at
the other extreme when he wanted it, but Selina's moral
welfare came before all other considerations.
" By and by they began to renovate the exterior of the
adjoining mansion.
*' They put up a scaffolding, which grew higher and higher
as the work advanced, and men swarmed upon it. At first
my mother contemplated them with equanimity, because
they were British working men and we were nearest heaven.
But, as the months went by, they began to get nearer and
nearer. There came a time when Selina's smile was
distinctly visible to the man engaged on the section of the
scaffolding immediately below. That smile encouraged
him. It seemed to say ' Excelsior.'
•' He was a veritable Don Juan, that labourer. At every
flat he flirted with the maid in possession. By counting
OF IV/P'ES AND THEIR MISTRESSES 479
the storeys in our mansion you could calculate the number
of his amours. With every rise he left a love-passage
behind him. He was a typical man — always looking
higher, and when he had raised himself to a more elevated
position, spurning yesterday's love from beneath his feet.
He seemed to mount on broken hearts. And now he was
aspiring to the highest of all — Selina.
" Oh, it was cruel ! My mother had secluded Selina like
a virgin princess in an enchanted inaccessible tower, and
yet here was the prince calmly scaling the tower without any
possibility of interference. Long before he had reached the
top the consumption of Bass in our flat went up by leaps and
bounds. Selina, my mother ultimately discovered, used to
lower the beer by strings tied to the broom-handle. It
appeared, moreover, that she had two strings to her bow, for
a swain in a slouch hat had been likewise climbing the
height, at an insidious angle, which had screened him from
my mother's observation hitherto. Neither of these men
did much work, but it made them very thirsty.
" That destroyed the last vestige of my mother's faith in
Sclina's soul. Like all disappointed women, she became
crabbed and cynical. When my father's rising fortunes
brought her more and more under the dominion of servants,
the exposure and out-manoeuvring of her taskmasters came
to be the only pleasure of her life. She spent a great deal
of time in the police courts — the constant prosecution she
suffered from curtailed the last relics of her leisure. Every-
body has heard of the law's delay, but few know how much
time prosecutors have to lose, hanging about the court
waiting for their case to be called. When a servant robbed
her, my mother rarely got off with less than seven days.
The moment she had engaged a servant she became
morbidly suspicious of him or her. Often, when she had
48o
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
dressed for dinner, it would suddenly strike her that if she
ransacked a certain cupboard something or other would be
LOWERING THIC BKER.
discovered, and off she would go to spoil her spotless silks.
OF WIVES AND THEIR MISTRESSES 481
She had a mania for ' Spring cleanings ' once a month, so
as to keep the drones busy. Often I would bring a friend
home, only to find the dining-room in the hall and the
drawing-room on the landing. And yet to the end she
retained a certain guileless, girlish simplicity — a fresh fund
of hope which was not without a charm and pathos of its
own. To the very last she believed that faultless, flawless
servants existed somewhere, and she didn't intend to be
happy till she got them ; so that it was said of her, by my
sister's intended, that she passed her life on the door-step,
either receiving an angel or expelling a fiend.
" It showed what a fine trustful nature had been turned
to gall. She is at rest now, poor mother, her life's long
slavery ended by the soft touch of all-merciful death ! Let
us hope that she has opened her sorrow-stricken eyes on a
brighter land, where earthly distinctions are annulled, and
the poor heavy-laden mistress may mix on equal terms with
the radiant parlour-maid and the buxom cook."
The tears were in Lillie's eyes as Miss Eustasia Pallas
concluded her affecting recital.
" But don't you think," said the President, conquering her
emotion, " that with such an awful example in your memory
you could never yourself sink into such a serfage, even if you
married ? "
" I dare not trust myself," said Eustasia. •' I have seen
the fall of too many other women. Why should I expect
immunity from the general fate ? I think myself strong —
but who can fathom her own weakness ? Why, I have
actually been talking servants to you all the time. Think
how continuous is the temptation, how subtle. Were it not
better to possess my soul in peace, and to cultivate it nobly
and wisely, and become a shining light of the higher
spinsterhood ? "
■In
482 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Eustasia passed the preliminary examination and also the
viva voce, and Lillie was again in high feather. But before
the election was formally confirmed, she was chagrined to
receive the following letter : —
*' My Dear Miss Dulcimer, — I have good news for you.
Knowing your anxiety to find for me a way out of my matri-
monial dilemma, I am pleased to be able to inform you
that it has been found by my friend and literary adviser,
Percy Swinshel Spatt, the well - known philosopher and
idealist. I met him writing down his thoughts in Bond
Street. In the course of a dialogue upon the Beautiful, I
put my puzzle to him, and he solved it in a moment. ' Why
tnust you keep a servant?' he asked, for it is his habit to
question every statement he does not make. 'Why not
rather keep a mistress? Become a servant yourself, and all
your difficulties vanish.' It was like a flash of lightning.
'Yes,' I said, when I had recovered from the dazzle, 'but
that would mean separation from my husband.' 'Why?'
he replied, with his usual habit. 'In many houses they
prefer to take married couples.' 'Ah, but where should I
find a man of like mind, a man to whom leisure for the
cultivation of his soul was the one great necessity of life?'
' It is a curious coincidence, Eustasia,' he replied, ' that I
was just myself contemplating keeping a master and retiring
into a hermitage below stairs, to devote myself to philo.
sophical contemplation. As a butler or a footman in a
really aristocratic establishment, my duties would be
nominal, and the other servants and my employers would
attend to all my wants. Abstract speculation would
naturally endue me with that grave silence and dignity
which seem to be the chief duties of these superior
creatures. It is possible, Eustasia, that I am not the first
OF WIVES AND THEIR MISTRESSES
483
to perceive the advantages of this way of living, and that
plush is but the disguise of the philosopher. As for you,
Eustasia, you could become a parlour-maid. Thus should
we live together peacefully, with no sordid housekeeping
cares, no squalid interest in rates or taxes, devoted heart and
soul to the higher life.' *You light up for me perspectives
DREW UP THE ADVERTISEMENT.
of Paradise,' I cried enthusiastically. ' Then let us get the
key of the garden at once,' he replied rapturously. And,
turning over a new leaf of his philosophical note-book, he
set to work there and then to draw up the advertisement :
' Wanted — by a young married couple, etc' Of course we
had to be a little previous, because I could not consent to
484 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
marry him unless we had a situation to go to. We '.vere
only putting what the Greek grammars call a proleptic
construction upon the situation. Well, it seems good
servants are so scarce, we got a place at once, — the exact
thing we were looking for. We are concealing our real
names (lest the profession be overrun by jealous friends
from Newnham and Girton and Oxford and Cambridge),
so that I was able to give Percy a character, and Percy to
give me a character. We are going into our place next
Monday afternoon, so, to avoid obtaining the situation by
false pretences, we shall have to go before the registrar on
the Monday morning. Our honeymoon will be spent in
the delightful and unexploited retreat of the servants' hall.
— Yours, in the higher sisterhood,
EusTASiA Pallas."
CHAPTER X
THE GOOD YOUNG MEN WHO LIVED
"It is, indeed, a happy solution," said Lord Silverdale
enviously. " To spend your life in the service of other
men, yet to save it for yourself — it reconciles all ideals."
" Well, you can very easily try it," said Lillie. " I have
just heard from the Princess of Portman Square — she is
reorganising her household in view of her nuptials. Shall
I write you a recommendation ? "
"No; but I will read you an Address to an Egyptian
Tipcat," replied his lordship, with the irrelevancy which
was growing upon him. "You know the recent excavations
have shown that the little Egyptians used to play 'pussy-
cat ' five thou-sand years ago."
THE GOOD YOUNG MEN WHO LIVED 485
ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN TIPCAT
And thou hast flown about — how strange a stoiy ! —
Full five-and-forty centuries ago,
Ere Fayoum, fired with military glory,
Received from Gurod, with purpureal show.
The sea-born captives of the spear and bow ;
And thou hast blacked, perhaps, the very finest eye
That sparkled in the twelfth Egyptian Dynasty.
The sight of thee brings visions panoramic
Of manlier games — as Faro, Pyramids ;
What hands, now tinct with substances balsamic,
Have set thee leaping like the sportive kids,
What time the passers-by did close their lids?
Did the stern priesthood strive thy cult to smother,
Or wast thou worshipped like thy purring brother?
W^here is the youth by whom thou wast created
And tipped profusely? Doth he frisk in glee
In Aahlu, or lives he, transmigrated.
The lower life Osiris did decree.
Of fowl, or fly, or fish, or fox, or flea?
Or, fnllen deeper, is he politician,
Stumping the land, his country's quack physician?
Thou sphinx in wood, unchanged, serene, immortal,
How many states and temples have decayed,
And generations passed the mystic portal.
Whilst thou, still young, hast gone on being played ?
Say when thy popularity shall fade?
And art thou — here's my last, if not my stiffest —
As good a bouncer as the hieroglyphist ?
" Why, did the hieroglyphists use to brag ? " asked LilHe.
" Shamefully. You can no more believe in their state-
ments than in epitaphs. There seems something peculiarly
mendacious about stone as a recording medium. Only
486 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
it must be admitted on behalf of the hieroglyphists,
that it may be the Egyptologists who are the braggers.
There never was an ancient inscription which is not
capable of being taken in a dozen different ways, like a
party-leader's speech. Every word has six possible mean-
ings and half-a-dozen probable ones. The savants do but
pretend to understand the stones."
So saying, Lord Silverdale took his departure. On the
door-step he met a young lady carrying a brown-paper
parcel. She smiled so sweetly at him that he raised his
hat and wondered where he had met her.
But it was only another candidate. She faced Turple
the Magnificent, and smiled on unawed. Turple ended by
relaxing his muscles a whit, then, ashamed of himself, he
announced gruffly, "Miss Mary Friscoe."
After the preliminary formalities, and after having duly
assured herself that there was no male ear within earshot. Miss
Friscoe delivered herself of the following candid confession :
" I am a pretty girl, as you can see. I wear sweet frocks
and smiles, and my eyes are of Heaven's own blue. Men
are fond of gazing into them. Men are so artistic. They
admire the Beautiful, and tell her so. Women are so
different. I have overheard my girl-friends call me 'that
silly little flirt'
" I hold that any woman can twist any man round her
little finger or his arm round her waist, therefore I consider
it no conceit to say I have attracted considerable attentions.
If I had accepted all the offers I received, my marriages
could easily have filled a column of The Times.
" I know there are women who think that men are coarse
unsentimental creatures, given over to slang, tobacco,
billiards, betting, brandies and sodas, smoking-room stories,
flirtations with bar-maids, dress, and general depravity.
THE GOOD YOUNG MEN WHO LIVED 487
" But the women who say or write that are soured
creatures, who have never been loved, have never fathomed
the depth and purity of men's souls.
" I have been loved. I have been loved much and often,
and I speak as one who knows. Man is the most maligned
animal in creation. He is the least gross and carnal of
creatures, the most exquisitely pure and refined in thought
and deed, the most capable of disinterested devotion, self-
sacrifice, chivalry, tenderness. Every man is his own
Bayard.
" If men had their deserts, we women — heartless, frivolous,
venal creatures that we are — would go down on our knees
to them, and beg them to marry us. I am a woman, and
again I speak as one who knows. For I am not a bad
specimen of my sex. Even my best friends admit I am only
silly. I am really a very generous and kind-hearted little
thing. I never keep my tailor waiting longer than a year.
I have made quite a number of penwipers for the poor, and
I have never told an unnecessary lie in my life. I give a
great deal of affection to my mother, and even a little assist-
ance in the household. I do not smoke scented cigarettes.
I read travels and biographies as well as novels, play the
guitar rather well, attend an art-class, rise long before
noon, am good-tempered, wear my ball dresses more than
once, turn winter dresses into spring frocks by stripping off
the fur and putting on galloon, and diversify my gowns by
changing the sleeves. In short, I am a superior, thoroughly
domesticated girl.
" And yet I have never met a man who has not had the
advantage of me in all the virtues. There was George
Holly, — I regret I cannot mention my lovers in chrono-
logical order, but my memories are so vague they all seem
to fuse into one another. Perhaps it is because there is
488 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
a lack of distinctiveness about men — a monotonous goodness
which has its charm but is extremely confusing. One thing
I do remember, though, about George — at least, I think it
was George. His moustache was rather bristly, and the
little curled tips used to tickle one's nose comically. I
was very disappointed in George. I had heard such a lot
of talk about him, but when I got to really know him I
found he was not a bit like it. How I came to really know
him was like this.
" ' Mary,' he said, as we sat on the stairs, high up so as
not to be in the way of the waiters, 'Won't you say Yes,
and make me the happiest man alive ? Never man loved
as I love now ! Answer me. Do not torture me with
suspense.'
"I was silent — speechless with happiness. To think
that I had won this true manly heart ! I looked down at my
fan. My lips were forming the affirmative monosyllable,
when George continued passionately :
" ' O Mary, speak ! — Mary, the only woman I ever
loved ! '
" I turned pale with emotion. Tears came into my eyes.
" ' Is this true ? ' I articulated. ' Am I really the only
woman you ever loved ? '
" * By my hopes of a hereafter — Yes.' George was a bit
slangy in his general conversation, the shallow world never
knew the poetry he could rise to. 'This is the first time
I have known what it is to love, Mary — my sweet, my
own.'
" ' No, not your own,' I interrupted coldly, for my heart
was like ice within me. ' I belong to myself, and I intend
to. Will you give me your arm into the ball-room — Mr.
Daythorpe must be looking for me everywhere.'
" It sounds very wicked to say it, I know, but I cannot
THE GOOD YOUNG MEN WHO LIVED 489
delay my confession longer. I love, I adore, I dote on
wicked men, — men who love not wisely but too well.
When I learnt history at school I could always answer
questions about the reign of Charles II., it was such a
deliciously wicked period. I love Burns, Lord Byron,
De IMusset, Heine, — all the nice naughty men of history
or fiction. I like Ouida's guardsmen whose love is a
tornado, and Charlotte Bronte's Rochester, and Richard-
son's Lovelace.
"I hate, I detest milksops. And a good man always
seems to me a milksop. It is a flaw — a terrible flaw in my
composition, I know — but I cannot help it. It makes me
miserable, but what can I do ? Nature will out.
"That was how I came to find George out, and to
discover he was not the terrible cavalier, the abandoned
squire of dames the world said he was. His reputation
was purely bogus. The gossips might buzz, but I had it
on the highest authority I was the first woman he had
ever loved. What pleasure is there in such a conquest?
It grieved me to break his heart, but I had no option.
" Daythori)e was another fellow who taught me the same
lesson of the purity and high emotions of his cruelly libelled
sex. He, too, when driven into a corner (far from the
madding crowd), confessed that I was the only woman he
had ever loved. I have tried them all — poets and
musicians, barristers and business men. They all had
suftered from the same incapacity for affection till they met
me. It was quite pathetic to discover how truly all men
were brothers. The only difference was, that while some
added I was the only woman they ever could love, others
insisted that never man had loved before as they did now.
The latter lovers always reminded me of advertisers ofiering
a superior article to anything in the trade. Nowhere could
490 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
I meet the man I longed for — the man who had lived
and loved. Once I felt stirrings towards a handsome
young widower, but he went out of his way to assure me
he had never cared for his first wife ; after that, of course,
he had no chance. Unable to discover any but good
young men, I resigned myself perforce to spinsterhood. I
resolved to cultivate only Platonic relations. I told young
men to come to me and tell me their troubles. I encour-
aged them to sit at my feet and confide in me, while I
held their hands to give them courage. But even so they
would never confess to anything worth hearing, and if
they did love anybody it invariably turned out to be me,
and me only. Yes, I grieve to say these Platonic young
men were just as good as the others ; leaving out the
audacity of their proposing to me when I had given them
no encouragement. Here again I found men distressingly
alike. They are constitutionally unable to be girls'
chums ; they are always hankering to convert the friendship
into love. Time after time my anticipations of a genuine
comradeship were rudely dispelled by fatuous philandering.
Yet I never ceased to be surprised, and I never lost hope.
Such, I suppose, is the simple trustfulness of a girl's
nature.
"In time I got to know when the explosion was coming,
and this deadened the shock. I found it was usually
preceded by suicidal remarks of a retrospective character.
My comrades would tell me of their past lives, of the
days when the world's oyster was yet unopened by them.
In those dark days (tears of self-pity came into their eyes
as they spoke of them) they were on the point of suicide —
to a man. Only, one little thing always came to save them
— their first brief; the acceptance of their first article, poem
or song; the opportune deaths of aunts; the chance hearing
I'l. ATONIC I.OVK
492
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
of an organ note rolling through the portal of a village
church on a Sunday afternoon ; a letter from an old school-
master. The obvious survival of the narrators rather
spoiled the sensational thrill for me, but they themselves
were always keenly touched by the story. And from
suicide in the past to suicide in the future was an easy
transition. Alas ! I was the connecting link. They loved
me — and unless I returned their love, that early suicide
would prove to have been merely postponed. In the course
of conversation it trans-
pired that I was the first
woman they had ever
loved. I remember
once rejecting on this
account two such
Platonic failures, within
ten minutes of each
other. One was a well-
known caricaturist, and
the other was the editor
of a ladies' paper. Each
left me declaring his
heart was broken, that
I had led him on
shamelessly, that 1 was a heartless jilt, and that he would
go and kill himself My brother Tom accidentally told me
he saw them together about an hour afterwards at a bar in
the Strand, asking each other what was their poison. So
I learnt that they had spoken the truth. I had driven
them to drink. And, according to Tom, the drink at this
particular bar is superior to strychnine. He says men
always take it in preference."
" And have you then finally decided to abandon Pla-
DRIVEN TO DRINK.
THE GOOD YOUNG MEN WHO LIVED 493
tonics ? " asked Lillie, when the flow of words came to an
end.
" Finally."
" And you have decided to enrol in our ranks ? "
Miss Mary Friscoe hesitated.
<« Well — about that part I'm not quite so certain. To tell
the truth, there is one young man of my acquaintance who
has never yet proposed. When I started for here in disgust
at the goodness of mankind, I forgot him, but in talking he
has come back to my mind. I have a strong suspicion he
is quite wicked. He is always painting actresses. Don't
you think it would be unfair to him to take my vows without
2;iving him a chance ? "
" Well, yes," said Lillie musingly ; " perhaps it would.
You would feel easier afterwards ; otherwise you might
always reproach yourself with the thought that you had
perhaps turned away from a bad man's love. You might
feel that the world was not so good as you had imagined in
your girlish cynicism, and then you might regret having
joined us."
"Quite so," said Miss Friscoe eagerly. "But he shall
be the very last man I will listen to."
" When do you propose to be proposed to by him?"
"The sooner the better. This very day, if you Hke.
I am going straight from here to my art-class."
*' Very well. Then you will come to-morrow and tell me
your final decision? "
" To-morrow."
, . • • • •
Miss Mary Friscoe arrived at the art -class late. Her
fellow - students of both sexes were already at their
easels, and her entry distracted everybody. It was a
motley gathering, working in motley media — charcoal,
494 ^^HE CELIBATES' CLUB
chalk, pencil, oil, water-colour. One girl was modelling in
clay ; and one young gentleman, opera-glass in hand, was
making enlarged coloured copies of photographs. It was
this young gentleman that Mary came out for to see. His
name was Bertie Smythe. He was rich, but he would
always be a poor artist. His ambition was to paint the nude.
There were lilies of the valley in the bosom of Mary's
art-gown, and when she arrived she unfolded the brown-
paper parcel she carried, and took therefrom a cardboard
box containing a snow-white collar and spotless cuffs, which
she proceeded to adjust upon her person. She then went
to the drawing-board rack and stood helpless, unable to
reach down her board, which was quite two inches above
her head. There was a rush of embryo R.A.'s. Those
who failed to hand her the board got down the cast and
dusted it for her, and fixed it up according to her minute
and detailed directions, and adjusted her easel and brought
her a trestle, and lent her lead pencils and cut them for her,
and gave her chunks of stale bread ; for all which services she
rewarded them with bewitching smiles and profuse thanks,
and a thousand apologies. It took her a long time getting
to work on the charcoal cluster of plums, which had
occupied her ever since the commencement of the term,
because she never ventured to begin without holding long
confabulations with her fellow-students as to whether the
light was falling in exactly the same way as last time.
She got them to cock their heads on one side and survey
the sketch, to retreat and look at it knowingly, to measure
the visual angle with a stick of charcoal, or even to mani-
pulate delicately the great work itself. Meantime she
fluttered about it — chattering, alternately enraptured and
dissatisfied, and when at last she started it was by rubbing
everything out.
THE GOOD YOUNG MEN WHO LIVED 495
The best position for drawing happened to be next to
Bertie Smythe. That artist was now engaged in copying
the portrait of an actress.
"O Mr. Smythe," said Mary suddenly, in a confidential
whisper, " I've got such a beautiful face for you to paint."
" I know you have ! " flashed Bertie, in the same intimate
tone.
" What a tease you are, twisting my words like that,"
said Mary, rapping him playfully on the knuckles with her
maul-stick. " You know what I mean quite well ; it's a
cousin of mine in the country."
"I see — it runs in the family," said Bertie.
•* What runs in the family? " asked Mary.
" Beautiful faces, of course."
" Oh, that's too bad of you," said Mary, pouting.
" You know I don't like compliments." She rubbed a pellet
of bread fretfully into her drawing.
" I don't pay compliments. I tell the truth," said Bertie,
meeting her gaze unflinchingly.
" Oh, look at that funny little curl Miss Roberts is wearing
tonight!"
" Bother Miss Roberts ! When are you going to let me
\\di\^ your face to paint?"
" My cousin's, you mean," said Mary, rubbing away
harder than ever.
*' No, I don't, I mean yours."
•* I never give away photographs to gentlemen."
" Well, sit to mc, then."
"Sit to you! Where?"
"In my studio."
" Good gracious ! What are you talking about? *
" You."
" Oh, you are too tiresome. I shall never get this
496 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
finished," grumbled Mary, concentrating herself so vigor-
ously on the drawing that she absent-mindedly erased the
last vestiges of it. She took up her plumb-line and held it
in front of her cast, and became absorbed in contemplat-
ing it.
" You haven't answered my question, Miss Friscoe,"
whispered Bertie pertinaciously.
"What question?"
" When are you going to lend me your face?"
"Why, there's Mr. Biskett going home already."
" Hang Mr. Biskett ! I say, Mary " he began pas-
sionately.
"How are you getting on, Mr. Smythe?" came the
creaking voice of Potts, the drawing-master, behind him.
"Pretty well, thank you; how's yourself?" mechanically
replied Bertie, greatly flustered by his inopportune arrival.
Potts stared, and Mary burst into a ringing laugh.
" Look at my drawing, Mr. Potts," she said. " It will
come so funny."
" Why, there's nothing there," said Potts.
" Dear me, no more there is," said Mary. " I was
entirely dissatisfied with it. You might just sketch it in
for me."
Potts was accustomed to doing the work of most of the
lady students. They used to let him do a Uttle bit on each
of his rounds till the thing was completed. He set to work
on Mary's drawing, leaving her to finish being proposed to.
"And you really love me?" Mary was saying, while Potts
was sketching the second plum.
" Can you doubt it?" Bertie whispered tremulously.
"Yes, I do doubt it. You have loved so many girls,
you know. Oh, I have heard all about your conquests."
She thought it best to take the bull by the horns, and
THE GOOD YOUNG MEN WHO LIVED 497
her breath came thick and fast as she waited for the reply
that would make or mar her life.
Bertie's face lit up with pleasure.
"Oh, but "he began.
"Ah yes, I know," she interrupted triumphantly. "What
about that actress you are painting now ? "
"Oh, well," said Bertie. "If you say 'Yes,' I promise
never to speak to her again."
" And you will give up your bad habits ? " she continued
joyfully.
"Every one. Even my cigarettes — if you say the word.
My whole life shall be devoted to making you happy. You
shall never hear a cross word from my lips."
Mary's face fell, her lips twitched. What was the use of
marrying a milksop like that ? Where would be the fun of
a union without mutual recriminations and sweet recon-
ciliations? She even began to doubt whether he was
wicked after all.
" Did you ever really love that actress ? " she whispered
anxiously.
"No, of course I didn't," said Bertie soothingly. "To
tell the truth, I have never spoken to her in my life. I
bought her photo in Burlington Arcade, and I only talk
with the fellows about ballet-girls in order not to be behind
the times. I never knew what love was till I met you.
You are the only "
Crash ! bang ! went his three-legged easel, upset by
Mary's irrepressible movement of pique. The eyes of the
class were on them in a moment, but only Mary knew
that in that crash her last hope of happiness had fallen
00.
" I do trust Miss Friscoe's last chance will not prove a
21
49S THE CELIBATES' CLUB
blank again," said Lord Silverdale, when Lillie had told
him of the poor girl's prior disappointments.
"Why?" asked the President.
" Because I shrink from the viva voce examination."
*' Why ? " asked the President.
" I am afraid I should be so dangerous."
"Why?" asked the President.
" Because I have loved before. I shall be desperately in
love with another woman all through the interview."
" Oh, I am so sorry ; but you are inadmissible," said
Lillie, when Miss Friscoe came to announce her willingness
to join the Club.
" Why ? " asked the candidate.
" Because you belong to an art-class. It is forbidden by
our by-laws. How stupid of me not to think of it yesterday ! "
" But I am ready to give it up."
" Oh, I couldn't dream of allowing that on any account,"
said the President. " I hear you draw so well."
So Mary never went before the Honorary Trier.
CHAPTER XI
ADVENTURES IN SEARCH OF THE POLK
" Oh, by the way, that Miss Friscoe will not trouble you,
you will be glad to hear," said Lillie lightly.
"Indeed?" said Silverdale. "Then she has drawn a
prize after all ! I cannot say as much for the young man.
I hardly think she is a credit to your sex. Somehow she
reminded me of a woman I used to know, and of some
verses I wrote upon her,"
AD VENTURES IN SEARCH OF THE POLE 499
[" If he had given me a chance, and not gone on to read
his poetry so quickly," wrote Lillie in her diary that night,
" I might have told him that his inference about Miss
Friscoe was incorrect. But it is such a trifle — it is not
worth telling him now— especially as he practically intimated
she would have been an undesirable member, and I only
saved him the trouble of trying her."J
Lord Silverdale read his verses without the accompani-
ment of the banjo, an instrument too frivolous for the tragic
muse.
LA FEMME QUI NE KIT PAS
It was fair with a loveliness mystic,
Like the faces that Raphael drew,
Enigmatic, intense, cabalistic,
But surcharged with the light of the true ;
Such a face, such a hauntingly magic
Incarnation of wistful regret,
It was tenebrous, tender, and tragic, —
I dream of it yet.
And there lives in my charm'd recollection
The sweet mouth with its lip cruelly curled,
As with bitter ironic rejection
Of the gods of the frivolous world.
Yet not ever disdain on her features
Was enthroned, for a heavenly peace
Often linked her with Ijright seraph creatures
Or statues of Greece.
I met her at dinners and dances,
Or on yachts that by moonlight went trips,
And was thrilled by her marvellous glances.
And the sneer or repose of her lips.
Never smile o'er her features did play light,
Never laughter illumined her eyes ;
She grew to seem sundered from daylight
And sun -kindled skies.
50O THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Were they human at all, those dusk glories
Of eyes? And their owner, was she
A Swinburnian Lady Dolores,
Or a sprite from some shadowy sea?
A Cassandra at sea-trip and soiree,
Or Proserpina visiting earth ?
Ay, what Harpy pursued her as quarry
To strangle so mirth ?
Ah, but now I am wiser and sadder,
And my spirit can never again
At the sight of your fairness feel gladder,
O ladies, who coolly obtain
An enamelled and painted complexion
On conditions (which really are "style")—
You must never by day risk detection^
And never more smile,
"I don't see where the connection with Miss Friscoe
comes in," said LilHe.
" No ? Why, simply if she acquired an enamelled com-
plexion, it might be the salvation of her, don't you see?
Like Henry I., she would never smile again."
Lillie smiled. Then producing a manuscript, she said :
" I think you will be interested in this story of another
of the candidates who applied during your expedition to
the clouds. It is quite unique, and for amusement I have
written it from the man's point of view."
*' May I come in ? " interrupted the millionaire, popping his
head through the door. "Are there any Old Maids here?"
"Only me," said Lillie, "or rather, only L"
"Oh, then, I'll call another time."
" No, you may come in, father. Lord Silverdale and I
have finished our business for the day. You can take that
away with you and read it at your leisure. Lord Silverdale."
The millionaire came in, but without empressenimt.
ADVENTURES IN SEARCH OF THE POLE 501
That night Lord Silverdale, who was suffering from in-
somnia, took the manuscript to bed with him, but he could
not sleep till he had finished it.
• • • > I • t
*' I, Anton Mendoza, bachelor, born thirty years ago by
the grace of the Holy Virgin on the fete-day of San Anton,
patron of pigs and old maids, after sundry adventures by
sea and land, found myself in the autumn of last year in
the pestiferous atmosphere of London. I had picked up
bad English and a good sum of money in South America,
and by the aid of the two was enabled to thread my way
through the mazes of the metropolis. I soon tired of the
neighbourhood of the Alhambra (in the proximity of which
I had with mistaken patriotism established myself), for the
wealthy quarters of all great cities have more affinities than
differences, and after a few days of sight-seeing I resolved
to fare forth in quest of the real sights of London. Mount-
ing the box of the first omnibus that came along, I threw
the reins of my fortunes into the hands of the driver, and
drew a little blue ticket from the lottery of fate. I scanned
the slip of paper curiously, and learned therefrom that I was
going fast to ' The Angel,' which I shrewdly divined to be
a public-house, knowing that these islanders display no
poetry and imagination save in connection with beer. My
intuition was correct, and though it was the forenoon I
alighted amid a double stream of pedestrians, the one
branch flowing into 'The Angel,' and the other issuing
therefrom. Extricating myself, I looked at my compass,
and, following the direction of the needle, soon found my-
self in a network of unlovely streets. For an hour I paced
forwards without chancing on aught of interest, save many
weary organ-grinders, seemingly serenading their mistresses
with upward glances at their chamber-windows, and I was
502 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
commencing to fear that my blue ticket would prove a
blank, when a savoury odour of garlic struck on my nostrils
and apprised me that my walk had given me an appetite.
Glancing sideways I saw a door swinging, the same bearing
in painted letters on the glass the words: 'Menotti's Restau-
rant — Id on park Fraticais.^ It looked a queer little place,
and the little back street into which I had strayed seemed
hardly auspicious of cleanly fare. Still the jewel of good
cookery harbours often in the plainest caskets, and I set the
door swinging again and passed into a narrow room, walled
with cracked mirrors and furnished with a few little tables,
a rusty waiter, and a proprietorial-looking person perpetually
bent over a speaking-tube. As noon was barely arrived, I
was not surprised to find the place all but empty. At the
extreme end of the restaurant I caught a glimpse of a stout
dark man with iron-grey whiskers. I thought I would go
and lunch at the table of the solitary customer and scrape
acquaintance, and thus perhaps achieve an adventure. But
hardly had I seated myself opposite him than a shock
traversed his face, the morsel he had just swallowed seemed
to stick in his throat, he rose coughing violently and clap-
ping his palm over his mouth with the fingers spread out
almost as if he wished to hide his face, turned his back
quickly, seized his hat, threw half-a-crown to the waiter, and
scuttled from the establishment.
" I was considerably surprised at his abrupt departure, as
if I had brought some infection with me. The momentary
glimpse I had caught of his face had convinced me 1 had
never seen it before, that it had no place in the photograph
album of my brain, though now it would be fixed there for
ever. The nose hooked itself on to my memory at once. It
must be that he had mistaken me for somebody else, some-
body whom he had reason to fear. Perhaps he was a criminal
7.
D
504 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
and imagined me a detective. I called the proprietor, and
inquired of him in French who the man was and what was
the matter with him. But he shook his head and answered,
' That man there puzzles me. There is a mystery behind.'
" ' Why, has he done anything strange before to-day ? '
" ' No, not precisely.'
" ' How then ? '
" ' I will tell you. He comes here once a year.'
" ' Once a year ! ' I repeated.
" ' No more. This has been going on for twelve years.'
" ' What are you telling me there ? ' I murmured.
" ' It is true.'
" ' But how have you remembered him from year to year?'
" ' I was struck by his face and his air the very first time.
He seemed anxious, ill at ease, worried. He left his
chop half eaten.'
" ' Ha ! ' I murmured.
" ' Also, he looks different from most of my clients. They
are not of that type. Of course I forget him immediately
— it is not my affair. But when he comes the second time
I recall him on the instant, though a year has passed.
Again he looks perturbed, restless. I say to myself, " Aha,
thou art not a happy man, there is something which preys
on thy mind. However, thy money is good, and to the
devil with the rest." So it goes on. After three or four
visits I commence to look out for him, and I discover that
it is only once a year he does me the honour to arrive.
There are twelve years that I know him — I have seen him
twelve times.'
" ' And he has always this nervous air .? '
" ' Not always. That varies. Sometimes he appears calm,
sometimes even happy.'
Perhaps it is your fare ? ' I said slyly.
CI ( '
AD VENTURES IN SEARCH OF THE POLE 505
" * Ah no, Monsieur, that does not vary. It is always of
the first excellence.'
" ' Does he always come on the same date ? '
" ' No, Monsieur. There is the puzzle. It is never
exactly a year between his visits — sometimes it is more,
sometimes it is less.'
'"There is, indeed, the puzzle,' I agreed. 'If it were
always the same date, it would be a clue. Ah, an idea !
He comes not always on the same date of the month, but
he comes, perhaps, on the same day of the week, eh ? '
" Again the proprietor dashed me back into the depths
of perplexity.
"'No,' he said decisively. 'Monday, Wednesday,
Saturday — it is all the same. The only thing that changes
not is the man and his dress. Always the same broad-
cloth frock-coat and the same high hat, and the same seals at
the heavy watch-chain. He is a rich man — that sees itself.'
"I wrinkled my brow and tugged the ends of my moustache
in the effort to find a solution. The proprietor tugged the
ends of his own moustache in sympathetic silence.
" ' Does he always slink out if anybody sits down opposite
to him ? ' I inquired again.
" ' On the contrary. He talks and chats quite freely with
his neighbours when there are any. I have seen his
countenance light up when a man has come to seat himself
next to him.'
"'Then to-day is the first time he has behaved so
strangely ? '
"'Absolutely.'
" Again I was silent. I looked at myself curiously in the
cracked mirrors.
"'Do you see anything strange in my appearance?' I
asked the proprietor.
506 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" ' Nothing in the world,' said the proprietor, shaking his
head vigorously.
" ' Nothing in the world,' echoed the waiter emphatically.
" ' Then why does he object to me, when he doesn't object
to anybody else?'
" ' Pardon,' said the proprietor. ' It is, after all, but
rarely that a stranger sits at his table. He comes ordinarily
so early for his lunch that my clients have not yet arrived,
and I have only the honour to serve an accidental customer
like yourself.'
" ' Ah, then, there is some regularity about the time of
day at least ? '
'"Ah yes, there is that,' said the proprietor reflectively.
' But even here there is no hard and fast line. He may be
an hour earlier, he may be an hour later.'
" ' AVhat a droll of a man ! ' I said, laughing, even as I
wondered. ' And you have not been able to discover any-
thing about him, though he has given it you in twelve ? '
" ' It is not my affair,' he repeated, shrugging his
shoulders.
" ' You know not his name even ? '
" ' How should I know it ? '
" ' Ah, very well, you shall see ! ' I said, buttoning up
my coat resolutely and rising to my feet. ' You shall see
that I will find out everything at once. I, a stranger in
London, who love the oceans and the forests better than
the cities ; I, who know only the secrets of Nature, — behold
1 will solve you this mystery of humanity.'
" ' As Monsieur pleases,' replied the proprietor. ' For
me the only question is what Monsieur will have for his
lunch.'
" ' I want no lunch,' I cried. Then, seeing his downcast
face, and remembering the man must be out of sight by
ADVENTURES lA' SEARCH OF THE POLE 507
this time, and nothing was to be gained by haste, I ordered
some broth and some chicken and ham, and strode to the
door to make sure there was no immediate chance of
coming upon him. The little by-street was almost deserted,
there was not a sign of my man. I returned to my seat
and devoted myself to my inner man instead. Then I
rebuttoned my coat afresh — though with less facility — and
sauntered out joyously. Now at last I had found some-
thing to interest me in London. The confidence born of
a good meal was strong in my bosom as I pushed those
swinging doors open, and cried '^ Au revoir'' to my host, for
I designed to return and to dazzle him with my exploits.
'■'■'• Aic revoir, Monsieur, a thousand thanks,' cried the
proprietor, popping up from his speaking-tube. 'But
where are you going ? Where do you hope to find this
man ? '
" ' I go not to find the man,' I replied airily.
" ' Comment !'' he exclaimed in his astonishment.
" ' I go to seek the woman," I said, in imposing accents.
And, waving my hand amicably, I sallied forth into the
dingy little street.
" But alas for human anticipations ! The whole of that
day I paced the dead and alive streets of North London
without striking the faintest indication of a trail. After a
week's futile wanderings, I began to realise the immensity
of the English metropolis — immense not only by its actual
area, but by the multiplicity of its streets and windings, and
by the indifference of each household to its neighbours,
which makes every roof the cover of manifold mysterious
existences and potentialities. To look for a needle in a
bundle of hay were child's play to the task of finding a
face in a London suburb, q.\c\\ assuming, as I did, my
enigma lived in the northern district. I dared not return
5o8 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
to the restaurant to inquire if perchance he had been seen.
I was ashamed to confess myself baffled. I shifted my
quarters from Leicester Square to Green Lanes, and walked
every day within a four mile radius of the restaurant, but
Fortune turned her face (and his) from me, and I raged at
my own folly in undertaking so hopeless a quest. At last
' Patience ! ' I cried. ' Patience, and shuffle the cards ! '
It was my pet proverb when off the track of anything. To
cut yourself adrift from the old plan and look at the problem
with new eyes — that was my recipe. I tried it by going
into the country for some stag-hunting, which, I had ascer-
tained from a farmer whom I met in a coffee-house, could
be obtained in some of the villages in the next county.
But English field-sports I found little to my taste, for the
deer had been unhorned and was let out of a cart, and it
was only playing at sport. The Holy Mother save me
from such bloodless make-believe ! Though the hunting
season was in full swing, I returned in disgust to the town,
and again confiding my fortunes to a common or garden
omnibus, I surveyed the street panorama from my seat on
the roof till the vehicle turned round for the backward
journey. This time I found myself in Canonbury, a dis-
trict within the radius I had previously explored. The
coincidence gave me fresh hope — it seemed a happy
augury of ultimate success. The saints would guide my
footsteps after all ; for he who wills aught intensely cajoles
Providence. The dusk had fallen, and the night lamps
had been lit in the heavens and on the earth, though
without imparting cheerfulness to the rigid rows of highly
respectable houses. I walked through street after street of
grey barracks, tall narrow structures, holding themselves
with military stiffness and ranged in serried columns, the
very greenery that relieved their fronts growing sympa-
AD VENTURES IN SEARCH OF THE POLE 509
thetically symmetrical and sombre. I sighed for my native
orange-groves, I longed for a whiff of the blue Mediter-
ranean, I strove to recall the breezy expanses of the South
American pampas whence I had come, and had it not
been for the interest of my search I should have fled like
St. Anthony from the lady, though for very opposite reasons.
It seemed scarcely possible that romance should brood
behind those dull fagades ; the grosser spirit of prose seemed
to shroud them as in a fog.
" Suddenly, as I paced with clogged footsteps in these
heavy regions, I heard a voice calling somebody, and, look-
ing in the direction of the sound, I could not but fancy it
was myself whose attention was sought. A gentleman
standing at the hall-door of one of the houses, at the top
of the white steps, was beckoning in my direction. I halted,
and, gazing on all sides, ascertained I was the sole pedestrian.
Puzzled as to what he could want of me, I tried to scan
his features by the rays of a street lamp which faced the
house and under which I stood. They revealed a pleasant
but not English-looking face, bearded and bronzed, but
they revealed nothing as to the owner's designs. He stood
there still beckoning, and the latent hypnotism of the
appeal drew me towards the gate. I paused with my hand
on the lock. What in the name of all the saints could he
possibly want with me ? I had sundry valuables about my
person, but then they included a loaded revolver, so why
refuse the adventure?
' Do come in,' he said in English, seeing my hesitation.
' We are only waiting for you.'
" The mysterious language of the invitation sealed my fate.
Evidently I had again been mistaken for somebody else.
Was it that I resembled some one this man knew? If so,
it would probably be the same some one the other man had
I ACXEl'TKI) TilK SIR WGK I.\ VITATIOX.
ADVENTURES IN SEARCH OF THE POLE 511
dreaded. I seemed to feel the end of a clue at last, the
other end of which was tied to him 1 sought. Putting my
hand to my breast-pocket, to make sure it held my pistol,
I drew back the handle of the gate and ascended the steps.
There was an expression of satisfaction on the face of my
inviter, and, turning his back upon me, he threw the door
wide open, and held it courteously as I entered. A whiff
of warm stuffy air smote my nostrils as I stepped into the
hall, where an indiarubber plant stood upon a rack heavily
laden with overcoats. My host preceded me a few paces
and opened a door on the right. A confused babble of
guttural speech broke upon my ear, and over his shoulder
I caught a glimpse of a strange scene — a medley of swarthy
men, wearing their hats, a venerable-looking old man who
seemed their chief being prominent in a grim black skull-
cap ; there was a strange weird wick burning in a cup of
oil on the mantelpiece, and on a sofa at the extreme end
of the room sat a beautiful young lady, weeping silently.
" My heart gave a great leap. Instinct told me I had
found the woman.
" I made the sign of the cross and entered.
"A strange look of relief passed over the faces of the
company as I came in. Instinctively I removed my hat,
but he who had summoned me deprecated the courtesy
with a gesture, remarking, 'We are commencing at once.'
" I stared at him, more puzzled than ever, but kept silence,
lest speech should betray me and snatch the solution from
me on the very eve of my arrival at it. It was gathering in
my mind that I must strikingly resemble one of the band,
that the man of the restaurant had betrayed us, and that
he went in fear of our vengeance. Only thus could I
account for my reception, both by him and by the rest of
the gang.
512 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" The patriarchal-looking chieftain got up and turned his
back to the company, as if surveying them through the
mantel mirror. He then addressed them at great length with
averted face in a strange language, the others following him
attentively, and accompanying his remarks with an under-
current of murmured sympathy, occasionally breaking out
into loud exclamations of assent in the same tongue. I
listened with all my ears, but could not form the least idea
as to what the language was. There were gutturals in it as
in German, but I can always detect German, if I cannot
understand it. There was never a word which had the
faintest analogy with any of the European tongues. I
came to the conclusion it was a patter of their own. The
leader spoke hurriedly for the most part, but in his slower
passages there was a rise and fall of the voice almost
amounting to a musical inflection. Near the end, after an
emphatic speech, frequently interrupted by applause, he
dropped his voice to a whisper, and a hushed silence fell
upon the room. The beautiful girl on the couch got up,
and, holding a richly-bound book in her hand, perused it
quietly. Her lovely eyes were heavy with tears. I drifted
upon a current of wonder into perusing her face, and it was
with a start that, at the sudden resumption of the leader's
speech, I awoke from my dreams. The address came to a
final close soon after, and then another member wound up
the proceedings with a little speech which was received
with great enthusiasm.
" While he was speaking, I studied the back of the patri-
arch's head. He moved it, and my eyes accidentally lighted
on something on the mantelpiece which sent a thrill
through my whole being. It was a photograph, and, unless
some hallucination tricked my vision, the photograph of the
inan I sought. I trembled with excitement. My instinct had
ADVENTURES IN SEARCH OF THE POLE 513
been correct. I had found the woman. Saint Anthony had
guided my footsteps aright. The company was slowly
dispersing, chatting as it went. Everybody took leave of
the beautiful girl, who had by this time dried her eyes and
resumed the queen. I should have to go with them, and
without an inkling of comprehension of what had passed !
What had they been plotting? What part had I been
playing in these uncanny transactions? What had they
been doing to bring suffering to this fair girl, before whom
all bowed in mock homage ? Was she the unwilling
accomplice of their discreditable designs ? I could not see
an inch in the bewildering fog. And was I to depart like
the rest, doomed to cudgel my brains till they ached like
caned schoolboys ? No ; my duty was clear. A gentle
creature was in trouble — it was my business to stay and
succour her.
*' Then suddenly the thought flashed upon me that she
loved the man who had betrayed us, that she had pleaded with
tears for his life, and that her petition had been granted.
" The solution seemed almost complete, yet it found me
no more willing to go. Had I not still to discover for what
end we were leagued together ?
" As I stood motionless, thus musing, the minutes and the
company slipped away. I was left with the man of the
door-step, the second speaker, and the beautiful girl.
" While I was wondering by what pretext to remain, the
second speaker came up to me, and said cordially, " We are so
much obliged to you for coming. It was very good of you."
" His English was that of a native, as I enviously noted.
He was a young good-looking fellow, but, as I gazed at him,
a vague resemblance to the stranger of the restaurant and
to the photograph on the mantelpiece forced itself on my
attention.
3iC
514 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
*' ' Oh, it was no trouble, no trouble at all,' I remarked
cheerfully. ' I will come again if you like.'
" ' Thank you ; but this is our last night, with the excep-
tion of Saturday, when one can get together twenty quite
easily, so there is no need to trouble you, as you perhaps
do not reside in the neighbourhood.'
" ' Oh, but I do,' I hastened to correct him.
" * In that case we shall be very pleased to see you,' he
replied readily. ' I don't remember seeing you before in
the district ; I presume you are a newcomer ? "
" ' Yes, that's it,' I exclaimed glibly, secretly more puzzled
than ever. He did not remember seeing me before, nor
did the man of the door-step vouchsafe any information as
to my identity. Then I could certainly not have been
mistaken for somebody else. And yet — what was the
meaning of that significant invitation : ' We are waiting
only for you^ ?
" ' I thought you were a stranger,' he replied. ' I haven't
the pleasure of knowing your name.'
" This was the climax. But I concealed my astonish-
ment, having always found the ;/// admirari principle the
safest in enterprises of this nature. Should I tell him my
real name? Yes, why not? I was utterly unknown in
London, and my real name would be as effective a dis-
guise as a pseudonym.
" ' Mendoza,' T replied.
" ' Ah,' said the man of the doorstep. ' Any relation to
the Mendozas of Highbury ? '
" ' I think not,' I replied, with an air of reflection.
" ' Ah well,' said the second speaker, ' we are all brothers.'
" ' And sisters,' I remarked, gallantly bowing to the
beautiful maiden. On second thoughts it struck me the
remark was rather meaningless, but second thoughts have
ADVENTURES IN SEARCH OF THE POLE 515
an awkward way of succeeding first thoughts, which some-
times interferes with their usefulness. On third thoughts I
went on in my best English : ' May I in return be favoured
with the pleasure of knowing your name ? '
" The second speaker smiled in a melancholy way, and
said, ' I beg your pardon, I forgot we were as strange to you
as you to us. My name is Radowski— Philip Radowski ;
this is my friend Martin, and this is my sister Fanny.'
" I distributed elaborate bows to the trinity.
"'You will have a little refreshment before you go?'
said Fanny, with a simple charm that would have made it
impossible to refuse, even if I had been as anxious to go as
I was to stay. "Oh no, I could not think of troubling
you,' I replied warmly ; and in due course I was sipping a
glass of excellent old port and crumbling a macaroon.
" This seemed to me the best time for putting out a feeler,
and I remarked lightly, pointing to the photograph on the
mantelpiece, ' I did not see that gentleman here to-night.'
Instantly a portentous expression gathered upon all the
faces. I saw I had said the wrong thing. The beautiful
Fanny's mouth quivered, her eyes grew wistful and pathetic.
" ' My father is dead,' she said, in a low tone.
"Dead? Her father? A great shock of horror and
surprise traversed my frame. His secret had gone with
him to the grave.
" ' Dead ! ' I repeated involuntarily. ' Oh, forgive me,
I did not know.'
" ' Of course not, of course not. I understand perfectly,'
put in her brother soothingly. 'You did not know whom
it was we had lost Yes, it was our father.'
" * Has he been dead long?'
" He seemed a little surprised at the question, but
answered, ' It is he we are mourning now.'
Si6 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" I nodded my head, as if comprehending.
" ' Ah, he was a good man,' said Martin. ' I wish we
were all so sure of Heaven.'
" ' There are very i^w Jews like him left,' said Fanny
quietly.
"'Alas! he was one of the pious old school,' assented
Martin, shaking his head dolefully.
" My heart was thumping violently as a great wave of light
flooded my brain. These people, then, were Jews — that
strange, scattered race of heretics I had often heard of,
but never before come into contact with in my wild adven-
turous existence. The strange scene I had witnessed was
not, then, a meeting of conspirators, but a religious funereal
ceremonial ; the sorrow of Fanny was filial grief; the address
of the venerable old man a Hebrew prayer-reading; the
short speech of Philip Radowski probably a psalm in the
ancient language all spoke so fluently. But still, what had
I come to do in that galley ?
" All these thoughts flashed upon me in the twinkling
of an eye. There was scarce a pause between Martin's
observation and Radowski's remark that followed it :
" ' He was, indeed, pious. It was wonderful how he with-
stood the influence of his English friends. You would
never imagine he left Poland quite thirty years ago.'
" So I had found the Pole ! But was it too late? Any-
how I resolved to know what I had been summoned for.
The saints spared me the trouble of the search.
" ' Yes,' returned Martin, ' when you think how ready he
was to go to the houses of mourners, I think it perfectly
disgraceful that we had such difficulty in getting together
ten brother-Jews for the services in his memory. But for
the kindness of Mr. Mendoza I don't know what we should
have done to-night. In your place, Philip, I confess I
ADVENTURES IN SEARCH OF THE POLE 517
should have felt tempted to violate the Law altogether. 1
can't see that it matters to the Almighty whether you have
nine men or ten men or five men. And I don't see why
Fanny couldn't count in quite as well as any man.'
" ' O Martin ! ' said Fanny, with a shocked look, ' how
can you talk so irreligiously ? Once we begin to break the
Law, where are we to stop ? Jews and Christians may as
well intermarry at once.' Her righteous indignation was
beautiful to see.
" Two things were clear now. First, I had been mistaken
for a Jew, probably on account of my foreign appearance.
Secondly, Fanny would never wed a Christian. But for
the first fact I would have regretted the second. For a
third thing was clear— that I loved the glorious Jewess
with all the love of a child of the South. We are not
tame rabbits, we Andalusians : the flash from beauty's eye
fires our blood, and we love instantly and dare greatly. My
heart glowed with gratitude to my patron saint for having
brought about the mistake ; a Jew I was, and a Jew I would
remain.
" 'You are quite right. Miss Radowski,' I said ; 'Jew and
Christian might as well intermarry at once.'
" ' I am glad to hear you say so,' said I'anny, turning her
lovely orbs towards me. ' Most young men now-a-days are
so irreligious.'
" Martin darted a savage glance at me. I saw at once how
the land lay. He was either engaged to my darling, or a
fia7ice in the making. I surveyed him impassively from his
head to his shoes, and decided to stand in them. It was
impossible to permit a man of such dubious religious prin-
ciples to link his life with a spiritually-minded woman like
Fanny. Such a union could only bring unhappiness to
both. What she needed was a good pious Jew, one of
"KEAU IT ALOUD," SHE SAID, "IT COMHJKTS ME."
ADVENTURES /JV SEARCH OF THE FOLE 519
the old school. With the help of the saints I vowed to
supply her needs.
" ' I think that modern young women are quite as
irreligious as modern young men,' retorted Martin, as he
left the room.
"*Yes, it is so,' sighed Fanny, the arrow glancing off
unheeded. Then, uplifting her beautiful eyes heavenwards,
she murmured, ' Ah, if they had been blessed with fathers
like mine ! '
" Martin, who had only gone out for an instant, returned
with Fanny's hat and a feather boa, and observing, ' You
must really take a walk at once — you have been confined
indoors a whol*^ week,' helped her to put them on. I
felt sure his zeal for her health was overbalanced by his
enthusiasm for my departure. I could not very well attach
myself to the walking party— especially as I only felt an
attachment for one member of it. Disregarding the inter-
ruption, I remarked, in tones of fervent piety :
" ' It will be an eternal regret to me that I missed knowing
your father.'
" She gave me a grateful look.
" ' Look ! ' she said, seating herself on the sofa for a
moment, and picking up the richly-bound book lying upon
it, — 'look at the motto of exhortation he wrote in my
prayer-book before he died. Our minister says it is in the
purest Hebrew.'
"I went to her side and leaned over the richly-bound
book, which appeared to be printed backwards, and scanned
the inscription with an air of appreciation.
" ' Read it,' she said, * read it aloud 1 It comforts me to
hear it.'
" I coughed violently, and felt myself growing pale. The
eyes of Martin were upon me with an expression that
$10 THE CELIBATES'' CLUB
seemed waiting to become sardonic. I called inwardly
upon the Holy Mother. There seemed to be only a few
words, and after a second's hesitation I murmured some-
thing in my most inarticulate manner, producing some
sounds approximately like those I had heard during the
service.
" Fanny looked up at me, puzzled.
*" I do not understand your pronunciation,' she said.
" I felt ready to sink into the sofa.
" * Ah, I am not surprised,' put in her brother. " From
Mr. Mendoza's name and appearance I should take him to
be a Sephardi, like the Mendozas of Highbury. They pro-
nounce quite differently from us, Fanny.'
" I commended him to the grace of the Virgin.
"'That is so,' I admitted. 'And I found it not at all
easy to follow your services.'
" ' Are you an English Sephardi or a native Sephardi ? '
asked Martin.
"'A native!' I replied readily. *I was born there.'
Where ' there ' was I had no idea.
" ' Do you know,' said Fanny, looking so sweetly into my
face, ' I should like to see your country. Spain has
always seemed to me so romantic, and I dote on Spanish
olives.'
" I was delighted to find I had spoken the truth as to my
nativity.
" ' I shall be charmed to escort you,' I said, smiling.
•' She smiled in response.
" ' It is easy enough to go anywhere now-a-days,' said
Martin surlily.
'"I wish you would go to the devil,' I thought. 'That
would certainly be easy enough.*
" But it would have been premature to force my own com-
ADVENTURES IN SEARCH OF THE POLE 521
pany upon P'anny any longer. I relied upon the presence
of death and her brother to hinder Martin's suit from
developing beyond the point it had already reached. It
remained to be seen whether the damage was irreparable.
I went again on the Saturday night, following with interest
the service that had seemed a council-meeting. This time
it began with singing, in which everybody joined, and
in which I took part with hearty inarticulateness. But a
little experience convinced me that my course was beset
with pitfalls — that not Mary Jane aspiring to personify a
Duchess could glide on thinner ice than I attempting to
behave as one of these strange people, with their endless
and all-embracing network of religious etiquette. To my
joy I discovered that I could pursue my suit without going
to synagogue, a place of dire peril, for it seems that the
Spaniards arc a distinct sect, mightily proud of their blood
and their peculiar pronunciation ; and the Radowskis, being
Poles, did not expect to see me worshipping with themselves,
which enabled me to continue my devotions in the Holy
Chapel of St. Vincent. It also enabled me to skate over
many awkward moments, the Poles being indifferently in-
formed as to the etiquette of their Peninsular cousins.
That I should have been twice taken for one of their own
race rather surprised me, for my physiognomical relation-
ship to it seemed of the slightest. The dark complexion,
the foreign air, doubtless gave me a superficial resemblance,
and in the face it is the surface that tells. I read up
Spanish history, and learnt that many Jews had become
Christians during the persecutions of the Holy Inquisition,
and that many had escaped the fires of the onto da fi by
feigning conversion, the while secretly performing their
strange rites, and handing down to their descendants the
traditions of secrecy and of Judaism, these unhappy people
522 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
being styled Marranos. Perchance I was sprung from
some such source, but there was no hint of it in my genea-
logy, so far as known to me ; my name Mendoza was a good
old Andalusian name, and my ancestors had for generations
been good sons of the only true Church. The question has
no interest for me now.
" For although, like Cassar, I am entitled to say that I
came, saw, and conquered, conquering not only Fanny but
my rival, yet am I still a bachelor. I had driven Martin on
one side as easily as a steamer bearing down upon a skiff,
yet my own lips betrayed me. It was the desire to penetrate
the mystery of the restaurant that undid me, for if a woman
cannot keep a secret, a man cannot refrain from fathoming
one. The rose-gardens of love were open for my walking,
when the demon in possession prompted me to speech that
silvered the red roses with hoar-frost and ice.
" One day I sat holding her dear hand in mine. She
permitted me no more complex caresses, being still in
black. Such was the sense of duty of this beautiful warm-
blooded Oriental creature, that she was as cold as her
father's tombstone, and equally eulogistic of his virtues.
She spoke of them now, though I would fain have diverted
the talk to hers. Failing that, I seized the opportunity to
solve the haunting puzzle, forgetting Balthasar Gracian's
sage advice : Saberse dexar ganando con la for tuna — Leave
your luck while winning.
" ' Do you know, I fancy I once saw your father,' I said
earnestly.
" ' Indeed ! ' she observed, with much interest. ' Where ?'
" ' In a restaurant not many miles from here. It was
before noon.'
"'In a restaurant?' she repeated. "Hardly very likely.
There isn't any restaurant near here he would be likely to
ADVENTURES IN SEARCH OF THE POLE 523
go to, and certainly not at the time you mention, when he
would be in the City. You must be mistaken.'
" I shook my head. ' I don't think so. I remember his
face so well. When I saw his photo I recognised him at once.'
*' ' How long ago was it ? '
" ' I can tell you exactly,' I said. ' The date is graven on
my heart. It was the twenty-fourth of October.'
" ' This year ? '
" ' This year.'
" ' The twenty - fourth of October ! ' she repeated
musingly. ' Only a few weeks before he died. Poor
father, peace be upon him ! The twenty-fourth of October,
did you say ? ' she added suddenly.
" ' What is the matter ? ' I asked. ' You are agitated.'
"*No, it is nothing. It cannot be,' she added more
calmly. 'Of course not.' She smiled faintly. *I
thought ' she paused.
'* ' You thought what ? '
♦"Oh, well, I'll show you I was mistaken.' She rose,
went to the book-case, drew out a little brown-paper-covcred
volume, and turned over the pages scrutinisingly. Suddenly
a change came over the beautiful face ; she stood motion-
less, pale as a statue.
" A chill shadow fell across my heart, distracted between
tense curiosity and dread of a tragic solution.
" ' My dear Fanny, what in Heaven's name is it ? ' I
breathed.
" ' Don't speak of Heaven," said Fanny, in strange harsh
tones, ' when you libel the dead thus.'
"' Libel the dead ! How?'
" ' Why, the twenty-fourth of October was Yom Kippiir!^
" ' Well,' I said, unimpressed and uncomprehending, 'and
what of it ? '
524 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
"She stared at me, staggered, and clutched at the book-
case for support.
" ' What of it ? ' she cried, in passionate emotion. * Do
you dare to say that you saw my poor father, who was
righteousness itself, breaking his fast in a restaurant on the
Day of Atonement ? Perhaps you will insinuate next that
his speedy death was Heaven's punishment on him for his
blasphemy ? '
"In the same instant I saw the truth and my terrible
blunder. This fast-day must be of awful solemnity, and
Fanny's father must have gone systematically to a surrep-
titious breakfast in that queer out-of-the-way restaurant.
His nervousness, his want of ease, his terror at the sight of
me, whom he mistook for a brother-Jew, were all accounted
for. Once a year — the discrepancy in the date being
explained by the discord between Jewish and Christian
chronology — he hied his way furtively to this unholy meal,
enjoying it and a reputation for sanctity at the same time.
But to expose her father's hypocrisy to the trusting innocent
girl would be hardly the way to advance love-matters. It
might be difficult even to repair the mischief I had already
done.
" ' I beg your pardon,' I said humbly. ' You were right.
I was misled by some chance resemblance. If your father
was the pious Jew you paint him, it is impossible he could
have been the man I saw. Yes, and now I think of it, the
eyebrows were bushier and the chin plumper than those of
the photograph.'
"A sigh of satisfaction escaped her iips. Then her face
grew rigid again as she turned it upon me, and asked, in low
tones that cut through me like an icy blast, 'Yes, but
what were you doing in the restaurant on the Day of
Atonement ? '
adventures: in search of the pole 525
" * I — I — ? ' I stammered.
" Her look was terrible.
" ' I — I — was only having a cup of chocolate," I replied,
with a burst of inspiration.
" As everybody knows, since the pronunciamento of Pope
Paul v., chocolate may be imbibed by good Catholics
without breaking the fasts of the Church. But alas ! it
seems these fanatical Eastern flagellants allow not even a drop
of cold water to pass their lips for over twenty-four hours.
" ' I am glad you confess it,' said Fanny witheringly.
* It shows you have still one redeeming trait. And I am
glad you spoke ill of my poor father, for it has led to the
revelation of your true character before it was too late.
You will of course understand, Mr. Mendoza, that our
acquaintance is at an end.'
" ' Fanny ! ' I cried frantically.
" ' Spare me a scene, I beg of you,' she said coldly.
*You — you, the man who pretended to such ardent
piety, to such enthusiasm for our holy religion — are an
apostate from the faith into which you were born, a blas-
phemer, an atheist.'
" I stared at her in dumb horror. I had entangled myself
inextricably. How could I now explain that it was her
father who was the renegade, not I ?
" * Good-bye," said Fanny. ' Heaven make you a better
Jew.'
" I moved desperately towards her, but she waved me
back. ' Dont touch me,' she cried. ' Go, go ! '
'"But is there no hope for me?' I exclaimed, looking
wildly into the cold statue-like face, that seemed more
beautiful than ever, now it was fading from my vision.
" ' None,' she said. Then in a breaking voice she
ipurmured, ' Neither for you nor for nie.'
526 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" 'Ah, you love me still?' I cried, striving to embrace her.
' You will be my wife ? '
" She struggled away from me. ' No, no,' she said, with a
gesture of horror. ' It would be sacrilege to my dead
father's memory. Rather would I marry a Christian — yes,
even a Catholic — than an apostate Jew like you. Leave
me, I pray you ; or must I ring the bell.?'
"I went — a sadder and a wiser man. But even my wisdom
availed me not, for, when I repaired to the restaurant to
impart it to the proprietor, this last consolation was denied
me. He had sold his business and returned to Italy.
'* To-morrow I start for Turkestan."
CHAPTER XII
THE ARITHMETIC AND PHYSIOLOGY OF LOVE
"Well, have you seen this Fanny Radowski?" said Lord
Silverdale, when he returned the manuscript to the President
of the Old Maids' Club.
" Of course. Didn't I tell you I had the story from her
own mouth, though I have put it into Mendoza's ? "
" Ah yes, I remember now. It certainly is funny, her
refusing a good Catholic on the ground that he was a bad
Jew. But then, according to the story, she doesn't know
he's a Catholic ? "
" No ; it was I who divined the joke of the situation.
Lookers-on always see more of the game. I saw at once
that if Mendoza were really a Jew he would never have
been such an ass as to make the slip he did ; and so, from
this and several other things she told me about her lover, I
THE ARITHMETIC AND PHYSIOLOGY OF LOVE 527
constructed deductively the history you have read. She
says she first met him at a mourning service in memory of
her father, and that it is a custom among her people, when
they have not enough men to form a religious quorum (the
number is the mystical ten), to invite any brother-Jew, who
may be passing, to step in, whether he is an acquaintance
or not."
"And so she wishes to be an object-lesson in female
celibacy, does she ? " said the Honorary Trier.
*' She is most anxious to enlist in the Cause."
" Is she really beautiful, et cetera ? "
" She is magnificent."
" Then I should say the very member we are looking for.
A Jewess will be an extremely valuable element of the
Club, for her race exalts marriage even above happiness,
and an old maid is even more despised than among us.
The lovely Miss Radowski will be an eloquent protest
against the prejudices of her people."
Lillie Dulcimer shook her head quietly. "The racial
accident which makes her seem a desirable member to you,
makes me regard her as impossible."
"How so?" cried Silverdale, in amazement. "You
surely are not going to degrade your Club by anti-
Semitism ! "
" Heaven forfend ! But a Jewess can never be a whole
Old Maid."
" I don't understand."
" Look at it mathematically a moment."
Silverdale made a grimace.
"Consider. A Jewess, orthodox like Miss Radowski,
can only be an Old Maid fractionally. An Old Maid must
make " the grand refusal " — she must refuse mankind at
large. Now Miss Radowski, being cut off by her creed
528 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
from marrying into any but an insignificant percentage of
mankind, is proportionately less valuable as an object-
lesson ; she is unfitted for the functions of Old Maiden-
hood in their full potentiality. Already by her religion she
is condemned to almost total celibacy. She cannot renounce
what she never possessed. There are in the world, roughly
speaking, eight million Jews among a population of a
thousand millions. Assuming, for the sake of simplicity,
that the ratio of males to females is constant, the force of
her example — in other words, her value as an Old Maid —
may be represented by '008."
" I am glad you express her as a decimal rather than a
vulgar fraction," said Lord Silverdale, laughing. " But you
erroneously postulate that the ordinary girl has the run of
mankind in all its tribes and religions. As a mathemat-
ical wrangler, you are not very terrible. So I shall not
need to try Miss Radowski ? "
" No, we cannot entertain her application," said Lillie
peremptorily, the thunder-cloud no bigger than a man's
hand gathering on her brow at the suspicion that Silverdale
did not take her mathematics seriously. Considering that,
in keeping him at arm's length, her motives were merely
mathematical (though Lord Silverdale was not aware of
this), she was peculiarly sensitive on the point. She
changed the subject quickly by asking what poem he had
brought her.
" Do not call them poems I " he answered.
*' It is only between ourselves. There are no critics
about."
" Thank you so much. I have brought one suggested
by the strange farrago of religions that figured in your
last human document. It is a paean on the growing hos-
pitality of the peoples towards the gods of oth^r nations^
THE ARITHMETIC AND PHYSIOLOGY OF LOVE 529
There was 3 time when free trade in divinities was taboo,
each nation protecting, and protected by, its own. Now
foreign gods are all the rage.
THE END-OF-THE-CENTURY CATHOLIC CREDO
I'm a Christo-Jewish Quaker,
Moslem, Atheist, and Shaker,
Auld Licht Church of England Fakir,
Antinomian, Baptist, Deist,
Gnostic, Neo-Pagan Theist,
Presbyterianish Papist,
Comtist, Mormon, Darwin-apist,
Trappist, High Church Unitarian,
Sandemanian Sabbatarian,
Plymouth Brother, Walworih Jumper,
Southcote South-Place Bible-Thumper,
Christadelphian, Platonic,
Old Moravian, Masonic,
Corybantic Christi-antic,
Ethic-culture Transatlantic,
Anabaptist, Neo-Buddhistj
Zoroastrian Talmudist,
Lao-tsean, Theosophic,
Table-rapping, Philosophic,
Media: val -Monkish Mystic,
Modern Mephistophelistic,
Hellenistic, Calvinistic,
Brahministic, Cabalistic,
Humanistic, Tolstoistic,
Rather Robert Elsmeristic,
Altruistic Hedonistic,
And Agnostic Manicluvan,
Worshipping the Galilean.
For with equal zeal I follow
Siva, Allah, Zeus, Apollo,
Mumlio Jumbo, Dngon, Brahma,
Buddha alias Gautamn,
2L
1
530 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Jahve, Juggernaut and Juno,
Plus some gods that but the few know—
Dzohl, Cannes, eke Potrimpos,
From Sclavonian Olympos.
Though I reverence the Mishna,
I can bend the knee to Krishna ;
I obey the latest mode in
Recognising Thor and Odin,
Just as freely as the Virgin ;
For the Pope and Mr. Spurgeon,
Moses, Paul, and Zoroaster,
Each to me is seer and master.
I consider Heine, Hegel,
Schopenhauer, Shelley, Schlegel,
Diderot, Savonarola,
Dante, Rousseau, Goethe, Zola,
Whitman, Renan (priest of Paris),
Transcendental Prophet Harris,
Ibsen, Carlyle, Huxley, Pater,
Each than nil the others greater.
And I read the Zend-Avesta,
Koran, Bible, Roman Gesta^
Ind's Upanischads and Spencer,
XVith affection e'er intenser.
For these many appellations
Of the gods of different nations,
/ believe — from Bel to Sun-god —
All at bottom cover one god.
Him I worship — dropping gammon—
And his mighty name is Mammon.
" You are very hard upon the century — or rather upon
the end of it," said Lillie.
" The century is dying unshriven," said the satirist
solemnly. " Its conscience must be stirred. Truly, was
there ever an age which had so much liglit and so little
rnE AkIIHMETtC AND PHYSIOLOGY OP LOVE 531
sweetness ? In the reckless fight for gold, Society has
become a mutual swindling association. Cupidity has
ousted Cupid, and everything is bought and sold."
" Except your poems. Lord Silverdale," laughed Lillie.
It was tit for the tat of his raillery of her mathematics.
Before his lordship had time to make the clever retort he
thought of next day, Turple the Magnificent brought in a card.
"Miss Winifred Woodpecker.?" said Lillie queryingly.
" I suppose it's another candidate. Show her in."
Miss Woodpecker was a tall, stately girl, of the kind that
passes for lilies in the flowery language of the novelists.
" Have I the pleasure of speaking to Miss Dulcimer ? "
" Yes, I am Miss Dulcimer," said Lillie.
" And where is the Old Maids' Club ? " further inquired
Miss Woodpecker, looking around curiously.
" Here," replied Lillie, indicating the epigrammatic anti-
macassars with a sweeping gesture. "No, don't go, Lord
Silverdale. Miss Woodpecker, this is my friend Lord
Silverdale. He knows all about the Club, so you needn't
mind speaking before him."
" Well, you know, I read the leader in the Hurrygraph
about your Club this morning."
" Oh, is there a leader ? " said Lillie feverishly. " Have
you seen it, Lord Silverdale?"
" I am not sure. At first I fancied it referred to the
Club, but there was such a lot about Ptolemy, Rosa Bon-
heur's animals, and the Panama Canal, I can hardly venture
to say what the leader itself was about. And so. Miss
Woodpecker, you have thought of joining our institution
for elevating female celibacy into a fine art?"
•' I wish to join at once. Is there any entrance fee ? "
" There is — experience. Have you had a desirable pro-
posal of marriage ? "
532 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" Eminently desirable."
" And still you do not intend to marry ? "
" Not while I live."
" Ah, that is all the guarantee we want," said Lord
Silverdale smiling. "Afterwards — ^in heaven — there is no
marrying nor giving in marriage."
"That is what makes it heaven," added Lillie. "But
tell us your story."
" It was in this way. I was staying at a seaside boarding-
house with a female cousin, and a handsome young man in
the house fell in love with me, and we were secretly engaged.
Then my mother came down. Immediately afterwards my
lover disappeared. He left a note for me containing
nothing but the following verses."
She handed a double tear-stained sheet of letter-paper to
the President, who read aloud as follows : —
A VISION OF THE FUTURE
"Well is it for man that he knoweth not what the future will bring forth."
She had a sweetly spiritual face,
Touched with a noble, stately grace,
Poetic heritage of race.
Her form was graceful, slim and sweet,
Her frock was exquisitely neat,
With airy tread she paced the street.
She seemed some fantasy of dream,
A flash of loveliness supreme,
A poet's visionary gleam.
And yet she was ol mortal birth,
A lovely child of lovely earth,
For kisses made and joy and mirth.
THK rKi:SF,NT AND THK 1 TTURi;,
534 THE CELIBATED' CLUB
Sweet whirling thoughts my bosom throng,
To link her life with mine I long,
And shrine her in immortal song.
I steal another glance — and lo !
Dread shudders through my being flow
My veins are filled with liquid snow.
Another form beside her walks,
Of servants and expenses talks, —
Her nose is not unlike a hawk's.
Her face is plump, her figure fat.
She's prose embodied, stout gone flat, —
A comfortable Persian cat.
Her life is full of petty fuss.
She wobbles like an omnibus,
And yet it was not always thus.
Alas for perishable grace !
How unmistakeably I trace
The daughter's in the mother's face.
Beneath the beak I see the nose,
The poetry beneath the prose,
The figure 'neath the adipose.
And so I sadly turn away :
How can I love a clod of clay,
Doomed to grow earthlier day by day?
Vain, vain the hope from Fate to flee.
What special Providence for me?
I know that what hath been will be.
Lillie and Silverdale looked at each other.
"Well but," said Lillie at last, "according to this he
refused you, not you him. Our rules "
•' You mistake me," interrupted Winifred Woodpecker ;
THE ARITHMETIC AND PHYSIOLOGY OF LOVE 535
'• when the first fit of anguish was over, I saw my Frank
was right, and I have refused all the offers I have had since
— five in all. It would not be fair to a lover to chain him
to a beauty so transient. In ten or twenty years from now
I shall go the way of all flesh. Under such circumstances
is not marriage a contract entered into under false pre-
tences ? There is no chance of the law of this country
allowing a time-limit to be placed in the contract ; celibacy
is the only honest policy for a woman."
Involuntarily Lillie's hand seized the candidate's and
gripped it sympathetically. She divined a sister soul.
"You teach me a new point of view," she said, "a finer
shade of ethical feeling."
Silverdale groaned inwardly ; he saw a new weapon going
into the anti-hymeneal armoury, and the Old Maids' Club
on the point of being strengthened by the accession of its
first member.
" The law will have to accommodate itself to these finer
shades," pursued Lillie energetically. " It is a rusty machine
out of harmony with the age. Science has discovered that
the entire physical organism is renewed every seven years,
and yet the law calmly goes on assuming that the new man
and the new woman are still bound by the contract of their
predecessors, and still possess the goodwill of the original
partnership. It seems to me if the short-lease principle
demanded by physiology is not to be conceded, there should
at any rate be provincial and American riglits in marriage
as well as London rights. In the metropolis the matri-
monial contract should hold good with A, in the country
with B, neither party infringing the other's privileges, in
accordance with theatrical analogy."
" That is a literal latitudinarianism in morals you will
never get the world to agree to," laughed Lord Silverdale,
536 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" At least not in theory ; we cannot formally sanction
theatrical practice."
" Do not laugh," said Lillie. " Law must be brought
more in touch with life."
" Isn't it rather vice versa ? Life must be brought more
in touch with law. However, if Miss Woodpecker feels
these fine ethical shades, won't she be ineligible ? "
" How so ? " said the President, in indignant surprise.
"By our second rule every candidate must be beautiful,
and undertake to continue so."
Poor little Lillie drooped her head.
And now it behoves to reveal to the world the jealously-
guarded secret of "The English Shakespeare," for how else
can the tale be told of how the Old Maids' Club was within
an ace of robbing him of his bride ?
CHAPTER XHI
"the ENGLISH SHAKESPEARE*'
By a thorough knowledge of the natural laws which govern
the operations of human nature, and by a careful application
of the fine properties of well-selected men, and a judicious
use of every available instrument of log-rolling, the Mutual
Depreciation Society gradually built up a constitution strong
enough to defy every tendency to disintegration. Hundreds
of subtle malcontents floated round, ready to attack wher-
ever there was a weak point, but foiled by ignorance of the
Society's existence, and the members escaped many a fatal
shaft by keeping themselves entirely to themselves. The
idea of the Mutual Depreciation Society was that every
«
THE ENGLISH SHAKESPEARE " 537
member should say what he thought of the others. The
founders, who all took equal shares in it, were
Tom Brown,
Dick Jones,
Harry Robinson.
Their object in founding the Mutual Depreciation Society
was of course to achieve literary success ; but they soon
perceived that their phalanx was too small for this, and
as they had no power without adding to their number,
they took steps to induce three other gentlemen to
solicit the privileges of membership. The second batch
comprised
Taffy Owen,
Andrew Mackay,
Patrick Boyle.
These six gentlemen being all blessed with youth, health,
and a moderate incompetence, resolved to capture the town.
Their tactics were simple, though their first operations were
hampered by ignorance of one another's ignorance. Thus,
it was some time before it was discovered that Mackay,
who had been deployed to seize the Saturday Slasher, had
no real acquaintance with the editor's fencing-master, while
Dick Jones, who had undertaken to bombard the Acadmim,
had started under the impression that the eminent critic to
whom he had dedicated his poems (by permission) was
still connected with the staff. But these difficulties were
eliminated as soon as the Society got into working order.
Everything comes to him who will not wait, and almost
before they had time to wink our six gentlemen had secured
the makings of an Influence. Each had loyally done his
best for himself and the rest, and the first spoils of the
538 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
campaign, as announced amid applause by the secretary at
the monthly dinner, were
Two Morning Papers,
Two Evening Papers,
Two Weekly Papers.
They were not the most influential, nor even the best-
circulated, still it was not a bad beginning, though, of
course, only a nucleus. By putting out tentacles in every
direction, by undertaking to write even on subjects with
which they were acquainted, they gradually secured a more
or less tenacious connection with the majority of the better
journals and magazines. On taking stock, they found that
the account stood thus :
Three Morning Papers.
Four Evening Papeni.
, Eleven Weekly Papers.
Thirteen London Letters.
Seven Dramatic Columns.
Six Monthly Magazines.
Thirteen Influences on Advertisements.
Nine Friendships with Eminent Editors.
Seventeen ditto with Eminent Sub-editors.
Six ditto with Lady Journalists.
Fifty-three Loans (at two-and-six each) to Pressmen.
One hundred and nine Mentions of Editors' Woman-
kind at Fashionable Receptions.
It showed what could be achieved by six men, working
together shoulder to shoulder for the highest aims, in a
spirit of mutual good-will and brotherhood. They were
undoubtedly greatly helped by having all been to Oxford or
(<
THE ENGLISH SHAKESPEARE " 539
Cambridge, but still much was the legitimate result of their
own manoeuvres.
By the time the secret campaign had reached this stage,
many well-meaning, unsuspecting men, not included in the
above inventory, had been pressed into the service of the
Society, with the members of which they were connected by
the thousand and one ties which spring up naturally in the
intercourse of the world, so that there was hardly any journal
in the three kingdoms on which the Society could not, by
some hook or crook, fasten a paragraph, if we except
such publications as the Neivgate Calendar and Lloyds^
Shipping List, which record history rather than make it.
Indeed, the success of the Society in this department was
such as to suggest the advisability of having themselves
formally incorporated under the Companies' Acts for the
manufacture and distribution of paragraphs, for which they
had unequalled facilities, and had obtained valuable con-
cessions, and it was only the publicity re(|uired by law
which debarred them from enlarging their home trade to a
profitable industry for the benefit of non-members. Por,
by the peculiar nature of the machinery, it could only be
worked if peoi)le were unaware of its existence. They
resolved, however, that when they had made their pile,
they would start the newspaper of the future, which any
philosopher with an eye to the trend of things can see will
be a journal written by advertisers for gentlemen, and will
contain nothing calculated to bring a blush to the check of
the young person except cosmetics.
Contemporaneously with the execution of one side of the
plan of campaign, the Society was working the supple-
mentary side. Day and night, week-days and Sundays, in
season and out, these six gentlemen praised themselves and
one another, or got themselves or one another praised by
540 THE CELT BATES' CLUB
non-members. There are many ways in which you can
praise an author, from blame downwards. There is the
puff categorical and the puff allusive, the lie direct and
the eulogy insinuative, the downright abuse and the subtle
innuendo, the exaltation of your man or the depression of
his rival. The attacking method of log-rolling must not be
confounded with depreciation. In their outside campaign,
the members used every variety of puff, but depreciation
was strictly reserved for their private gatherings. For this
was the wisdom of the club, and herein lay its immense
superiority over every other log-rolling club, that whereas in
those childish cliques every man is expected to admire every
other, or to say so, in the Mutual Depreciation Society the
obligation was all the other way. Every man was bound
by the rules to sneer at the work of his fellow-members,
and if he should happen to admire any of it, at least to
have the grace to keep his feelings to himself In practice,
however, the latter contingency never arose, and each was
able honestly to express all he thought, for it is impossible
for men to work together for a common object without
discovering that they do not deserve to get it. Needless to
point out how this sagacious provision strengthened them
in their campaign, for not having to keep up the tension of
mutual admiration, and being able to relax and breathe
(and express themselves) freely at their monthly symposia,
as well as to slang one another in the street, they were able
to write one another up with a clear conscience. It is well
to found on human nature. Every other basis proves
shifting sand. The success of the Mutual Depreciation
Society justified their belief in human nature.
Not only did they depreciate one another, but they
made reparation to the non- members they were always
trying to write down during business hours, by eulogising
" THE ENGLISH SHAJ^ESPEARE " 541
them in the most generous manner in those blessed hours
of leisure when knife answers fork, and soul speaks to soul.
At such times even popular authors were allowed to have a
little merit.
It was at one of these periods of soul-expansion, when
the most petty-souled feels inclined to loosen the last two
buttons of his waistcoat, that the idea of the English
Shakespeare was first mooted. But we are anticipating,
which is imprudent, as anticipations are seldom realised.
One of the worst features of prosperity is that it is cloying,
and when the first gloss of novelty and adventure had worn
off, the freelances of the Mutual Depreciation Society
began to bore one another. You can get tired even of
hearing your own dispraises ; and the members were com-
pelled to spice their mutual adverse criticism in the highest
manner, so as to compensate for its staleness. The jaded
appetite must needs be pampered if it is to experience any-
thing of that relish which a natural healthy hunger for
adverse criticism can command so easily. This was the
sort of thing that went on at the dinners : —
" I say, Tom," said Andrew Mackay, " what in Heaven's
name made you publish your waste-paper basket under the
name oi Stray Thoughts? For utter and incomprehensible
idiocy they are only surpassed by Dick's last volume of
poems. I shouldn't have thought such things could come
even out of a lunatic asylum, certainly not without a keeper.
Really you fellows ought to consider me a little "
"We do. We consider you as little as possible," they
interrupted simultaneously.
" It isn't fair to throw all the work on me," he went on.
" How can I go on saying that Tom Brown is the supreme
thinker of the time, the deepest intellect since Hegel, with
a gift of style that rivals Berkeley's, if you go on turning
S42
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
out twaddle that a copy-book would boggle at ? How
I keep repeating that for sure and consummate art,
can
for
0)^
R^'
r
= -7^,
\i
li
J 1
^^^1^
i,',,(^H-!p 1
,. v;-;:;:ig;'::-y ste^M'iSKSy:^
TOM BROWN, THE SUPREME THINKER.
unfailing certainty of insight, for unerring visualisation, for
" THE ENGLISH SHAKESPEARE » 543
objective subjectivity and for subjective objectivity, for
Swinburnian sweep of music and Shakespearean depth of
suggestiveness, Dick Jones can give forty in a hundred
(spot-stroke barred) to all other contemporary poets, if you
continue to vomit rhymes as false as your teeth, rhythms
as musical as your voice when you read them, and words
that would drive a drawing-room composer mad with envy
to set them ? I maintain it is not sticking to the bargain
to expose me to the danger of being found out. You
ought at least to have the decency to wrap up your fatuous-
ness in longer words or more abstruse themes. You're
both so beastly intelligible that a child can understand
you're asses."
"Tut, tut, Andrew," said Taffy Owen, "it's all very well
for you to talk who've only got to do the criticism. And I
think it's deuced ungrateful of you after we've written you
up into the position of leading English critic to want us to
give you straw for your bricks ! Do we ever complain
when you call us cataclysmic, creative, esemplastic, or even
epicene? We know it's rot, but we put up with it. A\'hen
you said that Robinson's last novel had all the glow and
genius of Dickens without his humour, all the ripe wisdom
of Thackeray without his social knowingncss, all the
imaginativeness of Shakespeare without his definiteness of
characterisation, we all saw at once that you were in-
cautiously allowing the donkey's ears to protrude too
obviously from beneath the lion's skin. But did any one
grumble ? Did Robinson, though the edition was sold out
the day after? Did I, though you had just called me a
modern IJuddhist, with the soul of an ancient Greek and the
radiant fragrance of a Cingalese tea-planter? I know these
phrases take the public, and I try to be patient."
"Owen is right," Harry Robinson put in emphatically.
544 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" When you said I was a cross between a Scandinavian
skald and a Dutch painter, I bore my cross in silence."
" Yes ; but what else can a fellow say, when you give the
public such heterogeneous and formless balderdash, that
there is nothing for it but to pretend it's a new style, an
epoch making work, the foundation of a new era in literary
art? Really I think you others have out and away the best
of it. It's much easier to write bad books than to eulogise
their merits in an adequately plausible manner ! I think
it's playing it too low upon a chap, the way you fellows
are going on. It's taking a mean advantage of my
position."
"And who put you into that position, I should like to
know ? " yelled Dick Jones, becoming poetically excited.
" Didn't we lift you up into it on the point of our
pens ?"
" Fortunately they were not very pointed," ejaculated the
great critic, wriggling uncomfortably at the suggestion. " I
don't deny that, of course. All I say is, you're giving me
away now."
"You give yourself away," shrieked Owen vehemently,
"with a pound of that Cingalese tea. How is it Boyle
manages to crack up our plays without being driven to any
of this new-fangled nonsense ? "
"Plays !" said Patrick, looking up moodily. "Anything
is good enough for plays. You see I can always fall back
on the acting, and crack up that. I had to do that with
Owen's thing at the Lymarket My notice read like a
gushing account of the play, — in reality it was all devoted to
the players. The trick of it is not easy. Those who can
read between the lines could see that there were only three
of them about the piece itself, and yet the outside public
would never dream I was shirking expressing an opinion
t( .
THE ENGLISH SHAKESPEARE " 545
about the merits of the play or pinnuig myself to any
definite statement. The only time, Owen, I dare say that
your plays are literature, is when they are a frost, for that
both explains the failure and justifies you. But, an' you
love me, Taffy, or if you have any care for my reputation,
do not, I beg of you, be enticed into the new folly of print-
ing your plays."
" But things have come to that stage, I mus^ do it," said
Owen, " or incur the suspicion of illiterateness."
"No, no!" pleaded Patrick, in horror, "Sooner than
that I will damn all the other printed plays en d/oc, and say
that the real literary playwrights, conscious of their position,
are too dignified to resort to this cheap method of self-
assertion. But you will not carry out your threat?
Remember how dangerously near you came to exposing me
over your Naquetie ! "
The Society laughed. Every one knew the incident, for it
was Patrick's stock grievance against the dramatist. Patrick,
being out of town, had written his eulogy of this play of
Owen's from his inner consciousness. On the fourth night,
being back in London, in deference to Owen's persuasions
he had gone to see Naquctte. After the tragedy, Owen
found him seated moodily in the stalls, long after the
audience had filed out.
" Knocked you, old man, this time, eh ? " queried Owen,
laughing complacently.
"Yes, all to pieces !" snarled Patrick savagely. " I shall
never believe in my critical judgment again. I dare not
look my notice in the face. When I wrote that Naqiieite
was a masterpiece, I thought at least there would be some
merit in it. I didn't bargain for such rot as this."
In this wise things would have gone on — from bad to worse
— had Heaven not created Cecilia nineteen years before.
2m
546
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Cecilia was a tall, fair girl, with dreamy blue eyes
and unpronounced opinions, who longed for the ineffable
with an unspeakable yearning.
Frank Grey loved her. He always knew he was going
to, and one day he did it. After that it was impossible to
"KNOCKED YOU, OLD MAN, THIS TIME, EH?"
drop the habit. And at last he went so far as to propose.
He was a young lawyer, with a fondness for manly sports
and a wealth of blonde moustache.
" Cecilia," he said, "I love you. Will yuu be mine?"
He had a habit of using unconventional phrases,
*' 7 HE ENGLISH SHAKESPEARE " 547
" No, Frank," she said gently, and there was a world
and several satellites of tenderness in her tremulous tones,
" It cannot be."
"Ah, do not decide so quickly," he pleaded. "I will
not press you for an answer."
" I would press you for an answer, if I could,'' replied
Cecilia, " but I do not love you."
"Why not?" he demanded desperately.
" Because you are not what I should like you to be."
" And what would you like me to be ? " he demanded
eagerly.
"If I told you, you would try to become it?"
" I would," he said enthusiastically. " Be it what it may,
I would leave no stone unturned. I would work, strive,
study, reform — anything, everything."
"I feared so," she said despondently. "That is why I
will not tell you. Don't you understand that your charm
to me is your being just yourself — your simple, honest,
manly self? I will not have my enjoyment of your individ-
uality si)oilt by your transmogrification into some unnatural
product of the forcing-house. No, Frank, let us be true to
ourselves, not to each other. I shall always remain your
friend, looking up to you as to something staunch, sturdy,
stalwart, coming to consult you (unprofessionally) in all my
difficulties. I will tell you all my secrets, Frank, so that
you will know more of me than if I married you. Dear
friend, let it remain as I say. It is for the best."
So Frank went away broken-hearted, and joined the
Mutual Depreciation Society. He did not care what
became of him. How they came to let him in was
thus. He was the one man in the world outside, who
knew all about them, having been engaged as the Society's
legal adviser. It was he who made their publishers and
548 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
managers sit in an erect position. In applying for a more
intimate connection, he stated that he had met with a
misfortune, and a httle monthly abuse would enliven him.
The Society decided that, as he was already half one of
themselves, and as he had never written a line in his life and
so could not diminish their takings, nothing but good could
ensue from the infusion of new blood. In fact, they wanted
it badly. Their mutual recriminations had degenerated
into mere platitudes. With a new man to insult and be
insulted by, something of the old animation would be
restored to their proceedings. The wisdom of the policy
was early seen, for the first fruit of it was "the English
Shakespeare," who for a whole year daily opened out new
and exciting perspectives of sensation and amusement
to a blase Society. Andrew Mackay had written an enthusi-
astic article in the so-called Nineteenth Century on "The
Cochin-China Shakespeare," and set all tongues wagging
about the new literary phenomenon, with whose verses the
boatmen of the Irrawadi rocked their children to sleep on
the cradle of the river, and whose dramas were played in
eight-hour slices in the strolling-booths of Shanghai. Andrew
had already arranged with Anyman to bring out a translation
from the original Cochin-Chinese, for there was no language
he could not translate from, provided it were sufificiently
unknown to need his patronage.
" Cochin-Chinese Shakespeare, indeed ! " said Dick Jones
at the next symposium. " Why, judging from the copious
extracts you gave from his greatest drama. Baby Bantatn,
it is the most tedious drivel. You might have written it
yourself. Where is the Shakespearean quality of this,
which is, you say, the whole of Act thirteen : —
Hang-ho. Out, does your mother, Fu-sia, know you are?
Fu-siA. I have no mother, but I have a child."
«
THE ENGLISH SHAKESPEARE "
549
" Where is the Shakespearean quahty ? " repeated Andrew.
" Do you not feel the perfect pathos of these two lines, the
infiniteness of incisive significance ? To me they paint
-At *•
"SHE TOLD ME SHE COULDN'T SLEEP TILL SHE HAD KKAD IT."
the whole scene in two strokes of matchless simplicity,
strophe and antistrophe. Fu-sia, the repentant outcast, and
Hang-ho, whose honest love she rejected, stand out as in a
5SO THE CELIBATES' CLUB
flash of lightning. Nay, Shakespeare himself never wrote an
act of such tragic brevity, packed so full of the sense of
avajK-rj. Why, so far from it being tedious drivel, a lady,
in whose opinion I have great confidence, and to whom I
sent my article, told me afterwards that she couldn't sleep
till she had read it."
The Mutual Depreciation Society burst into a roar of
laughter, and Andrew realised that he had put his foot
in it.
" Don't you think it a shame," broke in Frank Grey,
"that we English are debarred from having a Shakespeare?
There's been one discovered lately in Belgium, and we
have already a Dutch Shakespeare, a French, a Cuban, a
German, a Scandinavian, and an American Shakespeare.
English is the only language in which we can't get one. It
seems cruel that we should be just the one nation in the
world to be cut off from having a nineteenth -century
Shakespeare. Every patriotic Briton must surely desire
that we could discover an English Shakespeare to put
beside these vaunted foreign phenomena."
" But an ' English Shakespeare ' is a bull," said Patrick
Boyle, who had a keen eye for such,
" Precisely — a John Bull," replied Frank.
" Peace ! I would willingly look out for one," said
Andrew Mackay thoughtfully. " But I cannot venture to
insinuate yet that Shakespeare did not write English. The
time is scarcely ripe, though it is maturing fast. Otherwise,
the idea is very tempting."
"But why take the words in their natural meaning?"
demanded Tom Brown, the philosopher, in astonishment.
" Is it not unapparent that an English Shakespeare would
be a great writer more saturated with Anglo-Saxon spirit
than Shakespeare, who was cosmic and for all time and for
" THE ENGLISH SHAKESPEARE " 551
every place ? Hamlet, Othello, Lady Macbeth— these are
world-types, not English characters. Our English Shake-
speare must be more autochthonous, more chauvinist, more
provincial, or more l?or?i/', if you like to put it that way.
His scenes must be rooted in English life, and his person-
ages must smack of English soil."
There was much table-thumping when the philosopher
ceased.
" Excellent ! " cried Andrew. " He must be found. It
will be the greatest boom of the century. But whom can
we discover ? "
"There is John P. Smith," said Tom Brown.
"No. Why John P. Smith? He has merit," objected
Taffy Owen. " And then, he has never been in our
set."
" And besides, he would not be satisfied," said Patrick
Boyle.
"That is true," said Andrew Mackay reflectively. "I
know, Owen, you would like to be the subject of the
discovery. But 1 am afraid it is too late. I have taken
your measurements and laid down the chart of your genius
too definitely to alter now. You are permanently established
in business as the dainty Neo-Hellenic Buddhist who has
chosen to express himself through farcical comedy. If you
were just starting life, I could work you into this English
Shakespeardom — I am always happy to put a good thing in
the way of a friend ; but at your age it is not easy to go
into a new line."
"Well, but," put in Harry Robinson, "if none of us
is to be 'the English Shakesi)eare,' why should we give
over the appointment to an outsider? Charity begins at
home."
" That IS a difficulty," admitted Andrew, puckering his
552 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
brow. •' It brings us to a standstill. Seductive, there-
fore, as the idea is, I am afraid it has occurred to us too
late."
They sat in thoughtful silence. Then suddenly Frank
Grey flashed in with a suggestion that took their breath
away for a moment, and restored it to them charged with
" bravos " the moment after.
" But why should he exist at all ? "
Why, indeed ? The more they pondered the matter, the
less necessity they saw for it.
"Ton my honour, Grey, you are right," said Andrew.
"Right as Talleyrand when he told the thief who insisted
that he must live, '■Mais, vwnsieur, ie ti'en vols pas la
nkessiie.'"
"It's an inspiration ! " said Tom Brown, moved out of his
usual apathy. "We all remember how Whately proved
that the Emperor Napoleon never existed — and the plaus-
ible way he did it. How few persons actually saw the
Emperor ! How did even these know that what they saw
was the Emperor? Conversely, it should be as easy as
possible for us six to put a non-existent English Shakespeare
on the market. You remember what Voltaire said of God,
that if there were none it would be necessary to invent
Him. In like manner, patriotism calls upon us to invent
' the English Shakespeare.' "
"Yes ; won't it be awful fun ?" said Patrick Boyle.
The idea was taken up eagerly, the modus operandi
was discussed, and the members parted effervescing with
enthusiasm, and anxious to start the campaign immedi-
ately.
" The English Shakespeare" was to be named " Fladpick,"
a cognomen which, once seen, would hook itself on to the
memory.
" THE ENGLISH SHAKESPEARE " 553
The very next day a leading article in the Daily Herald
casually quoted Fladpick's famous line :
Coffined in English yew, he sleeps in peace.
And throughout the next month, in the most out-of-the-
way and unlikely quarters, the word " Fladpick " lurked and
sprang upon the reader. Lines and phrases from Fladpick
were quoted. Gradually the thing worked up, gathering
momentum on its way, and going more and more of itself,
like an ever-swelling snowball, which needed but the first
push down the mountain-side. Soon a leprosy of Fladpick
broke out over the journalism of the day. The very office-
boys caught the infection, and in their book reviews they
dragged in Fladpick with an air of antediluvian acquaint-
ance. Writers were said not to possess Fladpick's imagina-
tion, though they might have more sense of style ; or they
were said not to possess Fladpick's sense of style, though
they might have more imagination. Certain epithets and
tricks of manner were described as quite Fladpickian ; while
others were mentioned as extravagant and as disdained by
writers like, say, Fladpick. Young authors were paternally
invited to mould themselves on Fladpick, while others were
contemptuously dismissed as mere imitators of Fladpick.
By this time Fladpick's poetic dramas began to be asked
for at the libraries, but the libraries said they were all out.
This increased the demand so much, that the libraries told
their subscribers they must wait till the new edition, which
was being hurried through the press, was published. When
things had reached this stage, queries about Fladpick
appeared in the literary and professionally inquisitive
papers, and answers were given with reference to the
editions of Fladpick's book. It began to leak out that
he was a young Englishman, who had lived all his life in
554 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Tartary, and that his book had been published by a local
firm, and enjoyed no inconsiderable reputation among the
English Tartars there, but that the copies which had found
their way to England were extremely scarce, and had come
into the hands only of a few cognoscenti, who, being such,
were enabled to create for him the reputation he so
thoroughly deserved. The next step in the campaign was
to contradict this ; and the press teemed with biographies
and counter -biographies. Dazzler also wired numerous
interviews, but an authoritative statement was inserted in
the Acad((:U!N, signed by Andrew Mackay, stating that they
were unfounded, and paragraphs began to appear detailing
how Fladpick spent his life in dodging the interviewers.
Anecdotes of Fladpick were highly valued by editors of
newspapers, and very plenteous they were, for Fladpick
was known to be a cosmopolitan, always sailing from pole
to pole, and caring little for residence in the country of
which he yet bade fair to be the Laureate. These anecdotes
girdled the globe even more quickly than their hero, and
they returned from foreign parts bronzed and almost unre-
cognisable, to set out immediately on fresh journeys in
their new guise. A parody of one of his plays was inserted
in a comic paper, and it was bruited abroad that Andrew
Mackay was collaborating with him in preparing one of his
dramas for representation at the Independent Theatre.
This set the older critics by the ears, and they protested
vehemently in their theatrical columns against the infamous
ethics propagated by the new writer, quoting largely from
the specimens of his work given in Mackay's article in the
Fortnightly Cofitemporary . Patrick, who wrote the dramatic
criticism for seven papers, led the attack upon the audaci-
ous iconoclast. Journalesia was convulsed by the quarrel,
and even young ladies asked their partners in the giddy
" THE ENGLISH SHAKESPEARE " 555
waltz whether they were Fladpickites or Anti-Fladpickites.
You could never be certain of escaping Fladpick at dinner,
for the lady you took down was apt to take you down by
her contempt for your ignorance of Fladpick's awfully sweet
writings. Any amount of people promised one another intro-
ductions to Fladpick, and those who had met him enjoyed
quite a reflected reputation in Belgravian circles. As to the
Fladpicknic parties, which brother-genuises like Dick Jones
and Harry Robinson gave to the great writer, it was next to
impossible to secure an invitation to them, and comparatively
few boasted of the privilege. Fladpick reaped a good deal of
kudos from refusing to be lionised, and preferring the society
of men of letters like himself, during his rare halting
moments in England. Long before this stage, Mackay
had seen his way to introducing the catch -word of the
conspiracy, "the English Shakespeare." He defended
vehemently the ethics of the great writer, saying they were
at core essentially at one with those of the great nation
from whence he sprang, and whose very life-blood had
passed into his work. This brought about a reaction, and
all over the country the scribblers hastened to do justice
to the maligned writer, and an elaborate analysis of his
most subtle characters was announced as having been
undertaken by Mr. Patrick Boyle. And when it was stated
that he was to be included in the Contemporary Men of
Letters Series, the advance orders for the work were far in
advance of the demand for Fladi)ick's actual writings.
" Shakespearean," " the English Shakespeare," was now
constantly used in connection with his work, and even the
most hard-worked reviewers promised themselves to skim
his book in their next summer holiday. About this time,
too, Dazzler unconsciously helped the Society, by announ-
cing that Fladpick was dying of consumption in a snow-hut
556 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
in Greenland, and it was felt that he must either die or go
to a warmer climate, if not both. The news of his phthisic
weakness put the seal upon his genius, and the great heart
of the nation went out to him in his lonely snow -hut,
but returned on learning that the report was a canard.
Still, the danger he had passed through endeared him to
his country, and within a few months, Fladpick, the
English Shakespeare, was definitely added to the glories of
the national literature, founding a whole school of writers
in his own country, attracting considerable attention on the
Continent, and being universally regarded as the centre of
the Victorian Renaissance.
But this was the final stage. A little before it was
reached, Cecilia came to Frank Grey to pour her latest
trouble into his ear, for she had carefully kept her promise
of bothering him with her most intimate details, and the
love-sick young lawyer had listened to her petty psychology
with a patience which would have brought him in consider-
able fees if invested in the usual way. But this time the
worry was genuine.
"Frank," she said, "I am in love."
The sword of Damocles had fallen at last, sundering them
for ever.
*' With whom ? " he gasped.
"With Mr. Fladpick!"
" * The English Shakespeare ! ' "
" The same."
" But you have never seen him ? "
" I have seen his soul. I have divined him from his
writings. I have studied Andrew Mackay's essays on him.
I feel that he and I are in rapport."
" But this is madness."
" I know it is. I have tried to fight against it. I have
(( .
THE ENGLISH SHAKESPEARE " 557
applied for admission to the Old Maids' Club, so as to stifle
my hopeless passion. Once I have joined Miss Dulcimer's
Society I shall perhaps find peace again."
" Great heavens ! Think ! Think before you take this
terrible step. Are you sure it is love you feel, not admira-
tion ? "
" No ; it is love. At first I thought it was admiration,
and probably it was, for I was not likely to be mistaken in
the analysis of my feelings, in which I have had much
practice. But gradually I felt it efflorescing and sending
forth tender shoots, clad in delicate green buds, and a sweet
wonder came upon me, and I knew that love was struggling
to get itself born in my soul. Then suddenly the news
came that he I loved was ill, dying in that lonely snow-
hut in grim Greenland, and then, in the tempest of grief
that shook me, I knew that my life was bound up with his.
Watered by my hot tears, the love in my heart bourgeoned
and blossomed like some strange tropical passion-flower,
and when the reassuring message that he was strong and
well flashed through the world, I felt that if he lived not
for me the universe were a blank, and next year's daisies
would grow over my early grave." She burst into tears.
" A great writer has always been the ideal which I would
not tell you of It is the one thing I have kept from you.
But, O Frank ! Frank ! he can never be mine. He will
probably never know of my existence, and the most I can
ever hope for is his autograph. To-morrow I shall join the
Old Maids' Club, and then all will be over."
A paroxysm of hopeless sobs punctuated her remarks.
It was a terrible position. Frank groaned inwardly. How
was he to explain to this fair young thing that she loved
nobody, and could never hope to marry him ? There was
no doubt that, with her intense nature and her dreamy blue
"HE I l.UVEU WAS DYING IN OKIOENLAND,
" TFIE ENGLISH SHAKESPEARE " 559
eyes, she would pine away and die. Or worse, she would
live to be an Old Maid. He made an effort to laugh it off.
"Tush ! '■' he said, "all this is mere imagination. I don't
believe you really love anybody."
" Frank ! " She drew herself up, stony and rigid, the
warm tears on her poor white face frozen to ice. " Have
you nothing better than this to say to me, after I have
shown you my inmost soul?"
The wretched young lawyer's face returned from white to
red. He could have faced a football team in open combat,
but these complex psychical positions were beyond the
healthy young Philistine.
"For — orgive me," he stammered. "I — I — am I—
that is to say Fladpick. Oh, how can I explain what 1
mean ? "
Cecilia sobbed on. Every sob seemed to stick in Frank's
own throat. His impotence maddened him. ^^'as he to
let the woman he loved fret herself to death for a shadow ?
And yet to undeceive her were scarcely less fLital. He could
have cut out the tongue that first invented Fladpick. Verily,
his sin was finding him out.
"Why can you not explain what you mean?" wept
Cecilia.
" Because I— oh, hang it all ! — because I am the cause of
your grief."
" You ?" she said. A strange wonderful look came into
her eyes. The thought shot from her eyes to his and
dazzled them.
Yes ! Why not ? Why should he not sacrifice himself
to save this delicate creature from a premature tomb ?
Why should he not become "the English Shakespeare"?
True, it was a heavy burden to sustain, but what will a man
not dare or suffer for the woman he loves ? Moreover, wag
56o THE CELIBATES' CLUB
he not responsible for Fladpick's being, and thus, Hke
another Frankenstein, for all the evil done by him. He
had employed Fladpick for his own amusement, and the
Employers' Liability Act was heavy upon him. The path of
abnegation, of duty, was clear. He saw it, and he went for
it then and there, — went, like a brave young Englishman,
to meet his marriage !
" Yes, I," he said. " I am glad you love Fladpick."
" Why ? " she murmured breathlessly.
" Because I love you."
" But — I — do — not — love — you," she said slowly.
"You will, when I tell you it is I who have provoked
your love."
" Frank, is this true ? "
" On my word of honour as an Englishman."
" You are Fladpick ? "
" If I am not, he does not exist. There is no such person."
*' Oh, Frank, this is no cruel jest ? "
" Cecilia, it is the sacred truth. Fladpick is nobody, if
he is not Frank Grey."
" But you never lived in Tartary?"
" Of course not. All that about Fladpick is the veriest
poetry. But I did not mind it, for nobody suspected me.
ril introduce you to Andrew Mackay himself, and you
shall hear from his own lips how the newspapers have lied
about Fladpick."
" My noble, modest boy ! So this was why you were
so embarrassed before ! But why not have told me that
you were Fladpick ? "
" Because I wanted you to love me for myself alone."
She fell into his arms.
" Frank— Frank — Fladpick, my own, my English Shake-
speare," she sobbed ecstatically.
" THE ENGLISH SHAKESPEARE " 561
At the next meeting of the Mutual Depreciation Society,
a bombshell, in a stamped envelope, was handed to Mr.
Andrew Mackay. He tore open the envelope, ana tne
explosion followed — as follows : —
"Gentlemen, — I hereby beg to tender the resignation
of my membership in your valued Society, as well as to
anticipate your objections to my retaining the post of legal
adviser I have the honour to hold. I am about to marry.
The cynic will say I am laying the foundation of a Mutual
Depreciation Society of my own. But this is not the
reason of my retirement. That is to be sought in my
having accepted the position of ' the English Shakespeare '
which you were good enough to open up for me. It would
be a pity to let the pedestal stand empty. From the
various excerpts you were kind enough to invent — especi-
ally from the copious extracts in Mr. Mackay's articles — I
have been able to piece together a considerable body of
poetic work, and by carefully collecting every existing
fragment, and studying the most authoritative expositions
of my aims and methods, I have constructed several
dramas, much as Professor Owen reconstructed the mas-
todon from the bones that were extant. As you know, I
had never written a line in my life before, but, by the
copious aid of your excellent and genuinely helpful criticism,
I was enabled to get along without much difficulty. I
find that to write blank verse you have only to invert the
order of the words, and to keep on your guard against
rhyme. You may be interested to know that the last line
in the last tragedy is :
Coffined in English yew, he sleeps in peace.
When written, I got my dramas privately printed with a
2n
562 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Tartary trade-mark, after which I smudged the book, and
sold the copyright to Makemillion & Co. for ten thousand
pounds. Needless to say, I shall never write another book.
In taking leave of you, I cannot help feeling that, if I owe
you some gratitude for the lofty pinnacle to which you have
raised me, you are also not unindebted to me for finally
removing the shadow of apprehension that must have
haunted you in your sober moments, — I mean, the fear of
being found out. Mr. Andrew Mackay, in particular, as the
most deeply committed, I feel owes me what he can never
hope to repay, for my gallantry in filling the mantle designed
by him, whose emptiness might one day have been exposed,
to his immediate downfall. — I am, gentlemen, your most
sincere and humble depredator,
'The English Shakespeare.''"'
CHAPTER XIV
THE OLD YOUNG WOMAN AND THE NEW
"Providence has granted what I dared not hope for,"
wrote Cecilia to the President.
" If she had hoped for it, Providence would not have
granted it," interpolated the Honorary Trier.
" This is hardly the moment for jesting," said LiUie, with
marked pique.
" Pardon me. The moment for jesting is surely when
you have received a blow. In a happy crisis jesting is a
waste of good jokes. The retiring candidate does not state
what Providence has granted, does she ? "
" No," said Lillie savagely. " She was extremely reticent
THE OLD YOUNG WOMAN AND THE NEW 563
about her history — reticent almost to the point of indiscre-
tion. But I daresay it's a husband."
"Oh, then it can hardly be Providence that has granted
it," said Silverdale.
" Providence is not always kindly," said Lillie, laughing.
The gibe at Benedicts restored her good humour, and when
the millionaire strolled into the Club she did not imme-
diately expel him.
" Well, Lillie," he said, " when are you going to give the
soiree to celebrate the foundation of the Club ? I am staying
in town expressly for it."
"As soon as possible, father. I am only waiting for some
more members."
"Why, have you any difficulty about getting enough?
I seem always to be meeting young ladies on the stair-
cases."
" We are so exclusive."
"So it seems. You exclude even me," grumbled the
millionaire. " I can't make out why you are so hard to
please. A more desirable lot of young ladies I never wish
to see. I should never have believed it possible that such
a number of pretty girls would be anxious to remain single,
merely for the sake of a principle."
" You see ! " said Lillie eagerly. " We shall be a standing
proof to men of how little they have understood our sex."
" Men do not need any proof of that," remarked Lord
Silverdale dryly.
This time it was Lillie whom Tur[)le the Magnificent
prevented from making the retort which was not on the tip
of her tongue.
" A gentleman who gives his name as a lady is waiting in
the ante-room," he announced.
They all stared hard at Turple the Magnificent, almost
564 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
tempted to believe he was joking, and that the end of the
world was at hand.
But the countenance of Turple the Magnificent was as
stolid and expressionless as a Bath bun. He might have
been beaming behind his face, possibly even the Old Maids'
Club tickled him vastly, so that his mental midriff was agit-
ated convulsively; but this could not be known by outsiders.
Lillie took the card he tendered her, and read aloud :
'"Nelly Nimrod.'"
" Nelly Nimrod ! " cried the Honorary Trier ; " Why, that's
the famous girl who travelled from Charing Cross to China-
Tartary on an elephant, and wrote a book about it under
the name of ' Wee Winnie.' "
" Shall I show him in ? " interposed Turple the Magni-
ficent.
" Certainly," said Lillie eagerly. " Father, you must go."
" Oh no ! Not if it's only a gentleman."
" It may be only no lady," murmured Silverdale.
Lillie caught the words, and turned upon him the dusky
splendours of her fulminant eyes.
'■'■ Et tu Brute!'' she said. "Do you, too, hold that
false theory that womanliness consists in childishness ? "
"No; nor that other false theory that it consists in man-
liness," retorted the Honorary Trier.
The entry of Nelly Nimrod put an end to the dispute.
In the excitement of the moment no one noticed that the
millionaire was still leaning against an epigram.
" Good morning. Miss Dulcimer, I am charmed to make
your acquaintance," said Wee Winnie, gripping the Presi-
dent's soft hand with painful cordiality. She was elegantly
attired in a white double-breasted waistcoat, a Zouave
jacket, a check-tweed skirt, gaiters, a three-inch collar, a
tri-corner hat, a pair of tanned gloves, and an eyeglass. In
THE OLD YOUNG WOMAN AND THE NEW 565
her hand she carried an ebony stick. Her hair was parted
at the side. Nelly was nothing if not original, so that when
the spectator looked down for the divided skirt he was
astonished not to find it. Wee Winnie, in fact, considered
it ungraceful, and divide et iinpera a contradiction in terms.
She was a tall girl, and looked handsome even under the
most masculine conditions.
" I am happy to make yours," returned the President.
" Is it to join the Old Maids' Club that you have called ? "
" It is. Wherever there is a crusade, you will always find
me in the van. I don't jjrecisely know your objects yet,
but any woman who strikes out anything new commands
my warmest sympathies."
" Be seated. Miss Nimrod. Allow me to introduce Lord
Silverdale, an old friend of mine."
"And of mine," replied Nelly, bowing, with a sweet
smile.
"Indeed?" cried Lillie, flushing.
" In the spirit, only in the spirit," said Nelly. " His
lordship's Poems of Passion formed my sole reading in the
deserts of China-Tartary."
" In the letter, you should say, then," said the peer. " By
the way, you are confusing me with a minor poet — Silver-
plume — and his book is not called Poems of Passion^ but
Poems of Compassion."
" Oh, well, there isn't much difference," said Nelly.
" No ; according to the proverb, Compassion is akin to
Passion," admitted Silverdale.
" Well, Miss Nimrod," put in Lillie, " our object is
easily defined. We are an association of young and beauti-
ful girls devoted to celibacy, in order to modify the meaning
of the term ' old maid.'"
Nelly Nimrod started up enthusiastically. " Bravo, old
566 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
girl!" she cried, slapping the President on the back. "Put
me down for a flag. I catch the conception of the cam-
paign. It is magnificent."
" But it is not war," said Lillie deprecatingly. " Our
methods are peaceful, unaggressive. Our platform is merely
metaphorical. Our lesson is the self-sufficiency of spinster-
hood. We preach it by existing."
" Not exist by preaching it," added Silverdale. " This
is not one of the cliques of the shrieking sisterhood."
"What do you mean by the term shrieking sisterhood ? "
said Nelly indignantly. " I use it to denote the mice-
fearing classes."
" Hear, hear," said Lillie. " Miss Nimrod, it is true that
our members are required not to exhibit in public, but only
because that is a part of the old unhappy signification of
' old maid.' "
"I quite understand. You would not call a book a
public exhibition of one's self, I suppose ? "
"Certainly not; if it is an autobiography," said Silverdale.
" That's all right, then. My book is autobiographical."
" I knew a celebrity once," said Silverdale, " a dread-
fully shy person. All his life he lived retired from the world,
and even after his death he concealed himself behind an
autobiography."
Lillie frowned at these ironical insinuations, though Miss
Nimrod appeared impervious to them.
" I have not concealed myself," she said simply. " All
I thought and did is written in my book."
" I liked that part about the flea," murmured the
millionaire.
" What's that ? I didn't catch that," said Nelly, looking
round in the direction of the voice.
" Good gracious, father, haven't you gone ? " cried Lillie,
THE OLD YOUNG WOMAN AND THE NEW 567
no less startled. " It's too bad. You are spoiling one of
my best epigrams. Couldn't you lean against something
else ? "
Before the millionaire could be got rid of, Turple the
Magnificent re-appeared.
" A lady who gives the name of a gentleman," he said.
The assemblage pricked up its ears.
" What name ? " asked Lillie.
" Miss Jack, she said."
"That's her surname," said Lillie, in a disappointed
tone.
Turple the Magnificent stood reproved a moment, then
he went out to fetch the lady. The gathering was already
so large that Lillie thought there was nothing to be gained
by keeping her waiting.
Miss Jack proved to be an extremely eligible candidate,
so far as appearances went. She bowed stiffly on being
introduced to Miss Nimrod.
" May I ask if that is to be the uniform of the Old
Maids' Club ? " she inquired of the President. " Because
if so, I am afraid I have made a mistaken journey. It is
as a protest against unconventional females that I designed
to join you."
" Is it to me you are referring as an unconventional
female ? " asked Miss Nimrod, bridling up.
" Certainly," replied Miss Jack, with exquisite politeness.
" I lay stress upon your sex, merely because it is not
obvious."
" Well, I am an unconventional female, and I glory in
it," said Nelly Nimrod, seating herself astride the sofa. "I
did not expect to hear the provincial suburban note struck
within these walls. I claim the right of every woman to
lead her own life in her own toilettes."
568
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" And a pretty life you have led ! "
" I have, indeed ! " cried Miss Nimrod, goaded almost
to o:atory by Miss Jack's taunts. " Not the ugly, unlovely
life of the average woman. I have exhausted all the sensa-
f. H U'-Ajrc^o ,■
"IS THAT THE UNIFORM OF THF. OLD MAIDS' CLUB?"
tions which are the common guerdon of youth and henlth
and high spirits, and which have, for the most part, been
selfishly monopolised by man. The splendid audacity of
youth has burnt in my veins, and fired me to burst my
7 HE OLD YOUNG WOMAN AND THE NEW 569
swaddling clothes and strike for the emancipation of my sex.
I have not merely played cricket in a white shirt and lawn
tennis in a blue serge skirt, I have not only skated in low-
heeled boots and fenced in black knee-breeches, but I have
sailed the seas in an oil-skin jacket and a sou'-wester, and
swum them in nothing, and walked beneath them in the
diver's mail. I have waded after salmon in long boots,
and caught trout in tweed knickerbockers and spats. Nay
more ! I have proclaimed the dignity of womanhood upon
the moors; and shot grouse in brown leather gaiters and
a sweet Norfolk jacket with half-inch tucks. But this is
not the climax. I have "
" Yes, I know. You are Wee Winnie. You travelled
alone from Charing-Cross to China-Tartary. I have not
read your book, but I have heard of it."
" And what have you heard of it ? "
" That it is in bad taste."
" Your remark is in worse," interposed Lillie severely.
" Ladies, ladies," murmured Silverdale. " This is the
first time we have had two of them in the room together,"
he thought. " I suppose, when the thing is once started,
we shall change the name to the Kilkenny Cats' Club."
" In bad taste, is it ? " said Miss Nimrod, promptly
whipping a book out of her skirt pocket. " Well, here is
the book — if you can find one passage in bad taste, I'll —
I'll delete it in the next edition. There !"
She pushed the book into the hands of Miss Jack, who
took it rather reluctantly.
"What's this?" asked Miss Jack, pointing to a weird
illustration.
" That's a picture of me on my elephant, sketched by
myself Do you mean to say there's any bad taste about
that ? "
570
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" Oh no ; I merely asked for information. I didn't know
what animal it was."
" You astonish me," said the artist. " Have you never
been to a circus ? Yes, this is Mumbo Jumbo himself."
"Surely, Miss Jack," said Lord Silverdale gravely, "you
must have heard, if you have not read, how Miss Nimrod
chartered an elephant, packed up her kodak and a few
bonnet-boxes, and rode him on the curb through Central
Asia. But may I ask.
Miss Nimrod, why you
did not enrich the book
with more sketches ?
There is only this one.
All the rest are kodaks."
" Well, you see, Lord
Silverdale, it's simpler
to photograph."
" Perhaps. But your
readers miss the artistic
quality that pervades this
sketch. I am glad you
made an exception in
its favour."
" Oh, only because
one can't kodak one's
WEE WINNIK ON HER TRAVELS.
self. Everything else I caught as I flew past."
" Ah. Did you catch many Tartars ? "
" Hundreds. I destroyed most of them."
" By the way, you did not come across Mr. Fladpick in
Tartary ? "
" ' The English Shakespeare ' ? Oh yes ! I lunched with
him. He is charm "
" Ah, here is the flea ! " interrupted Miss Jack.
THE OLD YOUNG WOMAN AND THE NEW 571
The millionaire started as if he had been stung.
" I won't have it taken apart from the context, I warn
you — that wouldn't be fair," said Miss Nimrod.
" Very well, I will read the whole passage," said Miss
Jack. " ' Mumbo Jumbo bucked violently {see Illustration),
but I settled myself tightly on the saddle, and gave myself
up to meditations on the vanity of life-guardsmen. Mumbo
Jumbo seemed, however, determined to have his fling, and
bounded about with the agility of an indiarubber ball. At
last his convulsions became so terrific, that I grew quite
nervous about my fragile bonnet-boxes. They might easily
dash one another to bits. I determined to have leather
hat-boxes the next time I travelled in untrodden paths.
" Steady, my beauty, steady," I cried. Recognising my
familiar accents, my pet eased a little. To pacify him
entirely, I whistled " Ba, ba, ba, boodle-dee " to him, but
his contortions recommenced, and became quite grotesque.
First he lifted one paw high in the air, then he twirled his
trunk round the corner, then the first paw came down with
a thud that shook the desert, while the other three paws
flew up towards the sky. It suddenly occurred to me that
he was dancing to the air of " Ba, ba, ba, boodle-dec,"
and I laughed so loud and long that any stray Mahatma,
who happened to be smoking at the door of his cave in the
cool of the evening, must have thought me mad. But
while I was laughing, Mumbo Jumbo continued to stand
upon his tail, so that I saw it could not be *' Ba, ba, ba,
boodle-dec " he was suffering from. I wondered whether
perhaps he could be teething — or should I say, tusking ! I
do not know whether elephants get a second set, or whether
they cut their wisdom tusks, but as they are so sagacious I
suppose they do. Suddenly the consciousness of what was
really the matter with him flashed sharply upon my brain.
572 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
I looked down upon my hand, and there, poised lightly
yet firmly, like a butterfly upon a lily, was a giant flea.
Instantly, without uttering a single cry or reeling in i y
saddle, I grasped the situation, and, coolly seizing the noxious
insect with my other hand, I choked the life out of him,
while Mumbo Jumbo cantered along in restored calm. The
sensitive beast had evidently been suffering untold agonies.'"
" Now, Lord Silverdale," said Miss Nimrod, " I appeal to
you. Is there anything in that passage in the least calcu-
lated to bring a blush to the cheek of the young person ? "
" No, there is not," said his lordship emphatically.
" Only I wish you had caught that flea with your kodak."
" Why ? " said Miss Nimrod.
" Because I have always longed to see him. A flea that
could penetrate the pachydermatous hide of an elephant
must have been indeed a monster. In England we only see
that sort under microscopes. They seem to thrive nowhere
else. Yours must have been one that had escaped from
under the lens. He was magnified three thousand diameters,
and he never recovered from it. You probably took him
over in your trunk."
" Oh no, I'm sure I didn't," protested Miss Nimrod.
" Well, then, Mumbo Jumbo did in his."
" Excuse me," interposed Miss Jack. " We are getting
off the point. I did not say the passage was calculated to
raise a blush. I said it was a grave error of taste."
" It is a mere flea-bite," broke in the millionaire im-
patiently. " I liked it when I first read it, and I like it now
I hear it again. It is a touch of nature that brings the
Tartary traveller home to every fireside."
"Besides," added Lord Silverdale. "The introduction
of the butterfly and the lily makes it quite poetical."
"Ladies and gentlemen," interposed the President at last,
THE OLD YOUNG WOMAN AND THE NEW 573
" we are not here to discuss entomology or sesthetics. You
stated, Miss Jack, that you thought of joining us as a
protest against female unconventionality."
" I said unconventional females," persisted Miss Jack.
" Even so I do not follow you," said Lillie.
" It is extremely simple. I am unable to marry because
I have a frank nature, not given to feigning or fawning. I
cannot bring a husband what he expects now-a-days in awife."
"What is that.?" inquired Lillie curiously.
" A chum," answered Miss Jack. " Formerly a man
wanted a wife — now he wants a woman to sympathise with
his intellectual interests, to talk with him intelligently about
his business, discuss politics with him — nay, almost to smoke
with him. Tobacco for two is destined to be the ideal of
the immediate future. The girls he favours are those who
flatter him by imitating him. It is women like Wee Winnie
who have depraved his taste. There is nothing the natural
man craves less for than a clever learned wife. Only he
has been talked over into believing that he needs intellec-
tual companienship, and now he won't be happy till he gets
it. I have escaped politics and affairs all my life, and I am
determined not to marry into them."
" What a humiliating confession ! " sneered Miss Nimrod.
"It's a pity you don't wear doll's clothes."
" I claim for every woman the right to live her own life
in her own toilette," returned Miss Jack. " The sneers
about dolls are threadbare. I have watched these intellec-
tual camaraderies, and I say they are a worse injustice to
woman than any you decry."
"That sounds a promising paradox," muttered Lord
Silverdale.
"The man expects the woman to talk politics — but he
refuses to take a reciprocal interest in the woman's sphere
574 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
of work. He will not talk nursery or servants. He will
preach economy, but he will not talk it."
"That is true," said Lillie, impressed. "What reply
would you make to that. Miss Nimrod ? "
" There is no possible reply," said Miss Jack hurriedly.
" So much for the mock equality which is the cant of the
new husbandry. How stands the account with the new
young womanhood ? The young ladies who are clamouring
for equality with men want to eat their cake and to have it
too. They want to wear masculine hats, yet to keep them
on in the presence of gentlemen ; to compete with men in
the market-place, yet to take their seats inside omnibuses
on wet days and outside them on sunny \ to be 'pals ' with
men in theatres and restaurants, and shirk their share of
the expenses. I once knew a girl named Miss Friscoe
who cultivated Platonic relations with young men, but
never once did she pay her half of the hansom."
" Pardon me," interrupted Wee Winnie. " My whole life
gives the lie to your superficial sarcasm. In my anxiety to
escape these obvious objurgations, I have even, I admit
it, gone to the opposite extreme. I have made it a point
to do unto men as they would have done unto me, if I had
not anticipated them. I always defray the bill at the
restaurants, buy the stalls at the box-office, and receive the
curses of the cabman. If I see a young gentleman to the
train, I always get his ticket for him and help him into the
carriage. If I convoy him to a ball, I bring him a button-hole,
compliment him upon his costume, and say soft nothings
about his moustache ; while, if I go to a dance alone, I
stroll in about one in the morning, survey mankind through
my eye-glass, loll a few minutes in the doorway, then go
down-stairs to interview the supper, and, having sated my-
self with chicken, champagne, and trifle, return to my club.
THE OLD YOUNG WOMAN AND THE NEW 575
"To your club?" exclaimed the millionaire.
" Yes — do you think the Old Maids' is the only one in
London ? Mine is the Lady Travellers' — do you know it,
Miss Dulcimer?"
"No — o," said Lillie shamefacedly. "I only know the
Writers' ! "
"Why, are you a member of that? I'm a member too.
It's getting a great club now, what with Ellaline Rand
(Andrew Dibdin, you know), and Frank Maddox, and Lillie
Dulcimer. , Wonder we haven't met there."
" I'm so taken up with my own club," explained Lillie.
" Naturally ; but you must come and dine with me some
evening at the Lady Travellers' — snug little club — much
cosier than the Junior Widows', and they give you a better
bottle of wine, and then the decorations are so sweetly pretty.
The only advantage the Junior Widows' has over the Lady
Travellers' is the lovely smoking-room lined with mirrors,
which makes it much nicer when you have men to dinner.
I always ask them there."
"Why, are you allowed to have men?" asked Miss Jack.
"Certainly — in the dining and smoking rooms. Then of
course there are special gentlemen's nights. We get down a lot
ofmusic-hall talent, just to letthem haveapeepinto Bohemia."
" But how can you be a member of the Junior Widows' ? "
asked the millionaire.
"Oh, I'm not an original member. But when they were
in want of funds, they let a lot of married women and girls
in, without asking questions."
" I suppose, though, they all look forward to becoming
widows in time ? " observed Silverdale cheerfully.
"Oh no," replied Miss Nimrod emphatically. "I don't
say that if they hadn't let me in, the lovely smoking-room
lined with mirrors mightn't have tempted me to marry, so as
576 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
to (jualify myself. But as it is, thank Heaven, I'm an old
maid for life. Why should I give up my freedom and the
comforts of my club, and saddle myself with a husband, who
would want to monopolise my society, and who would
be jealous of my bachelor friends and want me to cu
them, who would hanker to read my letters, and who would
watch my comings and goings, and open my parcels of
cosmetics, marked * confectionery ' ? Doubtless in the bad
old times, which Miss Jack has the ineptitude to regret,
marriage was the key to comparative freedom ; but in these
days, when woman has at last emancipated herself from the
thraldom of mothers, it would be the height of folly to
replace them by husbands. Will you tell me. Miss Jack,
what marriage has to offer to a woman like me?"
" Nothing," replied Miss Jack.
" Aha ! You admit it ! " cried Miss Nimrod triumphantly.
" Why should I embrace a profession to which I feel no call ?
Marriage has practically nothing to offer any independent
woman except a trousseau, wedding presents, and the
jealousy of her female friends. But what are these weighed
against the cramping of her individuality } Perhaps even
children come to fetter her life still more, and she has
daughters who grow up to be younger than herself. No, the
future lies with the Old Maid — the woman who will retain
her youth and her individuality till death, who dies but does
not surrender. The ebbing tide is with you, Miss Jack;
the flowing tide is with us. The Old Maids' Club will be
the keystone of the arch of the civilisation of to-morrow,
and Miss Dulcimer's name will go down to posterity linked
with "
" Lord Silverdale's," said the millionaire.
" Father ! what are you saying ? " murmured Lillie,
abashed before her visitors.
THE OLD YOUNG WOMAN AND THE NEW 577
" I was reminding Miss Nimrod of the part his lordship
has played in the movement. It is not fair posterity should
give you all the credit."
" I have done nothing for the Club — nothing," said the
peer modestly.
" And I will do the same," said Miss Jack. " I came here
under the delusion that I was going to associate myself with
a protest against the defeminisation of my sex, with a band of
noble women who were resolved never to marry till the good
old times were restored, and marriages became true marriages
once more. But instead of that I find — Wee Winnie."
"You are, indeed, fortunate beyond your deserts," replied
that lady. "You may even hope to encounter a suitable
husband some day."
" I do hope," said Miss Jack frankly. " But I will never
marry till I meet a thoroughly conventional man."
"There I have the advantage of you," said Miss Nimrod.
" I shall never marry till I meet a thoroughly ?^«conven-
tional man."
" A thoroughly unconventional man would never want to
marry at all," said Lillie.
" Of course not. That is the beauty of the situation.
That is the paradox which guarantees my spinsterhood.
Well, I've had a charming afternoon, Miss Dulcimer, but I
must really run away now. I hate keeping men waiting,
and I have an appointment with a couple of friends at the
Junior Widows'. Such fun ! While riding in the park
before lunch, I met Guy Fledgely out for a constitutional
with his father, the baronet. I asked Guy to have a chop
at the club with me this evening, and what do you think ?
The baronet coughed and looked at Guy meaningly, and
Guy blushed and hummed and hawed and looked sheepish,
and at last gave me to understand he never went out to dine
20
THE OLD YOUNG WOMAN AND THE NEW 579
with a lady unless accompanied by his father. So I had to
ask the old man too. Isn't it awful ? By the way, Miss Jack,
I should be awfully delighted if you would join our party."
" I thank you. Wee Winnie," said Miss Jack disdainfully.
" But think how thoroughly conventional the baronet is !
He won't even let his son go out without a chaperon."
"That is true," admitted Miss Jack, visibly impressed.
" He is about the most conventional man I ever heard of"
"A widower, too," pursued Miss Nimrod, pressing her
advantage. ,
Miss Jack hesitated.
" And he dines seven sharp at the Junior Widows'."
"Ah, then there is no time to lose," said Miss Jack.
They went out arm in arm.
" Have you seen Patrick Boyle's poem in the Playgoers'
Review " ? asked Lillie, when the Club was clear.
" You mean the great dramatic critic's ? No, I haven't seen
it; but I have seen extracts and eulogies in every paper."
" I have it here complete," said Lillie. " It is quite
interesting to find there is a heart beneath the critic's waist-
coat. Read it aloud. No, you don't want the banjo !"
Lord Silverdale obeyed. The poem was entitled
CRITICUS IN STAI3ULIS(?).
Rallying-point of all playgoers earnest,
Packed with incongruous types of humanity,
Easily pleased, yet of critics the sternest,
Crudely ignoring that all things are vanity,
Pit, in thee laughter and tears blend in medley-
Would I could sit in thy cosy concavity !
No ! to the stalls I am drawn, to the deadly
Centre of gravity.
5So THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Florin, or shilling, or sixpence admission,
Often I've paid in my raw juvenility,
Purchasing Banbury cakes in addition,
ninger-beer, too, to my highest ability.
Villains I hissed like a venomous gander.
Virtue I loved next to cheesecakes or chocolate
No7i< no atrocity raises my dander,
No crime can shock o' late.
Then I could dote on a red melodrama,
Now I demand but limelight on Philosophy,
Learned allusions to Buddha and Brahma,
Science and Faith and a touch of Theosophy
Farces I slate, on Burlesque I am scathing.
Pantomime shakes for a week my serenity ;
Nothing restores my composure but bathing
Deep in Ibsenity.
Actors were gods to my boyish devotion,
Actresses angels — in tights and low bodices :
Drowned is that pretty and puerile notion.
Thrown overboard in the first of my Odysseys.
Syrens may sing submarine fascinations,
Adult Ulysses remains analytical,
Flat notes recording, or reedy vibrations,
Tranquilly critical.
Here in the stalls we are stiff as if starch, meant
Only for shirt-fronts, to faces had mounted up ;
Dowagers' wills may be read on their parchment,
Beautiful busts on your thumbs may be counted up
Girls in the pit are remarkably rosy.
Each claspt by lover who passes the paper-bag :
Here I can't even, the girls are so prosy.
One digit taper bag.
Yet could I sit in the pit of the Surrey,
Munching an orange or spooning with 'Arriet ,•
Sadly I fear I should be in no hurry
Backward to drive my existence's chariot.
THE MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISER 581
"Squeezes" are ill compensated by crushes —
Stalls may be dull, but they're jolly luxurious ;
Really the way o'er past joys we can gush is
Awfully curious !
Life is a chaos of comic confusion,
Past things alone take a halo harmonious ;
So from illusion we wake to illusion,
Each as the rest just as true and erroneous.
Fin de Steele I am, and so be it !
Here's to the problems of sad sociology !
This is my weird, — like a man I must dree it,
Great is chronology !
Even so, once the great drama allured me,
Which we all play on the stage universal ;
"Going behind" the "green" curtain has cured me,
All my hope now is 'tis not a rehearsal.
Still I've played on ; to old men's parts I grew from
Juvenile lead, as I'd risen from small-boy ;
So I'll play on till I get my last cue from
Death, the old call-boy.
" Hum, not at all bad," concluded Lord Silverdale. " 1
wonder who wrote it."
CHAPTER XV
THE MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISER
Junior Widows' Club,
Alidnij^kt.
"Dear Miss Dulcimer, — Just a line to tell you what a
lovely evening we have had. The baronet seemed greatly
taken with Miss Jack, and she with him, and they behaved
582 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
in a most conventional manner. Guy and I were able to
have a real long chat, and he told me all his troubles. It
appears that he has just been thrown over by his promised
bride, under circumstances of a most peculiar character. I
gave him the sympathy he needed, but at the same time
thought to myself, Aha ! here is another member for the
Old Maids' Club. You rely on me — I will build you up a
phalanx of Old Maids that shall just swamp the memory ot
Hippolyte and her Amazons. I got out of Guy the name
and address of the girl who jilted him. I shall call upon
Miss Sybil Hotspur the first thing in the morning, and if I
do not land her, my name is not — Yours cheerily,
' Wee Winnie." "
"This may be awkward," said the Honorary Trier,
returning the letter to the President. " Miss Nimrod seems
to take her own election for granted."
"And to think that we are anxious for members," added
Lillie.
"Well, we ought to have somebody to replace Miss
Jack," said Silverdale, with a suspicion of a smile. " But
do you propose to accept Wee Winnie ? "
" I don't know — she is certainly a remarkable girl. Such
originality and individuality ! Suppose we let things sHde
a little."
" Very well ; we will not commit ourselves yet by saying
anything to Miss Nim "
" Miss Nimrod," announced Turple the Magnificent.
" Aha ! here we are again ! " cried Wee Winnie. " How
are you, everybody ? How is the old gentleman ? Isn't he
here ? "
" He is very well, thank you, but he is not one of us,"
said Lillie.
THE MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISER 583
" Oh ! Well, anyhow, I've got another of us."
"Miss Sybil Hotspur?"
"The same. I found her raging like a volcano."
"What — smoking?" queried Silverdale.
"No, no, she is one of the old sort. She merely fumes,"
said Wee Winnie, laughing as if she had made a joke.
" She was raving against the infidelity of men. Poor Guy !
How his ears must have tingled. He has sent her a long
explanation, but she laughs it to scorn. I persuaded her
to let you -see it — it is so quaint."
"Have you it with you?" asked Lillie eagerly. Her
appetite for tales of real life was growing by what it fed upon.
" Yes, here is his letter, several quires long. But before
you can understand it, you must know how the breach
came about."
" Lord Silverdale, pass Miss Nimrod the chocolate
creams. Or would you like some lemonade ? "
" Lemonade, by all means," replied Wee Winnie, taking
up her favourite attitude astride the sofa; "with just a
wee drappie of whiskey in it, if you please. I daresay I
shall be as dry as a lime-kiln before I've finished the story
and read you this letter."
Turple the Magnificent duly attended to Miss Nimrod's
wants. Whatever he felt, he made no sign. He was
simply Turple the Magnificent.
"One fine day," said Wee Winnie, "or rather, one day
that began fine, a merry party made an excursion into the
country. Sybil Hotspur and her fiance Guy Fledgely (and
of course the baronet) were of the party. After picnicing
on the grass, the party broke into twos till tea-time. The
baronet was good enough to pair off with an unattached
young lady, and so Sybil and Guy were free to wander
away into a copse. The sun was very hot, and the young man
584 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
had not spared the fizz. First he took off his coat to be
cooler, then with an afterthought he converted it into a
pillow, and went to sleep.
" Meantime Sybil, under the protection of her parasol,
steadily perused one of Addiper's early works, chaster in
style than in substance, and sneering in exquisitely chiselled
epigrams at the weaknesses of his sex. Sybil stole an
involuntary glance at Guy — sleeping so peacefully like a
babe in the wood, with the squirrels peeping at him trust-
fully. She felt that Addiper was a jaundiced cynic — that
her Guy, at least, would be faithful unto death. At that
instant she saw a folded sheet of paper on the ground near
Guy's shoulder. It might have slipped from the inner
pocket of the coat on which his head was resting, but if
it had she could not put it back without disturbing his
slumbers. Besides, it might not belong to him at all. She
picked up the paper, opened it, and turned pale as death.
This is what she read :
*' ' Manager of Daily Hurrygraph. — Please insert en-
closed series in order named on alternate days, commencing
to-day week. Postal order enclosed.'
'" I. Dearest, dearest, dearest, — Remember the grotto. —
POPSY.'
" ' 2. Dearest, dearest, dearest, — This is worse than
silence. Sobs are cheap to-day. — Popsy.'
" ' 3. Dearest, dearest, dearest, — Only Anastasia and the
dog. Thought I should have died. Cruel heart hope on.
The white band of hope. Watchman, what of the night?
Shall we say 11. 15 from Paddington, since the sea will not
give up its dead ? I have drained the dregs. The rest is
silence. Answer to-morrow, or I shall dree my weird. —
PoPSY.'
THE MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISER
585
"There was no signature to the letter, but the writing
was that which had hitherto borne to poor Sybil the daily
assurances of her lover's devotion. She looked at the
sleeping traitor so savagely that he moved uncomfortably
even in his sleep. Like a serpent that scrap of paper had
entered into her Eden, and she put it in her bosom that it
"DEAREST IS YOU," HE SAID, WITH A GHASTLY SMII.E.
might sting her. Unnoticed, the shadows had been
lengthening, the sky had grown grey — as if in harmony
with her blighted hopes. Roughly she roused the sleeper,
and hastily they wended their way back to the rendezvous,
to find tea just over and the rush to the station just
beginning. There was no time to talk till they were
586 THE CEIJ BATES' CLUB
seated face to face in the railway carriage. The party had
just caught the train, and, bundUng in anyhow, had become
separated. Sybil and Guy were alone again.
" Then Sybil plucked from her breast the serpent, and held
it up.
" ' Guy ! ' she said, ' what is this ? '
" He turned pale. ' VV — w — here did you get that from ? '
he stammered.
" ' What is this ? ' she repeated, and read in unsympathetic
accents, ' Dearest, dearest, dearest, — Remember the grotto.
— Popsy.'
" ' Who is dearest ? ' she continued.
"'You, of course,' he said, with ghastly playfulness.
" ' Indeed ? Then allow me to say, sir, I ivill remember
the grotto. I shall never forget it, Popsy. If you wish to
communicate with me, a penny postage stamp is, I believe,
adequate. Perhaps I am also Anastasia? to say nothing of
the dog. Or shall we say the 11.15 from Paddington, —
Popsy ? '
" ' Sybil darling,' he broke in piteously, ' give me back
that paper; you wouldn't understand.'
"Sybil silently replaced the serpent in her bosom, and
leant back haughtily.
" ' I can explain all,' he cried wildly.
" * I am listening,' Sybil said.
" * The fact is — I — I ' The young man flushed and
stammered. Sybil's pursed lips gave him no assistance.
" ' It may seem incredible — you will not believe it'
"Sybil made no sign.
" ' I — I — am the victim of a disease.'
" Sybil stared scornfully.
" ' I — I — don't look at me like that, or I can't tell you.
I — I — I didn't like to tell you before, but I always knew
THE MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISER 587
you would have to know some day. Perhaps it is better it
has come out before our marriage. Listen ! '
"The young man leant over and breathed solemnly in
her ear, ' / suffer frofn an hereditary tendency to advertise in
the Agony Column.^
" Sybil made no reply. The train drew up at a station.
Without a word Sybil left the carriage and rejoined her
friends in the next compartment."
" What an extraordinary excuse ! " exclaimed Lillie.
"So Sybil thought," replied Wee Winnie. "From that
day to this — almost a week — she has never spoken to him.
And yet Guy persists in his explanation — even to me, which
is so superfluous that I am almost inclined to believe in its
truth. At any rate, I will now read you his letter :
• ••>•••
" Dear Sybil, — Perhaps for the last time I address you
thus, for if, after reading this, you still refuse to believe me,
I shall not trespass upon your patience again. But for the
sake of our past love I beg you to read what follows in a
trusting spirit — and if not in a trusting spirit, at least to read
it. It is the story of how my father became a baronet,
and when you know that you will perhaps learn to pity and
to bear with me.
" When a young man my father was bitten by the passion
for contributing to the Agony Column. Some young men
spend their money in one way, some in another ; this was
my father's dissipation. He loved to insert mysterious
words and sentences in the advertisement columns of the
newspapers, so as to enjoy the sensation of giving food for
speculation to a whole people. To sit cjuietly at home,
and with a stroke of the pen influence the thoughts of
millions of his countrymen — this gave my father the keenest
satisfaction. When you come to analyse it, what more does
S88 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
the greatest author do ? The Agony Column is the royal
road to successful authorship, if the publication of fiction in
leading newspapers be any test of success ; for my father
used sometimes to conduct whole romances by correspond-
ence, after the fashion of the then reigning Wilkie Collins.
And the Agony Column is also the most innocuous medium
for satisfying that craze for supplying topics of conversation
which sometimes leads people to crime. I make this
analysis to show you that there was no antecedent impro-
bability about what you seem to consider a wild excuse.
The desire to contribute to this department of journalism is
no isolated psychical freak ; it is related to many other
manifestations of mental activity, and is perfectly intelligible.
But this desire, like every other, may be given its head till
it runs away with the whole man. So it was with my father.
He began — half in fun — with a small advertisement, one
insertion. Unfortunately — or fortunately — he made a little
hit with it. He heard two men discussing it in a cafe.
The next week he tried again — unsuccessfully this time, so
far as he knew. But the third advertisement was again
a topic of conversation. Even in his own office (he was
training for an architect) he heard the fellows saying, Did
you see that funny advertisement this morning :
Be careful not to break the baby ?
" You can imagine how intoxicating this sort of thing is,
and how the craving for the secret enjoyment it brings may
grow on a man. Gradually my father became the victim of
a passion fiercer than the gambler's, yet akin to it. For he
never knew whether his money would procure him the
gratification he yearned for or not ; it was all a fluke. The
most promising mysteries would attract no attention, and
even a carefully planned novelette, that ran for a week with
THE MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISER 5S9
as many as three characters intervening, would fall still-
born upon the tapis of conversation. But every failure
only spurred him to fresh effort. All his spare coin, all his
savings, went into the tills of the newspaper cashiers. He
cut down his expenses to the uttermost farthing, living
abstemiously and dressing almost shabbily, and sacrificing
everything to his ambition. It was lucky he was not in a
bank ; for he had only a moderate income, and who knows
to what he might have been driven ?
" At last my father struck oil.
"Tired of the unfruitful field of romance, whose best
days seemed to be over, my father returned to that
rudimentary literature which pleases the widest number
of readers, while it has the never-failing charm of the
primitive for the jaded disciples of culture. He wrote only
polysyllabic unintelligibilities.
" Thus for a whole week, in every morning Agony
Column, he published in large capitals the word :
Paddlepintospheroskedaddepoid.
"This was an instantaneous success. But it was only
a succes d'esiime. People talked of it, but they could not
remember it. It had no seed of permanence in it. It
could never be more than a nine days' wonder. It was
an artificial, esoteric novelty that might please the cliques,
but could never touch the masses. It lacked the simplicity
of real greatness, that unmistakeable elemental cachet which
commends things to the great heart of the people. After
a bit, this dawned upon my father ; and, profiting by his
experience, he determined to create something which should
be immortal.
" For days he racked his brains, unable to please him-
self. He had the critical fastidiousness of the true artist,
and his ideal ever hovered before him, unseizable.
S90 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Grotesque words floated about him in abundance ; every
current of air brought him new suggestions ; he lived in a
world of strange sounds. But the great combination came
not.
" Late one night, as he sat brooding by his dying fire,
there came a sudden rapping at his chamber door. A flash
of joy illumined his face. He started to his feet.
" ' I have it ! ' he cried.
" ' Have what ?' said his friend Marple, bursting into the
room without further parley.
" ' Influenza,' surlily answered my father, for he was not
to be caught napping ; and Marple went away hurriedly.
Marple was something in the City. The two young men
were great friends, but there are some things which cannot
be told even to friends. It was not influenza my father had
got. To his fevered onomatopoetic fancy Marple's quick
quadruple rap had translated itself into the word
Olotutu.
*' At this hour of the day, my dear Sybil, it is superfluous
to say anything about this word, with which you have
been familiar from your cradle. It has now been before
the public over a quarter of a century, and it has long since
won immortality. Little did you think when we sat in the
railway carriage yesterday, that the ' Olotutu ' that glared at
you from the partition was the far-away cause of the cloud
hanging over our lives. But it may be interesting to you
to learn that in the early days many people put the accent
on the second syllable, whereas, as all the world now knows,
the accent is on the first, and the ' o ' of ' ol ' is short.
When my father lound he had set the Thames on fire,
he was almost beside himself with joy. At the office, the
clerks, in the intervals of wondering about 'Olotutu,'
wondered if he had come into a fortune. He determined
THE MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISER 591
to follow up his success ; to back the winning word ; to
consecrate his life to 'Olotutu'; to put all his money on it.
Thenceforward, for the next three months, you very rarely
opened a paper without seeing the word 'Olotutu.' It
stood always by itself, self-complete and independent, rigid
and austere, in provoking sphinx-like solitude.
" Sybil, imagine to yourself my father's rapture ! To be
the one man in all England who had the clue to the enigma
of ' Olotutu ! ' At last the burden of his secret became
intolerable. He felt he must breathe a hint of it, or die.
One night, while Marple was smoking in his rooms, and
wondering about 'Olotutu,' my father proudly told him
all.
" ' Great heavens ! ' exclaimed Marple. ' Tip us your
flipper, old man. You are a millionaire !'
" ' A what ? ' gasped my father.
" ' A millionaire ! '
'• ' Are you a lunatic ? '
" ' Are you an idiot ? Don't you see that there is a
fortune in " Olotutu ? " '
" ' A fortune ! How ? '
" * By bringing it out as a Joint-Stock Company,'
'"But — but you don't understand. "Olotutu" is
only ■
" ' Only an income for life,' interrupted Marple excitedly.
' Look here, old boy, I'll get you up a syndicate to run it
in twenty-four hours.'
" ' Do you mean to say ?'
" ' I mean to do. I'm an ass not to quietly annex it all
to myself; but I always said I was too honest for the City.
Give me "Olotutu," and we'll divide the profits. Glory
Hooray ! '
" He capered about the floor wildly
592 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
"'But what profits? Where from?' asked my father,
still unenlightened ; for, outside architecture, he was a
green-horn.
"Marple sang the ' Ba, ba, ba, boodle-dee' of the day,
and continued his wild career.
" My father seized him by the throat, and pushed him
into a chair.
" ' Speak, man ! ' he cried agitatedly. ' Stop your tom-
foolery, and talk sense.'
" * I am talking cents — which is better,' said Marple
with a boisterous burst of laughter. 'A word that all
the world is talking about is a gold mine — a real gold
mine I mean, not one on a prospectus. Don't you see
that "Olotutu" is a household word, and that everybody
imagines it is the name of some new patent something
which the proprietor has been keeping dark ? I did myself.
When at last " Olotutu " is put upon the market, it will
come into the world under the fierce light that beats upon
a boom, and it will be snapped up like currant cake at a
tea-fight. Why, Nemo's Fruit Pepper, which has been on
every hoarding for twenty years, is not half so much talked
about as "Olotutu." What you have achieved is an
immense preliminary advertisement — and you were calmly
thinking of stopping there ! — within sight of Pactolus ! '
" ' I had achieved my end,' replied my father, with
dignity. ' Art for art's sake — I did not work for money.'
" ' Then you refuse half the profits ? '
" ' Oh no, no ! If the artist's work brings him money, he
cannot help it. I think I catch your idea now. You wish to
put some commodity upon the market attached to the name
of "Olotutu." We have a pedestal but no statue, a cloak
but nothing to cover.'
" ' We shall have plenty to cover soon,' observed Marple,
THE MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISER §§3
winking. And he sat himself unceremoniously at my
writing-desk, and began scribbling away for dear life.
" ' I suppose, then,' went on my father, ' we shall have to
get hold of some article and manufacture it?'
" ' Nonsense,' jerked Marple. 'Where are we to get the
capital from ? '
" ' Oh, I see. You will get the syndicate to do it ? '
" ' Good gracious, man ! ' yelped Marple. ' Do you
suppose the syndicate will have any capital ? Let me
write in peace.'
"'But who is going to manufacture "Olotutu," then?'
persisted my father.
" ' The British public, of course,' thundered Marple.
My father was silenced. The feverish scratching of Marple's
pen continued, working my father up to an indescribable
nervous tension.
" ' But what will " Olotutu " be ? ' he inquired at last. ' A
patent medicine, a tobacco, a soap, a mine, a tea, a comic
paper, a beverage, a tooth powder, a hair restorer?'
" ' Look here, old man ! ' roared Marple. ' How do you
expect me to bother about details ? This thing has got to
be worked at once. The best part of the company season
is already over. But "Olotutu" is going to wake it up.
Mark my words. The shares of " Olotutu " will be at a pre-
mium on the day of issue. Another sheet of paper, quick.'
" ' What for ? '
" ' I want to write to a firm of Chartered Accountants
and Valuers to give an estimate of the profits.'
" ' An estimate of the profits ? '
" ' Don't talk like a parrot ! '
" ' But how can they estimate the profits ? '
" ' How ? What do you suppose they're chartered for ?
You or I couldn't do it, of course not. But it's the
2p
594
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
business of accountants. That's what they're for. Pass me
more writing-paper — reams of it ! '
" Marple spent the whole of that night writing letters to
what he called his tame guinea-pigs ; and the very next
day, large bills, bearing the solitary word 'Olotutu,' were
pasted up all over London, till the public curiosity mounted
THE PUBLIC CURIOSITY MOUNTED TO FRENZY.
to frenzy. The bill-posters earned many a half-crown by
misinforming the inquisitive. Marple worked like a horse.
First he drew up the Prospectus, leaving blanks for the
Board of Directors of the Company, then he filled up the
blanks. It was not easy. One lord was only induced to
THE MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISER 595
serve by Marple's convincing representations of the good
' Olotutu ' would do to the masses. When the Board was
complete, Marple had still to get the syndicate, iVom which
the Directors were to acquire ' Olotutu,' but he left that
till the end, knowing there would be no difficulty there.
I have never been able to gather from my father exactly
what went on, nor does my father profess to know exactly
himself, but he tells with regret how he used to worry
Marple daily by inquiring if he had yet decided what
* Olotutu ' was to be, as if Marple did not have his hands
full enough without that. Marple turned round on him one
day, and shrieked, ' That's your affair, not mine. You're
selling " Olotutu " to me, aren't you ? I can't be buyer
and seller too.' This, by the way, does not seem to be
so impossible as it sounds, for, according to my father,
when the Company came out, Marple bought and sold
' Olotutu ' in the most mysterious manner, rigging the
market, watering the shares, cornering the bears, and doing
other extraordinary things, each and all at a profit. He was
not satisfied with his share of the price paid for ' Olotutu '
by the syndicate, nor with his share of the enormously
higher price paid to the syndicate by the public, but went in
for Stock Exchange manoeuvres six-deep, coming out an easy
winner on Settling Day. One of my father's most treasured
collections is the complete set of proofs of the Prospectus.
It went through thirteen editions before it reached the public.
No author could revise his book more lovingly than Marple
revised that Prospectus. What tales printers could tell, to be
sure ! The most noticeable variations in the text of my
father's collection are the omission or addition of ciphers.
Some of the editions have ;!^i 20,000 for the Share Capital of
the Company, where others have ^1,200,000, and others
;;^i 2,000. Sometimes the Directors appear to have extenu-
59& THE CELIBATES' CLUB
ated 'nought, 'sometimes to have set down 'nought' in malice,
As for the number of Debenture Shares, the amounts to be
paid up on allotment, the contracts with divers obscure
individuals, the number of shares to be taken up by the
Directors, and the number to be accepted by the Vendors in
part payment — these vary indefinitely ; but in no edition, not
even in those still void of the names of the Directors, do the
profits guaranteed by the Directors fall below twenty-five per
cent. Sometimes the complex and brain-baffling calcula-
tions that fill up page 3 result in a bigger profit, sometimes
in a smaller, but they are always cheering to contemplate.
There is not very much about ' Olotutu ' even in the last
edition, but from the very first there is a great deal about
the power of the Company to manufacture, import, export,
and deal in all kinds of materials, commodities, and articles
necessary for and useful in carrying on the same ; to carry
on any other operations or business which the Company
may from time to time deem expedient in connection
with its main business for the time being; to purchase,
take in exchange, or on lease, hire, or otherwise, in any part
of the world, for any estate or interest, any lands, factories,
buildings, easements, patent rights, brands, and trademarks,
concessions, privileges, machinery, plant, stock-in-trade,
utensils, necessary or convenient for the purposes of the
Company ; or to sell, exchange, let or rent royalty, share
of profits, or otherwise use and grant licences, easements,
and other rights of and over, and in any other manner deal
with or dispose of the whole or any part of the undertaking,
business, or property of the Company, and in consideration
to accept cash or shares, stock, debenture, and securities
of any company, whose objects are or include objects
similar to those of the Company.
" The actual nature of ' Olotutu ' does not seem to have
THE MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISER 597
been settled till the ninth edition, but all the editions
include the Analyst's Report, certifying that 'Olotutu'
contains no injurious ingredients, and is far purer and
safer than any other (here there was a blank in the first
eight editions) in the market. From this it is evident that
Marple had made up his mind to something chemical,
though it is equally apparent that he kept an open mind as
regards its precise character, for in the ninth edition the
blank is filled up with 'tooth-powder,' in the tenth with
'meat-extract,' in the eleventh with ' hair-dye,' in the twelfth
with ' cod-liver oil,' and it is only in the thirteenth edition
that the final decision seems to have been arrived at in
favour of • soap.' This, of course, my dear Sybil, you
already know. Indeed, if I mistake not, ' Olotutu, the
only absolutely scentless soap in the market,' is your own
pet soap. I hope it will not shock you too much if I tell
you in the strictest confidence that, except in price, stamp,
and copious paper-wrapping, 'Olotutu' is simply bars of
yellow soap chopped small. It was here, perhaps, that
Marple's genius showed to the highest advantage. The
public was overdone with patent scented soaps ; there
seemed something unhealthy or at least molly-coddling
about their use ; the time was ripe for a return to the rude
and the primitive. ' Absolutely scentless ' became the trade-
mark of 'Olotutu,' and the public, being absolutely senseless
{pace my dear Sybil), somehow concluded that because the
soap was devoid of scent it was impregnated with sanitation.
" Is there need to prolong the story ? My father, so un-
expectedly enriched, abandoned architecture, and married
almost immediately. Soon he became the idol of a popular
constituency, and, voting steadily with his party, was made
a baronet. I was born a few months after the first dividend
was announced. It was a dividend of thirty-three percent. ;
598 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
for ' Olotutu ' had become an indispensable adjunct to every
toilet-table, and the financial papers published leaders boast-
ing of having put their clients up to a good thing, and 'Olo-
tutu' was on everybody's tongue and got into everybody's eyes.
'' Can you wonder, then, that I was born with a con-
genital craving for springing mysteries upon the public?
can you still disbelieve that I suffer from a hereditary
tendency to advertise in the Agony Column ?
" At periodic intervals an irresistible prompting to force
uncouth words upon the universal consciousness seizes me ;
at other times I am driven to beguile the public with
pseudo - sensational communications to imaginary person-
ages. It was fortunate my father early discovered my
penchant, and told me the story of his life, for I think the
very knowledge that I am the victim of heredity helps me
to defy my own instincts. No man likes to feel he is the
shuttlecock of blind forces. Still they are occasionally too
strong for me, and my present attack has been unusually
severe and protracted. I have been passing through my
father's early phases, and conducting romances by corre-
spondence. Complementary to the series of messages
signed Popsy, I had prepared a series signed Wopsy, to
go in on alternate days ; and if you had only continued
your search in my coat-pocket, you would have discovered
these proofs of my innocence. May I trust it is now
re-established, and that ' Olotutu ' has washed away the
apparent stain on my character? With anxious heart I
await your reply. — Ever yours devotedly, Guv.
" Sybil's reply was :
" ' I have read your letter. Do not write to me again 1 '
" She was so set against him," concluded Miss Nimrod,
" she would not even write this, but wired it."
THE MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISER 599
" Then she does not beheve the story of how Guy
Fledgely's father became a baronet ? " said Lord Silverdale.
" She does not. She says ' Olotutu ' won't wash stains."
"Well, I suppose you will be bringing her up?" said the
President.
" I shall — in the way she should go," answered Wee
Winnie. " To-day is Saturday ; I will bring her on Mon-
day. Meantime, as it is getting very late, and as I have
finished my lemonade, I will bid you good afternoon —
Have you used ' Olotutu ' ? "
And with this facetious inquiry Miss Nimrod twirled
her stick, and was off.
An hour later Lillie received a wire from Wee Winnie :
" Olotutu. Wretches just reconciled. Letter follows."
And this was the letter that came by the first post on
Monday :
" My poor President, — We have lost Sybil. She
takes in the Hurrygraph, and reads the Agony Column
religiously. So all the week she has been exposed to a
terrible bombardment.
" As thus :
" Tuesday. — ' My lost Darling, — A thousand demons are
knocking at my door. Say you forgive me, or I will let
them in. — Bobo.'
" Or thus :
" Wednesday. — ' My lost Darling, — You are making a
terrible mistake. I am innocent. I am writing this on
my bended knees. The fathers have eaten a sour grape.
Misericordia. — Bobo.'
"The bitter cry of the outcast lover increased daily, till
on Saturday it became delirious ;
6oo THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" ' My lost Darling,- — Save, oh save ! I have opened
the door. They are there — in their thousands. The
children's teeth are set on edge. The grave is dug. Be-
twixt two worlds I fall to the ground. Adieu for ever !
— BOBO.'
"Will you believe that the poor little fool thought all
this was meant for her, and that, in consequence, she
thawed day by day, till on Saturday she melted entirely
and gushed on Guy's shoulder? Guy admitted that he had
inserted these advertisements, but he did not tell her (as
he afterwards told me in confidence, and as I now tell you
in confidence) that they had been sent in before the quarrel
occurred, and constituted his Agony Column romance for
the week — the Popsy-Wopsy romance not being intended
for publication till next week. He had concocted these
cries of despairing passion without the least idea that they
would so nearly cover his own case. But he says that, as
his hereditary craze got him into the scrape, it was only
fair his hereditary craze should get him out of it. So
that's the end of Sybil Hotspur. But let us not lament
her too much. One so frail and fickle was not of the stuff
of which Old Maids are made. Courage 1 Wee Winnie is
on the war-path. — Yours affectionately,
Nelly.''
CHAPTER XVI
THE CLUB BECOMES POPULAR
The influence of Wee-Winnie-on-the-war-path was soon
apparent. On the following Wednesday morning the ante-
room of the Club was as 'crowded with candidates as if
THE CLUB BECOMES POPULAR 601
Lillie had advertised for a clerk, with three tongues, at ten
pounds a year. Silverdale had gone down to Fleet Street
to inquire if anything had been heard of Miss Ellaline
Rand's projected paper, and Lillie grappled with the
applicants single-handed. Turple the Magnificent was
told to usher them into the confessional one by one, but
the first two candidates insisted that they were one, and as
he could not tell which one, he gave way.
It is said that the shepherd knows every sheep of his
flock individually, and that a superintendent can tell one
policeman from another. Some music-hall managers even
profess to distinguish between one pair of singing sisters and
all the other pairs. But even the most trained eye would be
puzzled to detect any difference between these two lovely
young creatures. They were as like as two peas or two cues,
or the two gentlemen who mount and descend together the
mirror-lined staircase of a restaurant. Interrogated as to
the motives of their would - be renunciation, one of them
replied, " My sister and myself are twins. We were born
so. When the news was announced to our father, he is
reported to have exclaimed, 'What a misfortune!' His
sympathy was not mis|)laced, for from our nursery days
upward our perfect resemblance to each other has brought
us perpetual annoyance. Do what we would, we could
never get mistaken for each other. The pleasing delusion
that either of us would be saddled with the misdeeds of
the other has got us into scrapes without number. At
school we each played all sorts of pranks, making sure the
other would be punished for them. Alas ! the consequences
have always recoiled on the head of the guilty party. We
were not even whipped for neglecting each other's lessons.
It was always for neglecting our own. But, in sjjite of the
stern refusal of experience to favour us with the usual
6o2 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
imbroglio, we always went on hoping that the luck would
turn. We read Shakespeare's Comedy of Errors, and that
confirmed us in our evil courses. When we grew up, it
would be hard to say which was the giddier, for each hoped
that the other would have to bear the burden of her
escapades. You will have gathered from our friskiness
that our parents were strict Puritans ; but at last they
allowed an eligible young curate to visit the house with a
view to matrimony. He was too good for us ; our parents
were as much as we wanted in that line. Unfortunately, in
this crisis, unknown to each other, the old temptation seized
us. Each felt it a unique chance of trying if the thing
wouldn't work. When the other was out of the room, each
made love to the unwelcome suitor so as to make him fall
in love with her sister. Wretched victims of mendacious
farce-writers ! The result was that he fell in love with us
both ! "
She paused a moment, overcome with emotion ; then
resumed : " He proposed to us both simultaneously, vowed
he could not live without us. He exclaimed passionately
that he could /lot be happy with either were t'other dear
charmer away. He said he was ready to become a Mormon
for love of us."
"And what was your reply?" said Lillie anxiously.
The fresh young voices broke out into a duet : " We
told him to ask papa."
"We were both so overwhelmed by this catastrophe,"
pursued the story-teller, " that we vowed, for mutual self
protection against our besetting temptation to fribble at
the other's expense, never to let each other out of sight.
In the farces all the mistakes happen through the twins
being on only one at a time. Thus have we balanced
each other's tendencies to indiscretion before it was too
THE CLUB BECOMES POPULAR
603
late, and saved ourselves from ourselves. This necessity of
being always together, imposed on us by our unhappy
resemblance, naturally excludes either from marriage."
'HE WAS WILLING TO BECOME A MORMON FOR LOVE OF US,
Lillie was not favourably impressed with these skittish
sisters. " I sympathise intensely with the sufferings of
either," she said slyly, "in being constrained to the society
6o4 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
of the Other. But your motives of celibacy are not suffi-
ciently pure, nor have you fulfilled our prime condition ;
for, even granting that your reply to the eligible young
churchman was tantamount to a rejection, it still only
amounts to half a rejection each, which is fifty per cent,
below our standard."
Lillie rang the bell, Turple the Magnificent ushered the
twins out and the next candidate in. She was an ethereal
blonde in a simple white frock, and her story was as
simple.
" Read this Rondeau," she said. " It will tell you all.''
Lillie took the lines. They were headed
THE LOVELY MAY— AN OLD MAID'S PLAINT
The lovely May at last is here,
Long summer days are drawing near,
And nights with cloudless moonshine rich :
In woodlands green, on waters clear,
Soft-couched in fern, or on the mere
Gliding like some white water-witch,
Or lunching in a leafy niche,
I see my sweet-faced sister dear.
The lovely May.
She is engaged — and her career
Is one of skittles, blent with beer,
While I, plain sewing left to stitch.
Can ne'er expect those pleasures which,
At this bright season of the year.
The lovely may.
Lillie looked up interrogatively. "But surely _>w^ have
nothing to complain of in the way of loveliness ? " she said.
"No, of course not. / am the lovely May. It was my
sister who wrote that. She died in June, and I found it
among her manuscripts. Remorse set in at the thought of
THE CLUB BECOMES POPULAR 605
Maria stitching while I was otherwise engaged. I disengaged
myself at once. What's fair for one is fair for all. Women
should combine. While there's one woman who can't get a
husband, no man should be allowed to get a wife."
" Hear, hear ! " cried Lillie enthusiastically. " Only I
am afraid there will be always blacklegs among us who
will betray their sex for the sake of a husband."
"Alas yes," agreed the lovely May. "I fear such was
the nature of my sister Maria. She coveted even my first
husband."
" W^hat ! " gasped the President. " Are you a widow ? "
"Certainly! I left off black when I was engaged again,
and when I was disengaged I dared not resume it for fear of
seeming to mourn vc\y fiance."
"We cannot have widows in the Old Maids' Club," said
Lillie regretfully.
" Then I shall start a new Widows' Club, and Old Maids
shall have no place in it." And the lovely May sailed out,
all smiles and tears.
The next was a most divinely tall and most divinely fair
brunette with a brooding morbid expression. Candidate
gave the name of Miss Summerson.
Being invited to make a statement, she said :
" I have abandoned the idea of marrying. I have no
money. Ergo, I cannot afford to marry a poor man. And
I am resolved never to marry a rich one. I want to be
loved for myself, not for my want of money. You may
stare, but I know what I am talking about. W^hat other
attractions have I? Good looks? Plenty of girls with
money have that, who would be glad to marry the men I
have rejected. In the town I came from I lived with my
cousin, who was an heiress. She was far lovelier than I.
Yet all the moneyed men were at my feet. I'hey were
6o6 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
afraid of being suspected of fortune-hunting, and anxious
to vindicate their elevation of character. Why should I
marry to gratify a man's vanity, his cravings after cheap
quixotism ? "
" Your attitude on the great question of the age does you
infinite credit, but as you have no banking account to put
it to, you traverse the regulation requiring a property quali-
fication," said the President
" Is there no way over the difficulty ? "
" I fear not ; unless you marry a rich man, and that
disqualifies you under another rule."
So Miss Summerson passed sadly into the outer dark-
ness, to be replaced by a young lady who gave the name of
Nell Lightfoot. She wore a charming hat, and a smile like
the spreading of sunshine over a crystal pool.
" I met a young Scotchman," she said, "at a New Year's
dance, and we were favourably impressed with each other.
On the fourteenth of the following February, I received
from him a Valentine containing a proposal of marriage and
a revelation of the degradation of masculine nature. It
would seem he had two strings to his bow — the other
being a rich widow whom he had met in a Devonshire lane.
Being a Scotchman, he had, for economy's sake, composed
a Valentine which, with a few slight alterations, would do
for both of us. Unfortunately for himself he sent me the
original draft by mistake, and here is his
VERACIOUS VALENTINE
Though the weather is snowy and dreary,
And a shiver careers down my spine,
Yet the heart in my bosom is cheery,
For I feel I've exchanged mine for thine.
Do not call it delusion, my dearie,
But become my own loved valentine.
THE CLUB BECOMES POPULAR 607
_ , i stormy June day you 1
Yox that ■{ -, ,^ , , > remember,
J. New Year s dance you must J
„„ f sheltered together from rain,
When we •( , , ,
t waltzed to a languorous stram,
While the sky, like the fifth of November, 1
And our souls glowed despite 'twas December /
Gleamed with lightning outrivalling P "j .
With a burning but glorious p J
Ah me ! In my fire's dying ember
dank Devonshire lane.
bright ball-room again.
I can see that \
And 1 _ , f of the love that I "i ,
M spoke i ^ ,, r . \ bore you,
V et J '' (not then, fearmg to J
And of how for a widow I \ j
Though for maidenly love my heart J '
»y , , , • , f ) ^nd fealty I swore you.
Not a schoolgirl -! ' , , •' '
i. I d gazed on before you.
And you listened till sunshine re- 1
Had my heart with such sweet madness / '
T,, i you "1 .. i from me who 1 ,
^^^" I we ) p^-^^^n but stiiii h^°-y-.
And my heart and umbrella you spurned. 1
Though you may not my love have discerned. I
XT . 11 J L f hoarded-up "I
Not repelled by your | j^^^.^^ J ^ money,
I adore you, ™y ] xr 11 ' f f"'' yourself.
You are sweeter than music or honey ;
And Dan Cupid's a sensuous elf.
Who is drawn to the fair and the sunny,
And is blind unto nothing but pelf.
Need we feel a less genuine passion
Because we ■! " , ?■ live in Mayfair?
Love •{,,,, f in the hot-house of fashion,
I oft fades )
6o8 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
,_,. r an orchid that flourishes there ;
\ a moss-rose that needs the fresh air ;
Yet I would not my own darling lass shun
Were she even as -! . , > as she's i
I rich ) t rare.
There are fools who adore a complexion
That's like strawberries mingled with cream ; 1
As with Nubian blacking a-gleam ; J
A brunette ) . . .
But a blonder' '"y°^"P'^"''''^<=''°"'
And the glances from i I eyes that beam.
Then refuse not my deathless atfection,
Neither shatter my amorous dream.
V > *u n . (woman) , , , .,, ,
You re the very first \ . , r who's thrilled me
(maiden)
With the passion that tongue cannot tell,
Of none else have I thought since you filled me
J despair in that Devonshire dell.
^unrest when the waltz wove its spell.
When your final refusal has killed me,
On my heart will be found graven ]
" How Strange ! " said Lillie. " You combine the disquali-
fications of two of the previous candidates. You are appar-
ently poor, and you have received only half a proposal."
A flaming blonde, whose brow was crowned with an
aurora of auburn hair, was the next to burst upon the
epigrammatic scene. She spoke English with an excellent
Parisian accent :
" One has called me a young woman in a hurry," she
said, " and the description does not want of truth. I am
impatient ; I have large ideas ; I am ambitious. If I were
a grocer I should contract for the Sahara. I fall in love,
and when Alice Leioux falls in love it is like the volcano
THE CLUB BECOMES POPULAR 609
which goes to make eruption. Figure to yourself that niy
I liNCIKCLK HIM WITH MY ARMS AND SPEAK WIIH MY Lll'S,"
2q
6io THE CELIBATES' CLUB
I speak, me, with my fan, my eyes, my fingers, almost
with rfiy lips. He walks with me — but he does not speak.
He takes me to the spectacle — but he does not speak. He
promenades himself in boat with me — but he does not
speak. I encircle him with my arms, and I speak with my
lips at last — one, two, three, four, five kisses. Overwhelmed,
astonished, he returns me my kisses — hesitatingly, stupidly
— but in fine, he returns them. And then at last — with our
faces together, my arm round his graceful waist — he speaks.
The first word of love comes from his mouth — and what
think you that he say? Say then."
" I love you ! " murmured Lillie.
" A thousand thunders ! No ! He says : Miss Leroux
— Alice ; may I call you Alice ? "
" I see nothing to wonder at in that," replied Lillie quietly.
" Remember that for a man to kiss you is a less serious
step than for him to call you Alice. That were a stage on
the road to marriage, and should only be reached through
the gate of betrothal. Changes of name are the outward
marks of a woman's development, as much as changes of
form accompany the growth of the caterpillar. You, for
instance, began life as Alice. In due course you became
Miss Alice ; if you were the eldest daughter you became
Miss Leroux at once; if you were not, you inherited the
name only on your sister's death or marriage; when you
are betrothed you will revert to the simple Alice, and when
you are married you will become Mrs, Something Else ; and
every time you get married, if you are careful to select
husbands of varying patronymics, you will be furnished with
a change of name as well as of address. Providence, which
has conferred so many sufferings upon woman, has given
her this one advantage over man, who in the majority of
instances is doomed to the monotony of ossified nom^n-
THE CLUB BECOMES POPULAR 6ii
clature, and has to wear the same name on his tombstone
which he wore on his Eton collar."
" That is all a heap of galimatias," replied the Parisienne
with the flaming hair. " If I kiss a man, I, surely he may
call me Alice without demanding it? Bah! Let him love
your misses with eau sucree in their veins. When he insulted
me with his stupidity, I became furious. I threw him —
how you say ? — overboard on the instant."
"Good heavens!" gasped Lillie. "Then you are a
murderess ! "
"Figure you to yourself that I speak at the foot of the
letter ? Know you not the idioms of your own barbarian
tongue ? It seems to me you are as mad as he. Perhaps
you are his sister."
" Certainly. Our rules require us to regard all men as
brothers."
''Hei What?"
'* We have rejected the love of all men ; consequently we
have to regard them all as our brothers."
" That man there my brother ! " shrieked Alice. " Never !
Never of my life ! I would rather marry him first !" And
she went off to do so.
The last of these competitors for the Old Maiden Stakes
was a whirlwind in petticoats, who welcomed the President
very affably. "Good morning. Miss Dulcimer," she said.
" I've heard of you. I'm from Boston way. You know I
travel about the world in search of culture. I'm spending
the day in Europe, so I thought I'd look you up. Would
you be so good as to epitomise your scheme in twenty
words ? I've got to see the Madonna del Cardellino in the
Uffizi at Florence before ten to-morrow, and I want to hear
an act of the Meistersingers at Bayreuth after tea."
" I'm rather tired," pleaded Lillie, overwhelmed by the
6i2 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
dynamic energy radiating from every square inch of the
Bostonian's superficies. "I have had a hard morning's
work. Couldn't you call again tomorrow?"
" Impossible. I have just wired to Damietta to secure
rooms commanding a view of Professor Tickledroppe's
excavations on the banks of the Nile. I dote on archceo-
logical treasures and thought I should like to see the Old
Maids, Are they on view ? "
" No, they are not here," said Lillie evasively. " But do
you want to join us ? "
"Shall I have time? I remember I once wasted a week
getting married. Some women waste their whole lives that
way. Marriage is an incident of life's novel — they make it
the whole plot. I don't say it isn't an interesting experience.
Every woman ought to go through it once, but with tfae
infinite possibilities of culture lying all round us it's mere
Philistinism to give one husbandman more than a week of
our society. Mine is a physician practising in Philadelphia.
Judging by the cheques he sends me he must be a success-
ful man. Well, I am real glad to have had this little talk
with you, it's been so interesting. I will become an
honorary member of your charming Club with pleasure."
" You cannot if you are married. You can only be a
visitor."
" What's my being married got to do with it ?" inquired
the American, in astonishment. " This is the first time I
have ever heard that the name of a club has anything to do
with the membership. Are the members of the Savage
Club savages, of the Garrick Garricks, of the Supper Club
suppers ? "
" We are not men," Lillie said haughtily. " I could pass
over your relation to the hub of the universe, but when it
cpmes to having a private hub I have no option."
A MUSICAL BAR 613
" Well, this may be your English idea of hospitality to
travellers of culture," replied the Bostonian warmly; "but if
you come to our crack Crank Club in the fall you shall be
as welcome as a brand new poet. Good-bye. Hope we
shall meet again. I shall be in Hong-Kong in June if you
like to drop in. Good-bye."
" Good-bye," said Lillie, pressing one hand against the
visitor's and the other to her aching forehead.
Silverdale found her dissolved in tears. " In future," he
said, when she had explained her troubles,. " I shall hang
the rules and by-laws in the waiting-room. The candidates
will then be able to eliminate themselves. By the way,
Ellaline Rand's Cherub is going to sit up aloft on a third
floor in Fleet Street."
CHAPTER XVII
A MUSICAL BAR
When Turple the Magnificent, looking uneasy, brought up
Frank Maddox's card, Lillie uttered a cry of surprise and
pleasure. Frank Maddox was a magic name to her as to all
the elect of the world of sweetness and light. After a
moment of nervous anxiety lest it should not be the Frank
Maddox, her fears were dispelled by the entry of the great
authority on art and music, whose face was familiar to her
from frontispiece portraits. Yqw critics possessed such
charms of style and feature as P"rank Maddox, who had a
delicious retrousse nose, a dainty rose-bud mouth, blue eyes,
and a wealth of golden hair.
Lillie's best hopes were confirmed. The famous critic
6 14 THE CELIBATES CLUB
wished to become an Old Maid. The President and the
new and promising candidate had a dehghtful chat over a
cup of tea and the prospects of the Club. The two girls
speedily became friends.
"But if you join us, hadn't you better go back to your
maiden name?" inquired Lillie.
"Perhaps so," said Frank Maddox thoughtfully. "My
pen-name does sound odd under the peculiar circumstances.
On the other hand, to revert to Laura Spragg now might be
indiscreet. People would couple my name with Frank
Maddox's— you know the way of the world. The gossips
get their facts so distorted, and I couldn't even deny the
connection."
"But of course you have had your romance?" asked
Lillie. " You know one romance per head is our charge
for admission."
"Oh yes. I have had my romance. In three vols.
Shall I tell it you?"
" If you please."
" Listen, then. Volume L : Frank Maddox is in her
study. Outside the sun is setting in furrows of gold-laced
sagging storm-clouds, dun and "
"Oh, please, I always skip that," laughed Lillie. "I
know that two lovers cannot walk in a lane without the
author seeing the sunset, which is the last thing in the
world the lovers see. But when the sky begins to look
Black, I always begin to skip."
" Forgive me. I didn't mean to do it. Remember I'm
an habitual art-critic. I thought I was describing a harmony
of Whistler's or a movement from a sonata. It shall not
occur again. To the heroine enter the hero — shabby, close-
cropped, pale. Their eyes meet. He is thunder-struck to
find the heroine a woman ; blushes, stammers, and offers to
A MUSICAL BAR
615
go away. Struck by something of innate refinement in his
manner, she presses him to avow the object of his visit.
At last, in dignified language, infinitely touching in its
reticence, he confesses he called on Mr. Frank Maddox,
THERK S A PRESCRIPTION AGAINST STARVATKJN.
the writer he admires so much, to ask a little pecuniary
help. He is starving. Original, isn't it, to have your hero
hungry in the first chapter? He speaks vaguely of having
ambitions wliich, unless he goes under in the struggle for
6i6 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
existence, may some day be realised. There are so many
men in London like that. However, heroine is moved by
his destitute condition, and, sitting down to her desk, she
writes out a note, folds it up and gives it to him. ' There ! '
she says, 'there's a prescription against starvation.' 'But
how am I to take it ? ' he asked. ' It must be taken before
breakfast, the first thing in the morning,' she replied, 'to
the editor of the Moott. Give him the note ; he will change
it for you. Don't mention my name.'
" He thanked me and withdrew."
" And what was in the note ? " asked Lillie curiously.
" I can't quite remember. But something of this sort :
' The numerous admirers of Frank Maddox will be gratified
to hear that she has in the press a volume of essays on the
part played by colour-blindness in the symphonic move-
ments of the time. The great critic is still in town, but
leaves for Torquay next Tuesday.' For that the editor of
the Moon gave him half-a-crown."
" Do you call that charity ? " said Lillie, astonished.
" Certainly. Charity begins at home. Do many people
give charity except to advertise themselves ? Philanthropy
by paragraph is a perquisite of fame. Why, I have a pen-
sioner who comes in for all my Acadaum paragraphs. That
Moon par. saved our hero from starvation. Years after-
wards, I learnt he had frittered away twopence in having his
hair cut."
** It seems strange for a starving man to get his hair cut,"
said Lillie.
" Not when you know the cause," replied Frank Maddox.
" It was his way of disguising himself. And this brings me
to Volume II. The years pass. Once again I am in my
study. There is a breath of wind among the elms in the
front garden, and the sky is strewn with vaporous sprays of
A MUSICAL BAR 617
apple-blossom — I beg your pardon. Re-enter the hero —
spruce, frock-coated, dignified. He recalls himself to my
memory — but I remember him only too well. He tells me
that my half-crown saved him at the turning-point of his
career, that he has now achieved fame and gold, that he
loves my writings more passionately than ever, and that he
has come to ask me to crown his life. The whole thing is
so romantic that I am about to whisper ' Yes,' when an
instinct of common sense comes to my aid, and my half-
opened lips murmur instead — ' But the name you sent up
— Horace Paul — it is not known to me. You say you have
won fame. I, at least, have never heard of you, ' "
" ' Of course not,' he replies. ' How should you ? If I
were Horace Paul you would not marry me; just as I
should certainly not marry you if you were Frank Maddox.
But what of Paul Horace ? ' "
" Paul Horace ! " cried Lillie. " The great composer ! "
" That is just what I exclaimed. And my hero answers —
' The composer, great or little. None but a itw intimates
connect me with him. The change of name is too simple.
I always had a longing — call it morbid if you will — for
obscurity in the midst of renown. I have weekly harvests
of hair to escape any suspicion of musical attainments. But
you and I, dearest — think of what our life will be, enriched
by our common love of the noblest of the arts.' Outside,
the marigolds nod to the violets, the sapphire — excuse me.
I mean to say, thus he rambled on, growing in enthusiasm
with every ardent phrase, the while a deadly coldness was
fastening round my heart. For I felt that it could not be."
" And why ? " inquired Lillie, in astonishment. " It seems
one of the marriages made in heaven.'"*
" I dared not tell him why ; and I can only tell you on
condition you promise to keep my secret."
6i8 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
" I promise."
" Listen," whispered the great critic. " I know nothing
about music or art, and I was afraid he would find me out."
Lillie fell back in her chair, white and trembling.
Another idol shivered. " But how ?" she gasped.
" There, there, don't take on so," said the great critic
kindly. " I did not think you too were such an admirer of
mine, else I might have spared you the shock. You ask how
it is done. Well, I didn't set out to criticise. I can at least
plead that in extenuation. My nature is not wilfully per-
verse. There was a time when I was as pure and above
criticism as yourself."
She paused and furtively wiped away a tear, then resumed
more calmly :
*' I drifted into it. For years I toiled on, without ever a
thought of musical or art criticism sullying my maiden medi-
tations. My downfall was gradual. In early maidenhood I
earned my living as a type-writer. I had always had literary
yearnings, but the hard facts of life allowed me only this
rough approximation to my ideal. Accident brought excel-
lent literature to my machine, and it required all my native
honesty not to steal the plots of the novelists and the good
things of the playwrights. The latter was the harder
temptation to resist, for when the play was good enough to
be worth stealing from, I knew it would never be produced,
and my crime never discovered. Still, in spite of my
honesty, I benefited indirectly by my type-writing, for con-
tact with so much admirable work fostered the graceful
literary style which, between you and me, is my only merit.
In time I plucked up courage to ask one of my clients, a
journalist, if he could put some newspaper work in my way.
' Wliat can you do ? ' he asked, in surprise. ' Anything,' I
replied, with maiden modesty. ' I see, that's your special
A MUSICAL BAR 619
line,' he said musingly. * Unfortunately, we are full up in
that department. You see, every one turns his hand to
that — it's like teaching, the first thing people think of.
It's a pity you are a girl, because the way to journalistic
distinction lies through the position of office-boy. Office-girl
sounds strange. I doubt whether they would have you, except
on a Freethought organ. Our office-boy has to sweep out
the office and review the novels, else you might commence
humbly as a critic of literature. It isn't a bad post either,
for he supplements his income by picking rejected matter
out of the waste-paper basket, and surreptitiously lodging it
in the ' printer's copy ' pigeon-hole. His income in fees
from journalistic aspirants must be considerable. Yes, had
you been a boy you might have made a pretty good thing
out of literature.' ' Then there is no chance at all for me
on your paper?' I inquired desperately. 'None,' he said
sadly. ' Our editor is an awful old fogey. He is vehemently
opposed to the work of outsiders, and if you were to send
him his own leaders in envelopes he would say they were
rot. For once he would be a just critic. You see, there-
fore, what your own chance is. Even I, who have been on
the staff for years, couldn't do anything to help you. No, I
am afraid there is no hope for you unless you approach
our office-boy.' I thanked him warmly for his advice and
encouragement, and within a fortnight an article of mine
appeared in the paper. It was called 'The Manuscripts of
Authors,' and revealed, in a refined and ladylike way, the
secrets of the chirographic characteristics of the manuscripts
I had to type-write. My friend said I was exceedingly
practical "
" Exceedingly practical," agreed Lillie, with a suspicion
of a sneer.
" Because most amateur journalists write about abstract
620
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
principles, whereas I had sUced out for the public a bit of
concrete fact, and the great heart of the people went out to
f5'.?.:i.V-<r-!|
i^V,v4?Kww;":~^.'
^f"^nvff--:!i^-^y-^-^y.'^{^
'•yi'^ ^ '^ Ut
:ij(t^^i^:^:-
•/.-:;":V;p^Si""iv'.Viwi~'^=WU.-i^^^^
THE OFFICE-BOY EDITS THE PAPER.
hear the details of the way Brown wrote his books, Jones
A MUSICAL BAR 621
his jokes, and Robinson his recitations. The article made
a hit, and annoyed the authors very much."
" So I should think," said Lillie. " Didn't they with-
draw their custom from you instanter ? "
" Why ? They didn't know it was I. Only my journalistic
friend knew, and he was too much of a gentleman to give
away my secret. I wrote to the editor under the name of
Frank Maddox, thanking him for having inserted my
article, and the editor said to my friend — * Egad, I fancy
I've made a discovery there. Why, if I were to pay any
attention to your idea of keeping strictly to the old grooves,
the paper would stagnate, my boy, simply stagnate.' The
editor was right, for my friend assured me the paper would
have died long before, if the office-boy had not con-
descended to edit it. Anyhow, it was to that office-boy I
owed my introduction to literature. The editor was very
proud of having discovered me, and, being installed in his
good graces, I passed rapidly into dramatic criticism, and
was even allowed to under-study the office-boy as literary
reviewer. He could not stomach historical novels, and
handed over to me all works with pronouns in the second
person singular. Gradually I rose to higher things, but it
was not until I had been musical and art critic for over
eighteen months that the editor learnt that the writer whose
virile style he had often dilated upon to my friend was a
woman."
" And what did he do when he learnt it ? " asked Lillie.
** He swore "
" Profane man ! " cried Lillie.
" That he loved me — me whom he had never seen. Of
course, I declined him with thanks; happily there was a
valid excuse, because he had written his communication on
both sides of the paper. But even this technical touch did
622 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
not mollify him, and he replied that my failure to appreciate
him showed I could no longer be trusted as a critic.
Fortunately my work had been signed, my fame was
established. I collected my articles into a book, and
joined another paper."
" But you haven't yet told me ' how it is done ' ? "
" Oh, that is the least. You see, to be a critic it is not
essential to know anything— you must simply be able to
write. To be a great critic you must simply be able to
write well. In my omnescience, or catholic ignorance, I
naturally looked about for the subject on which I could
most profitably employ my gift of style with the least chance
of being found out. A moment's consideration will con-
vince you that the most difficult branches of criticism are the
easiest. Of musical and artistic matters not one person in
a thousand understands aught but the rudiments; here,
then, is the field in which the critical ignoramus may expa-
tiate at large with the minimum danger of discovery. Nay,
with no scintilla of danger, for the subject-matter is so
obscure and abstruse that the grossest of errors may put on
a bold face, and parade as a profundity, or, driven to bay,
proclaim itself paradox. Only say what you have not got to
say authoritatively and well, and the world shall fall down and
worship you. The place of art in religion has undergone a
peculiar historical development. First men worshipped the
object of art; then they worshipped the artist; and now-a-
days they worship the art critic."
" It is true," said Lillie reflectively. " This age has wit-
nessed the apotheosis of the art critic."
" x\nd of all critics. And yet what can be more evident
than that the art of criticism was never in such a critical
condition? Nobody asks to see the critic's credentials.
He is taken at his pwn valuation. There ought to be an
A MUSICAL BAR 623
examination to protect the public. Even schoolmasters are
now required to have certificates ; while those who pretend
to train the larger mind in the way it should think are left
to work their mischief uncontrolled. No dramatic critic
should be allowed to practise without an elementary know-
ledge of human life, law, Shakespeare, and French. The
musical critic should be required to be able to perform on
some one instrument other than his own trumpet, to distin-
guish tune from tonality, to construe the regular sonata, to
comprehend the plot of ' II Trovatore,' and to understand
the motives of Wagner. The art critic should be able to
discriminate between a pastel and a water-colour, an im-
pressionist drawing and a rough sketch, to know the Dutch
school from the Italian, and the female figure from the
male ; to translate morbidezza and chiaroscuro, and, failing
this, to be aware of the existence and uses of a vanishing
point. A doctor's certificate should also be produced to
testify that the examinee is in possession of all the normal
faculties, — deafness, blindness, and colour-blindness being
regarded as disqualifications, — and no one should be allowed
to practise unless he enjoyed a character for common
honesty, supplemented by a testimonial from a clergyman ;
for although art is non-moral, the critic should be moral.
This would be merely the passman stage ; there could
always be examinations in honours for the graduates.
Once the art critics were educated, the progress of the
public would be rapid. They would no longer be ready
to admire the canvases of Michael Angelo, who, as I learnt
the other day for the first time, painted frescoes; nor would
they prefer him, as unhesitatingly as they do now, to
Buonarotti, which is his surname; nor would they imagine
Raphael's cartoons appeared in Puncinello. All these
roistakes I have myself made, though no one discovered
624 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
them ; while in the realm of music no one has more mis-
represented the masters, more discouraged the overtures of
young composers."
"But still I do not understand how it is done," urged
Lillie.
" You shall have my formula in a nutshell. I had to be
a musical critic and an art critic. I was ignorant of music,
and knew nothing of art. But I was a dab at language.
When I was talking of music, I used the nomenclature of
art. I spoke of light and shade, colour and form, delicacy
of outline, depth and atmosphere, perspective, foreground
and background, nocturnes and harmonies in blue. I
analysed symphonies pictorially, and explained what I saw
defiling before me as the music swept on. Sunsets and
belvedere towers, swarthy Paynims on Shetland ponies,
cypress plumes and Fra Angelico's cherubs, lumps of green
clay and delicate pillared loggias, fennel tufts and rococo
and scarlet anemones, and over all the trail of the serpent.
Thus I created an epoch in musical criticism. On the
other hand, when I had to deal with art, I was careful to
eschew every suggestion of the visual vocabulary, and to
confine myself to musical phrases. In talking of pictures,
I dwelt upon their counterpoint and their orchestration,
their changes of key and the evolution of their ideas, their
piano and forte passages, and their bars of rest, their allegro
and diminuendo aspects, their suspensions on the dominant.
I spoke of them as symphonies and sonatas and masses,
— said one was too staccato, and another too full of con-
secutive sevenths, and a third in need of transposition to the
minor. Thus I created an epoch in art criticism. In both
departments the vague and shifting terms I introduced
enabled me to evade mistakes and avoid detection, while
the creation of two epochs gave me the very first place in
A MUSICAL BAR 62J
Coiifemporafy cHticism. There is nothing in which I
would not undertake to create an epoch. I do not say
I have always been happy, and it has been a source of
constant regret to me that I had not even learnt to play the'
piano when a girl, and that unplayed music still remained
to me little black dots."
" And so you did not dare marry the composer ? "
"No, nor tell him why. Volume III. : I said I admired
him so much that I wanted to go on devoting critical essays
to him, and my praises would be discounted by the public
if I were his wife. Was it not imprudent for him to alienate
the leading critic by marrying her? Rather would I sacrifice
myself, and continue to criticise him. But I love him, and
it is for his sake I would become an Old Maid."
" I would rather you didn't," said Lillie, her face still
white. " I have found so much inspiration in your books
that I could not bear to be daily reminded I ought not to
have found it."
Poor President ! The lessons of experience were hard !
The Club taught her much she were happier without.
That day Lord Silverdale appropriately intoned (with
banjo obligato) a patter-song, which he pretended to have
written at the Academy, whence he had just come with the
conventional splitting headache.
AFTER THE ACADEMY— A Jingle
Not by Alfred Jingle
Brain a-whirling, pavement twirling,
Cranium aching, almost baking,
Mind a muddle, puddle, fuddle.
Million pictures, million mixtures.
Small and great 'uns, Brown's and Leighton's,
Sky and wall un's, short and tall 'uns,
2 11
626 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
Pseudo-classic (for, alas ! Sic
Transit gloria sub Vic/orid),
Landscape, figure, white or nigger,
Steely etchings, inky sketchings,
Genre, portrait (not one caught trait),
Eke historic (kings plethoric).
Realistic, prize-fight-fistic,
Entozoic, nude heroic.
Coarse, poetic, homiletic,
Still-life (flowers, tropic bowers),
Pure domestic, making breast tick
With emotion ; endless ocean.
Glaze or scumble, craze and jumble,
Varnish mastic, sculpture plastic,
Canvas, paper (oh, for taper !),
Oil and water (oh, for slaughter !),
Children, cattle, 'buses, battle,
Seamen, satyrs, lions, waiters,
Nymphs and peasants, peers and pheasants.
Dogs and flunkeys, gods and monkeys,
Half-dressed ladies, views of Hades,
Phyllis tripping, seas and shipping,
Hearth and meadow, brooks and bread-dough
Doves and dreamers, stars and streamers,
Saucepans, blossoms, rags, opossums.
Tramway, cloudland, wild and ploughed land,
Gents and mountains, clocks and fountains,
Pan and pansy — these of fancy
Have possession in procession
Never ending, ever blending,
All a-flitter and a-glitter,
Ever prancing, ever dancing
Ever whirling, ever curling,
Ever swirling, ever twirling,
Ever bobbing, ever throbbing.
Ho ! some brandy — is it handy ?
Air seems tainting — I am fainting.
Hang all — no, don't hang all — painting
I
THE BEAUTIFUL GHOUL 627
CHAPTER XVIII
THE BEAUTIFUL GHOUL
Wee Winnie called at the Club, while the President was
still under the cloud of depression, and Lillie had to force
herself to look cheerful, lest Miss Nimrod should mistake
ihe ntdlancholy, engendered by so many revelations of the
seafn?y srie <d life, for loss of faith in the Club or its
jiTospeots, Avid of experience as was the introspective
little girl, she felt almost sated for the present.
Miss Nimrod was astonished to hear of the number of
recent rejections, and to learn that she had whipped up the
Writers and the Junior Widows and her private friends to
such little purpose. But in the end she agreed with Lillie
that, as no doubt somewhere or other in the wide universe
ideal Old Maids were blooming and breathing, it would be
folly to clog themselves up in advance with inferior
specimens.
The millionaire, who was pottering about in his blue
spectacles, strolled into the Club while Wee Winnie was
uttering magnificent rhapsodies about the pages the Cluli
would occupy in the histories of England ; but this time
Lillie was determined the dignity of the by-laws should be
maintained, and had her father shown out by Turple the
Magnificent. Miss Nimrod went too, and so Lord Silver-
dale had the pleasure of finding Lillie alone.
" You ought to present me with a pair of white gloves,"
he said gleefully.
"Why?" asked Lillie.
"I haven't had a single candidate to try for days."
628 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
*' No," said Lillie, with a suspicion of weariness in her
voice, " they all broke down in the elementary stage."
Even as she spoke Turple the Magnificent ushered in
Miss Margaret Linbridge. Lord Silverdale, doubly vexed
at having been a little too previous in the counting of his
chickens, took up his hat to go, but LiUie murmured,
"Please amuse yourself in the library for a quarter
of an hour, as I may want you to do the trying at
once."
" How do you expect me to amuse myself in the
library?" he grumbled. "You don't keep one of my
books."
Miss Margaret Linbridge's story was simple, almost
commonplace.
"I had spent Christmas with a married sister in
Plymouth," she said, " and was returning to London by the
express on the first of January. My prospects for the New
Year were bright — or seemed so to my then unsophisticated
eyes. I was engaged to be married to Richard West-
bourne— a good and good-looking young man, not devoid
of pecuniary attractions. My brother, with whom I lived
and on whom I was dependent, was a struggling young
firework-manufacturer, and would, I knew, be glad to see
me married, even if it cost him a portion of his stock to
express his joy. The little seaside holiday had made me
look my prettiest, and when my brother-in-law saw me into
a first-class carriage and left me with a fraternally-legal kiss,
I rather pitied him for having to go back to my sister.
There was only one other person in the carriage besides
myself — a stern old gentleman, who sat crumpled up in the
opposite corner and read a paper steadily.
"The train flew along the white frosty landscape at
express rates, but the old gentleman never looked up from
THE BEAUTIFUL GHOUL 629
his paper. The temperature was chill, and I coughed.
The old gentleman evinced no symptom of sympathy. I
rolled up my veil the better to see the curmudgeon, and
smiled to think what a fool he was, but he betrayed no sign
of sharing my amusement.
" At last, as he was turning his page, I said in my most
dulcet tones, *0h, please excuse my appropriating the
entire foot-warmer. I don't know why there is only
one, but I will share it with you with pleasure.'
"'Thank you,' he said gruffly, *I'm not cold.'
" ' Oh, aren't you ! ' I murmured inwardly, adding aloud,
with a severe wintry tone, ' Gentlemen of your age usually
are.'
" * Yes, but I'm not a gentleman of my age,' he growled,
mistaking the imbecile statement for repartee.
" ' I beg your pardon,' I said. ' I was judging by
appearances. Is that the Saturday Slasher you have
there?'
" He shook himself impatiently. ' No, it is not.'
" ' I beg your pardon,' I said. 'I was again judging by
appearances. May I ask what it is ? '
" ' Threepenny Bits ! ' he jerked back.
" ' What's that? ' I asked. ' I know Broken Bits:
" ' This is a superior edition of Broken Bits at the price
indicated by the title. It contains the same matter, but is
issued at a price adapted to the means of the moneyed and
intellectual classes. No self-respecting person can be seen
reading penny weeklies — it throws doubt not only on his
income, but on his mental calibre. The idea of this first-
class edition (so to speak) should make the fortune of the pro-
prietor, and deservedly so. Of course the thousand pound
railway assurance scheme is likewise trebled, though this part
of the paper does not attract me personally, for my next-of-kin
630 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
is a hypocritical young rogue. But imagine the horror of
being found dead with a penny weekly in one's pocket !
You can't even explain it away.'
"He had hardly finished the sentence before a terrible
ghock, as of a ton of dynamite exploding under the foot-
warmer, lifted me into the air ; the carriage collapsed like
niatchwood, and I had the feeling of being thrown into the
next world, For a moment I recovered a gleam of con-
sciousness, just enough to show me I was lying dying amid
the debris^ and that my companion lay, already dead, in a
fragment of the compartment, Threepermy Bits clenched in
his lifeless hand,
" With a last fond touch I smoothed my hair, which had
got rather ruffled in the catastrophe, and, extracting with
infinite agony a puff from my pocket, I dabbed it spasmodic-
ally over my face. I dared not consult my hand-mirror,
I was afraid it would reveal a distorted countenance and
unnecessarily sadden my last moments. Whatever my
appearance, I had done my best for it, and I wanted to die
with the consciousness of duty fulfilled. Murmuring a
prayer that those who found my body would not imitate me
in judging by appearances, if they should prove discreditable
after all, I closed my eyes upon the world in which I had
been so young and happy. My whole life passed in review
before me, all my dearly loved bonnets, my entire wardrobe
from infancy upwards. Now I was an innocent child with
a white sash and pink ribbons, straying amid the sunny
meadows and plucking the daisies to adorn my hats ; anon
a merry maiden sporting amid the jocund schoolboys and
receiving tribute in toffy; then again a sedate virgin in
original gowns and tailor-made jackets. Suddenly a strange
idea jostled through the throng of bitter-sweet memories,
Threepenny Bits !
THE BEAUTIFUL GHOUL
631
"The old gentleman's next-of-kin would come in for three
thousand pounds ! I should die and leave nothing to my
relatives but regrets ; my generous brother would be for
ever inconsolable now, and my funeral might be mean and
unworthy. And yet if the old misogynist had only been
courteous enough to lend me the paper, seeing I had
" I PULLED THIC PAPER FROM THE DEAD HAND.'
nothing to read, it might have been found on my body.
De viortitis nil nisi bonutn. Why reveal his breach of
etiquette to the world ? Why should I not enable him to
achieve poethumous politeness ! Besides, his heir was a
hypocritical rogue, and it were a crime against society to
place so large a sum at his disposal. Overwhelmed as I
632 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
was by the agonies of death, I steeled myself to this last
duty. I wriggled painfully towards the corpse, and,
stretching out my neatly-gloved fingers, with a last mighty
effort I pulled the paper cautiously from the dead hand
which lay heavy upon it. Then I clasped it passionately to
my heart, and died."
"Died?" echoed Lillie excitedly.
" Well — lost consciousness. You are particular to a
shade. Myself, I see no difference between a fainting fit
and death, except that one attack of the latter is fatal."
"As to that," answered Lillie, "I consider we die every
night and dream we are alive. To fall asleep is to die
painlessly. It is, perhaps, a pity we are resurrected to tea
and toast and toilette. However, I am glad you did not
really die. I feared I was in for a tale of re-incarnation,
or spooks or hypnotism or telepathy or astral bodies. One
hears so many marvellous stories now that we have left off
believing in miracles. Really, man's credulity is the per-
petual miracle."
" / have not left off believing in miracles," replied Miss
Linbridge seriously. " How could I ? Was I not saved
by one ? A very gallant miracle, too, for it took no trouble
to save my crusty old fellow-traveller, while it left me with-
out a scratch. I am afraid I should not have been grateful
for salvation without good looks. To face life without a
pretty face were worse than death. You agree with me?"
" Not entirely. There are higher things in life than
beautiful faces," said Lillie gravely.
" Certainly. Beautiful bonnets," said the candidate, with
laughing levity. "And lower things — beautiful boots. But
you would not seriously argue that there is anything else so
indispensable to a woman as beauty, or that to live plain is
worth the .trouble of living ? '^
THE BEAUTIFUL GHOUL 633
"Why not ? Plain living and high thinking ! " murmured
Lillie.
"All nonsense! We needn't pretend — we aren't with
men. You would talk differently if you were born ugly !
Goodness gracious ! don't we know that a girl may have a
whole cemetery of virtues, and no man will look at her if
she is devoid of charms of face or purse? It's all humbug
what Ruskin says about a well-bred modest girl being
necessarily beautiful. It is only a pleasing fiction that
morality is invaluable to the complexion. Of course if
Ruskin's girl chose to dress with care, she could express
her goodness less plainly, but as a rule goodness and
dowdiness are synonymous. I think the function of a
woman is to look well, and our severest reprobation should
be extended to those conscienceless creatures who allow
themselves to be seen in the company of gentlemen, in
frumpish attire. It is a breach of etiquette towards the
other sex. A woman must do credit to the man who
stakes his reputation for good taste by being seen in her
society. She must achieve beauty for his sake, and should
no more leave her boudoir without it than if she were an
actress leaving her dressing-room."
" That the man expects the woman to make his friends envy
him is true," answered Lillie, "and I have myself expressed
this in yonder epigram. // is 7>ian who is vain of woman's
dress. But were we created merely to gratify man's vanity ? "
" Is not that a place in nature to be vain of? We are
certainly not proud of man. Think of the average husband
over whom the woman has to shed the halo of her beauty.
It is like poetry and prose bound together. It is because
I intend to be permanently beautiful that I have come to
cast in my lot with the Old Maids' Club. Your rules
ordain it so, and rightly."
634 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
"The Club must be beautiful, certainly, but merely to
escape being twitted with ugliness by the shallow — for the
rest, it should disdain beauty. However, pray continue
your story. It left off at a most interesting point. You
had lost consciousness."
"Yes; but as my chivalrous miracle had saved me from
danger, I was found unconsciously beautiful (which I have
always heard is the most graceful way of wearing your
beauty). I soon came to myself with the aid of a dark-
eyed doctor, and I then learnt that the old gentleman had
been too weak to sustain the shock, and that his poor old
pulse had ceased to beat. My rescuers had not disturbed
Threepenny Bits from its position 'twixt my hand and heart,
in case I should die and need it. So when the line was
cleared, and I was sent on to London after a pleasant
lunch wath the dark-eyed doctor, I had the journal to read
after all, despite the discourtesy of the deceased. When
I arrived at Paddington I found Richard Westbourne
walking the platform like Hamlet's father's ghost, white
and trembling. He was scanning the carriages feverishly
as the train glided in with its habitual nonchalance.
" * My darling ! ' he cried, when he caught sight of my
dainty hat with its sweet trimmings. ' Thank Heaven ! '
He twisted the door violently open and kissed me before
all the crowd. Fortunately I had my lovely spotted veil
down, so that he only pressed the tulle to my lips.
"' What is the matter?' I said ingenuously.
" ' The accident ! ' he gasped. ' Weren't you in the
accident ? '
" ' Of course I was. But my dress was not very much
crumpled. If I had sat in the other corner I should have
been killed ! '
•' ' My heroine ! ' he cried, ' How brave of you ! '
THE BEAUTIFUL GHOUL 635
He made as if he would rumple my hair, but I drew
back.
" ' Were you waiting for me ? ' I asked.
" ' Of course. Hours and hours. Oh, the agony of it !
See, here is the evening paper ! It gives you as dead.'
"'Where?' I cried nervously. His trembling forefinger
pointed to the place — "A beautiful young lady was also
extricated in an unconscious condition from this carriage."
"'Isn't it wonderful the news should be in London
before me?' I murmured. 'But I suppose they will
have names and fuller particulars in a later edition ? '
" ' Of course. But fancy my having to be in London — •
unable to get to you for love or money ! '
" ' Yes, it was very hard for me to be there all alone,' I
murmured. ' But please run and see after my luggage.
There are three portmanteaus and a little black one and
three bonnet boxes and two parasols, and call a hansom
— oh, and a brown paper parcel and a long narrow card-
board box ; and get me the latest editions of the evening
papers ; and please see that the driver isn't drunk, and
don't take a knock-kneed horse or one that paws the
ground, you know those hansom doors fly open and shoot
you out like rubbish — I do so hate them ; and oh, Richard,
don't forget those novels from Mudie's— they're done up
with a strap. Three bonnet boxes, remember, and all the
evening papers — mind ! '
" When we were bowling homewards, he kept expressing
his joy by word and deed, so that I was unable to read my
papers. At last, annoyed, I said, 'You wouldn't be so
glad if you knew that my resurrection cost three thousand
pounds.'
" ' How do you mean ? '
" ' Why, if I had died, somebody would have had three
636 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
thousand pounds. This number of Threepeimy Bits would
have been found on my body, and would have entitled my
heir to that amount of assurance money. I need not tell
you who my heir is, nor to whom I had left my little all.'
" I looked into his face, and from the tenderness that
overflowed it I saw he fancied himself the favoured mortal.
There is no end to the conceit of young men. A sensible
fellow would have known at once that my brother was the
only person reasonably entitled to my scanty belongings.
However, there is no good done by disturbing a lover's
complacency.
" ' I do not want your money,' he answered, again
passionately pressing my tulle veil to my lips. ' I infinitely
prefer your life.'
" ' What a bloodthirsty highwayman ! '
" ' I shall steal another kiss. I would rather have you
than all the gold in the world.'
" ' Still, gold is the next best thing,' I said, smiling at his
affectionateness, which my absence had evidently fostered.
' So, being on the point of death, as I thought, I resolved to
make death worth dying, and leave a heap of gold to the
man I loved. This number of Threepenny Bits was not
mine originally. When the crash occurred, it was being
read by the old gentleman in the opposite corner, but his
next of kin is a hypocritical young scapegrace (so he told
me), and I thought it would be far nicer for my heir to
come in for the money. So I took it from his body the
very instant before I fainted dead away ! '
" ' My heroine ! ' he cried again. ' So you thought of
your Richard even at the point of death ? What a sweet
assurance of your love ! '
'"Yes, an assurance of three thousand pounds,' I
answered, laughing merrily. 'And now, perhaps, you
THE BEAUTIFUL GHOUL 637
will let me read the details of the catastrophe. The
reporters seem to know ever so much more about it than
I do. It's getting so dusky I can hardly see — I wonder
what was the name of old grizzly growler — ah, here it is !
The pocket-book contained letters addressed to Josiah
Twaddon, Esquire, and '
'"Twaddon, did you say?' gasped Richard, clutching
the paper frantically.
"'Yes — don't! You've torn it! Twaddon, I can see
it plainly.'
*' ' Does it give his address ? ' Richard panted.
" 'Yes,' I said, surprised. 'I was just going on to read
that — 4 Bucklesbury Buildings '
" ' Great heavens ! ' he cried.
" ' What is it ? Why are you so pale and agitated ?
Was he anything to you? Ah, I guess it — by my pro-
phetic soul, your uncle ! '
" ' Yes,' he answered bitterly. ' My uncle ! My mother's
brother ! Wretched woman, what have you done ? '
" My heart was beating painfully, and I felt hot all over,
but outwardly I froze.
" 'You know what I have done,' I replied icily.
" 'Yes, robbed me of three thousand pounds ! ' he cried.
" ' How dare you say that ? ' I answered indignantly.
' Why, it was for you I meant them ! '
" The statement was not, perhaps, strictly accurate, but my
indignation was sufficiently righteous to cover a whole pack
of lies.
'"Your intentions may have been strictly honourable,'
he retorted ; ' but your behaviour v/as abominable. Great
heavens! Do you know that you could be prosecuted?'
" * Nonsense ! ' I said stoutly, though my heart misgave
me. ' What for ? '
638 The CELIBATES'' CLUB
" * What for ? You, a plunderer of the dead — a harpy, a
ghoul — ask what for ? '
" ' But the thing was of no value ! ' I urged.
'"Of no intrinsic value, perhaps, but of immense value
under the peculiar circumstances. Why, if any one chose
to initiate a prosecution, you would be sent to gaol as a
common thief
"'Pardon me,' I said haughtily. 'You forget you are
speaking to a lady. As such I can never be more than a
kleptomaniac. You might force me to suffer from hysteria
in the past, but the worst that could befall me now would
be a most interesting advertisement. Prosecute me and
you will create for me an army of friends all the world
over. If it is thus that lovers behave, it is better to
have friends. I shall be glad of the exchange.'
" ' You know that I could not prosecute you,' he answered
more gently.
" ' After your language to me you are capable of anything.
Your uncle called you a rogue with his dying breath, and
statements made with that are generally veracious. Pro-
secute me if you will — I have done you out of three
thousand pounds, and I am glad of it. Only one favour
I will ask of you — for the sake of our old relations— give
me fair warning ! '
" 'That you may flee the country?'
'" No ; that I may get a new collection of photographs.*
" ' You will submit to being taken by the police ? '
" ' Yes — after I have been taken by the photographer.'
" * But look at the position you will be in.'
" ' I shall be in six different positions — one for each of the
chief illustrated papers.'
'"Your flippancy is ill-timed, Margaret,' said Richard
sternly.
THE BEAUTIFUL GHOUL
639
" 'Flippant, good heavens ! Do you know me so little as
to consider me capable of flippancy ? Richard, this is the
last straw. You have called me a thief, you have threatened
to place me in the felon's dock, and I have answered you
"l CAN NEVER BE MORE THAN A KLEPTOMANIAC."
with soft words, but no man shall call me flippant and
continue to be engaged to me ! '
" ' But Maggie, darling ! ' His tone was changing. He
saw he had gone too far. ' Consider ! It is not only I
640 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
that am the loser by your — indiscretion, your generous
indiscretion '
" ' My indiscreet generosity,' I corrected.
" He accepted my ' indiscreet generosity,' and went on.
" ' Cannot you see that, as my future wife, you will also
suffer ? '
" 'But surely you will come in for something under your
uncle's will, all the same?' I reminded him.
" ' Not a stiver. He never made a will, he never saved
any money. He was the most selfish brute that ever
breathed. All the money he couldn't spend on himself he
gave away in charity, so as to get the kudos during his life-
time, pretending that there was no merit in post-mortem
philanthropy. And now all the good he might have done
by his death you have cancelled.'
" I sat mute, my complexion altered for the worse by
pangs of compunction.
" ' But I can make amends,' I murmured at last.
" ' How ? ' he asked eagerly.
" * I can tell the truth — at least partially. I can make an
affidavit that Threepenny Bits belonged to my fellow-pas-
senger, that he lent it me just before the accident, or
that, seeing he was dead, I took it to hand over to his
relatives.'
" For a moment his face brightened up, then it grew dark
as suddenly as if it had been lit by electricity.
" ' They will not believe you,' he said. * Even if you
were a stranger, the paper would contest my claim. But
considering your relation to me — considering that the
money would fall to you as much as to me, no common-
sense jury would credit your evidence.'
'"Well, then, we must break off our engagement.'
" ' What would be the good of that ? They would ferret
THE BEAUTIFUL GHOUL 641
out our past relations ; would suspect their resumption im-
mediately after the verdict.'
" ' Well, then, we must break off our engagement,' I
repeated decisively. ' I could never marry a prosecutor in
posse — a man in whose heart was smouldering a petty sense
of pecuniary injury.'
" ' If you married me I should cease to be a prosecutor
in posse,' he said soothingly. 'As the law stands, a
husband cannot give evidence against his wife in criminal
cases.'
"'Oh well, then you'd become a persecutor in esse,' I
retorted. ' Vou'd always have something to throw in my
teeth, and for my part I could never forgive you the wrong
I have done you. We could not possibly live together.'
" My demeanour was so chilling, my tone so resolute, that
Richard was panic-stricken. He vowed, protested, stormed,
entreated, but nothing could move me.
" 'A kindly accident has shown me your soul,' I answered,
'and the sight is not encouraging. Fortunately I have
seen it in time. You remember when you took me to see
The Doll's House, you said that Nora was quite right in
all she did. I daresay it was because the actress was so
charming — but let that pass. And yet what are you but
another Helmer? Just see how exact is the parallel be-
tween our story and Ibsen's. Nora in all innocence forged
her husband's name in order to get the money to restore
him to health. I in all innocence steal a threepenny
paper, in order to leave you three thousand pounds by my
death. When things turn out wrong you turn round on me,
just as Helmer turned round on Nora — forgetting for
whose sake the deed was done. If Nora was justified in
leaving her husband, how much more justified must I be
in leaving my betrothed ! ' "
2s
642 THE CELIBATES CLUB
"The cases are not quite on all-fours," interrupted the
President, who had pricked up her ears at the mention of
the "Woman's Poet." "You must not forget that you did
not really sin for his sake, but for your brother's."
" That is an irrelevant detail," replied the beautiful ghoul.
" He thought I did — which comes to the same thing. Be-
sides, my telling him I did only increases the resemblance
between me and Nora. She was an awful fibber, if you
remember. Richard, of course, disclaimed the likeness to
Helmer, though in doing so he was more like him than
ever. But I would give him no word of hope.
"*We could never be happy together,' I said. 'Our
union would never be real ! There would always be the
three thousand pounds between us.'
" ' Well, that would be fifteen hundred each,' he answered,
with ghastly jocularity.
" ' This ill-timed flippancy ends all,' I said solemnly.
' Henceforth, Mr. Westbourne, we must be strangers.'
" He sat like one turned to stone. Not till the cab
arrived at my brother's house did he speak again.
" Then he said in low tones, ' Maggie, can I never be-
come anything to you but a stranger ? '
" ' The greatest miracle of all would have to happen, then,
Richard,' I quoted coldly. Then, rejecting his profiered
assistance, I alighted from the vehicle, and passed majestic-
ally across the threshold, and mounted the stairs with
stately step, not a sign, not the slightest tremor of a
muscle betraying what I felt. Only when I was safe in my
own little room, with its lavender-scented sheets and its
thousand childish associations, did my pent-up emotions
overpower me. I threw myself upon my little white bed
in a paroxysm of laughter. I had come out of a dis-
agreeable situation agreeably, leaving Dick in the wrong,
THE BEAUTIFUL GHOUL 643
and I felt sure I could whistle him back as easily as
the'hansom."
" And what became of Richard ? " asked Lillie.
" I left him to settle with the cabman. I have never
seen him since."
Lillie gave a little shudder. " You speak as if the cab-
man had settled with him. But are you sure you are
willing to renounce all mankind because you find one
man unsatisfactory ? "
"All. I was very young when I got engaged. I did not
want to be a burden on my brother. But now his firework
factory is a brilliant success. He lives in a golden rain.
Having only myself to please now, I don't see why I should
have to please a husband. The more I think of marriage,
the less I think of it. I am sure it wouldn't suit me. I
have not kept my eyes open for nothing. Husbands are
anything but the creatures a young girl's romantic fancy
pictures. They have a way of disarranging the most careful
toilettes. They ruffle your hair and your temper. They
disorder the furniture, and put their feet on the mantelpiece.
They scratch fenders, read books, and stretch themselves
on the most valuable sofas. If they help in the household,
they only make more work. They invite men home to
dinner on Mondays, when you can't get any fish. The trail
of tobacco is over all you prize; all day long the smoke
gets into your eyes ; filthy pipes clog your cabinets ; your
window-curtains reek of stale cigars. You have bartered
your liberty for a mess of cigar-ash. There is an odour of
bar-saloons about the house, and boon companions come to
welter in whiskey and water. Their talk is of science and
art and politics, and it makes them guffaw noisily, and dig
one another in the ribs. There is not a man in the world
to whom I would trust my sensitive fragility ; they are all
644 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
coarse, clumsy creatures, with a code of morals that they
don't profess, and a creed of chivalry that they never prac-
tise. Falsehood abides permanently in their mouth like
artificial teeth, and corruption lurks beneath the whited
sepulchres of their shirt-fronts. They adore us in secret,
and deride us when they are together. They feign a con-
tempt for us which we feel for them."
These sentiments reinstated Miss Linbridge in the good
opinion of the President, conscious heretofore of a jarring
chord. She ordered in some refreshments, to get an oppor-
tunity of whispering to Turple the Magnificent that the
Honorary Trier might return.
" Oh, by the way," said Miss Linbridge, " I hunted out
that copy of Threepainy Bits before coming out. I have
kept it in a drawer as a curiosity. Here it is."
Lillie took the paper and examined it curiously,
"What's that? You reading Threepenny Bits?" said
Silverdale, coming in.
'* It's only an old number," said Lillie, " whereby hangs
a tale. Miss Linbridge was in a railway accident with it.
Miss Linbridge — Lord Silverdale."
The Honorary Trier bowed.
" Oh, what a pity it was an old number," he said.
** Miss Linbridge might have had a claim for damages."
" How very ungallant ! " said Lillie. " Miss Lin-
bridge could have had no claim unless she had been
killed."
" Besides," added Miss Linbridge, laughing at Lillie's
bull, " it wasn't an old number then. The accident hap-
pened on New Year's Day."
" Even then it would have been too old," answered Silver-
dale, "for it is dated December 2, and the assurance policy
is only valid during the week of issue."
I
LA FEMME INCOAlPRISE 645
" What is that ? " gasped Miss Linbridge. Her face was
passing through a variety of shades.
" Yes," said Lillie ; " here is the condition in print.
You don't seem to have noticed it was a back number.
But of course I don't wonder at that — there's no topical
interest whatever; one week's issue is very much Hke
another. And see ! why, there is even ' Specimen Copy '
marked on the outside sheet. Richard's uncle must have
had it given to him in the street."
" The miracle ! " exclaimed Miss Linbridge, in exultant
tones, and, repossessing herself of the paper, she darted
from the Club.
CHAPTER XIX
LA FEMME INCOMPRISE
Lord Silvkrdale had gone, and there was now no need
for Lillie to preserve the factitious cheerfulness with which
she had listened to his usual poem, while her thoughts
were full of other and even more depressing things.
Margaret Linbridge's miracle had almost undermined the
President's faith in the steadfastness of her sex ; she turned
mentally to the yet unaccepted Wee Winnie for consolation,
condemning her own half-hearted attitude towards that
sturdy soul, and almost persuading herself that salvation lay
in spats. At any rate, long skirts seemed the last things in
the world to find true women in.
But Providence had not exhausted its miracles, and
Lillie was not to spend a miserable afternoon. The miracle
was speeding along towards her on the the top of an
646 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
omnibus — a miracle of beauty and smartness. On reaching
the vicinity of the Old Maids' Club, the miracle, which was
of course of the female gender, tapped the driver amicably
upon the hat with her parasol, and said, "Stop, please."
The polite creature was the spirit of self-help itself, and
scorned the aid of the gentleman in front of her, preferring
to knock off his hat and crush the driver's, so long as the
independence of womanhood was maintained. But she
maintained it charmingly and without malice, and gave the
conductor a sweet smile in addition to his fare, as she
tripped away to the Old Maids' Club.
Lillie was fascinated the instant Turple the Magnificent
announced " Miss Wilkins," in suave tones ; the mere
advent of a candidate raised her spirits, and she found her-
self chatting freely with her even before she had put her
through the catechism. But the catechism came at last.
" Why do 1 want to join you ? " asked the miracle.
" Because I am disgusted with my lover ; because I am a
femme incomprise. Oh, don't stare at me as if I were a
medley of megrims and fashionable ailments ; I'm the very
opposite of that. Mine is a buoyant, breezy, healthy
nature, straightforward and simple. That's why I complain
of being misunderstood. My lover is a poet, and the mis-
understanding I have to endure at his hands is something
appalling. Every man is a bit of a poet where woman is
concerned, and so every woman is more or less misunder-
stood ; but when you are unfortunate enough to excite the
affection of a real whole poet — well, that way madness lies.
Your words are twisted into meanings you never intended,
your motives are misconstrued, and your simplest actions
are distorted. Silverplume— for it is the well-known author
oi Poems of Compassion that I have had the misfortune to
captivate — never calls without laying a sonnet next day, in
T^Wj^EJl, jJV
AMICABLY SAID, "STOP, I'UiASE.'
64S THE CELIBATES' CLUB
which remarks that must be most misleading to those
who do not know me occur with painful frequency. His
allowance is two kisses per day — one of salutation, one of
farewell. We have only been actually engaged two months,
yet I have counted up three hundred and thirty-nine distinct
and separate kisses in the voluminous Sonnet Series which
he has devoted to our engagement ; and, what is worse,
he describes himself as depositing them
Where at thy flower-mouth exiguous
The purple passion mantles to the brim.
" It sounds as if I were be-rouged like a dowager. Purple
passion, indeed ! I let him kiss me because he appears to
like it and because there seems something wrong about it,
—but as for really caring a pin one way or another, well,
you, Miss Dulcimer, know how much there is in that !
This Sonnet Series promises to be endless; the course of our
acquaintanceship is depicted in its most minute phases with
the most elaborate inaccuracy ; if I smile, if I say ' How do
you do ? ' if I put my hand to my forehead, if I look into
the fire, down go fourteen lines, — giving a whole world of
significance to my meanest actions, and making Himalayas
out of the most microscopic molehills. I am credited with
thoughts I never dreamed of and sentiments I never felt,
till I ask myself whether any other woman was ever so
cruelly misunderstood as I. I grow afraid to do or say
anything, lest I bring upon my head a new sonnet. But
even so, I cannot help looking something or the other ; and
when I come to read the sonnet, 1 find it is always the
other. Once I refused to see him for a whole week, but that
only resulted in seven Son?iefs of Absence, imaginatively de-
picting what I was saying and doing each day, and contain-
ing a detailed analysis of his own sensations, as well as
LA FEMME INCOMPKISE 649
reminiscences of past happy hours together. Most of them
I had no recollection of, and the only one I could at all
identify was that of a morning we spent on the Ramsgale
cliffs, where Silverplume put his handkerchief over his face
and fell asleep.
"In the last lines of the sonnet it came out :
There, 'mid the poppies of the planisphere,
I swooned for very joy and wearihead.
" But I knew it by the poppies. Then, dear Miss Dul-
cimer, you should just see the things he calls me, ' Love's
gonfalon and lodestar,' and what-not. Very often I cannot
even find them in the dictionary, and it makes me uneasy.
Heaven knows what he may be saying about me I When
he talks of
The rack of unevasive lunar things,
I do not so much complain, because it's their concern if
they are libelled. It is different with incomprehensible
remarks flung unmistakeably at my own head, such as
O chariest of Caryatides.
It sounds like a reproach, and I should like to know what
I have done to deserve it. And then his general remarks
are so monotonously unintelligible. One of his longest poet-
ical epistles, which is burnt into my memory, because I had
to pay twopence for extra postage, began with this lament ;
O sweet are roses in the summer time,
And Indian naiads' weary walruses,
And yet to-morrow never comes to-day,
" I cannot see any way out of it all, except by breaking
off our engagement. When we were first engaged, I don't
deny I rather liked being written about in lovely-sounding
lines, but it is a sweet one is soon surfeited with, and Silver-
6so THE CELIBATES' CLUB
plume has raved about me to that extent, that he has made
me look ridiculous in the eyes of all my friends. If he had
been moderate, they would have been envious ; now they
laugh when they read of my wonderful charms, of my lithe
snake's mouth, and my face which shames the sun, and my
Epipsychidiontic eyes (whatever that may be), and my
Wee waist that holds the cosmos in its span,
and say he is poking fun at me. But Silverplume is quite
serious, — I am sure of that ; and it is the worst feature of
the case. He carries on just the same in conversation,
with the most improper allusions to heathen goddesses, and
seems really to believe that I am absorbed in the sunset
when I am thinking what to wear to-morrow. Just to give
you an idea of how he misinterprets my silence, let me
read to you one of his sonnets, called
MOONSHINE
Walking a space betwixt the double Naught,—
The What Is Bound To Be and What Has Been,—
How sweet with Thee beneath the moonlit treen,
O woman-soul immaculately wrought,
To sit and catch a harmony uncaught
Within a world that mocks with margarine.
In chastened silence, mystic, epicene.
Exchanging incommunicable thought.
Diana 1 Death may doom and Time may toss,
And sundry other kindred things occur,
But Hell itself can never turn to loss.
Though Mephistopheles his stumps should stir,
That day, when introduced at Charing-Cross,
I smiled and doffed my silken cylinder.
"Another distressing feature about Silverplume — indeed,
I think about all men — is the continuous capacity for love-
LA FEMME INCOM PRISE 651
making. You know, my dear Miss Dulcimer, with us it is
a matter of times and seasons, — we are creatures of strange
and subtle susceptibilities, sometimes we are in the mood
for love, and ready to respond to all shades of sentiment-
ality, but at other moments (and these the majority) men's
amorous advances jar horribly. Men do not know this.
Ever ready to make love themselves, they think all moments
are the same to us as to them. And of all men, poets are the
most prepared to make love at a moment's notice. So that
Silverplume himself is almost more trying than his verses."
" But, after all, you need not read them ! " observed
Lillie. "They please hira and they do not hurt you. And
you have always the consolation of remembering it is not
you he loves, but the paragon he has evolved from his inner
consciousness. Even taking into account his personal affec-
tionateness, your reason for refusing him seems scarcely
strong enough."
" Ah, wait a moment, you have not heard the worst ! I
might perhaps have tolerated his metrical misinterpretations,
— indeed, on my sending him a vigorous protest against the
inaccuracies of his last collection (they came out so much
more glaringly when brought all together from the various
scattered publications to which Silverplume originally con-
tributed them), he sent me back a semi-apologetic explana-
tion, thus conceived :
TO CELIA
You know, of course, my name is Diana, but that is
his way.
'Tis not alone thy sweet eyes' gleam,
Nor sunny glances,
For which I weave so oft a dream
Of dainty fancies.
652 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
'Tis not alone thy witching play
Of grace fantastic,
That makes me chant so oft a lay
Encomiastic.
Both editors and thee I see,
Thy face, their purses ;
I offer heart and soul to thee,
To them, my verses.
" I was partially mollified by this, for if his poems were not
merely complimentary, and he really got paid for them, one
might put up with inspiring them. We were reconciled, and
he took me to a reception at the house of a wealthy friend of
his, a fellow-member of the Sonneteers' Society. It was here
that I saw a sight that froze my young blood, and warned
me upon the edge of what a precipice I was standing.
When we got into the drawing-room, the first thing we saw
was an awful apparition in a corner— a hideous unkempt
unwashed man in a dressing-gown and slippers, with his
eyes rolling wildly and his lips moving rhythmically. It
was the host."
"'Don't speak to him,' whispered the hostess. 'He
doesn't see us. He has been like that all day. He came
down to look to the decorations this morning, when the
idea took him, and he has been glued to the spot ever
since. He has forgotten all about the reception. He
doesn't know we're here, and I thought it best not to
disturb him till he is safely delivered of the sonnet.'
" ' You are quite right ! ' everybody said, in sympathetic
awe-struck tones, and left a magic circle round the poet in
labour.
" But I felt a shudder run through my whole being.
'"Goodness gracious, Silverplume,' I said, 'is this the
way you poets go on ? '
LA FEMME INCOMPKISE
653
" * No, no, Diana,' he answered me. * It is all tommy-rot.'
(I quote Silverplume's words.) ' The beggar is just bringing
out a new volume ; and although his wife has distributed the
(r.^ !' •-) ^>
THE POET PLAYS HIS LAST CARD.
most lavish hospitality to the critics, he has never been able
to get himself taken seriously as a poet. There will be lots
654 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
of critics here to-night, and he is playing his last card. If
he is not a genius now, he never will be.'
" ' Of course,' I replied sceptically. ' Two of a trade ! '
I made him take me away, and that was the end of our
engagement. Even as it was, Silverplume's neglect of
his appearance had been a constant thorn in my side ;
and if this was so before marriage, what could I
hope for after? It was all very well for him to say his
friend was only shamming, but even so, how did I know he
would not be reduced to that sort of thing himself when his
popularity faded and younger rivals came along.'"
Lillie, who seemed to have some arriere-pensee, entered
into an animated defence of the poet ; but Miss Wilkins
stood her ground, and refused to withdraw her candidature.
" I don't want you to withdraw your candidature," said
Lillie frankly. " I shall be charmed to entertain it. I am
only arguing upon the general question."
And, indeed, Lillie was enraptured with Miss Wilkins.
It was the attraction of opposites. A matter-of-fact woman
who could reject a poet's love appealed to her with irresistible
piquancy. Miss Wilkins stayed on to tea (by which time
she had become Diana), and they gossiped on all sorts of
subjects, and Lillie gave her the outlines of the queerest
stories of past candidates ; and in the Old Maids' Club that
afternoorr-'all went merry as a marriage bell.
" Well, good-bye, Lillie," said Diana at last.
"Good-bye, Diana," returned Lillie. "Now /understand
you, I hope you won't consider yourself a fenime uicoinprise
any longer."
" It is only the men I complain of, dear."
" But we must ever remain incomprises by man," said
Lillie. *' Femme incomprise — why, it is the badge of all our
sex."
THE INAUGURAL S0IR£E 655
" Yes," answered Diana ; " a woman letting down her
back hair is tragic to a man ; to us she only recalls bed-
room gossip. Good-bye.' And, nodding brightly, the
brisk little creature sallied into the street and captured a
passing bus.
CHAPTER XX
THE INAUGURAL SOIREE
" Oh Lord Silverdale," cried Lillie exultantly, when he
made his usual visit the next afternoon. " At last I have
an unexceptionable candidate. We shall get under weigh at
last. I am so pleased, because papa keeps bothering about
that inaugural soiree. You know he is staying in town
expressly for it. But what is the matter ? — you don't seem
to be glad at my news."
" I am afraid you will be grieved at mine," he replied
gravely. " Look at this in to-day's Moon."
Sobered by his manner, she took the paper. Then her
face grew white. She read, in large capitals :
" THE OLD MAIDS' CLUB
"INTERVIEW WITH THE PRESIDENT
** SENSATIONAL STORIES OF SKITTISH SPINSTERS
" WEE WINNl£ AND LILLIE DULCIMER.
** I called at the Old Maids' Club yesterday," writes a
Moon woman, " to get some wrinkles, which ought to be
abundant in such a Club, though they are not. Miss
Dulcimer, the well-known authoress, is one of the loveliest
656 THE CELIBATES CLUB
and jolliest girls of the day. Of course, I went as a candi-
date, with a trumped-up story about my unhappy past,
which Miss Dulcimer will, I am sure, forgive me, in view
of the fact that it was the only way of making her talk freely
for the benefit of my readers."
Lillie's eye glanced rapidly down the collection of
distortions. Then she dropped the Moon. "This is
outrageous," she said ; " I can never forgive her."
"Why, is this the candidate you were telling me about?"
asked Silverdale, in deeper concern.
" I am afraid it is," said Lillie, almost weeping. " I took
to her so ; we talked ever so long. Even Wee Winnie did
not possess the material for all these inaccuracies."
"What is the woman's name?"
" Wilkins — I already called her Diana."
" Diana ? " cried Silverdale. " Wilkins ? Great heavens,
can it be ? "
" What is the matter ? "
" It must be. Wilkins has married his Diana. It was
Mrs. Diana Wilkins who called upon you — not Miss at
all."
" What are you talking about ? Who are these people ? "
" Don't you remember Wilkins, the Moon man, that I
was up in a balloon with ? He was in a frightful quandary
then about his approaching marriage. He did not know
what to do. It tortured him to hear any one ask a question,
because he was always interviewing people, and he got to
hate the very sound of an interrogation. I told you about
it at the time, don't you remember? And he knew that
marriage would bring into his life a person who would be
sure to ask him questions after business hours. I was very
sorry for the man, and tried to think of a way out, but in
vain ; and I even promised him to bring the Old Maids'
THE INAUGURAL SOIREE 65^
Club under the notice of his Diana. Now it seems he has
hit on the brilliant solution of making her into a Lady Inter-
viewer, so that her nerves, too, shall be hypersensitive to
interrogatives, and husband and wife shall sit at home in a
balsamic restfulness permeated by none but categorical
propositions. Ah me, well, I envy them ! "
" You envy them ? " said Lillie.
"■\^Tiy not? They are well matched."
" But you are as happy as Wilkins, surely."
" Query. It takes two to find Happiness."
•' What nonsense ! " said Lillie.
She had been already so upset by the treachery and loss
of the misunderstood Diana, that she felt ready to break
down and shed hot tears over these heretical sentiments
of Silverdale's. He had been so good, so patient. Why
should he show the cloven hoof just to-day?
" Miss Dolly Vane," announced Turple the Magnificent.
A strange apparition presented itself — an ancient lady,
quaintly attired. Her dress fell in voluminous folds — the
curious frill skirt was bordered with velvet, and there were
huge lace frills on the elbow sleeves. Her hair was
smoothed over her ears, and she wore a Leghorn hat. A
little striped shawl covered her shoulders. There were the
remains of beauty on her withered face, but her eyes were
wild and wandering.
She curtseyed to the couple with old-fashioned grace,
and took the chair which Lord Silverdale handed her.
Lillie looked at her inquiringly.
" Have I the pleasure of speaking to Miss Dulcimer ? "
said the old lady. Her tones were cracked and quavering.
" I am Miss Dulcimer," replied Lillie. " What can I do
for you ? "
" Ah yes. I have been reading about you in the Moon
2t
6sg
THE CELIBATES' CLUB
to-day. Wee Winnie and Lillie Dulcimer ! Wee Winnie !
It reminds me of myself. They call me Little Dolly, you
know." She simpered in a ghastly manner.
Lillie's face was growing pale. She could not speak.
THE OLD MAID ARRIVES.
" Yes, yes, of course," said Silverdale, smiling, " they call
you Little Doll5\"
"Little Dolly!" she repeated to herself, mumbling and
chuckling. " Little Dolly ! "
THE W AUGURAL SOIREE 659
" So you have been reading about Miss Dulcimer ? " said
Silverdale pleasantly.
" Yes, yes," said the old lady, looking up with a start.
" Little Lillie Dulcimer, foundress of the Old Maids'
Club. That's the thing for nie, I thought to myself.
That'll punish Philip. That'll punish him for being away so
long. When he comes home and finds Little Dolly is an
Old Maid, won't he be sorry, poor Philip ! But I can't
help it. I said I would punish him, and I will."
All the blood had left Lillie's cheek — she trembled and
caught hold of Lord Silverdale's arm.
" I shan't have you now, Philip," the creaking tones of
the old lady continued, after a pause. "The rules will not
allow it, will they, Miss Dulcimer? It is not enough that
I am young and beautiful, I must reject somebody — and I
have nobody else to reject but you, Philip. You are the
only man I have ever loved. Oh my Philip ! My poor
Philip ! "
She began to wring her hands. I,illie pressed closer to
Lord Silverdale, and her grasp on his arm tightened.
* Very well, we shall put your name on the books at
^'nce," said the Honorary Trier, in bluff hearty tones.
Little Dolly looked up smiling. "Then I'm an Old
Maid ? " she cried ecstatically. " Already ! Little Dolly an
Old Maid ! Already ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! "
She went off into a burst of uncanny laughter. Lord
Silverdale felt Lillie shuddering violently. He disengaged
himself from her grasp and placed her on the sofa. Then,
offering his arm to Miss Dolly Vane, who accepted it with
a charming smile and a curtsey to Miss Dulcimer, he led
her from the apartment.
When he returned Lillie was weeping half-hysterically on
the sofa.
66o THE CELIBATES' CLUB
"My darling !" he whispered, "calm yourself."
He laid his hand tenderly on her hair. Presently the
sobs ceased.
"Oh Lord Silverdale!" she said, in a shaken voice,
*' how good you are ! Poor old lady ! Poor old lady ! "
" Do not distress yourself. I have taken care that she
shall get home safely."
" Little Dolly ! How tragic it was ! " whispered Lillie.
" Yes, it was tragic. Probably it is not now so sad to
her as it is to us, but it is tragic enough, Heaven knows.
Lillie "—he trembled as he addressed her thus for the first
time—" I am not sorry this has happened. The time has
come to put an end to all this make-believe. This Old
Maids' Club of yours is a hollow mockery. You are playing
round the fringes of tragedy — it is like warming your hands
at a house on fire, wherein wretched beings are shrieking
for help. You are young and rich and beautiful. Heaven
pity the women who have none of these charms. Life is a
cruel tragedy for many — never crueller than when its
remorseless laws condemn gentle loving women to a
crabbed and solitary old age. To some all the smiles of
fortune, the homage of all mankind — to others all th^ frowns
of fate, and universal neglect aggravated by contumely.
You have felt this, I know, and it is as a protest that you
conceived your Club. Still, can it ever be a serious success ?
I love you, Lillie, and you have known it all along. If I
have entered into the joke, believe me I have sometimes
taken it as seriously as you. Come ! Say you love me,
too, and let us end the tragi-comedy."
Lillie was obstinately silent a moment; then she dried
her eyes, and with a wan little smile said, in tones which
she vainly strove to render those of the usual formula,
"What poem have you brought me to-day?"
THE INAUGURAL SOIREE 66|
"To-day I have brought no poem, though I have lived
one," said Lord Silverdale, taking her soft unresisting hand.
" But, hke Lady Clara Vere de Vere, you put strange
memories in my head, and I will tell you some verses I
made in the country in my callow youth when the world
was new."
PASTORAL
A rich-toned landscape touchf.d with darkling gold-
Of misty, throbbing corn-fitlds, and with haze
Of softly-tinted hills and dreamy wold,
Lies warm with raiment of soft summer rays,
And in the magic air there lives a free
And subtle feeling of the distant sea.
The perfect day slips softly to its end,
The sunset paints the tender evening sky,
The shadows shroud the hills with grey, and lend
A softened touch of ancient mystery ;
And ere the silent change of heaven's light
I feel the coming glory of the night. ,
Oh for the sweet and sacred earnest gaze
Of eyes divine with strange and yearning tears,
To feel with me the beauty of our days.
The glorious sadness of our mortal years ;
The noble misery of the spirit's strife.
The joy and splendour of the body's life.
Lillie's hand pressed her lover's with involuntary tender-
ness, but she had turned her face away. Presently she
murmured, " But think what you are asking me to do.
How can L the President of the Old Maids' Club, be the
first recreant ? "
" But you are also the last to leave the ship," he replied
smilingly. " Besides, you are not legally elected. You
never came before the Honorary Trier. You were never a
662 THE CELT BATES.' CLUB
member at all, so have nothing to undo. If you had stood
your trial fairly, I should have plucked you, my Lillie;
plucked you and worn you nearest my heart. It is I who
have a position to resign — the Honorary Triership — and I
resign it instanter. A nice trying time I have had, to be
sure ! "
" Now, now ! I set my face against punning ! " said
Lillie, showing it now, for the smiles had come to hide the
tears.
" Pardon, Rainbow," he answered.
" Why do you call me Rainbow ? "
'* Because you look it," he said. " Because your face is
made of sunshine and tears. Go and look in the glass.
Also because — well, wait and I will fashion my other
reasons into a rhyme, and send it to you on our wedding
morn."
" Poetry made while you wait," said Lillie, laughing.
The laugh suddenly froze on her lips, and a look of horror
overswept her face.
" What is it, dearest ? " cried her lover, in alarm.
"Wee Winnie ! How can we face Wee Winnie?"
*' There is no need to break the truth to her ; we can
simply get rid of her by telling her she has never been
elected, and never will be."
"Why," said Lillie, with a comic moiie, "that would be
harder to tell her than the truth. But we must first of all
tell father. I am afraid he will be dreadfully disappointed
at missing that inaugural soiree after all. I told you he has
been staying in town expressly for it. We have some bad
quarters of an hour before us."
They sought the millionaire in his sanctum, but found
him not. They inquired of Turple the Magnificent, and
learnt that he was in the garden. As they turned away, the
THE INAUGURAL SOIREE 663
lovers both simultaneously remarked something peculiar
about the face of Turple the Magnificent. Moved by a
common impulse, they turned back and gazed at it. For
some seconds they could not at all grasp the change that
had come over it, but at last, and almost at the same
instant, they realised what was the matter.
Turple the Magnificent was sniilimg.
Filled with strange apprehensions, Silverdale and Lillie
hurried into the garden, where their vague alarm was
exchanged for definite consternation. The millionaire was
pacing the gravel paths in the society of a strange and
beautiful lady. On closer inspection, the lady turned out
to be only too familiar.
"Why, it's Wee Winnie masquerading as a woman!"
exclaimed Lord Silverdale.
And so it proved — Nelly Nimrod in all the flush of
her womanly beauty, her mannish attire discarded.
" Why, what is this, father ? " murmured Lillie.
" My child," said the millionaire solemnly, "as you have
resolved to be an Old Maid, I — I — well, I thought it only
my duty to marry. Even the poorest millionaire cannot
shirk the responsibilities of wealth."
"But, father!" said Lillie, in dismay, "I have changed
my mind. I am going to marry Lord Silverdale."
"Bless ye, my children!" said the millionaire. "You
are a woman, Lillie, and it is a woman's privilege to change
her mind. But I am a man and have no such privilege.
I must marry all the same."
" But Miss Nimrod has changed her mind too," said
Lillie, quite losing her temper. " And she is not a woman."
" Gently, gently," said the millionaire. " Respect your
stepmother to be. if vou have no respect for my future
wife."
664 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
■' Lillie," said Miss Nimrod appealingly, " do not mis-
judge me. I have not changed my mind."
•'But you said you could never marry, on the ground
that while you would only marry an unconventional
man, an unconventional man wouldn't want to marry
•you."
"Well? Your father is the man I sought. He didnU
want to marry me," she explained frankly.
"Oh," said Lillie, taken utterly aback, and regarding her
father commiseratingly.
" It is true," he said, laughing uneasily. *' I fell in love
with Wee Winnie, but now Nelly says she wants to settle
down."
*' You ought to be grateful to me, Lillie," added Nelly,
" for it was solely in the interests of the Old Maids' Club that
I consented to marry your father. He was always a danger
to the Club ; at any moment he might have put forth
autocratic authority, and wound it up. So I thought that
by marrying him I should be able to influence him in its
favour."
"No doubt you will make him see the desirability of
women remaining old maids," retorted Lillie, unappeased.
" Come, come, Lillie ! be sensible ! " said the millionaire.
" Nelly, you shall give Lillie a good dinner at the Junior
Widows', one of those charming dinners you and I have
had there. And, Lillie, please send out the cards for the
inaugural soiree. I am not going to be done out of that,
and nothing can now be gained by delay."
" But, sir, how can we inaugurate a Club which has never
had any members?" asked Silverdale.
" What does that matter ? Aren't there plenty of
candidates without them ? Besides, nobody'U know.
Each of the candidates will think the others are the menv
THE INAUGURAL SOIREE 665
bers. Tell you what, boy, they shall all dance at Lillie's
wedding, and we'll make that the inaugural soiree^
" But that would be to publish my failure to the world,"
remonstrated Lillie.
"Nonsense, dear. It'll be published without that.
Trust the Moon. Isn't it better to take the bull by the
horns ? "
"Well, yes, perhaps you're right," said Lillie hesitatingly.
" But I hope the world will understand that it is only
desperation at the collapse of the Old Maids' Club that has
driven me to commit matrimony."
She went back to the Club to write out the cards,
" What do you think of my stepmother } " she inquired
pathetically of the ex-Honorary Trier.
"What do I think?" said Lord Silverdale seriously. "I
think she is the punishment of Providence for your inter-
ference with its designs."
• •••••*
The explanatory rhyme duly came to hand on Lillie's
wedding morning. It was written on vellum in the bride-
groom's best hand, and ran :
RAINBOW
Ah, why I call you "Rainbow," sweet?
The shadows 'fore your eyes retreat,
The ground grows light beneath your feet.
You smile in your superior way,
A Rainbow has no feet, you say?
Nay, be not so precise today.
Created but to soothe and bless,
You followed logic to excess,
Repressing thoughts of tenderness.
666 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
My life was chill and wan and hoary,
Vou came, the Bow of ancient stoiy
To kiss the greyness into glory.
And now as Rainbow fair to see
A Promise sweet you are to me
Of sorrow nevermore to be.
Besides the friends of the happy pair, nearly all the
candidates were present at the inaugural soiree of the Old
Maids' Club. Not quite all — because Lillie, who was
rapidly growing conventional, did not care to have Clorinda
Bell, even accompanied by her mother, or by her brother,
the Man in the Ironed Mask. Nor did she invite the
twins, nor the osculatory Alice. But she conquered her
prejudices in other instances, and Frank Maddox, the art
critic, came under the convoy of the composer, Paul
Horace, and Miss Mary Friscoe was brought by Bertie
Smythe. The Writers' Club also sent EUaline Rand, and
an account of the proceedings appeared in the first number
of the Cherub. The " Princess " was brought by Miss
Primpole, and Captain Athelstan and Lord Arthur came
together in unimpaired friendship. Eustasia Pallas and her
husband, Percy Swinshel Spatt, both their faces full of the
peace that passeth understanding, got a night oft" for the
occasion, and came in a hansom paid for out of the week's
beer-money. Turple the Magnificent, who had seen them
at home in the servants' hall, was outraged in his deepest
instincts, and multiplied occasions for offering them refresh-
ments merely for the pleasure of snorting in their proximity.
The great Fladpick (Frank Grey), accompanied by his
newly-won bride Cecilia, made the evening memorable by
the presence of " the English Shakespeare," Guy Fledgely
brought Sybil Hotspur, and his father the baronet was
TIIE INAUGURAL SOIREE 667
under the care of Miss Jack. The lady from Boston wired
congratulations on the success of the Club from Yokohama
whither she had gone to pick up lacquer-work.
Poor Miss Summerson, the Lovely May, and the Victim
of the Valentine were a triad that was much admired. Miss
Fanny Radowski, whose oriental loveliness excited due
attention, came with Martin. Winifred Woodpecker was
accompanied by her mother, the resemblance between the
two being generally remarked, and Miss Margaret Linbridge
seemed to afford Richard Westbourne copious opportunities
for jealousy. Even Wilkins was there with his Diana in an
unprofessional capacity, Lillie having relented towards her
interviewer on learning that she had been really engaged to
Silverplume once, and that she had not entirely drawn on
the stores of journalistic fancy. Silverplume himself was
present, unconscious to what he owed the invitation, and
paying marked attentions to the unattached beauties. Miss
Nimrod promenaded the rooms on the arm of the million-
aire. She had improved vastly since she had become
effeminate, and Lillie felt she could put up with her, now
she would not have to live with her. Even Silverdale's
aunt. Lady Goody -Goody Twoshoes, could find no fault
with Nelly now.
It was a brilliant scene. The apartments of the Old
Maids' Club had been artistically decked with the most
gorgeous flowers that the millionaire could afford, and the
epigrams had been carefully removed so as to leave the
rooms free for dancing. As Lillie's father gazed around, he
felt that not many millionaires could secure such a galaxy of
beauty as circled in the giddy dance in his gilded saloon.
It was, indeed, an unexampled gathering of pretty girls —
this inaugural soiree of the Old Maids' Club, and the
millionaire's shirt-front heaved with pride and pleasure, and
668 THE CELIBATES' CLUB
the latter-day Cupid, that still hung on the wall, seenied to
take heart of grace again.
" You got my verses this morning. Rainbow mine ? " said
Silverdale, when the carriage drove off, and the honeymoon
began.
It was almost the first moment they had had together the
whole day.
" Yes," said Lillie softly. " And I wanted to tell you there
are two lines which are truer than you meant."
" I am indeed a poet, then ! Which are they?"
Lillie blushed sweetly. Presently she murmured :
"You followed logic to excess,
Repressing thoughts of tenderness."
" How did you know that?" she asked, her brown eyes
looking ingenuously into his.
" Love's divination, I suppose."
" My father didn't tell you?"
" Tell me what ? "
" About my discovery in the algebra of love.**
" Algebra of love ? "
" No, of course he didn't. I don't suppose he ever really
understood it," said Lillie, with a pathetic smile. " I think
I ought to tell you now what it was that made me so — so —
you understand."
She put her little warm hand lightly into his, and nestled
against his shoulder as if to make amends.
After a delicious silence, foi Lord Silverdale betrayed no
signs of impatience, Lillie confessed all.
*' So you see I have loved you ah along," she concluded.
" Only I did not dare hope that the chance would come to
pass, against which the odds were 5998."
" But, great heavens ! " cried Lord Silverdale. " Do you
THE INAUGURAL SOIREE 669
mean to say this is why you were so cold to me all those
long weary weeks ? "
" That is the only reason," faltered Lillie. " But would
you have had me defy the probabilities ? "
" No, no — of course not, I wouldn't dream of such a
thing. But you have miscalculated them ! "
" Miscalculated them ? "
Lillie began to tremble violently.
" Yes, there is a fallacy in your ratiocination,"
*' A fallacy ! " she whispered hoarsely.
" Yes, you have calculated on the theory that the proba-
bilities are independent, whereas they are interdependent.
In the algebra of love this is the typical class of proba-
bilities. The two events — your falling in love with me, my
falling in love with you — are related; they are not absolutely
isolated phenomena, as you have superficially assumed. It
is our common qualities which make us gravitate together,
and what makes me love you is the same thing that makes
you love me. Thus the odds against our loving each other
are immensely less than you have ciphered out. Even on
your own assumption they should be 5999 to one, not
5998, but as the whole assumption is radically vicious, it is
scarce worth while to point out your error of manipulation."
Lillie had fallen back, huddled up, in her corner of the
carriage, her face covered with her hands.
" Forgive me," said Lord Silvcrdale penitently. " I had
no right to correct your mathematics on your wedding-day.
Say two and two are six and I will make it so."
"Two and two are not six and you know it," said Lillie
firmly, raising her wet face. " It is I who have to ask for-
giveness for being so cruel to you. But if I have sinned, I
have sinned in ignorance. You will believe that, dearest ? "
'* I will believe anything that comes from my Rainbow's
670
The CELIBATES' CLUB
lips," said Lord Silverdale. "Why! they are quite white !
Let me kiss them rosy again."
Like a naughty child that has been chastened by afflic-
tion, she held up her face obediently to meet his. The lips
were already blushing.
" But confess," she said, while an arch indefinable light
came into the brown eyes, — " confess we have had a most
original courtship 1 "
Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty
at the Edinburgh University Press,
THE NIGGER"t5F THE ^NARCISSUS'
By JOSEPH CONRAD
/// 0?ie Volume, price 6s
A. T. Quiller-Couch in Pall Mall Magazine.— ' Had I to award a
prize among the novels of the past season, it should go to T/ie Nigger of the
'' Nai-cissus." Mr. Conrad's is a thoroughly good tale. He has something
of Mr. Crane's insistence ; he grips a situation, an incident, much as Mr.
Browning's Italian wished to grasp Metternich ; he squeezes emotion and
colour out of it to the last drop ; he is ferociously vivid ; he knows the life he
is writing about, and he knows his seamen too. And, by consequence, the
crew of the Narcisstis are the most plausibly life-like set of rascals that ever
sailed through the pages of fiction.'
Mr, James Payn. — 'Never, in any book with which I am acquainted,
has a storm at sea been so magnificently yet so realistically depicted. At
times, there is, the same sort of poetic power in the book that is manifested
by Victor Hugo ; at others, it treats matters in the most practical and
common-sense manner, though always with something separate about it which
belongs to the writer. It does not seem too much to say that Mr. Conrad
has, in this book, introduced us to the British merchant seaman, as Rudyard
Kipling introduced us to the British soldier. '
Speaker. — 'A picture of sea-life as it is lived in storm and sunshine on
a merchant-ship, which, in its vividness, its emphasis, and its extraordinary
fulness of detail, is a worthy pendant to the battle-picture presented to us in
The Red Badge of Courage. . . . We have had many descriptions of storms
at sea before, but none like this. It is a wonderful picture. To have painted
it in such a fashion that its vivid colouring bites into the mind of the spectator,
is a very notable achievement.'
SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE
Bv RICHARD HARDING DAVIS
In One Volume, price ds. Illustrated.
The Pall Mall Gazette. — 'We heartily congratulate Mr. Davis on this
story — it is one which it is a great delight to read and an imperative duty to
praise.'
The Athenaeum. — ' The adventures and exciting incidents in the book are
admiraljlo ; the whole story of the revolution is most brilliantly told. This
is really a great tale of adventure.'
The Spectator. — 'The fighting is described with a vividness and vigour
worthy of Mr. Stephen Crane. The story is artistically told as well as highly
exciting.'
The Daily Chronicle. — 'We turn the pages quickly, carried on by a
swiftly moving story, and many a brilliant j^assage : and when we put tlie
book down, our impression is that few works of this season are to be named
with it for the many qualities which make a successful novel. We congratu-
late Mr. Harding Uavis upon a very clever piece of work.'
London: WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 BEuroKD Street, W.C
A
ST. IVES
By ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
Jn One Volu?/ie, price 6s.
The Times. — 'Neither Stevenson himself nor any one else has given us
a better example of a dashing story, full of life and colour and interest. St.
Ives is both an entirely delightful personage and a narrator with an enthralling
style — a character who will be treasured up in the memory along with David
Balfour and Alan Break, even with D'Artagnan and the Musketeers.'
The Daily News. ' We see our author at his best. It is Stevenson with
his rare eighteenth century quaintness, grace, and humaneness, to which is
added a sense of nature permeating the whole work and lending to it a charm
that the masters of the eighteenth century did not possess.'
The Scotsman.—' It is a dashing book. The hero is a glorious fellow.
It has " passion, impudence, and energy," and in the multitude of its quickly
changing scenes "there shines a brilliant and romantic grace." It is a tale
to keep many readers sitting up late at night.'
Literature. — ' Never, perhaps, have the fascination and the foibles of the
typical Frenchman been studied with such humorous insight, or hit off with
such felicity of touch. The dialogue is of Stevenson's best.'
THE EBB-TIDE
By ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
AND
LLOYD OSBOURNE
In One Volume, price 6s.
The St. James's Gazette. — 'The book takes your imagination and
attention captive from the tirst chapter— nay, from the first paragraph — and it
does not set them free till the last word has been read.'
The Daily Chronicle. — 'We are swept along without a pause on the
current of the animated and vigorous narrative. Each incident and adven-
ture is told with that incomparable keenness of vision which is Mr. Stevenson's
greatest charm as a story-teller.'
The Pall Mall Gazette.— 'It is brilliantly invented, and it is not less
brilliantly told. There is not a dull sentence in the whole run of it. And
the style is fresh, alert, full of surprises — in fact, is very good latter-day
Stevenson indeed.'
The World. — 'It is amazingly clever, full of that extraordinary know-
ledge of human nature which makes certain creations of Mr. Stevenson's pen
far more real to us than persons we have met in the flesh.
The Morningf Post. — 'Boldly conceived, probing some of the darkest
depths of the human soul, the tale has a vigour and breadth of touch which
have been surpassed in none of Mr. Stevenson's previous works. . . . We
do not, of course, know how much Mr. Osbourne has contributed to the tale,
but there is no chapter of which any author need be unwilling to acknow-
ledge, or which is wanting in vivid interest.'
London : WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
THE CHRISTIAN
By hall CAINE
In One Volume, price ds.
Mr. Gladstone writes : — ' I cannot but regard with warm respect and
admiration the conduct of one holding your position as an admired and
accepted novelist who stakes himself, so to speak, on so bold a protestation
on behalf of the things which are unseen as against those which are seen, and
are so terribly effective in chaining us down to the level of our earthly
existence.'
Dean Farrar. — ' After all deductions and all qualifications, it seems to
me that The Christian is of much more serious import and of much more
permanent value than the immense majority of novels. It is a book which
makes us think.'
The Sketch. — ' It quivers and palpitates with passion, for even Mr.
Caine's bitterest detractors cannot deny that he is the possessor of that rarest
of all gifts, genius.'
The Newcastle Daily Chronicle. — ' Establishes Mr. Caine's position
once for all as the greatest emotional force in contemporary fiction. A great
effort, splendid in emotion and vitality, a noble inspiration carried to noble
issues — an honour to Mr. Hall Caine and to English fiction.'
The Standard. — 'The book has humour, it has pathos, it is full of colour
and movement. It abounds in passages of terse, bold, animated descriptions.
. . . There is, above all, the fascination of a skilful narrative.'
The Speaker. — ' It is a notable book, written in the heart's blood of the
author, and palpitating with the passionate enthusiasm that has inspired it.
A book that is good to read, and that cannot fail to produce an impression on
its readers.'
The Scotsman. — 'The tale will enthral the reader by its natural power
and beauty. The spell it casts is instantaneous, but it also gathers strength
from chapter to chapter, until we are swept irresistibly along by the impetuous
current of passion and action. '
THE MANXMAN
By hall caine
In One Volume^ price ^s.
The Times. — 'With the exception of The Scapegoat, this is unquestion-
ably the finest and most dramatic of Mr. Hall Caine's novels. . . . The
Manxman goes very straight to the roots of human passion and emotion. It
is a remarkable book, throbbing with human interest.'
The Queen. — ' The Manxman is undoubtedly one of the most remarkable
books of the century. It will be read and re-read, and lake its place in the
literary inheritance of the F.nglish-sjieaking nations.'
The St. James's Gazette.—' The Manxman is a contribution to litera-
ture, and the most fastidious critic would give in exchange for it a wilderness
of that deciduous trash which our publishers call fiction. ... It is not possible
to part from The Manxma7i with anything but a warm tribute of approval. '^
Edmund Gosse.
London : WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
THE BONDMAN
By hall CAINE
With a Photogravure Portrait of the Author.
In One Volume, price 6^.
Mr. Gladstone. — ' The Bondman is a work of which I recognise the
freshness, vigour, and sustained interest, no less than its integrity of aim.'
The Times. — ' It is impossible to deny originality and rude power to this
saga, impossible not to admire its forceful directness, and the colossal
grandeur of its leading characters.'
The Academy. — 'The language of The Bondman is full of nervous,
graphic, and poetical English ; its interest never flags, and its situations and
descriptions are magnificent. It is a splendid novel.'
The Speaker. — 'This is the best book that Mr. Hall Caine has yet
written, and it reaches a level to which fiiction very rarely attains. . , , We
are, in fact, so loth to let such good work be degraded by the title of
"novel" that we are almost tempted to consider its claim to rank as a prose
epic. '
The Scotsman. — ' Mr. Hall Caine has in this work placed himself
beyond the front rank of the novelists of the day. He has produced a story
which, for the ingenuity of its plot, for its literary excellence, for its delinea-
tions of human passions, and for its intensely powerful dramatic scenes, is
distinctly ahead of all the fictional literature of our time, and fit to rank with
the most powerful fictional writing of the past century.'
THE SCAPEGOAT
By hall caine
In One Volume^ price ds.
The Times. — ' In our judgment it excels in dramatic force all the Author's
previous eftbrts. For grace and touching pathos Naomi is a character which
any romancist in the world might be proud to have created, and the tale of
her parents' despair and hopes, and of her own development, confers upon
The Scapegoat a distinction which is matchless of its kind.'
The Guardian. — ' Mr. Hall Caine is undoubtedly master of a style which
is peculiarly his own. He is in a way a Rembrandt among novelists.'
The Athenseum. — ' It is a delightful story to read.'
The Academy. — 'Israel ben Oliel is the third of a series of the most
profoundly conceived characters in modern fiction.'
The Saturday Review. — ' This is the best novel which Mr. Caine has
yet produced.'
The Scotsman. — ' The new story will rank with Mr. Hall Caine's previous
productions. Nay, it will in some respects rank above them. It will take
its place by the side of the Hebrew histories in the Apocrypha. It is nobly
and manfully written. It stirs the blood and kindles the imagination.'
Truth. — 'Mr. Hall Caine has been winning his way slowly, but surely,
and securely I think also, to fame. You must by all means read his
absorbing Moorish romance. The Scapegoat. '
London: WILLIAM HEINEM.\NN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
DREAMERS OF THE GHETTO
By I. ZANGWILL
In One Volume^ price ^s.
W. E. Henley in the ' Outlook.' — 'A brave, eloquent, absorbing, and, on
the whole, persuasive book, whose author — speaking with a magnanimity and
a large and liberal candour not common in his race — tells you as much,
perhaps, as has before been told in modern literature. ... I find them all
vastly agreeable reading, and I take pleasure in recognising them all for the
work of a man who loves his race, and for his race's sake would like to make
literature. . . . Here, I take it — here, so it seems to me — is that rarest of
rare things, a book. As I have said, I do not wholly believe in it. But it is a
book ; it goes far to explain the Jew ; in terms of romance it sets forth not a
little of the most romantic, practical, persistent, and immitigable people that
the world has known or will ever know. It is, in fact, a Jew of something akin
to genius upon Jewry — the unchangeable quantity. And I feel that the reading
of it has widened my horizon, and given me much to perpend.'
The Daily Chronicle. — ' It is hard to descril^e this book, for we can think
of no exact parallel to it. In form, perhaps, it comes nearest to some of
Walter Pater's work. For each of the fifteen chapters contains a criticism of
thought under the similitude of an "Imaginary Portrait." . . . We have a
vision of the years presented to us in typical souls. We live again through
crises of human thought, and are compelled by the writer's art to regard them,
not as a catalogue of errors or hopes dead or done with, but under the vital
forms in which at one time or another they confronted the minds of actual
men like ourselves. Nearly all these scenes from the Ghetto take the form
of stories. A few are examples of the imaginative short story, that fine
method of art. The majority are dramatic scenes chosen from the actual life's
history of the idealists of Jewry in almost every European land.'
THE MASTER
By I. ZANGWILL
With a Photogravure Portrait of the Author
/// One Volume, price ds.
The Queen. — 'It is impossible to deny the greatness of a book like The
Master, a veritable human document, in which the characters do exactly as
they would in life. ... I venture to say that Matt himself is one of the most
striking and original characters in our fiction, and I have not the least doubt
that The Master will always be reckoned one of our classics.'
The Daily Chronicle. — ' It is a powerful and masterly piece of work. . . .
Quite the best novel of the year.'
The Literary World. — ' In The Master, Mr. Zangwill has eclipsed all his
previous work. This strong and striking story of patience and passion, of
sorrow and success, of art, ambition, and vain gauds, is genuinely powerful
in its tragedy, and picturesque in its completeness. . . . The work, thoroughly
wholesome in tone, is of sterling merit, and strikes a truly tragic chord, which
leaves a deep impression upon the mind.'
London : WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
CHILDREN OF THE GHETTO
A Study of a Peculiar People
By L ZANGWILL
In One Volume, price ds.
The Times. — ' From whatever point of view we regard it, it is a remark-
able book.'
The Daily Chronicle.—' Altogether we are not aware of any such minute,
graphic, and seemingly faithful picture of the Israel of nineteenth century
London. . . . The book has taken hold of us.'
The Guardian. — 'A novel such as only our own day could produce. A
masterly study of a complicated psychological problem in which every factor
IS handled with such astonishing dexterity and intelligence that again and
agam we are tempted to think a really good book has come into our hands.'
The Graphic— 'Absolutely fascinating. Teaches how closely akin are
laughter and tears.'
Black and White. — 'A moving panorama of Jewish life, full of truth, full
of sympathy, vivid in the setting forth, and occasionally most brilliant. Such
a book as this has the germs of a dozen novels. A book to read, to keep, to
ponder over, to remember.'
W. Archer in ' The World.'—' The most powerful and fascinating book
I have read for many a long day.'
The Manchester Guardian.— 'The best Jewish novel ever written.'
THE KING OF SCHNORRERS
Grotesques and Fantasies
By I. ZANGWILL
With over Ninety Illustrations by Phil May and Others.
I7i One Volume, price ds.
The Athenaeum.- 'Several of Mr. Zangwill's contemporary Ghetto char-
acters have already become almost classical; but in The King of ScJuiorrers
he goes back to the Jewish community of the eighteenth century for the
hero of his principal story ; and he is indeed a stupendous hero . . . anyhow,
he is well named the king of beggars. The illustrations, by Phil May, add
greatly to the attraction of the book.'
The Saturday Review. — ' Mr. Zangwill has created a new figure in
fiction, and a new type of humour. The entire series of adventures is a
triumphant progress. . . . Humour of a rich and active character pervades
the delightful history of Manasses. Mr. Zangwill's book is altogether very
good reading. It is also very cleverly illustrated by Phil May and other
artists.'
The Daily Chronicle.—' It is a beautiful story. The King of Schnorrers
is that great rarity— an entirely new thing, that is as good as it is new.'
The World. — ' The exuberant and even occasionally overpowering humour
of Mr. Zangwill is at his highest mark in his new volume, The King of
Schnorrers. '
London: WILLIAM IIEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
THE PREMIER AND THE PAINTER
By I. ZANGWILL and LOUIS COWEN
In One Volume^ price 6^.
The Graphic. — ' It might be worth the while of some industrious and
capable person with plenty of leisure to reproduce in a volume of reasonable
size the epigrams and other good things witty and serious which The Premier
and the Painter contains. There are plenty of them, and many are worth
noting and remembering.'
The St. James's Gazette. — 'The satire hits all round with much impar-
tiality ; while one striking situation succeeds another till the reader is alto-
gether dazzled. The story is full of life and " go " and brightness, and will
well repay perusal.'
The Morning Post. — 'The story is described as a "fantastic romance,"
and, indeed, fantasy reigns supreme from the first to the last of its pages. It
relates the history of our time with humour and well-aimed sarcasm. All the
most prominent characters of the day, whether political or otherwise, come in
for notice. The identity of the leading politicians is but thinly veiled, while
many celebrities appear in propria persond. Both the "Premier" and
"Painter" now and again find themselves in the most critical situations.
Certainly this is not a stor)' that he who runs may read, but it is cleverly
original, and often lightened by bright flashes of wit.'
THE FOURTH NAPOLEON
By CHARLES BENHAM
In One Volume, price 6s.
The Academy. — 'The picture of the incapable, ambitious sentimentalist,
attitudinising in his shabby London lodgings, attitudinising on the throne, and
sinking into flabby senility, while still in his own eyes a hero, is far more
than a successful piece of portraiture. It is a profound and moving allegory
of life. Surely to have produced such an effect is a high triumph of art. The
other people are all drawn with uncommon subtlety and vigour. Mr. Bcnham
follows great models. lie has learned much from Thackeray, and there is a
strong hint of Balzac in the half-ironical swiftness of change from scene to
scene. It is a fine piece of work, with enough wit and style and knowledge
of life to set up half-a-dozen ordinary novels. It is one of the best first books
wc have read for a long lime. '
The Saturday Review. — 'A definite attitude to life, the courage of his
opinion of human nature, and a biting humour, have enabled Mr. Benham to
write a very good novel indeed. The book is worked out thoroughly ; the
people in it are alive ; they are interesting.'
I. Zangwill in 'The Jewish Chronicle.' — 'Surely one of the most
remarkable first books of our day. A daring imagination, a sombre, subtle
sense of la comedie kurnaine, such are the characteristics of this powerful
book. ... A thoroughness and subtlety which Balzac could not have
excelled. Most first books are, in essence, autobiographies. It is as much
because The Fourth Napoleon reveals powers of wholly imaginative combina-
tion as because of its actual achievement, that I venture to think it marks the
advent of a novelist who has only to practice concentration and to study his
art to take no ordinary position in English fiction.'
London : WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
THE WAR OF THE WORLDS
By H. G. wells
In One Volume^ price (ys.
The Spectator.—' In The War of the Worlds Mr. Wells has achieved a
very notable success. As a writer of scientific romances he has never been
surpassed. In manner, as in scheme and incident, he is singularly original,
and if he suggests any one it is Defoe. He has not written haphazard, but
has imagined and then followed his imagination with the utmost niceness and
sincerity. In his romance two things have been done with marvellous power :
the imagining of the Martians, their descent upon the earth and their final
overthrow, and the description of the moral effects produced on a great city
by the attack of a ruthless enemy. . . . That his readers will read with
intense pleasure and interest we make no sort of doubt, for the book is one of
the most readable and most exciting works of imaginative fiction published
for many a long day. There is not a dull page in it. When once one has
taken it up, one cannot bear to put it down without a pang. It is one of the
books which it is imperatively necessary to sit up and finish.'
The Academy.—' Mr. Wells has done nothing before quite so fine as this.
He has two distinct gifts— of scientific imagination and of mundane observa-
tion—and has succeeded in bringing them together and harmoniously into
play. His speculative science is extraordinarily detailed, and the probable
departures from possibility are, at least, so contrived as not to offend the
reader who has but a small smattering of exact knowledge. Given the
scientific hyi^otheses, the story as a whole is remarkably plausible. You
feel it, not as romance, but as realism. As a crowning merit of the
book, beyond its imaginative vigour and its fidelity to life, it suggests
rather than obtrudes moral ideas. ... It is a thoughtful as well as an
unusually vivid and effective bit of workmanship. Already Mr. Wells has
his imitators, but their laboured productions, distinguished either by prolixity
or inaccuracy, neither excite the admiration of scientific readers nor attract
the attention of the world in general.'
THE ISLAND OF DOCTOR MOREAU
By H. G. wells
In One Volume, price 6s.
The SpectatOi . — ' There is nothing in Swift's grim conceptions of animal-
ised men and rationalised animals more powerfully conceived. Doctor Moreau
is a figure to make an impression on the imagination, and his tragic death has
a kind of poetic justice which satisfies the mind of the reader. Although we
do not recommend The Island of Doctor Moreau to readers of sensitive
nerves, as it might well haunt them too powerfully, we believe that Mr.
Wells has almost rivalled Swift in the power of his very gruesome, but very
salutary as well as impressive, conception.'
The St. James's Gazette.—' There can be no question that Mr. Wells has
written a singularly vivid and stimulating story. The idea is original and
boldly fantastic. The description of the strange Beast Folk is powerful, and
even convincing. The reader follows with a growing interest the fate of the
stranger who is cast by accident upon this island of pain and terror. There
are thrilling episodes and adventurous moments, and, above all, that happy
knack of the tale-teller which makes you want to go on till you have got to
the end of the story. The book is well written, with occasional passages that
show a rare felicity in the use and handling of language. There is none of the
younger romancers more gifted.'
London : WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
ILLUMINATION
By HAROLD FREDERIC
In One Vohe/ne, price 6s.
The Spectator. — 'There is something more than the mere touch of tlie
vanished hand that wrote The Scaiici Letter in llhiniiiiation, which is the
best novel Mr. Harold Frederic has produced, and, indeed, places him very
near if not quite at the head of the newest school of American fiction. . . .
Illumination is undoubtedly one of the novels of the year. '
The Manchester Guardian. — ' A remarkable book, and likely to be the
novel of the year. It is a long time since a book of such genuine importance
has appeared. It will not only afford novel-readers food for discussion during
the coming season, but it will eventually fill a recognised place in English
fiction.'
The Daily Chronicle. — ' Mr. Harold Frederic is winning his way by
sure steps to the foremost ranks of writers of fiction. Each book he gives us
is an advance upon the one before it. . . . His story is chiselled in detail,
but the details gradually merge into a finished work ; and when we close the
last page we have a new set of men and women for our acquaintances, a new
set of provocative ideas, and almost a Meissonier in literature to add to our
shelves. . . . Mr. Frederic's new novel is the work of a man born to write
fiction ; of a keen observer, a genuine humorist, a thinker always original
and sometimes even profound ; and of a man who has thoroughly learned
the use of his own pen.'
THE BROOM OF THE WAR-GOD
By H. N. BRAILSFORD
In One Volutne, price 6s.
The World. — ' The Broom of the War-Cod is something more than a
romance. Founded upon the late Graeco-Turkish War, it is quite the most vivid
and most realistic picture of the lamentable campaign that we have yet met with.
In it the truth is clearly, pitilessly told, and we learn what war really means
when undertaken by the bankrupt and demoralised Government of a fourth-
rate Power. Full to the brim with detail, the conversations retailed make
excellent reading for all except the Greek officers and the Crown Prince,
whose hopeless incompetency and cowardice deservedly meet with pitiless
reprobation. But, apart from its political aspect, we follow the fortunes of
the Foreign Legion — composed mostly of the offscourings of the whole of
Europe, but containing a certain leaven of fine fellows — with absorbed interest.
Once more we read of the shameful retreat from Pharsala, the prelude to a
succession of disasters vividly recapitulated in this fine story. The book con-
tains a capital portrait-gallery of Philhellenes, some Cockney studies worthy
of Kipling himself, and the background of Grecian life and surroundings is
drawn with no uncertain hand ; but the story is a saddening one, for the lurid
Ught of war in its most unfavourable aspect illumines the whole.'
London: WILLIAM IIEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
A 2
ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS
By flora ANNIE STEEL
In One Volume^ price 6s.
The Spectator. — 'We have read Mrs. Steel's book with ever-increasing
surprise and admiration — surprise at her insight into people with whom
she can scarcely have been intimate, admiration for the genius which has
enabled her to realise that wonderful welter of the East and West, which
Delhi must have presented just before the INIutiny. There is many an officer
who would give his sword to write military history as Mrs. Steel has written
the history of the rising, the siege, and the storm. It is the most wonderful
picture. We know that none who lived through the Mutiny will lay the book
down without a gasp of admiration, and believe that the same emotion will be
felt by thousands to whom the scenes depicted are but lurid phantasmagoria.'
The Saturday Review. — 'Many novelists and spinners of tales have
made use of the Indian Mutiny, but Mrs. Steel leaves them all a long way
behind. On the Face of the Waters is the best novel of the Great Mutiny,
and we are not likely to see its rival in our time.'
The Daily Chronicle. — 'A picture, glowing with colour, of the most
momentous and dramatic events in all our Empire's later history. We have
read many stories having for their setting the lurid background of the Indian
Mutiny, but none that for fidelity to fact, for vivacity of imagination, for
masterly breadth of treatment, comes within half a dozen places of this.'
THE POTTER'S THUMB
By flora ANNIE STEEL
Jn One Volume^ price (iS.
The Globe. — 'This is a brilliant story — a story that fascinates, tingling
with life, steeped in sympathy with all that is best and saddest,'
The Manchester Guardian. — 'The impression left upon one after reading
The Potter's Thumb is that a new literary artist, of very great and unusual
gifts, has arisen. . . . In short, Mrs. Steel must be congratulated upon having
achieved a very genuine and amply deserved success.'
The Glasgow Herald, — 'A clever story which, in many respects, brings
India very near to its readers. The novel is certainly one interesting alike to
the Anglo-Indian and to those untravelled travellers who make their only
voyages in novelists' romantic company, '
The Scotsman. — ' It is a capital story, full of variety and movement, which
brings with great vividness before the reader one of the phases of Anglo-
Indian life. Mrs. Steel writes forcibly and sympathetically, and much of the
charm of the picture which she draws lies in the force with which she brings
out the contrast between the Asiatic and European world. The Potter's
Thzimb is very good reading, with its mingling of the tragedy and comedy of
life. Its evil woman /«r excellence ... is a finished study.'
London : WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
IN THE PERMANENT WAY
Bv FLORA ANNIE STEEL
In One Volume, price ds.
The Spectator. — 'While her only rival in this field of ficlion is Mr.
Kipling, her work is marked by an even subtler appreciation of the Oriental
standpoint — both ethical and religious — a more exhaustive acquaintance with
native life in its domestic and indoor aspects, and a deeper sense of the moral
responsibilities attaching to our rule in the East. The book is profoundly
interesting from beginning to end.'
The World. — 'All Indian, all interesting, and all characteristic of the
writer's exceptional ability, knowledge, and style. It is needless to say that
there is beauty in every one of these tales. The author goes farther in the
interpretation to us of the mysterious East than any other writer.'
Literature. — ' The tales of the fanaticism and humanity of Deen Mahomed,
of the love and self-sacrifice of Glory-of- Woman, ot the superstition and self-
sacrifice of Hajji-Raheen — are so many fragments of palpitating life taken
from the myriadfold existence of our Indian Emjjire to make us realise which
is not merely a service to literature. Mrs. Steel's sketches are founded, like
Mr. Kipling's, on "the bed-rock of humanity," and they will live.'
The Pall Mall Gazette.— 'A volume of charming stories and of stories
possessing something more than mere charm. Stories made rich with beauty
and colour, strong with the strength of truth, and pathetic with the intimate
pathos which grows only from the heart. All the mystery and the frankness,
the simplicity and the complexity of Indian life are here in a glowing setting of
brilliant Oriental hues. A book to read and a book to buy. A book which
no one but Mrs. Steel could have given us, a book which all persons of leisure
should read, and for which all persons of taste will be grateful.'
FROM THE FIVE RIVERS
By flora ANNIE STEEL
In One Volume.^ price bs.
The Times. — ' Time was when these sketches of native Punjabi society
would have been considered a curiosity in literature. They arc sufficiency
remarkable, even in these days, when interest in the "dumb millions" of
India is thoroughly alive, and writers, great and small, vie in ministering to it.
They are the more notable as being the work of a woman. Mrs. Steel has
evidently been brought into close contact with the domestic life of all classes,
Hindu and Mahomcdan, in city and village, and has steeped herself in their
customs and superstitions. . . . Mrs. Steel's book is of exceptional merit and
freshness.'
The Athenaeum. — 'They possess this great merit, that they reflect the
habits, modes of life, and ideas of the middle and lower classes of the popula-
tion of Northern India better than do systematic and more pretentious works.'
The Globe. — ' She puts before us the natives of our Empire in the East as
they live and move and speak, with their pitiful superstitions, their strange
fancies, their melancholy ignorance of what poses with us for knowledge and
civilisation, their doubt of the new ways, the new laws, the new people.
"Shah Sujah's Mouse," the gem of the collection — a touching tale of un-
reasoning fidelity towards an English " Sinny Baba" is a tiny bit of perfect
writing.'
Lo.NDON: WILLIAM IIEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Strekt, W.C.
THE GADFLY
By E. L. VOYNICH
Jn One Volume, price ds.
The Academy. — *A remarkable story, which readers who prefer flesh and
blood and human emotions to sawdust and adventure should consider as some-
thing of a godsend. It is more deeply interesting and rich in promise than
ninety-nine out of every hundred novels.'
The Daily Telegraph. — 'The character is finely drawn, with a tragic
power and intensity which leave a lasting impression on the reader.'
The World. — 'The author's name is unknown to us : if this be his first
work of fiction, it makes a mark such as it is given very few to impress, for
the strength and originality of the story are indisputable, and its Dis-like gloom
is conveyed with unerring skill. It is not faultless, but the Padre of the
beginning, who is the Cardinal of the end, the one woman of the story, whose
influence is so pervading, but so finely subordinated to the supreme interest,
and the grandeur of the close of the tragedy, make us disinclined to look for
flaws.'
The St. James's Gazette. — 'A very strikingly original romance which
will hold the attention of all who read it, and establish the author's reputation
at once for first-rate dramatic alsility and power of expression. No one who
opens its pages can fail to be engrossed by the vivid and convincing manner
in which each character plays his part and each incident follows the other.
Exciting, sinister, even terrifying, as it is at times, we must avow it to be a
work of real genius, which will hold its head high among the ruck of recent
fiction. '
THE MINISTER OF STATE
By J. A. STEUART
In One Volume, price 6i".
The Daily Mail. — ' A brilliantly clever novel, charged with intellectuality
and worldly knowledge, written with uncommon literary finish, pulsating
with human nature. The story is constructed with marked ability, the
characters are skilfully dift'erentiated, and the literary workmanship gives
continual pleasure.'
The Globe. — ' Its style is clear and vigorous, its matter interesting ; in fact,
Mr. Steuart has produced an excellent piece of work.'
The World.- — 'The working of character and the power of self-making have
rarely been so finely delineated as in this novel, which is nothing that fiction
ought not to be, while its qualities place it far above the novels we are
accustomed to, even of the higher class. It is dramatic, romantic and
realistic ; and, apart from those charms, it pleases the very soul by the care-
fulness, the cultivation of its style, the sense of respect for his art and his
public conveyed by the writer's nice apportionment and finish. The life
history of the Scotch laddie is one to be followed with vivid interest.'
The Literary World. — 'A novel which should make the author's name
a familiar one among all classes of readers. To a polished style Mr. Steuart
adds an ability to interest us in his characters which does not always go with
epigrammatic writing. The story is one that appeals with great force both
to the young and to the old.'
•London: WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
THE LONDONERS
By ROBERT HICHENS
In One Vohitne, price ds.
Punch. — ' Mr. Hichens calls his eccentric story " an absurdity," and so it
is. As amusing nonsense, written in a happy-go-lucky style, it works up to
a genuine hearty-laugh-extracting scene. . . . The Londoners is one of
the most outrageous pieces of extravagant absurdity we have come across for
many a day.'
The Manchester Guardian. — 'A roaring farce, full of excellent fooling,
and capital situations.'
The Globe. — ' It is refreshing to come across a really amusing book now
and again, and to all in search of a diverting piece of absurdity we can
recommend The Lofidoners. Herein Air. Hichens has returned to his earlier
manner, and it will be added to his credit that the author of The Gnen
Carnation has for a second time contributed to the innocent gaiety of the
nation.'
The Daily Telegraph. — ' A farce and a very excellent one. Should be
read by every one in searcii of a laugh. Mr. Hichens simply revels in
epigrams, similes, and satire, and his achievements in this respect in The
Londoners will disappoint no one. It reads as if the author himself laughed
when writing it, and the laughter is contagious.'
Pall Mall Gazette. — ' It is all screamingly funny, and does great credit
to Mr. Hichens's luxuriant imagination.'
FLAMES
Bv ROBERT HICHENS
In One Volume, price ds.
The Daily Chronicle. — ' A cunning blend of the romantic and the real, the
work iif a man who can observe, who can think, who can imagine, and who
can write. . . . And the little thumb-nail sketches of the London streets have
the grim force of a Callot. But the real virtue of the book consists of its
tender, sympathetic, almost reverential picture of Cuckoo Bright. Not that
there is any attempt at idealising her ; she is shown in all her tawdry, slangy,
noisy vulgarity, as she is. But in despite of all this, the woman is essen-
tially a heroine, and lovable. If it contained nothing more than what we
do not hesitate to call this beautiful story — and it does contain more —
Flames would be a noteworthy book.'
The World. — 'An exceedingly clever and daring work . , . a novel so
weirdly fascinating and engrossing that the reader easily forgives its length.
Its unflagging interest and strength, no less than its striking originality, both
of design and treatment, will certainly rank it among the most notable novels
of the season.'
The Daily Telegraph. — ' It carries on the attention of the reader from
the first chapter to the last. It is full of exciting incidents, very modern, and
excessively up-to-date.'
Lo.ndon: WILLIAM IIEINEMANN, 21 Bediord Street, W.C.
AN IMAGINATIVE MAN
By ROBERT HICHENS
Author of 'The Green Carnation'
In One Volume, price 6s.
The Guardian. — 'There is no possible doubt as to the cleverness of the
book. The scenes are exceeding powerful.'
The Graphic. — 'The story embodies a study of remarkable subtlety and
power, and the style is not only vivid and picturesque, but in those passages
of mixed emotion and reiiection, which strike what is, perhaps, the charac-
teristic note of late nineteenth century prose literature, is touched with some-
thing of poetic charm. '
The Daily Chronicle. — ' It treats an original idea with no little skill, and
it is written with a distinction which gives M. Hichens a conspicuous place
amongst the younger story-tellers who are really studious of English diction.
... It is marked out with an imaginative resource which has a welcome note
of literature.'
The Scotsman. — 'It is no doubt a remarkable book. If it has almost
none of the humour of its predecessor {The Green Carnation), it is written
with the same brilliancy of style, and the same skill is shown in the drawing
of accessories. Mr. Hichens's three characters never fail to be interesting.
They are presented with very considerable power, while the background of
Egyptian life and scenery is drawn with a sure hand. '
THE FOLLY OF EUSTACE
By ROBERT HICHENS
In One Volume, price ds.
The Daily Telegfraph. — 'There is both imaginative power and a sense of
style in all that Mr. Hichens writes, coupled with a distinct vein of humour.'
The Pall Mall Gazette. — 'Admirably written, and in the vein that Mr.
Ilichens has made peculiarly his own.'
The World. — 'The author of An Imaginative Man took a high place
among imaginative writers by that remarkable work, and The Folly of
Eustace fully sustains his well -merited repute as a teller of tales. The little
story is as fantastic and also as reasonable as could be desired, with the
occasional dash of strong sentiment, the sudden turning on of the lights of
sound knowledge of life and things that we find in the author when he is most
fanciful. The others are weird enough and strong enough in human interest
to make a name for their writer had his name needed making.'
London : WILUAM HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
THE NAULAHKA
A Tale of West and East
By RUDYARD KIPLING and WOLCOTT BALESTIER
In One Volume^ price 6i".
The Athenaeum. — ' There is no one but Mr. Kipling who can make his
readers taste and smell, as well as see and hear, the East ; and in this book
(if we except the description of Tarvin's adventures in the deserted city of
Gunvaur, which is perhaps less clear-cut than usual) he has surely surpassed
himself. In his faculty for getting inside the Eastern mind and showing its
queer workings, Mr. Kipling stands alone.'
The Academy. — ' The Nanlahka contains passages of great merit.
There are descriptions scattered through its pages which no one but Mr.
Kipling could have written. . . . Whoever reads this novel will find much of
it hard to forget . . . and the story of the exodus from the hospital will rank
among the best passages in modern fiction.'
The Times. — 'A happy idea, well adapted to utilise the respective ex-
perience of the joint authors. . . . An excellent story. . . . The dramatic
train of incident, the climax of which is certainly the interview between
Sitabhai and Tarvin, the alternate crudeness and ferocity of the girl-queen, the
susceptibility of the full-blooded American, hardly kept in subjection by his
alertness and keen eye to business, the anxious eunuch waiting in the distance
with the horses, and fretting as the stars grow paler and paler, the cough of
the tiger slinking home at the dawn after a fruitless night's hunt — the whole
forms a scene not easily effaced from the memor}'.'
THE MAN OF STRAW
By EDWIN PUGH
In One Volume, price ds.
The Daily Mail. — ' So finely imagined and so richly built up with natural
incident and truthful detail, that no one who cares for a fine novel, finely
written, can afford to let it pass. Mr. Pugh's study of John Coldershaw is,
in its strength, a graduated truth of detail, masterly almost beyond possibility
of overpraise. Possibly it is the London setting which lends the story a
touch of the style of Dickens. Certain it is that London humanity has never
been so well portrayed since Dickens ceased to portray it.'
Black and White. — ' Certain to be widely read and to be discussed, since
it is notable f jr matter and manner alike. Abounds in magnificent situations.
The realism is ever touched with imagination, and it is often powerful and
never dull.'
The Daily Telegraph. — ' Places its author in the front rank of the new
realism. Nothing that Mr. Pugh describes is a mere fancy picture — every
stroke of his pen brings conviction with it. He writes with the instinct of
an artist, and selects his incidents with marvellous skill.'
The Scotsman. — ' A story of singular power and absorbing interest. The
author proves himself a keen, sympathetic student of life in the poorer parts
of the Metropolis. It is impossible to convey anything like an adequate
conception of the sustained animation and the dramatic vigour of the book,
or of the fertile imagination of the writer. It is full of scenes of pathos, of
humour, or of those possessing a fine blending of both qualities.'
Londo.n: WILLIAM IIEINEMANN, 21 JiEDFORD Street, W.C
THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH
By GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO
T?i One Volume, price 6i-.
The Pall Mall Gazette.— 'A masterpiece. The story holds and haunts
one. Unequalled even by the great French contemporary whom, in his realism,
D'Annunzio most resembles, is the account of the pilgrimage to the shrine of
the Virgin by the sick, deformed, and afflicted. It is a great prose poem, that,
of its kind, cannot be surpassed. Every detail of the scene is brought before
us in a series of word-pictures of wonderful power and vivid colouring, and the
ever-recurring refrain Viva Maria ! Ma}-ia Evviva ! rings in our ears as we
lay down the book. It is the w'ork of a master, whose genius is beyond
dispute.'
The Daily Telegraph. — 'The author gives us numerous delightful pictures,
pictures of Italian scenery, simple sketches, too, of ordinary commonplace
innocent lives. The range of his female portrait gallery is almost as wide and
varied as that of George Meredith. His Ippolita, his Marie Ferris, his
Giuliana Hermil live as strong and vivid presentments of real and skilfully
contrasted women. The Triumph of Death ends with a tragedy as it also
begins with one. Between the two extremes are to be found many pages of
poetry, of tender appreciation of nature, of rare artistic skill, of subtle and
penetrative analysis.'
The Westminster Gazette. — ' For a vivid and searching description of
the Italian peasant on his religious side, written with knowledge and under-
standing, these pages could hardly be surpassed. We see their Paganism and
their poverty and their squalor, yet also that imaginative temper which lends
a certain dignity to their existence. The narrative is remorseless . . . yet it
is rich and full of atmosphere. M. D'Annunzio has a tender eye for natural
detail ; the landscape of Italy, its flowers and trees, kindles him to genuine
poetry. We are left at the close of his story with a feeling that something
like genius is at work. This book is one which will not yield to any simple
test. It is a work of singular power, which cannot be ignored, left unread
when once started, or easily banished from the mind when read.'
GOD'S FOUNDLING
By a. J. DAWSON
In One J^oliinie, price 6j".
The Pall Mall Gazette. — 'Both as regards strength and sincerity of
purpose (Mr. Dawson seems at length to have rid himself of that unwhole-
some decadent taint) and excellence of portraiture, this story is a surprising
advance on any of his former efforts. The character of Mr. Morley Fenton,
the strong man tired, is a very fine and striking piece of work. George
Bernard, the happy-go-lucky, clean-lived Bohemian, is a very manly, lovable,
and life-like character. . . . The main thesis of the' story — to wit, that no
man can work out his brother's salvation — is powerfully and skilfully
developed. As the work of a young writer, God^s Foundling- strikes me as
being not only full of promise, but also as something very like an achieve-
ment.'
London: WILLIAxM IIEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
THE THIRD VIOLET
By STEPHEN CRANE
In One Volume, price ds.
The Academy. — 'A precipitate outpouring of lively pictures, a spontaneous
dazzle of colour, a frequent success in the quest of the right word and phrase,
were among the qualities which won for The Red Badge of Courage immediate
recognition as the product of genius. These qualities, with less of their
excess, are manifest in The Third Violet; and the sincere psychology, the
scientific analysis, which, in the earlier work, lay at the root of the treatment
of its subject-matter, are no less sure in the author's portrayal of more daily
emotions — of the hackneyed, but never to be outworn, themes of a man's
love, a woman's modesty, and the snobbery which is very near to us all. Of
the hundreds who strive after this inward vision, and this power of just
expression, once in a decade of years, or in a score, one attains to them ; and
tlie result is literature.'
The Athenaeum. — ' In his present book, Mr. Crane is more the rival of
Mr. Henry James than of Mr. Rudyard Kipling. But he is intensely American,
which can hardly be said of Mr. Henry James, and it is possible that if lie
continues in his present line of writing, he may be the author who will intro-
duce the United States to the ordinary English world. We have never come
across a book that brought certain sections of American society so perfectly
before the reader as does The Third Violet, which introduces us to a farming
family, to the boarders at a summer hotel, and to the young artists of New
York. The picture is an extremely pleasant one, and its truth appeals to the
English reader, so that the effect of the book is to draw him nearer to his
American cousins. The Third Violet incidentally contains the best dog we
have come across in modern fiction. Mr. Crane's dialogue is excellent, and
it is dialogue of a type for which neither The Red Badge of Courage nor his
later books had prepared us.'
CLEO, THE MAGNIFICENT
By 'Z. Z.'
In One Volume, price ds.
The Academy. — 'A sound piece of work.'
The Daily Telegraph. — 'The father of the young poet, who begins by
scorning his son's ambitions and ends by becoming his devoted admirer, is
capitally described ; so, too, in more delicate and original fashion, is Lady
Thiselton, the platonic friend of the hero.'
The Daily Mail. — 'This is, in many respects, one of the best pieces of
fiction we have read for some time. ... It is a strong piece of work, more
than commonly clever, conscentious, and sound, and made bright by characters
that are in most cases true to life.'
The Scotsman. — 'The story is well written, and it never loses the strong
hold it takes rjn the reader at the beginning.'
The Morning Post. — Cleo herself is a portrait full of observation, keen
sarcasm, and knowledge of her peculiar type. Very good also is the sketch
of the worthy Kctterings.'
The Jewish Chronicle. — ' It is original in conception ; it is worked out
with infinite conscientiousness and care ; it is a book of deepest pathos, and
of pathos that is half akin to humour. . . . He has written a romance of
youth, which is full of the earnestness and courage of youth, and is a work of
remarkable interest and attractiveness.'
London; WILLIAM IIEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
THE WORLD AND A MAN
By 'ZZ'
/;/ One Vohime, price 6s.
The Daily Chronicle. — 'This is an extremely clever novel. A Drama in
Dutch was clever, but this book is wsrth a dozen of it. In all modern fiction
there is no character more thoroughly realised than the Man with whom the
World dealt so disastrously. Z Z has analysed his hero according to the
best method of a literary artist. The story . . . fascinates from the sheer
power of its telling. Z Z's literary method is the literary method of Mr.
George Gissing, of Mr. George Moore, of Emile Zola. Although there are
so many details, one can see plainly enough that each has been carefully
selected for reproduction. In this respect his work is superior to that of most
modern realists, and to that of one, perhaps of two, of the writers we have
just mentioned. He is absolutely faithful to life. He gives just so much as
will produce a strong, vivid, memorable impression. The World a)id a Man
is a serious contribution to literature.'
The Globe. — ' Sincere and thoughtful, and so much above the average,
that all who read for profit should hasten to judge it for themselves.'
The Observer. — ' A strongly-written story which will please those readers
who care for the more serious kind of fiction. A clever and readable work,
which may be recommended to all who look for something more than mere
" flowers, froth, and flummery" in the fiction which they peruse.'
A DRAMA IN DUTCH
By 'Z Z'
l7i One Vohane, price ds.
The Speaker. — 'A novel of such remarkable merit, and written with such
easy mastery of style. From first to last this striking and powerful story
maintains a high level of excellence, betokening no 'prentice hand. It is a
story teeming with humour and pathos, instinct with the irony of human fate,
and quick to apprehend the subtle twists and inconsistencies of human
character. Above all, it is deliciously original . . . and told with great spirit,
humour, and dramatic vigour. A vivid picture of a side of life upon which
little light has been cast by our novelists since Dickens laid down his pen.'
The Westminster Gazette. — ' \^ivid in portraiture, vivacious in manner.
. . . The combination of close observation and grim sardonic humour gives
the book a decided charm. , . . The pathetic figure of Peter is drawn with a
tenderness which indefinitely enlarges our impression of the author's dramatic
possibilities.'
The Aberdeen Daily Free Press. — ' In the publication of this and
kindred works, Mr. Heincmann is doing much to maintain the freshness and
vigour of our English fiction. . . . He has seldom provided a pleasanter and
yet more bracing work than the Drama now before us. ... As a mere story
it will carry delight to even the most unthinking.'
London: WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
THE BETH BOOK
By SARAH GRAND
I?i One Vohitiie, price 6s.
Punch. — 'The heroine of the Beth Book is one of Sarah Grand's most
fascinating creations. With such realistic art is her life set forth that, for a
while, the reader will probably be under the impression that he has before him
the actual story of a wayward genius compiled from her genuine diary. The
story is absorbing ; the truth to nature in the characters, whether virtuous,
ordinary, or vicious, every reader, with some experience will recognise.
Sketch.—' Madame Sarah Grand has given us the fruits of much thought
and hard work in her new novel, wherein she tells of the " life of a woman
of genius." Beth's character is moulded by the varied experiences of her
early youth, and ever}' detail is observed with the masterly hand that gave
us the pranks of the Heavenly Tiviiis. As a study of the maturing process of
character and of the influence of surroundings exercised on a human being,
this book is a complete success and stands far ahead of the novels of recent date. '
The Standard. — 'The style is simple and direct, and the manner altogether
is that of a woman who has thought much and evidently felt much. It is
impossible to help being interested in her book.'
The Daily Chronicle. — 'There is humour, observation, and sympathetic
insight into the temperaments of both men and women. Beth is realised ; we
more than admit, we assert, that we love her.'
The Globe. — ' It is quite safe to prophesy that those who peruse The Beth
Book will linger delightedly over one of the freshest and deepest studies of
child character ever given to the world, and hereafter will finil it an ever-
present factor in their literary recollections and impressions.'
THE HEAVENLY TWINS
By SARAH GRAND
I}i One Volume, price ds.
The Athenaeum. — ' It is so full of interest, and the characters are so
eccentrically humorous yet true, that one feels inclined to pardon all its
faults, and give oneself up to unreserved enjoyment of it. . . . The twins
Angelica and Diavolo, young barbarians, utterly devoid of all respect, con-
ventionality, or decency, arc among the most delightful and amusing children
in fiction.'
The Academy. — ' The adventures of Diavolo and Angelica — the
"heavenly twins" — are delightfully funny. No more original children were
ever put into a book. Their audacity, unmanageableness, and genius for
mischief — in none of which qualities, as they are here shown, is there any
taint of vice — are refreshing ; and it is impossible not to follow, with very
keen interest, the progress of these youngsters.'
The Daily Telegraph. — ' Everybody ought to read it, for it is an inex-
haustible source of refreshing and highly stimulating entertainment.'
Punch. — ' The Twins themselves are a creation : the epithet " Heavenly"
for these two mischievous little fiends is admirable.'
The Queen. — ' There is a touch of real genius in The Heavenly Twins.''
The Guardian. — 'Exceptionally brilliant in dialogue, and dealing with
modern society life, this book has a purpose — to draw out and emancipate
women. '
LONPON : WILLIAM IIEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
IDEALA
A STUDY FROM LIFE
By SARAH GRAND
In Oiie Volume, price ds.
The Morning Post. — 'Sarah Grand's Ideala. ... A clever book in
itself, is especially interesting when read in the light of her later works.
Standing alone, it is remarkable as the outcome of an earnest mind seeking
in good faith the solution of a difficult and ever present problem. . . . Ideala
is original and somewhat daring. . . . The story is in many ways delightful
and thought-suggesting.'
The Liverpool Mercury. — 'The book is a wonderful one— an evangel
for the fair sex, and at once an inspiration and a comforting companion, to
which thoughtful womanhood will recur again and again.'
The Glasgow Herald. — 'Ideala has attained the honour of a fifih
edition. . . . The stir created by The Heavenly Twins, the more recent
work by the same authoress, Madame Sarah Grand, would justify this step.
Ideala can, however, stand on its own merits.'
The Yorkshire Post.— 'As a psychological study the book cannot fail to
be of interest to many readers.'
The Birmingham Gazette. — 'Madame Sarah Grand thoroughly deserves
her success. Ideala, the heroine, is a splendid conception, and her opinions
are noble. . , . The book is not one to be forgotten. '
OUR MANIFOLD NATURE
By SARAH GRAND
In One Volume, price Gs.
The Spectator. — 'Insight into, and general spnpathy with widely
differing phases of humanity, coupled with power to reproduce what is seen,
with vivid distinct strokes, that rivet the attention, are qualifications for
work of the kind contained in Our Manifold Nature which Sarah Grand
evidently possesses in a high degree. . . , AH these studies, male and female
alike, are marked by humour, pathos, fidelity to life, and power to recognise
in human nature the frequent I'ecurrence of some apparently incongruous
and remote trait, which, when at last it becomes visible, helps to a com-
prehension of what might otherwise be inexplicable. '
The Speaker.— 'In Our Manifold Nature Sarah Grand is seen at her
best. How good that is can only be known by those who read for them-
selves this admirable little volume. In freshness of conception and originality
of treatment these stories are delightful, full of force and piquancy, whilst
the studies of character are carried out with equal firmness and delicacy.'
The Guardian. — ' Our Manifold Nature is a clever book. Sarah Grand
has the power of touching common things, which, if it fails to make them
"rise to touch the spheres," renders them exceedingly interesting.'
London: WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
THE GODS ARRIVE
By ANNIE E. HOLDSWORTH
In One Volume, price 6.t.
The Review of Reviews. — ' Extremely interesting and very clever. The
characters are well drawn, especially the women. Old Martha is a gem ;
there are very few more palpably living and lovable old women in modern
fiction than her.'
The Guardian. — ' There is really good work in Miss Iloldsworth's books,
and this is no exception to the rule. In many ways it is really a fine story ;
the dialogue is good, and the characters are interesting. The peasants, too,
are well drawn.'
The Daily Telegraph. — ' Packed full of cleverness : the minor personages
are instinct with comedy.
The Observer. — ' The book has the attractive qualities which have
distinguished the author's former works, some knowledge of human nature,
touches of humour rubbing shoulders with pathos, a keen sympathy for the
sorrows of life — all these make her story one to be read and appreciated.'
The Daily Chronicle. — 'The book is well written, the characters keenly
observed, the incidents neatly presented.'
The Queen. — 'A book to linger over and enjoy.'
The Literary World. — 'Once more this talented writer and genuine
observer of human nature has given us a book which is full of valuable and
attractive qualities. It deals with realities ; it makes us think.'
THE YEARS THAT THE LOCUST
HATH EATEN
By ANNIE E. HOLDSWORTH
In One Volume, price 6s.
The Literary World. — 'The novel is marked by great strength, which
is always under subjection to the author's gift of restraint, so that we are made
to feel the intensity all the more. Pathos and humour (in the true sense) go
together through these chaj^ters ; and for such qualities as earnestness, insight,
moral courage, and thoughtfulness. The Years that the Locust hath Eaten
stands out prominently among noteworthy books of the time.'
The Standard. — 'A worthy successor io Joanna Traill, Spinster. It is
quite as powerful. It has insight and sympathy and pathos, humour, and
some shrewd understanding of human nature scattered up and down its pages.
Moreover, there is beauty in the story and idealism. . . . Told with a humour,
a grace, a simplicity, that ought to give the story a long reign. . . . The
charm of the book is undeniable ; it is one that only a clever woman, full of
the best instincts of her sex, could have written.'
The Pall Mall Gazette. — ' The book should not be missed by a fastidious
novel-reader.'
London: WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
THE LAST SENTENCE
By maxwell GRAY
Author of 'The Silence of Dean Maitland,' etc.
In One Volume, py'ice ds.
The Standard. —' 77^^ Last Sentence \% a remarkable story; it aboumls
■with dramatic situations, the interest never for a moment Hags, and the
cliaracters are well drawn and consistent.'
The Daily Telegraph. — 'One of the most powerful and adroitly worked-
out plots embodied in any modern work of fiction runs through The Last
Sentence. . . . This terrible tale of retriljution is told with well-sustained
force and picturesqueness, and abounds in light as well as shade.'
The Morning Post. — ' Maxwell Gray has the advantage of manner that is
both cultured and picturesque, and while avoiding even the appearance of the
melodramatic, makes coming events cast a shadow before them so as to excite
and entertain expectation. ... It required the imagination of an artist to
select the kind of Nemesis which finally overtakes this successful evil-doer,
and which affords an affecting climax to a rather fascinating tale. '
The Lady's Pictorial. — 'The book is a clever and powerful one. . . .
Cynthia Marlowe will live in our memories as a sweet and noble woman ; one
of whom it is a pleasure to think of beside some of the "emancipated"
heroines so common in the fiction of the day.'
THE FREEDOM OF HENRY MEREDYTH
By M. HAMILTON
I/i One Volume, price 6j'.
The Observer. — 'Miss Hamilton has seldom written to better advantage
than in this volume. The book is mainly dependent for interest on its
characterisation, but there is a distinctly human note struck throughout, and
the author displays keen insight into everyday life and its complications.'
Literature. — 'Well told in a vein of vigorous and consistent realism.'
The Court Journal. — It is written with good taste, and is full of shrewd
perceptive touches, so the interest is sustained agreeably without effort and
without the artificial stimulus of sensationalism. The story, in a word, is
both interesting and pleasant, and one that should not be missed.'
The Scotsman. — ' The story is admirably told and has a very real interest,
because the characters are real. '
London: WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
MCLEOD OF THE CAMERONS
By M. HAMILTON
In One Volume, price 6s.
The Speaker. — ' We have read many novels of life at Malta, but none so
vivid and accurate in local colour as JSP Lead of the Camerons. A well-told
and powerful story . . . acute analysis of character ; it offers a standard of
perfection to which the majority of writers of fiction cannot attain.'
The Literary World. — 'A decidedly good story. It hac some very
original features, is well told, and is entertaining enough to hold the reader^
in close attention. '
The Daily Telegraph. — ' A well told story. A lifelike picture of garrison
existence in Malta, as well as a number of vigorous and convincing character-
sketches, outlined with considerable force, and filled in with great delicacy of
finish. From beginning to end, the story is alive with human interest.'
The Manchester Guardian. — ' Striking and exceedingly readable. Miss
Hamilton is to be congratulated upon a very fresh, exciting, and yet natural
piece of work.'
A SELF-DENYING ORDINANCE
By M. HAMILTON
In One Volume, price ds.
The Athenaeum. — 'The characters are exceptionally distinct, the movc-
nicnt is brisk, and the dialogue is natural and convincing.'
The Pall Mall Gazette. — 'Joanna Conway is on distinctly new lines, and
it has given us pleasure to follow her spicy, attractive personality through
all the phases of her carefully, finely-depicted evolution.'
The Daily Chronicle. — 'An excellent novel. Joanna Conway is one of
the most attractive figures in recent fiction. It is no small tribute to the
author's skill that this simple country girl, without beauty or accomplishments,
is from first to last so winning a personality. The book is full of excellent
observation.'
Woman. — 'Contains the finest, surest, subtlest character drawing that
England has had from a new writer for years and years past.'
London: WILLIAM IIEINEMANN, 21 Bedkord Street, W.C.
MARIETTA'S MARRIAGE
By W. E. NORRIS
In One Volume^ price ds.
The Athenaeum. — 'A fluent style, a keen insight into certain types of
human nature, a comprehensive and humorous view of modern society — these
are gifts Mr. Norris has already displayed, and again exhibits in his present
volume. From the first chapter to the last, the book runs smoothly and
briskly, with natural dialogue and many a piquant situation.'
The Morning Post.— 'Mr. Norris has had the good fortune to discover
a variety of the "society" novel which offers little but satisfaction to the
taste. Perfectly acquainted with the types he reproduces, the author's
characterisation is, as always, graphic and convincing. Rarely has the type
of \.\\Qfciiii/ic incomprise been studied with such careful attention or rendered
with so much of subtle comprehension as in Marietta.'
The Sketch. — 'It would be difficult to over-estimate the ability it dis-
plays, its keen reading of human nature, the careful realism of its descriptions
of life to-day.'
The Daily News. — 'Every character in the book is dexterously drawn.
Mr. Norris's book is interesting, often dramatic, and is the work of, if not a
deep, a close and humorous observer of men and women.'
The Observer. — 'Novels from Mr. Norris's pen are invariably welcome,
and this will be no exception to the rule. Amongst other capabilities, he
possesses a strong knowledge of human nature, and his characters, be their
natures good, bad, or indifferent, are scrupulously true to life.'
The Spectator. — 'A specimen of Mr. Norris's work when he is in his
happiest mood.'
THE DANCER IN YELLOW
byw. e. norris
In One Volume, price ds.
Lady's Pictorial. — 'This is a capital novel. The story is very human,
very well told, and rather pathetic'
The Daily News. — 'The story is developed with great ingenuity and
skill, and there is nothing unreal or sentimental in the pathos of the closing
scenes. This book is one of the best that he has given us of late.'
The Academy. — 'The whole book teems with cultivated irony and humour. '
The Spectator. — 'Daisy herself is a masterpiece — certainly one of the
finest of Mr. Norris's very fine portraits.'
The Manchester Guardian. — ' From first to last it is easy, pleasant read-
ing ; full, as usual, of shrewd knowledge of men and things.'
The Guardian. — 'A very clever and finished study of a dancer at one of
the London theatres. We found the book very pleasant and refreshing, and
laid it down with the wish that there were more like it.'
The World. — ' The Dancer in Yellow takes us by surprise. The story is
both tragic and pathetic. . . . We do not think he has written any more
clever and skilful story than this one, and particular admiration is due to the
byways and episodes of the narrative.'
The Speaker. — ' Like all Mr. Norris's stories, it is a tale of society — in
other words, of the actual life of the present day — and it gives us many of
those clever sketches of country houses and their owners, and clubs and their
frequenters. . . . There is a strong element of tragedy in the tale ; all lovers
of his work will find a great deal to their taste in The Dancer in Yellow.''
London : WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C
A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK
By W. E. NORRIS
/;/ One Volume^ price (ys.
The World. — ' Here is Mr. Norris in his best form again, giving us an
impossible story with such imperturbable composure, such quiet humour,
easy polish, and irresistible persuasiveness, that he makes us read A Victim
of Good Luck right through with eager interest and unflagging amusement,
without being aware, until we regretfully reach the end, that it is just a
farcical comedy in two delightful volumes.'
The Daily Chronicle. — 'It has not a dull page from first to last. Any
one with normal health and taste can read a book like this with real pleasure.'
The Spectator. ^ — 'Mr. Norris displays to the full his general command of
narrative expedients which are at once happily invented and yet quite natural
— which seem to belong to their place in the book, just as a keystone belongs
to its place in the arch. . . . The brightest and cleverest book which Mr.
Norris has given us since he wrote The Rogue.^
The Saturday Review. — 'Novels which are neither dull, unwholesome,
morbid, nor disagreeable, are so rare in these days, that A Victim of Good
Luck . , . ought to find a place in a book-box filled for the most part with
light literature. . . . We think it will increase the reputation of an already
very popular author.'
THE COUNTESS RADNA
uy w. e. norris
In One Vohime, price ds.
The Times. — ' He is a remarkably even writer. And this novel is almost
as good a medium as any other for studying the delicacy and dexterity of his
workmanship.'
The Morning Post. — ' The fidelity of his portraiture is remarkable, and
it has rarely appeared to so much advantage as in this brilliant novel.'
The Daily News. — ' The Countess Radna contains many of the qualities
that make a story by this writer welcome to the critic. It is caustic in style,
the character drawing is clear, the talk natural ; the pages are strewn with
good things worth quoting.'
The Speaker. — 'In style, skill in construction, and general "go," it is
worth a (lu/.en ordinary novels.'
Black and White. — ' The novel, like all Mr, Norris's work, is an exces-
sively clever piece of work, and the author never for a moment allows his
grasp of his plot and his characters to slacken.
The Westminster Gazette. — ' Mr. Norris writes throughout with much
liveliness and force, saying now and then something that is worth remember-
ing. And he sketches his minor characters with a firm touch.'
LoNDO.N : WILLIAM IIEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
WITHOUT SIN
By martin J. PRITCHARD
Iji One Volume, price ds.
The World. — 'The ingenious manner in which the story is sustained to
the end, the undoubted fascination of the writing, and the convincing charm
of the principal characters are what make this novel so intensely interesting.'
The Academy. — ' One is hardly likely to go far wrong in predicting that
Without Sin will attract abundant notice, on account not only of the daring
conception which forms its basis, but of the skilful way in which a delicate
subject is handled. . . . There is something indescribably pathetic in the
situation here produced and its sequel.'
The Daily News. — ' In this extraordinary book there are many tender
passages that would adorn many a story of a more •' normal " character. '
The Revievy of Reviews. — ' An extremely clever book. . . . The story
is very delicately handled, and abounds in situations of thrilling interest. A
unique and daring book.'
The Pall Mall Gazette.— ' Martin Pritchard's knowledge of the Ghetto
life is excellent, and excellently rendered. The j'oung Jewish girl who is
overtaken by a grave situation is realised to the best powers of the author.
. . . Granting the position, its treatment is unexceptionable. The critical
reader will dwell upon the pictures of Jewish life. These reveal in their
author a perception and an insight which augur well for his future eftbrts.
In any case, and from any point of view the book is worth perusal and
consideration.'
ANDRIA
By PERCY WHITE
In One Volume, price ds.
The Athenaeum. — ' In the small area oi Andria may be found more clever-
ness than in a score of common novels.'
The Daily Telegraph. — ' Cannot fail to secure the sincerest admiration
as a collection of lifelike and convincing character-sketches, in every one of
which the touch of a master-hand is conspicuously and continuously manifest.
. . . Sparkles with brilliant metaphor and trenchant epigram.'
The Pall Mall Gazette. — ' One of the most brilliantly executed portraits in
modern fiction, the portrait of Louis Olway, philosopher and pessimist. . . .
The irony of it all is delicious.'
The Daily Graphic. — ' Aiidria is a worthy successor to Mr, Bailey-
Martin and that caustic study Corruption.'
The Glasgow Herald. — ' Andria is a good novel ; it touches many phases
of life ; its author writes as a gentleman, and his tone is refreshingly wholesome.'
The Standard. — 'A clever novel, subtle and discriminating in its character-
drawing, and full of excellent things. ... It shows, too, a greater capacity
for kindliness and sympathy, and a wider view of humanity than its pre-
decessors.'
The Daily News. — ' It goes without saying that a book from the pen of Mr.
Percy White abounds in cleverness. ... In some respects the story interests
VIS more than its predecessors. It is, we think, more human. ... It is all
very well done, with certainty of touch and convincing restraint of manner.'
LoNDo.v: WILLIAM HEINEMANX, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
CORRUPTION
By PERCY WHITE
In One Vohwie, price ds.
The Speaker. — 'In his first book, Mr.Bailey-Martin, Mr. White gave
us a remarkable picture of the sordidness of life in a suburban household.
In the present volume he rises to a higher social level, and treats of rising
members of Parliament, of political leaders, and even of Prime Ministers.
. . . The sketches of types are both forcible and true.'
The Pall Mall Gazette. — 'None can travel over his brightly-written
pages without being gladdened by the little flashes of epigram which light up
the scene for us, or stirred by the shrewdness and worldly wisdom which he
has put into the mouths of his characters. One of the charms of the book
lies in the conviction that its author knows the world, and is full of a broad,
full knowledge, and therefore sympathy with the foibles, passions, and sins
with which it abounds. ... It is a sermon preached on the old .-Eschylian
text, that the evil-doer must always suffer. The book is a drama of biting
intensity, a tragedy of infle.xible purpose and relentless result.'
The Daily Telegraph. — ' Corruption more than fulfils the brilliant pro-
mises of Mr. Bailey -Martin. . . . As its title indicates, it deals with the
political and social cankers of the day, which it lays bare with a fearless and
unerring touch.'
MR. BAILEY-MARTIN
By PERCY WHITE
With a Photogravure Portrait of the Author
In One Volume^ price 6s.
The Times. — * Mr. \Miite has written an audacious book.'
The Athenaeum. — 'Mr. White, with the aid of the necessary qualities —
dry humour and delicate irony — succeeds nearly all the time. . . . The char-
acter is one e.xceedingly difficult to portray. . . . Mr. White has resisted the
temptation to force and exaggerate the note, and this is probably the secret of
his success.'
The Speaker. — 'There is cleverness enough in Mr. Bailey- Martin to
furnish forth a dozen novels. ... It shows not only a remarkable knowledge
of contemporary life, but a keen insight into character, and a considerable
degree of literary power.'
The Daily Telegraph. — ' The book teems with smart sayings and graphic
characterisations, and cannot fail to make a mark among the cleverest novels
of the year.'
The Daily Chronicle. — 'The book must be pronounced a well-nigh un-
qualified triumph.'
The National Observer. — ' Admirably clever, and deserving to be read by
those who are bored with the average novel.'
Lo.ndo.n: WILLIAM HEINEMANX, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
IN HASTE AND AT LEISURE
By E. LYNN LINTON
/;/ One Volume^ price 65".
The Speaker. — 'Mrs. Lynn Linton commands the respect of her readers
and critics. Her new story, In Haste and at Leisure, is as powerful a piece
of writing as any that we owe to her pen.'
The St. James's Budget— 'A thorough mistress of English, Mrs. Lynn
Linton uses the weapons of-knowledge and ridicule, of sarcasm and logic, with
powerful effect; the shallow pretences of the "New "Woman" are ruthlessly
torn aside.'
The Literary World. — ' A\Tiatever its exaggerations may be, In Haste and
at Leisure remains a notable achievement. It has given us pleasure, and we
can recommend it with confidence.'
The Daily Graphic.—' It is an interesting story, while it is the most
tremendous all-round cannonade to which the fair emancipated have been
subjected.'
The World. — ' It is clever, and well written.'
The Graphic. — ' It is thoroughly interesting, and it is full of passages that
almost irresistibly tempt quotation.'
The St. James's Gazette.— 'It is a novel that ought to be, and will be,
widely read and enjoyed.'
The Manchester Courier.— 'In this cruelly scientific analyses of the
"New Woman," ]Mrs. Lynn Linton writes with all the bitterness of Dean
Swift. The book is one of remarkable power.'
THE SPOILS OF POYNTON
By HENRY JAMES
/// One Volume, price 6s.
The National Observer.— 'One of the finest works of the imagination, if
not actually the finest, that has come from the press for several years. A
work of brilliant fancy, of delicate humour, of gentle satire, of tragedy and
comedy in appropriate admixture. A polished and enthralling story of the
lives of men and women, who, one and all, are absolutely real. We con-
gratulate Mr. James without reserve upon the power, the delicacy, and the
charm of a book of no common fascination.'
The Bookseller. — 'Shows all Mr. James's wonted subtleness of observa-
tion and analysis, fine humour, and originality of thought.'
The Standard. — 'Immensely clever.'
The Daily News. — ' Mr. James's art is that of the miniaturist. In this
book we have much of the delicate whimsicalities of expression, of the amaz-
ing cleverness in verbal parryings ; we never cease to admire the workman-
ship.'
The St. James's Gazette. — 'A notable novel, written with perfect com-
mand of the situation, original — a piece of exquisitely polished literature.'
The Manchester Guardian. — 'Delightful reading. The old felicity of
phrase and epithet, the quick, subtle flashes of insight, the fastidious liking
for the best in character and art, are as marked as ever, and give one an
intellectual pleasure for which one cannot be too grateful. '
London : WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
WHAT MAISIE KNEW
By henry JAMES
In Otie Volume, price 6s.
The Academy. — ' We have read this book with amazement and delight :
with amazement at its supreme deHcacy ; with delight that its author retains
an unswerving allegiance to literary conscience that forbids him to leave a
slipshod phrase, or a single word out of its appointed place. There are many
writers who can write dialogue that is amusing, convincing, real. But there
is none who can reach Mr. James's extraordinary skill in tracing dialogue
from the first vague impulse in the mind to the definite spoken word.'
The Daily Chronicle-. — ' A work of art so complex, so many-coloured, so
variously beautiful ! One is bewildered, one is a little intoxicated. The
splendid voice still rings in one's ears, the splendid emotions still vibrate
in one's heart, but one is not yet ready to explain or to translate them. It
is life, it is human life, with the flesh and blood and the atmosphere of life ;
it is English life, it is the very life of London. But it is not what they call
"realism." It is life seen, felt, understood, and interpreted by a rich ima-
gination, by an educated temperament ; it is life with an added meaning ;
it is life made rhythmic ; it is life sung in high melodious prose ; and that, it
seems to us, is the highest romance.'
THE OTHER HOUSE
By henry JAMES
Ifi One Volume, price ds.
The Morning Post — ' Mr. James stands almost alone among contemporary
novelists, in that his work as a whole shows that time, instead of impairing,
ripens and widens his gifts. He has ever been an example of style. His
already wide popularity among those who appreciate the higher literature of
fiction should be considerably increased by the production of this excellent
novel.'
The Daily News. — 'A melodrama wrought with the exquisiteness of a
madrigal. All the characters, however lightly sketched, are drawn with that
clearness of insight, with those minute, accurate, unforeseen touches that tell
of relentless observation. The presentation is so clear that they seem to
move in an atmosphere as limpid as that which permeates the pictures painted
by Dc Ilooghe, It may be the consumate literary art with which the whole
thing is done that the horror of the theme does not grip us. At the sinister
crisis we remain calm enough to admire the unfailing felicity of the author's
phrase, the subtlety of his discriminating touches, the dexterity of his
handling.'
The Scotsman. — 'A masterpiece of Mr. James's analytical genius and
finished literary style. It also shows him at his dramatic best. He has
never written anything in which insight and dramatic power are so marvel-
lously combined with fine and delicate literary workmanship.'
London : WILLIAM IIEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
EMBARRASSMENTS
By henry JAMES
In One Vohcme, price ds.
The Times. — ' Mr. James's stones are a continued protest against super-
ficial workmanship and slovenly style. He is an enthusiast who has devoted
himself to keeping alive the sacred fire of genuine literature ; and he has his
reward in a circle of constant admirers.'
The Daily News. — ' Mr. Henry James is the Meissonier of literary art.
In his new volume, we find all the exquisiteness, the precision of touch, that
are his characteristic qualities. It is a curiously fascinating volume.'
The Pall Mall Gazette. — 'His style is well-nigh perfect, and there are
phrases which reveal in admirable combination the skill of the practised crafts-
man, and the inspiration of the born writer.'
The National Observer. — 'The delicate art of INIr. Henry James has
rarely been seen to more advantage than in these stories.'
The St. James's Gazette. — 'AH four stories are delightful for adnrirable
workmanship, for nicety and precision of presentation, and The Way it Came
is beyond question a masterpiece.'
The Literary World. — ' Admirers of Mr. Henry James will be glad to
have this collection of polished stories. There is a fine finish about all his
work : no signs of hurry or carelessness disfigure the most insignificant para-
graph. Embarrassments is as good as anything he has written. As the work
of a .sincere and brilliantly clever writer it is welcome.'
TERMINATIONS
By henry JAMES
In One Vohane, price 6s.
The Times. — ' All the stories are told by a man whose heart and soul are
in his profession of literature.'
The Morning Post. — 'The discriminating will not fail to recognise in the
tales composing this volume workmanship of a very high order and a wealth
of imaginative fancy that is, in a measure, a revelation.'
The Athenzeum. — ' The appearance of Terminations will in no way shake
the general belief in Mr. Henry James's accomplished touch and command of
material. On the contrary, it confirms conclusions long since foregone, and
will increase the respect of his readers. . . . With such passages of trenchant
wit and sparkling observation, surely in his best manner, Mr. James ought to
be as satisfied as his readers cannot fail to be.'
The Pall Mall Gazette. — 'What strikes one, in fact, in every corner of
Mr. James's work is his inordinate cleverness. These four tales are so clever,
that "one can only raise one's hands in admiration. The insight, the sympathy
with character, the extraordinary observation, and the neat and dexterous
phrasing— these qualities are everywhere visible.'
The Scotsman. — ' All the stories are peculiar and full of a rare interest.'
London: WILLIAM HLINEMANN, 21 Bedford Streict, W.C.
A COURT INTRIGUE
By basil THOMSON
In One Volume, Price 6s.
The Daily Chronicle. — 'The description of the Court is broad farce.
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