A SAILOR'S 
 
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 HOME 
 
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 HANDY LIBRARY 
 
 H0015 MONETA AV&
 
 
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 A SAILOR'S HOME 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 RICHARD DEHAN
 
 A SAILOR'S HOME 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 By RICHARD DEHAN 
 
 Author of 
 "A Gilded Vanity," "The Dop Doctor," etc. 
 
 NEW ^tSir YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
 
 Copyright, 1919 
 By George H. Doran Company 
 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 FACE 
 
 I. GEORGE: A VICTIM OF HEREDITY 9 
 
 II. A DESIGN FOR A POSTER: A HOLIDAY FARCE . . 20 
 
 III. A STRATEGIC MOVEMENT 29 
 
 IV. A RELIEF EXPEDITION 45 
 
 V. A SAILOR'S HOME 63 
 
 VI. As PLAIN AS PRINT : A ROMANCE OF THE BASEMENT 108 
 
 VII. THE OLDEST INHABITANT: A STORY FOR GIRLS . 117 
 
 VIII. BEAUTY WHILE You WAIT 184 
 
 IX. THE YOUNG MAN FROM MAWLEY'S 191 
 
 X. BLEACH 199 
 
 XL BONES! 206 
 
 XII. THE MAN WHO LOST HIMSELF 211 
 
 XIII. THE RECTOR'S DUTY 314 
 
 XIV. THE FROZEN TRUTH 351 
 
 XV. THE CHECKMATING OF MR. BROWN 357 
 
 XVI. THE MOTOR 'Bus BEANO . 364 
 
 2135821
 
 A SAILOR'S HOME 
 
 I 
 GEORGE 
 
 A VICTIM OF HEREDITY 
 
 IT was the end of June, green, damp and steamy. And 
 the meteorological conditions having favoured an out- 
 break of garden snails, Miss Pelleby, of Laurel Cottage, 
 a dwelling long regarded as the stateliest in Rippleford 
 village in its possession of a double front gate and a small 
 but tortuous gravel drive, became painfully awake to the 
 necessity of a general extermination of these gasteropods. 
 
 "Otherwise," she observed to her mild, middle-aged 
 reflection in the looking-glass, as she tied her bonnet, 
 "there will be no green peas." 
 
 "Nor broad beans!" shrieked Sarah, her one maid, 
 whose dazzlingly clean kitchen was only separated by a 
 row of whitewashed joists, a plank flooring, and a bed- 
 room carpet from the sleeping-bower of Miss Pelleby 
 above. "An* they've kidded so beautifully this year too." 
 
 "How often must I tell you, Sarah," returned Miss 
 Pelleby rebukingly, "that I object to your use of that very 
 vulgar term? Beans grow, develop, or sprout they do 
 
 not kid" 
 
 9
 
 io A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Kid be George Comfort's word," said the defiant 
 voice of the invisible handmaid. "And George do know 
 more about beans and peas, too than any other man 
 in Ripple ford." 
 
 "Then I wish George had kept out of jail, that I do !" 
 said Miss Pelleby to the Miss Pelleby in the glass ; "for 
 who I'm to get in his place before every green leaf is 
 eaten up by those snails, I don't know." 
 
 "If ye do please, Miss Hetty," said the voice under 
 Miss Pelleby's neat prunella walking shoes, "the baker's 
 boy have just tell me he have a-heerd in the village as 
 George be back again." 
 
 "That's impossible," retorted Miss Pelleby, "consider- 
 ing that only yesterday he was brought up before the 
 magistrate at Readstone Petty Sessions for stealing 
 fowls, sentenced to three weeks' imprisonment under the 
 Summary Something-or-other Act, and is now lying 
 chained and fettered in a felon's cell, which he might 
 have known would be the case, poor fellow! when he 
 went and stole old Mr. Dewey's four speckled Ham- 
 burghs. I wish he had stolen mine, I'm sure ! Knowing 
 it to be the latter end of the week, and a case of inherited 
 family failing, I should have made allowances! But as 
 to his being back in Rippleford, that's all a story; and 
 I only wish, for the sake of the garden, it was true." 
 
 "If ye do please, Miss Hetty," said the unseen but 
 persistent handmaid, "I can see the top o' George's cot- 
 tage from the end kitchen winder, and there's smoke 
 coming out o' the chimney now." 
 
 The dwelling inhabited by the peccant George was 
 scarcely to be dignified as a cottage. It stood in the 
 middle of a small but well-kept fruit and vegetable gar- 
 den, and was generally, during the less rheumatic months 
 of the year, undergoing the process of being painted by a 
 lady artist, whose umbrella, camp-stool, and easel, with 
 its canvas or sketching-block, offered an invariable testi-
 
 George 1 1 
 
 mony to the picturesqueness of the place. It is generally 
 understood that to be picturesque is to be crumbly. 
 George's dwelling was so picturesque that if the ivy 
 which clothed its ancient walls and flourished on its un- 
 even roof of mossy tiles had been stripped off it would 
 certainly have subsided into a heap. It consisted of one 
 apartment with a sleeping loft above, into which, since 
 the flooring joists gave way some fourteen years pre- 
 viously, George had only ventured once then being in 
 liquor. Thus the shilling a week paid by the tenant for 
 rent included all sorts of exciting possibilities, less valued 
 by George than by the neighbours, who openly laid 
 wagers, in gusty weather, upon the hour and moment of 
 the inevitable collapse. 
 
 Contrary to the conviction of Miss Pelleby, the chim- 
 ney smoke had borne true testimony to Sarah's experi- 
 enced eye. 
 
 George was at home. He sat smilingly by the fire in 
 the folding chair-bedstead in which he had slept for four- 
 teen years. The Vicar's lady, who gave the chair, had 
 never thought of explaining the simple mechanical proc- 
 ess by which it could be converted into a bedstead, and 
 George had never tried to find it out. Later on, when it 
 was explained George declined to profit by his knowledge. 
 
 "Durin' the early part o' th' wick, I be tew tired to 
 tackle th' dang'd machine," he had explained. "An* 
 durin' th' latter part o' the wick I be tew drunk." 
 
 George smiled when he said this, as he smiled now 
 sitting by the crackling wood fire of laths from the loft 
 flooring, upon which a kettle boiled not for tea. He 
 was a sandy-grey, shrivelled-apple-faced man of fifty, in- 
 variably attired in heavy highlows, earth-stained mole- 
 skin trousers, strapped at the knee, a patched checked 
 shirt, prehistoric shooting-jacket of fitful check pattern, 
 and an aged brown bowler shining with grease. . 
 
 Smiling was a habit with George; and if it had not
 
 12 A Sailor's Home 
 
 been, the consciousness of being at large when, according 
 to the sentence of two Justices of the Peace, he should 
 have been languishing in a prison cell and pleasingly 
 drunk instead of penitentially sober would have kept his 
 features upon the stretch and lighted up a twinkle in his 
 small blue eyes. 
 
 Somebody knocked at the door, a gentle tap. George 
 got up to open it, firm in the belief that another lady artist 
 had come to sketch the place. But the knocker was his 
 weekly employer, Miss Pelleby. 
 
 "George Comfort!" the lady gasped when George 
 appeared smiling in the doorway. "Can it possibly be 
 you?" 
 
 "The same, I reckins, Miss 'Etty," said George, with- 
 out aggressive certainty, rubbing his earth-stained hand 
 over his chin, bristly with nearly four days' growth of 
 beard. 
 
 "I was told it, but I couldn't believe it, and so I came 
 round to find out for myself whether it was true," de- 
 clared Miss Pelleby. "And now I see you I don't know 
 how to credit my own eyes. Why it was only on Mon- 
 day that the whole village saw you led away in custody 
 by Pinching, the constable, for stealing Mr. Dewey's 
 speckled Hamburghs. Cobber, Pmching's deputy, was 
 carrying the murdered fowls in a sack ; and when I saw 
 the spectacle I blushed with shame to think what drink 
 had brought you to." 
 
 "Did ye now, Miss *Etty?" said George, with an in- 
 terested air. "But I wasn't drunk o' Monday," he added 
 simply, "it bein* th' upper end a' th' wick, when mother 
 gits her way wi' me, ye knows." 
 
 "I thought of her when I saw you led away," con- 
 tinued Miss Pelleby, "and I said that if the good old 
 hard-working soul had been alive to see you so dis- 
 graced she'd never have held up her honest head again." 
 
 "But feyther 'ud ha' winked his eye, feyther would,"
 
 George 13 
 
 declared George. " "Theer's a chip o' th' owd block/ 
 feyther 'd ha' said, 'by all the Laws o' Reddity.' " 
 
 Miss Pelleby stamped her prunella shoe upon the crazy 
 floor. 
 
 "Heredity, heredity !" she repeated indignantly. "The 
 silly excuse made nowadays by a pack of good-for-noth- 
 ing people who hold that it's no use to strive against 
 their own faults and vices, because their ancestors had 
 them before them!" 
 
 "Miss 'Etty," asserted George doggedly, "I be a vic- 
 tim o' reddity. After I'd heerd that Temperance lecturer 
 chap wi' the red nose talk on th' platform at Rippleford 
 Recreation Rooms, I made no more manner of doubt 
 about me. Ay, th' whole dismal history were as clear as 
 pump water. 'Here you, George Comfort, stand,' says 
 I to myself, 'only son and offsprout of a staid sober 
 mother an* a do-nothin', poachin' rampallion of a feyther 
 what were always i' liquor. Accordin' to the Laws o' 
 Reddity you be bound to take arter both your aunt's 
 sisters " 
 
 "Ancestors, I suppose you mean," said the indignant 
 Miss Pelleby. 
 
 "I said aunt's sisters," asserted George. "Why, Miss 
 'Etty, I could fill a penny newspaper wi' the tale o' my 
 endurings as an orphan lad betwixt twenty-five and 
 thirty. What wi' mother faining to kip me from drinkin' 
 away my wage at th' Red Cow, and feyther fetching of 
 me in whenever I passed th' door, 'twas a case o' pull 
 baker, pull devil. ..." 
 
 "George!" screamed Miss Pelleby warningly. 
 "George!" 
 
 "I said so before th' Justices on th' Bench at Read- 
 stone yesterday," asseverated the victim of hereditary 
 tendencies. "Ay, I towd 'em how no sooner had I got me 
 into th' tap wi' my pot of ale before me, but mother 'ud 
 have me out agin wi' no more than the froth upo' my lips.
 
 14 A Sailor's Home 
 
 An' I towd 'em how I'd git me whoam an' sit me down to 
 a basin o' tea or sich-like slops, an' how feyther 'ud come 
 over me to such an extent as I'd furiously pitch th' stuff 
 back o' chimbley. Then I goes on an' tells 'em how I 
 hit on th' notion o' halvin' th' wick betwixt th' owd 
 woman an' th' owd man, an' how ever sin* they've bided 
 as peaceable as heart could wish." 
 
 "You don't mean that Squire Hardwick and Colonel 
 Rogerson had the patience to listen to all that nonsense ?" 
 screamed Miss Pelleby. 
 
 "But I does," said George, passing his scandalised 
 employer the one Windsor chair the cottage boasted. 
 "Ay, an' they larfed fit to kill theirselves, wi' purple 
 faces an' streamin' tears. An' Inspector Burridge he 
 laughed, an' the Clerk o' the Court an' Constable Pinch- 
 ing, an' Deppity Cobber, an' th' Readstone police they 
 laughed, an' the folks i' Court till th' Colonel he threat- 
 ened to clear. An' they questions me how I divides th' 
 wick betwixt mother and feyther. An' when I tells 'em 
 as how I be a virtuous totaller from Sunday marnin' at 
 Church time up to Wensday night, an' a 'bandoned 
 drunkard from Wensday night up to Sunday marnin' at 
 Church time, I thowt as they'd ha' burst. He, he, he !" 
 
 George smiled from ear to ear. 
 
 "And more shame for them !" asserted the scandalised 
 Miss Pelleby. 
 
 "Then they gits askin' for evidence o' the theft, and 
 Pinching tells his story as how he dropped in at my little 
 place o' Saturday night an' finds me i' th' arm-chair be- 
 fore th' fire, as drunk as David's sow he, he !" continued 
 George. "An' Deppity Constable Cobber swears to every- 
 thing Pinching says, as Pinching told him were his duty 
 a-coming along th' road. Not that they set words i' 
 my mouth, poor dogs ! 'em were honest enough, seemin'ly. 
 But having had my dram, and Saturday bein' feyther's 
 end o' th' wick my tongue were nimble if my legs were
 
 George 15 
 
 dead drunk, and some saucy things I mun' ha' said to 'em, 
 sure enough he, he, he ! judgin' by the way th' men 
 hawhawed and th' women tittered. While as for Squire 
 and Colonel, they nigh rolled off th' Bench." 
 
 "Shameful!" cried Miss Pelleby. "Shameful!" 
 
 "Seemin'ly," said George, in a tone of retrospect, "I'd 
 hid them hins i' th' loft. This bein' Thrisday an' feyther's 
 half o' th' wick, I be a-glorying i' th' wickedness, though 
 it scranned me o' Sunday, Monday, Tewsday, an' Wens- 
 day, to reflect upon th' sin. Pinching said I were bowd 
 as brass, tellin' him to go up an' look, which no bowsy 
 fat man wi' a wife an' family durst dare, an' Deppity 
 Cobber be nigh so bowsy as he. Seemin'ly they'd got 
 their witses about 'em more than mid ha' bin bethought, 
 for they hired a light boy . . . Ay, I'd gone off i' my 
 drowse agin, when down he came ! . . . Solon Stubberd, 
 a pore child, wi' his two arms full o' lathwood an* plas- 
 ter just where you can see the big new hole above an' 
 they speckilt Hambugs o' Master Dewey's came wi' him 
 . . . Constable Pinching got his back bruised wi' one, but 
 Deppity Cobber were th' worst off, poor dog! For 
 he, he ! he were a-looking up at th' very time when 
 young Solon Stubberd failed down on th' man's very 
 nose. . . . Not as Deppity Cobber ever had any nose 
 worth speakin' about, but ye mid put your specs on now, 
 Miss 'Etty he, he ! to tell it from a roasted apple, an' 
 that a squashy one he, he, haw!" 
 
 George slapped his leg in ecstasy. Miss Pelleby 
 frowned. 
 
 "And after all this," she said in severe and solemn 
 tones, "you are dismissed with a mere caution from the 
 Bench." She remembered the rampant snails, battening 
 unrebuked upon the strawberry-vines, lettuces, and young 
 peas in Laurel Cottage garden, and her tone grew softer 
 in spite of herself. "It is true you passed three days 
 in custody of Readstone," she added, "and possibly
 
 1 6 A Sailor's Home 
 
 Squire Hardwick and Colonel Rogerson considered 
 that." 
 
 "Them asked me how I got on i' the lock-up " said 
 George. "An* I tole 'em not so well by 'arf, but what 
 I mid ha' fared better. 'For to be mewed up betwixt 
 stone walls is for gentry, an' likewise to ha' your victuals 
 carried ye i' bright platters,' says I. 'An' I be content 
 wi' my lowliness, I be.' Then says th' Colonel. 'If ye 
 were agin a change, an' wishful t' bide as ye were, why 
 steal Dewey's fowl?' Then I ups an' says (Dewey beln' 
 there i' th' witnesses' pew i' Readstone Petty Session 
 House) as how they fowl had tooked my little place for 
 a hin-house, an' I hadn' the heart to say 'em nay. Then 
 Squire Hardwick Squire be a weazen, spite ful-lookin', 
 gingery little body, dressed no better than my scarecrow 
 I ha' sit over they young 'taties i' th' gardin Squire 
 Hardwick he says : "Three wicks in Culwich Penitentiary 
 less th' three days this man hev' already spint i' custody. 
 Constable Gossle Bain't your name Gossle, you new 
 officer over from Dorton Ware? Constable Gossle will 
 take ye over by train when he's had his dinner. An' I 
 hope th' change of air will do ye good.' " 
 
 "Then how does it happen that you are at home now, 
 and not at Culwich Penitentiary?" demanded Miss Pelle- 
 by. 
 
 "Doan't ye be i' such a hurry Miss 'Etty," said George 
 rebukingly. "Dang me! but when the Squire came out 
 wi' they three wicks, arter seemin'ly bein' so free an' 
 easy, my legs were all of a shake. 'Twas thunder and 
 lightning out of a clear sky, as ye mid say. Th' next as 
 iver I did know Constable Gossle, th' new officer from 
 over Dorton Ware Constable Gossle he 'ad my by th' 
 elbow, frisking me up Readstone Main Street like a holi- 
 day feller wi' his sweet'art bound for the fair. Ay, an' 
 a long-legged, lean-chopped scrannel man is Gossle, for 
 all the nourishin' fodder he do put away. . . . For ye
 
 George i^ 
 
 see, bavin' bin told by th' Justices to get his dinner, he 
 took me home wi' him fust. Now, Miss 'Etty, what do 
 ye think that man had waiting hot for him i' th' oven? 
 The tenderest o' Dewey's speckilt Hambugs he he ! I 
 did take notice they on'y brought one o' they fowl up i' 
 th' Court as witness to my crime, an' that were th' tough- 
 est of them all. So Constable Pinching an' Deppity Cob- 
 ber mun ha' bed their share, an' if th' meat chawed as 
 sav'ry as the plateful Mrs. Gossle set before me, wi' 
 vegetables an' pudden, I du reckon they enj'yed their- 
 selves over a bit." 
 
 "Could you eat it?" gasped Miss Pelleby, with visions 
 of speedy judgment upon gastronomical sinners rising 
 before her mental eye. 
 
 "Could I eat it, Miss .'Etty?" repeated George, with 
 so many rows of surprised lines forming on his weather- 
 beaten forehead that Miss Hetty forebore. "Ay, I 
 swallered as much as I could git ; for if so be as I had to 
 canker i' jail for three wicks on account o' stealin' they 
 fowl o' Dewey's, 'twas only right I should git one bit o' 
 'joyment beforehand. And danged if Gossle didn't stand 
 me a quart of beer ! He be a heavy drinker wi' his meals, 
 an' a terrible eater, an' when he'd gotten me i' the second- 
 class railway carritch, speedin' over to Culwich terminus 
 what do the man do but fall as fast asleep as Eutychus. 
 He were that sound when th' train steamed into tb' sta- 
 tion that, do what I could, theer wer' no wakin' of him. 
 I joggles him wi' my elbow, an' I treads upo' his corns, 
 an' 'Wake up !' I says, 'an' take me to prison. I be too 
 shy to go there wi'out ye.' But Gossle did nought but 
 snore an' grunt like a penful o' hogs. When I'd got me 
 safe hid under th' carritch seat he grunted still, an' who 
 d'ye think popped his head in at th' carritch door ? Why, 
 Squire Justice Hardwick hisseln, as had been i' th' train 
 all along." George smiled from ear to ear. "Ay, though 
 I lay too low to see his vinegar face, I heerd his raspy
 
 1 8 A Sailor's Home 
 
 voice, an' I knowed they bow legs o' his'n. They wer' 
 nigh enough to ha' bitten i' th' calves if so be I'd wanted 
 to spile th' flavour o' my dinner." 
 
 "Mercy upon us !" cried Miss Pelleby. 
 
 George continued: 
 
 " 'Wake up, my man,' says Squire Hardwick to Con- 
 stable Gossle. 'Where's your sense o' duty? an', by 
 Gad! where's your prisoner?' He shook Gossle to that 
 extent I heerd his teeth rattle, an' what he did to the 
 pore Christian next must ha' bin done wi' a pin, for 
 Gossle woked up wi' a bellow like a mad bull. Next 
 minute, Miss 'Etty, him an' th' Squire were rolling over 
 an' over i' the bottom o' th' carritch, pummellin' one an- 
 other like Abel and Cain." 
 
 George stopped to wipe his face. Miss Pelleby could 
 only gasp* 
 
 "Did they Was there any bloodshed?" 
 
 "Why, Squire lost half a whisker an' got a nasty scratt 
 o' th' cheek, and Gossle had his handkerchief to his nose 
 when the guard o' the London Express helped him to put 
 th' handcuffs on Squire," began George when the lady 
 stopped him with a scream. 
 
 "He handcuffed Squire Hardwick?" 
 
 "Ay," nodded George "an' dang me if he didn't do 
 it because he thowt Squire wer' th' prisoner! You do 
 know, Miss 'Etty, how folks wakes up wi' a notion i' their 
 heads stuck like a tick in a sheep, no gettin' of it out. 
 Well, Gossle had bin dreamin' he'd never went to sleep 
 at all, and wakin' up in th' midst o' the towzle with a fel- 
 low Christian, danged if he didn't believe it were the 
 prisoner trying to escape. . . . He, he ! For all Squire 
 Hardwick swore and I niver heerd more wanton oath- 
 ing i' my days Gossle stuck to the tale that he were me, 
 an' when two other constables came runnin' up, neither 
 of 'em knowin' Squire, and both of 'em knowin' Gossle, 
 they took Squire (poor dog! I niver see such a object
 
 George 19 
 
 for dust i' my born days) off to Culwich Penitentiary 
 . . . an' wi' a bad character too, for faulting an' bat- 
 tering th' police i' th' execution o' their dooty. While I 
 came home by rail, as pleasant as ye please." 
 
 "And what do you think will happen?" cried the hor- 
 rified Miss Pelleby, springing to her feet. 
 
 "They'll wash th' Squire," cried George, with a beam- 
 ing face of smiles, "and lock him up for th' night i' one 
 o' they clean comfortable cells he bragged about from 
 the Bench at Readstone, wi' a sup o' gruel i' a clean tin 
 can an' a bit o' brown bread as big as a quarter pound o' 
 washin* soap, to kip him i' stomach an' i' the marnin* 
 he'll know more about his bis'niss as a Justice o' th' 
 Peace than he iver knowed before!" 
 
 "But yourself. . . . You unfortunate man, what will 
 become of you when the truth is discovered ?" Miss Pelle- 
 by moaned. 
 
 "Theer's no .law i' England," said George solemnly, "to 
 force a man to clap hisself i' prison. Why, if I'd gone by 
 myself an' knocked at Culwich Penitentiary door, I'd ha' 
 bin sent about my bis'niss for a liar. An* if I'd begged 
 Gossle o' my knees to take me th' man 'd ha* denied me 
 to my face, hevin' set his heart like on th' Squire ! He, 
 he ! No, Miss 'Etty, I was i' th' right to git me back to 
 my own little place. I doan't sleep well out o' th' chair 
 by the fire; they prison beds is too soft for me. . . . 
 An' this bein' feyther's end o' th' wick ..." the aged 
 victim of heredity ended piously, "please th' pigs ! I shall 
 git wonderful drunk when you've gone home. Ay, an' i' 
 th' marnin', if I be spared, I'll look over an' lime they 
 snails for ye."
 
 II 
 
 A DESIGN FOR A POSTER 
 
 A HOLIDAY FARCE 
 
 * T WONDER," says she, in a musical, pleasant voice, 
 
 A to my son-in-law 'Orris Touchitt 'im that wer- 
 ritted my poor girl Eliza into her grave along o' coddlin' 
 his complaints wot 'e hadn't got, an' makin' her gettin* 
 up shirts for 'im an' puttin' a proper London cut into 'is 
 coats, an' weskits an' trowsies, her bein' a tailoress by 
 trade Little Week-End wantin' all its men for the fish- 
 ing-boats in the season, you'll find a good many women 
 doin' men's work all the year round "I wonder whether 
 you'd sit for me to sketch you?" 
 
 'Orris, he looked as pleased as a dog wi' two tails. I 
 were tinkerin' away at a leak in the hull o' my boat, 
 Skylark, what I'd got on the straddles for repairs. Peeps 
 over 'er bows, I does, me being aboard, and overhauled 
 the young lady artis' what was a-speaking. 
 
 Pretty? As paint, in a red Tommy Chanter 'at with 
 a light striped blowze and a skirt o' navy serge. A kink 
 in the corner of 'er mouth a nice red, small one that 
 meant mischief, an' such a sensible sort o' manner for 
 a young woman that I couldn't believe she saw any- 
 think in such a chap as 'Orris. 
 
 Well, she'd ast 'im to sit and 'e said 'e would, and be- 
 fore she could stop 'im 'e was off to fetch one o' pore 
 Eliza's Windsor arm-chairs out of the cottage, which 
 
 20
 
 A Design for a Poster 21 
 
 were close by, being, in a manner of speaking, on the 
 foreshore, an' generally washed out by 'igh spring tides. 
 So I leans over the bul'arks and I says, lookin' down on 
 the crown o' the red Tommy Chanter : 
 
 "You better be keerful wi' 'Orris, miss. He's a wid- 
 ower on the look-out for another." 
 
 She give a jump, an' she an' her friend, another young 
 lady twice 'er age an' 'arf 'er looks, bursts out larfin'. 
 An' up comes 'Orris gaspin' it bein' 'ot weather and him 
 one o' the flabby kind not lookin' at 'is best by no means. 
 
 "Where would you like me to sit, miss?" he asks, 
 smiling all over his face as I just 'ad time to see before I 
 bobbed down out of sight. 
 
 "Oh," says she, with a look at the other young lady 
 what wasn't 'arf so young, for I'd found a peep-'ole in 
 the old cutter's hull, and 'ad my eye on 'Orris. "I 
 thought at first I would have preferred you to sit stand- 
 ing, but you can sit to me seated if you wish it." 
 
 'Orris smiles at 'er, and I could see by his Sunday 
 necktie what he'd got on, with a collar over 'is guernsey, 
 as 'e'd made up 'is mind for fascination. An' if you 
 think 'Orris was anything 'andsome to look at, you're 
 mistaken. A nose o' no partic'lar shape on a face like 
 a underdone bun with two burned raisins in it for eyes, 
 and he had 'air like a little gal's Sambo doll and arms 
 and legs like nothin* on earth, and a fat, flabby body. 
 Eliza 'ad pretended to admire 'im, but I knowed better. 
 "Father," she'd say, " 'e loves me true, I do believe," 
 an' if I let on as wot 'Orris wasn't 'andsome, 'e'd take 
 an' 'ang 'isself in despair. 
 
 'Ere she was, buried only two months, an* 'Orris 'angin' 
 at the apron strings of 'arf the young women in the place, 
 and he'd 'ad one already when 'e married Eliza. "I shall 
 look out before I make my second choice," 'e 'as the cheek 
 to say to me. "And I shall go in for good looks next 
 time bein' a man naturally fond of beauty."
 
 22 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "I shouldn't look in the glass much, then, if I was you," 
 says I, with the blood 'ummin' in my 'ead quite aperplectic 
 at 'is silly way o' goin' on. "You'll upset yourself and 
 spoil your appetite, besides breakin' the glass, one of these 
 days when you smile too unguarded." 
 
 Missis Green, a elderly widow herself, as 'ad come in to 
 do up the 'ouse for 'Orris, threw up 'er 'ands and eyes at 
 that. " 'Owever can you, Mr. Waylett ?" she says in a 
 faint, 'orrified voice, "knowin' wot your pore daughter 
 what's gone thought of 'er 'usband's smile." 
 
 "That's just wot I do know," I says to that old shark 
 as was ready to swaller up 'Orris, ugly as 'e was, along o' 
 pore Eliza's little cottage wot she'd bought with the 
 furniture in it out of 'er savin's as cook for ten year to a 
 hold gentleman in London, and a bit o' money put away 
 in the Friendly Provident Bank. "Wot she said to 
 'Orris being only for peace an' quiet, and 'er real 'art bein' 
 spoke out to 'er hold father. 'Wot,' says she to me over 
 an' over agin, 'do 'is looks matter as long as a man's 
 'art is in the right place?' Now," I says to Missis Green, 
 "not being a doctor, I can't be sure no more than Eliza 
 were about where the right place lays. But I don't 
 think much of the 'art that's in it. It's the kind as do a 
 lot o' beatin' on its own account an' very little on the 
 account of others. As my pore gal found when laying 
 speechless on 'er dying bed, and 'Orris naggin' perpetooal 
 to tell 'im where she'd 'id 'er bank-book. At that 'e 
 gets 'is narsty back up an' tells me the 'ouse is 'is, as well 
 as the bank-book an' 'e'll trouble me to walk out, which 
 I did, takin' care to let it be known in the 'Pure Pint' 
 public-'ouse 'ow my son-in-law 'as bin and be'ayved to 
 me." 
 
 There you 'ave 'Orris. Now the young lady artis 'ad 
 asked 'im to let 'er do 'is likeness 'e was firm sure that a 
 real young lady, an' a pretty one, too, 'ad fell in love with 
 him at last.
 
 A Design for a Poster 23 
 
 As 'e stood an' grinned at 'er 'olding the Windsor chair, 
 an' I kep' my eye at the hole in the old boat, I 'card 'er 
 friend say to 'er in a voice 'arf choked with larfin' : 
 
 "You're right," says she ; "it is," she says, "the funniest 
 type" I thought she'd called 'Orris a tyke at first, but I 
 found out the meanin' o' the word arterwards an' it didn't 
 do 'Orris's looks no credit "I've seen for a long time an' 
 perfec' for a comic poster. But you won't make it a 
 absolute likeness," says she. "A man seeing it on the 
 hoardings might feel hurt." 
 
 "My dear girl," says her pretty artis' friend in the sed 
 Tommy Chanter, "you couldn't hurt that man's feelings. 
 If I am any judge of character," says she, "he'll take it 
 for a compliment, and I can't lose such a chance. It's 
 heaven-sent." 
 
 "What did you say was the name of the patent medicine 
 you were to design a poster for?" asks the other young 
 lady wot wasn't so young. 
 
 "It's a patent Summer application to prevent pain or 
 irritation from the stings or bites of insects," says the 
 pretty young lady in the red Tommy Chanter, "and the 
 patented name of the preparation is 'Still He Smiles.' 
 Just look at that man and ask yourself if you ever saw 
 a more fatuous smile than he is wearing at this moment. 
 Now, if I get a good likeness of him as he is, drawn boldly 
 with the brush on the background of sand, with a strip of 
 blue sky above, I could put in a gnat, enormously exag- 
 gerated, hovering about his nose, and that idiotic expres- 
 sion of his would do the rest." 
 
 My 'art fair jumped into my mouth. 
 
 "Young ladies," says I, whispering in a still small voice 
 through my peep-'ole, "don't jump or look round, an' 
 take a bit of advice from a father-in-law." 
 
 "Oh! it's you again, is it?" says the lady artis', keep- 
 ing her 'ead straight though. "Don't you think you're 
 rather," she says, "an interfering old person?" says she.
 
 24 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Call me wot you please," says I, "so long as you gits 
 'Orris to set the Windsor chair on that soft-lookin' patch 
 o* sand about twenty foot ahead of you, with a tuft of 
 sea-pink stickin' up in the middle. There's a wopses' nest 
 there," I says, "as nobody knows of yet but me, an' I'd 
 made up my mind to smoke it out an' earn sixpence from 
 the County Council for so doin' come to-morrow. An' if 
 you knew 'ow that long-nosed skate-faced, self-satisfied- 
 lookin' lout 'ad treated my dead daughter an' 'er old 
 father," I says, "you'd understand why I wants to see 
 'Orris served out. Also, if you can git 'im into thinkin' 
 that you're a bit in love wi' 'im, 'e'd go through fire and 
 water before 'e'd move or even let a corner of 'is smile 
 drop, if wild elephants instead of wild wopses was a-com- 
 ing at 'im." 
 
 "Mr. ..." says she, calling to 'Orris in 'er clear sweet 
 voice, and I could tell by his silly expression that her face 
 was a-smiling at 'im. "I'm afraid you're a little too near. 
 If you would kindly place the chair on that patch of sand 
 where the tuft of sea-pink is, I should be able to see you 
 to better advantage." 
 
 "With pleasure, miss," says 'Orris, obligin' like a lamb, 
 an' he puts the chair where the young lady in the red 
 Tommy Chanter pinted with the end of 'er brush, an' sets 
 down. The sand being soft there, down sinks the 'ind- 
 legs of the Windsor in it, an' they keeps on a-sinking, little 
 by little, till 'Orris's silly face is tilted up at the sky an' 'is 
 chin is nearly restin' on his knees. An', havin' my eye on 
 the wopses' nest, I see a couple come to their front port- 
 hole, look out, an' hurry back to tell the rest that it was 
 a man. 
 
 The young lady artis' begins to draw 'Orris in thick 
 black lines on the blue sky an' sand wot she'd slapped in 
 with a dab or two of a brush like a 'ouse-painter's, and 
 'Orris stares at the sky an' smiles an' smiles. The wopses 
 was a-gathering in knots at their front door, consultin'
 
 A Design for a Poster 25 
 
 where to begin. A scoutin' party was climbin' up over 
 the insteps of 'Orris's shoes with a view to further pro- 
 ceedin's, an' a low faint buzz reached us where we was. 
 I was afraid 'Orris 'ud 'ear it. 
 
 "Are you fond of music?" asks the young lady, who 
 prob'ly was afraid of the same thing. 
 
 "Passionate fond, miss," says 'Orris, screwin* 'is eyes 
 down to look sweet at 'er. "I remember it when I 'ear 
 you talk, your voice is so much like it." 
 
 Then I only could squint down at the top of the red 
 Tommy Chanter. I could see that the young lady was 
 mad at 'Orris 'aving the nerve to pay 'er compliments like 
 that. 
 
 "Oh, go on," begs her friend in a chokin* whisper, 
 "draw him out, Nellie, do ; there's a dear." 
 
 "Please turn your face a little more this way," says the 
 young lady in a soft, kind tone, "and keep on smiling." 
 
 "My poor dear wife used to like me to smile, miss," 
 says 'Orris, doing it something fearful. "But I never 
 thought to meet another 'oo felt the same way. Owch !" 
 
 A wopse 'ad gie 'im a stab in the ankle with 'is sting, 
 an' I don't blame the inseck overly neither. 
 
 "Oh, pray don't change your expression !" calls out the 
 young lady. "It's the essence of my idea that you should 
 smile." Her friend was chokin', an' 'ow she kep' 'er own 
 countenance, I dunno. 
 
 "Somethink stinged of me, miss, just then," says 
 'Orris, pleadin'-like, "an' made me for to call hout." 
 
 "You don't mean," says the young lady, stern-like, 
 with the top of her red Tommy Chanter fair shakin' with 
 the larfin' she were keepin' out of 'er voice, "that you 
 would let a little thing like that interfere. When first I 
 saw your face," she goes on, warmin' to 'er work, "I was 
 impressed by it. It struck me as the face of a man who 
 would dare all, endure all, and bear all for the sake of 
 the woman he "
 
 26 A Sailor's Home 
 
 She breaks down and chokes with larfin' behind her 
 picture, an' 'Orris 'e gits in 'is 'ead she's cryin' because of 
 'er disappointment in him. There was wopses in 'is hair 
 an' the bits o' whisker that stuck out at the sides of 'is 
 silly face, an' little clouds of wopses was 'ummin' an' 
 buzzin' about 'im as if they 'ad trouble in makin' up their 
 minds where to begin. An' Little Week-End isn't to call 
 a large place, but most of the people in it was gathered 
 on the beach to stare at 'Orris sittin' on a Windsor chair 
 atop of a wopses' nest lettin' a young lady take 'is por- 
 trait. An' I stood up in the Skylark an' tair enjoyed the 
 treat. 
 
 "Is it for a bet, matey?" calls out a boatman wot didn't 
 like 'Orris, nor he wasn't the only one there. 
 
 "Lor! look at them narsty stingin' beastes 'overin' 
 round you, Mr. Touchitt," calls out Missis Green. 
 
 " 'E don't 'ear you, mum, 'e's 'avin' 'is portrait took," 
 says a fisherman wot 'Orris 'ad done crooll over a bargain. 
 But 'is daughter wot my precious son-in-law 'ad bin mak- 
 in' sheep's eyes at even before Eliza dropped orf, calls 
 out: 
 
 " 'E'll be stung to death, 'e will. Somebody interfere 
 or I shall." 
 
 "You keep back, Lucy Gilbert, or I'll let you know," 
 says 'Orris, keeping 'is smile unchanged. " 'Ave you 
 nearly done, miss ?" An' you could plainly see as wot 'e 
 was undergoing agonies. 
 
 "Another minute," says the young lady, "and don't 
 you get up till I give you the word, or your portrait will 
 be spoiled. I shall never have such another subject," says 
 she dabbing away right and left very fast, "not if I design 
 picture posters for a hundred years." 
 
 "You'll be married before then," says 'Orris in a low 
 voice, trying to look serious an' keep 'is balance at the 
 same time. 
 
 "I don't know of anyone who would have me. Do you,
 
 A Design for a Poster 27 
 
 Qara ?" says the young lady very innocently to her friend. 
 "Oh, Kitty, you're too bad!" says the friend. "As 
 
 if " She whispered wot came next, and if I couldn't 
 
 'ear, nor more could 'Orris. 
 
 "You better give that there young widower a chance, 
 miss," says I from behind her. "Got a reputation, 'e 'as 
 for makin' females 'appy, and 'as a nice sunny nature of 
 'is own. Soon 'as 'e loses one wife 'e starts to look for 
 another. 'E's 'ad two, young as 'e looks." 
 
 The crowd gives a kind of titter, which 'Orris pretends 
 not to 'ear. The back legs of the chair was sinkin' deeper 
 an' deeper, and 'e was gettin' more and more uncomfort- 
 able. 
 
 "I couldn't believe anything bad of a man with a face 
 like his !" says the young lady artist, pretending to say it 
 in a kind of loudish whisper to the other young lady. "I 
 never saw one like it, and I don't believe I ever shall." 
 
 "Thank you, miss," says 'Orris, gittin' red to the tops 
 of 'is ears. "It's well to be spoke well of by them as 'as 
 good 'earts." 
 
 "Oh, but you have a good heart, I feel sure !" says the 
 young lady, dabbing away for dear life, an' the scarecrow 
 'Orris looked in 'er picture was only second to the image 
 'e made out of it. 'E turns 'is 'ead to give 'er a loving 
 look, an' in screwin' 'is neck round, one of the back legs 
 of the chair breaks, an' down 'e goes atop of the wopses' 
 nest, with the population crowdin' one another to git the 
 next sting. 'E 'owls some'ink orful next minnit, an' 
 picks 'isself up an' rushes into the sea. 
 
 One young lady larfin' 'er 'ead orf, packs up 'er traps, 
 with the other young lady sayin' "Shoo !" to the wopses. 
 Then bein' ready to go, she calls to me, 'Orris bein' 
 afraid to come ashore there, an* 'avin' waded farther up 
 the beach, dabbin' 'is stung face with 'is wet 'ands an' 
 bein' sorry for 'isself. 
 
 "Aren't you sorry for your poor son-in-law, you un-
 
 28 A Sailor's Home 
 
 kind old man ?" says she. "Why, he won't be able to get 
 his hat on to-morrow !" 
 
 " 'E 'ad a swelled 'ead before, miss," says I. "An' 
 you're the better by 'is lovely picter." 
 
 "Give 'im this," says she, 'andin' me a five-shillin' 
 piece. An' she then goes off, larfin', with the other. 
 
 "I would if we was on speakin, terms," says I to my- 
 self, slippin' the cart-wheel into my trowsies pocket. But 
 if 'Orris won't 'ave nothin' to do wi' me, ? tain't my place 
 to make advances.
 
 Ill 
 
 A STRATEGIC MOVEMENT 
 
 WHEN Mr. William Jupp, mariner, late of the 
 tramping clay-steamer Lucy of Looe, from Stock- 
 holm to London Docks with a return-cargo of fresh 
 butter and middle-aged eggs, had drawn his pay as A.B. 
 a title hotly contested by the captain and mate of the 
 Lucy of Looe a desire to inhale once more the health- 
 giving breezes of his native Kentish Town and renew old 
 ties, somewhat rudely broken a few brief years previous- 
 ly, led the returned prodigal to board a 'bus bound for 
 the north-west. 
 
 To nostrils fresh from the ocean breezes, the perfume 
 of haddocks in the Queen's Crescent could give no sensa- 
 tion that was new, and after traversing a grove of these 
 saline articles of diet, tastefully interspersed with cheap 
 haberdashery and old ironware, Mr. Jupp steered down 
 a narrow turning, pausing at the corner public-house to 
 inquire the time, and finally brought-to at the middle 
 house of a squeezy row of five. Unmistakable signs of 
 festivity distinguished the dwelling: the muslin curtains 
 were stiff with recent starch, and the doorsteps were 
 dazzlingly clean. A potman from the public-house at the 
 corner was in the act of delivering such a number of 
 frothing quart pots at the area door that Mr. Jupp's first 
 solo on the front-door knocker, which wore a white cali- 
 co favour of huge proportions, was rendered faint by 
 emotion. Upon a repetition of the knock, his sister Liz- 
 
 29
 
 30 A Sailor's Home 
 
 zie, a fresh-coloured young woman of twenty-three, in a 
 state of excitement and ribbons which even Mr. Jupp 
 hesitated to attribute to joy at his return, opened to the 
 wanderer. 
 
 "What ho, Liz!" said Mr. Jupp with easy playful- 
 ness. 
 
 "My gracious !" remarked the fresh-coloured young 
 woman, without perceptible rapture, "it's Bill!" 
 
 "The same as ever," said Mr. Jupp, by a brotherly 
 salute convincing the young woman that his fraternal 
 feelings and the bristles on his chin were as strong as 
 ever. She squealed, and at the shrill sound the upper 
 half of the body of another young woman in a similar 
 condition as to ribbons and excitement appeared above 
 the landing of the kitchen stairs. 
 
 "We don't want no coal to-day," cried the second 
 young woman. "Get off my clean doorstep, will you? 
 Here Rover ! Ro " 
 
 "It ain't the coalman," said Lizzie, as a chain rattled 
 in the back-yard and a hoarse bark responded to the 
 second young woman's call. "It's Bill come home from 
 sea!" 
 
 "Don't make as though you didn't know as what I was 
 a-coming, both of you," said Mr. Jupp in an injured tone, 
 "when you've 'ad a letter to say." 
 
 The young women exchanged a glance and shook their 
 heads. "That's another of yours, Bill." said the first 
 young woman. "We haven't 'ad no letter." 
 
 "Nor you didn't write us none, neither," said the sec- 
 ond young woman. "If anythink came, it was a post- 
 card!" 
 
 "It were a post-card," said the injured Mr. Jupp, 
 "with a pictur' of the King o' Sweden on it." 
 
 "And no stamp," said the second young woman. "The 
 postman wanted me to pay tuppence for it, so I wouldn't 
 take it in. It was just like you, he said."
 
 A Strategic Movement 31 
 
 "The pictur' of the King of Sweden?" inquired the 
 flattered Mr. Jupp. 
 
 "No ; the meaness of posting it without a stamp," said 
 the second sister. 
 
 "I'll remember that postman when I see *im," said the 
 injured Mr. Jupp. "Meantime, are you two gals a-going 
 to let me come aboard in, I mean or ain't you?" 
 
 "I suppose we must," said Bessie, the second young 
 woman, who was the elder of the Misses Jupp. "Troub- 
 les never come singly," she added. 
 
 "It never rains but it pours !" remarked "Lizzie, as she 
 economically opened the hall door just wide enough to 
 admit the form of the returned wanderer, and warmly 
 urged him to wipe his boots once more upon the mat 
 which adorned the sacred threshold of home. "No, 
 don't you go in there!" she added hastily, as Mr. Jupp 
 extended his hand towards the knob of the front-parlour 
 door. "That's where it's all laid out an' waiting!" 
 
 "Not a corpse!" said Mr. Jupp, hastily withdrawing 
 his hand. 
 
 Both the girls giggled, and Mr. Jupp, who had a rooted 
 aversion to corpses, felt relieved. "I noo if it was, it 
 couldn't be neither o' you," he explained, as he followed 
 his sisters to the basement kitchen, " 'cos the best ones of 
 a family are them what always gets took fust. Elfred, 
 or Joe, I expected it 'ad 'ave bin, or father. 'Ow is the 
 old man, since we're talkin'?" 
 
 "You may well ask how father is !" said Bessie, tossing 
 her head. "You wouldn't need to ask if you knew where 
 he is." 
 
 "Why, where is 'e?" inquired Mr. Jupp's puzzled son. 
 
 "He's at church!" replied "Lizzie. She exchanged a 
 knowing wink with her sister, and together the young 
 women enjoyed the pictorial changes of expression which 
 rapidly succeeded one another on the mobile countenance 
 of their elder brother.
 
 32 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "At church!" gasped Mr. Jupp at length. "Father! 
 Why, what's come over Mm?" 
 
 "You may well ask," said Bessie. "Do you call to 
 mind the little sweet-an'-tobacco shop in Railway Lane, 
 kep' by a widow what never really was one a Mrs. 
 Clark, with a red nose an* a lot o' little ringlets of 'obitrn 
 'air? You do? Well, that's what's come over father!" 
 
 "Sweet-an'-tobacco shop in Railway Lane ! 'Ow could 
 
 that come over ?" Mr. Jupp was beginning, when an 
 
 inner light dawned upon him, and he heavily smote his 
 knee. "You mean the widder!" he cried. "Well, I'm 
 blowed ! An* so father's up to a bit of a lark at 'is age ! 
 Well done, 'im !" 
 
 "If you call gettin' married to a red-nosed old cat a 
 bit of a lark," said Bessie, "that's what he is up to this 
 minute. Joe an' Elfred f ave gone to be bridesmaids," 
 she added, as Mr. Jupp gave vent to a piercing whistle of 
 astonishment, "as me and Liz couldn't be spared from 
 'ome." 
 
 "You could 'ave got a gal in," suggested Mr. Jupp. 
 whose protracted abstinence from malt liquor his last 
 pint having been absorbed at the corner public-house 
 previously mentioned rendered his brain preternatural- 
 ly clear. 
 
 "I reckon we could, sillv," retorted "Lizzie; "an* left 
 her to look after the weddin'-breakfast an' take in the 
 beer." 
 
 "I could 'a* done that for you," hazarded Mr. Jupp. 
 
 "I lay you could," said Bessie, with an unsisterly em- 
 phasis that brought a flush to the brow of the returned 
 prodigal; "and watch the furniture, too." 
 
 "Watch the furniture!" echoed Mr. Jupp. "For fear 
 of bailiffs, d'yer mean?" 
 
 "For fear of stepmothers, which is worse," said Lizzie 
 Jupp, her ribbons bristling with defiance of the lady who 
 was at that moment receiving the vows of the elder Mr.
 
 A Strategic Movement 33 
 
 Jupp. "You've no idea what a under'anded, artful thing 
 she is, for all 'er mealy-mouthed talk." 
 
 "But we've got the better of 'er, mealy-mouth an' all," 
 said Bessie, "or we shall when her and father 'ave start- 
 ed on the wedding journey to their new 'ome. There's 
 all 'is clothes packed in that corded box in the passage, 
 ready to go away." 
 
 "'Ome!" echoed Mr. Jupp. "Why, ain't this their 
 'ome?" 
 
 "Not while me an' Liz an* Elf red an' Joe are inside of 
 it, whatever you may be pore-spirited enough to think," 
 said Bessie. 
 
 "Why, ain't it ain't it big enough?" hazarded Mr. 
 Jupp, his eye questing furtively in search of the beer- 
 cans. 
 
 "No !" said Bessie plumply. 
 
 "It used to be, when mother was alive," said Mr. Jupp, 
 whose tongue clave to the roof of his mouth with thirst. 
 
 "But it isn't now," said Lizzie. "The fust thing me 
 and Bess done, when father broke the news of 'is engage- 
 ment, was to move 'is bed an' chest of drawers an' wash- 
 stand an' things up into the little attic in the roof, an' 
 take his large first-floor front bedroom for ourselves. 
 Then we divided the other two bedrooms between Elf red 
 and Joe, an' dared 'em to move out. Father tried 'ard 
 to come over 'em to change with 'im, and once or twice 
 he managed it; but we always changed his things back 
 to the attic whenever he moved 'em out, an' at last he 
 got resigned an' took a little furnished house at Tghgate 
 Clayfields for himself an' his bride." 
 
 "What about the rent o' this one?" asked Mr. Jupp, 
 with bluntness. 
 
 "There's only two quarters more to pay to the Building 
 Society," said Bessie, "and then the house is ours." 
 
 "Father's, you mean," Mr. Jupp was going to say, but 
 the look in Bessie's eye silenced the words upon his
 
 34 A Sailor's Home 
 
 tongue, and he turned the conversation, dwelling upon 
 the dryness of the weather and the thirst-provoking 
 properties of the air of Kentish Town. The arid lack of 
 sympathy with which his hints were ignored was fast 
 converting him from a man and a brother into a mere 
 man, when the legs of a cab-horse were seen to pass the 
 window of the basement kitchen, from which all light 
 was immediately afterwards blocked out by the body of 
 a four-wheeled cab. A moment later Mr. Jupp's latch- 
 key was heard in the door, which his daughters had 
 thoughtfully bolted. 
 
 "I thought it might be you," said Lizzie, as, after a 
 protracted interval, during which Mr. Jupp senior had 
 been heard to swear, she admitted the happy couple, 
 followed by the bridesmaids, Joe and Alfred; a sandy- 
 haired, middle-aged niece of the bride, attired in the blue 
 serge and poke-bonnet of the Salvation Army; a stout 
 lady in a velvet mantle and feathers, who had taken over 
 the lease, fixtures, stock, and goodwill of the little sweet- 
 and-tobacco shop in the Railway Lane, and who had 
 brought her little girl; and three of Mr. Jupp's male 
 cronies and club associates who had come to give their 
 friend countenance and support. 
 
 "If you thought it was me us, I mean," said Mr. 
 Jupp, with a fatherly scowl, " 'ow is it you didn't open 
 the door ?" He led his blushing bride past his daughters, 
 threw open the door of the front room where the wed- 
 ding-breakfast was spread, and smoothed his corrugated 
 brow as he viewed his well-spread board. "Eliza, you 
 set at the 'ead, side o' me," he continued. "Missis Jenks, 
 you an' Lotty come 'ere on my left. Clarkson, look after 
 the bottom of the table ; there's a cold loin o' pork out o' 
 your own shop what we'll look to you to carve. Widgett, 
 you git on the left 'and o' Clarkson, an' Blaberry, you set 
 on 'is knife side. Joe an' Elf red, stow yourselves where 
 you can. Now, then, gals, where's the beer?"
 
 A Strategic Movement 35 
 
 But neither Mr. Clarkson, who was gallant as are all 
 butchers, nor Mr. Blaberry, who was a builder, nor Mr. 
 Widgett, who kept an oil and hardware store, would be 
 seated before the Misses Jupp, whose natural charms 
 heightened by ribbons and indignation, had created an 
 instantaneous impression. 
 
 "We're coming directly," said Bessie, with a fascinat- 
 ing smile, bestowed impartially upon all three men, "an' 
 so's the beer. No wonder pore father wants a drop, 
 after all he has gone through this morning." 
 
 "Gone through?" echoed the stout lady, who, having 
 acquired the sweet-and-tobacco shop upon low terms, 
 was temporarily an enthusiastic partisan of the new Mrs. 
 Jupp. "Gone through?" 
 
 "You're a bit deaf, ain't you?" said Bessie, bridling. 
 "So's father, in one ear, and both when sensible people 
 try to offer 'im advice. I've half wished / was, more 
 than once o' late, when I've 'appened to over'ear remarks 
 as 'ave bin made. What was it, Liz, the cabman said 
 when you took 'im out 'is fare?" 
 
 " 'No fool like an old fool,' I think it was," said "Lizzie, 
 serving out the beer and accidentally passing over the 
 bride, an instance of neglect which the incensed bride- 
 groom remedied by wresting the jug from his rebellious 
 offspring and helping his wife himself. "But 'e 'ad a 
 shilling in 'is mouth, and it didn't come out clear. Move 
 up a bit more, Joe ; another plate 'as got to get in at this 
 corner. Ain't it pleasant," she continued brightly "we 
 shall be just thirteen at table with Bill?" 
 
 Mr. Jupp senior's loaded fork had been arrested on its 
 way to his mouth at the sound of the prodigal's name. 
 As the door creaked modestly open, his jaw visibly 
 dropped, but he shook hands with the thirteenth guest 
 with some show of cordiality, and introduced her eldest 
 stepson to the new Mrs. Jupp by the simple process of 
 jerking his chin at the gentleman and immediately nudg-
 
 36 A Sailor's Home 
 
 ing the lady in the side. Rendered venomous by the at- 
 tacks of the sisters, the late incumbent of the sweetstuff- 
 and-tobacco shop saw in the awkward form and embar- 
 rassed countenance of the returned wanderer a suitable 
 sacrifice, and immediately proceeded to offer him up, by 
 asking how long he had been away. 
 
 "Five years !" said Mr. William Jupp with brevity. 
 
 "Dear, dear !" ejaculated the new Mrs. Jupp, "and did 
 they give you as much as that?" 
 
 "Did who give him what?" queried Mr. Jupp senior in 
 some surprise. 
 
 "The judge and jury, I meant, but I was afraid it 'ud 
 wound 'is feelings to mention 'em," explained the new 
 Mrs. Jupp delicately. 
 
 "What maggot 'ave you got into your 'ead now," de- 
 manded the bridegroom, "'bout judges and juries? Bill 
 'as bin away to sea." 
 
 "I'm shore I beg pardon," apologised the new Mrs. 
 Jupp, as her eldest stepson commanded his swollen feel- 
 ings and addressed himself to cold pork and beer. "I 
 must 'av bin thinking of your pore wife's brother Ben 
 what broke the jeweller's winder with a brick an' stole 
 a trayful o' wedding-rings." 
 
 "I wonder at 'im, if 'e did," said Mr. William Jupp, 
 glaring pointedly at his new parent over a chop bone, at 
 this untimely reference to the undeniable blot on the 
 family scutcheon. "One weddin'-ring's enough for most 
 men." 
 
 "An* too much for some!" said his younger brother 
 Joe, stimulated to the sally by the shrill giggles of his 
 sisters. 
 
 "Are you a-going to set by and hear me insulted at 
 your at my own table, an' on such a day as this?" de- 
 manded the bride shrilly of the elder Mr. Jupp. 
 
 "Joe," said that gentleman in a voice rendered thick 
 by emotion and mashed potato, "you an' me'll 'ave a
 
 A Strategic Movement 
 
 word in the back-yard by-an'-by. You ain't too old an* 
 too big to whop whatever others may be." 
 
 "Come, come !" said Clarkson, who loved peace. 
 
 " 'Birds in their little' you know ! Who'll 'ave a bit 
 more pork?" and he smiled genially as he contemplated 
 the fast-vanishing joint, which he had supplied. 
 
 "Not for me!" said the second Mrs. Jupp, in a faint, 
 ladylike voice as she pushed away her empty plate. "I 
 don't wish to put anybody off of it but it tastes a bit 
 measly, to my mind." 
 
 "Measly!" gasped the outraged butcher, crimson from 
 his throttling collar to the tips of his large ears. "Me sell 
 measly meat! Look here - " 
 
 "Don't pay no attention, Mr. Clarkson," said Lizzie in 
 a loud, bright, cheerful whisper. "Don't you know them 
 as ain't used to 'ave no fresh meat are always the 'ardest 
 to please? Bloaters all the week round, an' 'block orna- 
 ments' on Sundays that's about 'er mark !" 
 
 "If you're a man, Jupp," panted the incensed bride, 
 "you'll show it now, by standing up for your wife !" 
 
 "What's the matter now?" growled Mr. Jupp senior, 
 looking up from a plateful of apple-pie, as his spouse 
 sank back in her chair, making noises in her throat sug- 
 gestive of clucking poultry and clocks running down. 
 "What 'as anybody bin an' said now? You're too feel- 
 ing, Eliza, that's what you are." 
 
 "There, there !" said the stout lady soothingly, as the 
 poultry and the clocks continued : "there, there's a dear ! 
 Give 'er a drop of beer, Mr. Jupp, sir the jug's your 
 way. See, now," she continued, as Mr. Jupp's compli- 
 ance promptly flooded the table-cloth, "he's 'elped you as 
 'e loves you as the saying is!" 
 
 "There's nothing in the glass but froth," sobbed the 
 bride, after an unavailing attempt to drink out of the 
 tumbler. 
 
 "Give 'er the jug," suggested Alfred, who had not yet
 
 38 A Sailor's Home 
 
 offered any contribution to the general conversation. 
 Reading in his father's eye an appointment in the back- 
 yard similar to Joe's, the youth choked, and the elderly 
 young lady in Salvation Army uniform patted him oblig- 
 ingly upon the back. 
 
 "That's what conies of eatin' in a 'urry," said the stout 
 lady rebukingly. 
 
 "Don't blame the pore boy," said his new mother in a 
 sudden access of affection, "you'd bolt, if you was kep' 
 as short o' food as Elfred is. Ribbons an' fal-lals has to 
 be paid for at the draper's, if two young women as ought 
 to know better want to be took for worse than what they 
 are." This home-thrust delivered at the Misses Jupp 
 rendered Bessie, for the moment, incapable of speech. 
 Lizzie was about to plunge into the arena, when the pas- 
 sage of an enormous furniture-van down the narrow 
 thoroughfare without shook the small house so violently 
 that she was obliged to cling to her next neighbours for 
 support. These being Mr. Clarkson and Mr. Widgett, 
 who manifested gratification at being clung to, the indig- 
 nation of Mrs. Jupp was raised to boiling-point. 
 
 "Well, I'm sure !" she said, with a scandalised glare at 
 the offenders. "Nice goings on !" 
 
 "Nice goings off, you mean," said the humorous Mr. 
 Widgett, pointing with his unoccupied arm to the word 
 "Removals," which was painted in child-high yellow 
 letters on the passing vehicle. 
 
 "Somebody's doin' a quittin' to-day, ain't 'em?" ob- 
 served the stout lady. 
 
 "Prob'ly them Cadgers at Number Five," said Mr. 
 Jupp, hastily. "Told me yesterday 'e thought o' movin' 
 Cadger did." 
 
 "The van's stoppin' 'ere!" squealed the little girl who 
 had accompanied the stout lady, as the house left off 
 trembling and the grinding wheels stopped. 
 
 "It's a mistake," said Mr. Jupp, hastily bolting the last
 
 A Strategic Movement 39 
 
 mouthful of pie. "I'll go an' tell 'em " He rose, but 
 
 not as quickly as his daughters. 
 
 "Don't you trouble, father," said Lizzie, with unmis- 
 takable meaning, as she turned the key in the door, with- 
 drew it, and placed it in her pocket. 
 
 "You sit down and finish your beer, father," said 
 Bessie warningly. "You'll have to start in a few minutes 
 now if you want to get into your new place by tea-time." 
 
 "Out away by 'Ighgate Clayfields, ain't it?" queried 
 Mr. Blaberry. 
 
 Some secret emotion impeded the speech of Mr. Jupp 
 and flushed his countenance, as he replied that the local- 
 isation of Mr. Blaberry was in every way correct, and 
 opened a bottle of unsweetened gin. 
 
 "Such a dismal, lonesome, out-o'-the-way kind o' place 
 to settle in, I should 'ave thought," said the Salvation 
 niece of Mrs. Jupp hesitatingly. 
 
 "Not for a noo married couple, my dear!" said the 
 stout lady, taking a little cold water in a glass of gin. 
 
 "It's what I call a hideel situation that's what I call 
 it!" said Mr. Jupp, sipping at a tumbler he was mixing 
 for his wife and openly winking over the edge of it. 
 "Down near the bottom of a nooly opened street with a 
 railway-embankment blockin' up the end, an' a reclaimed 
 bit o' waste ground at the back. No shops 'cept a chand- 
 ler's, which is also a greengrocer's an' a butcher's an' a 
 baker's an' grocer's in one. No drapers, no theayter, 
 no singin'-'all, no cookin'-club nor Young Women's 
 Friendly, which is another name for sweetheartin' on 
 the sly. Quarter of a mile to walk to catch your train, 
 an' a 'bus every 'arf-'our to the places you don't want to 
 go to." 
 
 "Well, I hope you'll both be 'appy there !" said Bessie, 
 laughing unrestrainedly. "How those vanmen are bump- 
 ing the things about next door !" 
 
 "They've done now !" said Mr. Jupp, lighting a large,
 
 4O A Sailor's Home 
 
 pale cigar in a red waisband, as the heavy doors of the 
 van banged to, and the vehicle lumbered away. "They 
 'adn't much to take," he added incautiously. "'Ere! 
 Where are you off to?" For Lizzie Jupp, with cheeks 
 some degrees paler in hue, had risen and hurried to the 
 door. 
 
 "I I thought I'd 'ave a look at the kitchen fire !" she 
 faltered, her uneasiness increased by the discovery that 
 the new Mrs. Jupp was smiling. 
 
 "Blow the kitchen fire !" said Mr. Jupp lightly. "Eliza, 
 get your bonnet on. Joe, you run and fetch a cab." 
 
 "There's one waiting at the corner, outside the 'Froth- 
 ing Pot/ " said Bessie affectionately. "Me and Liz saw 
 to that!" She produced a large bag of paper confetti 
 and a second-hand boot from a drawer in the side- 
 board, and, in a pelting blizzard of coloured paper, Mr. 
 Jupp, his box, and his newly wedded wife, hurried 
 through the hall, down the doorsteps and into the cab, 
 into which Alfred was hauled at the last moment by the 
 author of his being. The door banged, the second-hand 
 boot shattered the window, and the married couple had 
 started on their honeymoon. 
 
 "Father feels shy, I suppose," said "Lizzie, giggling 
 as she settled her ribbons and exchanged a look of tri- 
 umph with her sister, "or he wouldn't have took Elfred." 
 
 "He may keep him if he likes," said Bessie Jupp. 
 "Always too much of a favourite, Elfred's bin, to please 
 me. Now, Mr. Clarkson, will you have a cup of tea after 
 all this excitement, or something better?" 
 
 The gallant Mr. Clarkson said he would have some- 
 thing better, and took it in the shape of a kiss, Messrs. 
 Widgett and Blaberry following the example of the bold 
 butcher, in claiming like tribute, the payment of which 
 was ungrudgingly witnessed by Joe and Mr. William 
 Jupp, while rousing shivering emotions of disgust and 
 contempt in the bosoms of the stout lady, the Salvation
 
 A Strategic Movement 41 
 
 niece, and the little girl, whose expression of outraged 
 virtue was wonderful for so immature a performer. 
 These undesired guests had just reassumed their dis- 
 carded headgear and taken an unregretted leave, and the 
 suggestion of spending the rest of the evening at the 
 theatre had just been mooted by the popular Oarkson 
 and hailed with rapture by the two young ladies, when a 
 thundering tattoo at the hall door caused the stout lady to 
 start and scream, and the unfastening of the portal re- 
 vealed the boy Alfred, hatless, crimson, splashed with 
 mud, and gasping for breath. 
 
 "My gracious goodness !" cried the stout lady, "there's 
 bin a accident!" 
 
 "Anything happened?" demanded Clarkson. 
 
 "What's up, Elf?" said his elder brother. 
 
 "Can't you speak?" urged his sister Lizzie. "You're 
 frightening everybody." 
 
 "Gasping like a " Bessie did not say like a "fish," 
 
 because fish have done all their gasping before they come 
 to be sold in Kentish Town ; she substituted "like a bel- 
 lows," which satisfied everybody. "Is anybody ill or 
 dead?" she ended. 
 
 The boy Alfred gasped once more and said "Father !" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "No !" 
 
 "You don't mean " 
 
 "I do," said Alfred loudly "that is, leastways, 'e ain't 
 quite," he continued glibly. " 'E's 'ad a sudden stroke, 
 an' they've carried 'im into Bickford the chemist's, in 
 the Kentish Town Road; an' 'e've sent me 'ome to say 
 as what's 'appened is a judgment on 'im for marryin' 
 agin 'is dear daughters' wishes. An' he wants the one 
 what always loved 'im best to come an' witness 'is will, 
 'cos 'e means to leave everythink to 'er. You're to 'urry 
 there at once without goin' upstairs to put on your 'ats, 
 he says, in case he changes 'is mind."
 
 42 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "The one what always loved 'im best. That means 
 me," said Bessie, as she snatched her errand-going hat 
 from a peg in the hall. "I was always the one pore 
 father liked best of all." 
 
 "Ah, but I was the one what made the most of 'im !" 
 said Lizzie. She wrested the hat from her sister's grasp, 
 and darted out of the house, down the steps, and round 
 the corner in an instant. 
 
 "Cat !" ejeculated Bessie. Without an instant's delay, 
 she forcibly deprived Alfred of his cap, and ran down 
 the street after Lizzie. Messrs. Clarkson, Widgett, and 
 Blaberry, left standing on the steps, exchanged dubious 
 glances. 
 
 "I wonder which of 'em he thinks loves 'im best ?" said 
 Mr. Blaberry, who was naturally a reflective man. 
 
 "I wonder which o' them Jupp'll leave his bit o' 
 money to ?" said Mr. Clarkson. "I wish I was quite sure. 
 As to their love for 'im, it seems to me there's more 
 bone than meat about it not that I wish to predjudice 
 you against 'em." 
 
 "You couldn't if you tried," said Mr. Widgett ambigu- 
 ously. He started at an amble, and Clarkson and Bla- 
 berry guessed that his distination was the chemist's in 
 the Kentish Town Road. Mutually on their guard 
 against the meanness that strives to grasp an advantage, 
 they captured their hats and followed. The boy Alfred, 
 grinning cheerfully, watched them depart. 
 
 Joe, who had a soft heart, snivelled. 
 
 Mr. William Jupp, who had hastened back into the 
 banqueting-chamber to fortify himself against approach- 
 ing bereavement, helped himself to the beer that was left, 
 and then balanced the gin-bottle, in which a small 
 quantity yet remained, upside down upon his underlip. 
 
 "It's what 'appens to all on us," he remarked piously, 
 his eyes still riveted piously upon the ceiling. "Slipped 
 'is cable by now, 'e 'as, I expect. Ploorisy or pewmonia,
 
 A Strategic Movement 43' 
 
 or 'plexy, or 'paralicks, or one o' them sicknesses what all 
 seems to begin with the same letter. What did the chem- 
 ist say it was, Elf red?" 
 
 "The chemist said," growled the familiar accents of 
 Mr. Jupp senior, as his horrified son, with a yell, dropped 
 the bottle and reeled backwards into the fortunately empty 
 fireplace "the chemist said it were the best joke 'e ever 
 'card of in all 'is life, played on two o' the brazenest- 
 faced 'ussies what ever laid their 'eads together to turn 
 their own father out of 'is own 'ouse an' 'ome. Come 
 in 'ere, Eliza ; you're in your own place. Bolt the front 
 door Elf ; I see them two a-running down the street." 
 He threw up the parlour window and leaned with dra- 
 matic carelessness upon the sill, as the flushed faces of 
 Bessie and Lizzie appeared above the level of the area 
 railings. "Bin 'aving a bit of exercise?" their parent 
 queried, with a sarcastic grin. "Nice warm day for a 
 run if you don't overdo it. I see you 'ave, an' upset 
 yourselves," he added kindly, as the outwitted sisters 
 burst, with one accord, into loud sobs. "Better git 'ome 
 an' lay down an' 'ave a cup o' tea leastways, the one 
 that lays down," he added; "the one what don't '11 'ave 
 to git the tea." 
 
 "Fa- father!" sobbed Bessie. "Oh, what a wicked 
 trick you've bin an' played us !" 
 
 "Oh, father," wailed Lizzie "making out as you was 
 dyin'an'all!" 
 
 "You're drawin' public attention to the 'ouse," said 
 Mr. Jupp severely. "Go 'ome an' torse up for that cup 
 o' tea !" 
 
 "This is our 'ome !" sniffed Bessie. 
 
 "You know it is !" added "Lizzie tearfully. 
 
 "Not a bit of it," said Mr. Jupp genially, his arm 
 affectionately round the waist of the second Mrs. Jupp. 
 "Your 'ome is now the little 'ouse at 'Ighgate Clayfields, 
 in the noo street. You'll find all your clothes an* things
 
 44 A Sailor's Home 
 
 there," he added; "I 'ad 'em took away while we was 
 'aving breakfast lent the van-driver my spare latch-key, 
 I did, an' two pair of old socks what 'im an' 'is mate put 
 on over their boots, so as not to be over'eard. Now, git 
 along 'ome. The rent's paid in advance for a 'arf- 
 quarter. I make you a present o' that." 
 
 "Oh, father!" wailed the outcast Peris. "O-oh, 
 father!" 
 
 "You go to Highgate" said Mr. Jupp, and shut the 
 window down.
 
 IV 
 A RELIEF EXPEDITION 
 
 WHEN intelligence of the alarming illness of Mr. 
 Jupp, late of Arabella Terrace, Queen's Crescent, 
 Kentish Town, vras imparted to the children of his first 
 wife, per medium of a soiled and wilted postcard in the 
 handwriting of his second a missive so economically 
 directed that it had been delivered at and rejected as 
 "Not known" from eleven different addresses in the 
 metropolitan suburbs a general council or indaba was 
 held. This, as the writer of the postcard had enjoined 
 upon the Jupps complete abstention from the indulgence 
 of any dutiful impulse to seek the society of the sufferer, 
 naturally ended in the despatch of a Relief Expedition 
 of one to the minute country farm in the remote country 
 district to which Mr. Jupp, impelled by the yearning to 
 taste fresh air and home-grown cabbages, had betaken 
 himself three years previously, with his new wife, his 
 youngest son Alfred, and his old house-dog River, whose 
 bark had been impaired by the passage of time, but whose 
 bite was nearly as good as ever. 
 
 The Relief Expedition consisted of the exile's eldest 
 son, Mr. William Jupp, ex-mariner, who, in default of 
 a professional outlet for his obvious talents, had been 
 for some time actively engaged in swelling the ranks of 
 the unemployed. 
 
 A bottle of whisky, warranted genuine Scotch, was 
 purchased for two and elevenpence at "The Bunch of 
 
 45
 
 46 A Sailor's Home 
 
 Grapes" by the invalid's affectionate daughter Bessie, 
 and a bundle of twelve cigars, from the emporium of the 
 Zermuda Company next door, warranted to give espe- 
 cial satisfaction for a shilling, formed the dutiful con- 
 tribution of his second son Joe. As the entire pecuniary 
 resources of Mr. William Jupp's pockets were found, 
 upon family examination, to consist of a French half- 
 penny, the amount of his railway fare, with an addi- 
 tional sixpence for refreshments, was contributed with 
 some reluctance by Miss Lizzie Jupp. 
 
 "Copcut Elm Farm, Hoppen Frogmarsh, near Crawl- 
 ingford, Berks, that's the full address," she said, as with 
 cold distrust she accompanied the Expedition to the rail- 
 way station, "and don't you forget it. What took father 
 such a ways off is more than I ever could understand, un- 
 less 'e wanted to 'ide from 'is own flesh and blood !" she 
 added, with unconsciously perfect grasp of the paternal 
 motive. "I've only took a.single ticket to Crawlingford," 
 she continued acidly, "becos if father is glad of your 
 com'ny, he'll want you to stop over the week, and if 'e 
 ain't, 'e'll pay the 'ome fare to be rid of you. So good- 
 bye, and mind you don't come 'ome without knowin' 'ow 
 pore father 'as made out 'is will." 
 
 It was the morning of a bitter January day that saw 
 the Expedition set out from Paddington. The weather 
 was quite seasonable, little pieces of damp snow flew 
 into the carriage whenever the windows of the third- 
 class smoker were lowered, or the doors opened for the 
 exit of a passenger. The pollard poplars of the Thames 
 Valley loomed ghostly through a frosty fog, the blue- 
 nosed porters beat their chests as though in agonies of 
 operatic remorse, and the bottle of whisky carried in the 
 inside pocket of Mr. William Jupp's venerable pilot 
 jacket began to burn there. As the venerable clasp- 
 knife carried by the Expedition contained a corkscrew, it 
 was not long before the spirits in the bottle had evapo-
 
 A Relief Expedition 47 
 
 rated to the last drop, and those of Mr. William Jupp 
 had been elevated to the highest pitch. He lighted cigar 
 after cigar from a rapidly shrinking bundle with a misty 
 conviction that errands of mercy brought their own re- 
 ward, and that so far the Expedition had been decidedly 
 a success. 
 
 Ere long, quitting the shelter of the third-class smoker 
 for the smallest station he had ever seen, announced in 
 Brobdingnagian letters to be Crawlingford, Mr. William 
 Jupp negotiated the descent of a steep flight of asphalted 
 stairs in a series of alarming slides and flounders, and 
 had emerged into a landscape unmarked by any more sa- 
 lient features than hedges, ditches, pollard trees and 
 snow, before he realised that he had not the faintest 
 recollection of the address at which presumably reclined 
 a parent in extremity. 
 
 Two hours of heavy walking but confirmed him in the 
 conviction that the Expedition was lost, and passing 
 between a straggling double row of very small cottages 
 without barns or hayricks, and coming, at the end of 
 what was announced per finger-post to be the village of 
 Market Rumbling, upon a beerhouse, he realised that he 
 must drink or perish, and remembering that the only coin 
 now in his possession was the halfpenny of the French 
 description, acutely regretted the enforced separation 
 from family and friends. Then a happy thought oc- 
 curred to him. There still remained half-a-dozen cigars, 
 only slightly frayed from pocket friction. Holding three 
 of these between his first and second fingers, in the ap- 
 proved style of a hawker, he entered the tap-room and 
 offered the nicotian delicacies in exchange for the quart 
 of beer for which his being craved. 
 
 The landlord scowled. 
 
 "No, no," he said hastily, "us don't do that sort o' 
 business 'ere no more. Been cheated already by a sailor- 
 lookin' chap o' your sort. Like enough to you 'a' been
 
 48 A Sailor's Home 
 
 your brother. Brown paper his cigars was, wi' tea- 
 leaves inside, an* but that I 'ad the sense to give my boy 
 here the fust to try, dog sick they'd ha* made me. 
 Wouldn't 'em, Fred?" 
 
 The pimply young man the landlord addressed grunted 
 in a surly manner, and went on filling a mineral-water 
 merchant's crate with empty sodas. Rendered desperate 
 by the close vicinity of the beer-pulls, Mr. William Jupp 
 drew the French halfpenny from his pocket. 
 
 "I've got a curious coin 'ere," he said with a simple 
 air. "Might be vallyble to anybody what understands 
 such things. If you 'ave a fancy to 'ave it, it's yours 
 for a pint ; only say the word." 
 
 The landlord said several words and pointed to the 
 door. Mr. Jupp, noting a disposition on the part of the 
 pimply Fred to speed the parting guest, delicately quitted 
 the premises. A thirst raised to frenzy by the sight and 
 odour of the liquid denied by an arid Fate now suggested 
 to the castaway mariner a method by which the thirst 
 that now consumed him might be relieved. It was get- 
 ting dusk. A small and aggressively scarlet sun was in 
 the act of retiring for the night behind curtains of dun- 
 coloured vapour, the powdery snow creaked under the 
 footsteps of the wayfarer, and a knife-edged easterly 
 breeze sawed aggressively at his tingling ears. People 
 were having tea, lights began to twinkle in the cottages, 
 the smell of buttered toast was fragrant on the air, and 
 outside the illuminated parlour window of a prosperous- 
 looking cottage dwelling that abutted on the side-walk, 
 Mr. William Jupp halted and struck up a hymn with 
 more strength of lung than accuracy of musical memory, 
 and greater determination to attract attention than to 
 evoke applause. 
 
 There was only one Agnostic, only one Socialist, only 
 one Free Thinker, and only one avowed Republican and 
 Anti-Monarchist in the village of Market Rumbling, and
 
 A Relief Expedition 49; 
 
 he made up for the small numbers of his party by the 
 excessive strength and virulence of his opinions. The 
 waits had waited upon him nightly in Christmas week, 
 only consenting to curtail their programme upon the 
 hasty production of a shot-gun, and the musical efforts 
 of Mr Jupp now fell like oil upon the still glowing fires 
 of his indignation. Rising from the bed to which, still 
 fully dressed and with his hat and boots on, he was wont 
 to retire when the birds sought their nests, he crept to 
 the lattice, opened it softly, and looked out. His wife, a 
 person of normal habits, was taking tea in the parlour- 
 kitchen below, and to the doomed melodist outside its 
 muslin-blinded window her warning gestures seemed to 
 betoken admiration. 
 
 "Wants me to tip 'er another verse," soliloquised Mr. 
 Jupp, who had filled up gaps in the first with fragments 
 of a strictly secular nature. "If she don't stand tuppence 
 after this, it'll be sheer robbery." He pressed his nose 
 against the frosty pane and sang until the glass was 
 clouded with his respiration and the inner hedge of ger- 
 aniums fairly vibrated. 
 
 Then the contents of a water-pail of capacious size 
 descended impetuously from above, the lattice closed 
 smartly, and Mr. Jupp, with chattering teeth and stream- 
 ing garments, retired to a safe distance from the cottage, 
 from which he swore at the occupant of its upper cham- 
 ber, until loss of voice caused him to desist. 
 
 "Call yourself a Christian, do you, you 'eathen swine!" 
 he shouted, impotently shaking his dripping fist at the 
 imperturable upper lattice. 
 
 "No, I don't!" said the Agnostic cottager, suddenly 
 putting out a bushy-bearded head of unwashed com- 
 plexion, adorned by a crushed felt hat firmly tied down 
 with a blue cotton handkerchief. "Nothing o' the kind. 
 You come singin' hymns under my winder again, and 
 I'll show you what I am, with a cartridge o' small shot !
 
 50 A Sailor's Home 
 
 It was the organist set you on, or the schoolmaster. Deny 
 it and you're a liar!" 
 
 "I'm a liar, then," said the discontented Mr. Jupp, 
 writhing as small rivulets of chilly water trickled from 
 his sleeves into his pockets and meandered down his 
 spine, to find refuge in his socks. 
 
 "I believe you!" said the Agnostic cottager, and 
 slammed the window. 
 
 The milk of human kindness was now completely 
 curdled in the bosom of Mr. Jupp. His belief in the 
 virtue of his fellow-creatures, his faith in the soundness 
 of his own intentions, with the filial devotion that had 
 spurred his footsteps in the supposed direction of the 
 parental bedside, had vanished. So had the last recol- 
 lected fragment of the elder Jupp's address. He found 
 himself penniless in an unknown and hostile country, 
 and the advisability of taking the next train back to 
 London loomed before him, as largely as the impossi- 
 bility of doing so without the money for a return ticket. 
 Under the stress of circumstances his moral character 
 deteriorated rapidly. He resolved to beg the return fare 
 and a trifle over from the next prosperous-looking per- 
 son he should meet, and if nothing was to be got by beg- 
 ging, of the profitableness of which as a profession he 
 entertained grave doubts, to have recourse to measures 
 of a desperate nature, involving, if necessary, highway 
 robbery with violence, preferably of the one-sided 
 kind. 
 
 It was getting darkish. The last rays of the smoky 
 sunset had vanished, the uncertain glimmering whiteness 
 of the snow seemed to have absorbed whatever light was 
 left. Turning up his wet coat-collar and unconsciously 
 assuming a slouch consistent with his budding purpose, 
 Mr. William Jupp, in squelching boots, struck out dog- 
 gedly in search of an opportunity. It approached him 
 presently in the shape of a burly man, who had his head
 
 A Relief Expedition 51 
 
 enveloped in a fur cap with earflaps, and his neck wound 
 into so many folds of a woollen comforter that his nose, 
 which was prominent and of a fiery red, and a bush of 
 iron-grey whisker on either side of a conjectural coun- 
 tenance, alone remained exposed to the weather. He 
 wore a shaggy greatcoat, and drove with the aid of a 
 switch an animal whose grunt, despite the dark, adver- 
 tised it as the inhabitant of a pigsty. 
 
 Imparting to his naturally surly tones something of 
 the oiliness cultivated by the habitual mendicant, Mr. 
 William Jupp made up to the driver of the hog, wished 
 him the compliments of the season, and solicited his aid 
 for a fellow-creature in trouble. 
 
 "I'm in trouble myself, if it comes to that," said the 
 burly, grey-whiskered driver of the hog, in husky tones 
 that, filtered through the thickness of the muffler that 
 covered his mouth, awakened no slumbering echo in the 
 memory of Mr. William Jupp. " 'Aven't I got this 'ere 
 hog to drive 'ome a matter of four mile when I'd set my 
 'art on selling 'im along with 'is brother to the butcher 
 at Warming Crossways what can on'y do with one, 
 along of the influenza 'aving broke out among 'is best 
 customers ? 'Aven't I got to keep the beast over Christ- 
 mas?" the speaker continued garrulously, "by which 
 time, out o' sheer aggravation at Earl Roberts bein' pre- 
 ferred afore 'im, he'll 'ave fretted 'isself thin. Earl 
 Roberts is 'is twin brother; 'is name is Lord Kitchener. 
 Don't pay me no compliments ; I didn't baptize neither of 
 them. I took 'em over with a litter o' piglings from the 
 man what I bought my little farm off three year ago, an* 
 a nice cheat 'e was, to do 'im justice. What are you 
 turning back along o' me for? I haven't a penny to give 
 you, I wouldn't give you one if I 'ad it, and I'm not in 
 love with company o' your kind. Why don't you go your 
 own ways and let me go mine ?" 
 
 "Beg par'n, gentleman, the sound o' your kindly voice,
 
 '52 A Sailor's Home 
 
 gentleman," persisted Mr. William Jupp, not unsuccess- 
 fully sustaining his adopted character of professional 
 mendicant, as he persistently followed in the footsteps 
 of the muffled-up man who drove the hog, " 'as melted 
 my 'ard 'art and told me that all 'uman beings do not 
 regard the pore as the dirt under their feet. I am a 
 orphan, kind gentleman, without a relation or a friend in 
 the 'ole world, and not a blessed mag but this 'ere half- 
 penny. It is 'ard on a British sailor what 'as served 'is 
 time " 
 
 "An' deserved what 'e got, I lay!" growled the hog- 
 driver, who would have walked faster if the hog had 
 been agreeable. 
 
 " served 'is time in the Royal Navy, and bin broke 
 down in 'is 'ealth," said Mr. William Jupp, marvelling at 
 his own fluency, "by the bursting of a turrick on a nooly 
 invented submarine. With burning flames around me, 
 gentleman, I clung to my post " 
 
 "You ought to ha' chucked it overboard, an* yourself 
 with it, an' floated ashore that way," objected the man 
 who drove the pig. "I've a son in the seafaring way 
 myself, an* even 'e would 'ave 'ad sense enough for that, 
 I reckin." 
 
 "I come ashore at Portsmouth, gentleman, on'y yes'- 
 day," pursued Mr. William Jupp, "and 'ave been laying 
 in an 'orspital ever since at the p'int o' death. Now, 
 discharged an' without a single halfpenny " 
 
 "Why, you showed me one just now," hypercritically 
 objected the driver of the pig. 
 
 "Without clo'es to cover me from the crool cold, or 
 boots to protect my pore feet from the stones of the 'ard 
 'ighway " pathetically continued Mr. William Jupp. 
 
 "Then," said the man, correcting a deviation of the 
 hog with the switch, and quickening his pace in the vain 
 endeavour to outweary the determined victim of an un- 
 grateful country "then you've stole the decent suit and
 
 A Relief Expedition 53 
 
 the good boots what you're a-wearin' now. An* I don't 
 know but what I shouldn't be doing my duty to the 
 neighbourhood in 'anding you over to the police. Git on, 
 Kitchener !" 
 
 Kitchener squealed protestingly at a reminder from 
 the switch, and broke into a trot. So did his owner, so 
 did Mr. William Jupp. 
 
 "Beg par'n, gentleman," he recommenced, as they plod- 
 ded between the thatched houses, whose lighted windows 
 still revealed family parties gathered at the domestic 
 tea-board. "If you'll believe me " 
 
 "Do I look like a fool?" asked the driver of the pig 
 with simple directness. 
 
 "It's too dark for me to see your face, gentleman," 
 said Mr. Jupp, with great want of tact. 
 
 "And it's too dusk for me to make out yourn clear," 
 said the hog-driver, "but I can guess your way without 
 that. You've bin sunk in a submarine or blown up in a 
 powder magazine, or discharged from the Army, after 
 being wounded on the battlefield, or you've been buried 
 in a coal-mine, or chopped up in a sausage factory. Say 
 one, say all; I don't contradict you. But whatever tale 
 you're ready to pitch, it all comes to the same thing, an* 
 that's money out of my pocket." 
 
 So completely had the wind been taken out of Mr. 
 Jupp's sails by this anticipation of his confidence, that he 
 perforce was silent as he racked his invention for some- 
 thing not mentioned by the driver of the hog. Keeping 
 pace with him during the throes of composition, for he 
 showed no disposition to stop 
 
 "I 'ave a aged father, kind gentleman," he began at 
 length, "which is now lying at 'is last garsp." 
 
 "Aye, aye," said the hog-driver, plodding on. "What's 
 'e garsping about? The disgrace of 'aving a cadger for 
 a son?" 
 
 "No, gentleman," replied Mr. William Jupp, drawing
 
 54 A Sailor's Home 
 
 on facts. "Pewmonia is what's the matter with 'im. Got 
 along of a chill," he added hastily. 
 
 "Pewmonia is on'y the crackjaw name the doctors give 
 it," said the shaggy man, as he plodded sturdily ahead of 
 Mr. Jupp. "A shortness of breath, that's what it really 
 is. As for chill, why, I had it myself on'y two months 
 back, and I never was warmer in my life. Couldn't 
 'ardly bear the bed-clothes on. If you're so anxious 
 about your father, I don't see why you're worriting me. 
 Go an* see after him ; that'll give you something to do." 
 
 "I should on'y be too thankful, gentleman, if I could," 
 said Mr. William Jupp, in a whining tone which did 
 credit to his powers of mimicry. "But 'e lives in London, 
 and unless I can git the railway fare to take me there 
 from some kind benefactor, pore father may go off with- 
 out 'is last wish being granted." 
 
 "What is 'is last wish ?" asked the shaggily coated man 
 curiously. 
 
 "To see my face again before 'e dies, gentleman," said 
 Mr. William Jupp dramatically. 
 
 "I wonder at 'is taste," commented the surly pig- 
 drirer, "if it matches your voice in any way. Well, you 
 won't git your fare from me. If it was your mother, 
 now, I might say different." 
 
 "But it is me mother, gentleman," said Mr. Jupp with 
 cheerful alacrity. "When I said father, it was her I was 
 meaning all the time. I'm 'er eldest, gentleman, an' the 
 pride of 'er loving 'art." 
 
 "It don't take much to make 'er proud, I reckin," 
 commented the fastidious driver of the pig. "No, I've 
 got nothing for you. A wife or a child, an' the case 
 might 'ave tempted me to relieve you. I don't say it 
 would, but it might." 
 
 "Bless you, kind gentleman, for those words," said the 
 pliable Mr. Jupp rapturously. "My pore wife and two 
 dear children are laying at death's door in the very same
 
 A Relief Expedition 55 
 
 place where mother is. All struck down at once, gentle- 
 man, by the same crool complaint." 
 
 "What did you call the name of it?" interrupted the 
 man who drove the hog. 
 
 "Spiral meningaiters," said Mr. William Jupp, almost 
 awed by the fecundity of his own invention. 
 
 "It's like the pride and wastefulness o' the idle pore to 
 git themselves laid up with expensive complaints like 
 that," said the shaggy man judicially, "and what I say is, 
 it didn't ought to be encouraged. I'm sorry for you as 
 a orphan, and a son, and a husband, and a father, but I 
 should be going agin my own interests as a ratepayer if 
 I give you what you've asked for, or half, or even a 
 quarter of it. I should be doing you no good if I give 
 you as much as a penny, and therefore I won't give you 
 one. I " 
 
 The pig, the man who drove it, and Mr. William Jupp 
 had left the village with its single lamp-post behind them, 
 and were now travelling between high quickset hedges 
 over a road that would have been entirely dark but for 
 the glimmering whiteness of the snow. 
 
 A more ideal scene for a robbery upon the person of 
 an unsympathetic middle-aged man with, presumably, the 
 price of a bacon-hog in his trousers pocket could hardly 
 have been conceived. A frosty wind, acting as accom- 
 plice, blew the ends of the woollen muffler back over 
 either shoulder of the driver of the pig. Mr. William 
 Jupp had only to grasp them in either hand, and pull 
 them violently apart, to interfere, in the profitable sense, 
 with the respiration of the wearer. With his heart 
 bounding in his throat, he did so. 
 
 "Ug-g'grr'h !" said the victim, lapsing heavily against 
 Mr. Jupp, with a strangled crow of so suggestive a 
 nature that the blood of his assailant froze in horror. 
 "Leggo, you scoun Ug-g'grr'h !" 
 
 "I will when I get the price of that hog you've sold,"
 
 '56 A Sailor's Home 
 
 said Mr. William Jupp, staggering under the weight of 
 the sufferer. "I don't want to shed your blood, but I'm 
 a desperate man, an' you'd better 'and over." He slight- 
 ly slackened the woollen comforter. "Do you 'ear?" 
 
 "If I must, I must," said the victim hoarsely. "You've 
 near scragged me as it is. "I've two breast-pockets in 
 this overcoat, an' the gold's in one of 'em, an' a fi'pun- 
 note in the other. Put your 'ands over my shoulders, 
 feel in both pockets, an' what you find, take." 
 
 Unable to repress a smile of triumph at the easy and 
 rapid solution of an overwhelming financial difficulty, 
 Mr. William Jupp let go the ends of the temporary 
 woollen halter and obeyed. Instantly his wrists were 
 seized in a rough and vice-like grip, and bending for- 
 ward in spite of kicks and struggles, until the boots of 
 his captive were raised several inches off the ground, the 
 elderly man resumed his interrupted pilgrimage. 
 
 "Leggo!" said Mr. William Jupp angrily. Several 
 attempts at kicking the calves of his captor's legs had 
 failed, as had an effort to bite the back of his neck. With 
 his mouth full of imitation fur cap and woollen com- 
 forter, he mumbled : "Can't you take a joke ?" 
 
 "I've took a 'ighway robber," said the elderly man, as 
 he doggedly progressed after the fashion of a short coal- 
 heaver carrying a tall sack of coals. "And I'm going to 
 keep 'im leastways, till I've 'anded 'im over to the 
 proper authorities. Then I shall go after my hog, an' if 
 any 'arm 'as come to 'im, it'll be the worse for you." He 
 gave a hitch to his burden and stepped out more rapidly. 
 
 "You're not a young man," argued Mr. Jupp consider- 
 ately, an', strong as you think yourself, you may be 
 doin' yourself a injury. Why, you're panting like a 
 steam-engine this moment. Suppose you was to fall 
 down dead in the road. What should I feel like ? What- 
 ever you may think, I 'ave a 'art " 
 
 "An uncommon small one it must be," said the elderly
 
 A Relief Expedition 57, 
 
 man grimly, as he paused for breath and then moved 
 resolutely on again. "Don't you strain it on my account. 
 We shall git to the police-station in another minute or so 
 as it is, and if it was a hour's journey off, I'd take you 
 there, as sure as my name is William Jupp. What did 
 you say?" 
 
 As a matter of fact, Mr. William Jupp junior had ut- 
 tered a hollow groan. That a shaggy man encountered 
 by a wayfarer after dusk upon an unknown road should 
 prove to be the father of the encounterer, may be re- 
 garded as a curious coincidence. Taking it into consider- 
 ation that the child should have, previously to recog- 
 nition, attempted to rob the parent, invests the coin- 
 cidence with the buskins of tragedy. But that the son 
 of the father thus outraged should have, only that 
 morning, started upon a mission of filial duty to the 
 sick-bed of his progenitor, throws over the occurrence a 
 glamour of weirdness and mystery highly attractive to 
 students of the occult. Like all men who go down to 
 the sea in ships, as foremast hands, Mr. Jupp junior 
 believed in ghosts. There had been a ghost on board 
 his last ship, a phantom endued with materialistic powers 
 so sufficient for the ejection of a slumbering forecastle 
 hand from the bunk originally occupied by the ghost 
 when it was not one, that the sleeping-place could only 
 be occuppied by a brawny six-foot-high mariner named 
 Bob Hicks, who found all the other bunks too short for 
 the proper accommodation of his legs. And now the 
 sudden conviction that the ghost of Mr. William Jupp 
 senior, suddenly deceased, had his living descendant in 
 its clutches, caused goose-flesh to develop all over the 
 body of Mr. William Jupp junior and made his hair bris- 
 tle underneath his cap. That the hog was the ghost of a 
 hog seemed likely to faculties jumbled by previous liba- 
 tions of whisky, by over-excitement, exhaustion conse- 
 quent on unaccustomed exertion, and the peculiar method
 
 58 A Sailor's Home 
 
 of transit by which he was being conveyed whither ? 
 
 Under the weltering confusion of his mind broke a hail 
 from the middle road ahead. 
 
 "Jupp?" bellowed a large voice angrily, "is that you?" 
 
 "It is!" shouted the supposed ghost of Mr. Jupp 
 senior, of whose fleshly reality his elder son began to 
 be now convinced. 
 
 "It's too dark to see you," shouted the man of the 
 bellow, "but I guessed who it must be comin' along. 
 You went up the road while back wi' a couple of hogs, 
 an' there's one in the station garden now, rootin' up 
 Constabulary cabbages." 
 
 "Keep 'im till I come, Constable 'Opkins, will you?" 
 shouted the elder Mr. Jupp cheerfully. "I'm bringin' 
 something in your line, which accounts for my being a 
 bit be'ind." 
 
 "A drunken tramp?" indifferently queried the con- 
 stable, who now loomed out of the shadows ahead, lean- 
 ing over a low gate in some whitish palings by the road- 
 side and toying with a bull's-eye lantern. 
 
 "A 'ighway prig," panted the elder Jupp, as with a 
 steaming forehead he stopped at the police-station gate 
 and submitted his captive to the professional observation 
 of the constable. "Tried to scrag me as cool as you 
 please, just outside the village, which he'd followed me 
 through, pitchin' a tale as full o' lies as a Christmas pud- 
 din' is o' plums. And he'd have done it, too, he would, 
 if I 'adn't bin too quick an' sharp for 'im." 
 
 "Let's look at 'im," said the constable, bending over 
 the gate and irradiating with a flood of blinding yellow 
 light, smelling strongly of warm tin and hot oil, the re- 
 luctant features of Mr. Jupp junior. "Ugly-lookin' 
 customer, too," he commented. "Well, bring 'im in, 
 since you've brought 'im. I'll hold open the gate. 'Ere 
 Dawlish!" he shouted, and a brilliant oblong patch of 
 lamplight appeared in the dark part of the cottage police-
 
 A Relief Expedition 59 
 
 station, throwing into vivid relief the form of a younger 
 constable. "We've another candidit for inside accom- 
 modation a 'ighway robber took in the act. Look lively, 
 will you?" he added, and as Mr. Jupp senior laboriously 
 conveyed his speechless incubus up the slippery garden 
 path and over the whitewashed threshold of the police- 
 station, Constable Hopkins bolted the outer door behind 
 him, and taking Mr. William Jupp by the collar, strongly 
 facilitated the clattering descent of his boots upon pas- 
 sage bricks. "Come in 'ere," he then directed, and open- 
 ing the door of a whitewashed kitchen sitting-room, 
 turned in his charge, while Mr. Jupp the elder, straight- 
 ening his back with difficulty, followed upon his 
 heels. 
 
 The apartment in which the Expedition reluctantly 
 found itself vras furnished with simple economy, in ad- 
 dition to a varnished office desk, upon which a ledger 
 reposed in the company of a pewter inkpot, containing 
 three Windsor chairs, a square table covered with Ameri- 
 can cloth, and materials for a homely tea. The surprise 
 of the elder constable was very great when, upon striding 
 to the desk, opening the ledger, dipping the pen in the 
 ink and turning round to bid the captor of the highway 
 robber go ahead with the charge, he beheld him seated 
 stiffly in a Windsor chair with fixed and bolting eyes and 
 open mouth, staring blankly at the prisoner, while the 
 zealous younger constable poured milk upon his head 
 with a confused analogy between that liquid and the 
 restorative which every pump is supposed to yield. 
 
 " 'E's going to 'ave a fit or something," said Constable 
 Dawlish in alarm. "Look at 'is eyes, the way they're 
 bolting out of 'is 'ead. An' the way 'is jaw's fell down. 
 Eppyleptic, that's 'is trouble. What was you saying, 
 Mr. Jupp?" 
 
 "Pinch me !" besought Mr. Jupp, looking wildly at the 
 constable. "It'll be a relief to wake up and know I've
 
 60 A Sailor's Home 
 
 bin dreaming. I'm nearly robbed an' murdered while 
 driving home a hog on Christmas Eve, I master the vil- 
 lain single-'anded, give 'im over to the police, an' find 
 'e's my own son what I 'aven't set eyes on for three 
 years." 
 
 "Per'aps you're mistaken," said Constable Hopkins 
 pompously. "Per'aps there's something in the frosty air 
 makes people see wrong about Christmas-time." 
 
 "I tell you the scoundrel pitched a tale a yard long 
 about his poverty and his 'unger, and 'is sick father and 
 wife and children what was crying out to see 'im on 
 their death-beds," said Mr. Jupp, savagely glancing at 
 the disconsolate figure of his eldest-begotten, "before 'e 
 got hold o' this here comforter and tried to choke me 
 with it." 
 
 "It was my lark," said Mr. William Jupp mendacious- 
 ly. "I knowed you from the first minute I set eyes on 
 you. And in my gladness and joy at finding you wasn't 
 on a dying bed, as the postcard what Bessie got yesterday 
 said you was, I played off a bit of gaff on you an' acted 
 the giddy goat. There's the truth, an' if you don't be- 
 lieve it, I pity you !" 
 
 "I pity myself," said Mr. Jupp acidly, "for 'aving 
 'elped to make the world worse by one more blooming 
 liar. As for this tale about a postcard, my wife posted 
 one more than two months ago, or, what means the 
 same thing, an' not wanting to leave me, me being down 
 with pewmonia, she run out and give the postcard to the 
 driver o' the Royal Mail, what runs reg'lar betwixt 
 Crawlingford and London, to post for her." 
 
 "Then that's why the postcard wasn't delivered till 
 yesterday," said Constable Hopkins. "Weedy, the man 
 what has drove the Royal Mail for thirty year, is famous 
 for 'is bad memory. Why, he had a kitten from my 
 wife's sister at Ealing to bring down to me, and never 
 remembered to deliver it, but kep' carryin' it backwards
 
 A Relief Expedition 
 
 and forwards until it was a full-grown cat, too big for 
 the basket. Nobody blames Weedy ; he drove the Royal 
 Mail before the railway was put down, an' he expects to 
 be superannuated in favour of a motor van every day, 
 and pensioned off. He'll be missed, when he goes, by a 
 lot of old-fangled folks what are used to his slow ways 
 of hurrying an* prefer 'ossflesh to steam an' petrol." 
 
 "I see 'ow the muddle come about, then," said Mr. 
 Jupp, coldly surveying his firstborn. "Well, you'd better 
 git back 'ome again, William, things being as they 
 are." 
 
 "I don't know as me and Dawlish can part with 'im 
 so easy," said Constable Hopkins. "You've give 'im 
 regularly in charge, and there ain't no witnesses to speak 
 for him." 
 
 "Keep 'im as long as you like," said Mr. Jupp gener- 
 ously, rewinding his comforter in the act to depart, as 
 Constable Hopkins looked at the whitewashed ceiling, 
 and the discomfited Mr. William Jupp shuffled from one 
 foot to another. 
 
 "You're a little hard on your family, though, ain't 
 you?" observed Constable Dawlish in the ear of Mr. 
 Jupp. 
 
 "Don't call 'em a family," said that gentleman with 
 limpid candour. "It's a brood of 'ungry vultures, not to 
 say hyenas and sharks, only waiting till I've drawed my 
 last breath to try and pounce on my bit o' property. But 
 if you'll let 'im go, Constable 'Opkins, I'll draw the line 
 in favour of 'im so far as this. You come down here, 
 Bill Jupp, not being asked, more for your own pleasure 
 than for mine, an' you'll go back more for my pleasure 
 than for yours. I'll pay your fare back to London, but 
 you'll go by the Royal Mail." 
 
 "Why, it'll take the whole night long and 'arf of next 
 day for the Mail to git 'im as far as 'The Westbourne 
 Arms,' at Baling, where Weedy puts up," protested Con-
 
 62 A Sailor's Home 
 
 stable Hopkins, "at 'is rate of going. However, please 
 yourself." 
 
 "That's what I'm going to do," said the elder Jupp, his 
 naturally forbidding countenance transformed by a 
 beaming smile, as with a great deal of lumbering and 
 creaking, a clumsy van-shaped vehicle, its glaring scarlet 
 complexion showing fitfully in the light of two large 
 side-lamps, and drawn by four shaggy, steaming horses, 
 pulled up outside the gate. 
 
 "I'll take the passenger, to oblige 'ee, for two shillin'," 
 said a quavering old man's voice replying to Constable 
 Dawlish's appeal, out of the foggy darkness enveloping 
 the box-seat. 
 
 "Eighteenpence is enough, Weedy," corrected Mr. 
 Jupp, "and you 'ave no call to regard it as a passenger. 
 It's a bit o' rubbidge I'm sendin' back to the place it 
 came from. We're all wanted somewhere, if we only 
 knowed it," he added, with subtle meaning, as the 
 eighteenpence changed hands. Then Mr. William Jupp 
 was summarily hoisted into the wooden shelved interior 
 of the van, the octogenarian Weedy whipped up his 
 smoking horses, and the Royal Mail, with its disappoint- 
 ed freight, lumbered heavily away into the frosty dark- 
 ness. 
 
 "Yet blood's thicker than water," said Constable 
 Dawlish. 
 
 "Depends on the kind o' water," said Mr. Jupp shortly, 
 "and on the sort o' blood. Good-night!"
 
 V 
 A SAILOR'S HOME 
 
 T7OUR British mariners sat discontentedly enjoying 
 -T the social advantages placed at their disposal by the 
 committee of benevolent persons responsible for the es- 
 tablishment of a Sailor's Home at Winksea, a small 
 seaport town which had done without one within the 
 memory of the oldest inhabitant. Alfred Grimble, 
 William Wimper, and another ordinary seaman, the 
 origin of whose nickname of Biles was written prom- 
 inently upon his features, were seated on a bench in 
 front of an oilcloth-covered table, playing cards for 
 halfpence with a gusto intensified by the minatory rule 
 against gambling flaming on the opposite wall. Henry 
 Mix, an aged and bibulous-looking A.B., was wedged 
 in a Windsor chair before the fireplace, to which the 
 poker, with icy mistrust, was attached by a chain. The 
 room they sat in was an economically furnished apart- 
 ment sandwiched off from the teetotal restaurant front- 
 ing on the street by a partition of match-boarding and 
 glass. All four seamen were smoking short, black pipes, 
 with haughty indifference to the "Please use me!" 
 printed in large black letters on the staring white sur- 
 face of the numerous crockery spittoons, and three out 
 of the four were grumbling. 
 
 63
 
 64 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "It's wickedness, that's wot it is!" said Mr. Henry 
 Mix, in a bitter tone. 
 
 "Sheer wickedness!" agreed Grimble. 
 
 "Sheer rank wickedness!" added Mr. Biles. 
 
 "It's the dis'onesty shown wot 'urts me!" said Mix, 
 removing his pipe from his lips and rolling his eye 
 round the neatly stencilled walls adorned with illumin- 
 ated texts and prints of a patriotic and moral nature. 
 "As I said to that stout female with the flyaway cap 
 riggin' and the black silk apern " 
 
 "Meanin' the Matron ?" hinted Wimper, a mild, fresh- 
 coloured young seaman, who had created bitterness by 
 winning six times running. 
 
 "As I says to the Matron," said Mix, "the C'mitty 
 wot started this 'ere benevolent institootion lays them- 
 selves open to legal actions on the part of British sailor- 
 men wot 'ave bin took in." 
 
 "Wot!" ejaculated Grimble, with projecting eyeballs. 
 "When they gives you free grub and free drink, and 
 on'y charges for the beds ? 'Ow does they take you in ?" 
 
 "By hadvertising of this 'ere institootion as a Sailor's 
 'Ome, of course !" snarled Mr. Mix. " 'Oo ever sor a 
 sailor's 'ome a real sailor's geniwine 'ome, 'owever 
 'umble without a drop o' licker in it ?" 
 
 Mr. Grimble and Mr. Biles rapped upon the table and 
 cried "'Ear, 'ear!" Mr. Wimper cut the highest card 
 in sarcastic silence and drew the bank again. 
 
 "That's wot I said to the Matron," pursued Mr. Mix, 
 treating the mute appeal of the spittoons with profound 
 disregard. "'I am a old man,' I say " 
 
 "And she said: 'Then you're old enough to know 
 better!'" chuckled Wimper. 
 
 " 'Ow did you know that ?" queried Mr. Mix 
 sharply. 
 
 " 'Cos I listened at the key'ole of 'er office," retorted 
 the candid Mr. Wimper, indicating with a jerk of his
 
 A Sailor's Home 65) 
 
 thumb a glazed door inscribed "Private" in large black 
 letters. 
 
 "Did you 'ear me tell 'er as 'ow I was brought up on 
 gin an' beer?" asked Mr. Mix. 
 
 "I did," sniggered Mr. Wimper, "an* I 'card 'er tell 
 you to go and look at your nose in the glass an* see wot 
 it 'ad brought you down to!" 
 
 "'Ear, 'ear!" said the other ordinary seaman incau- 
 tiously. 
 
 "I didn't quite ketch that remark o' yours, my lad," 
 said Mr. Mix glaring at the other ordinary seaman. 
 
 "I didn't say anything," recanted the offender. "I 
 only corfed." 
 
 "That's the kind o' corf as gets people into trouble, 
 my man!" observed Mr. Mix, with dignity. "Don't let 
 me 'ear it agen." 
 
 The glazed door of the Matron's private room opening 
 at this juncture shut up Mr. Wimper, who was prepar- 
 ing to cast more oil upon the troubled waters of Mr. 
 Mix's dignity, and all four seamen rose respectfully as 
 the Matron appeared, ushering in a plump, pretty young 
 widow, attired in the most stylish and becoming of 
 weeds. 
 
 "Oh ! please don't move !" cried the lady visitor. "You 
 all looked so comfortable!" she added, addressing Mr. 
 Mix, whose Windsor chair adhered to his somewhat 
 bulky person as the shell of the perambulatory snail. 
 
 "This is Mrs. Honeyblow," explained the Matron, 
 "who is one of the principal lady members of our Com- 
 mittee. Indeed, but for Mrs. Honeyblow I don't believe 
 Winksea would have had a Sailor's Home at all." 
 
 "Certainly not a teetotal one !" admitted Mrs. Honey- 
 blow. "You remember how I battled in the cause of 
 Temperance !" she added, turning to the Matron. "Sev- 
 eral of the committee held out for malt liquor at meals, 
 but I convinced them all how wrong and foolish it was."
 
 66 A Sailor's Home 
 
 Mr. Mix could not restrain a hollow groan. 
 
 "So that's what you have to thank me for, all of you," 
 said Mrs. Honeyblow. 
 
 "We was a-thanking you afore you come in, mum," 
 said the audacious Mr. Wimper smoothly. "Mr. Mix 
 'im as is wearin' the wooden bustle" both ladies bit 
 their lips, and Mr. Mix became a rich imperial purple 
 "Mr. Mix was wishing 'e could do somethink to show 'is 
 gratitude when you come in !" 
 
 "How sweet of him !" said Mrs. Honeyblow gushingly, 
 contemplating the saccharine Mix. 
 
 "Now you must all shake hands with me !" she added, 
 quite in a flutter of patronage. "My dear husband was 
 a sailor too. Perhaps some of you might even have 
 sailed with him Captain Honeyblow, of the schooner 
 Smiling Jane. Oh ! there never was a man like him 
 never!" Mrs. Honeyblow sank into a chair, and taking 
 out a cambric handkerchief with a two-inch mourning 
 border, prepared to cry. 
 
 "Come, come," said the Matron, respectfully patting 
 her upon the shoulder. "You'll upset yourself, you know 
 you will!" 
 
 "Oh, if you'd ever known him or even seen him, you 
 wouldn't wonder at my fretting so !" gurgled Mrs. Honey- 
 blow. "Oh! I can't believe he's really dead I can't! 
 He's sailing the wide ocean somewhere, alive and well, I 
 feel he is. Why should he vanish like that? I made 
 enquiries everywhere, I advertised, I offered fifty pounds 
 a hundred to anybody who could help me to a clue" 
 the four seamen became genuinely interested "but it 
 was all no use, and so a year after he went it's two 
 years since I lost him I had his will proved poor dear, 
 everything was left to me ! and went into weeds. And 
 I shall have to wear 'em," sobbed Mrs. Honeyblow, "for 
 six months more !" 
 
 "Cap'n 'Oneyblow, of the schooner Smiling Jane,"
 
 A Sailor's Home 67 
 
 ruminated Mr. Mix, whom the reference to a reward had 
 stimulated to intellectual activity. "Vanished two years 
 ago. Wot sort o' man was 'e ?" 
 
 "Oh, so good and noble! One of the best husbands 
 that ever lived!" gurgled the widow. 
 
 " 'Ad 'e murdered ennybody ?" interrogated Mr. Mix. 
 
 "Murdered! He wouldn't have killed a fly!" sobbed 
 Mrs. Honey blow indignantly. 
 
 "But 'e might 'ave killed a sailorman. I've knowed 
 skippers do that and dror the line at flies," said Mr. 
 Mix, with unconscious irony. " 'Ad 'e robbed ennybody, 
 lady?" 
 
 "How dare you insinuate such a thing !" exclaimed the 
 widow, with flaming cheeks. 
 
 "I'm tryin' to account for 'is vanishing away, lady," 
 said Mr. Mix patiently. "Per'aps 'e was a bit touched 
 in the upper storey?" he suggested after a ruminating 
 pause. 
 
 "Mad!" screamed Mrs. Honeyblow. "My Daniel! 
 Mad ! There never was a clearer-minded man !" 
 
 "Wot was 'e like, lady, in 'is looks ?" pursued Mr. Mix, 
 as Mrs. Honeyblow put away her handkerchief and stif- 
 fened visibly. 
 
 "A fine-looking, regular-featured man, with blue eyes, 
 fair complexion, and auburn hair and beard," said the 
 Matron. 
 
 "If you 'appened to 'ave a chart of 'im 'andy 
 lady ?" insinuated Mr. Mix. 
 
 "I've a coloured photograph here," said the widow, 
 opening a jet locket as large as the bowl of a soup-ladle. 
 She detached it from the chain and diffidently placed it 
 in the horny palm of the aged seaman. 
 
 "Short, stoutish, red-faced, carroty 'air and beard," 
 enumerated Mr. Mix, scanning the portrait with the eye 
 of a connoisseur. "I've seen 'underds of men like that. 
 'Aven't you, Grimble?"
 
 68 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Thousands," said Mr. Grimble, as his senior passed 
 the locket round. 
 
 "Millions !" asseverated Mr. Biles. 
 
 "An* to think o' the money as might 'ave bin 'onestly 
 earned by droppin' a runnin' noose round the neck o' 
 any one of 'em an* towin' of 'im 'ome!" hinted Mr. 
 Wimper ironically. "Wy, it's enough to make a man 
 thirsty, ain't it?" He relieved Mr. Biles of the locket 
 without ceremony, polished the glass upon his sleeve 
 with an air that was palpably meant to be offensive, and 
 perused the lineaments portrayed within with a retro- 
 spective air. "So that was Cap'n Honeyblow Cap'n 
 Daniel Honeyblow, of the Smiling Jane," he said at 
 length. "I can't say I've seen millions of men just like 
 'im nor thousands, nor yet 'undereds, but I knew one. 
 He shipped as cook on the Hope of Harwich two years 
 ago, for a v'yage to Port o' St. John's, Newfoun'land. 
 We was carryin' sheet tin an' solder in boxes, an' the 
 skipper meant to take a cargo of canned lobsters back. 
 Queerly enough, this 'ere man, wot shipped as cook for 
 the v'yage, was a Winksea man. Ben Bliss 'is name was ; 
 an' if the nose in this 'ere picture was redder, an' the 
 beard an* 'air likewise, leavin' out the difference in clo'es, 
 Cap'n Honeyblow and Ben Bliss might 'ave bin 
 brothers." 
 
 "Don't mind 'im, lady," entreated Mr. Mix, as Mrs. 
 Honeyblow wiped away the newly started tear. " 'E's 
 only talkin* for the sake o' sayin' somethin'. It's 'is 
 ignorant way, that's all." 
 
 "Oh, but he speaks the truth, indeed he does," said 
 Mrs. Honeyblow earnestly. "Ben Bliss was well known 
 to me and Captain Honeyblow, and, indeed, to everyone 
 in Winksea, and his likeness to my poor dear husband 
 was really very strong. His mother did the washing for 
 the Captain's family, the two boys were playfellows and 
 friends, allowing for the difference in station, and I've
 
 A Sailor's Home 
 
 often and often heard my dear husband tell how he used 
 to borrow Ben's clothes when he wanted to do anything 
 he was sure to be whipped for. He had such a sense of 
 humour!" Mrs. Honeyblow brought out the black- 
 bordered handkerchief again. "And now they're both 
 gone!" she whimpered, "both go-ne!" 
 
 "Both?" echoed Mr. Mix, with interrogative eyebrows. 
 
 "Ben Bliss 'e walked overboard in 'is stockin' feet on 
 the eight day out," explained Mr. Wimper. " 'E 'ad 
 been drinkin' 'eavy since 'e come aboard, an* the cap'n 
 'ad 'urt 'is feelin's crool. Called 'im a dirty pig for 
 sendin' up a biled fowl to the cabin table with the inside 
 in an' the feathers on ; an' Ben said as bein' called dirty 
 by such a dirty man 'ad took away all 'is pleasure in life." 
 
 "So 'e made away with 'isself for a little thing like 
 that?" commented Mr. Mix incredulously. 
 
 "C'mitted sooicide !" said Mr. Grimble, with a sniff of 
 contempt. 
 
 "Not exactly," said the narrator. " 'E finished all the 
 rum without offerin' a drop to anybody, because he said 
 it was p'ison ; and then 'e took the only bit o' soap be- 
 longin' to the ship's comp'ny it was a salt water patent 
 kind, an' kep' in the fo'c'sle as a cur'osity an' went 
 overboard to 'ave a refreshin' wash, as 'e said." 
 
 "In the middle of the Atlantic! And couldn't some- 
 body have stopped him?" cried Mrs. Honeyblow. 
 
 " 'E 'ad the galley meat-chopper, besides the soap," 
 said Mr. Wimper pithily ; "the cap'n went 'arf mad over 
 it." 
 
 "Over losing him!" cried Mrs. Honeyblow. 
 
 "Over losing the chopper!" returned Mr. Wimper 
 simply. 
 
 "His poor wife lives in Winksea still!" said Mrs. 
 Honeyblow. "She used to be our parlourmaid at home 
 before I married Captain Honeyblow, and when my 
 husband was away on his last voyage but one, she got
 
 70 A Sailor's Home 
 
 married to Ben. Ben went away to sea a week before 
 that dreadful day when the Captain disappeared, and 
 three months later she got the news of his being drowned. 
 She came to see me after she'd drawn her half-pay and 
 clothes-money, looking so nice in her neat mourning. 
 Said it was the first new dress Ben had ever bought her. 
 She does the washing for the Home now, and is getting 
 along quite comfortably. Here she is!" continued Mrs. 
 Honeyblow, looking through the glass partition that sep- 
 arated the semi-private apartment in which she stood 
 from the teetotal restaurant which occupied the ground- 
 floor front, as a covered van stopped at the door, and a 
 buxom, tidy young woman came through the shop, carry- 
 ing one end of 'a bulky clothes-basket the other moiety 
 of which was supported by a broad-shouldered, middle- 
 aged, somewhat sheepish-looking man. "Dear Mrs. 
 Mudge, do ask her to step in here." 
 
 "She must," said the Matron. "We always go over 
 the clean linen in my room, and three shirts were 
 scorched to cinders only last week. Mrs. Bliss," she 
 continued, as the swing-door was bumped open and the 
 buxom young woman appeared, closely followed by the 
 greater part of the clothes-basket, "you have come just 
 as we were talking about you. This young man" she 
 affably indicated Mr. Wimper "has some news of your 
 poor husband, which you might like to hear." 
 
 Mrs. Bliss, before the conclusion of its sentence, had 
 lost the best part of her colour. "It's not that he ain't 
 dead, is it, ma'am?" she gasped entreatingly, letting go 
 of her end of the basket and placing her hand upon her 
 heart. "Oh, please, 'm, it's not that he's not dead?" 
 
 "No such good fortune, my poor Hannah," said Mrs. 
 Honeyblow kindly. "This young man" Mr. Wimper 
 touched his brow "was one of the crew of the Hope of 
 Harwich, and saw poor Ben go overboard, that's all." 
 
 "Sor 'im sink?" interrogated the widow anxiously.
 
 A Sailor's Home 71 
 
 "Saw 'm sink," said Mr. Wimper, melted by the urgent 
 appeal of Mrs. Bliss's eyes, "like a stone." 
 
 Mrs. Bliss wiped her face, to which the colour had 
 returned, and breathed more freely. It appeared to Mr. 
 Wimper, who was an observer, that the square middle- 
 aged man who had followed the other end of the clothes- 
 basket into the room breathed more freely also and per- 
 spired less. 
 
 "I shall never forget the last time I sor him!" Mr. 
 Bliss's relict observed in a pleasant tone of retrospection. 
 " 'E come suddenly up from the 'arbour to tell me that 
 a foreign-going barque named the Hope of Harwich 
 wanted a cook, and that he'd shipped for the v'yage, and 
 that I was to give 'is dog the fried steak 'e'd ordered for 
 supper a vicious, greedy thing it was died sudden soon 
 after poor Ben went. At the garden gate 'e stopped an' 
 'Give us a kiss, old gal!' he says. So I kuss 'im," said 
 Mrs. Bliss, who in moments of emotion or excitement 
 was wont to enrich her native verbs with new tenses, 
 "an* 'e kuss me. Little did I think we kass for the last 
 time." 
 
 All three women sighed, and Mr. Mix courted popular- 
 ity to the extent of throwing in a groan. 
 
 "We were just speaking of the wonderful likeness 
 between poor Ben and poor Captain Honeyblow, Han- 
 nah," explained Mrs. Honeyblow, reattaching the jet 
 locket to her chain, "when you came in." 
 
 "It's wonderful!" said Mr. Wimper, whose easily- 
 evoked admiration was now transferred from the lady 
 to the laundress. 
 
 "You may well say so!" agreed Mrs. Bliss. "Before 
 Mrs. Honeyblow married the Cap'n, when he came visit- 
 ing at our 'ouse me being then in service with Mrs. 
 Honeyblow's ma as cook-general, and walking out with 
 Ben I couldn't 'ardly persuade myself, on coming sud- 
 denly into the parlour with the cloth an' catchin' the
 
 72 A Sailor's Home 
 
 couple courting, as wot Miss 'Arriet wasn't taking liber- 
 ties with my young man!" 
 
 Mr. Wimper laughed uproariously, and suddenly de- 
 sisted under the chilly discouragement of Mrs. Honey- 
 blow's glance. 
 
 "An* what made the likeness more complete," pursued 
 Mrs. Bliss, "was that Ben havin' tattooed a 'art and a 
 *H* on the back of 'is right 'and for 'Annah him being 
 a beautiful worker in that way the Captain made 'im 
 tattoo a 'H' and a 'art on 'is, 'Arriet an' 'Annah both 
 beginnin' with the same letter. Ah, dear me! Well, 
 well !" 
 
 Mrs. Honeyblow echoed the laundress's sigh, and the 
 square man at the other end of the clothes-basket shuffled 
 his feet in an embarrassed way. 
 
 "So you have found somebody to help you with the 
 the basket, Mrs. Bliss?" said the Matron affably, includ- 
 ing embarrassed square man in a gracious smile. 
 
 "It's Mr. Limbird, as lives next door," explained the 
 laundress, with a perceptibly heightened colour. "Being 
 a wharf-watchman, an' only on duty at night, he's free 
 to lend me a friendly 'and in the day, and I don't know 
 what I'd do without 'is kindness, especially when it comes 
 to wringin' an' manglin' I don't, indeed !" 
 
 "Mr. Limbird is a single man, I presume?" interro- 
 gated the Matron, perceptibly deepening the tint of 
 Limbird's countenance as she fixed him with her glance. 
 
 "Widower!" explained Mr. Limbird, in a voice that 
 apparently proceeded from the soles of his boots. 
 
 "Would you care to inspect the dormitories before you 
 go?" inquired the Matron of Mrs. Honeyblow, after a 
 slight and embarrassing pause, during which Mrs. Bliss 
 fanned herself with the washing-book, and Mr. Limbird 
 looked at nothing in particular with great attention. 
 
 "If you please," assented Mrs. Honeyblow. 
 
 But just then a knock came at the door ; it opened, and
 
 A. Sailor's Home 73 
 
 the brass-buttoned male functionary who discharged the 
 duties of janitor and presided over the booking-office 
 where the bed-tickets were sold, said to the Matron, 
 touching his cap: 
 
 "Shipwrecked man and boy, 'm, just come in! Quite 
 destitute without a rag o' dunnage or a halfpenny be- 
 tween 'em !" 
 
 "Oh! how interesting!" cried Mrs. Honeyblow, clasp- 
 ing her hands. "Do let me see them ! Where are they ?" 
 
 "They're at one o' the tables in the restyrong," said 
 the janitor bitterly, " 'aving cocoa and sausage-rolls." 
 
 "But we do not give food gratis unless beds have been 
 paid for," said the Matron rebukingly; "and you tell me 
 both the man and boy " 
 
 "The boy give the order," said the injured janitor; 
 "the cheeky little " He hesitated a second and sub- 
 stituted "imp." "I don't know 'ow Miss Higgins come 
 to serve 'em. Don't blame me!" 
 
 "Where are they sitting?" asked Mrs. Bliss, who was 
 not free from the failing of her sex. 
 
 "Oh, where?" entreated Mrs. Honeyblow. "Do point 
 them out, please!" 
 
 "You can see 'em plain 'ere," said the janitor, indicat- 
 ing the glazed partition. "It's the second table between 
 this and the door. Not that they're much to look at. 
 The boy is like every other boy, only dirtier and rag- 
 geder, and impudenter, and the man is a shortish, 
 stoutish red-'aired, red-bearded seaman 'bout forty years 
 of age." He followed the Matron from the room, as 
 Mrs. Honeyblow and Mrs. Bliss, impelled by a common 
 impulse, ran to the partition, only to find the view into 
 the shop obscured by the bodies of Mr. Wimper and his 
 three fellow-mariners, who with countenances flattened 
 against the glass were breathing it dim in the effort to 
 concentrate their united observation on a common point 
 of interest outside. Recalled to a sense of propriety by
 
 74 A Sailor's Home 
 
 the indignant pokes of the doorkeeper, the four seamen 
 at length detached themselves, and, wheeling round, pre- 
 sented to the company four countenances deeply flushed 
 with excitement, and eight circular and staring eyes. 
 
 "Don't you scream, lady, at wot I'm goin to tell you," 
 warned Mr. Mix, fending off the closer approaches of 
 Mrs. Honeyblow to the partition with affectionately ex- 
 tended arms. "An* wotever you do, remember I was the 
 fust to reckernise 'im an* break the good noos " 
 
 "If you've anything the matter with your 'art, mum," 
 cautioned Mr. Wimper, addressing Mrs. Bliss, "don't 
 you look through there too sudden. I've knowed parties 
 paralysed before now through gettin' sudden shocks " 
 
 "Oh, why? What do you mean?" panted both the 
 widows. 
 
 "I mean," said Mr. Wimper, breaking it gently, "as 
 your 'usband 'as come 'ome!" 
 
 Mrs. Honeyblow and Mrs. Bliss screamed in concert: 
 "What!" 
 
 "Your 'usband, Cap'n 'Oneyblow, o' the Smiling Jane," 
 said Mr. Mix doggedly. 
 
 "Your 'usband, Ben Bliss, late cook o' the } 0pe of 
 Harwich," asseverated Mr. Wimper firmly. 
 
 The open mouths of Mrs. Honeyblow and Mrs. Bliss 
 gave forth no sound, but their circular eyes put the inter- 
 rogation. "Where?" 
 
 " 'E is now a-setting in the front shop," said Mr. Mix. 
 
 "The resfyrong," corrected Mr. Wimper. 
 
 "With a ragged boy, 'aving cocoa and sossidge-rolls." 
 
 "They 'ave 'ad 'em," Mr. Wimper amended. "Look 
 for yourself if you think I'm a liar !" He made way. 
 
 "She don't waste 'er time thinkin' that," sneered Mr. 
 Mix, as both the panting, tearful women glued their agi- 
 tated features against the glass partition. "She knows 
 it ! Look at 'er shakin' 'er 'ead." 
 
 "'Ear wot she's sayin'!" And indeed Mrs. Bliss
 
 A! Sailor's Home 751 
 
 seemed to shrink from grasping at the suggested joy. 
 
 "It's not Ben come back; it ain't never!" she gasped, 
 moistly clutching the trembling arm of Mrs. Honeyblow. 
 "It's Cap'n 'Oneyblow, your 'usband, come back in dis- 
 guise. I could swear to 'im anywhere!" 
 
 "Oh, no, no!" gurgled Mrs. Honeyblow. "It's Bliss. 
 Nobody could mistake him! Nobody!" 
 
 The two women looked at each other's pale faces. The 
 door opened and closed behind the retreating forms of 
 the four seamen, who were unwilling to let a valuable 
 opportunity slip. 
 
 "Oh, don't think I grudge you your happiness!" 
 choked Mrs. Honeyblow. "There! The Matron's talk- 
 ing to him. She's bringing him this way. He's a 
 stranger to her, of course, she being quite new to Wink- 
 sea. Oh! in your place I should go wild with joy! Why 
 
 don't you " Her eyes, following the direction of 
 
 Mrs. Bliss's, reverted to the stiff, upright figure of the 
 square-headed Mr. Limbird, propped up with vacant 
 gaze and open mouth, in a corner of the room. "What 
 can be the reason you " 
 
 Mrs. Honeyblow stopped suddenly, overwhelmed by 
 the conviction that the reason was leaning against the 
 wall. Her dazed glance swirled round to Mrs. Bliss, 
 whose eyes were fastened on the door, and who, as 
 footsteps sounded and stopped outside, sank slowly down 
 upon the basket of newly washed clothes. The door- 
 handle rattled and the door swung slowly back, admit- 
 ting the scarecrow figures of the two mariners whose 
 previous conversation we retail in the next chapter. 
 
 II 
 
 t 
 
 "Four sossidge-rolls an' two pints o' cocoa, an' look 
 sharp about it !" ordered Tommy, swinging his legs over 
 the verge of a rather tall chair. He was a small, meagre,
 
 ,76 A Sailor's Home 
 
 bright-eyed boy of twelve, economically clothed in the 
 upper portion of an out-sized pair of seamen's trousers. 
 Buttons and string coyly confined the garment round 
 his neck, his lean and, I grieve to add, unwashed arms 
 emerged from the flapped apertures originally communi- 
 cating with the pockets, and the remains of a red woollen 
 comforter tied about his waist, prudishly checked the 
 straying tendencies of his sole garment. 
 
 "An* look sharp about it!" repeated Tommy. 
 
 "You know we haven't any money, don't you?" 
 whispered the more aged and less confident of the two 
 distressed mariners, bending over the table to reach his 
 young companion's ear. 
 
 "O* course !" said Tommy, taking a huge circular bite 
 out of the first sausage-roll. "An' so ort she, if she's a 
 'ead on 'er," he added, referring to the young person 
 who had served them. "Didn't yer 'ear me tell 'er we 
 was shipwrecked sailormen, an 'ow can shipwrecked 
 sailormen 'ave money?" 
 
 "That reminds me," said the stout, red-bearded 
 mariner. "What did you tell the young woman we were 
 shipwrecked for, you lying, young rascal?" 
 
 " 'Cos if I'd pitched *er the truth, an' said we was two 
 bloomin* stowaways wot 'ad worked our passage 'ome 
 bn the 'Alvfax Lass as ship's cook and extra boy, we'd 
 'ave got nothin'," said Tommy, with a contemptuous 
 sniff, "except the chuck direct instead of 'avin' it by-an'- 
 by. Why don't yer stow yer grub before they takes it 
 away? Must I eat for yer as well as cadge?" The con- 
 tempt of the youth's tone and expression must have stim- 
 ulated the appetite as well as the courage of the stout, 
 red-bearded seaman, for he fell ravenously upon the 
 food, which rapidly vanished under their united exer- 
 tions. 
 
 "Seems odd that brig what we stowed away aboard at 
 'Alifax should 'ave bin bound 'ome to this port," re-
 
 A! Sailor's Home 77j' 
 
 marked the boy, after an unbroken period of mastication. 
 
 "Why?" asked the red-bearded seaman, opening two 
 very round, light blue eyes. 
 
 " 'Cos yer don't know nothink about it," shrilled Tom- 
 my derisively. "Never was born 'ere, never was 'pren- 
 ticed 'ere, never got married 'ere, never run away from 
 yer wife and left 'er 'ere two years ago come next week. 
 That's w'y!" 
 
 "Shut up, confound you!" pleaded the stout seaman, 
 with an agonised glance round. "Somebody '11 hear." 
 
 "Yessir !" said Tommy with a fiendish obsequiousness. 
 
 "Don't call me 'sir/ snapped the red-haired seaman. 
 
 "Cap'n, then !" amended Tommy viciously. 
 
 "How many times must I tell you, you little demon," 
 said the irritated seaman, "that my name's Ben Bliss, and 
 that my rating is ship's cook ?" 
 
 "Yer ain't no ship's cook," said Tommy with convic- 
 tion, shaking his head. "I knowed that afore we'd bin 
 two days aboard of the 'All-fax Lass" 
 
 "What made you think it?" asked the other sourly. 
 
 "The cookin'," said the boy shortly. " 'Sides which, 
 yer told me yerself yer was a ship's cap'n in disguise." 
 
 "I must have been dreaming when I told you that," 
 mumbled the other, looking hard at the opposite wall. 
 
 "Not a bit of it, my lad," said the boy derisively. 
 
 "Don't you call me your lad!" snapped the stout 
 seaman. 
 
 "Nossir!" said Tommy respectfully. 
 
 " 'Ben* you can call me, and if you want to be respect- 
 ful, 'Mr. Bliss' '11 do," said the other. "And coming to 
 names what's yours?" 
 
 "Tommy," said Tommy. 
 
 "Tommy what?" continued the questioner. 
 
 "Tommy Nott," replied the questioned. 
 
 "And you ran away from your mother's shop at Dept- 
 ford because "
 
 7 8 A Sailor's Home 
 
 " 'Cos my last new f arver whopped me !" said Tommy. 
 "I told yer that before. After I saved yer life, I did !" 
 
 "Saved my life !" said the stout seaman with wounding 
 incredulity; "a measly little shaver like you, that had 
 been loafing about the quays for weeks and living on 
 kicks and potato-peels!" 
 
 "I was doin' the same as yerself, if it comes to that," 
 sniffed the boy defiantly. 
 
 "Living on kicks and potato-peels?" asked the stout 
 seaman with ominous distinctness, while his right hand 
 rose and hovered fondly in the vicinity of the boy's ear. 
 
 "Lookin' for a ship," amended Tommy, leaning deli- 
 cately aside, "an' gettin' warned off by cap'ns an' mates. 
 An' stewards an' carpenters," he added after a pause, 
 " 'cos I'd left my dress clo'es be'ind where I come from, 
 an' they said they didn't want no sich scarecrows aboard." 
 
 "Did I get warned off?" pressed the stout seaman in 
 an unpleasant tone. "Did I ? Did they call me a scare- 
 crow ? Think a bit, if you can't remember." 
 
 The eyes of Tommy Nott made a rapid inventory of 
 the stout seaman's wardrobe, which comprised a scarlet 
 guernsey trimmed with tar and lamp-oil, an old and 
 highly polished pair of railway porter's corduroy trousers, 
 a Glengarry cap with one tail, and the uppers of a pair of 
 American rubber boots. 
 
 "It was worse than that," said Tommy simply. "They 
 didn't call me a bloomin' Salvation slush-bucketer. 
 Nor " 
 
 "You've got a good memory, haven't you, my boy?" 
 said the stout seaman, trying to smile. "You heard me 
 explain to those rude, uncivil men how I came to lack 
 the necessities of life. You heard " 
 
 "No, I didn't," said Tommy firmly. "They never 
 waited to 'ear. An' that's 'ow yer come to miss the gang- 
 way an' slip between the ship's side an' the basin, an' 'ow 
 I come to save yer life."
 
 A Sailor's Home 79 
 
 The stout seaman snorted indignantly. 
 
 "I dived after yer !" asserted Tommy. 
 
 "Fell after me, you mean!" said his elder. 
 
 "An* pulled yer out," said Tommy. 
 
 "Pulled me under," contradicted the stout seaman. 
 
 "An* afterwards, when yer'd finished the bottle o' 
 whisky the quay-officer give yer to stop us from takin' 
 cold " continued Tommy. 
 
 "Whisky's poison to young boys," stated the other 
 hastily. "It would have been inhumane to let you drink 
 any." 
 
 "Yer told me as 'ow I'd saved the life of the cap'n of 
 a merchanter in disguise, an' I should never want while 
 I lived." 
 
 "S'sh! You see what bad whisky it must have been 
 to make me talk such a lot of rubbish," said the red- 
 bearded seaman, breaking out into a perspiration. "And 
 how many times must I tell you not to talk so loud? 
 What do you think would happen if anybody heard you ?" 
 
 "I should find out whether it was the truth or the 
 whisky," said Tommy. "But it's the truth. I've seed 
 yer wife !" 
 
 "What?" gasped the stout seaman, undergoing a lob- 
 ster-like change of hue. 
 
 "I sor yer wife last night," said Tommy, fixing his eyes 
 upon the scarlet countenance of the middle-aged seaman, 
 "an' yer sor her, too. It was when yer lost me an' went 
 for a walk by yerself in the dark." 
 
 "Did I?" said the other blankly. 
 
 "Not by yerself," said Tommy, " 'cos I come, too. 
 She yer wife, I mean lives in a nice house and garden 
 'bout a mile outside the town. I sor yer sneak in at the 
 gate 'thout ringin' the bell, an' peep in through a crack 
 o' the parler winder-blind. I 'ad a peep myself afore I 
 come away, an' I'm s'prised at yer." 
 
 "Why?" muttered his abashed companion.
 
 8o A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Leavin* sich a nice young woman all alone by herself," 
 said Tommy with severity. "She 'ad a black dress on, 
 an* a white thing on her 'ead." 
 
 ' vVidow's cap," said the stout man shortly. 
 
 "An* I sor 'er weddin'-ring shine when she put y er 
 'an'kerchief up to 'er eyes." 
 
 "Crying?" jerked out the other, turning purple. 
 
 "Larfin'," said Tommy. "She 'ad one o' them funny 
 picture papers readin', an' she larfed over somethin' in it 
 till she cried." 
 
 "You see what women are," said the other, after a 
 misogynistical pause. "Don't you ever marry one of 'em, 
 my boy, if you don't want to spoil your life. Look at 
 me!" 
 
 "I did, when we got out o' the lanes to where the lamp- 
 posts was," said Tommy, "an' I couldn't think 'ow she 
 could." 
 
 "Could what?" snapped his companion. 
 
 "Look at yer," said Tommy with candour, "if wot yer 
 said at 'Alifax was true." 
 
 "Don't you be impudent," said the stout seaman, in 
 a choking voice ; "I've warned you before." 
 
 "All right, my fine feller," said Tommy cheerfully, 
 scraping the sugar and cocoa-grounds from the bottom of 
 his cup. 
 
 "Don't call me your fine fellow !" said the other, clench- 
 ing his fist. 
 
 "Ave, aye, sir!" said Tommy smartly. 
 
 "I'll tell you why I walked out to Mrs. Honeyblow's 
 house last night," pursued the other, after a brief moment 
 devoted to rapid mental labour. "I used to know her 
 husband and her too, before I before he disappeared. 
 This is my native place, and when I was a boy, the Cap- 
 tain was one too, and we played about together. When 
 he was 'prenticed to the Merchant Service, his father got 
 me a berth on the same vessel, the Quick Passage she was,
 
 A! Sailor's Home 81; 
 
 trading to the Bermudas. I sailed with him when he was 
 mate of the Fancy Free, an' when he got his master's 
 certificate. When he got married to that young woman 
 I peeped at through the window, I was" the speaker 
 gulped "I was there " 
 
 "An* when he caught another bloke kissin* 'er in the 
 garden when he came 'ome from givin* evidence before 
 the Board o' Trade, 'bout 'is runnin* down a trawler an* 
 made up 'is mind to go away on the quiet like Enoch 
 Ardin or whatever you said 'is name was was yer with 
 'im then ?" Tommy demanded. 
 
 "Yes, I was," asserted the other, and Tommy seemed 
 shaken for the first time. But he rallied enough to ask : 
 
 "Then why didn't yer knock at the door last night an* 
 tell her where her 'usband is?" 
 
 "Because I took my oath to him I'd never betray him," 
 the stout mariner said, with a breath of relief, "and he 
 knew Ben Bliss would keep his word ! Besides, the shock 
 of seeing me might have killed her." 
 
 "Wot?" ejaculated Tommy. 
 
 "Or driven her mad !" asserted the other comfortably. 
 
 "Yer ain't over-'an'some to look at," said Tommy, with 
 critical regard, "but I've seen a uglier face than wot 
 yours is. Remember that Finn him with the " 
 
 "Because I'm the breathing image of her husband, 
 Captain Honeyblow," said the other hastily, "that's why 
 it would upset her to see me. We were as like as twins 
 '. everybody noticed it. And now that he's dead and 
 gone 
 
 "Dead, is he?" said Tommy. **Yer never told me that 
 afore." 
 
 "He went away to die when he found out that his newly 
 married wife didn't care for him," said the stout seaman, 
 wiping away a furtive tear. 
 
 "Ah, but did 'e ?" said Tommy acutely. 
 
 "He did," said the alleged Mr. Bliss ; "soon after died
 
 82 A Sailor's Home 
 
 of a broken heart in a lonely spot at the the North Pole, 
 without a living creature near him to tell the tale." 
 
 "Then 'ow is it yer can tell it ?" interrogated the young 
 cross-examiner. 
 
 "Because his ghost appeared to me," returned the other 
 "and revealed the secret. Nobody but me knows, or ever 
 will know, where he lies." 
 
 "Then why don't yer up and pretend to be him ?" said 
 Tommy eagerly. "You might 'a* knocked at the door 
 last night an' said so. If yer as like Cap'n 'Oneyblow as 
 wot yer say yer are, Mrs. 'Oneyblow 'ud 'ave believed yer. 
 Where's yer 'ead gone to, that yer didn't think of it 
 before?" 
 
 "Why, you you wicked little scamp!" said the stout 
 seaman, with deep feeling. "Do you suppose I'd stoop 
 to a deception like that? Pretend to be another man 
 and tell falsehood upon falsehood? If ever you got any 
 education, you're a disgrace to it." 
 
 But Tommy had slipped down from his tall chair. 
 "Come on! I'll stand by yer an' see yer through," he 
 said protectingly. "As for 'er Mrs. 'Oneyblow dyin' 
 or goin* mad, wimmen don't die so easy, an' she must 
 'ave bin mad, anyway, to marry a man like " 
 
 "Like ?" said the stout seaman, flushing angrily. 
 
 "Go on ; let's hear. Like " 
 
 "Like 'im," said Tommy guardedly. "Come on, let's 
 go an* break the good news." 
 
 "You're a boy, and don't know what you're talking 
 about," said the other loftily. "Let's get out of this! 
 There's people been staring at you and me for minutes 
 past over the ground glass of that partition bottom of the 
 shop there. As for what you suggest, it's felony punish- 
 able with imprisonment for life if I were found out. 
 You don't think what a thing it would be for me " 
 
 "An* yer don't think wot a thing it would be for me," 
 said Tommy in a hoarse whisper of swelling injury, "to
 
 A! Sailor's Home 83 
 
 'ave saved the life of a real skipper with a master's cer- 
 tificate, 'stead of a common, ordinary ship's cook like yer. 
 Wot do yer mean by such selfishness ? Why, it 'ud make 
 me fortune. Over and over ag*in, it would. I'm s'prised 
 at yer, I am. Wot's wrong, now ?" 
 
 For the stout seaman, after stealing a second hurried 
 glance at the glass partition, had turned very pale and 
 risen to his feet. 
 
 "Come away I can't stand the smell of food in here !" 
 he said breathlessly, grasping his young companion firmly 
 by a portion of his only garment, and beginning to pick 
 his way amongst the little tables in the direction of the 
 street. But even as he reached the glass swing-doors, the 
 portal was blocked up by the bodies of four seamen, who 
 had passed on their way out a moment previously. Now 
 they formed a living barrier between the fugitive and 
 freedom, and on the face of every man sat a pleased, 
 expectant smile. 
 
 " 'Ow are you, matey?" inquired Mr. Wimper, to whom 
 one of the faces belonged. "Coin' to cut an* run an* 
 leave all your ole pals be'ind you, was you?" He smote 
 the stout seaman powerfully upon one shoulder. " 'Eave 
 to an' let's 'ave a yarn !" he said. 
 
 "Stow that, William," said Mr. Mix rebukingly. "If 
 you don't know respect to your superiors, you must be 
 learned it. A cap'n's a cap'n, wotever 'e 'as on or off," 
 added Mr. Mix, correcting himself. 
 
 "I don't know what you're talking about, either of 
 you," said the alleged Mr. Bliss, with pale face and 
 twitching lips. "This boy and me made the voyage from 
 Halifax as stowaways and we've struck hard times here, 
 as well as on the other side. Being destitute and starving 
 not a penny to bless ourselves with, we came in here 
 and ordered food. 
 
 "An* nat'rally enough," said Mr. Wimper, "when 
 you've 'ad your blow out, you slips your cable. But you're
 
 84 'A Sailor's Home 
 
 leavin' more than a little bill be'ind, though you don't 
 know it!" 
 
 "William!" said Mr. Mix warningly. 
 
 "Upon my soul, I don't know what you're talking 
 about!" said the stout seaman fervently. 
 
 "'E don't know 'isself, sir!" said Mr. Mix with re- 
 spectful warmth. 
 
 "It's no good your sir-ring me," said the unhappy stout 
 seaman doggedly. "My name's Ben Bliss, and my rat- 
 ing's ship's cook. Consequently " 
 
 "Consequently you never sailed with me aboard the 
 'Ope of 'Arurich?" put in the irrepressible Mr. Wimper. 
 "Consequently you never got boozed an* kept it up? 
 Consequently you never sent the ole man up a biled fowl 
 with the feathers on an' the inside " 
 
 "Upon my oath, I never did," said the agitated stout 
 seaman. 
 
 "O' course not, Cap'n 'Oneyblow, sir!" said Mr. Mix 
 warmly. 
 
 "O* course not, sir!" chorused Mr. Mix's two sup- 
 porters. 
 
 "Why do you call me Captain Honeybird, or 'blow,' 
 or whatever the name is?" demanded the stout seaman, 
 "when I tell you my name's Bliss?" 
 
 " 'Cos they've got it into their fat 'eads," explained 
 Mr. Wimper, with graceful familiarity, "as there's a bit 
 o' boodle to be made out of provin' you to be the other 
 bloke, matey. But me an' you knows better, don't us? 
 An' so does somebody else in there!" Mr. Wimper's 
 jerked thumb indicated the glazed partition. "Come 
 along an' see 'er." He took the arm of the stout sea- 
 man with a wink suggesting sympathy with the softer 
 emotions. But the frenzied stout seaman shook him 
 off. 
 
 "I don't know what you mean, or who you're talking 
 about. You've been drinking, my man, that's what
 
 A Sailor's Home 85 
 
 you've been. Let me pass, and I'll overlook it this 
 time !" 
 
 Far from being wounded by the personality, Mr. Wim- 
 per grinned from ear to ear. "Ain't 'e a daisy?" he 
 chuckled. "Ain't 'e a fair treat ! Been drinkin' ! Good 
 ole Benny wot got overboard to wash 'is socks in the 
 middle of the Atlantic!" He wiped his brimming eyes 
 upon his sleeve. " 'E'll overlook it this time !" he gasped. 
 "Overlook it!" 
 
 "I'm ashamed o' you, William Wimper," said Mr. Mix 
 severely. Stimulated by this sympathy, his victim made 
 an effort to pass, instantly foiled by the saline veteran. 
 "No, sir," he said, solemnly elevating an expostulating 
 palm. "Excuse me, Cap'n, but not if I know it!" 
 
 "I've told you we've got no money !" said the flushed 
 and desperate stout seaman, looking anxiously over his 
 shoulder. "Let me and the boy get a fair start before 
 the attention of the manager is attracted and and I'll 
 do as much for you another time." 
 
 "Beggin* your pardon, Cap'n," apologised Mr. Mix, "it 
 can't be done. No ways, it can't." 
 
 "My belief is you're all intoxicated," said the person 
 addressed, savagely. Mr. Mix rolled a bleary eye ceiling- 
 wards in pious horror, and Mr. Wimper was seized with 
 a fresh paroxysm of mirth. 
 
 "Stow it! Stow it, Benny, ole man," he panted, "or 
 I shall bust somethin'. An' don't be in a 'urry to leave 
 us, Benny, because you've a friend 'ere willin' to pay for 
 the grub, an' more if you want it. If you arsks 'oo, it's 
 your wife !" 
 
 "My " The stout seaman controlled a start and 
 
 turned it into a shake of the head. "Ben Bliss wasn't a 
 married man," he said decidedly. "That is he isn't. 
 None of your silly jokes with me !" 
 
 "That's right, sir," said Mr. Mix patronisingly, as Mr. 
 Wimper wilted momentarily under the stern glance of the
 
 86 A Sailor's Home 
 
 stout seaman's eye. "Don't put up with his familiarness. 
 It's your own dear good lady as is a-waiting for you in 
 there. Mrs. Captain Daniel 'Oneyblow as " 
 
 "What?" gasped the stout seaman, turning white. 
 
 "As 's mourned you as lost," said Mr. Mix, "up'ards 
 of two years." 
 
 "I thought 'im lost myself," said Mr. Wimper, who 
 had recovered. "Didn't I see 'im go? But 'e was too 
 full o' whisky to leave room for salt water, an' 'ere 'e is 
 as frisky as ever, pretendin' to be a bachelor bloke just 
 for the fun a' the thing!" He grasped the arm of the 
 disputed article of salvage as Mr. Mix shot forth a horny 
 claw and possessed himself of the right one. "But stow 
 larks, Benny, or your missus '11 be gettin' impatient. 
 Come along, come along and see 'er !" 
 
 "Come along an' see 'er, Cap'n," said Mr. Mix. "O 
 won't it be a 'appy meetin' when you an' she " 
 
 "Is this who you mean?" said the captive with a 
 creditably simulated air of vacancy, as a stout, middle- 
 aged woman in a cap approached, followed by an official 
 of the establishment. 
 
 "No, an' you know it," said Mr. Wimper shortly. 
 
 "It's the Matron, sir," explained Mr. Mix. "Bring the 
 boy along, you chaps be'ind. I've found 'im, mum ; I've 
 found the missin' 'usband of that dear lady in there. 
 Won't she bless old Mix for this " 
 
 "When she sees 'e's got 'old of the wrong man!" 
 sneered Wimper. "Don't you 'ang back, Benny ; shyness 
 ain't like you." 
 
 Holding the stout stranger in the powerful grasp neces- 
 sitated by his shrinking desire for anonymity, he opened 
 the door of the glass-partitioned room. Two feminine 
 shrieks, uttered simultaneously in different keys, greeted 
 the involuntary entrance of the stout seaman. 
 
 "It's Bliss Ben Bliss, your husband! Yes, Hannah, 
 it is it is!" cried Mrs. Honeyblow.
 
 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Oh no, 'm, no! It's Cap'n 'Oneyblow come back to 
 you again !" screamed Mrs. Bliss. 
 
 The stout seaman, at the first shrill note of Mrs. 
 Honeyblow's scream, had given a galvanic start. Fram- 
 ing a rapid resolution in the desperate state of things, he 
 let his red beard drop upon his chest and stared from 
 one tearful countenance to the other with a really credit- 
 able assumption of vacancy. 
 
 "My Daniel that ! Never !" gasped Mrs. Honeyblow. 
 "It's your own husband, Bliss. He oh, can it be that 
 he doesn't recognise you, Hannah ?" 
 
 "Oh, Cap'n Honeyblow, sir, don't you know your own 
 dear wife? Look at 'er again," sobbed Mrs. Bliss. "Oh, 
 do do look at 'er again !" 
 
 A ray of meaning came into the dull eyes of the red- 
 bearded seaman. "I don't know her," he said stolidly, 
 carefully averting his glance from the pretty features 
 surmounted by the widow's bonnet. "And I don't know 
 you. Your faces are familiar to me I mean quite 
 strange. You must be mistaking me for somebody else, 
 my my good woman." , 
 
 The gifted artist swept the cold dews from his fore- 
 head with a right hand that trembled visibly. 
 
 "With her initial tattooed on your hand!" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Honeyblow, pointing to the guilty member. " 'H' 
 for Hannah." 
 
 "Oh, please, Miss 'Arriet, ma'am, I mean," cried Mrs. 
 Bliss, "the Captain 'ad the same. My poor Ben borrowed 
 a carpet-needle from me to do the prickin' with. He " 
 
 "Yes, didn't you?" said Mrs. Honeyblow, smiling 
 soothingly on the red-bearded man, who felt the blood 
 rush dizzily to his brain. 
 
 "Tommy," he said in a strangled voice. 
 
 " 'Ere," said Tommy guardedly. 
 
 "Tell these ladies that I've lost my memory," appealed 
 the disputed property.
 
 88 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Ever since the day I dove overboard and saved yer 
 life, yer 'ave," responded Tommy promptly. 
 
 "Dived!" echoed the stout seaman angrily. 
 
 "Dove," said Tommy, shrilly, "an' killed that shark 
 wot nearly bit yer legs orf. The Cap'n said it was the 
 most gallantest haction 'er ever sor." 
 
 "There wasn't any shark there !" shouted the red- 
 bearded, stout seaman, "or any captain, either ; and you're 
 a little liar !" 
 
 "Yer forget yer've lost yer memory," said Tommy 
 promptly. "There was three of us there, just as I've 
 said me an' the shark, an' Ben Bliss, an' Cap'n Honey- 
 blow." 
 
 "Captain Honeyblow !" exclaimed that officer's relict, 
 seizing the boy by the sleeve. "Was he there?" 
 
 Tommy nodded portentiously. The stout seaman 
 stared at him with bolting eyes. Four seamen guarded 
 the door. The situation hung upon the lips of one small, 
 unwashed boy, dressed in the moiety of a pair of adult 
 mariner's trousers. 
 
 "He was there ?" cried Mrs. Honeyblow. "Then where 
 is he now?" 
 
 "There," said Tommy, pointing a stubby, black finger 
 adorned with a half -eaten nail at the hapless stout sea- 
 man. Before Mrs. Honeyblow had time to emit another 
 sentence "An' Ben Bliss is there, too," said Tommy. 
 "Ever since 'e lost 'is memory 'e don't know which 'e is. 
 My belief " 
 
 "But before he had the shock " faltered Mrs. 
 
 Honeyblow, holding on to the equally agitated Mrs. Bliss. 
 "Before you saved his life " 
 
 "Which was 'e then? Tell us, there's a dear!" en- 
 treated Mrs. Bliss. But Tommy shook his head. 
 
 "I dunno," he said simply. "I never seed 'im till I 
 sor 'im in the water, swimmin* for 'is life, with the 
 shark goin* to bite 'is 'ead orf. An* I dove overboard
 
 A Sailor's Home 89 
 
 off a vessel boun' for for Colarado an' killed the shark 
 an' saved 'im." 
 
 "I wish that shark 'ad 'ad a bit more sense," said Mr. 
 Mix savagely from behind. "I wish " 
 
 But Mrs. Honeyblow and Mrs. Bliss were straining 
 their vision as they gazed at the maritime mystery before 
 them. The mystery had taken refuge in stolid silence. 
 
 "Oh, try, try to remember," urged Mrs. Honeyblow, 
 "that your name is Bliss ! Isn't it, my poor fellow ?" 
 
 "Think a bit, Cap'n 'Oneyblow, do, sir, an' it'll all come 
 back to you," besought Mrs. Bliss. 
 
 But under the interrogatory gaze of eager eyes the 
 stout, red-bearded seaman remained silent and inscrut- 
 able. 
 
 ill 
 
 Mrs. Bliss resided in Paradise Row, a street situated in 
 the rural suburbs of Winksea. The gooseberry bushes in 
 the little front garden bore a fine crop of drying linen, 
 and heavily laden lines bearing garments of both sexes 
 traversed the path, at a height calculated not to miss the 
 hat of a visitor. 
 
 "But I've got no 'eart for ironing," said Mrs. Bliss, as 
 she sprinkled a basket of shirts with starch and water. 
 "Wot woman could 'ave, with this 'anging over 'er?" 
 
 Mr. Limbird grunted an assenting negative and turned 
 the mangle savagely. 
 
 "It's the crool uncertainty wot's so trying," said Mrs. 
 Bliss. "But there! For days and nights I've knowed 
 somethink 'orrible was goin' to 'appen. Now it's 'oppen." 
 
 "Well, you're satisfied, ain't you?" growled Mr. Lim- 
 bird. 
 
 "Before we set out yesterday with the van," went on 
 Mrs. Bliss, "you must 'ave noticed I wasn't myself?" 
 
 "I did !" said Mr. Limbird.
 
 90 iA Sailor's Home 
 
 "Wot did I do that struck you as unusual, Jim?" 
 asked the prophetess, slightly flattered. 
 
 Mr. Limbird ceased to mangle, and rested his chin on 
 the handle of the machine, an attitude favourable to re- 
 flection. "You cleaned the kitchen," he said, "and you 
 smacked the baby." 
 
 "I smuck 'er, the blessed innercent!" said Mrs. Bliss, 
 lifting the personage in question out of the cradle and 
 atoning by a hug, "because she would keep on a-pointing 
 to that fortygraph of pore Ben wot hangs by the dresser 
 an' calling it Da !" 
 
 "She'll be able to p'int to something solider than a 
 fortygraph before long," observed Mr. Limbird, with 
 whom mental suffering took the not infrequent form of 
 surliness. But he repented as Mrs. Bliss hastily put 
 back the baby in the cradle, dropped into a chair, and 
 began to cry. "I didn't mean to 'urt you by the 'int, 
 'Annah," he said, swallowing something that stuck in his 
 own throat, "but if we've got to face it, we 'ave. This 
 ain't Cap'n 'Oneyblow what 'as come back with 'is 'ead 
 screwed on the wrong way, an' thinks 'arf the time 'e's 
 Benjamin Bliss; it's Benjamin Bliss what supposes 'e's 
 Cap'n 'Oneyblow, an' you an' me are a-setting on a light- 
 ed powder-barrel, so to speak, waiting to be blowed apart 
 for ever. That's 'ow I look at it." He wiped his heated 
 brow with a red handkerchief, and after an instant's si- 
 lent struggle mopped his eyes also. 
 
 "To co-come back," Mrs. Bliss wailed, "like this ! Af- 
 ter two years! Not drowned, as the cap'n of the 'Ope 
 
 of 'Arwich said 'e was, but alive an' " The rest of 
 
 the sentence was smoothered in apron. 
 
 "He'll miss a old thing or so," said Mr. Limbird. His 
 glance strayed eloquently in the direction of the cradle, 
 whose occupant was placidly sucking a plug of india- 
 rubber. "An* he'll find one or two new 'uns. What came 
 b' that grandfather's clock 'e used to be so proud of ?"
 
 A Sailor's Home 91 
 
 "I sold it to Mr. 'Arris, the broker in Ropewalk Street, 
 a month after you an' me got married by the Registrar 
 on the quiet," sobbed Mrs. Bliss. " 'E gave me thirty 
 shillin's in cash an* a new double-bedded bolster." 
 
 " 'Cos the old one was all lumps. I know," assented 
 Mr. Limbird. 
 
 "That was with me cryin' so much o' nights when Ben 
 was away at sea," sniffed Mrs. Bliss. 
 
 "For fear 'e wouldn't come 'ome ?" hinted Mr. Limbird 
 jealously. 
 
 "For fear 'e would," said Mrs. Bliss simply. 
 
 "An' now 'e 'as," said the distracted Mr. Limbird, 
 "just as you an* me was makin* up our minds to let the 
 neighbours into our little secret an' 'ave a weddin'-break- 
 fast an' a christenin'-party all in one." 
 
 "My belief is they don't want no lettin' in," responded 
 Mrs. Bliss, as she dried her eyes. "Mrs. Gedge she 
 guessed long ago, if you ast me ; and Mrs. Maw an' 'er 
 sister guss before 'er. Mr. 'Arris goss when I swapped 
 the clock, for 'e winked at me, an' wonk at 'is shopman, 
 an' " 
 
 "There's a knock at the door," signalled Mr Limbird. 
 
 Mrs. Bliss caught up the cradle, occupant and all, and 
 stuffed it into his arms, and the wharf -watchman, open- 
 ing a door artfully papered over and communicating with 
 his own bachelor dwelling, noiselessly vanished, as, with 
 her hand upon her heart, Mrs. Bliss economically opened 
 the door, an inch at a time. 
 
 "It's Mrs. Honeyblow," said the voice of that lady. 
 "Don't look so frightened, Hannah !" 
 
 Mrs. Bliss promptly altered her expression as her 
 glance fell upon her visitor's attire. 
 
 "You've you've gone out of weeds, 'm!" she cried 
 joyfully. 
 
 "Into half-mourning," corrected Mrs. Honeyblow, "be- 
 cause, since yesterday morning, I'm only half certain
 
 92 A Sailor's Home 
 
 that I'm a widow. It's about that I've come. We're 
 going to send him down here from the Home this 
 afternoon." 
 
 Mrs. Bliss became rigid with apprehension, and Mr. 
 Limbird, listening behind the paper-covered door, 
 clenched his fists in an access of jealous fury. 
 
 "For a little while, under charge of some kindly sail- 
 ors," said Mrs. Honeyblow, "in the hope that his weary 
 brain may be refreshed by the sight of familiar objects." 
 
 "If you mean me, 'm " began Mrs. Bliss, with ris- 
 ing emotion. 
 
 "His memory might come back, quite suddenly, the 
 Doctor says. Oh ! think what it would mean to have your 
 husband back again!" said Mrs. Honeyblow. 
 
 "That's just what I do think !" said Mrs. Bliss, with 
 a shiver. "I've thunk of nothing else since yesterday!" 
 
 "You must have been so lonely, Hannah !" cried Mrs. 
 Honeyblow. 
 
 Mrs. Bliss looked down and pleated her apron. 
 
 "Without a man's voice and a man's step a house does 
 seem so empty," pursued Mrs. Honeyblow, with a sigh. 
 '7 know what it is, and I can feel for you. And for 
 this poor wanderer too !" 
 
 "Then why don't you let the kindly sailors take 'im 
 out to your 'ouse and refresh 'is weary brain with the 
 familiar objects there?" said the laundress, reddening 
 indignantly. "His memory might come back suddenly, 
 an' think wot it would mean to 'ave your own dear 
 'usband back again !" 
 
 The ladies exchanged a look of indecipherable mean- 
 ing. 
 
 "I do, I do ; but to wish to be happy at your expense 
 would be so selfish, Hannah!" said Mrs. Honeyblow 
 angelically. "You don't think I grudge you the joy of 
 reunion with " 
 
 "Miss 'Arriet," said Mrs. Bliss, nerving herself for the
 
 A Sailor's Home 93 
 
 struggle. "I won't 'ave 'im! I've said I won't, an* I 
 wun't. 'E don't belong to me. If you must 'ave it, I'm 
 better suited. Me and Mr. Limbird next door got joined 
 before the Registrar a year back, an' to make a clean 
 breast of it," added the desperate woman as an infantile 
 wail pierced the paper-covered door of communication 
 with the next house, "there's the the baby cryin* now." 
 
 "Oh !" exclaimed Mrs. Honey blow in shocked accents, 
 "how dreadful! What a revelation! how inprudent 
 you have been ! What oh ! what do you intend to do ?" 
 
 "Stick out as Ben's dead an' I'm a widder until 'e 
 proves beyond doubt as 'e's alive an* I ain't one!" said 
 Mrs. Bliss with great firmness. 
 
 "But, Hannah, my poor, dear Hannah!" began Mrs. 
 Honeyblow. 
 
 "Coaxin's no use, Miss 'Arriet!" said the laundress. 
 "If you was to sit on that rush-bottomed cheer from 
 Christmas to Barnaby, persuadin' me, I'd never be cux 
 or perswodd into takin' a 'usband wot isn't mine. 
 Ne-ver !" 
 
 "Brayvo !" said the listening Mr. Limbird. 
 
 It's 'ard on Doctor Venables to 'ave a blight fall on 'is 
 budding 'opes," pursued the eloquent laundress, "but 
 they've got to be blote, if it depends on me!" 
 
 "I don't understand you, Hannah !" said Mrs. Honey- 
 blow icily, but with a complexion considerably warmed. 
 She gave emphasis to the declaration by immediately 
 adding: "Have people been talking? Oh! what busy- 
 bodies ! What are they saying?" . 
 
 "Only that the Doctor 'ave become very fond of calling 
 at The Vineyard !" returned Mrs. Bliss. 
 
 The Vineyard was Mrs. Honeyblow's suburban villa, 
 and Mrs. Honeyblow was tinglingly conscious that her 
 health had, during the last twelve months, required a 
 good deal of professional attendance. 
 
 "He has certainly called at The Vineyard very regu-
 
 94 A Sailor's Home 
 
 larly," she owned. "But he is very shy and very re- 
 served, and has said nothing definite to me, and I have 
 said nothing definite to him. And at this moment of 
 
 dreadful uncertainty " Her rounded chin quivered, 
 
 and large tears rose in her effective eyes. Mrs. Bliss slid 
 from her chair and knelt beside her. 
 
 "Don't be uncertain, Miss 'Arriet," she implored. 
 "Make up your mind it's the Captain! The Captain, 
 come back like a repentant prodigy, longin' to be folded 
 to your 'art of 'arts. Say it over an' over till the good 
 news seems true, like I done when I see in the Weekly 
 Gazette as my Ben were drowned at sea!" 
 
 Mrs. Honeyblow was visibly shaken by this impas- 
 sioned appeal. "Hannah, Hannah, my good girl," she 
 panted, "if I only if I could really if it were as you 
 say! But Daniel must be dead! He must have been 
 kidnapped oh! I've thought it all out! murdered in 
 London by the owners of that smack who brought the ac- 
 tion." 
 
 "They won it," said Mrs. Bliss; "an* as for revenge, 
 they 'ad it out of 'im in chaff in Court. Not but wot that 
 might 'a' preyed upon 'is feelings, bein* made a laughin'- 
 stock of !" 
 
 "He never could see a joke any more than he could 
 leave off being jealous if another man looked at me!" 
 sighed Mrs. Honeyblow. Mrs. Bliss suddenly clutched 
 her arm. 
 
 "Miss 'Arriet if I never breathe my lips again," said 
 Mrs. Bliss with dramatic fervour, "I've got to say it 
 now. It was jealousy druv the Cap'n to vanish like that, 
 just as 'e stood, in a suit o' Navy serge, with two pound 
 ten in 'is pocket. Don't speak, ma'am; wait a minute! 
 Twenty times the words 'as bin on the tip o* my tongue. 
 But I've check 'em, an* chock 'em, an' chuck 'em 
 though I knew they was bound to out. You remember 
 that June day Cap'n 'Oneyblow vunish I was up at The
 
 A Sailor's Home 95 
 
 Vineyard 'elpin' your two girls with a late spring-clean ?" 
 
 "Yes yes !" gurgled Mrs. Honeyblow. Oh, please be 
 quick!" 
 
 "You 'ad on a new " 
 
 "Gown yes, I know, white trimmed with lilac." 
 
 "An* the Doctor dropped in, quite late, to afternoon 
 tea." 
 
 "We had it on the lawn, under the trees, the weather 
 was so beautifully warm. Go on!" 
 
 "I was in the little breakfast-parlour, lookin' on the 
 lawn, washin' the Venetian blinds. Sudden, I heard a 
 screech sudden, I did an' peeped through the slats," 
 said Mrs. Bliss earnestly, "the blinds bein' " 
 
 "Yes, yes," cried Mrs. Honeyblow. 
 
 "I pope through " 
 
 "You've said that!" 
 
 "I pup, an' what do you think I sor?" 
 
 "How can I tell?" 
 
 "I sor you runnin' round an' round the lawn, giving 
 little playful shrieks like " 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "An' the Doctor chasin' you, with 'is black coat-tails 
 flyin' on the breeze," said Mrs. Bliss, emphatically. " 'E 
 chuss you till 'e caught you, quite frisky like, an' 
 then " 
 
 "I know I oh, Hannah ; what must you have " 
 
 "I sor 'im catch you from behind, round the neck, in 
 a very ticklin', playful way. An' that very moment I 
 'card 'eavy steps, like the Captain's, go down the little 
 avenue be'ind the 'igh 'oily 'edge, an' the garden gate 
 shut. An' the Captain never come 'ome that night, nor 
 after. The 'orrid truth must 'a' flashed on him like light- 
 nin' and froze 'is blood," said Mrs. Bliss. 
 
 "And you believe that when you " 
 
 "Pap through them blinds " 
 
 "You saw me and Doctor Venables kissing kissing !"
 
 g6 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Not azackly kissin.' Playful in a Bank 'Oliday kind 
 of way I shouldn't V expected," said Mrs. Bliss can- 
 didly. 
 
 "Then you wronged us both wickedly !" declared Mrs. 
 Honeyblow with spirit. "The Doctor did run after me, 
 and I screamed, but only because a cockchafer had got 
 into my hair. One of those horrid, leggy things with 
 sticky wings and fat bodies. Oh, Hannah ! and you be- 
 lieve that " 
 
 "When I pip at you both, the Cap'n was a-popping 
 too," Mrs. Bliss nodded. 
 
 "And that was what drove him away?" 
 
 Mrs. Honeyblow burst into tears. The drops dried 
 upon he flaming cheeks as the latched door vibrated un- 
 der a tremendous thump from an unseen fist, and the 
 voice of Mr. Wimper sang out: 
 
 "A'oy!" 
 
 "It's 'im !" whispered Mrs. Bliss, reconnoitring through 
 the latch-hole. "Them sailormen 'ave brought 'im, as 
 you said. The boy's there, too. Look an' see!" 
 
 "Oh, Hannah! that woeful wreck of humanity can 
 never be my Daniel !" gasped Mrs. Honeyblow. "Don't 
 don't open the door for a second. I shall faint or 
 something, I'm sure!" 
 
 "I've got somethink to do before 7 take an' faint," said 
 Mrs. Bliss with determination. "I've got to prove as 
 what this woeful human wreck ain't my Ben an' I'm 
 goin' to." 
 
 "Wh-what will you d-do ?" whispered Mrs. Honeyblow 
 through chattering teeth. 
 
 "Put 'im to the test," declared the stronger spirit, 
 untying a coloured apron and revealing the smarter one 
 beneath. Then she opened the door. The stout, red- 
 bearded seaman was standing vacantly staring on the 
 doorstep, the small boy, whose wardrobe had been aug- 
 mented by several charitable contributions, stood behind
 
 A Sailor's Home 97 
 
 him, and four attentive mariners mounted guard upon 
 the fence. 
 
 "Good-day!" said Mrs. Bliss, with a beaming smile. 
 
 " 'Day !" said the stout seaman briefly. His eye, trav- 
 elling beyond Mrs. Bliss to the face of Mrs. Honeyblow, 
 grew stonier, his vacancy of manner more laboriously 
 pronounced. 
 
 "I needn't 'ardly say you're welcome, Cap'n Honey- 
 blow," said Mrs. Bliss. "Step in, sir, step in. You'll 
 find your good lady 'ere. Ain't that pleasant?" 
 
 "I don't know what you mean," said the stout seaman, 
 taking refuse in one side of his dual personality. "I'm 
 Ben Bliss, that's who I am never was anybody else and 
 this lady is nothing to me ! I've found my lost memory 
 and I remember everything!" 
 
 Spurred by disavowal to resentment, Mrs. Honeyblow 
 tossed her head, while Mrs. Bliss for the moment lost 
 hers. 
 
 "Speak to 'im, lady!" pressed the alarmed Mr. Mix. 
 "Take 'is 'and an' call 'im a pet name. It might bring 
 'im to 'isself." 
 
 "There's your missus, Benny, ole man!" urged Mr. 
 Wimper willingly. "Say, 'Ta, ta,' an' give 'er a pretty 
 kiss !" 
 
 "If 'e does," said Mrs. Bliss, regaining her self-com- 
 mand, "it won't be before all the riff-raff o' the town. 
 I should 'a' thought you'd been cured o' keepin' low com- 
 p'ny, Ben, by 'arf of what you 'ave went through. Now 
 you can come in, if you like, an' make yourself at 'ome, 
 but no choppin' an' changin'. If you say Ben, you stay 
 Ben an' so you can make up your mind to it." 
 
 Holding the door invitingly open, the intrepid laun- 
 dress waited, her eyes fixed upon the perturbed counte- 
 nance of the stout seaman, who hesitated, fidgeted, and 
 then to the unmixed triumph of Mr. Wimper, and the 
 consternation of Mr. Mix and his contingent, stepped
 
 98 A Sailor's Home 
 
 boldly over the threshold. Much fluttered, and with a 
 growing sense of injury, Mrs. Honeyblow took leave. 
 
 "It's quite like old times to 'ave 'ad you 'ere, Miss 
 'Arriet," said Mrs. Bliss. "My respects to Doctor Ven- 
 ables, Mrs. Honeyblow, ma'am, when next you see him. 
 And I hope it'll be soon !" 
 
 An electric shock seemed to dart through the frame 
 of the stout seaman as the door shut and the distant 
 gate clicked behind the retreating figure of Mrs. Honey- 
 blow. 
 
 "She always 'ad a pretty figure," said Mrs. Bliss, as 
 she shut the door. "Plumper than wot she used to be, 
 
 a bit but There, she's dropped 'er 'andkerchief. 
 
 Miss 'Arriet ! Miss ! Ah ! the boy's run after an' give it 
 'er, an* now they're walkin' off together." 
 
 "Call 'im back !" said the temporary Mr. Bliss earnest- 
 ly. "He's not fit for a lady to talk to. Call the little 
 demon back! He'll " 
 
 "They're out of 'earing now," said Mrs. Bliss, shutting 
 the door. "Per'aps she've took 'im on to see the Doctor. 
 She 'as a great admiration for Doctor Venables, 'as Mrs. 
 Honeyblow !" 
 
 "She's hard up for something to admire, then!" 
 growled the temporary Mr. Bliss, grinding the leg of his 
 chair savagely into the brick floor. "What any woman 
 can see in that long, veal-faced, dab-handed, tow-haired 
 apothecary, I never could understand." 
 
 "Your memory's clearin' by degrees," said Mrs. Bliss 
 pleasantly. The stout seaman instantly relapsed. 
 
 "It's odd, ain't it," observed Mrs. Bliss after a short 
 pause, "that Mrs. Honeyblow don't take and marry 
 again?" 
 
 "She can't legally unless she can prove her first hus- 
 band, Captain Honeyblow, is dead or has deserted her; 
 and then the shortest time she can marry again is in 
 seven years," the stout seaman replied glibly.
 
 A Sailor's Home 99 
 
 "She proved 'is will a year ago !" said Mrs. Bliss, 
 bustling about. 
 
 "Did she?" The stout seaman turned bright purple. 
 
 "An* she gave a lot o' money 'underds, they say to 
 found the 'Seamen's Temperance 'Ome' and Mr. Ven- 
 ables is paid Medical Officer to the foundation," went 
 on Mrs. Bliss. 
 
 "Is he?" jerked out the stout seaman, apoplectically. 
 "The hound! The sneaking hound!" 
 
 "Lor*, Ben! I thought you was always so partial to 
 *im!" giggled Mrs. Bliss, as she set on the kettle and 
 placed a hospitable bloater on the gridiron. Its searching 
 perfume reached the nose of the listenning Mr. Limbird, 
 for whose supper it had been intended, and the night- 
 watchman ground his teeth with rage. "Ah, I see you 
 a-starin' at that corner," Mrs. Bliss continued. "You 
 miss and well you may ! somethink out o' there. Your 
 second look 'as always bin for that when you've come 
 'ome from a v'yage. Your first was " 
 
 "For you, I suppose you mean?" said the stout seaman. 
 
 "For the beer-barrel, Ben," said Mrs. Bliss. "There 
 vou go again, lookin' in the corner. Your Aunt Sarah 
 left it you, and well you might prize it. I've seen you 
 move it ah! ten times in a day, you've muv it, an' 
 got out o* your bed an* miv it again! But, o* course, 
 you know what I mean?" 
 
 "You're talking about the clock?" said the stout sea- 
 man quite pleasantly. Mrs. Bliss, horrified at the ill- 
 boding accuracy of his memory, broke a dish, and Mr. 
 Limbird broke into a cold perspiration. 
 
 "It's 'im ! It's 'im !" he muttered feebly. The paper- 
 covered door creaked under his lapsing weight, and Mrs. 
 Bliss summoned all her energies for the final effort. 
 
 "There's other things besides the clock," she said, "an* 
 it's nearly time for you to see 'em. Turn the bloater, 
 Ben, while I run out for 'arf a sec'." She was gone in
 
 ioo A Sailor's Home 
 
 a moment, and the temporary Mr. Bliss, to the great 
 detriment of the bloater, leaned back in his chair and 
 drew a long breath of relief. 
 
 "I was a fool to come here," he pondered, "and I'd be 
 a worse fool to stay. Newspapers tell stories about 
 men who've lived double lives for vears. I've only led 
 one since yesterday, and I defy ordinary flesh and blood 
 to stand it over a week. Ben Bliss I can manage, and 
 Daniel Honevblow comes naturally enough, but Ben Bliss 
 
 and Daniel Honevblow at the same time " He shook 
 
 his head. "I ought never to have disappeared in the 
 beginning," he sighed; "but the only thing left me, as 
 far as I can see, is to disappear again." He crossed 
 the kitchen softlv and laid his hand upon the latch. Then 
 it dropped to his side. For the paper-covered door in 
 the party-wall opened, and the square head of Mr. Lim- 
 bird, its features corrugated into a most uninviting 
 scowl, was inserted through the aperture. 
 
 "No, vou don't." said Mr. Limbird warningly. 
 
 "Don't what?" said the detected fugitive nervously. 
 
 "Cut an* run," said Mr. Limbird. 
 
 "I seem to know your face," said the stout seaman, 
 tryine to smile; "but faces change with years, don't 
 thev?" 
 
 "I should like to alter vours a bit," said Mr. Limbird. 
 " 'Alf a minute it 'ud take not longer. What do you 
 mean bv comin' back? Why didn't you stay drowned 
 if vou was drowned? But some people are never con- 
 tent. Thev " 
 
 "Now then!" cried Mrs. Bliss, as the kitchen door, 
 thrown open, disclosed her as the centre of a group of 
 youthful faces. "Here's father. Polly!" 
 
 "Yes, mother," said a long-legged girl of fourteen, 
 with a bristling head of papers surmounted by a bat- 
 tered straw hat. 
 
 " What-wha-what ?" gasped Mr. Limbird.
 
 A Sailor's Home 101 
 
 "Kiss your father, Polly !" ordered Mrs. Bliss, and the 
 stout seaman submitted to the ordeal. 
 
 "She's more like you than ever," stated Mrs. Bliss. 
 "Bill !" 
 
 "Yes, mother/* yelled a chubby- faced boy of twelve, 
 who held a top, a whip, and a partly consumed bunch 
 of bread-and-treacle. 
 
 "Kiss your father, Bill," commanded Mrs. Bliss. "Ju- 
 bilee, take your finger out o' your mouth, an' kiss 'im 
 too. Elf red, blow your nose and do the same as Jubilee. 
 'Arriet, 'ave I got to tell you twice? Eddard Rex, I 
 don't want to smack you again unless I'm forced to it. 
 That's your little lot, Ben, an' I'm glad you've come 'ome 
 to 'elp me keep 'em. I've 'ad enough to it !" 
 
 Surrounded by his surging family, the alleged Mr. 
 Bliss looked the picture of misery. Mr. Limbird, his 
 handkerchief jammed into his mouth, regarded the pic- 
 ture from a distant corner. 
 
 "Look well, don't 'em?" demanded Mrs. Bliss. 
 
 "Picture of health !" murmured the miserable victim. 
 
 "And grown?" inquired the laundress. 
 
 "Grown out of knowledge," stammered the victim. 
 
 "But you'd 'ave recognised their sweet faces anywhere, 
 wouldn't you?" cried Mrs. Bliss. 
 
 The person appealed to snatched his cap and started 
 for the door. 
 
 "Where are you going to, Ben ?" Mrs. Bliss demanded. 
 
 "To buy the children sugarsticks," was the mumbled 
 reply. 
 
 "You'd forget to come back," said Mrs. Bliss, "for 
 nine years, p'raps, this time. 'Aven't you already took 
 an' stopped away for two? I'm ashamed of you!" She 
 darted through the paper-covered door of communication 
 as she spoke, and returned instantly, carrying a vocal 
 bundle. "Look at that!" she exclaimed, holding it up 
 to the inspection of the unhappy stout seaman.
 
 IO2 A Sailor's Home 
 
 Mr. Limbird could restrain himself no longer. "That's 
 my legal child, 'Annah Limbird, aged eight months !" he 
 bellowed, "an* you're an impostor, Cap'n Honeyblow !" 
 
 "Prove it !" said the other heavily. "Prove it !" 
 
 "You've owned all these other kids as yours, 'aven't 
 you ?" yelled Mr. Limbird. 
 
 "You heard me!" said the other sourly. 
 
 "Well, they all belong to the neighbours, from the 
 baker's Polly, down," said Mrs. Bliss cheerfully. "I 
 borrowed 'em to unmask you with, Cap'n 'Oneyblow, an' 
 I've done it. Run along 'ome now, Polly, an' you others. 
 I'll give you a penny each to-morrow," she added, as her 
 impromptu family trooped out at the door. "As for me 
 an' Bliss, ourn was wot the books call a childless onion ; 
 but I've bin married to Limbird, there, goin' on twelve 
 months." She dandled the baby with legally justifiable 
 pride, as she added : "As to this game wot you've been 
 playin', Cap'n 'Oneyblow, it won't wash no more than a 
 fancy zephyr. Give it up, an' me and Limbird '11 'elp 
 you all we can. Not that you deserve 'elp, goin' away 
 an' leavin* poor Miss 'Arriet a widow for close on two 
 years, and now that you've come back denying of 'er to 
 'er face. But she's a kind 'art, an' maybe she'll forgive 
 you all the sorrow you've caused 'er an' take you back 
 again." 
 
 "I don't want her forgiveness !" said Captain Honey- 
 blow stubbornly. "She ought to be begging mine on her 
 bended knees, if the truth was known. And as for sor- 
 row, she's had the Doctor to dry her tears. He seemed 
 willing enough last time I set eyes on him !" 
 
 "We can't always trust to our eyes," said Mrs. Bliss. 
 "If I 'ad, where would Limbird 'a' been by now? An' 
 if Mrs. Honeyblow's as fond of Doctor Venables as you 
 say, whv didn't they risk it an' get married? I'm goin' 
 up to The Vineyard presently with some linen, an' you'd 
 best come, too. You can carry t'ie baby she wants a bit
 
 A Sailor's Home 103 
 
 o' fresh air an' Limbird can carry the basket." 
 
 Captain Honeyblow, to give him the proper title he had 
 so persistently abjured, gave in, and after some smarten- 
 ing on the part of Mrs. Bliss, who had made up her mind 
 as to her plan of campaign, the trio set out. It was a fine 
 evening early in May, the hawthorn-hedges were in blos- 
 som, and Mrs. Honeyblow, in a most attractive dove- 
 coloured tea-gown trimmed with lace, was sitting on 
 the verandah with a novel in her lap. 
 
 "She must 'a' had all them light-coloured things made 
 ready an' waitin'," said Mrs. Bliss incautiously. 
 
 "Why, Hannah!" exclaimed Mrs. Honeyblow, coming 
 down the verandah steps as the party emerged from the 
 laurel avenue and approached the house. 
 
 "We're mixin' bis'ness with pleasure, 'm," said Mrs. 
 Bliss, indicating her three companions. "Lor'! what's 
 the use of nursin' a grudge ! An' the baby's quite took 
 to Ben. 'E carries 'er beautiful, don't 'e?" 
 
 And she proudly indicated the shrinking form of the 
 supposed Mr. Bliss, whose flaming beard and redder 
 countenance were partly concealed behind the draperies 
 of his infant burden. 
 
 "I'm exceedingly I hope oh! wouldn't they? I 
 mean your husband and the other round to the kitchen 
 door beer ?" stammered Mrs. Honeyblow. 
 
 "They're much be'olden, Miss 'Arriet," said the wash- 
 erwoman translating the invitation. "Ain't it pretty to 
 see 'em!" she continued, as the supposed Mr. Bliss and 
 his companions withdrew. "Him an' Limbird's like 
 brothers." 
 
 "But does he know have you broken the awful 
 news?" cried Mrs. Honeyblow. "How did he how did 
 he take it?" she continued, as Mrs. Bliss nodded in 
 reply. 
 
 "Not a cuss !" said Mrs. Bliss, wiping her eyes. "An* 
 then 'is be'ayviour at meals! 'E's that refined with 'is
 
 104 A Sailor's Home 
 
 knife, it fair frightens me. O' course, 'avin' bin brought 
 up by a good mother, I wipes me mouth on the table- 
 cloth ; but on'y fancy Ben askin' for a serviette !" 
 
 "Impossible!" choked Mrs. Honeyblow. 
 
 "They're things I wash," said Mrs. Bliss, "but should 
 scorn to use an' I thought I'd 'ave dropped when 'e 
 did it. An' worse an' worse, he've borrored the money 
 from Limbird to buy a tooth-brush says it's one o' the 
 indispensable necessities o' life. Fancy Ben !" 
 
 "Hannah !" hissed Mrs. Honeyblow, clutching the laun- 
 dress's arm. "Suppose it isn't it isn't Ben, after all?" 
 
 "That's what I keep on a-sayin' to myself," said Mrs. 
 Bliss with a sigh; "but use is every think. If Cap'n 
 Honeyblow had seen Doctor Venables take a cockchafer 
 out o' your 'air every day for a year, 'e wouldn't 'ave let 
 a thing like that drive 'im from 'is 'ome. Per'raps, if 
 'e could see it done agin, an' realise 'ow little there reely 
 was in it, it 'ud bring 'im back to 'is right mind. That 
 is, supposin' Ben is 'im." 
 
 "Oh, Hannah, when I remember some of the things 
 that boy said to-day, I begin to believe it ! No, he isn't 
 
 here ; I sent him over to the Doctor's to be questioned 
 
 Why why," cried Mrs. Honeyblow, "here is Dr. Ven- 
 ables and the boy with him! The Doctor has dropped 
 in to tea as " 
 
 "Usual," volunteered Mrs. Bliss. 
 
 "As a little change," amended Mrs. Honeyblow. 
 
 "It's too early for cockchafers," said Mrs. Bliss, "or 
 you might 'ave the 'ole thing 'appen again, an' put it 
 fairly to the test whether my Ben is your 'usband or your 
 'usband is my Ben? Would a cochroach do? There's 
 'caps in your kitchen." 
 
 Mrs. Honeyblow gave a little scream. 
 
 "Cockchafer an' cockroach," said Mrs. Bliss encour- 
 agingly. "It begins the same." 
 
 "But it wouldn't end the same," said Mrs. Honeyblow,
 
 A Sailor's Home 105 
 
 "for I should die of it." 
 
 "Pretend, then," said Mrs. Bliss, illuminated by an 
 idea. "Let on as you 'ave a wasp or beadle or a cater- 
 pillar in your 'air, an* ask Doctor Venables to take it 
 out for you. An' I'll manage so as my Ben an' your 
 Cap'n 'Oneyblow sees the 'ole thing. If he's Ben, he'll 
 take it smilin', an' if he's Cap'n Honeyblow, he'll take it 
 ravin'. Now I'm goin' to fetch them both round from 
 the kitchen." 
 
 And Mrs. Bliss disappeared upon this errand, as Mrs. 
 Honeyblow went nervously to meet the Doctor, with 
 whose long shadow Tommy's shorter and stumpier ad- 
 umbration moved in unison across the lawn. 
 
 "My dear lady," Doctor Venables said as he greeted 
 Mrs. Honeyblow, "I have put a series of the most search- 
 ing questions to the boy, and came over thinking you 
 would be anxious to learn the results of my informal 
 cross-examination as speedily as possible. I have ascer- 
 tained from the boy . . . By the way, I have always 
 understood from you that Mrs. Bliss was a most es- 
 timable woman?" 
 
 "Quite so. Oh undoubtedly!" murmured Mrs. 
 Honeyblow. i 
 
 "I grieve to have to tell you," said the Doctor gravely, 
 "that her conduct has been, in some respects, most blam- 
 able. The real reason of her husband's sudden departure 
 from home was I blush to say it that, on returning 
 unexpectedly one day, he saw her being kissed by an- 
 other man in the garden. Reprehensible!" 
 
 "Did did the boy describe the the other man ?" stam- 
 mered Mrs. Honeyblow. 
 
 "No," said the Doctor. "My dear lady, what what 
 has occurred?" 
 
 For Mrs. Honeyblow screamed aloud, and putting both 
 less fashion, round and round the lawn. "Oh!" she 
 hands over her ears, commenced to run in a jerky, aim-
 
 io6 A Sailor's Home 
 
 screamed. "Oh! Take it out! take it out! The cock- 
 chafer ugh! Caught in my hair!" 
 
 "Don't be alarmed! Certainly with pleasure," said 
 the Doctor, "if you could manage to stand still." But 
 Mrs. Honeyblow kept on running, and the Doctor was 
 obliged to run after her. "Where is it? I don't see 
 it where is it?" The medical gentleman panted as he 
 gained on and overtook the quarry. "Why why you 
 don't mean to say " 
 
 "There isn't any cockchafer," said Mrs. Honeyblow. 
 Her eyes sparkled, her flushed cheeks became her, her 
 roguish smile was irresistible. The Doctor lost his head 
 and kissed her. And as the bashful salute took effect on 
 the lady's ear, a blood-curdlin' roar reverberated in the 
 ears of the couple, and the Doctor, turning hastily, be- 
 held a stout, red-bearded seaman who foamed with in- 
 dignation, held back from wreaking violence on his 
 own dignified person by a square-headed man who smiled 
 from ear to ear, and a small boy who manifested equal 
 enjoyment of the situation, while the culpable Mrs. Bliss, 
 whose supposed lapse from propriety he had just dealt 
 with so severely, clapped her hands in the background. 
 
 "You villain you sneaking, tallow-faced villain !" bel- 
 lowed Captain Honeyblow, "have I caught you at it 
 again ?" 
 
 "Not again, Daniel!" cried Mrs. Honeyblow, hanging 
 on her husband's upraised arm, as Mrs. Bliss, overcome 
 by the success of her ruse, relapsed into hysterics. "There 
 really was a cockchafer before, and you were a jealous, 
 hasty-tempered man to go off like that without asking 
 any questions !" 
 
 "I'll ask one now," said the unmasked Captain, turn- 
 ing a truth-compelling glare upon the Doctor. "Have 
 you ever kissed my wife before to-day?" 
 
 "Captain Honeyblow," replied Dr. Venables, "upon my 
 honour, I have never kissed your wife. The lady whom
 
 A Sailor's Home 107 
 
 you saw me ahem ! kiss just now has been a widow 
 a widow, sir, for two years, and the salute was a 
 the first I have ventured to offer. Did I do it, I ask 
 you, as if I were used to it?" 
 
 "No," admitted Captain Honeyblow. "To do you jus- 
 tice, it was a dashed bad shot. Somebody, kick that in- 
 fernal boy and find out what he's dancing for !" 
 
 "Because I've saved a real skipper, after all !" crowed 
 Tommy. 
 
 The heads of four seamen rose up on the other side 
 of the garden fence. Three faces wore expressions of 
 great joy, the sentiments written upon the fourth vere 
 more ambiguous. 
 
 "Well, I'm blowed !" said Mr. Wimper. 
 
 "Ain't this a joyful day, Cap'n 'Oneyblow, sir?" said 
 Mr Mix. 
 
 "With respects to that reward, lady, for findin' your 
 dear 'usban'?" 
 
 "Don't yer make no mistake, ole man," said Tommy. 
 "The bloke what found Cap'n 'Oneyblow found 'im 
 an' brought 'im 'ome was me, an' don't yer make no 
 mistake about it." 
 
 "Boy speaks the truth," said the Captain gruffly.
 
 VI 
 AS PLAIN AS PRINT 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE BASEMENT 
 
 I WAS in the Fif Stannard when I left Bord Schole 
 and went into Service as Paje at a fust class 'Ouse 
 where mother Chared and Father 'ad bin Hed Coachy but 
 took to Liquer when Lord Rejinald toke to motorcarse 
 Bern' too nuffy for to lern to Drive an injin and Too 
 Stout in Figger for a Shofure. 
 
 It was Chesterfield Squair corner 'ouse with the Dub- 
 ble Areea. They kep* 2 pare of Calves with Flowery 
 Heds and a Butler in Plane Close much more like a 
 Bishop than the One what used to call. My liv'ry was 
 Riffle Green. Gilt Buttons 8 rowse. Mother said I was 
 as like Her Brother Alfred what 'ad bin an Orseguard 
 as Two Pease Excep for the Ighth an' the mustash. An 
 I run Erands for the 2 Pare of Calves to get Brown 
 and Limbird to tell me what they Eat in Erly Youth to 
 make em run up to 6 feet 2. Also rub Musterd on my 
 Upper Lip at Night by Advice of a Silly Ass with a 
 large one what walked out with the Second Housemaid, 
 But beyond Blisterse no Risult, excep that Her Ladyship 
 Rung for the Housekeeper an sed my Blood was Planely 
 Out of Order an would Mrs. Smale see to it that the 
 Boy got a Cooling Doase. Wich she did the old Cat, with 
 Jollup overnite and Epsum Salts in the Morning. 
 
 When I Come on Duty again there was a Blank in 
 108
 
 As Plain As Print 109 
 
 the Ouseold. Joliffe the Parler Maid Having Got the 
 Sack for Answers and Unpunktualness. A New Gal 
 Arived and I Opened the Side Door out of Curiosaty 
 it being the Duty of one of the Females on the Staff. 
 I piped her Getting Out of the Tacksi and sor her 
 chuck the Shofure a Half Dollar as Cool an Easy as 
 Her Ladyship Herself. Call Swells what you like they 
 ave a way of Doing Things as takes the bun. 
 
 "I'm the New Parler maid. Tell one of the Servants 
 to Bring in my Bags and Things," says she quite calm 
 and cool. 
 
 "All Righto," Says I. "Suppose you Do it Yourself 
 Miss?" 
 
 She stared down at Me with the Biggest Blue Eyes 
 I ever see out of a Picture on a Hoardin and then the 
 Puzzled look cleered off and she begin to Larf. Gals in 
 London Service generally Fall off about the dominose 
 but the New Parler Maidse teeth was the Prettiest and 
 Whitest I ever see out of a Dentisses Door Case. I 
 brought in the bag and a lite Cane trunk. As Mrs. Smale 
 Come down all in a Flutter with her And to her Art. 
 
 "Oh your Oh my goodness, I've bin hopin' you didn't 
 really mean" she begins. 
 
 "Shut up Smaley," ses the New Parler Maid givin' Her 
 a Kiss. "Not Bifore the Boy. Little Pitcherse you 
 know" an she larfed like music. 
 
 "Ow dare you speak to me like that, Jones !" ses Mrs. 
 Smale in a kind of faint raje, shakin her Cap ribbons 
 an closin her Eyes. 
 
 "I beg your pardon mam and I hope you'll overlook it 
 this time," says Jones. 
 
 "If you'll Come this way I'll show you your Room," ses 
 Mrs. Smale and I never Know the Old Gal so Grashus 
 Bifore. I piped 'em from the Landin an if she wasn't 
 Helping Jones to Carry her Things strike me indipen- 
 dent. When Jones Came down to join the serkle in the
 
 no A Sailor's Home 
 
 Servants Hall she looked the Tastiest bit of Frock you 
 could immajin in her Black Dress and Muslin Cap and 
 Apron. The 2 Pair of Calves was knocked out o Their- 
 selves and Morris the Butler what was a Widower and 
 said e ad ad a daghter just like Jones what died in 
 early Youth was a Precious lot too fatherly. The cook 
 told him so to his Face, and judgin' by the grisly bits she 
 carve for Jones at the six o'clock cold meat tea you could 
 see what Mother calls a bowl of contempshun was Come 
 into the Ouse'old. Me bein called to Duty by a tele- 
 graphic dubble nock and ring heerd no more than snaks 
 as You Might say but Jones Was Not Aving the Wust 
 of it When I lef. 
 
 I Took Up the wire to is Lordship As was Dressin 
 for a Early Theatre Dinner manigments Aving requested 
 no Lait Arivals as a Fust Nights Sho. His Lordship red 
 the messige an Went Plunjin Acrost the Landing to 
 Her Ladyships Room with is Braces ennyhow an is Air 
 Brush strate down over is Eyes. 
 
 "Goodness Me Redgy," i Herd Her Ladyship Esclaim, 
 "You Look like a Prehysteric Peep. What has Hap- 
 pined?" 
 
 "The Matter is that My Youngest Sister Susan As 
 Bolted From Catanach Cassel," Cries His Lordship, Cat- 
 anach Cassel Bein His Lordships Famalys Sect in the 
 Higlands. "This is From My Father to Ask if She Has 
 Took Refuge with me? The Hard-mowthed Little 
 Dewle !" Nise Words For a Peer to a Dress to His Sis- 
 ter! "Is. 1 Dead Against Marrying Gowpen And Swares 
 She Wont Have Ennybody But Barringley, a Porper 
 Captain in a Higland Reggiment." 
 
 "But Neerly sevin Fete High and as Handsum as 
 Aunty Nowse," Says Her Ladyship With a sigh I should 
 Not have Herd if my eer Had not Bin Close to the Key- 
 hoale. "And Lord Gowpen Is a Dredful Little Bounder 
 with Freckles as Large as Sixpenses, Marquis or No
 
 As Plain As Print in 
 
 Marquis. And I Suppose Poor Susan Has a Hart. Most 
 of Us Hav When We're Yung," and Her Ladyship Sied 
 Again. And I Only Got out of the Way as the Door 
 Bust Open and His Lordship Stroad Back Across the 
 Passage Roaring. 
 
 "He Hav No Runawayse in My House. If she Comes 
 Here Pack Her Back, i Forbid You to Harber her Or 
 Countenance this Centimentle Nonsense with Barring- 
 ley," an the Ole Ouse Shook as His Lordship Banged the 
 Door. The Noise of the Chewmult Ad Penetrated to the 
 Lower Re j ions and i was Klosely queshioned in the 
 Servants All. But i kep My Own Kounsel an Lett on to 
 Nobody. 
 
 Nex Morning I ad a Chanst of Doin a Bit of Mash on 
 my Own for I Found Jones in the Drawrin Room with 
 a Duster an a Fether Broom and no More Noshun Wot 
 to Do with Em than a Pi j ion with a Pastry Roller. I 
 Did Er Job for Er an "You are a Nise little Beggar !" 
 says Jone an Give me a Arf Dollar all at onse. An Wile 
 I did Er Dustin She Got the Blotter an Eld it to the 
 Mankle Mirrer & Red Part of a Letter His Lordship Ad 
 Bin Riting. "My Dear Susan i Am Moar Greaved & 
 Shocked Than i Can Express at the News of Your Ri- 
 belliuos Conduck An Your Sudden Flite From the Shel- 
 ter of Our Fathers Rufe. . . ." 
 
 "Old Ard Young Woman," i says "That aint the. 
 Strite Gaim watto." Jones give me a Larfin look over 
 Her sholder & Her Eyes was as Bloo as Sum of the 
 Stones in Her Ladyshipse Rings. 
 
 "Its to me," she says, "My name is Susan," & larfs in 
 that luvly way She Had. "i Wish He ad Roat Sum Moar 
 wile E were about it !" 
 
 "Wot Good" says i "when He Dont know Her adress. 
 And its No use Her Cumming Heer bikause He rifuses 
 to Harber her Under His Roof, i Herd him say 
 so."
 
 112 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Wont he?" says Jones & larfed so sweet & look so 
 Hevnly while She dun it that i Had to throw the bits of 
 the Jappanese China Vawse what i Broke in my Emoshun 
 in the Dustbin on the Q.T. 
 
 "I say" I ses Breethin as Loud as a Broken Down Cab 
 Orse "when's your evenin Out?" 
 
 "Thursday," ses she. 
 
 "If you aint suited" i ses "I'm willin. Come Round 
 to Tee at Mothers & I'll stand Two Riturns on the 
 Bus to Putney Brig. You're the Nisest bit o Frock i ever 
 see & now the Cats out of the Banbox." 
 
 "So you're in luv with me Buttonse !" ses She smiling. 
 
 "Strite I am," i says. "Don't let it Make you Prowd." 
 
 "Ah but i'm Ingaged," ses Jones, "& my Yung Man is 
 Cumming to Take Me Out on Thursday." 
 
 "He'll 'ave to talk to me Fust," i says a doubling up 
 my Arm to bring up the Mussle. "Mind that, Miss 
 Jones." 
 
 But on Thursday When Joneses Young Man Came 
 Ringing at the Side Door & Askin for Her it seemed like 
 Temtin Provadence to it a Man so Menny sizes Larger 
 than Life. 
 
 "Ullo I Say!" says I "wot are You?" 
 
 "I'm a Footman," says He lookin Down "an I've Come 
 to take My Young Woman Out Walking." 
 
 "Is the other of you arf your ighth?" says i Cheeky 
 like, "Because if One of You stood on the Other Wun's 
 Hed there Wouldn't be no more Trubble about Sendin 
 Messiges to Mars." 
 
 Blest if e Didn't tip me a Dollar. 
 
 "You take my Message to Miss Jones," says He, a smil- 
 ing and twisting 'is spikky yeller mustash. "Her Young 
 Man is Waiting On the Door-step as arranged. That's 
 all." 
 
 That was all as concerning my Unappy Weekness For 
 Jones. A Footman neerly 7 feet igh with a mustash oo
 
 As Plain As Print 113 
 
 could stand against. Mother could never ave fansied a 
 Daughter-in-Law What took Such Care of Her Nails, 
 she as offen told me so Preaps all is for the Best. 
 
 Three Munthse Jones was With us, and no Newse of 
 Lady Susan ever Came to And. I Herd is Lordship Say 
 She Could Not Ave Left England bikause Barringley 
 the Porper Captain in a Higland Reggiment rimained 
 at is Post. The Markis of Gowpen got Ingaged to An- 
 other Lady with No Objeckshun to Freckles, and when 
 i Told Jones she Clap er Hands & give me Ten Shillinse 
 & she told me that Mrs. Smale Was Going to Interview 
 Her Ladyship in the Mornin Rume at 12 sharp & if I 
 felt intristed in Heering News of Her I Would be in 
 my Usual Place at the keyole ! 
 
 Sure enuf the Old Lady Russled up Nex Day. Wot 
 was my surprise to Ear Her Tell My Lady that the New 
 Parler Maid What Ad Give such satisfaction Wished 
 to Leeve to Get Married & Bein Such a Good Yung Girl 
 & Without a Mother Living & Mrs. Smale Aving Known 
 Her sinse a child Mrs S beg leave to entertain the Yung 
 Cupple at Brekfast in the Housekeeperse Room. 
 
 "Certainly Smale," ses Her Ladyship. "I have never 
 seen the Young Woman Except at a Distance but sinse 
 she is so Diserving the Brekfast shall be Here. Order a 
 Nise Plain Wedding Cake & make the Occasion as festiv 
 as Possable i understand She is a Favourite in the 
 Servants All." 
 
 i Neerly Busted my Buttons Orf at that the Other 
 Wimmen ating Jones like Pisen, but Mrs Smale Curtsey 
 & thank Her Ladyship in Joneses Name & Her Lady- 
 ship say she will Make a Point of Looking In & Wishing 
 the Young Cupple Joy. 
 
 "i Hope the Yung Man is Rispectable," says she. 
 
 "Oh quite, your Ladyship," says Mrs. Smale, Smiling 
 Herself into Creeses and Then to My Surprise & Delite 
 the Old Gal Beg Leeve to Give notice Aving Ditermined
 
 H4 A Sailor's Home 
 
 to Retire On Her Savings to A Little Ouse at Forrist 
 Gait. She Ment to Leeve the Morning Jones was Mar- 
 ried. She was as Diggerfied And jenteel as a Telegraf 
 Post & Her Ladyship sed she Could Not But Consent but 
 Deeply Rigretted So Werthy A Servant & Giv the Old 
 Gal a Karbunkle Broach. N.B. Well She Knoed She 
 Would Get the Sak over What Was About to Cum Out. 
 
 That Weddin of Joneses Was a Regler Beeno. All the 
 Staff Ad Bin Ast & Gave Presints, the 2 Pair of Calves 
 Galantly Clubing Fundse to Buy a Plated Tost Rack. 
 The Cook come out Strong in the Cake Dipartment. i 
 Spent A Doller On a Lais Vale for Jones & a Pare of 
 Wite Cotton Gluves For Myself. All the wimmen Cride 
 like Leeky Water Cartse During the Sacred Seremony. 
 Jones was a Vision Of Buty in a Plane Traveling Dress 
 & Didn't the Long Curit Jump when the Bride and 
 Bridegrum Sined the Redgister Oh No ! 
 
 Joneses Husband Shut Him Up Sharp, wisperin Sum- 
 thing in is Large Red Eer & Back We all Droav in the 
 Privit Omnibus to Brekfast. i never see a Niser Spred. 
 The Caik was a Triumph of Genis & His Lordship Sent 
 Word for y-t a Duzzen of His Best Shampagne To 
 Be Used. The Butler Proposed the Bride & Bride- 
 grum in A Speech What Brought the Teers into His Eyes 
 But When He Wanted For to Kiss Jones, Joneses Hus- 
 band Took the Needle. 
 
 "I've put up With a Good Deal," I Herd Him say, 
 "but When it Cumse to My Wife Being Kissed By a 
 Butler On Her Wedding Day I Draw The Line by 
 Gingo !" & He Twisted His Yeller Mustash & just Then 
 in Cumse my Lord & Lady Redginald & Everybody Get 
 Up. 
 
 "Please Charge Your Glasses," ses His Lordship Tryin 
 To Find His Eyeglass Wich ad Got Down Inside is 
 Weskit : "Lady Redginald & Myself Ave Great Pleasure 
 in Wishing Goy to Jones & Her Husb Why, Dammy
 
 As Plain As Print 115 
 
 Barringley, its You!" And just then Lady Redginald 
 Gave a Shreek. 
 
 "Susan!" she screems. "Susan!" And She & Jones 
 Rushes into Eech Otherse Armse & Bustes Out Crying 
 As His Lordship & Captin Barringley Glares at Eech 
 Other Like 2 Mad Bullse. 
 
 "Smale you old Meddler, This is Your Work," says 
 His Lordship & the Old Gal ups & says it is & Wotse 
 Moar She's prowd On it An She Never Shold Rigret 
 Helpin The Deer child She'd Nussed To a Good Usband. 
 
 "Good . . . I've got my Own Opinion about 
 That," says Is Lordship. 
 
 "Make up Your Mind Which You're Coin to Do," 
 says the Captin Twistin His Mustash, "Hit me Or Shake 
 Hands. I'm Reddy For You Either Way & if I Don't 
 Mistake you Found Out at Eaton Which Of us Was Best 
 Man." 
 
 "Do You Expect the Duke to Overlook this Skandelous 
 Elopement, this Disgraceful Conceelment & the Clandes- 
 tine Marrige Wich Crowns The Whole?" Dimands His 
 Lordship as Lady Susan lets Go of Lady Redginald & 
 Takes Old of the Captain's Arm. 
 
 "I came straight to My Brotherse House," Says She 
 With a Prowd Look of Defianse, "i Hav Lived Under 
 His Roof For the Last 3 Munthse, My Husband Has 
 Visited Me Here & Here My Wedding Took Place With 
 Your Consent. You cant Deny it!" 
 
 "No By Gingo i cant," Says His Lordship, "i pade For 
 the Cake & I shall Have to Pay the Piper. Give me a 
 Kiss, & We'll Order the hauto Brooam to Take You 
 both to the Stashun. Come upstairs, Young People" . . . 
 i Herd Him Say to the Captain in a Wisper As He Drew 
 the Gallant Bridegroom into the Smoaking Room "In 
 For a Peny in For a Pound. How Mutch Shall i Draw 
 it For, Barry Old Man?" 
 
 Lady Susan Sent For Me Bifore the Cupple Left For
 
 n6 A Sailor's Home 
 
 the Kontinet & Gave Me a Kiss and Suvring. i kep 
 the Suvring over a Week & if My Yung Woman Ever 
 Asts Why the Lef Side of My Fase is Barred off From 
 the Public i will tell Her Strate. There Are Sum Things 
 A Man Never Forgets & Jones Was My Ferst Love. 
 N.B. i mean Lady Susan.
 
 VII 
 THE OLDEST INHABITANT 
 
 A STORY FOR BIG GIRLS AND BOYS 
 I 
 
 <C TF we'd been alive in those times when they unheaded 
 
 JL people with axes for bein' tr'waitors to their King 
 and countr'wy," remarked Perto, otherwise Rupert, aged 
 nine, to Robina, his elder by a year, "I shouldn't be at 
 all s'prised if we'd been dead now." He paused after this 
 utterance, and added, "for having such a thing as Ger- 
 man measles when we're at war wif Germany. At least, 
 that's what the Doctor said was the matter wif us when 
 we came out all over spotty 'rwed, and after they made 
 the school r'woom into a Hospital- ward with sheets made 
 wet in pink water hung over the doors, and you and me 
 had to go to bed there with a new nurse to look after us 
 in a cr'wackly cotton fr'wock?" 
 
 "You mean disheaded and axises," admonished Robina, 
 who never failed to correct her young brother's faulty 
 English when it jarred upon her sensitive ear, "and if 
 you put in the w's after you r's, what good is there in 
 pronunciating the r's anyhow? That's what mother 
 would say to you if she were here." 
 
 "I just wish she was here !" aspirated Perto, changing 
 his mind about yawning, and signing instead. 
 
 "Then you're a selfish boy!" said Robina decidedly, 
 117
 
 n8 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "don't you know that we're in this place because when 
 we got up after the measles had gone in Dr. Dolmege 
 said we were just reeking with affection, and ought to be 
 icerlated until our germs were all dead !" 
 
 "'Inflection' was what Dr. Dolmege said," corrected 
 Perto, assuming for the nonce the role of a precisian in 
 words. 
 
 "It means the same thing," stated Robina promptly 
 "reeking with defection and mustn't go near mother's 
 room for fear of giving the German measles to her and 
 the new baby." 
 
 "I shouldn't have cared whether I gave German measles 
 to the new baby or not," announced Perto, scowling as 
 he kicked the rail of his chair. "But I should have mind- 
 ed giving 'em to mother." 
 
 "Be grateful that you're icerlated, then," said Robina 
 sententiously, "or you would have liked a shot !" 
 
 A dismal break here occurred in the conversation. The 
 temporary silence was filled by the swishing sound of 
 rain, beating, as it had with brief intervals beaten for a 
 week, against the latched casements of Miss Sarah Ann 
 Twigger's cottage at Mold End, near the little country 
 town of Plashingford in Werkshire. The wind also 
 howled and moaned, as it had been howling and moaning 
 for a period similarly prolonged, and a rusty-looking la- 
 burnum and a couple of apple-trees, laden with very sour- 
 looking apples and decorating the little patch of soaked 
 green lawn separated by a wet oak fence from a spread- 
 ing expanse of boggy ploughlands, waved their branches 
 as though in despair. 
 
 "If they must icerlate us," burst from Perto, "why 
 do it in such a beastly place as this ? where it r'wains all 
 the time, and they never have Flag-Days, or maroons 
 or searchlights or Air-r'waids and nobody never tells 
 you anything about the War, though we've been fighting 
 the Germans for ages and ages. I think it's r'wotten!'
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 119 
 
 grumbled the boy. "Why, there might as well not be any 
 War at all on !" 
 
 "We do get War-bread, now don't we?" demanded 
 Robina, "and they say we're to have War-rations pre- 
 sently, unless the War stops pretty quick. I don't quite 
 know what they are, but Miss Twigger says the shops 
 won't be allowed to sell any more peppermint rock or 
 toffee." She added as Perto emitted a low groan, "And 
 the postman comes round in khaki on Thursdays and 
 Saturdays and doesn't come at all on Sundays and 
 there's going to be a Penny Reading at the Common Re- 
 crimination Rooms for the Benefit of British Prisoners in 
 Germany and a Dramatic Entertainment at the Plash- 
 borough Public Hall, in Aid of the Red Cross. Don't you 
 remember the Entertainment at the Concert Hall at 
 Lewisham where we all dressed up and incited and 
 you did 'Little Boy Blue,' and I was 'Little Miss Muffet' 
 first, and did a hornpipe with a skipping-rope and after- 
 wards Britannia ruling the Waves in the Patriotic Tab- 
 loid at the end." 
 
 Perto assented sulkily, adding with rancour : 
 
 "That's how we came to catch those r'wetched German 
 measles. They'd had 'em at Miss Skeffington's Academy 
 for Backward Boys and a whole row of } em came. I 
 should like to punch their beastly heads all round for 
 spoiling our summer holiday !" 
 
 "You forget we'd had that with mother at Lyme Regis 
 in July. And as father's business isn't looking bright 
 just now, because of the War," said Robina, "wherever 
 we went had to be cheap, and this was the very cheapest 
 and healthiest place Dr. Dolmege could recommend. And 
 he knew Miss Twigger to be eminently respectable be- 
 cause she had housekeeped for an old lady-patient of his 
 for thirty years, and been pensioned off with an annuity, 
 and " 
 
 "Who is Anna Nuity?" demanded Perto, kneeling in
 
 I2O A Sailor's Home 
 
 a low wicker chair, and rubbing his nose slowly up and 
 down against the cold, damp window-glass. "The ser- 
 vant is Emma and Miss Twigger doesn't have a woman in 
 to help clean, she says because of the sugar and candles 
 and soap and tea, and there's nobody else in the house 
 but me, and you, and Shackleton-Peary " 
 
 "Don't wake him !" said Robina, anxiously glancing at 
 the large and handsome black-and-white half-breed Per- 
 sian cat vrho lay outstretched in a galloping attitude in 
 the precise middle of the Berlin woolwork hearthrug, 
 worked by Miss Twigger's deceased employer, and rep- 
 resenting a basket of yellow and scarlet tulips on a ma- 
 roon ground bordered by a green vine-trellis, in front of 
 the small fireplace, where, the day being wet and cold, a 
 fevr sticks of apple wood burned. "He's been simply 
 awful this morning ! Playful, Miss Twigger calls it," she 
 added, "when he worries other people's feet !" 
 
 "He bit my leg yesterday," said Perto gloomily. "He's 
 always biting my legs ! and he dabbed at me through the 
 balusters as I was coming downstairs to breakfast, and 
 nearly scratched out my eye !" 
 
 "And you mustn't hit him even if you weren't afraid," 
 said Robina, "for one thing because his mother belongs 
 to a salubriated breed of cats they have at a dreadfully 
 grand place near here, called Nunbury Abbey, and for 
 another, because Miss Twigger is a member of the So- 
 ciety for the Pervention of Cruelty to Animals." 
 
 "There's a Society for the Pervention of Cruelty to 
 Children, isn't there?" demanded Perto; and when Ro- 
 bina replied that she believed so, he retorted, "I know 
 there is. And if that Society only knew how this cat be- 
 haved to us they'd do something that would teach him 
 manners !" 
 
 "Miss Twigger loves him as the apple of her eye," ex- 
 plained Robina. "Emma told me yesterday. You see, 
 he was born when two salubriated exploring-men were
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 121 
 
 looking for the Poles and nobody knew which of them 
 would be the first to get there and hang up his flag. So, 
 as Miss Twigger wanted her kitten to have a distin- 
 guished name she called him after both of them. Ugh ! 
 you disagreeable beast!" hissed Robina, glaring at the 
 animal, "I'd baptize you all over again and call you the 
 Kaiser, if I could!" 
 
 On receipt of these uncomplimentary remarks, Shackle- 
 Peary merely purred as though in acknowledgment of 
 an endearment, stretched, yawned, rolled over on his 
 back, exhibiting a furry white waistcoat with a round 
 black patch in the middle of it, and looking languish- 
 ingly over the top of his own head out of a very yellow 
 pair of eyes with perpendicular black slits down the mid- 
 dle of them, extended a neat, white-gloved paw invitingly 
 towards Robina, who shrank back in alarm. 
 
 "If I didn't know you," she said, shaking her head re- 
 proachfully at the cat, who continued to leer invitingly, 
 "I might shake hands. But I do, and I shan't, so there !" 
 
 Shackleton-Peary, thus rebuffed, reversed himself and 
 rose, revealing himself as a large and fully-developed cat. 
 He wagged his tail from side to side, and the black stripes 
 down the centre of his yellow eyes grew round and glar- 
 ing. The glare grew intent, his glittering white whiskers 
 bristled fiercely. He hesitated a moment, choosing be- 
 tween Perto's feet and Robina's, and Robina hastily 
 bounced upon the sofa and tucked hers under her frock, 
 squatting Turkish-fashion, while Perto drew the waste- 
 paper basket towards him and hastily converted it into an 
 impromptu shelter for his menaced calves. Unhappily 
 there was plenty of room left in the basket, and Shackle- 
 ton-Peary, in the firm belief that Perto had invented a 
 new and entrancing game for his especial delectation, 
 dived in, and ecstatically embracing Perto's heather-mix- 
 ture stockings with a black foreleg and a white one armed 
 with formidable claws, applied his teeth with vigour.
 
 122 A Sailor's Home 
 
 i "Take him off ! Take him off !" yelled Perto, who had 
 j struggled out of the chair, though not out of the basket, 
 and now hopped over the Kidderminster carpet of Miss 
 Twigger's best parlour in the vain effort to release him- 
 self. 
 
 "Wait till I get my gloves !" began Robina, reluctantly 
 untucking her legs and sliding off the sofa. "He's so 
 frightfully thorny to touch!" Then as the black bushy 
 fox-tail of Shackleton-Peary waved joyously over the 
 edge of the agitated waste-paper basket, the sisterly de- 
 sire to rescue Perto overcome Robina's fear. She grasped 
 the tail, set her teeth and tugged hard. Shackleton-Peary 
 wow-wowed and fuffed, but continued to worry. And at 
 this juncture Miss Sarah Ann Twigger entered the apart- 
 ment. The scene that her spectacled eyes beheld was one 
 well calculated to rouse the fiery resentment of a member 
 of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. 
 And with a shrill exclamation of horror the proprietress 
 of Shackleton-Peary rushed to rescue the imaginary vic- 
 tim from his supposed torturers. 
 
 "You ill-behaved, wicked little boy !" she cried. "You 
 merciless little monster of a girl! Let the cat's tail go 
 directly !" 
 
 "Do you suppose persons are going to allow themselves 
 to be chewed and scratched," demanded Robina, obeying, 
 but with a scarlet countenance of defiant indignation, 
 "without doing anything to prevent it?" 
 
 "Just to please your ugly old cat?" added Perto. 
 
 "He isn't an ugly old cat. He is a magnificent and 
 well-bred creature," retorted Miss Twigger, as Shackle- 
 ton-Peary, with every claw well padded and a cheerful 
 smile of good-natured amiability on his whiskered counte- 
 nance, emerged from the basket and bounded to his mis- 
 tress's shoulder. She continued, as the cat rubbed his 
 sleek piebald side against her lean cheek, and the ear from 
 which dangled a long old-fashioned jet earring, and
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 123 
 
 purred a hypocritical song: "Poor Kitty! did urns try to 
 hurt you? And if the innocent animal had bitten or 
 scratched either of you," she continued, addressing her 
 young charges, "you would only have had yourselves to 
 thank. As it is, you will each of you go upstairs to your 
 respective bedrooms and remain there until tea-time. 
 Walk!" 
 
 Perto, waved to the door, made for it in a sulky sham- 
 ble. Robina, with blazing eyes and crimson ears, wheeled 
 in the act of following him, and rebelliously addressed 
 Miss Twigger : 
 
 "When Perto and me were sent down here, it was to 
 get our skins changed in country air, and not to be scold- 
 ed and punished." 
 
 "Leave the room, Robina Grayson !" commanded Miss 
 Twigger, indicating the doorway with a red and knuckly 
 finger adorned with three or four very loosely-fitting old- 
 fashioned rings. 
 
 "We don't want to stay in your old room !" said Ro- 
 bina loudly. "We don't want to stop in your poky old 
 cottage. We don't like it! We don't like your cat, and 
 we don't like you! And I shall write and tell mother 
 so, and ask her to send for us to be sent home to Lon- 
 don." 
 
 "You will, will you?" demanded Miss Twigger, as 
 Shackleton-Peary, folding his forepaws comfortably on 
 her black silk shoulder, hoisted his tail as high as possible, 
 and waved it as if in triumph. 
 
 "That's what I've said," retorted Robina. 
 
 "And suppose Mrs. Grayson doesn't want to have you 
 back?" demanded Miss Twigger again. 
 
 "She will want to," said Perto bluffly as Robina fal- 
 tered, "when she knows how beastly you and your cat, 
 and your cottage and your village are !" 
 
 "Are you aware, you extremely uneducated little boy," 
 asked Miss Twigger, after a brief but scorching pause,
 
 124 'A Sailor's Home 
 
 "that you are addressing the trusted companion and per- 
 manent housekeeper of the late the Venerable Mrs. Arch- 
 deacon Whidderall, and that my cat is the handsomest 
 cat, and my lodgings the most respectable lodgings, and 
 the village the most picturesque and healthy village in all 
 England?" 
 
 "Not to mention the United Kingdom of Great Britain 
 and Ireland and the Dominions Beyond the Seas!" put 
 in Robina pertly. She knew that the words were pert, 
 for they gave her a twinge of uneasiness in speaking 
 them, just as if she had bitten upon a hard piece of toffee 
 with a loose tooth. To disguise this she looked out of the 
 parlour window just as the sun shone out brightly, and 
 old Mrs. Shakerly's niece, a mild-looking elderly woman 
 with a patient, worried air, went by, pushing old Mrs. 
 Shakerly in her Bath chair. 
 
 Now, old Mrs. Shakerly was the pride of Mold End, 
 since Mold End had recognised her as its oldest inhab- 
 itant. Generations of villagers had held her in disesteem 
 as a covetous, quarrelsome and not too clean, temperate 
 or honest old person, until the Vicar, who had been pre- 
 sented to the living a twelvemonth previously, sweeping 
 through the Parish registers with the ardour of a new 
 broom, had happened upon the entry of her birth, and 
 discovered her age to be ninety-nine. After that Mold 
 End regarded the old lady as its glory rather than its dis- 
 grace. Upon the morning of her hundredth birthday she 
 had been awakened by the strains of the local choir, and 
 upon its evening serenaded by the Club Band. A plated 
 teapot and a new Paisley shawl had been subscribed for 
 and presented to her with an Address signed by one hun- 
 dred taxpayers, and finally she had been the recipient of 
 a gracious message from Royalty, congratulating her 
 upon the attainment of so great an age, and accompanied 
 by the welcome gift of a new sovereign. 
 
 All this was fresh in the memory of Miss Twigger,
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 125 
 
 having, in fact, only happened the week before. She 
 gazed at the nodding black-bonneted old head in the Bath 
 chair with veneration, and when it had passed by, fol- 
 lowed by the shabby straw hat and mild, sheepish profile 
 of old Mrs. Shakerly's much enduring niece, she raised 
 the red, bony, ringed hand and pointed to the receding 
 object of her admiration, saying to Robina, who still re- 
 belliously lingered upon the parlour doormat: 
 
 "Look there, Robina Grayson. Do you suppose a little 
 girl as rude, and ill-bred, and ill-behaved as you are, will 
 ever be congratulated by His Majesty King George the 
 Fifth upon her hundredth birthday?" 
 
 The taunt cut deep into Robina's self-esteem, though 
 had she stayed to reflect, she would probably have realised 
 that the most polite, well brought up and nicely mannered 
 of little girls must, necessarily, however long she re- 
 mained one, be subject to an equally painful deprivation. 
 Her lips quivered, her face flushed, and choking down her 
 rising tears, she temptestuously quitted the parlour, 
 rushed up the narrow stairs to her little slant-ceilinged 
 attic bedroom, banged and locked the door, threw herself 
 down on the small iron bedstead with the bumpy flock 
 mattress and bolster, the chintz petticoat valance, and the 
 knobby counterpane, and gave vent to a burst of indig- 
 nant tears. 
 
 If you think Robina's conduct childish, you must pity 
 her for not being quite as sensible as you yourself were 
 at the age of ten. And Robina was some five days short 
 of that. The thought of spending her birthday at Miss 
 Twigger's lodgings was fraught with undeniable gloom. 
 She got up from the bed presently, and dried her swollen 
 eyes, and sat down at the little rickety round table in the 
 window to write her threatened letter to her mother, be- 
 fore a notion budded in her brain that presently opened 
 and disclosed such a wonderful plan that its inventor 
 could hardly contemplate it without screaming. But Ro-
 
 126 A Sailor's Home 
 
 bina stuffed a pink-spotted cotton handkerchief into her 
 mouth, and the scream could not squeeze by, fortunately 
 or unfortunately. 
 
 For the next thing Robina did was to select from a 
 special compartment of her desk a small sheet of shining 
 rose-pink note-paper with a large gilt R in the top left- 
 hand corner, and the address "Mold End, Nr. Plashing- 
 ford, Werks," stamped on the upper right-hand side. 
 You bought them at the Post Office already stamped with 
 any initial you wanted, and the address, paying two- 
 pence for three sheets and an envelope to match, though 
 the cost had only been a penny before the war. And dip- 
 ping the pen very carefully, and shaking the blob of ink 
 off the nib-end on the faded carpet, Robina wrote "La- 
 burnum Cottage" above the "Mold End," and then, with 
 a trembling hand "Your Madjesty," and knew by the 
 odd look of the word that she had spelt it wrong and 
 must take another sheet of the pink note. 
 
 This she did, and bit the pen-end in a silent agony of 
 reflection before she began again. "Your Magesty" 
 looked little less promising and there was only one more 
 sheet of the pink note left. With the boldness of despera- 
 tion, Robina selected this, wrote "Laburnum Cottage" 
 once more, and with a gasp began afresh: 
 
 "Dear King." 
 
 That seemed to her critical taste a little familiar. So 
 she added "George V." and felt pleased. After that 
 things went quite smoothly and the finished letter ran 
 like this 
 
 "Laburnum Cottage 
 "Mold End, 
 
 "Nr. Plashingford, 
 
 "Werks. 
 "DEAR KING GEORGE V., 
 
 "I am staying in this village because of being
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 127 
 
 icolated having had german meesles though pur British 
 by dissent and eddukation and mearly thought your Ma- 
 gesty might like to know that on Sepptember 6th, which 
 will be in a weak, I shall be 10 years old. Hoping this 
 leaves you as it finds me, 
 "I am, 
 
 "Your affexionate Subbgect, 
 
 "ROBINA GRAYSON." 
 
 How drunkenly the words stood on the paper ! Robina 
 understood by that how her hand must have shaken as 
 she wrote. But the composition was quite good. Nobody 
 would ever believe a little girl of not quite ten could have 
 written it out of her own head. And then tears welled 
 into Robina's round gray eyes as she realised how unim- 
 portant a thing it must seem to a King to have a subject 
 ten years old. 
 
 "They're like pictures and china and violins they 
 must be awfully old to be of any value !" she said under 
 her breath. 
 
 And then, on an instant it happened. Robina had 
 taken up the still inky pen, added another 1 before the 10, 
 blotted it with her newest piece of blotting-paper, and 
 gummed it securely inside the envelope almost before she 
 knew what she was doing. On the envelope she in- 
 scribed : 
 
 "THE KING, 
 
 "Buckingham Pallas, 
 "London." 
 
 She blotted that, stuck a stamp in the corner and felt 
 reassured, because the bearded face of the gentleman 
 upon it looked so good-natured and kind. Then, just 
 before the noisy little bell tinkled that summoned the 
 young Graysons to Miss Twigger's five o'clock tea-table,
 
 128 A Sailor's Home 
 
 the gate-bell rang, and Polly Thwaite the postman-girl 
 came in and went up the path that led to the side-door, 
 counting a handful of letters as she went. When Polly 
 delivered them and came back again, her eyes were free 
 to look about. She caught a glimpse of Robina's flushed 
 face looking through the open window under the still 
 dripping thatch of the attic gable, and nodded good- 
 humouredly. "Nothin' for 'e, missie," she said, for Ro- 
 bina was a favourite of Polly's. "Nothin' for 'e this 
 toime." 
 
 "I know. I didn't expect . . . Perhaps there will be 
 a letter for me inside one to Miss Twigger," Robina said 
 loudly, leaning out. Then showing Polly a corner of the 
 pink envelope . . . "Will you post this for me? Care- 
 fully?" she asked with an effort. 
 
 "A'right!" nodded Polly. "Drop tin in my apern!" 
 she added, extending the blue checked garment, and Ro- 
 bina let go the pink envelope and saw it flutter down 
 safely and vanish in Polly's pocket without Polly having 
 once glanced at the address. And then the little bell 
 tinkled again, and Robina ran downstairs to partake of 
 war bread and margarine-cum-butter, weak tea and 
 "Shaker" oats, moistened with milk and with last year's 
 green gooseberry jam to help the stodgy stuff down. 
 
 But all Robina's rebellious resentment and indignation 
 had exhaled in the writing of that letter. She was twitted 
 by Miss Twigger about the stains of ink upon her fingers, 
 and took the nagging meekly. She even asked for and 
 obtained permission to offer to Shackleton-Peary, whose 
 appetite for all descriptions of food was as boundless as 
 his appetite for mischief, the larger half of her portion 
 of "Shaker" oats, of course without jam, and submitted 
 to hear the act referred to as a tardy atonement for her 
 ill-usage of an affectionate and playful animal. 
 
 In fact, for the whole of the day upon which that fate- 
 ful pink envelope had fluttered out of the window, and
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 129 
 
 for a week of days following, Robina was as meek as 
 nearly could be a model little girl. So much a model, 
 that Miss Twigger began quite to "take to the child," as 
 she expressed it, while the submissive attitude of the 
 taken-to one with regard to Shackleton-Peary evoked the 
 contempt of Perto, and deprived Miss Twigger*s sportive 
 favourite of a great deal of fun. By the time Robina's 
 birthday arrived, and it advanced as slowly as birthdays 
 have a knack of doing, Robina had nearly forgotten the 
 letter. But whether she remembered it or not, she had 
 written it and posted it, and so set working machinery 
 of a highly elaborate kind. As she was fated to discover 
 before very long. 
 
 n 
 
 I shall not try to describe the presents received by 
 Robina upon her birthday morning. Everything Robina 
 had thoughtfully named in advance to grown-up relatives 
 as likely to be most acceptable to a little girl upon her 
 tenth birthday was contained in the parcels, with several 
 other things of which Robina had not thought. Perto 
 gave her a new fishing-line with a quill float, his own be- 
 ing out of repair. As Robina hated fishing and would not 
 own a rod, the prudent Perto thus combined the credit of 
 generosity with the certainty of personal advantage. Red- 
 cheeked Emma had furbished up a pincushion bordered 
 with somewhat dusty shells, and Polly Thwaite, the post- 
 girl, who had heard of the approaching anniversary from 
 Emma, sent three bunches of very green watercress tied 
 up in the previous day's issue of the local newspaper. 
 
 Mrs. Grayson had particularly stipulated that there 
 should be no interference upon Miss Twigger's part with 
 the home correspondence of the young Graysons. Con- 
 sequently, the armful of attractive-looking packages de- 
 posited by the red-cheeked Emma upon Robina's bed
 
 130 A Sailor's Home 
 
 on the birthday morning was accompanied by half-a- 
 dozen pleasant-looking envelopes that had undergone no 
 previous examination by the sharp eyes behind the shiny 
 spectacles of the trusted companion and permanent house- 
 keeper of the Venerable Mrs. Archdeacon Whidderall. 
 
 Robina's father sent a blue Postal Order for seven-and- 
 sixpence inside his letter. Nurse enclosed a shilling 
 wrapped up in pink blotting-paper in the corner of hers. 
 Aunt Ethelberta's heliotrope envelope, directed in her 
 well-known, square-cut hand, might possibly contain an- 
 other Postal Order for ten shillings, and proved to do so. 
 There was another envelope, larger, squarer than any of 
 the others, with a small crimson Crown Imperial upon 
 the envelope-flap, and the address upon the thick creamy 
 white paper was type-written, and rather odd : 
 
 "To MRS. or Miss ROBINA GRAYSON, 
 "Laburnum Cottage, 
 "Mold End, 
 "Plashingford, 
 "Werks." 
 
 it ran. And Robina's heart gave a great heavy bump 
 against the front of her frilled nightgown, and the roof of 
 her mouth went dry as bone, as she noticed on the flap 
 of the envelope that quite small, quite unostentatious 
 Imperial Crown stamped in brilliant red. 
 
 Then you might have heard Robina give a little shrill 
 scream like a shot rabbit it is not a nice thing to hear 
 as she dived in one moment, down under the bedclothes 
 right to the bottom of the bed. Some of the presents 
 stayed on the quilt, the others, those that were at all 
 heavy or topply, shot, bounced or rolled off the upheaved 
 coverlet in various directions. Robina never thought of 
 them, or of anything but the awful letter she yet held 
 clutched tightly in her hand. Down in the stuffy dark at
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 131 
 
 the bed-bottom she realised, perhaps imperfectly, but yet 
 horribly enough, what the kind of ball was that her push 
 had set rolling. And it was a spherical mass of retribu- 
 tion, heavy as granite or as lead. 
 
 She was very pale when she came up for air, exactly 
 as the sea-lion at the Zoological Gardens bounces up in 
 the middle of his circular railed-in pond. Her eyes 
 bulged quite as glassily as the sea-lion's, though her hair 
 was much less sleek. She had got to read the letter 
 and the bare thought seemed to set each dishevelled lock 
 bristling on her head. Her small childish hands shook as 
 she opened the dreadful envelope and drew out the fold- 
 ed sheet. Underneath a second small red crown the type- 
 writing began again. It was it was the answer to Ro- 
 bina's letter to the King ! And the answer, in very short 
 lines, ran like this: 
 
 "Lord Stanfordhurst is commanded by the 
 King to thank Mrs. or Miss Robina Grayson 
 for her letter, and to wish her many happy 
 returns of the anniversary of her 110th 
 birthday, occurring on the date of September 
 6th." 
 
 That was all, yet how much it signified. 
 
 It meant for one thing that Robina Grayson, the loyal 
 and affectionate subject of His Majesty had told a lie to 
 her Sovereign. 
 
 It meant, for another, that Miss Twigger, in calling the 
 said Robina Grayson ill-bred, had been perfectly 
 right. 
 
 It signified yet more. . . . The getting-up bell tinkled 
 shrilly before Robina had worked out that third signifi- 
 cance. And then the conviction that in deceiving her 
 monarch she had committed High Treason and stood in 
 danger of being imprisoned in the Tower of London if
 
 132 A Sailor's Home 
 
 not of being beheaded or shot, or hanged, nearly sent her 
 down to the bottom of the bed again. 
 
 But Robina managed to get washed and dressed, 
 though she looked very queer when she was finished. Her 
 appearance seemed to strike Miss Twigger, for when she 
 had said Grace and begun to pour out the breakfast 
 coffee, she glanced quite kindly at the conscience-stricken 
 Robina and said : 
 
 "I hope you mayn't be sickening for a relapse of those 
 German measles, child. You look like it !" 
 
 "Do I ?" faltered Robina. She rubbed her pale cheeks 
 with her handkerchief and looked at the handkerchief 
 absently. 
 
 "If your friends and relations were so disloyal to their 
 country as to permit you to catch a complaint with a 
 name like that and so disregardful of the injunctions of 
 the Food Controller as to send you sweets for a birthday 
 present," said Miss Twigger, "you ought to have had 
 the sense not to begin on 'em before your breakfast. But 
 it's no use talking. The thing's done! And all the 
 King's horses and all King's men can't undo it!" 
 
 Robina jumped, the words sounded so fateful, and 
 turned, first so red and then so pale, that Miss Twigger 
 broke off her breakfast in the middle, mixed her young 
 charge a hot half -cupful of soda-mint, and sent her to lie 
 down in the best parlour. 
 
 "And Emma will put you to bed if you don't feel better 
 as the morning wears," said Miss Twigger. "It's un- 
 lucky that I'm obliged to go out this morning, but I have 
 to call at the Vicarage. The Vicar wants to see me about 
 some business, his note says, but it's not very clear: he 
 seems not to be quite sure what the business is, himself." 
 And she went away and put on her stiff bonnet and black 
 beaded mantle, her square-toed walking shoes, her long- 
 fingered black kid gloves, took her horn-handled umbrella 
 and departed with a final warning, while Robina lay upon
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 133 
 
 the slippery hair-cloth sofa, and felt like nothing but a 
 crushed worm. 
 
 m 
 
 Perto peeped into the parlour presently, and seeing his 
 sister's eyes wide open, approached the sofa. 
 
 "Did you like my pr'wesent ?" he asked, looking slightly 
 mean. 
 
 "Ever so !" answered Robina, who was in the peculiarly 
 humble mood that returns extravagant thanks for minute 
 favours. "It was frightfully good of you to buy me that 
 fishing-line," she continued, "and I promise you I'll never 
 part with it, not to anybody !" 
 
 Perto wriggled rather. 
 
 "That's all r'wight," he said awkwardly. "I was 
 r'wather afr'waid that you'd want me to take it back, as 
 you don't ever go fishing and I do. But I'm glad you're 
 pleased. I say! Here's somebody coming." 
 
 To the accompaniment of the tuff-tuffing of a motor- 
 bicycle the straw-hatted upper half of a young gentleman 
 had previously shot past the top of the green privet hedge 
 that enclosed the prim little front garden. The snort of 
 the machine, suddenly arrested in mid-career had fol- 
 lowed. Now the green-pointed wooden front gate swung 
 open and the young gentleman came in, wheeling his mo- 
 tor-bicycle and holding his straw hat in the hand he 
 wheeled with, while he wiped his heated forehead with a 
 pink and yellow silk handkerchief held in the other. The 
 forehead was very tall and the young gentleman was very 
 dusty and hot. He kicked out the stands and propped 
 his machine in front of the neatly-whitened doorsteps, 
 then he dived under the porch and a brisk rat-tat-tat and 
 bell-ring followed the dive. In the distance the heavy 
 feet of Emma could be heard moving towards the door.
 
 134 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "I wonder who that man is and what he wants?" said 
 Perto. 
 
 "He wants Miss Twigger, I suppose," said Robina, 
 sitting up on the sofa, and wondering if any little girl had 
 ever had such an uncheerful birthday before. "And 
 Emma's telling him she's not at home." 
 
 Emma put her head in at the parlour door then. There 
 was a queer expression on her round fresh face. 
 
 "A gentleman from Plashingford," she said, "and he 
 wants to see you, miss." 
 
 Robina was re-tying the blue silk bow that usually 
 fastened back her top hair. If she had not held on tight 
 to both ends of the ribbon she must have dropped. 
 
 "You're mistaken," she faltered. "He means Miss 
 Twigger." 
 
 "He don't," said Emma. ' 'Twas Miss Robina Gray- 
 son as pat as you please. Only " and here Emma's 
 
 eyes vanished in mirthful pink creases, "he says, 'Will 
 the old lady see me?' instead of 'will the young.' He's a 
 funny gentleman. And he comes from the office of The 
 Plashingford Trumpeter. That's the newspaper missus 
 doesn't take in because the politics be Radical. She has 
 The County Indicator, and what be I to say? Will you 
 see the gentleman? He says it's of particular impor- 
 tance." And Emma, in whose cotton under-pocket a 
 shilling was burning, jerked her chin in the direction of 
 the hall door. 
 
 "But what does he want to see me for?" hesitated 
 Robina. 
 
 "Maybe," said Emma, grinning, "because to-day's your 
 birthday. Shan't I show him in?" 
 
 Robina felt sick in spite of the soda-mint. She drooped 
 her head, speechlessly, and Emma popped back into the 
 hall. Next moment she ushered in the young gentleman. 
 He began a respectful bow, which ended in a start. He 
 was dressed in a gray knicker bocker cycling suit with
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 135 
 
 green stockings with ornamental tops and brown shoes, 
 which like the rest of him, were dusty, and he wore gilt- 
 framed eyeglasses which sat rather crookedly on a high- 
 bridged pink nose. Through the glasses he stared at 
 Robina, and then his eyes began to twinkle, and he 
 showed rather a nice set of long white teeth in an amused 
 laugh. 
 
 "This is a rummy start !" remarked the young gentle- 
 man, looking pleasantly from Robina to Perto and back 
 again. "Now I know why the girl she's rather pretty! 
 seemed tickled. Her joke, of course. And I'm fond 
 of jokes, if I had time to enjoy 'em." He drew from 
 an outer pocket in his coat a fat notebook with a khaki 
 cover, and extracting a shiny black fountain pen from 
 another pocket uncapped it, flipped it in the air and 
 tried the point critically on his thumb, saying: "But if 
 I'm to get an interview with Miss Robina Grayson 
 or is it Mrs.? published in to-morrow's issue of The 
 Plashingford Trumpeter and that's what our Boss has 
 set his heart on I've got to look slippy. For worlds I 
 wouldn't have that fellow Mounteney of The County In- 
 dicator get in first " He broke off as the sound of 
 
 wheels plashing through the drying puddles in the road 
 came to his ears. The garden gate clicked as the young 
 gentleman spoke the last three words. He looked sharp- 
 ly towards the window and frowned, as a resounding 
 double knock shook the walls of Laburnum Cottage, and 
 Robina looked towards the window too, and saw that an 
 ancient four-wheeled cab drawn by a decrepit steed 
 stood before the garden gate, upon which its driver 
 leaned, in familiar conversation with the person who was 
 knocking. 
 
 "Never 'card of the old lady myself," Robina heard 
 him saying. "But live and learn." Next moment Em- 
 ma opened the parlour door. 
 
 "Another gentleman to see you, Miss Robina," she
 
 136 A Sailor's Home 
 
 choked out, and as the gentleman entered she banged the 
 door behind him, and fled, crowing with laughter, down 
 the passage. 
 
 "Your servant, madam," said the gentleman who had 
 entered. Elderly, stout and bald, with a fiercely-waxed 
 moustache, he was dressed, to describe him from the feet 
 upwards, in rather cracked patent-leather boots, rather 
 baggy brown trousers, rather a seedy black frock-coat, 
 rather a soiled white vest, frayed and ink-stained, rather 
 a greasy red necktie, and rather a cheap onyx tie-pin. 
 His notebook was ready in his hand, his eyes looked weak 
 and short-sighted, and he mechanically felt for his eye- 
 glasses as he bowed vaguely to Robina, who sat upon the 
 sofa, not because she was lacking in good manners, but 
 because her legs had gone soft and jellified, as it seemed 
 to her, and were incapable of holding her up. 
 
 "Permit me to introduce myself, madam, as Mr. Moun- 
 teney of The County Indicator," said the new gentleman, 
 busily feeling for the eyeglasses which hung at the full 
 extent of their thin black cord down the middle of his 
 portly back. "This is a memorable and a remarkable 
 anniversary, the second, too, of the kind within a fort- 
 night, and the Trumpeter having got in before us on that 
 occasion they have a very pushing person on their staff 
 named Ticking our Chief, madam, was desirous to 
 secure an interview with you as a special attraction for 
 to-morrow. Dear me ! where are those glasses ?" 
 
 "Hanging down the middle of your back," said the 
 young gentleman in the cycling suit. "It's a fact," he 
 added, "as sure as that pushing person of the name of 
 Ticking has got in before you again." 
 
 The stout gentleman, red to the top of his baldness, 
 muttered a word that was lost in his moustache, and 
 revolved in search of the missing eyeglasses, which Perto 
 considerately found and handed him. Then he turned to 
 Robina and made another bow.
 
 iThe Oldest Inhabitant 137 
 
 "Madam," he took the eyeglasses in both hands, "let 
 me hope that the enquiries of Mr. Ticking have not pre- 
 judiced you so strongly in disfavour of Press interview- 
 ers that you cannot grant me the privilege of a brief con- 
 versation. I am aware, madam, that German measles, 
 contracted at the venerable and remarkable age you have 
 to-day attained, cannot but be weakening to the system. 
 But you have happily recovered. Your family, your 
 friends, your native village may without presumption 
 hope to keep you for some years to come. Without re- 
 garding that hopeful future, madam, may I ask you to 
 give the many readers of The County Indicator a peep 
 into your checquered and profoundly interesting past." 
 He put on his glasses, and his suave composure vanished. 
 His eyes rounded, his cheeks became crimson, his mouth 
 opened and words came bursting out: 
 
 "Great Jehoshaphat !" he shouted, "I've been talking to 
 a little girl !" 
 
 "Oh, my hat !" gurgled Mr. Ticking, who had dropped 
 on Miss Twigger's shiny American cloth-covered arm- 
 chair and now lay back holding his sides in convulsions 
 of laughter. "Oh, my hat! if you'd only seen yourself, 
 
 Mounteney, and heard and heard " His tearful 
 
 eyes ran over, he crowed and panted and gasped in 
 ecstasies of laughter, and Perto laughed too, he did it so 
 queerly. 
 
 "If this is a joke," said Mr. Mounteney with quivering 
 red cheeks, bristling moustache, and eyes that were fierce 
 behind his eyeglasses, "I'm hanged if I see it! I called 
 at this house to see Miss or Mrs. Robina Grayson. Does 
 she live here or does she not ? Reply, young lady !" His 
 fierce little eyes dug into Robina and screwed an answer 
 out. 
 
 "She does live here. And she is Miss Robina Grayson 
 and not Mrs. ? 
 
 "Good, so far !" said Mr. Mounteney, folding his arms.
 
 138 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Now, official intelligence having reached our Editorial 
 Department that to-day is the hundred and tenth anni- 
 versary of Miss Robina Grayson's birth " 
 
 "What?" yelled Perto suddenly. 
 
 "Don't interrupt, my boy," said Mr. Mounteney, giving 
 Perto a glare of warning. "To-day," he went on, "com- 
 pleting the hundred and tenth year of this venerable 
 lady, and a local Movement having its rise in our county 
 town being on foot to celebrate the occasion which has 
 already been marked by a gracious letter of congratula- 
 tion from His Majesty the King " 
 
 "Bosh!" muttered Perto, quite audibly. 
 
 "Myself and my colleague," put in Mr. Tickling glibly, 
 as Mr. Mounteney turned to freeze Pero with another 
 stare, "have been commissioned by our respective Bosses, 
 to call in, look at the letter, and look up the lady in the 
 way of Biz." 
 
 "Correct as to the general definition of purpose in 
 calling," said Mr. Mounteney frostily, "But I must pro- 
 test against the term colleague, as applied by you to my- 
 self. Neither is my respected Chief to be lightly " 
 
 "Oh, very well ! Don't upset yourself !" said Mr. Tick- 
 ing easily. "Now, missy," he added, addressing Robina, 
 time's precious. Will Miss Robina Grayson see 
 us?" 
 
 Robina racked her brain for a reply. Then she heard 
 herself say : "You're seeing me now. I am Miss Robina 
 Grayson." 
 
 "Which accounts for the mix-up!" said Mr. Ticking, 
 who had got out of the armchair. He produced his note- 
 book as he spoke, and held his fountain pen ready. 
 "Charmed to have the pleasure, Miss Robina. But the 
 old lady is, slangily speaking, my game !" 
 
 "And mine," said Mr. Mounteney. Both men looked 
 eagerly at Robina, and her straight black brows frowned 
 at them over her angry gray eyes.
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 139 
 
 "She doesn't want to see either of you!" she said with 
 perfect truth, and was pleased to see how limp both of the 
 unwelcome visitors went all in a moment. 
 
 "Young lady," began Mr. Mounteney, bending towards 
 her and speaking quite as though Robina were quite 
 grown up, "could you but prevail upon your venerable 
 and revered relative to grant a brief interview to me as 
 the representative of an old established family newspaper 
 of sound Unionist views, you would confer upon our 
 readers the list of whom embraces every person of re- 
 spectability and standing within a radius of eleven 
 miles " 
 
 "I like that !" burst out Mr. Ticking. 
 
 " You would confer a favour upon the public," went 
 on Mr. Mounteney, looking full at Mr. Ticking without 
 seeming to see him, "and a boon upon myself." 
 
 "Look here, little lady," urged Mr. Ticking, returning 
 Mr. Mounteney's glassy stare and speaking to Robina, 
 "I've biked five miles to get hold of some personal par- 
 ticulars, and I can guarantee as representative of a high- 
 class Liberal newspaper that they will not, if given, be 
 used in an offensive, or ill-bred, or illiterate manner, 
 and that their publication will be of interest to a large 
 community of paying subscribers and of profit to our- 
 selves. We don't give away our paper," he continued, 
 continuing to look hard at Mr. Mounteney, "we sell it. 
 And people who want reliable information and the latest 
 local and political news for nothing, are welcome to go 
 and borrow the rag they publish on the other side of the 
 street, though they don't get what they are looking for." 
 
 "Won't they?" sneered Mr. Mounteney, contemptuous- 
 
 ly. 
 
 "No, they won't!" retorted Mr. Ticking belligerently, 
 "unless you happen to have boiled down the best of our 
 previous issue's intelligence into a column of passably de- 
 cent 'pars.' "
 
 140 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Sir!" burst out Mr. Mounteney passionately, "I in- 
 dignantly spurn the accusation! I grind it beneath my 
 heel with contempt!" 
 
 "Spurn away !" retorted Mr. Ticking, red from his tall, 
 stiff double collar to the parting of his curly fair hair. 
 "Grind as much as you like, but unless you want to lose 
 the readers who are subscribers, you'll go on gathering up 
 the Trumpeter's crumbs." 
 
 "Look here!" began the purple Mounteney. But 
 Robina's desire to get rid of him, as of his adversary, 
 overcame her alarm. 
 
 "Oh, please don't quarrel!" she begged. "Or if you 
 must, do do it somewhere else!" 
 
 There was a pause. Both men looked rather silly. 
 
 "Ticking," said Mr. Mounteney, "I am your elder by 
 a year or so." He purpled still more as Mr. Ticking, with 
 a glance downwards at his own slim figure and another at 
 his youngish reflection in the greenish little mantel-mirror, 
 seemed to add, "And the rest!" "But," continued Mr. 
 Mounteney, "at the entreaty of this innocent child, I am 
 ready to set you an example of magnanimity." He 
 extended a short, fat hand, encircled by a palpably paper 
 cuff, covered with notes in violet-ink pencil, and contained 
 in a frayed sleeve. "Ticking, I apologise. At this mo- 
 ment when our country strives in the welter of War with 
 the treacherous Teuton, let us bury the hatchet of our 
 private animosities, and admit the ah, the existence of 
 the Tie of Race. We are British subjects, Ticking, uni- 
 ted in the firm determination to present an unblenching 
 front to the Hun our common enemy. In the name of 
 our country, I suggest that we shake hands !" 
 
 "I'm agreeable if you are," responded Mr. Ticking. "I 
 don't deny about our both being British though you have 
 been British so many years longer than I have and to 
 put it personally, carry so much frontage, that you're not 
 likely ever to see the Front."
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 141 
 
 He shook hands without enthusiasm afterwards, fur- 
 tively for Robina saw the action wiping his hand upon 
 the pink and yellow silk handkerchief. 
 
 "And now, Missy," he said to Robina, getting his note- 
 book ready and for the twentieth time shaking up his 
 fountain pen, "won't you tell us something about this 
 dear old soul?" 
 
 "She is your great-aunt, I presume?" put in Mr. Moun- 
 teney; holding a stump of violet-ink pencil suspended 
 over his left cuff. Robina shook her head. 
 
 "Not great aunt !" said Mr. Mounteney and Mr. Tick- 
 ing, speaking together and simultaneously jotting some- 
 thing down. "What relation, then?" 
 
 Robina felt her head going round inside. She was 
 awfully conscious of the round astonished stare of Perto, 
 who at first had stood leaning his back against the parlour 
 window-shutter, but who had been during this amazing 
 interview gradually sinking lower, until he now squatted 
 on a Berlin wool hassock upon the Kidderminster carpet 
 with the top of his head on a level with the window-sill, 
 and the tops of his eyebrows nearly touching his hair. 
 But she had to say something, and she said it in a small, 
 weak, flat voice : "Not my real great-aunt, that is. My 
 adopted great-aunt." 
 
 Both men wrote something down, stopped in the middle 
 of it and looked interrogatively at Robina. 
 
 "You mean, of course, that you're her adopted great- 
 niece?" said Mr. Ticking. 
 
 "I mean nothing of the kind," said Robina a little 
 angrily. "The adopting," she continued, "was on my 
 side. I I wanted a great-aunt rather particularly, and 
 she hadn't any great-niece. . . . So it was arranged like 
 that." 
 
 "You were relatives, of course. I judge by your 
 names," said Mr. Mounteney, "being similar." 
 
 '"I gave her that name," stated Robina, feeling as if
 
 142 A Sailor's Home 
 
 she were sliding down a smooth ice mountain with a 
 bottomless abyss at the foot of it. 
 
 " Gave her that name !" said Ticking and Mounteney 
 quickly. Then they both looked up, and Robina said 
 desperately : 
 
 "She hadn't any name of her own, you know. So I 
 had her christened soon after I found her." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed both the journalists, fixing circular 
 eyes of astonishment upon Robina. 
 
 "Be so good as to let us have details," said Mr. Moun- 
 teney, who was beginning to breathe wheezily. "Ticking, 
 this promises well for both of us !" he said, looking across 
 the room at Mr. Ticking, who was lying back in the arm- 
 chair, his legs crossed, so that his right knee was upon a 
 level with his eyelids, and the notebook resting on his 
 waistcoat, as he rapidly filled page after page with short- 
 hand whirls and quirks. 
 
 "Where did you find her when you found her?" de- 
 manded Mr. Ticking, not noticing Mr. Mounteney, but 
 turning his eyes on Robina over the top of his own left 
 knee. 
 
 "On the the sands at Lyme Regis," blurted out 
 Robina, grasping at a recollection of the previous year's 
 seaside holiday; "she had been abandoned," she added, 
 "by some quite common people who wanted to get rtd 
 of her, and had gone back to London by the Excursion 
 Return. And of course she was dreadfully thin, and 
 mewing with hunger." 
 
 " 'Mewing with hunger' is a picturesque way of ex- 
 pressing it," observed Ticking, who had been writing 
 ravenously. "Something Kiplingesque about it, to me." 
 
 "Reserve comments, please!" said Mr. Mounteney, 
 who had nearly covered the blank part of his left cuff. 
 "Did you never trace the wretches who had deserted 
 her?" 
 
 "Never !" said Robina, conscious of Perto's start.
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 143 
 
 "She was then, of course, far advanced in the vale of 
 years?" said Mounteney, rubbing his nose. 
 
 "How old?" asked Ticking. 
 
 "Six weeks, Nurse guessed," said Robina wearily. 
 
 "Come, come!" said Mr. Ticking, looking reproach- 
 fully over the top of his knee at Robina. 
 
 "This is serious, you know !" added Mounteney. 
 
 "You can't mean," said Ticking, "that you only found 
 and adopted this old lady as your great-aunt six weeks 
 ago?" 
 
 "That's just what I do mean !" said Robina, defiantly, 
 and the indelible ink pencil and the fountain pen gobbled 
 up the statement greedily. 
 
 "Is the old lady an early riser?" Ticking was begin- 
 ning. 
 
 "Ah, yes. As to habits and predilections," added 
 Mounteney. "We shall be glad of some information " 
 
 "Does she get up early and eat heartily?" interrupted 
 Ticking. 
 
 "She never gets up," said Robina, more wearily still. 
 
 "Prostrate since the unnatural wretches deserted her 
 
 " muttered Mounteney, who had taken off his left 
 
 cuff so as to be able to write upon the inside part. 
 
 "CAST ADRIFT," muttered Ticking reading from his 
 notebook. "That goes into spaced caps, of course !" 
 
 "THROWN UPON THE MERCY OF A COLD AND HEARTLESS 
 WORLD," quoted Mounteney from his cuff. He sucked the 
 end of his pencil and hastily wiped his mouth with his 
 handkerchief. "We may take it, then," he said to Robina, 
 "that Miss Grayson is practically bedridden?" 
 
 "She is not bedridden," said Robina, "because she 
 never goes to bed, you see." 
 
 Both the fountain pen and the ink pencil devoured this 
 piece of information ravenously. 
 
 "As to diet, now?" hinted Ticking, looking up with 
 half an eye.
 
 144 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "She doesn't diet!" snapped Robina, who felt like a 
 groaded bull. 
 
 "FOLLOWS NO REGIME," read Mr. Ticking, mouthing 
 the words as if they were all going to be printed in capi- 
 tals. "NOURISHED ON NORMAL FOOD." 
 
 "HER MARVELLOUS DIGESTION," murmured Mounteney, 
 as he wrote, "MIGHT PROVOKE ENVY OF MODERN LUCUL- 
 LUS. Couldn't you name a favourite dish or so?" He 
 looked enquiringly at Robina. 
 
 "Beefsteaks," said a voice that made both journalists 
 jump, and Robina's heart knock against the front of her 
 black alpaca schoolroom apron. The voice was Perto's. 
 "Beefsteaks, underdone, and toasted Dutch cheese." 
 
 "Great Scott !" gasped Mr. Ticking, jotting it down in 
 feverish haste. "Anything else?" 
 
 "Macaroons," said Robina, before Perto could get out 
 the word. 
 
 "And potted lobster," said Perto loudly. 
 
 "HALE CENTENARIAN'S COMPREHENSIVE RANGE OF 
 DIETETIC PREFERENCES," muttered Mounteney, "PROVES 
 
 STAYING POWERS OF CONSERVATIVE OF ANCIENT REGIME." 
 
 "Politics tabooed," said Ticking, without looking up. 
 "As to recreations?" he asked, jerking the question at 
 Robina with his chin. "Does Miss Robina Grayson ever 
 play " 
 
 " A game of cribbage," said Mounteney, taking the 
 question out of Ticking's mouth, "or dummy whist, or 
 indulge in any other recreation?" 
 
 "She skips every morning regularly for half an hour 
 after her cold tub, before breakfast," said Perto loudly, 
 "that's what she does !" 
 
 "Im-possible ! At her age," ejaculated Mounteney. 
 
 "All right, if you know best!" said Perto, staring de- 
 fiantly at Robina. "But if you happened to be in the 
 room underneath hers you'd know !" 
 
 "Well, but at that age ! " argued Mounteney.
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 145 
 
 "It's the reason of her being that age," said Ticking 
 impatiently. "Nothing like regular exercise for keeping 
 people fit." 
 
 "She does Mandow's Physicking Culture Exercises, 
 too," said Perto, "and Juju something Japanese that 
 teaches weak people how to break burglars' wrists and 
 ribs." 
 
 "PHYSICAL CULTURE AND JIU-JITSU PRESERVE VIGOUR 
 TO ONE HUNDRED AND TEN !" muttered Ticking, who had 
 nearly filled his notebook. "Why an old lady like that 
 ought to see us all out! Dancing about at her age as 
 lively as as a cricket." He caught the eyes of Perto 
 here, who promptly said : 
 
 "It was the spider she did the skipping-rope hornpipe 
 with at the Red Cross Entertainment. Not a real 
 spider, you know only a boy dressed up. And she did 
 Britannia afterwards in the Patriotic Tabloid." 
 
 "Next time she does it," said Mr. Ticking heartily, 
 snapping the elastic band round a notebook now filled 
 from cover to cover "tip me the date and I'll be there to 
 see." He glanced at Mounteney, who had exhausted both 
 cuffs and was now taking some final notes on his large 
 pale thumbnail and continued, as he got up, pocketed his 
 notebook, and heartily gripped and shook Robina's limp, 
 cold hand ; "I'm uncommonly obliged to you on my own 
 account and The Plashingford Trumpeter's, and I heart- 
 ily wish your adopted great-aunt may enjoy many more 
 birthdays like this ! Now I'm off. I can't offer you a lift 
 behind me on the chuffer," he said, shaking hands with 
 Perto and addressing Mounteney, "but perhaps that tot- 
 tery old crock in your cab will get you back in better time 
 than he brought you here, as he's eaten almost half of 
 the front-garden hedge." 
 
 Mr. Mounteney received the remark of Mr. Ticking 
 with studied indifference. "Good-bye, young lady," he 
 said to Robina. "Convey my compliments and congratu-
 
 146 A Sailor's Home 
 
 lations to that noble, splendid old soul upstairs, and tell 
 her that I wish there were more ladies like her to set an 
 example to idle and luxurious young ones. A free copy 
 of The County Indicator will be posted to her to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 "Oh, my sacred aunt!" said Ticking, who was just 
 leaving the room. Mr. Mounteney hurried hotly after 
 him to demand a reason for the ejaculation, and the pair 
 could be heard wrangling in the hall as Ticking hunted 
 for his straw hat, and Mr. Mounteney for his umbrella, 
 and then they quarrelled furiously all down the garden. 
 Fascinated, Robina and Perto watched them from the 
 window, and when Ticking mounted his cycle and shot 
 by the cab, shouting a final sarcasm, Mr. Mounteney 
 bellowed return insults from the window until a sharp 
 turn in the village street hid the slim figure of his re- 
 treating rival from his eyes. 
 
 Then the driver turned the debilitated cab-horse round 
 and induced it to follow. And as the cumbrous vehicle 
 slowly moved out of sight, Robina, beside herself with 
 indignation, clutched Perto by the sailor collar of his blue 
 serge jumper and shook him with right good will. 
 
 "How dared you tell such falsehoods, you wicked boy ?" 
 she gasped. 
 
 "How dared you, if it comes to that?" retorted Perto, 
 and Robina, releasing him, groaned and staggered back- 
 wards, thunder-stricken at the appalling truth. Then 
 Perto's expression of mischievous triumph changed. He 
 began to say that he didn't mean anything, but his sister 
 turned pale and red, and burst into tears. 
 
 "I say, don't!" begged Perto, edging near her. 
 
 "Oh, how could I be so wicked?" wailed Robina. 
 "And what a dreadful day I'm having for my birthday! 
 And it's going to be worse still I feel it in my 
 bones! ..." 
 
 Perto edged closer.
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 147 
 
 "What put it into your head to make up such a buster 
 all about an adopted great-aunt a hundred and ten years 
 old !" he added as Robina wrung her hands. "You did it 
 frightfully well! I half believed the old thing was up- 
 stairs all the time!" 
 
 "Eating beefsteaks and potted lobster and doing 
 Mandow's Exercises and skipping!" said Robina coming 
 from behind her apron to deal Perto a glance of scorching 
 indignation. 
 
 "Well, you like those things to eat, and you skip before 
 breakfast and stretch your muscles with those Mandow 
 things," pleaded Perto, standing on one leg as his habit 
 was when abashed. "Jolly!" he exclaimed as a motor- 
 horn tooted and a large red Rolls Royce car whizzed by. 
 "I wish I had a car like that! Why look there! it's 
 stopping at our door !" 
 
 The car had, in fact, been checked at the green gate. 
 It was a landau-limousine of the newest and most ex- 
 pensive kind. I must explain that petrol was procurable 
 by His Majesty's lieges at this early period of the War. 
 And from the seat beside the liveried chauffeur descended 
 a large, beaming short gentleman in a fur-lined overcoat, 
 and from the body of the machine, with the short gentle- 
 man's assistance, descended a thin, active lady, carrying a 
 large bouquet of magnificent hothouse carnations. To- 
 gether they advanced up the narrow garden path, shed- 
 ding smiles on all around them, and immediately a loud, 
 resounding knock, not only double, but of the polyanthus 
 type, made Laburnum Cottage vibrate from the founda- 
 tions to the roof. 
 
 Robina could not speak. She listened with all her ears 
 as Emma, who must have seen the arrival of the visitors 
 over the kitchen window-blind, delayed but the instant 
 necessary for the whisking off of the blue apron that 
 covered an embroidered white one, before she rushed to 
 admit the visitors. Then there was a good deal of tramp-
 
 148 A Sailor's Home 
 
 ling in the passage, the parlour door was violently wrested 
 open, and anounced in Emma's most important tones as 
 "Sir Geoffry and Lady FitzGorringe," the large couple 
 smiled themselves into the room. Sir Geoffry, who had 
 left the fur-lined coat in the hall, proved a portly, long 
 frock-coated, buff-vested, gray-haired, white-spatted gen- 
 tleman without it. Her ladyship, crowned with a vast 
 toque trimmed with a whole spangled Hamburg fowl, and 
 covered with yards and yards of white silk veiling, and 
 wearing a gray silk dust-cloak over a lavender Bengaline 
 dress, was about as much like a ladyship as anything 
 Robina had ever imagined. 
 
 "Have we really the pleasure of seeing Miss Robina 
 Grayson?" this large lady began, holding out her hand 
 and smiling more than ever. Then her smile faded and 
 her eyes grew less twinkly and nice. "No, we haven't," 
 she said condescendingly shaking her head, and snif- 
 fing at her huge bouquet, "but possibly you little peo- 
 ple are relatives of hers?" and she looked hard at 
 Robina. 
 
 Her eye was so compelling that Robina found herself 
 nodding and smiling before she knew it. 
 
 "We are all the relatives she has got in the world!" 
 she said, as the delicious perfume of the carnations floated 
 to her expanding nostrils. 
 
 "These are for her," said the Lady FitzGorringe, laying 
 the splendid bouquet on top of the albums ranged in a 
 methodical circle on the shiny centre-table, and sinking 
 into an Early Victorian armchair like a collapsing 
 feather-bed, "and I hope and Sir Geoffry hopes! in 
 fact, we both hope not only as Mayor and Mayoress of 
 Plashingford, but as a pair of friendly private people 
 that she will allow us to present them personally, and 
 express our congratulations at the same time!" 
 
 And again her eye was so unconsciously compelling 
 that Robina once more found herself nodding and smil-
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 149 
 
 ing; and then, before she could stop herself, saying quite 
 in Lady FitzGorringe's own tones : 
 
 "I'm sure she would be quite too delighted to see you 
 if she could. But she can't!" 
 
 "Can't!" echoed Lady FitzGorringe rather sharply. 
 "Why can't she?" 
 
 "Surely," said Sir Geoffry, "she could stretch a point 
 under the circumstances." 
 
 "She she has been stretching points all the morning," 
 said Robina rather desperately, searching about for some- 
 thing to say. "And since the two gentlemen with the 
 notebooks went away they came for the papers and 
 quarrelled all the time " 
 
 "Bless my soul!" exclaimed Sir Geoffry, "the child 
 must mean that Mounteney of The County Indicator and 
 Ticking of The Plashingford Trumpeter have already 
 been here!" 
 
 "They have, and since Mr. Mounteney and Mr. Tick- 
 ing went away " said Robina with her heart thump- 
 ing in her throat, "Miss Robina Grayson has been " 
 
 "Exhausted ... I quite understand!" said Lady 
 FitzGorringe sympathetically. 
 
 "Done up. I know what you mean!" exclaimed Sir 
 Geoffry, and Robina added: 
 
 "I won't say she's not been quite herself, because she 
 never really was herself, you know ! but much less like 
 it than previously." 
 
 "Now do explain yourself, if you don't mind!" said 
 Lady FitzGorringe. "For you really are a most myster- 
 ious child. Or perhaps this little boy could enlighten 
 us. He looks intelligent." She smiled on Perto winning- 
 ly as she spoke, and the glitter that Robina dreaded came 
 into his round black eyes. A big lump in Robina's 
 throat checked all utterance. Through a deafening noise 
 in her ears which she discovered to be the beating of 
 her own terrified heart she heard Perto talking and
 
 150 A Sailor's Home 
 
 talking and caught scraps of lobster and underdone beef- 
 steak, with references to Mandow's Physical Culture, 
 linked up with Little Miss Muffet, the Skipping Rope 
 Hornpipe and Britannia Ruling the Waves. Before 
 he had finished Lady FitzGorringe was breathless with 
 interest and astonishment and Sir Geoffry had said, "By 
 George!" numberless times. Then the dreadful ordeal 
 ended. Lady FitzGorringe exchanged a look with her 
 husband, pulled down her yards of veil and rose up 
 magnificently saying: 
 
 "It is a great disappointment to Sir Geoffry and my- 
 self," and the whole room seemed full of white and 
 gray silk and lavender, "but under the circumstances we 
 could not dream of pressing our claim. Give these car- 
 nations to Miss Robina Grayson with our united good 
 wishes and congratulations (which are already written on 
 this card)" she indicated a large card which poked out 
 from among the flowers. "If she is able to take carriage 
 exercise, we should be happy to place a vehicle at her 
 disposal. Our place, 'Pawley Park,' is supposed to be 
 worth seeing." She beamed at Sir Geoffry and Sir 
 Geoffry beamed back. "The house is pure Tudor, in 
 excellent preservation: the Jacobean hall-carvings are 
 considered unique and the orange-trees in the orangery 
 were brought from Hong-Kong two hundred years ago. 
 If Miss Grayson is kind enough to come, perhaps you 
 will come with her?" She smiled at Robina and Robina 
 smiled in return. 
 
 "She couldn't go anywhere without me!" she said 
 brightly. 
 
 "Dear me !" said her ladyship. 
 
 "Bless my soul!" ejaculated Sir Geoffry. 
 
 "She wouldn't be alive and getting these lovely flowers 
 on her birthday," said Robina boldly, "but for me!" 
 
 "How extremely interesting," exclaimed Lady Fitz- 
 Gorringe, putting up a spying-glass. The gleam of her
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 151 
 
 eye through the polished crystal seemed to compel 
 Robina to fresh utterance. 
 
 "Nor she wouldn't have had the King's letter from 
 Buckingham Palace if I had not written to tell him that 
 I would be I mean she would be ten years old I mean 
 a hundred and ten years old to-day !" 
 
 "WHAT an extraordinary little girl!" exclaimed Lady 
 FitzGorringe, looking at Sir Geoffry, whose eyes seemed 
 popping from his head. 
 
 "Twentieth Century, by George! and with a venge- 
 ance!" cried he. "And so you mean to tell Lady Fitz- 
 Gorringe you had the conf the blessed nerve to write 
 to His Majesty out of your own head?" 
 
 Robina's eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "Oh, do you think it was very presumping?" she 
 cried, piteously. 
 
 "No, no, child!" said Lady FitzGorringe, moved to 
 pity by Robina's pale, imploring face. "It was quite, 
 quite natural when Miss Grayson hadn't anyone else to 
 write for her." 
 
 "It was not for yourself you wrote, anyhow," said 
 Sir Geoffry with a fat, creamy laugh, "and when you 
 touch your own century I hope there will be a little 
 girl at hand to put in a good word for you! And the 
 response to the letter was very gratifying very grati- 
 fying indeed! and the intimation that was conveyed 
 to me with regard to celebrating the occasion by a semi- 
 official call, and a few congratulatory words and a 
 bunch of flowers (the other aged lady having received 
 musical honours on her anniversary), was very gracious, 
 extremely gracious! I suppose Miss Grayson is aware 
 that the King is visiting the Plashington Convalescent 
 Soldier's Hospital to-morrow afternoon? Now if she 
 would allow us to arrange for her to be present in the 
 Main Ward at three o'clock punctually, when Royalty 
 passes through and if after being presented she could
 
 152 A Sailor's Home 
 
 be induced to repeat her recitation by Royal Command, 
 you know ha, ha ! and wind up with the dance there's 
 a piano there and my wife is an excellent accompanist, it 
 would be gratifyingly received, I'm sure !" 
 
 "Splendid, Geoffry ! WHAT an idea !" chimed in Lady 
 FitzGorringe. "Then that is settled," she continued, 
 beaming at Robina and rising out of the Victorian 
 armchair like a vast expanding balloon. "We shall send 
 the carriage for Miss Grayson at two o'clock punctually. 
 Urge upon her the necessity of being ready but of 
 course she is sure to realise the importance of the oc- 
 casion. Please say we shall expect her to bring both her 
 young relatives refreshments will be served in the 
 Matron's Room after the Royal departure. For the King 
 will take afternoon tea with Sir Philip and Lady Nun- 
 bury, he dines and sleeps to-night at Nunbury Abbey 
 about three miles from here of course you know the 
 Abbey. Lady Nunbury plants a young tree on every such 
 occasion, and this will be a chestnut, the last was an oak. 
 Pleased to have seen you! Come, Geoffry! Pray re- 
 member us to Miss Grayson !" added Lady FitzGorringe. 
 She pressed Robina's cold, damp fingers with a yellow 
 suede glove, ribby with rings, remarking, with another 
 beaming smile ; "How enviably cool you are, and in such 
 weather!" Then drew her voluminous dust-cloak about 
 her and prepared to precede Sir Geoffry out of the room. 
 
 But Sir Geoffry was bidding a genial farewell to Perto, 
 and the sense of remissness in this respect went home to 
 Lady FitzGorringe: 
 
 "Really, I had forgotten this little fellow!" she ex- 
 claimed, enveloping in her yellow suede glove the small 
 and rather grimy hand released by her husband. "Good- 
 bye, my dear little boy, and thank you for your most in- 
 teresting information. We shall expect to see you and 
 your sister on Thursday at the Hospital." 
 
 "She's not my sister," said Perto loudly, as though
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 153 
 
 suddenly possessed by a spirit of contraction. He con- 
 tinued, as Lady FitzGorringe raised her glass and scanned 
 his countenance : "I'm her uncle that's what I am !" 
 
 "Her uncle ! Bless my soul !" exploded Sir Geoffry, 
 
 "Good gracious ME !" shrieked her ladyship. She bent 
 nearer to examine Perto more closely, and the boy said 
 daringly : 
 
 "Not her commonj uncle either. Her great-unclel 
 That's what I am!" 
 
 "My dear child! You CAN'T be!" cried her ladyship 
 with another shriek. 
 
 "Bless my soul! don't contradict the boy," cried Sir 
 Geoffry. 
 
 "Geoffry," said Lady FitzGorringe, in a deep bass voice 
 laying her glove on her husband's coat-sleeve, "I must. 
 His statement is wildly impossible." 
 
 Her objection seemed to rouse a spirit of defiance in 
 Sir Geoffry. 
 
 "Impossible! Why?" he puffed. "Don't see, for my 
 part! . . . If this young lady's grandfather's brother has 
 
 a young wife with young children, why shouldn't ! 
 
 No, that wouldn't do it. ... Try again ! If this little 
 boy's elder brother happens by any remarkable chance to 
 be the grandfather of this little girl, you have the thing 
 in a nutshell !" 
 
 "Geoffry, I have not!" said Lady FitzGorringe in- 
 dignantly. She tapped her foot upon the floor and sur- 
 veyed Perto with a freezing stare, adding : "And what is 
 more, I decline to!" 
 
 "You won't accept my solution," said Sir Geoffry. 
 "Not even if it were proved to you," he held up his left 
 hand and ticked the sentences off on the fingers, "that 
 this boy's elder brother (being the middle-aged offspring 
 of a very early marriage of his father, who being left a 
 widower with a grown-up family took a young wife to 
 soothe his declining years) could be a grand-parent?"
 
 154 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "No !" said Lady FitzGorringe stoutly. 
 
 "Lor' bless my soul ! how obstinate you women are !" 
 exclaimed Sir Geoffry. "Why, the thing's as clear as 
 mud!" 
 
 "Bosh!" said Lady FitzGorringe. 
 
 "Philippa," said Sir Geoffry, losing his temper, "I am 
 dashed if you shall say bosh to me !" 
 
 But her ladyship said it again, as the gray silk dust- 
 cloak and the lavender silk gown preceded the portly 
 frock-coat, gray trousers and white spats out of the room, 
 and the dispute as to whether Perto's elder brother could 
 be a grandfather was continued through the hall, and all 
 the way down the garden-path, and did not end at the 
 automobile. For Sir Geoffry got inside with her lady- 
 ship to have it out ; and when the big car slowly glided 
 away, his gesticulating fist was flourishing perilously 
 near the large veiled hat that was trimmed with a whole 
 speckled Hamburg. And as the couple were rapidly 
 withdrawn from sight, Robina cried : 
 
 "What on earth made you say such a thing, you story- 
 telling boy?" 
 
 "I dunno," said Perto, in a breathless tone, "unless she 
 made me!" 
 
 Next moment found him rubbing a very red ear and 
 staring at a bunch of magnificent carnations that lay upon 
 the carpet. The parlour door had slammed behind Robina, 
 and before Perto's slapped cheek and boxed ear quite 
 stopped smarting and humming the hall-door slammed 
 too. 
 
 Rushing to the window, Perto was just in time to see 
 Robina, crowned as to the head with an aged straw hat 
 that had been set apart for garden wear, but jacketless, 
 gloveless, and wearing her schoolroom apron and house 
 slippers, run out down the garden path and out at the 
 green gate. The straw hat could not be seen over the top 
 of the garden hedge, though Perto strained his eyes,
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 155 
 
 always short-sighted and recently weakened by German 
 measles, to catch a glimpse of it. Wildly excited, the boy 
 threw open the parlour window and scrambled out, but 
 only got to the green gate in time to discern a vanishing 
 speck that was undoubtedly Robina, turning off at the 
 angle of the road that led, not to the village of Mold 
 End, but out of it into agricultural and unknown 
 country. 
 
 IV 
 
 We are not constrained to remain at Laburnum Cot- 
 tage with Perto, who had begun to suffer from a sense of 
 sin, or even to accompany the acutely repentant Robina 
 on an expiatory pilgrimage upon the road that grew 
 longer, and harder to travel, the nearer she drew to its end. 
 We may, if we choose, attend the errant footsteps of 
 Shackleton-Peary, who slipped out of the house upon 
 Robina's heels, and unseen by her, wormed himself 
 through the green garden-gate, and, trotting, tail held 
 high in air, or galloping with the splendid bushy append- 
 age horizontally extended behind him, followed the re- 
 treat of the ankles his teeth had so often tried. 
 
 He quite approved of the resolution taken by Robina, 
 and whether he was aware or not of the direction in which 
 her steps were leading his, he certainly hurried along as 
 though he were certain of a motherly welcome at the end 
 of the journey. A finger-post at the upper end of the 
 village, which had informed Robina that it was three miles 
 to Nunbury, had given place to another finger-post at 
 crossing road-corners that said: "To Nunbury Abbey, 
 2^2 miles." The houses left off happening on each side of 
 the road, and some minutes after hedges with unripe haws 
 and bunches of blackberries that were only partly black, 
 edging waving fields of yellow corn or fields where the 
 corn was cutting ; or vast spreads of paler stubble whose
 
 '156 A Sailor's Home 
 
 grain had all been shaved by the horse-drawn reaping 
 machines, had replaced orchard fences and garden rail- 
 ings, Robina met a pair of tramps. And the man tramp, 
 in a dusty old black tailed-coat, velveteen trousers and 
 carpet slippers, was wheeling a perambulator, and smok- 
 ing a pipe ; and the woman, a frowsy bundle of garments 
 topped with a sulky face that was shaded by a broken- 
 rimmed black straw hat, was toiling under the weight of 
 an immense bundle of rabbit-skins mixed up with others 
 whose previous inmates had certainly mewed and caught 
 mice. 
 
 The man passed Robina with a sidelong look out of an 
 eye that was red-lidded and bloodshot. He coughed 
 rather ostentatiously and the woman stopped. 
 
 "There's a nice little lydy," she whined, "for a pore 
 starving creeter to meet of a summer's day ! 'Aven't you 
 a copper or two about you, deary ? Feel in your pockets 
 and see!" 
 
 "I am afraid I have nothing about me but postal or- 
 ders," explained Robina, with laborious caution. 
 
 The man left the perambulator in the road that from 
 a muddy one was rapidly becoming a dusty one, and Ro- 
 bina smelt the smell of beer, getting stronger and stronger 
 as he approached. 
 
 "Show us what you've got, pretty deer!" pleaded the 
 woman, showing a set of dreadfully broken teeth in what 
 was meant to be a coaxing smile. 
 
 "Ware cops!" said the man, looking first over one 
 shoulder and then over the other, "too many o' the blueys 
 about 'ere, for that lay." 
 
 "I'll be careful, 'Enery!" said the woman with a leer 
 at the purse Robina had reluctantly drawn from her 
 pocket. 
 
 "They came this morning from father and Aunt Ethel- 
 berta," she said, unfolding and exhibiting the crackly 
 blue papers respectively stamped 7s. 6d. and 10s. Od.,
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 157 
 
 "because it was my birthday. Nurse sent a shilling, and 
 if you can give me change, I shall be pleased to give you 
 twopence out of that." 
 
 But the woman shook her frowsy head, and the man 
 ostentatiously turned out ragged pockets. How and 
 where were two poor starving unfort'nits to get coppers 
 to give in change? he demanded so indignantly that Ro- 
 bina jumped and dropped the shilling. The man in- 
 stantly picked it up, rubbed it on his trousers, bit it, and 
 extended it to his companion in a very dirty palm. 
 
 "This is wot we're asked to give chynge for!" he 
 sneered, turning up a broken red nose as far as it would 
 go. "A duffer bob! A flash deaner, swelp me!" He 
 frowned at the breathless Robina, snarling: "Why, if I 
 was to show this 'ere to the police, they'd pinch yer 
 and I don't know as it ain't my dooty to 'and yer over. 
 Ketch 'old of 'er, missis !" 
 
 At the command the hot, dusty hand of the frowsy 
 woman gripped Robina's slender arm with unpleasant 
 tightness. 
 
 "Oh ! do let me go !" pleaded Robina, who might have 
 been braver had she felt less tired and gritty ; "I haven't 
 done anything to the shilling. It's just as Nurse sent it. 
 I'm sure ! Give it me back and I'll throw it away where 
 nobody will ever find it! Why bother the police when 
 they are so busy just now ?" 
 
 The beery man looked at the frowsy woman and his 
 reddened left eyelid twitched. 
 
 "Woddyer s'y, old donner?" he asked. "Give the kid 
 a charnst, shall us, or not? There's a nice deep pond 
 side o' the road about 'arf a mile on. I could drop this 
 'ere mag in" he glanced relentlessly at the shilling lying 
 in his palm "and nobody 'ud ever be the wiser." 
 
 "You'd better let J im," the frowsy woman said, squeez- 
 ing Robina's arm unpleasantly. "An' if you'll tyke good 
 advice you'll show 'im them flimsies in yer purse. Pre'aps
 
 158 A Sailor's Home 
 
 they're duffers too, the dollar an' 'arf an' the 'arf skiv', 
 an' think of the trouble they might bring you in." 
 
 The words were alarming, but Robina did not believe 
 that either her father or her aunt would send Postal 
 Orders that were not real ones. 
 
 "Oh! thank you, but I'd rather keep " she had 
 
 begun breathlessly, when her purse vanished out of her 
 hand. . . . 
 
 "Charnce it and leg !" she heard the man say, and her 
 arm was released with such a spiteful shove that she 
 stumbled and fell upon her knees in one of the few 
 puddles that had not dried. When she picked herself up, 
 rather bruised and sobbing a little, the beery man with 
 the perambulator and the frowsy woman had made such 
 excellent use of their walking powers that two diminish- 
 ing black specks upon the whitening high-road repre- 
 sented them to their victim's eyes. 
 
 "I believe I've been robbed," said Robina, indignantly, 
 and was going to stamp with rage, when something 
 bounced through a hole in the hedge beside her, something 
 soft rubbed against her, and something sharp nipped her 
 instep. To her terror on looking down she recognised 
 Shackleton-Peary, a little muddy in some places and 
 rather dusty in others, but full of playfulness, and more 
 than willing to bite. 
 
 "You horrid cat !" said Robina severely, removing her 
 ankle from the neighbourhood of the enemy. "How did 
 you get here?" 
 
 Shackleton-Peary purred as much as to say, "In the 
 same way as you did !" and throwing himself luxuriously 
 on his back in the road where it was dry, exhibited the 
 round black patch in the centre of his dazzlingly white
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 159 
 
 waistcoat, possibly as a hint that he was tired and would 
 prefer to rest. 
 
 "I can't leave you," said Robina, "and I can't go back ! 
 at least not until I've been where I want to get to so 
 you'd just better get up and come along!" 
 
 But Shackleton-Peary yawned and declined to get up. 
 
 "I'll just have to carry you, then, you horrid thing!" 
 said Robina after a feeble pretence of abandoning the 
 rebel. She stooped and made a gingerly grab at the cat, 
 who instantly converted himself into a thorny ball of re- 
 sistance. 
 
 And then Robina was conscious of hearing a musical 
 sound that was a great deal pleasanter than the too-too- 
 toop of the motor horn that is most familiar to our ears. 
 It was something like a bell and something like a gong. 
 But she did not connect it with the idea of getting out of 
 the way, until the large dark blue Rolls Royce car that 
 had bell-gonged came swooping round a curve in the 
 road, the exact centre of which was occupied by Robina 
 and the cat. 
 
 "Kling-a-ling, Bong, Bong-lingl" bell-gonged the large 
 blue car, and Robina tried to dodge out of the way and 
 induce Shackleton-Peary to do the same, with the result 
 that the cat went one way and the child the other, and 
 in trying to avoid the child, the chauffeur went over part 
 of the cat. 
 
 There was a piercing feline yell from Shackleton- 
 Peary. The large Rolls Royce car, making a beautiful 
 double curve in the dust on the wrong side of the road, 
 stopped at the footpath edge. The upper part of a brown- 
 bearded, middle-aged officer in a red-banded field cap 
 with gold braid about the peak, and red tabs on the collar 
 of his khaki jacket, leaned over the open top of the 
 landau-body, and a tall, active, handsome young officer, 
 dressed almost exactly in the same way, jumped down 
 from the front of the car where he sat with a khaki-
 
 160 A Sailor's Home 
 
 uniformed chauffeur beside him, and came striding down 
 the road to where Shackleton-Peary with all his beautiful 
 fur soiled with dust and mud, sat with all the bumptious- 
 ness knocked out of him, holding up a crushed forepaw 
 from which trickled a little stream of blood. 
 
 "A bad job, poor pussy!" said the tall young officer 
 in a pleasant voice as he stooped over the sufferer. "But 
 if no worse damage is done, you're lucky," he added, 
 rubbing the cat's head. "And he looks too lively, 
 though I don't know as much about cats as my wife 
 does." 
 
 "Nunbury !" called the bearded officer, and Robina now 
 saw that two other officers sat facing him in the body of 
 the car, "Nunbury !" 
 
 "Sir!" answered the young officer, ceasing to stoop, 
 and becoming perpendicular. 
 
 "Any serious injury?" asked the clear authoritative 
 voice of the elder officer. 
 
 "Nothing, sir, I think, that a decent vet. couldn't put 
 right!" called back the young man. He was returning 
 to the car when : 
 
 "Don't come back. I am coming to you!" said the 
 bearded gentleman, and the side-door of the Rolls Royce 
 car opened before the khaki-uniformed chauffeur could 
 reach it. And the middle-aged bearded officer stepped 
 out. 
 
 Robina had an instant of doubt as to whether she had 
 not seen him somewhere as he walked over briskly and 
 actively to join the little group of three. He was short 
 and not at all stout, stooped slightly and leaned upon his 
 walking-stick, surveying the girl and the damaged cat 
 with full, bright, very blue eyes, the bluest Robina thought 
 to herself, that she had ever seen. He said in a clear, 
 agreeable voice, smoothing his pointed brown beard with 
 a sunburnt hand that wore a massive signet-ring: 
 
 "I agree with you, Nunbury, as regards the vet. Is
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 161 
 
 there a competent person in the neighbourhood, do you 
 know?" 
 
 The officer addressed as "Nunbury" shook his head 
 doubtfully. 
 
 "Not in the immediate neighbourhood, sir. But on 
 the outskirts of Plashingford there's a quite clever fellow, 
 M.R.C.V.S. and all that sort of thing. "We send for him 
 when anything's wrong at the Abbey stable or on the 
 Home Farm." 
 
 "Very good !" said the bearded officer. Then he added : 
 "I think we have a spare tea-basket in the car. If you 
 will kindly tell Morton to empty it of its fittings we will 
 carry the cat to the veterinary's at once. We have 
 plenty of time. It will not delay us." 
 
 "Very well, sir!" 
 
 The young officer touched his cap, and went back to 
 the car with long light strides. Robina looked up with 
 a sobbing gasp of relief and said to the owner of the 
 blue eyes: 
 
 "Thank you ever and ever so much! But won't it 
 cost a a great deal of money?" 
 
 "It is not going to cost you anything," said the officer, 
 looking at Robina very kindly, "except the anxiety of 
 knowing that your pet must suffer something more in 
 order to be made quite well. And although I can't quite 
 call myself a veterinary surgeon, I am not inclined to 
 think the damage is severe." He stooped down and 
 gently felt the cat's wounded leg. 
 
 "Please take care. He sometimes bites !" said Robina, 
 as Shackleton-Peary winced a little. 
 
 "Does he ? Ah, well, I do not think he is going to bite 
 me," said the middle-aged officer, stroking the cat's silky 
 head. 
 
 "He never does what one expects," said Robina, "so 
 perhaps he won't ! And though I am sorry for him, he 
 brought this upon himself. First by following me,
 
 1 62 A Sailor's Home 
 
 he ought to know that cats are expected to stay at home ; 
 and then by lying down in the middle of the road because 
 he was tired. Though perhaps what has happened has 
 been for the best," the tired little girl ended, "for I never 
 could have carried him as far as Nunbury Abbey." 
 
 "Ah, so you were going to Nunbury? ..." said 
 the officer, leaning on his plain brown gold-banded stick 
 and smiling down kindly at Robina. 
 
 "On important private business !" said Robina. 
 
 "So !" said the officer. 
 
 "The fact is," said Robina, with an impulse to con- 
 fidence she could not conquer, "that the King is staying 
 there and I awfully want to see him." 
 
 "So !" said the officer with a twinkle in the very blue 
 eyes, tapping one of his brown spurred boots with his 
 stick, "Is that the case ?" 
 
 "You ^vould keep a secret if I told you one, wouldn't 
 you?" asked Robina. 
 
 "Certainly!" said the gentleman. But he added, 
 "Before I give you permission to tell it me I must ask 
 you to make quite sure that it is your secret, and no other 
 person's. Do you understand?" 
 
 "I understand," said Robina, "but it is my secret, 
 really. It's about a letter I wrote to him to the King 
 days and days ago, telling him that the ninth of this 
 month " 
 
 "That is to-day !" said the officer. 
 
 "That to-day would be my birthday," continued Robina, 
 miserably, "and that it would make me a hundred and 
 ten years old." 
 
 "So!" said the officer, and the way he uttered the 
 word made Robina feel as though icy cold water was 
 running down her back. His face was terribly stern, and 
 his full blue eyes shone like cold sapphires. "And what 
 induced a young lady to play a vulgar practical joke," h 
 added, and his voice was freezingly cold, "upon the
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 163 
 
 person whom, next to her father and mother, she should 
 most honour and respect?" 
 
 "I never thought of its being a practical joke," fal- 
 tered rueful Robina. "We Perto and me were sent 
 down here to be icerlated after German measles have 
 you ever had German measles?" 
 
 "Possibly. I forget!" said the officer. 
 
 "They're horrid things," went on Robina. "And it was 
 so lonely and Miss Twigger is the stiffest old person 
 you could possibly imagine and her cat that's the one 
 you ran over kept biting our legs. And my birthday 
 was coming, and I felt as if I couldn't bear myself and 
 then there had been all that fuss over old Mrs. Shakerly 
 the week before and it was only putting one little extra 
 stroke in front of one and a nought and that's how it 
 happened !" 
 
 "And that's how it happened!" said the officer. His 
 voice was clear and stern, but his blue eyes twinkled. 
 
 "It wasn't till the envelope with the red crown and the 
 typewritten letter from Lord Stamfordhurst whoever 
 he is," said Robina tearfully, "that I really understood 
 what an awful thing I'd done, and then I could have lain 
 flat down and died! But I hadn't a chance. With the 
 awful men from the dreadful newspapers calling, and 
 asking questions and you can't imagine how inquisitive 
 they were " 
 
 "I think I can !" said the officer smoothing his brown 
 beard, and his blue eyes were really laughing now. 
 
 "And then, what with the Mayor and Mayoress Sir 
 Geoffry and Lady Fitzgorringe coming with united car- 
 nations and a bunch of congratulations " 
 
 "Did they? Ah, of course!" 
 
 "I mean united congratulations and a bunch of carna- 
 tions," hurried on Robina. "I felt awfuller and awfuller. 
 And whatever the King did in the way of punishing me, 
 couldn't be much worse than hearing somebody inside
 
 164 A Sailor's Home 
 
 myself telling me all the time without stopping how dis- 
 gracefully I'd behaved." 
 
 "I can imagine that," said the officer. "And do I 
 understand that when we ran over your cat you were on 
 your way to Nunbury Abbey ?" His mouth looked stern 
 under the brown mustache, but his eyes danced and 
 twinkled as though diamonds had been mixed up with 
 the sapphires. "Going to make a clean breast of it, eh ?" 
 
 "Yes, I was !" blurted out Robina. 
 
 "Plucky at any rate," said the officer, as though to him- 
 self. "And honest. H'm !" 
 
 "Would you mind telling me," asked Robina, "sup- 
 posing you have ever been to Nunbury is it a very 
 ancient place?" 
 
 "I know the Abbey," said the officer, "and it is cer- 
 tainly of very great antiquity. There is a Saxon keep, 
 for instance, that dates from the reign of Athelstan." 
 
 "Keeps were called keeps because people could be 
 kept prisoners inside them, weren't they?" hesitated 
 Robina. 
 
 "The hypothesis is ingenious," said the officer gravely, 
 "but I cannot pronounce it correct. However suppos- 
 ing it to be so?" 
 
 "I asked because, if I have committed High Treason, 
 the King might have me dungeoned there," said Robina, 
 desperately. 
 
 "I understand," said the officer, "but I do not for a 
 moment believe the King would deal with you so severely. 
 He has a reputation for humanity which he has generally 
 endeavoured to deserve. . . . Was it because you ex- 
 pected to be imprisoned in Nunbury Keep that you were 
 "bringing your pet cat along with you ?" 
 
 "He isn't a pet. He's a perfect beast and bites ankles 
 till you're tired of life!" burst from Robina. "And I 
 didn't bring him. He just came without being asked 
 and when he got so tired that he wouldn't walk any
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 165 
 
 farther I was going to try and carry him when your 
 tar ting-a-linged and only one of us had time to get out 
 of the way!" 
 
 "I understand perfectly," said the officer. "Now," he 
 added, as his younger companion came quickly back with 
 a light cane hamper and Shackleton-Peary without protest 
 submitted to being shut inside, "do you not think you 
 had better go home, or allow me to drive you there, as 
 we are passing through Mold End. The King may not 
 now be at Nunbury Abbey, though he certainly dines 
 there this evening and to have so long and hot a walk 
 for nothing would be discouraging, to say the least. 
 Moreover the true state of affairs may perhaps be known 
 to the King by a kind of accident, and he may give in- 
 structions that no further notice is to be taken of what 
 was after all, merely a silly childish freak!" 
 
 Robina shook her head. 
 
 "He would know I was sorry by my having come to 
 own up, whether he was at home or not. The other way 
 he could only guess. And you're very kind, and I'm 
 awfully obliged and it will be a long walk and of course 
 I shan't get any tea and Miss Twigger will probably 
 send me to bed without supper, though it is my birthday ! 
 But I think, under the circumstances, I'm doing right." 
 
 "Then I will not further seek to dissuade you," said 
 the officer, drawing off one of his brown dogskin gloves, 
 and feeling in his right front pocket. "By the way, do 
 you speak French?" he asked. 
 
 "No, not quite," said Robina, trying to be honest, 
 "though I can say three verbs and some of the vocallu- 
 bary." 
 
 "You speak French quite sufficiently for my purpose, 
 thank you," replied the bearded officer. He drew out a 
 tiny green enamel memorandum-book with something in 
 flashing red and white stones on the cover, and using a 
 thick pencil-case that was yellow like gold, penciled a few
 
 1 66 A Sailor's Home 
 
 words on a blank leaf of the little book. "You will find 
 Lady Nunbury at home I am certain. Before you men- 
 tion your wish to see the King, ask to speak to her and 
 hand her this." He tore from the memorandum-book 
 the leaf he had written on, folded it, pencilled some- 
 thing on the outer fold and handed it to Robina. "Now, 
 good-bye, my child, and good luck attend you!" he said 
 in his pleasant voice, and touching the gold-braided peak 
 of his red-banded khaki field cap, turned and walked back 
 with the younger officer, who carried the tea-basket, in 
 the direction of the blue Rolls Royce, by which the two 
 other officers who had been inside were now standing. 
 Then as the tea-basket was carefully stowed in front by 
 the officer who had carried it, the bearded officer with a 
 word or two to the other members of his party, got in, 
 followed by them, and chuff-chuffed away in the 
 direction of the village Robina had left behind her. 
 
 We will not describe the rest of the walk. The dis- 
 tances on the finger-posts kept shortening until one said, 
 "Nunbury. To Hopleaf 6 m.," and Robina knew she 
 was at her journey's end. The great gates of the South 
 Lodge opened at the top of the village street, and they 
 were of much gilt wrought iron, between pillars of marble 
 stained with red and yellow and mossy green lichen sup- 
 porting heraldic beasts that ramped over emblazoned 
 shields of arms. 
 
 "A child in an old straw hat and untidy 'air an' a 
 muddy frock, and walking in as if the place belonged to 
 her," said the gate-keeper's wife indignantly to the gate- 
 keeper, who wore his best livery in honour of the Royal 
 visitor, and was assisted in his duties by a couple of very 
 retiring and modest-looking youngish men, who were 
 attired in garments similar to the gate-keeper's, but were 
 in reality what he would have called "tecs" from Scot- 
 land Yard. 
 
 "She said she brought a message for Her Ladyship as
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 167 
 
 was give 'er by the officer with a short brown beard and 
 blue eyes who was being driven in the big car along with 
 three others," explained the gate-keeper. 
 
 "Lor'! to goodness me!" said the gate-keeper's wife. 
 And she hurried to look over the pots of pelargoniums 
 and the muslin blinds adorning the back window, just in 
 time to see the old straw hat and muddied frock vanish 
 round the sweep of the newly-gravelled drive. 
 
 That drive curled in the shape of the letter S through 
 a wonderfully beautiful shrubbery, ablaze with beds of 
 Japanese lilies, monbretias and tall cockscombs, dahlias 
 and hollyhocks in wonderful colours, towering clumps of 
 plumy grasses, and masses of clematis flowering in purple 
 and crimson and white. Beyond was a vast park where 
 herds of deer grazed or lay under giant oaks and beeches. 
 And the Abbey rose up from the middle of splendid ter- 
 raced gardens whose fountains were spouting columns 
 of falling water from wide basins starred with blue 
 water-lilies and white ones, and tenanted by great golden- 
 scaled, red-finned carp. 
 
 The first impression of the house was its immense 
 number of tall marble-mullioned windows ; the next, the 
 grave beauty of its lofty front of creamy lichened stone. 
 It was in the shape of a half -square and seemed to have 
 chimneys of every shape that chimneys could be built in, 
 the high pillared portico being in the centre of the main 
 block of the house, so that the wings jutting out on either 
 side were like arms held out to welcome the arriving 
 guest. 
 
 The arriving guest felt very small and muddy and 
 dusty and tired, as she advanced between the many- 
 windowed wings and timidly climbed the low wide steps 
 that led to the great hall door. ... It stood open, and 
 inside the outer hall, which was paved with black and 
 white marble tiles, a vast porter dozed in a great carved 
 and painted and gilded sedan-chair that, large as it was,
 
 1 68 A Sailor's Home 
 
 fitted him quite tightly. The porter wore a vast gold- 
 buttoned crimson waistcoat, and gold-striped trousers and 
 a frockcoat of dark green, and he snored, as did a Great 
 Dane who was lying on the wide rubber mat outside the 
 open door, his heavy black-and-gray jowl on his great 
 gray paws. He rolled a red-rimmed eye at Robina, and 
 the hair bristled in a ridge along his spine as he uttered 
 a low rumbling growl. "R-worrf !" said the Great Dane. 
 "Good doggie, then !" began Robina. Then she jumped, 
 for out of the hall poured an avalanche of toy Japanese 
 spaniels and white Pomeranians with Royal blue ribbon 
 bows on their silver-belled collars, and the yapping and 
 tinkling and barking that ensued would have waked the 
 Seven Sleepers, let alone a stout porter after a heavy 
 early dinner. 
 
 VI 
 
 The porter grunted and got out of his chair, but not so 
 quickly owing to his heavy dinner, but that two mild- 
 looking men in plain dark blue livery with gilt buttons 
 and black trousers, arrived upon the steps before 
 him. . . . 
 
 They did not appear to listen as Robina explained to 
 the porter that she had brought a note for Lady Nunbury. 
 But they heard, for they were there to hear. Then the 
 porter said wheezingly, for he was troubled with asthma : 
 
 "You can't give that there note to ME, d'ye say?" and 
 when Robina replied that she was afraid she could not, 
 the porter heaved a heavy sigh and touched an electric 
 gong near his elbow, and the glass doors of the inner hall 
 flew open and two of the tallest footmen Robina had ever 
 seen with powdered hair and long coats of emerald-green 
 laced with silver, crimson plush breeches, white silk 
 stockings and buckled shoes, stood side by side upon the 
 threshold.
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 169 
 
 Four more footmen rather younger than these, each 
 pair exactly matching in height, were ranged upon either 
 side of the Indian carpet covering the polished walnut 
 floor. . . . Their six pairs of eyes, all superciliously 
 fixed upon Robina, made her feel less shy than inclined 
 to laugh. 
 
 "What is it, Mr. Jimpson ?" the left-handed man of the 
 tallest and biggest couple inquired, apparently of the 
 stout porter, whose asthmatic breathing Robina could 
 hear behind her. 
 
 "Brought a message for my lady," said the porter over 
 Robina's head. "With a story as smooth and as pat 
 as you please that the paper is to be delivered by 
 bearer to my lady's own hands and not to nobody 
 else's !" 
 
 "Mr. Chix shall decide," said the footman who had 
 spoken, "whether the bearer is esactly the kind of coori- 
 osity Her Ladyship is haccustomed to receive even on 
 hordinary hoccasions?" 
 
 "Net quite," said the other tallest footman, super- 
 ciliously. "Net quite, Mr. Minns." 
 
 "Whet is it?" said one of the slimmer, younger foot- 
 men, looking down his nose at Robina. "A gipsy's brat 
 or a tramp's kid ? name it, Mr. Biles !" 
 
 "I should be inclined to say a beggin' letter," put in 
 the footman who matched the last speaker, "if we was 
 in Barkly Squaw. Not bein', cawn't say, Stiles, my deah 
 fellar!" 
 
 This footman was evidently esteemed a wit, for an 
 approving smile appeared upon the large, rather pasty 
 faces of the other five. 
 
 "Country hair stimulates Wix, desh me if it don't!" 
 said the first speaker, Minns, admiringly. 
 
 "Meanwhile," said the footman who matched the 
 brilliant Wix, "the question is waitin* to be deoided by 
 bellot. Wich is the appropriate ticket to pin on the
 
 170 A Sailor's Home 
 
 article? Young middle-class runaway or himmature 
 'ighway cadger?" 
 
 "Hi should be inclined to say the fermer," returned 
 Mr. Wix. 
 
 "Young runaways especially the female ones," put in 
 the porter wheezily, "being a good deal sleeker in their 
 looks and smoother-spoken than trapesin' tinkers and 
 sech!" 
 
 "Sorry," said Mr. Minns, "to contradict an apinion 
 espressed by a chara'ter bearin' a simpular weight and 
 importance in the family to Mr. Jimpson's. But with the 
 heddacation now give in Board Schools to the dust be- 
 neath your feet, Grammar goes for nothing !" 
 
 "You may hev* the Best Blood in Hengland a-biling in 
 your veins desh me if you mayn't," said Mr. Wix, "and 
 be without a single haitch to your name, or a fragment 
 of grammar to call your own." 
 
 "Simpularly," pronounced Mr. Minns, "you might be 
 busting with parts of speech and general hinfermation, 
 and be actially descended from the lowest circles !" 
 
 "My opinion is," said the porter, breathing heavily, 
 "that no person, in these here days at least, is to be 
 judged by Chin." 
 
 "Brayvo!" exclaimed Biles and Stiles applaudingly. 
 "Jimpson for never !" 
 
 "These 'ere Himperial 'Oenzollern 'Uns," pursued Mr. 
 Jimpson asthmatically, "as 'ave set Europe by the years 
 and laid best part of the Continong in regler wrack an' 
 ruin, an' dropped bombs from Hairships on the 'umble 
 and 'igh, are uncommon clever at training Spies to 'elp 
 'em play their War Game. Accordin' to what I've read, 
 they begin to teach 'em young, and they use both sects 
 for their purposes. Suppose I only say suppose ! we 
 'ave 'ere a German Spy?" 
 
 "Desh it, Jimps, preaps we' ev!" exclaimed Mr. Wix, 
 and it seemed to Robina that the six large pale footmen
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 171 
 
 grew even more pallid under their powder. There was 
 an instant of appalled silence, broken by Mr. Chix. He 
 wiped his large face with a snow-white handkerchief and 
 said, breathingly heavily: 
 
 "Speaking strictly in the character of a Clawss Three 
 man I am of apinion and my catemporary, Mr. Minns 
 likewise " 
 
 " 'Ear, 'ear !" said Mr. Minns eagerly, and Mr. Chix 
 resumed : 
 
 "We are of apinion that the honus of haction in this 
 matter stric'ly divolves upon our juniars. Mr. Biles and 
 Mr. Stiles, you 'ave bin called upon simpulary with Mr. 
 Wix and Mr. Tibbits to quit private service for the 
 Service of your Country. Even before you lay aside the 
 'andsome livery you 'ave adorned in favour of the hun- 
 pretentious khaki of the British Soldier, it may be that 
 a opportunity for distinguishing yourselves 'as been laid 
 in your path." The speaker pointed to Robina and re- 
 tired with the majestic Mr. Minns towards the upper end 
 of the hall. Mr. Wix and his contemporary making no 
 attempt to follow them, remained in the foreground, 
 leaving Messrs. Biles and Stiles to grapple with the 
 situation. 
 
 " 'Ope she don't carry no bombs, by any chawnce !" 
 breathed Mr. Stiles to his companion. 
 
 "Same heah, dear fellar!" returned Mr. Biles, with 
 very pronounced uneasiness. "My opinion is 'ere's a job 
 for Scotland Yawd. There's plenty of 'tecs on the 
 premases, and for me and you to sile our 'ands, would 
 be 'ideously hinfra dig!" 
 
 "Brayvo!" exclaimed Stiles. He beckoned hastily to 
 somebody outside, and through the glass doors leading to 
 the outer vestibule came the two quiet-looking men in the 
 plain dark blue livery. Two more had appeared at the 
 upper end of the hall whither all six footmen had now 
 retired in rather a huddled bevy, when a splendid curtain
 
 172 A Sailor's Home 
 
 of gold and blue and crimson, hanging beneath a wide 
 archway of carved Indian ebony, suddenly split into two, 
 and the figure of a young and lovely lady stood in the 
 opening, against a background of blazing steel. 
 
 VII 
 
 "What is the matter?" the lady asked in a voice that 
 was clear and sweet and a little chilly, and as she spoke 
 the scared group of footmen scattered like a flock of 
 gaudy macaws. "Who is this little girl ? . . . She has 
 come here with a private message for me," she repeated 
 as Mr. Minns faltered a confused explanation, "a mes- 
 sage which she is expressly charged to deliver to no one 
 else ! For what reason then, was she not admitted ? Why 
 has she been made an object of suspicion? Why, will 
 you be good enough to tell me, was I not informed?" 
 
 She turned kind encouraging eyes upon the shy Robina, 
 and without waiting for the abashed Mr. Minns or any of 
 his comrades to volunteer an answer, she walked swiftly 
 over the Indian carpet and taking a hand that might have 
 been cleaner but for Robina's tumble in the mud, led her 
 through a pair of double doors set in a high doorway on 
 the left-hand side of the hall, and as the doors swung to 
 behind them and a long lovely room spread away as 
 though it could never end. . . . 
 
 "Now," said the Countess of Nunbury, releasing her 
 light cool clasp of Robina's left hand, "now give me the 
 message you have brought." 
 
 For all answer Robina unclasped a hot and clammy 
 right hand, showing the short crumpled spill of paper that 
 had been hidden there, and said with more brevity than 
 elegance : 
 
 "This is it!" 
 
 Lady Nunbury's delicate white fingers with their
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 173 
 
 gleaming pink nails and sparkling clusters of jewels, took 
 the little scrap of paper and unrolled it daintily. Then 
 the deep gray, black-lashed eyes Robina (and many other 
 people) thought so lovely, bent upon the paper that was 
 covered with small neat handwriting, and looked up with 
 a flash of quick vivid interest and surprise before they 
 dropped to it again. Then resting upon her knee the 
 hand that held the message, Lady Nunbury stretched out 
 the other, and drew Robina to her, saying : 
 
 "You most extraordinary young person, let me 
 look at you again ! So you're the Oldest Inhabitant of 
 Mold End the venerable person aged one hundred-and- 
 ten whom the Mayor and Mayoress of Plashingford 
 were commanded to call upon." Her beautiful gray eyes 
 twinkled with laughter, though her mouth kept steady 
 at the corners. "Poor Lady FitzGorringe. What a 
 shock she must have had when she found out the truth !" 
 
 "She they didn't find it out!" said Rosina, crimson 
 to the tips of her ears. "I pretended the old lady was 
 upstairs in bed." 
 
 "My dear . . . !" 
 
 "I told stories," went on Robina desperately. "I had 
 told them to the two gentlemen who came to ask questions 
 for The Plashingford Trumpeter and the other news- 
 paper, and then it seemed as if I couldn't leave off even 
 though I wanted to. And Perto that's my brother 
 Rupert ! caught it like like German measles, and 
 began telling stories too. Awful ones! He said he 
 couldn't help it. And that made me feel that unless I 
 could clear off the lies by confessing everything and 
 taking the consequences Perto would be ruined for life 
 by my example !" 
 
 "I understand!" said Lady Nunbury softly, and her 
 eyes did not laugh any more. 
 
 "So I set off," said Robina, "and the man with the 
 pram and the woman with the rabbit-skins took away
 
 174 A Sailor's Home 
 
 my purse with my birthday postal orders and Nurse's 
 shilling " 
 
 "Did you tell that to the gentleman who gave you the 
 paper for me?" asked Lady Nunbury. 
 
 "I forgot, things were so whirly," said Robina. "But 
 he couldn't have helped me to get the money back, could 
 he?" 
 
 "He can do a good deal !" said Lady Nunbury, smiling. 
 
 "He makes you feel, when he tells you to do anything, 
 as if you'd got to," said Robina confidentially. "I think 
 it is something in his eyes, or perhaps it's his voice. I'm 
 not sure !" 
 
 "I am going to do something now that he told me to 
 do," said Lady Nunbury, rising. She moved with her 
 smooth gliding step to an electric bell-button and touched 
 it twice, and a discreet-looking person, white-haired, in 
 black, with a silver chain round his neck, appeared at the 
 summons. To him Lady Nunbury gave some directions 
 which Robina did not hear. She was looking about the 
 long, light, lovely room with its moulded and carved orna- 
 ments, and ancient hooded fireplace, its glorious pictures, 
 set in the carved panelling, its wonderful antique furni- 
 ture, the marvellous Oriental china that loaded the 
 cabinets and shelves and the glowing tapestries that 
 covered the upper part of the walls that were spanned by 
 a coffered and painted ceiling with the date 1588 under 
 the heraldic device crowning the shield that was carved 
 upon the huge central beam. And then the door opened : 
 the silver-chained groom of the chambers returned, pre- 
 ceded by Mr. Minns and Mr. Chix, who were looking 
 anything but haughty, carrying gleaming trays of silver, 
 and while they stood immovable by the door, supporting 
 these, Mr. Wix (under the supervision of the personage 
 with the silver chain, which ended in a key in his waist- 
 coat-pocket) spread a lovely lace-bordered damask cloth 
 upon a low square Chippendale table, and set upon it dark
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 175 
 
 blue and gold plates of Crown Derby with silver knives, 
 and one of the gleaming silver trays with a tea service 
 of Crown Derby matching the plates, and a silver Queen 
 Anne kettle steaming over a silver lamp, and dishes con- 
 taining delicate slices of bread-and-butter and sand- 
 wiches of half-a-dozen things. 
 
 Last but not least he placed upon the table in a Crown 
 Derby dish a magnificent cake, covered with icing, and 
 having done this the personage in black swept Mr. Wix, 
 Mr. Chix and Mr. Minns from the room with a single 
 movement of his finger, and retiring himself through the 
 door at which they had entered, departed, noiselessly 
 closing the double leaves behind him. 
 
 "And now, come and have some tea," said Lady Nun- 
 bury, smiling at Robina as she led her to the table, "and 
 tell me if you would care to begin with cake or gradually 
 work up to it through the bread-and-butter and sand- 
 wiches, for I am sure you must be famished with hunger." 
 She added as she saw Robina's eyes, which were wist- 
 fully fixed upon the cake, growing rounder and rounder : 
 
 "The cake is a birthday cake, of course ! and the name 
 of the person for whose birthday it is intended is marked 
 on the icing, as you see." 
 
 Robina could see nothing else, for the letters of the 
 name, boldly traced crystalised pistachio-nuts, walnuts 
 and preserved violets round the central device of figures 
 were strangely familiar. 
 
 "ROBINA GRAYSON 
 Aged 10. 
 
 MANY HAPPY RETURNS 1 ." 
 
 was what she spelt out. And having finished spelling she 
 stared at Lady Nunbury. 
 
 "Cut it, won't you?" suggested Lady Nunbury.
 
 176 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "But but " gasped Robina, "it belong to the other 
 
 Robina Grayson who is ten to-day." 
 
 "There isn't any other Robina Grayson here," said 
 Lady Nunbury, "and the cake belongs to you. I hope 
 the chef has spelt your name properly," she went on, put- 
 ting the long shining silver knife in Robina's hand, "be- 
 cause he is a Frenchman who does not speak much Eng- 
 lish, and has been called up to join his Reserve battalion 
 at the Front and naturally is rather excited." 
 
 "And Mr. Biles and Mr. Stiles and the other two 
 I forget their names !" said Robina, "don't seem excited 
 at all." 
 
 Lady Nunbury smiled. 
 
 "Perhaps," she said, "when they have finished their 
 training, they may feel more fiery than they do now. 
 They will certainly be healthier. And we shall have no 
 male servants at all unless those who are too old for 
 Service but nice maids in livery, and chauffeuses in- 
 stead of chauffeurs for the cars. But, my child, you're 
 not eating anything, and I have been commanded to see 
 that Miss Robina Grayson has a first-class tea !" 
 
 Well, the lobster and caviare and smoked salmon and 
 cucumber sandwiches were very good, the tea with plenty 
 of thick cream perfectly delicious, but the cake was out- 
 and-out the most delectable item of the feast, and when 
 Robina had had two slices : 
 
 "You are to take the rest of this home with you, of 
 course," said Lady Nunbury, "with some bon-bons and 
 peaches and things to share with Perto, who must have 
 been frightfully bored by himself all the afternoon." 
 
 Lady Nunbury little dreamed what sort of time Perto 
 was really having. But Robina did not know about that 
 until she got back to Laburnum Cottage. 
 
 "I am going to send you back early in the auto- 
 brougham,'* said Lady Nunbury, "as I have to dress for 
 rather a particular dinner, so you will reach home in
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 177 
 
 plenty of time. Why, my child, what is the matter? 
 Why do you look so shocked ?" 
 
 "Because I've done a dreadful piece of forgetfulness," 
 gasped Robina, "and now I've remembered with a rush. 
 Oh, Lady Nunbury, I told you I'd walked all the way 
 here to make a clean breast of the dreadful thing I'd 
 done in writing that letter saying I was a hundred and 
 ten years old instead of ten, to the King, and I've never 
 done what I came to do !" She added : "I believe now 
 I shall be too frightened. My legs shake like jellies and 
 my heart jumps like mad." 
 
 "You will not be frightened, will you," said Lady Nun- 
 bury, in her soft cooing voice, "if I hold your hand all 
 the while you're telling the King your story?" 
 
 "Oh, will you?" cried Robina, with a jump of relief. 
 "How good and kind you are. Just as if I'd deserved you 
 to be !" she added ruefully. 
 
 Sometimes we want kindness most when we seem 
 least to deserve it," said Lady Nunbury. "Not that I 
 think you don't deserve it, you know ! For to have tried 
 to atone for a wrong done is half-way towards wiping it 
 out. Now give me your hand and I won't let it go until 
 we're well outside the State Apartments. For we always 
 have them ready when the King comes to dine with us, in 
 case he chooses to stay over night." 
 
 "The State Apartments are where the King is?" 
 faltered Robina. 
 
 "Where the King is is always an Apartment of State," 
 said Lady Nunbury, as she swept out of the long draw- 
 ing-room, and through the great middle hall, a tall, beau- 
 tiful vision in a white cloth skirt with a blouse of delicate 
 white silk embroidered and lace-trimmed, with buttons 
 and sleeve-links of great turquoises matching the girdle 
 that clasped her slender waist. 
 
 She led Robina to the Indian archway, and as the 
 gorgeous brocade curtains dropped behind them, Robina
 
 178 A Sailor's Home 
 
 found herself in a long and noble gallery with deep niched 
 and mullioned windows running along the outer side of it, 
 a gallery that had at one time been the cloister where the 
 monks of Nunbourne walked and read their Hours. 
 Now it was an Armoury, and the reddening rays of the 
 setting sun were reflected in such dazzling brilliance from 
 the long rows of suits of armour and the stands of hal- 
 berds and lances, and the innumerable trophies of 
 weapons upon the panelled walls, that Robina blinked like 
 a sleepy kitten as she was led along the polished boards 
 that were strewn with splendid skins of lion and tiger, 
 bear and bison and other big game shot by Lord Nunbury, 
 in his bachelor days. 
 
 At the end of the gallery of armour was a smaller hall 
 with a high domed and painted ceiling, and heavy blue 
 velvet curtains, where were waiting several superior 
 attendants in dark blue coats with brass buttons and black 
 trousers and patent shoes. 
 
 After the ante-room came a superb reception-room 
 with portraits of gentlemen in armour with long curls, 
 and ladies with bare necks and powdered heads and won- 
 derful hoop-skirts upon the walls ; and furniture just like 
 the chairs and tables in the pictures. Nobody was in the 
 room, except a small rough-haired fox-terrier curled up 
 in a deep bow-legged gilt chair, covered with rose-bro- 
 cade. He woke up at the entrance of Lady Nunbury and 
 seemed very glad to see her, and permitted Robina to pat 
 him in a very condescending way, she thought, for a dog 
 who belonged to the King. And he followed them 
 through the State Apartments. 
 
 The whole of the West Wing was occupied by the 
 State Apartments, and they were grander and more 
 splendid than the rooms occupied by Lady Nunbury, if 
 not quite as pretty on the whole. The library was ninety 
 feet long, lined with magnificent volumes and with a 
 great hooded fireplace.
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 179 
 
 "I cannot show you the smoking-room, or the Private 
 Cabinet, or the Royal bedrooms," said Lady Nunbury. 
 "But in the dining-room I trust we shall find " 
 
 "The King?" whispered Robina, round-eyed and very 
 pale. "But does he does he know we're corning?" 
 Oughtn't we oughtn't we to send the Groom of the 
 Chambers you said the man with the silver chain was 
 the Groom of the Chambers to crave an audience? 
 People crave audiences of Kings in Walter Scott's 
 novels. Or oughtn't we at the very least to be an- 
 nounced ?" 
 
 "We will be announced," said Lady Nunbury, laugh- 
 ing softly. "We'll send Dannie to announce us." 
 
 And she softly opened the beautiful carved door of the 
 dining-room, and Dannie, the rough-haired terrier, 
 trotted in, his ears sharply pricked and his tail very stiffly 
 held. 
 
 The dining-room was small, but a marvel of the art of 
 the most skilful wood-carver the world has ever known 
 or will know. There was only one picture in this room 
 and that was upon the wall over the low wide fireplace, 
 set in a marvellous frame of flowers and birds and foliage 
 carved by the hand of Grindling Gibbons into the very 
 semblance of life. Light from the stone-mullioned, deep- 
 seated windows that looked out upon a small private 
 garden full of exquisite flowers, fell upon it, and in a 
 moment : 
 
 "Oh ! Oh ! OH !" cried Robina in a high crescendo of 
 astonished recognition. For the face crowning the 
 ermine-robed figure of a brown-bearded, blue-eyed 
 middle-aged man in a Field Marshal's uniform, sparkling 
 with orders, wearing the splendid collar of the George and 
 seated in a gilded chair of estate against an embroidered 
 panel bearing the British Royal Arms, was that of the 
 the officer to whom Robina had told her story on the road 
 to Nunbury.
 
 i8o A Sailor's Home 
 
 And the officer was none other than The King. . . . 
 
 It was overwhelming. 
 
 It was splendid. 
 
 It was awful! 
 
 These three sentences convey Robina's sentiments to a 
 hair. Perhaps the awfulness predominated over the 
 splendidness, but there was no doubt about the over- 
 whelmingosity, Robina thought. . . . 
 
 "Did you guess ? . . . But of course you knew . . . 
 The piece of paper told you ..." she said, looking 
 at Lady Nunbury, to whom the King had written about 
 a naughty little girl in a battered straw hat and an inky 
 schoolroom apron, who had pretended to be the oldest 
 inhabitant of Mold End, and so proved herself to be un- 
 doubtedly the most presumptuous. "Was it because of 
 that you were so kind ? . . . and the birthday cake and 
 everything? ... I ... really . . . believe it . . ." 
 Robina could not go on. The tears of joy and pride and 
 regret were tumbling down her cheeks. And Lady Nun- 
 bury dried them with her deliciously scented cambric 
 handkerchief before she kissed them and said: 
 
 "It is true, my dear ! I was obeying a command just 
 as you were when you brought me that pencilled scrap of 
 paper. And I think and I believe the King thinks too 
 when next you are inclined to play off a hoax upon any- 
 body, you will remember what a different ending this day 
 would have had for you, if he himself had been less kind. 
 For Shakespeare wrote of the divinity that doth hedge a 
 King, and One Who ordained that Kings should rule, has 
 told us that we are to honour them." 
 
 Half-an-hour later, Robina, hugging a giant cardboard 
 box, and carrying a basket of hothouse peaches, got out 
 of the Abbey motor-brougham, and as the liveried 
 chauffeur opened the gate for her and, respectfully touch- 
 ing his cap, wished her good-evening, she came up the 
 path leading to Miss Twigger's front door, and the said
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 181 
 
 door, opening apparently of its own volition, discovered 
 Perto on the threshold. Even by the hall light he appeared 
 flushed, and his eyes were nearly as round and bright as 
 Robina's. 
 
 "Whatever made you go and take yourself off like 
 that," he cried, dancing with excitement, "when the fun 
 was only beginning? Why, we've had three bands here, 
 a Punch and Judy, and a lot of ladies and gentlemen who 
 said they were the Village Glee Club and had come to 
 sing a Birthday Ode, and they came in and took Miss 
 Twigger at least, some of them did for the Miss 
 Robina Grayson who is a hundred and ten years old, and 
 said how well she looked for her time of life and regu- 
 larly sent her into fits." 
 
 "Oh dear !" said Robina remorsefully. 
 
 "She hasn't done any fitting not really!" said Perto, 
 "so don't groan. But she might have if the mounted 
 Inspector of Police hadn't come riding up and explained 
 to everybody that the whole thing was a mistake which 
 had been explained to the Mayor of Plashingford and the 
 Vicar of Mold End, and the Editors of The Plashingford 
 Trumpeter and The County Indicator, to their entire 
 satisfaction. And what more was said I don't know. 
 Only the bands and the Punch and Judy and the Glee 
 Clubbers just melted away. And Miss Twigger tied up 
 her head and went straight to bed, because her nerves 
 had been so jangled. And she's ordered Patent Cereal 
 Food for supper instead of her two poached eggs, per- 
 haps because she thinks it will make her look younger, or 
 else because Shackleton-Peary has been stolen. I don't 
 envy the people who did it, do you, when he begins 
 nipping their feet? My word! what peaches! Who 
 gave 'em to you and what have you got in the box?" 
 
 The rest of Robina's cake was in the box, and a smaller 
 one exactly like it, with this legend on the top icing in 
 crystallised pistachios, and walnuts, and violets:
 
 1 82 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "PERTO 
 
 AN UNBIRTHDAY 
 
 PRESENT." 
 
 You may imagine whether Perto revelled in his un- 
 birthday present or not. And Miss Twigger, reassured by 
 Robina as to the ultimate recovery of her beloved cat, 
 consented to eat her poached eggs for supper after all. 
 As to Robina and Perto, and Emma, who had what Perto 
 called a whacking slice of each of the cakes, their supper 
 was of unimaginable deliciousness. And you, if you 
 suppose that either of them had bad dreams afterwards, 
 you are mistaken indeed. Both slept like tops and 
 awakened happily, though Robina felt anxious when the 
 newspaper boy brought The Plashingford Trumpeter for 
 Miss Twigger in the usual course of things. 
 
 "I wonder," she said feverishly to herself, "whether 
 Mr. Ticking has put in all those dreadfully made-up 
 things I told him about Miss Robina Grayson my find- 
 ing her deserted and starving on the sands at Lyme 
 Regis and adopting her as a great-aunt and all the rest ?" 
 
 But Miss Twigger perused her Trumpeter calmly, 
 without going into fits, and when Robina at last secured 
 the paper and raced with feverish activity through its 
 columns, not a single reference did she discover there to 
 the venerable Miss Robina Grayson and her predilection 
 for skipping, beefsteaks and potted lobster, and this gave 
 the conscious-stricken inventor of the astonishing old 
 lady cause to hope that The County Indicator might prove 
 equally bare of the details so eagerly gathered by Mr. 
 Mounteney. As a fact it was, and whether Mr. Ticking 
 of the Trumpeter had lost his notebook on the way home, 
 and whether Mr. Mounteney of The County Indicator 
 had sent his cuffs to the wash, forgetting that they were 
 of paper and covered with notes or whether the Editors 
 of both papers had been advised to suppress the inter-
 
 The Oldest Inhabitant 183 
 
 view Robina never knew for certain, but something told 
 her that the last explanation might be the most correct 
 one. 
 
 The portrait that is in the Grindling Gibbons frame 
 over the fireplace of the small dining-room of the State 
 suite of apartments at Nunbury Abbey has been photo- 
 graphed by a Royal photographer and many copies have 
 been sold. Robina, having saved up her weekly sixpence 
 for a sufficient number of weeks, became the owner of 
 one of these. It was hung up where it always will hang, 
 in her own room at home above the little writing-table 
 where she prepared her High School themes and exercises 
 and later on read up for her qualifying examination for 
 a member of the V.A.D. of the British Red Cross Society. 
 
 It may be of interest to some animal-loving reader to 
 know that Miss Twigger received back Shackleton-Peary 
 much mellowed in temper from the kindly hands of the 
 vet. And that old Mrs. Shakerly lived long enough to 
 be personally congratulated by the Mayor and Mayoress 
 of Plashingford, serenaded by three bands and the Glee 
 Club, and interviewed by the representatives of The 
 Plashingford Trumpeter and The County Indicator on 
 the attainment of her hundred and first year.
 
 VIII 
 BEAUTY WHILE YOU WAIT 
 
 IT'S a good thing to 'ave, but it brings trouble. There 
 was the lady Mother 'ad me christened after being 
 give a couple of orders for the Gallery at Covent Garden 
 by the gentleman where she chared. Loosha of Lam- 
 Her-More was her name and would she 'ave come to 
 what she came to, if she 'adn't bin beautiful? miserably 
 marrying the wrong young man, an' going mad in her 
 top notes at Edgar's reproaches Edgar being the young 
 man she'd throwed over, and 'andsome too, with his 
 deadly complexion and black feathers till the 'ole 'ouse 
 applauded. 
 
 Beauty is beauty an' make-up is make-up, though some- 
 times the two gets that mixed, you can't 'ardly tell one 
 from the other. But what I will say is the newest an' 
 most fashionable shape in figgers is not to be reached by 
 'uman means alone. But with regards to them young 
 persons as you see in the ladies' picture-papers, some- 
 times without heads, but always leaving off below the 
 knee and might 'ave left off earlier. What I ast is, 'Ow 
 is it done? and at least one solid meal a day being a 
 necessity of Nature, where is it to be put ? 
 
 I once went for to call upon a Beauty Speshulist at a 
 time in life when my feelings was above my reason, and 
 an un'appy attachment to one above my stations in life 
 led me to long for a fair flower-like face and swan-like 
 busk, an* white hands like one of the lady 'eroines in the 
 
 184
 
 Beauty While You Wait 185 
 
 "Penny Romancer." Him having gone for his yearly 
 fortnight's 'oliday an' the other lodgers 'aving dwindled 
 to a elderly gentleman with a wig on the second floor 
 back and a young lady in the Trying-On Department 
 what took 'er meals out, I 'ad the chance of a 'ole day 
 off an' took it. 
 
 Madame Claudeen was the Beauty Speshulist I'd made 
 up my mind should 'elp me to win a 'art that elseways 
 would never beat for me, for I'd 'card 'im tell a friend, 
 another gentleman in the butter, pork, and general pro- 
 vision line, as he should never reely love until he met a 
 maiden beauteous as a goddess of Ancient Grease. 
 Madame 'ad a address in a turnin' out of Bond-street on 
 the third landing up. There were two young ladies in 
 the outside room, pretendin' to be busy when they 'eard 
 a step. They swopped a wink when I come in an' the 
 tallest one she swum languidly over the carpet an spoke 
 to me in a lofty, patronizing kind of tone : 
 
 "Did you bring a message?" says she. 
 
 I tells her straight I ain't brought no message an I've 
 come on my own. 
 
 "Indeed !" says the young lady, sniggering at the other. 
 "We don't attend to clients of your rank in life as a rule," 
 an' glances in a mankle glass as the waves in 'er 'air must 
 'ave took 'ours to do, unless she slep' with 'er head in a 
 bandbox. 
 
 "I should 'ave supposed as one 'arf guinea is as good 
 as another," I says, showing 'er a glimpse of 'arf a 
 sovereign I 'ad ready in my glove, 'aving bin paid my 
 quarter's wages of one pound ten and eight only that 
 mornin'. " 'Owever, if not, there's other establish- 
 ments in the West End," and I turns 'aughtily on my 
 'eel. 
 
 "Did you require simple face-treatment, massage, or 
 electrolenses ?" asks the young lady, climbin' down from 
 'er 'igh 'orse, "or all three ?" And not knowin' what any
 
 1 86 A Sailor's Home 
 
 of the things meant, I said I thought all three would be 
 best. 
 
 "Madame's charge will be a guinea and a 'arf," says 
 the second young lady. 
 
 "In for a penny in for a pound," thinks I, "an' that 
 leaves me eightpence to carry on with for a quarter." 
 But I smiled cold and careless like an' forked out the 
 sovereign. It was an awful sight of money to pay away, 
 but I din't grudge it to be made beautiful. 
 
 "Will you 'ave manicure as well, and 'air-waving an' 
 tinting?" asks the first young lady, who'd got quite civil. 
 "Because we employ specialists in both branches." My 
 'art sank into the soles of my feet when she said as that 
 would come to 'arf a guinea more, but I plucked up 
 courage and said I'd have both if a sovereign an' ten an' 
 six covered the complete course. 
 
 "Madame does not make such bargains," says the 
 young lady as spoke last. 
 
 "All right, miss," says I, "as I'll 'unt up another 
 Madame 'oo will." An' I bid 'em both good-morning, 
 but they calls me back in a 'urry, an' after some talkin' 
 through a speakin' tube that went through the wall into 
 the nex' room, they took my one, ten, six, an' give me a 
 pink satin ticket scented most lovely. 
 
 "Madame is engaged with the Duchess of Dimblemere, 
 the Countess of Crumplehorn, and Lady Longshaw," says 
 the first young lady, "but in 'arf an 'our she will be free 
 to attend to you." An' they give me a red velvet chair, 
 an' I set down an' waited. No duchess didn't come sailin' 
 out of the nex' room, nor no countess, neither; only a 
 greasy young man in a white apern, with upright 'air, 
 went in between the pale blue velvet door-curtains, 
 carryin' a tray with a pewter-pot an' a covered tin dish, 
 an' come back without, an' then there was a smell of 
 chops as made me feel 'ungry. An' both of the young 
 ladies put on their 'ats, one after the other, an' went out
 
 Beauty While You Wait 187 
 
 to lunch in turns. It must have been a 'our before 
 Madame Claudeen ranged a little bell, an' I was showed 
 into the nex' room. It 'ad no second door, and there was 
 no more sign of duchesses an' countesses than of the 
 chops Madame Claudeen 'ad bin eating. 
 
 Perhaps it was the rose-coloured blinds an' pale blue 
 velvet 'angin's, but she certainly did seem a lovely creetur 
 in a amber velvet tea-gown cut low in the neck an' short 
 sleeves, though stouter than when in early youth. 'Er 
 face was the loveliest smooth pink-an '-white you ever see, 
 an' she 'ad waves upon waves of golden 'air an' lips as 
 red as sealing-wax, an' large dark eyes trimmed with 
 .blue. An' you could see the veins as blue on 'er white 
 skin as if they 'ad bin drawed on it. An' rosy nails as 
 shiny as you could 'ave seen your face in 'em. She 
 smiled at me with a flash of pearly teeth an' gold stop- 
 pings, an' I fair opened my 'art to 'er and told 'er I 'ad 
 come to be made beautiful. An' Madame Claudeen made 
 me take off my 'at an' jacket an' turn down the neck of 
 my three-an'-eleven silk blouse, an' put on a cotton 
 dressin'-gownd, an' my 'art jumped into the roof of my 
 mouth as I thought of one, as shall be for ever nameless, 
 comin' back in a fortnight from yesterday to find the 
 humble Loosha beauteous as one of them goddesses of 
 Ancient Grease what he was always talkin' about. 
 
 I must say Madame Claudeen knoo 'er business to a 
 tick. First she got a little tin-pot with a sperrit lamp an' 
 lighted the lamp, an' when the water in the pot begins 
 to steam she 'eld it under my nose until I was 'arf 
 b'iled ; and, judgin' from the glimp I 'ad of meself in the 
 glass over the shampoo-basin, lobsters couldn't be redder. 
 An' then she rubs my face over with a nice-smellin' 
 paste, an' scrapes the paste off with a scraper, an' then 
 with a thing like a toy garden roller she goes over me 
 from me eye-brows to me chin an' back again, over 
 an' over.
 
 1 88 A' Sailor's Home 
 
 "This," she says, "is to illimilate the 'ard lines of care 
 and soften the fatigued linements to the rounded contoors 
 of earliest youth. When this process is finished we will 
 tint the 'air with our celebrated Flooid Door, an' while 
 it is drying we will apply our wonderful Skin Food." 
 
 Took aback is not the word for me when I found 
 Madame an* a young lady she'd called in' to 'elp 'er meant 
 to wash my 'ead before tintin' my 'air with the Flooid 
 Door. But what 'ad to be, 'ad, an' when the rinshing 
 an' towellin* was over they dabbed my 'ead all over with 
 a wet sponge they kep' a dippin' in a green glass saucer, 
 an' brought a tin thing like a chimney-cowl up behind 
 my chair an puffed 'ot air down the back of my neck 
 until I could 'ave prayed for mercy. 
 
 "Now we will apply our famous Skin Food," says 
 Madame, emptying some thick pinky-white stuff out of a 
 bottle into a pink glass saucer, an' she gets a cotton-wool 
 dabber an* dabs me all over. "Smile as little as you 
 possibly can," says she, "while the medium is drying," 
 an' she opens a box full of pink stuff an' takes another 
 bit o' clean cotton-wool and 
 
 " 'Old 'ard, mum," I says, as 'er 'and comes my way. 
 "That ain't paint, is it?" 
 
 "Of course not," says Madame Claudeen. "This is our 
 exquisit Bloom of Health, and this," an' she opened a pot 
 of red lip-salve, "this is our Rosy Glow. Do not imagine 
 for a minnit that we employ cosmasticks in this establish- 
 ment," she goes on, takin' a little bottle of blackin' out 
 of a drawer an' dippin' a brush in it. "Nothink so vulgar 
 is employed in our Course of Treatment, and the effec's 
 we arrive at are those of Nature and not of Art." And as 
 she keeps on a-talkin', she keeps on a-working one as 
 fast as the other until that lovely complexion of 'ers 
 begins to get a bit streaky an' the lovely blue borders to 
 'er eyes runs into a smudge, an* I see as she must be 
 forty-five if a day.
 
 Beauty While You Wait 189 
 
 Will you believe it, when they'd waved my 'air an' 
 done it up, an' soaked my 'ands an' done my nails with 
 plate powder an' pink paste, an' taken off the cotton 
 dressin'-gownd, and give me the 'and mirror to look in, 
 I could not 'ave believed that face I see in it belonged 
 to Loosha Hemmans. For one thing, I 'ad a complexion 
 as pink an' white as Madame Claudeen's 'ad bin wken I 
 fust come in, an' my 'air 'ad become a goldeny-brown, 
 with greenish lights an' lovely waves in it. My arched 
 dark eyebrows would 'ave befitted one of the young lady 
 'eroines in the "Penny Romancer." My lips was a 
 lovely red, an' my eyes was rimmed with blue an' 'ad 
 an appealing kind of languishin' look I never 'ad noticed 
 before. I 'ad only eight-pence left off my quarter's 
 wages, but I was a fair treat to look at. Talk of the 
 goddesses of Ancient Grease ! If any one of 'em 'ad as 
 much attention goin' 'ome in the omlibus as I 'ad, she 
 might 'ave bin proud. With a conductor which I 'ope 
 were not a married man spendin' more time inside than 
 out, an' every female passenger ready to bite my 'ead off. 
 My missus was out when I got 'ome, 'aving taken the 
 opportunity of goin' to the theatre, but when the evening's 
 milk come clashing cans down the area steps an' the five 
 o'clock postman knocked with a circular, I begun to 
 compre'end the power of Beauty, for neither of them 
 two men could tear themselves away under a promise of 
 walking out on Sunday, an' when I took in 'is tea to the 
 elderly gentleman with a wig what lodged on the second 
 floor, 'e couldn't 'ardly bear to think of my carry in' the 
 tray, though one as would ring for coals constant an' 
 grumble if you stopped on the first floor with 'arf a 
 'undred in the scuttle. I took a long time undressin' for 
 bed that night, an' went to sleep with a lighted candle 
 an' a lookin' glass on the chest o' drawers opposite the 
 bed, so as I could gaze on my own loveliness whenever I 
 woke up. But I forgot to wake up, an' when the missus
 
 190 A Sailor's Home 
 
 bell rang I jumped up, 'ad the usual 'asty wash with a 
 bit o' Sungleam Soap, an' run down to light the fires 
 an' get the breakfastes with a happy 'art. The kittle was 
 on the boil when I 'ears a tremenjous ringin' at the 'all 
 door. 'Ow my 'art beat when I drawed the bolteses I 
 never, no! never, shall forget. 'Im as shall ever be 
 nameless 'ad returned unexpected from the seaside in 
 a taxi ! 
 
 " 'Ow are you, Loosha ?" says he. 
 
 " 'Ow are you, Mr. Simms ?" I says, smiling an' turn- 
 ing my beautiful face up at 'im. 
 
 'E give a sort of crowing cry an' 'is eyes got as round 
 as sorcers. ... I keeps on smiling, waiting for what 
 would come. It come when 'e dropped into the 'all chair 
 an' larfed as if Vd kill 'isself, and the cabman what was 
 waitin' to be paid larfed too, an' the milkman an' the 
 early post what 'ad arrived simpultaneous, grinned from 
 year to year. 
 
 "What ever 'ave you done to yourself gal ?" gasps 
 him as I shall never name. 
 
 "Nothink, Mr. Simms," says I, with the innocent kind 
 of smile them "Penny Romancer" 'eroines always 'ad 
 on tap. "Why do you ast me, sir?" 
 
 "G go an' look in the the glass !" he gaspses. 
 
 "Yus, go an' look in the glass, miss !" says the cabman 
 'oarsely. 
 
 "Yes, do go an* 'ave a look in the glass !" says the early 
 milk an' the postman. 
 
 There was a glass in the 'all 'at-stand. I give one 
 stare in it an' when I see my face one mask of smudges 
 pink an' black an' blue an' white, under my dyed 'air 
 then I knowed all. 
 
 You can buy Beauty, if you 'ave enough money to pay 
 for it but it ain't the sort to wash.
 
 IX 
 THE YOUNG MAN FROM MAWLEY'S 
 
 THE discreet, gray-faced, sadly-clothed man out of 
 livery answered the touch on the electric door-bell 
 and the modestly restrained knock at the hall-door. An 
 avalanche of dogs, mainly of the fox-terrier breed, 
 poured out of the house upon the plainly but well dressed 
 stranger who stood upon the india-rubber porch-mat with 
 a flat box beneath his arm. A yard of Dandie Dinmont 
 followed, and promptly sat up on end, balancing himself 
 with his heavy splayed forepaws, and showing in the 
 beautiful brown eyes under his gray hair tangles the 
 emotional and sudden friendship that he could not convey 
 by tail-wagging without tumbling over. 
 
 "Dear little beast !" said the man with the box, before 
 he even looked at Prynne. And he softly rubbed Dandie 
 under the chin with the point of a well-made boot. 
 
 "He may, and do, carry a tradesman's box," reflected 
 Prynne, "but he is certainly no tradesman not unless 
 my experience of gentlemen is at fault, that is." At least 
 he said afterwards in the servants'-hall that these words 
 had framed themselves in his mind. But all he said was 
 " 'Ad you any appointment with her ladyship, sir ? She 
 is particular engaged to-day." 
 
 "I am a traveller," said the young man who carried 
 the box, "in the service of Messrs. Mawley, orchid- 
 growers, of Blittingdon, Sussex, and happening to be in 
 the neighbourhood upon business, and knowing that her 
 
 191
 
 192 A Sailor's Home 
 
 ladyship was a fancier" he waved his hand in the direc- 
 tion of the imposing rows of tropical houses which, with 
 their stove-flues smoking vigorously, rose in recently 
 painted immaculateness at the lower end of the shrub- 
 bery lawn "I ventured to call. Some country neigh- 
 bours of her ladyship's have already favoured me with 
 rather extensive orders, but I have here" he tapped the 
 box invitingly "some samples of bloom that have not 
 yet been submitted to any purchaser. It is unfortunate 
 that her ladyship should be so much engaged. How- 
 ever. ..." He shrugged his shoulders, straightened 
 his hat, tucked his box more firmly under his arm, and 
 nodded good-day. 
 
 Prynne wavered. "To tell the truth, sir, a domestic 
 event of the nature of a wedding is in the wind. In fact, 
 it takes place to-morrow, and as I happened to 'ear this 
 morning, that, through an unaccountable negligence on 
 the part of the gardener who have the care of the tropical 
 'ouses, a whole row of her ladyship's most prized and 
 lovely finger-glass specimens had been discovered to be 
 nipped most cruel by setting in proximity to the glass, 
 pre'aps I ought to mention to her ladyship that you have 
 called." 
 
 "Please yourself," said the stranger agreeably. He 
 walked into the hall, threw an appreciative eye over the 
 Jacobean carved screen and the great sculptured marble 
 fireplace, and waited immovably, hat in hand, while 
 Prynne knocked at the drawing-room door. 
 
 "I wonder whether I ought to have gone round to 
 the tradesmen's entrance?" wondered this young man, 
 glancing at the box. He became aware of the humming 
 activity of an unseen household on the verge of a wedding 
 as he stood in the entrance of the domestic hive. 
 Scattered on the Turkey carpet and on the black-and- 
 white marble lozenges of the pavement were sheets and 
 crumpled balls of silver paper, fragments of sealing-wax,
 
 The Young Man from Mawley's 193 
 
 trails of cut and knotted string. Piled on an armorial 
 chest were cardboard boxes and parcels large and small. 
 Every moment the swing-door leading to the servants' 
 quarters and tradesmen's entrance would open, and a 
 heated maid or an under- footman in a striped jacket 
 would come and add to the pile of parcels, the pyramid 
 of boxes, and vanish again. 
 
 "Wedding presents," murmured the young man who 
 had come from Mawley's. "Damn 'em!" he added, and 
 bit the longest hair of his moustache. He could smell 
 the wedding-cake that stood upon the great sideboard of 
 that jealously-shut-up dining-room, in and out of which 
 hired assistant-waiters in white aprons and cooks' caps 
 were flitting. The whole house reeked of the sacrifice 
 that was perhaps to be. He cautiously climbed the 
 Jacobean oak staircase with his eye, knowing that the 
 bedroom and boudoir of the bride-elect were upon the 
 second floor at the end of the corridor. Perhaps she was 
 at this very moment locked up in those rooms weeping 
 and calling for her Young Lochinvar. Young Lochinvar 
 felt a lump rise in his throat at the mental picture. 
 
 All this while Prynne did not return. When at last he 
 emerged from the drawing-room it was with an eye 
 emptied of all knowledge of the young man with the box. 
 An insistent voice followed Prynne and dragged him 
 back, breathlessly expostulating. 
 
 "Yes, my lady; two, my lady. I'll tell Walker im- 
 mediate, my lady." Then he fled up the Jacobean stair- 
 case like a hunted ghost. 
 
 And directly afterwards, with a little trill of happy 
 song upon her rose lips, kicking a mass of tissue-paper 
 before her with the points of her pretty bronze shoes, and 
 dragging an empty cardboard box after her, whose metal 
 clip had entangled in the lace of her petticoat frill, came 
 the bride-elect. Her gay, pretty eyes encountered those 
 of the young man who held the box, and a wireless
 
 194 A Sailor's Home 
 
 message passed between them. She grew japonica- 
 scarlet; he became, underneath the tan of Shorncliffe 
 and Aldershot, almost pale. 
 
 His swift whisper leaped after his lightning glance of 
 recognition : "Don't call out, Ermie ! I'm here, as I said 
 I'd be. Will your mother recognise me with this mous- 
 tache?" 
 
 Her face dimpled into laughter. "Not in the least 
 she couldn't. It's so red and spiky and unlike your tiny 
 little black one. What sticks it on?" 
 
 "Diachylon or something else that gives me the lock- 
 jaw," he mumbled with a rigid upper lip. "Look here 1 
 Are you going to be plucky and fight for your happiness 
 and mine, or go through with to-morrow's tomfoolery?" 
 
 "Harry ! Don't be so tempestuous !" 
 
 She gasped, and her white hands fluttered up to her 
 heart. There was a magnificent square emerald set in 
 brilliants on the engagement finger. To-morrow the 
 wedding-ring with a still more costly keeper would re- 
 place the emerald, set in its stead by the hand of a 
 husband whom she did not love, if she did not respond 
 to this young man's appeal. 
 
 "You have only to slip upstairs to your room, pack a 
 tiny bag, put on a fur motor-coat, hat and veil, and get 
 out. Then you must cross the park to the lodge near the 
 Charles's oak. A little way down the road there's a 
 closed touring-car waiting. That's mine, and the 
 chauffeur has a red rose in his buttonhole. I'll join you 
 directly afterwards, as soon as I get turned out. I've 
 been hanging about the place for three days waiting my 
 chance. Then I had the notion I told you of in my letter 
 the notion about the orchids." He jerked the box. 
 "Fourteen of your mother's choice specimens in this box. 
 I paid her second tropical-house gardener a hundred 
 jimmies down to swear the April frosts had blighted 'em. 
 Thundering scoundrel, isn't he? not that I have any
 
 The Young Man from Mawley's 195 
 
 right to complain. Oh ! isn't it a thundering confounded 
 shame that I'm only my uncle Broad's nephew, a poor 
 beggar in a Hussar regiment, with only seven hundred 
 a year besides my rotten pay to keep up a beggarly little 
 title with. If I'd the Duke's strawberry-leaves round 
 my hat now, I should have been able to knock at your 
 father's front door like a decent gentleman and say, 
 "Look here, sir, I've come to marry your daughter, not 
 her money !" instead of sneaking in as I've done. What 
 is it? Somebody coming downstairs? All right." 
 
 Alarm had leaped into her face as the decent Prynne 
 came smoothly hurrying downstairs, followed by a 
 French maid in black silk, with elaborately piled-up hair, 
 who carried a milliner's box and a jewel-case. In the 
 box were a coronal of orange blossoms and a veil of 
 marvellous, cobwebby, old Malines that had belonged to 
 a murdered Empress. And the case held family diamonds 
 belonging to the man who was to marry Ermyntrude to- 
 morrow. 
 
 She knew that as she passed into the drawing-room, 
 the door of which the young man held respectfully open. 
 The vista afforded was of brocade-upholstered furniture, 
 some of it supporting female friends and relatives; the 
 rest encumbered with wedding presents, yet partly en- 
 shrouded in tissue-paper. Her mother, a large, stately 
 woman, with an overflow of figure and three chins, wel- 
 comed back the sacrificial lamb with an enfolding 
 embrace. 
 
 "Dearest, where have you been hiding? You have 
 been wanted frightfully, more than once." 
 
 "I have only been in the hall talking to the man who 
 called about some orchids." 
 
 "From Mawley's? Almost providential, when one 
 recalls the tragedy of last night. Where is the person? 
 Tell Prynne to show him in."
 
 196 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "You have not time to see him, surely? Had not 
 Prynne better appoint another day?" 
 
 "My dearest, the day is to-morrow. And I have 
 fourteen Venetian finger-glasses to fill, thanks to the 
 wicked frost last night. You don't imagine that I shall 
 grudge expenditure that is to make your wedding a 
 brilliant success ?" 
 
 Ermie was kissed again, enfolded again. All the 
 women present murmured admiration or cooed approval. 
 Prynne showed in the young man from Mawley's, 
 Orchid Growers, of Blittingdon, Sussex. He passed over 
 scattered squares of tissue-paper to the tribunal of her 
 mother's judgment. The box was opened, the damp 
 cotton-wool removed from fourteen replicas of the four- 
 teen frost-shrivelled orchids. Feminine gasps and 
 gurgles of delight attended the exposition of each 
 wonder. 
 
 "And the cost ? You would be content to make some 
 reduction if I agree to take all that are here? We are 
 largely supplied from our own houses, but we entertain 
 to-morrow, and some unexpected need may arise, some 
 unforeseen contingency may have to be met. You quite 
 comprehend me? I feel sure you do. You look in- 
 telligent." 
 
 "/ hope," thought the young tradesman, as he respect- 
 fully stood beside the open box upon the table, "that the 
 unforeseen contingency may be of my bringing about!" 
 He looked as stupidly intelligent as he could, and said 
 that the price of the boxful was only ten pounds. She 
 took so long in beating about the bush of her determina- 
 tion to give no more than five sovereigns that he nearly 
 yielded to the desperate inmpulse to offer them as a gift. 
 But he controlled himself, and bowed over her ladyship's 
 cheque like a pattern tradesman. 
 *- "Perhaps," suggested her ladyship, who secretly re-
 
 The Young Man from Mawley's 197, 
 
 joiced over a wonderful bargain, "you might like to see 
 our orchid-houses before you go." 
 
 His eyes suggested who should be his guide. The 
 bride-elect thought she needed fresh air. Indeed, her 
 head ached a little. She would pilot the young man from 
 Mawley's as far as those gorgeous glazed exotic temples 
 at the bottom of the shrubbery-garden. 
 
 "But the heated air inside ! My darling child must be 
 careful!" 
 
 Darling child meant to be. She would run and put on 
 her things, and the young man would wait in the hall. 
 He opened the drawing-room door very respectfully for 
 her, and she passed out, so haughty in her condescension 
 that she gave him quite a smile. Then, with a frou-frou 
 of silk linings and a twitter of laughter, she shot up the 
 steep oak Jacobean staircase, under the grim or smirking 
 faces of ancestors in wigs and ruffles. He waited with- 
 out his box. 
 
 Presently she came down in a sable motor-coat and 
 toque, with a white silk veil over head head. She carried 
 a tiny bag, hidden by her sleeve, and her cheeks were 
 poppy-red. The young tradesman opened the hall-door. 
 They went out into the still golden light of an April 
 afternoon, and turned up the long path that led through 
 the shrub-garden, the bride-elect walking a little in 
 advance. The moment they were at a safe distance from 
 the house she showed him her bare left hand. The 
 emerald ring had been left, in an envelope addressed to 
 the giver, on the writing-table in her boudoir. 
 
 "Then you will you will!" he gasped, overcome by 
 the reality of his triumph. 
 
 "Goose!" she said, "as though you didn't know I 
 would. This gate leads into the park. I'll run you to 
 King Charles's' oak for what?" 
 
 "For a wedding-ring !" said the young man, pulling off 
 his red, spiky moustache and throwing it into a bed of
 
 198 A Sailor's Home 
 
 scarlet anemones, and capturing the little travelling bag. 
 
 "One, two off!" she said, and darted away, he after 
 her. But they passed singly and with the utmost decorum 
 through the lodge gates, and a little way down the road 
 they found the motor-car waiting, whose chauffeur wore 
 a red rose in his buttonhole. 
 
 "Good for you, Richards !" said the owner of the car, 
 as he handed in his prize. 
 
 "Yes, m'lord," said Richards, touching his cap. 
 
 "My portmanteau in?" 
 
 "On the roof, m'lord," said Richards. 
 
 "And the hamper, and the tea-basket?" 
 
 "Inside, m'lord." 
 
 "Drive like the deuce, man." 
 
 "Whereto, m'lord?" 
 
 "Folkestone. We'll get there in time to be married at 
 a nice little church I know by special license early to- 
 morrow morning, and cross to Calais by the next boat." 
 
 The chauffeur touched the lever. The automobile slid 
 noiselessly away down the long white road. She cried 
 because she had left her Pom behind, and mother, and 
 everybody, but not as she would have cried if she had 
 had to go back.
 
 X 
 
 "BLEACH" 
 
 U T T 7"E could, 'aving got the mare safe in our hands," 
 
 VV said the nondescript personage in the tight-knee 'd 
 riding breeches, contrasting oddly with his serge reefer 
 coat, his checked leather-peaked motor-cap, Scotch 
 heather-mixture rig-and-fur stockings and lace-up boots, 
 "we could enter 'er for one or two of the minor May 
 events, say Folkestone and Salisbury, but for her being 
 so blooming dashed well known." 
 
 "It's 'er colour, dark chestnit, with a white blaze on 
 her face and the off- fetlock white too, as stands in the 
 way o' a pair o' needy pals turnin' the honest copper," 
 said the nondescript personage's companion, turning a 
 sprig of greening broom between his chapped lips as he 
 lolled back in the third-class smoker that contained him- 
 self, his friend, and a thin hectic young man in respect- 
 able Sunday black, with the ostentatiously curly and 
 glossy hair that is seldom seen save on the head of a 
 hairdresser. He smelt of bergamot and shampoo-soap, 
 and was reading the weekly issue of a newspaper devoted 
 to the interests of the Trade. In the rack over his head 
 were a shiny bowler, with a new crape band, and a 
 shinier bag of American cloth. And the rat-tail of a 
 dressing-comb stuck out of his breast-pocket. 
 
 "Fen narks," said the first speakers, treading on the 
 toe of the man who had replied. 
 
 The Doncaster and Liverpool Street Sunday afternoon 
 199
 
 2oo A Sailor's Home 
 
 train joggled over the sleepers languidly, paused at a 
 small and insignificant station to disgorge two stout 
 farmers and take in one cotton-gloved, red-cheeked 
 servant girl, then with a jerk and a rattle sped again 
 over the iron way. And the young hairdresser, who was 
 of a sensitive disposition, realised that his fellow- 
 passengers were staring at him resentfully. 
 
 "Excoose me, sir," at length said the owner of the toe 
 that had been trodden upon, chewing his piece of broom 
 and breathing wheezily over the turned-up collar of a 
 weather-beaten covert coat which had been made for a 
 much bigger wearer, "but per'aps you over'eard wot I 
 was a-saying just now to my mate 'ere in joke?" 
 
 "About the chestnut horse the chestnut mare, with 
 the white blaze on her face and the white fetlock, what- 
 ever part of the beast that means, for I'm sure I couldn't 
 tell you?" said the curly-headed young man with the 
 comb sticking out of his breast-pocket, looking over the 
 top of The Coiffeurs' Chronicle and Barbers' Weekly; 
 "whose colour is too remarkable for the thieves that stole 
 her to profit by their felony? Certainly, I did overhear." 
 
 The candid utterance induced an apoplectic alteration 
 in the complexions of his fellow-passengers. As the 
 pace of the locomotive quickened to a rapid wobble in- 
 stead of a slow joggle, the nondescript gentleman in the 
 reefer significantly let down his window, opened the 
 carriage door, unbuttoned his waistcoat and removed his 
 belt, a stout leather affair with a brass buckle. His com- 
 panion in the covert coat slipped one large hand into the 
 inner pocket of his garment and withdrew it, wearing an 
 iron ornament of the kind known as a knuckle-duster. 
 
 "There ain't a stop now for quite a while, is there, 
 Cuffey?" the nondescript gentleman asked, with an un- 
 pleasant smile. 
 
 "Not for a while, Briggins, there ain't," responded 
 Cuffey - t balancing the knuckle-duster.
 
 "Bleach" 201 
 
 "Then, my curly-'eaded young friend," said Briggins, 
 with simple directness, "me and my mate are under the 
 obligation of asking you to step out of 'ere." 
 
 "And if you don't step out," said Cuffey, revealing a 
 (quantity of uncared-for teeth in a grin that was even 
 more unpleasant than the business smile of Briggins, "me 
 and the other gent 'ere will be under the pyneful necessity 
 of chuckin' you." 
 
 "It seems to me," said the curly-haired tonsorial artist, 
 looking rather pale, but speaking with great coolness, 
 "that both of you chaps are making a lot of fuss about 
 a very small matter. What is it to me if you stole the 
 mare or a complete coaching-four of animals of the same 
 description? I'd steal myself, just now at least I think 
 so if I knew of anything to steal." 
 
 "Ho! you would, would you?" said Mr. Briggins 
 judicially. 
 
 " 'E only thinks 'e would," said Cuffey malignantly. 
 " 'Ere ! This carriage is uncommon cold with the door 
 hangin' open." He addressed the young hairdresser. 
 "Are you a-goin' to step out of 'ere or ain't you? That's 
 the question." 
 
 "Because our time's too precious to waste," observed 
 Mr. Briggins. And with his friend he truculently ad- 
 vanced upon the intended victim. 
 
 "Don't fuss, you have plenty of time before you," said 
 the hairdresser, putting up his hand. "Why should you 
 grudge me an extra minute? Besides, it will be to your 
 advantage. I've rather a valuable trade secret I should 
 wish to place at your disposal in return for all the trouble 
 you're going to, to save a poor bankrupt beggar of a hair- 
 dresser who put his all in buying a rotten business, and 
 who had fair made up his mind to commit suicide on this 
 very journey, out of this very train." 
 
 "Strewth, and so that's why you took us all a-smiling," 
 said Mr. Cuffey, with reluctant conviction.
 
 2O2 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "No\r I look at you, you 'ave a kind of 'unted desprit 
 look," added Mr. Briggins, perusing the hairdresser's 
 features with interest. 
 
 "Suicide's a crime, and you're going to save me from 
 committing it," said the hairdresser briskly; "that's why 
 I am going to help you two out of your little trouble with 
 the stolen mare." 
 
 "Her colour's our trouble," said Mr. Briggins gruffly, 
 "and though we could dye her black with walnut juice 
 whisker-and-moustache stain, the stuff runs to a bob for 
 a small bottle, and we want all the money we've got, to 
 put, not on a 'orse's 'ide, but on a 'orse's 'eels." 
 
 "But suppose instead of dyeing the beast you were to 
 bleach her?" suggested the hairdresser. 
 
 "Bleach 'er like how your young woman does 'er 'air, 
 'e means," interpolated Mr. Cuffey, nodding at his 
 friend. 
 
 "She says she don't do nothing to bleach her 'air," 
 declared the chivalrous Briggins. "She says the strong 
 sunshine at Margit that time I took her on a five-shillin' 
 excursion there and back made it go that yeller mustard 
 colour from dark brown." 
 
 "She is quite right about the effect of the sunshine," 
 said the would-be suicide cheerfully, "but the bleach 
 peroxide of hydrogen is the stuff has to be put on first, 
 and it's very expensive, the kind usually employed. But 
 the confounded swindler who sold me my little business 
 in Ealing at Netting Hill, I mean had discovered a 
 cheap medium, and there's an eight-gallon cask of it now 
 in the little room back of my shampooing-saloon. That 
 cask I am going to bequeath to you two gentlemen, in 
 return for your obliging services. No; don't shut the 
 carriage-door. You promised to pitch me out, and I'm 
 going to hold you to your bargain. First, though, I shall 
 take off my boots, in case I change my mind at the last 
 minute and kick so as to hurt you."
 
 "Bleach" 203 
 
 The young hairdresser put up his foot on the carriage- 
 seat and began to tug at a boot-lace. 
 
 " 'Old 'ard a minute," said Mr. Cuffey, who had been 
 thinking noisily. "You 'aven't tipped us the address o' 
 that little crib o' yours in Nottin* '111." 
 
 "Areca Crescent, Number Thirty-eight," said the hair- 
 dresser, fighting with a knot. "And the name over the 
 shop is 'Rickarby, late Milching.' I'm Rickarby, and I 
 shall be late in a minute, I hope. Come, are you chaps 
 ready?" 
 
 "Don't rush us," said Mr. Briggins. "Spare 'arf a mo' 
 to tell us 'ow we're to get that barrel o' bleachin' flooid, 
 an* 'ow we're to use it when we get it. Don't leave 
 two feller-men in difficulties what 'ave befriended 
 you." 
 
 "Call for the barrel with a truck, and say I sold it to 
 you before I died," said the impatient hairdresser. "As 
 to the mare, sponge her all over carefully with the 
 medium, and let her dry in the sunshine unless you 
 bungle the job she'll turn golden." 
 
 "And so will our luck," said Cuffey, joyfully spitting 
 his piece of broom out at the carriage-window "least- 
 ways, if we don't bungle the job, as you say," he added, 
 "through not bein' proper 'airdressers." 
 
 "You ought to be able to manage by yourselves," said 
 the impatient hairdresser; "but it's a thousand chances 
 to one your lack of experience will ruin the appearance 
 of the customer I mean the animal. It isn't every hair- 
 dresser who's a good bleaching-artist, let me tell you that. 
 Why, it took me five years to attain my present pitch of 
 proficiency." 
 
 "And now you're a-going to spoil yourself by being 
 thrown or jumpin' out of a railway-carriage when going 
 at express speed," said Mr. Briggins, who had, despite 
 the entreaties of the hairdresser, shut the carriage-door. 
 "No, young feller. You 'ang on and live long enough
 
 2O4 A Sailor's Home 
 
 to git back to London and bleach the mare for us ; she's 
 Colonel de Crosier's 'Bloodstone' (I thought you'd jump 
 at that!) what mysteriously disappeared out of 'er 
 special van-'orsebox betwixt Lewes and Bath, a regular 
 crock of her colour, with a white-painted face and fetlock 
 bein' substitooted in 'er place her being entered to run 
 for the Somersetshire Stakes and ca'rryin' a pot o' 
 money." 
 
 "An* she's now in a little stable behind a friend's 
 public-'ouse at Churton," said Mr. Cuffey bitterly, "eatin* 
 her heard orf to the tune of seven an' sixpence a day, and 
 bringin' two honest investors to misery and starvation, 
 because of her colour making 'er so remarkable, an' her 
 description being known. But bleached to a nice light 
 canary colour, like Briggins' young woman's hair, she'll 
 be a bit of fair all-right, and so will you." 
 
 "The train's stopping," said the hairdresser gloomily, 
 "and but for you it might have been all comfortably over 
 with me now. Well, I'll live just long enough to oblige 
 you two " 
 
 "And afterwards you shall make away with yourself," 
 said Mr. Briggins, flushed with generosity, "in any way 
 you please. There! Don't say we're not acting fair by 
 you." 
 
 "I won't," said the curly-haired young man, as he 
 crowned himself with his crape-adorned bowler, reached 
 down his black shiny bag, "and now " 
 
 The train stopped. 
 
 "And now good-bye," said the curly-haired young man, 
 stepping nimbly to the door, opening it, and getting 
 quickly out. "This is my station. Here ! Guard ! Porter 
 there !" he shouted, "call a constable ! I give these two 
 men in charge for being concerned in the theft of the 
 mare 'Bloodstone/ the property of Colonel de Crosier, 
 and also for having threatened to murder me. If I 
 hadn't bluffed the scoundrels with a pretence of being
 
 "Bleach" 205, 
 
 on the point myself of committing suicide, they'd have 
 thrown me out of the train, I believe." 
 
 "We would," said Mr. Briggins malignantly, "and I 
 wish we 'ad 'ave done it." 
 
 "It ain't a fair cop, what I call," snarled the indignant 
 Cuffey. "It's a low, mean, dishonest take-in." 
 
 "You'd better be careful what you say," said one of 
 two large constables. "I warn you everything'll be took 
 down and used against you." 
 
 "I told you the truth when I said I was on the verge 
 of bankruptcy," said the smiling hairdresser, when he had 
 supplied an inspector with his genuine address. "So I 
 am, but I shan't be there long, thanks to you. There's 
 a reward of three hundred pounds offered for the 
 recovery of 'Bloodstone,' this gentleman tells me, and I 
 rather fancy it'll come my way." 
 
 He winked upon Messrs. Briggins, and Cuffey 
 pleasantly. 
 
 "Ta-ta," he said, "much obliged. Good-day!"
 
 XI 
 
 BONES! 
 
 ONE week-end house-party had motored away, the 
 men masked like conspirators, the women veiled 
 like house-maids' brooms enveloped in cobwebs. The 
 next batch was not due until Saturday. One, two, three, 
 four days of tete a tete loneliness for Her and for Him. 
 
 He had, with the inane persistency of the speeding 
 host, remained upon the doorstep even after the tuff-tuff 
 of the last motor had grown thin upon the ear. She had 
 retreated into the Jacobean carved-oak hall, on the 
 strength of which they had paid eighteen thousand a 
 bargain, the sleek Haymarket agent said, omitting to 
 mention whose for this desirable country residence. 
 The newly varnished, recently acquired ancestors upon 
 the walls looked at her with such glittering contempt that 
 she lowered her eyes. And then she saw a curious- 
 looking, narrow, long box upon the marble console or 
 what looked like a long box, enveloped in brown paper 
 and string. 
 
 "It must have come by parcel post just now," she said, 
 pouncing on it eagerly. "How frightfully punctual of 
 Taillette et Cie! Just when I wanted something to do, 
 too." She rang the hall bell twice, which meant the 
 Swiss maid upstairs, and began to strip off the tightly 
 tied string. Then a large masculine hand reached over 
 her shoulder and grabbed the parcel. 
 
 "Look here, that's mine, you know!" 
 
 "Rubbish! It's for me." 
 
 206
 
 Bones ! 207 
 
 "I beg your pardon," He said, with some acerbity ; "if 
 you will look at the address you will see my name." 
 
 "I don't want to look at the address." 
 
 "You've torn it off," he said angrily. 
 
 The address being on a label gummed over the knot of 
 the string, she had, in fact, torn it off and tossed it into 
 the fire, which had been lighted because Jacobean halls 
 have a trick of smelling mouldy even on a rainy day in 
 September, and of feeling damp. Now He went down 
 on his hands and knees, grovelling under the console 
 table in a curiously ardent search for it. 
 
 "Do get up," she snapped; "you look so awfully 
 apoplectic about the neck and ears, and I can hear you 
 puffing." 
 
 He obeyed with unusual celerity. "I'm afraid I ant 
 getting a little bit crummy," He said, surveying the 
 generous curve described by his watch-chain across a 
 waistcoat of fatally large-patterned tweed. 
 
 "Afraid!" She echoed, with a high little hysterical 
 laugh that He had learned, within two years of wedded 
 happiness, to regard as the weatherwise regard the inky 
 cloud-castles bannered with streamers of coppery vapour 
 that presage the bursting of a thunderstorm. 
 
 "Look here, my dear," He said, with meekness, "are 
 you absolutely certain that parcel was meant for you?" 
 
 "Were you expecting one," She asked, with icy disdain, 
 "of this shape and size?" 
 
 "I don't see why I shouldn't be." He was fiery sunset 
 red and breathed through the nose, always a sign with 
 him of impending inflammation of the temper. 
 
 "Will you tell me," She asked, facing him, the disputed 
 parcel tucked under one arm, the outraged feelings of a 
 wife palpitating visibly under the discreet indiscretions 
 of her open-worked cambric blouse, and one little buckled 
 patent-leather shoe tapping the shiny bottom step of the 
 Jacobean staircase "will you tell me what you think
 
 208 A Sailor's Home 
 
 what you believe to be inside this ?" She rapped lightly 
 on the parcel with the hand that wore his wedding ring 
 and the keeper that had cost him such a thundering lump. 
 Our civilised women are no better judges of jewels than 
 their savage sisters, thought He. Anything that is big 
 enough and sufficiently shining does for all, and they 
 sport a five-hundred guinea string of pearls with a rope 
 of blue-glass Venice beads, and diamond bracelets with 
 Indian glass bangles, the sort of thing the ayahs and low- 
 caste women wear at Lahore. And these are the creatures 
 that prate of sex equality and clamour for franchise! 
 thought He. 
 
 "No, I'm dashed if I do !" He thundered suddenly. 
 
 She cast a glance of scorn upon him, turned, and swept 
 upstairs to her boudoir. She heard the door of the smok- 
 ing-room bang, disturbing swarms of Jacobean echoes, 
 as she cut the string of the parcel, neatly removed the 
 brown paper, dropped it into the wastepaper basket, and 
 opened the long box. Then she uttered a cry of triumph 
 and dashed into her bedroom, calling Marie Louise. 
 
 "Undress me quick ; don't lose a minute. Taillette has 
 kept her word, and I'm dying to try them on. Dites-moi 
 done, Marie Louise, do you think the new-shaped figure 
 will suit my style? Candidly, now, speaking as though 
 you were at confession." 
 
 "It is trying, without doubt, to those ladies who are 
 not tall. But Madame has such grace to carry it off." 
 Marie Louise was, of course, speaking as if she were at 
 confession. "Madame will look ravishing. Alas! my 
 Heaven, what is this ?" 
 
 Marie Louise was quite pale as they unrolled wider 
 and wider in her trembling hands. 
 
 "Made of webbing, no embroidery, and with such huge 
 wide bones!" gasped her mistress. "And thirty-five 
 inches forty, if one. What can have possessed Taillette? 
 Put them back in the box at once, Marie Louise. Take
 
 Bones ! 209 
 
 them away to your room, tie them up in the paper, and 
 send them back to Wigmore Street by the next parcel- 
 post. I'll write a letter and say there has been some 
 hideous mistake. No, don't dress me again. I'll put on 
 a kimono and go to bed till dinner-time. Does it rain 
 still?" 
 
 "Des hallebardes, Madame." 
 
 "You may go. Take those awful things with you, and 
 bring me tea at half-past five." 
 
 "Madame has already had the af ternuti !" 
 
 "I'll have it again, then." 
 
 Marie Louise shut the bedroom door noiselessly, and 
 skipped across the boudoir, hugging in her neat black silk 
 apron the long box and its extraordinary contents. She 
 made a grimace of triumph at her own rather plain face 
 in the mantel-mirror, and slid downstairs instead of up, 
 with the air of a feminine Mephistopheles. She was not 
 a bad sort of young woman, but chance had delivered a 
 man into her hands, and he was going to bleed for it. 
 She knocked softly at the smoking-room door. 
 
 "Come in," He bellowed. He was lying on his back 
 on a big leather divan, smoking a cigar and studying the 
 pictorial advertisements in a ladies' weekly illustrated 
 paper. 
 
 "Monsieur permits?" 
 
 "Certainly." He dropped the paper adroitly between 
 the divan and the wall, and sat up with rumpled hair and 
 a heightened complexion, which deepened to tomato when 
 he saw the apron's contents. "A message from Ma- 
 dame?" 
 
 "It is but of the box. The box contained nothing that 
 was intended for Miladi. I come but to bring Mon- 
 sieur " 
 
 He blurted out: "Take the things away. You don't 
 suppose I'd order or wear such things, do you? Send 
 'em to the devil. Pack 'em back. Put 'em in the fire. 
 Why bring 'em to me?"
 
 2io A Sailor's Home 
 
 She tittered inwardly, for she had not unrolled her 
 apron or opened the compromising box. Now she began 
 to weep; the black silk apron went to her eyes, the box 
 tumbled down upon the Daghestani carpet, and the con- 
 tents of course, rolled out. 
 
 "I beg Monsieur to pardon me. I entreat Monsieur not 
 to be offended. Miladi Madame does not know that I 
 brought the box to Monsieur. She commanded me to 
 settd it back to the corse tier e in Vigmore Street, and I 
 cannot write the English address. Ah, heaven! and 
 Monsieur is angry !" 
 
 Monsieur said with an uncertain voice, looking at the 
 contents of the long box with a mingled expression of 
 guilt, fear, and greed : "You're wrong, my good girl. I'm 
 not in the least angry. Leave the box with me. I'll 
 pack it up and direct it properly." He added, slipping 
 a sovereign into the unconsciously ready hand of Marie 
 Louise, "And you needn't mention anything about it." 
 
 "But if Madame should ask?" 
 
 Another sovereign went to keep the first one vrarm. 
 And those things in the long box had cost him four 
 pounds ten, and he didn't know whether he would ever 
 be able able to 
 
 "If Madame should ask, say that the " 
 
 "The corsets, Monsieur!" 
 
 "The a humphs!" He could not bring himself to 
 utter the word "have arrived at their proper destina- 
 tion." 
 
 "But certainly, Monsieur." 
 
 Marie Louise vanished. He rang the smoking-room 
 bell three times impatiently that meant master's man 
 upstairs, and look sharp about it and went to try them 
 on. He ate less dinner than usual that night, and sighed 
 frequently. But even to the wifely eye, which is not 
 always the most flattering medium in which a man may 
 be reflected, he looked less "crummy." 

 
 XII 
 THE MAN WHO LOST HIMSELF 
 
 AN ASTRAL EXPERIENCE 
 
 <( ^T^HE Great Day," said Johnson- Williams, one day 
 A in the Middle Victorian Era, "will dawn at last." 
 
 "The great day?" I interrogated. 
 
 "The glorious Day," replied Johnson-Williams, looking 
 through the rails of the mahogany partition which divided 
 his desk from mine, like a caged enthusiast, "when every 
 person of intellect and understanding residing in these 
 realms will be found to own himself or herself a member 
 of the Theosophical Society ; when Motive Power will be 
 replaced by Psychic Force, and the principles of Mahat- 
 maism will be instilled into the unfolding mind of the 
 smiling infant as it lies across the in short the ma- 
 ternal knee; when the Visible world will give place to 
 the Unseen, and the Practicability of a project be de- 
 termined by its Impossibility." 
 
 "This," I hazarded, trying to look wise, "would alter 
 the universe materially." 
 
 Johnson-Williams nodded. 
 
 "Alter it for the better?" I went on, "or for the 
 worse ?" 
 
 "For the worse ?" echoed Johnson-Williams. "Oh, of 
 course! Yes, for the worse!" He uttered these words 
 
 211
 
 212 A Sailor's Home 
 
 with such sneering intensity that I gathered at once that 
 I had made a mistake. I would have spoken, but he 
 plucked his pen from behind his ear and hurled himself 
 upon the big ledger as though it had been his bitterest 
 foe. I fell to work upon a pile of insurance policies. 
 The clock struck three. The door of the inner office was 
 torn violently open, and the junior clerks shuddered in 
 their boots as the portly form of the Head of the Firm 
 rolled down the central aisle of desks and vanished. An 
 interval elapsed. Young Simpson came out of his little 
 business hutch carrying a gorgeous crocodile-leather 
 travelling-bag. "Saturday to Monday Brighton," seemed 
 written upon it and on him in large capitals. He paused 
 at the door, listening until his parent's footsteps ceased 
 to echo on the stairs. Then, bestowing upon us collec- 
 tively what, had he not recently attained to the dignity 
 of junior partner, would have been a wink, he went away 
 whistling. Our working partner followed; one by one 
 the junior clerks dropped away. Cornhill was quieter than 
 usual, it being Saturday afternoon. 
 
 "For the worse?" quoted Johnson-Williams derisively, 
 looking at me through the railings again. "Ha, ha ! Look 
 here. You're fond of change, ain't you?" 
 
 "Change!" 
 
 "Excitement? Novelty? Foreign travel?" 
 
 I had spent a week at Dieppe two years previously. I 
 spoke of this experience, and admitted that it had been 
 an enjoyable one. 
 
 "Dieppe," repeated Johnson-Williams scornfully. 
 
 "It is rather far off," I agreed. 
 
 "Far off!" repeated Johnson-Williams I wished he 
 would not repeat! "Suppose that it were possible for 
 you to go anywhere you liked in an instant, without 
 asking for a holiday or buying a ticket? Suppose that 
 it were possible for you to traverse continents and cross 
 seas to annihilate Time and swallow up Space merely
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 213 
 
 by the exercise of your own volition? Suppose you not 
 only found it feasible, but easy, to visit a friend in China 
 at eleven a.m. and to be sitting down to lunch in New 
 York at one-thirty, calling in at Vladivostok, or taking 
 Alexandria on the way home to dinner, would that be 
 the worse for you or the better ?" 
 
 "It would be most enjoyable," I admitted, "but at the 
 same time a little exhausting. No human constitution 
 could possibly stand the wear and tear." 
 
 "If you happened to be a Theosophical Adept, you 
 would leave your constitution behind you," said Johnson- 
 Williams. "Your body would remain at home, or per- 
 haps seated at the office desk, in a posture of reflection, 
 while your soul was really taking a holiday. Take the 
 case of an experienced Mahatma incarcerated in a prison 
 for debt! His corporeal frame would remain in the 
 custody of the law, it is true, but all the time his airy 
 double might be roaming about in perfect liberty and 
 running up fresh bills elsewhere. The subject is an im- 
 mense one, my dear Pegley. There is absolutely NO limit 
 to its possibilities!" 
 
 Beads of perspiration stood on Johnson-Williams's 
 brow, and he wiped them away with a shaking hand. It 
 was plain that he was intensely interested in his subject. 
 
 "And can you have you really accomplished all this ?" 
 I asked eagerly. 
 
 His countenance gloomed over as he replied, "Not 
 exactly ; not yet that is -you see, I have not long been 
 a member of the Society, and it requires a considerable 
 amount of knowledge and plenty of practice to attain to 
 the the Pitch I have mentioned. One must have time, 
 and my time is limited. Last Saturday afternoon I had 
 really succeeded in concentrating my faculties to an 
 astonishing extent. I felt that in another moment some- 
 thing extraordinary might be expected to happen; but 
 my landlady looked in to ascertain whether I would take
 
 214 A Sailor's Home 
 
 a rasher with my tea or a lightly-boiled egg, and the op- 
 portunity was lost. I do not know when it may occur 
 again. But I shall have two and a half days' holiday at 
 Easter." His countenance brightened. He nodded at me 
 again, saying, "Then we shall see!" 
 
 "Have any of the members of your particular branch 
 of the Society succeeded in attaining to the necessary 
 Pitch?" I inquired. 
 
 "N-no," hesitated Johnson-Williams. "The fact 
 really is, the young people are for the most part actively 
 engaged in business, like myself. But we receive most 
 encouraging communications from older branches from 
 time to time, and we have great hopes of one of our 
 number. If any one of us attains to the Pitch, that one 
 will be Chorley. Chorley is becoming quite an Adept. 
 He is employed as foreman by a well-known distillery 
 company ; and the extensive liquor vaults belonging to the 
 establishment afford him opportunities for seclusion and 
 contemplation and self -concentration of a very superior 
 kind. I really wish you would attend one of the meet- 
 ing of our society and hear Chorley relate his experi- 
 ences." 
 
 "They are " 
 
 "Wonderful!" said Johnson- Williams, getting off his 
 stool. "I am going home now to my lodgings, and if the 
 theatrical young lady upstairs does not particularly want 
 to practise her step-dancing, and my landlady should 
 happen to have taken the childen out for the day, I 
 should regard it as quite providential, I assure you." 
 
 I asked him to come and lunch with me first. 
 
 "Exceedingly hospitable of you, my dear fellow," said 
 Johnson- Williams gratefully; "but I am at present sub- 
 sisting on a regimen which is more in accordance with 
 the peculiar Aims I entertain than chops. Frugal but 
 nourishing. Wholemeal porridge, enlivened with raw 
 apples, and an occasional charcoal biscuit, with cold water
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 215 
 
 to wash it down. The gurgling tap of the modern 
 Theosophist is identical with the purling rill of thd 
 ancient Pythagorean, if not so nice. And I am careful 
 about having the liquid boiled and filtered, so that no 
 peril of any kind may be associated with the experiment, 
 as the chemical demonstrators say, when they are not 
 under immediate apprehension of a blow-up!" 
 
 I admired his self-denial and perseverance, and said 
 so. 
 
 "Oh! as to that," replied Johnson- Williams, "when a 
 man has a particular end in view, he doesn't mind a 
 little hardship, more or less." 
 
 "And your end is the advancement of Science?" I 
 hazarded. 
 
 "Perhaps, yes," said Johnson-Williams, taking off his 
 hat, which he had just put on, and passing his long 
 fingers through his hair, which was of a sandy colour 
 and an upright growth. "But were I to deny that my 
 chief motive is a personal one, I should be wilfully de- 
 ceiving you." 
 
 I looked at him interrogatively. His pale features 
 worked with efmotion; he laid his hand a long thin 
 hand upon my arm. 
 
 "I am about to repose a great confidence in you, my 
 dear Pegley," he said, blushing. 
 
 I wondered what the confidence was going to be. 
 
 ii 
 
 Johnson-Williams came round to my side of the desk 
 and sat upon the stool, immediately facing me. 
 
 "The desire to travel," I hinted, "was your leading 
 motive?" 
 
 "Hardly that," said Johnson-Williams. "I am a mat- 
 ter-of-fact fellow, and this quarter of the globe is good 
 enough for me. If I want to know anything about for-
 
 216 A Sailor's Home 
 
 eign countries I can get 'em up in Maunder's, and add 
 the details of costume and local colouring out of the 
 'Illustrated Geographical Encyclopaedia.' But the enor- 
 mous facilities for inexpensive and instant communica- 
 tion with relatives or or friends residing at a dis- 
 tance, which the attainment of Adeptship would place at 
 my disposal, constitute, I must confess, the special at- 
 tractions of the Theosophic Cult, from my limited point 
 of view. You may not be aware of it, but I am en- 
 gaged." 
 
 I had not been aware of it, and I hastened to con- 
 gratulate him. 
 
 "She is a young lady of great personal attractions," 
 said Johnson- Williams, blinking at me from behind his 
 glasses, "and, like myself, poor poor. She occupies, in 
 fact, the position of daily governess in the family of a 
 well-to-do coal proprietor, residing at Merthyr Tydvil. 
 We are both Welsh by birth, and in marrying me she 
 will not be compelled to make any radical alterations 
 in her surname, as far as marking is concerned; for 
 her name is Williams-Johnson Miss Williams-Johnson. 
 'Johnson' will have to be picked out, or cut out, of 
 course, and put before the 'Williams' ; but the saving in 
 time, trouble and marking-cotton will, as she herself 
 says, be considerable. She is a delightful girl. I have 
 not seen her," said Johnson-Williams thoughtfully, 
 "since I came up to London six years ago. Our incomes 
 being so limited, the railway fare between London and 
 Merthyr Tydvil even third class constitutes an ef- 
 fectual barrier between in short, Gwendollen and my- 
 self. But I make no doubt she is as delightful as ever. 
 I do not possess a portrait of her, as photography is a 
 comparatively expensive process. And we cannot cor- 
 respond as frequently as we would wish, for the same 
 economical reason. Thus, as you will see, the attainment 
 of my object would be, to both of us, a positive Boon."
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 217 
 
 He got off the stool and went away, but turned back 
 at the door to remind me that the Easter holidays were 
 not very far off. He was cold and reserved in his man- 
 ner next Monday, and I guessed that he partly repented 
 having taken me into his confidence regarding the young 
 lady at Merthyr Tydvil. For another thing, he was ex- 
 cessively busy, and so walled in, encompassed by, and 
 built up with the ledgers of the firm, that he was less 
 assailable, from a conversational point of view, than a 
 Recluse of the Middle Ages. 
 
 Anfl so the days passed over. But on the Saturday 
 .afternoon immediately preceding Easter Monday he 
 sought me out in quite a special sort of way, and bade 
 me good-bye almost effusively, for him. His hat slid 
 to the back of his head as he shook my hand, and sev- 
 eral volumes which he was carrying under his arm 
 tumbled noisily to the floor. I helped him pick them 
 up, and glanced at the titles. "Ashtaroth Made Easy" 
 was one ; "Proofs Positive of the Solidarity of Spooks" 
 another ; "The Young Theosophist : an Easy First Primer 
 To The Attainment Of The Occult," a third ; "How 
 To Make a Mahatma," a fourth. They were lent, he 
 explained, by his Society. And he shook my hand again 
 before we parted, and thanked me for the sympathy I 
 had exhibited, and added that he felt somehow as if he 
 were upon the verge of a great discovery. I gave him 
 the address of the lodgings where I intended to spend 
 the vacation, and invited him to run down and see me 
 sometimes. He thanked me, shaking his head with a 
 mild kind of despondency. And so we parted. 
 
 I spent my Easter holiday, I hope, harmlessly and 
 healthfully enough, and in a style that was in accordance 
 with my comparatively limited income. Upon a salary 
 of seventy pounds, even when buttressed and supported 
 by an annual present of ten, it is possible for a City Clerk 
 to exist, if not to live, and even to set apart a margin
 
 218 A Sailor's Home 
 
 for mild relaxation and sober recreation of a kind. But 
 enjoyment, fun, frolic, sport, jollification, are quantities 
 to him unknown. In his inmost soul he secretly cher- 
 ishes the intention of having what is technically known 
 as a High Old Time at some future day, but the date 
 of that day is ever indeterminate. Sometimes it is vir- 
 tually fixed, and looms before him as a glorious prac- 
 ticability, but before it comes off he may die of old 
 age or excessive joy. For your true City clerk is a 
 sensitive creature. Much chafing of the os pectoris 
 against the edge of the office desk has tended to the 
 thinning of. the wall which was originally designed to 
 protect the human heart from the slings and arrows 
 which are continually aimed by the world against that 
 citadal of the emotions. But I digress. 
 
 In the Village of Hampton Wick, therefore in the 
 house of an excellent widow who had had long experi- 
 ence in the taking in of the City gentlemen, and could 
 underboil a potato or calcine a chop with any member 
 of her sisterhood who ever stood in list slippers I passed 
 three days of my vacation. My canoe a present from 
 an old fellow-clerk, now a well-to-do Manitoban farmer 
 I had had sent up, and when the dear old river was 
 not too lumpy to be agreeable, I paddled about the quiet 
 reaches between Kingston and Twickenham, or dug my 
 way upstream as far as Shepperton or Molesey. Or I 
 smoked my pipe under the gnarled thorns and budding 
 chestnuts of Richmond Park, and read "Lavengro" over 
 again, or dipped into the jolly pages of Rabelais or 
 Chaucer, and was never dull or dismal until the even- 
 ing of the very last day. Easter Monday was drawing 
 to a close I must return to business on the following 
 morning. It had been a wet Bank Holiday, and as the 
 rainy night closed in, and the evil-smelling paraffin lamp 
 was lighted, and the mousy odours of ancient cupboards 
 began to draw comparisons with dry-rot and old mouldi-
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 219 
 
 ness, and the three stunted pollard-beeches that kept 
 watch and ward over the little weedy front garden threw 
 their distorted goblin shadows on the drawn-down calico 
 blind, I could have wished for some companionship live- 
 lier than that of the stuffed grouse under the glass case 
 on the sideboard, or the blunt-nosed red-and-white china 
 spaniels on the mantel-shelf, or the portrait of a lady 
 unknown in Berlin wools hung above. As to cultivat- 
 ing the society of my landlady, that was out of the ques- 
 tion. I stared hard at the glowing coke embers and 
 glided almost imperceptibly into a smooth sea of reflec- 
 tion. Suddenly its waters became troubled. Before the 
 eye of my imagination up bobbed a sandy head, and I 
 smiled, identifying it as the property of Johnson- Wil- 
 liams. Poor fellow! I smiled again as I pictured him, 
 patiently supporting his holiday upon that ascetic regimen 
 of wholemeal porridge, raw apples, and charcoal biscuits. 
 
 II wondered whether he had made any progress in the 
 cult of Theosophy? whether he was any nearer to the 
 fulfilment of his Aim than he had been when I saw him 
 last? Did the theatrical young lady continue to harass 
 him by saltatory gambols performed overhead ? Was his 
 landlady still persecuting him with assiduous solicitudes 
 upon the subject of rashers and lightly-boiled London 
 
 eggs 
 
 Mph! ! 
 
 I drew out my handkerchief and flapped it, and glanced 
 towards the window with a developing intention of open- 
 ing it, for the atmosphere of the room was decidedly 
 hazy. Perhaps the chimney smoked ! But the fire burned 
 perfectly clear. It must be that villainous paraffin lamp. 
 My mind, which had been full of Johnson- Williams, dis- 
 charged itself of its personality. 
 
 And in the same instant
 
 22O A Sailor's Home 
 
 in 
 
 And in the same instant the haziness vanished. I leant 
 my head back upon the bumpy chintz cushion of the strad- 
 dle-legged easy chair. I resumed my train of thought. 
 It brought Johnson- Williams in with the very first batch 
 of passengers. He buttonholed me, mentally, and 
 wouldn't be shaken off. And the room was getting 
 smoky again. It must be something wrong with the 
 register of the grate. Quite a cloud, or, to be correct, 
 a column of nebulous bluish vapour hung in the space 
 between the fender and my arm-chair. I wondered idly 
 at its peculiar shape, which was that of a trunk, bifur- 
 cated at the upper and lower extremities. It had, so to 
 speak, arms and legs, and yes, a head! The legs were 
 getting more distinct every minute. And it was an 
 absurd idea enough but they certainly bore a resemb- 
 lance to the legs of Johnson- Williams, on which he in- 
 variably wore trousers of a material which he asserted 
 to be real Welsh tweed, of extraordinary durability and 
 cheapness. And all at once the conviction came upon 
 me, not with a staggering shock, or a chill shudder, but 
 with a sensation of calm unemotional surprise, 
 that in very reality, those familiar garments were stand- 
 ing upon the hearthrug in front of me, with Johnson- 
 Williams inside them. 
 
 Perhaps his boots came home to me most keenly. They 
 were of the obsolete spring-sided make, very ponderous 
 of sole, and garnished upon the insteps with little round 
 flat buttons that did not button up anything. I had often 
 wondered whether, like the rest of Johnson-Williams, 
 they had been made in Wales. With a dreamy, pleasur- 
 able sense of recognition, I let my glance travel upwards 
 to the black waistcoat, garnished with a nickel watch- 
 chain from thence to the Navy blue cravat with a little 
 bird's-eye specks of orange on it from that to a linen
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 221 
 
 collar with brown horseshoes (Johnson-Williams had al- 
 ways been partial to linen of a pictorial description). 
 This stage led me easily to his chin, and in the same 
 way I scaled his upper lip a long and steep one and 
 mounted to his eyes. Then I nodded. 
 
 "Good-evening," said Johnson-Williams, distantly, in 
 both senses of the word, because his manner was con- 
 strained and nervous, and his voice sounded faint and 
 hollow as if it came from a long way off. 
 
 "Good-evening, old fellow," I returned. "D'you know, 
 I must have been asleep and dreaming of you when 
 you came in, for I opened my eyes, and there you were, 
 like a vision!" I jumped up and shook myself as I 
 spoke, and glanced towards the cupboard where the 
 whisky-bottle and the soda-syphon stood. It seems so 
 natural to offer a man a drink when he has come a 
 long way to see you. And it was late already. I should 
 probably have to harbour my guest for the night. There 
 was a mechanical trick-bed in the sitting-room. It had 
 annoyed me by the flagrant transparency of its attempt 
 to look like a bookcase, but now it would meet an emer- 
 gency. There would be bread-and-cheese, potted bloat- 
 ers, and Scotch ale for supper, and for breakfast I 
 must talk to my landlady about breakfast. 
 
 "I am afraid you are tired, old fellow!" I cried, with 
 sudden concern, for Johnson-Williams had grown 
 strangely pale and shadowy. But as I fixed my waver- 
 ing attention on him he seemed to revive, and refused 
 my proffer of refreshment with a faint smile. 
 
 "No stimulant, thank you, my dear Pegley." He waved 
 away the whisky-bottle as he spoke. 
 
 "After your railway journey?" I urged. 
 
 "I did not travel down," returned Johnson-Williams, 
 "by rail." 
 
 "You walked?" I uttered, aghast; I had forgotten the 
 low state of the poor fellow's finances. "Walked all
 
 222 A Sailor's Home 
 
 the way from London and on such a beastly evening ?" 
 
 "One could hardly call it walking," said Johnson- 
 Williams. 
 
 How had he been conveyed to Hampton Wick, then? 
 I plunged into the mazes of a labyrinth of probabilities. 
 Had the driver of a Pick ford's van given him a life, or a 
 mail-cart man ? A basket-seller's caravan was out of the 
 question, because vehicles of that description travel so 
 slowly. How, then? I looked up and uttered a shout of 
 surprise, for Johnson- Williams was gone! 
 
 Clean gone! There was no need to look under the 
 table, it was not big enough to hide a full-grown man, 
 and Johnson-Williams was incapable of playing a trick. 
 No; my fellow-clerk had vanished from sight, without 
 employing such means of egress as might have been af- 
 forded by the window, the door, or the chimney, which 
 was up to its old games again. There hung the cloud of 
 smoke I remembered noticing before Johnson- Williams 
 had come in. Stay ! Had he come in ? I breathed heav- 
 ily through my nostrils, and dug my nails into the palms 
 of my hands, as I tried to recall the features of my 
 friend. Then something like a thin stream of ice-water 
 coursed down my spinal column. My heart sat down 
 with a bump, and my hair got up and began to walk 
 upon my scalp, for the face of Johnson-Williams was 
 looking at me from the summit of a hazy transparency, 
 whose shifting outlines bore the dimmest possible rela- 
 tion to the human form. The eyes blinked, the lips 
 moved. He spoke hollowly, as the Man in the Cellar 
 responds to the interrogation of the ventriloquist. 
 
 "Do not be alarmed. Compose yourself. Try and 
 think of something soothing. If you were to repeat the 
 Multiplication table, or the rules of Book-keeping, or the 
 principal Articles of the Collision Clause, or the Statute 
 Limitations of Insurance, it might have a steadying effect 
 upon your nerves."
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 223 
 
 The hollow voice became hollower, his outlines began 
 to grow dim, as with protruding eyes I stared upon 
 him. A thousand wild ideas spun in my brain. Was 
 he? Was I? Were we? Horror! He was beginning 
 to fade before my eyes ! He would be gone in another 
 minute ! 
 
 "Unless you can concentrate your attention on me, 
 my dear Pegley, it is very likely." 
 
 He spoke with some asperity, replying to my thoughts 
 as though they had been uttered aloud. 
 
 "The fact is and I only withheld it up to this moment 
 out of a natural reluctance to startle you the fact is, 
 that I am not myself." 
 
 I had been sure of that. 
 
 "Your misapprehend me, my dear Pegley," went on 
 Johnson-Williams, putting me more at my ease by the 
 familiarity of his address, and the slight smile which 
 hovered over his long pale countenance, as his familiar 
 figure, spotted cravat, Welsh tweeds, and all began to 
 loom into view again. "I am quite myself in the more 
 spiritual sense of the word if, materially, I fail to come 
 up to the mark. But with a little practice" he waved 
 his hand encouragingly "you will be able to develop me 
 to in short, to any extent you may consider desir- 
 able." 
 
 Now I found speech. The truth flashed upon me. 
 
 "Then then you have done it at last?" 
 
 "I have done it at last," echoed Johnson-Williams, 
 nodding at me cheerfully. "I told you when we parted 
 that I felt something was really going to happen this 
 time. In a word, my friend, I have attained the Pitch, 
 to the level of which my faculties have been earnestly 
 strained ever since I became a convert to Theosophy. 
 Chorley is nowhere. I have outdistanced every member 
 of our Society." He rubbed his unsubstantial hands and 
 chuckled ghostily. "I seem solid enough at this moment
 
 224 A Sailor's Home 
 
 But think of it, my dear Pegley I am in reality a 
 floating bubble on the currents of Astral Force. A whiff 
 of cigarette smoke a mist wreath has more actual dens- 
 ity. Dismiss me from your mind I am gone, like a 
 breath from a mirror. Recall me, and I revive. Walk 
 through me I shall not offer any resistance. Shake me 
 by the hand you will feel nothing in you own. Ha, ha ! 
 I am not a City clerk, but the essence of an office drudge 
 the wraith of a book-keeper on a salary of sixty pounds 
 a year. Will-power brought me down to Hampton Wick 
 instead of steam and without costing me a halfpenny ; 
 Will-power will take me back again and set me down 
 upon the sofa in my lodgings at Great Joram Street, 
 whenever I say the word !" He rubbed his hands again 
 and beamed delightedly. 
 
 "Won't you sit down?" I broke in, trying to seem 
 commonplace and natural. 
 
 "Thank you, dear boy," Johnson-Williams returned, 
 "but if you would allow me to in fact, to Hover, I 
 should take it as a kindness. You have always been so 
 agreeable in your manner, and so frank in your sympathy 
 with my Aims, that I feel perfectly at home already." 
 
 I held out my hand, and he grasped it heartily- at 
 least, he seemed to, and with a full return of confidence 
 in him and in myself, I put his sincerity to a final test 
 by walking through him, taking my pipe and tobacco 
 pouch from the mantel self and returning, via the same 
 route, to my chair. My mind was so firmly fixed on 
 him, that he never faltered. 
 
 And in the silence of the night, while the red fire's 
 core burned hollow, and the paraffin in the lamp waxed 
 low, Johnson- Williams told me the rest of his story. 
 
 IV 
 
 "I shall begin," said Johnson-Williams, "at the begin- 
 ning. It will not surprise you to learn, in the face of
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 225 
 
 the present glorious Result, that in the matter of my 
 attaining the absolute quiet and seclusion essential to 
 the furtherance of my Aim, Fortune favoured me most 
 unexpectedly. This identical morning, the young lady 
 (theatrical, if you remember) who rents the fifth floor 
 (immediately above me) at No. 26, Great Joram Street, 
 was called away to ... in fact, to stay from Satur- 
 day till Monday with an elderly aunt, from whom she 
 has expectations. That in itself was a great piece of 
 good luck. My landlady then, knowing that my claims 
 upon her attention in the way of cooking and so forth, 
 are not urgent, and the rest of the house being To Let 
 very reasonable terms and clean beyond any previous 
 experience " 
 
 He was standing in a familiar attitude, talking quite 
 naturally. I was sitting on a chair, with my arms folded 
 on the back of it, and my chin resting on them, looking 
 at him intently. For I knew that he would go out like 
 a candle-snuff, if I relaxed the mental strain, only for 
 an instant. 
 
 "My landlady took the children," Johnson-Williams 
 continued, "to a relative at Whitechapel, being anxious, 
 as she expressed it, for a whiff of country air. She left 
 the servant girl in charge of the house, with express 
 orders not to stir out of it until her return at six o'clock. 
 Nor would Jemima have disobeyed her mistress, I am 
 sure, had not an unforeseen casualty the illness, in fact, 
 of a sister living at Woolwich, obliged her to " 
 
 "I see," I said. 
 
 "She was very much Upset at leaving," Johnson- 
 Williams continued, "though she expressed unbounded 
 confidence in my capability of looking after affairs as 
 general. Her sister's brother-in-law (a Gunner in the 
 Royal Horse Artillery) fetched her away. I bolted and 
 barred the front door and that of the area, when she had 
 gone, and stuffed up the bells. The field at last was mine.
 
 226 A Sailor's Home 
 
 He struck the table strenuously, but soundlessly, with 
 his clenched hand, and his eyes glowed with triumph. 
 
 "I locked the door, made up the fire with damp slack, 
 so as -to reconcile the greatest amount of warmth with 
 the smallest amount of blaze and crackle partook of a 
 light meal an Australian apple with one slice of brown 
 bread, and washed the whole down with a glass of water. 
 Then I pulled down the blinds and extended myself 
 upon the sofa head low, arms rigidly pressed to my 
 sides, heels close together the posture pronounced, on 
 the authority of distinguished Adepts, to be most favour- 
 able to the attainment of the Pitch. I set my teeth, 
 closed my eyes, and summoned up all the forces of my 
 Will to assist in the divorcement of my Astral Body 
 from my earthly one. Cold chills ran down my back, 
 a clammy liquid seemed to trickle through the roots of 
 my hair. From the tips of my fingers and the ends of 
 my toes, from every pore of my body, I felt the con- 
 tinuous discharge of currents of Magnetic Force. My 
 respiration grew less perceptible, my heart beat more 
 and more faintly every moment, as my will-power gained 
 in force. Effort seemed carried to the highest pitch 
 attainable, when suddenly volition ceased. I lost con- 
 sciousness only for a moment. When I came to myself, 
 I was standing in the middle of the room." 
 
 I drew a long breath and said, "Go on." 
 
 "My first sensation was one of disappointment," said 
 Johnson-Williams, "the next was one of surprise, that 
 the intense mental exertion through which I had just 
 passed had left me so fresh and unexhausted. My feet 
 hardly seemed to touch the ground when I moved towards 
 the chimney-glass, impelled by the desire of testing, by 
 means of that medium, whether I looked pale. I rested 
 my elbows on the mantelshelf, I leaned forwards and 
 saw " 
 
 "You saw?"
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 227 
 
 "Nothing at all!" returned Johnson-Williams, with 
 quiet enjoyment "No image was reflected in the glass. 
 Only a patch of film, a haze dimmed its surface. My 
 first impression was, that the chimney must be smoking 
 furiously. I glanced at the hearth and found that the 
 fire was burning with a steady red glow. I glanced back 
 at the glass then. It gave back no reflection. And then 
 then my eyes wandered to the sofa and in an instant 
 I understood, for the sofa had an occupant ! On it was 
 stretched a human figure, the figure of a Man, and the 
 Man was Myself!" 
 
 I was getting deeply interested. I trifcd to say "Go 
 on !" and the words wouldn't come. My mouth was dry. 
 
 "I lay rigidly, motionless and without breath, in the 
 posture I had assumed when I commenced my efforts. 
 A casual onlooker would have said that I was dead, a 
 scientific observer would have pronounced me to be in 
 a cataleptic trance. I approached and examined myself 
 curiously. Few persons on this globe, my dear Pegley, 
 have enjoyed so favourable an opportunity for self-ex- 
 amination. If I ever had cherished any vanity, I candidly 
 confide to you it received its death-blow in that hour." 
 
 "Oh, come !" I muttered. Johnson- Williams waved the 
 expostulation away with a gesture of his hand. 
 
 "Then," he resumed, "a Thought occurred to me. which 
 drove all minor considerations to the wall. Here was I, 
 newly arrived at Adeptship, freed from my gross earthly 
 envelope, standing in the complete 'double' or Mayavi- 
 rupa, by the side of the body I had temporarily rejected, 
 as though no glorious Experiences waited for me else- 
 where. The Barriers that had severed me from the dear- 
 est object of my soul were now cast down. The image 
 of can you not imagaine whose image, my dear Peg- 
 ley?" 
 
 "Of the young lady in Wales 1" I burst out. 
 
 "Quite right !" nodded Johnson-Williams "uprose be-
 
 228 A Sailor's Home 
 
 fore me. Hurrah! I would start for Merthyr Tydvil 
 without delay." 
 
 "Go on!" I cried, breathlessly. 
 
 "The intention was no sooner formed than I passed 
 without conscious effort, through the panels of the door, 
 which, you will remember, I had previously locked, and 
 floated down the staircase. My hat and overcoat hung 
 upon the rack in the hall ; my umbrella leaned beside 
 them. My first impulse was to put on the first-named 
 articles; my second to rejoice that I no longer needed 
 such material protection from the inclemencies of the 
 English climate. In another instant I was in the street." 
 
 "I could see," continued Johnson-Williams, "that it 
 was a damp, unpleasant night, but I was not sensible of 
 any discomfort. On the contrary, an airy sensation of 
 lightness pervaded my being, lightness which was so far 
 from being imaginary that with the first puff of raw wind 
 that came round the corner, I rose from the ground, and 
 soared to the altitude of the gas-lamps, where I remained 
 stationary, mingling my astral essence with the trailing 
 wreaths of fog and the yellow beams of vulgar radiance 
 that permeated through them! It was certainly disap- 
 pointing to find that, try as I would, I could neither 
 ascend or descend, move forwards or backwards, though 
 I cheered myself by the reflection that the astral method 
 of traveling must, like the human method of progression, 
 take a certain amount of time in learning. The question 
 was: How much? Only fifty-one hours remained to me 
 of my holiday. It had taken my ordinary, everyday self 
 a fortnight to acquire, in the elementary sense of the 
 word, the art of roller-skating. How long would it take 
 me to master the elementary steps necessary for the 
 successful transport of my astral body to Merthyr 
 Tydvil?
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 229 
 
 "As I revolved the problem in my mind, the map of 
 North Central England pictured itself before my mental 
 vision (I have a considerable practical knowledge of 
 geography, as you perhaps have observed), with my na- 
 tive county of Wales snugly tucked away in a southerly 
 corner. Spider-like I projected an invisible filament of 
 Will-power towards Wales, felt it catch, and immediately 
 hauled upon it. The thing was done almost involuntary, 
 but in the same instant I began to move. Eureka ! The 
 question had answered itself ! Henceforth, when in 
 Mayavi-rupa, I wanted to go anywhere, I had only to 
 project my mind before me, and my astral body would 
 follow it as the train follows the engine, or the vessel 
 the towing tug." 
 
 The shade of Johnson- Williams paused, drew from its 
 breast-pocket the ghost of a coloured handkerchief, and 
 wiped its brow from force of habit, perhaps, because 
 there was no moisture there. 
 
 I had grown bold enough by this time to mix myself 
 a whisky and soda. I lighted my pipe, too, and as its 
 grateful vapours mounted upon the air, it was a strange 
 thing to know that Johnson- Williams sitting (he was 
 now sitting) in the chair over against me was in reality 
 less substantial in consistency. 
 
 "I was now high above the earth," said Johnson- 
 Williams, "and travelling at an immense rate of speed. 
 The night was clear and the stars were shining. Nothing 
 crossed my plane, which seemed to be a single line. Only 
 once I encountered a fellow-traveller." 
 
 "A fellow-traveller !" 
 
 "A shadowy Form which swooped across my path 
 obliquely at an angle of, I should say, thirty degrees," 
 replied Johnson-Williams, "travelling at a rate which 
 indicated an enormous amount of Will-pressure. I have 
 no doubt he was a Persian Mahatma or an Adept from 
 Thibet. He wore a spangled kind of head-dress, and his
 
 230 A Sailor's Home 
 
 long gray hair and beard floated behind him. His legs 
 were crossed, and his arms folded upon his breast in an 
 attitude of meditation. I bowed respectfully, but felt 
 too shy to speak." 
 
 "I wish you could have interview him!" I said 
 eagerly. 
 
 "My next experience was quite amusing," said John- 
 son-Williams. "Imagine a china plate, with a jam tart 
 one of the puff description, with a spot of jam in the mid- 
 dle travelling by itself at the rate of sixty miles a 
 second. Yet that is what I saw. Several cocked-hat 
 notes passed me, shooting in opposite directions, projected 
 by opposing currents of Astral Force." 
 
 "I should like to know where they were bound for!" 
 I said curiously. "But you got to Merthyr Tydvil in 
 the end?" 
 
 "You do right to rebuke me for the digression, my dear 
 Pegley," returned Johnson-Williams good-naturedly. 
 "I am trying your patience, I fear. Yes, I arrived at 
 Merthyr Tydvil. I knew that I was there, when my 
 onward course was suddenly brought to an abrupt close, 
 and I began to fall quite like a parachute. 
 
 "The house of Gwendolen's employer is situated on 
 the northern outskirts of the town, commanding an un- 
 obstructed view of what is, generally speaking, a cin- 
 derous and smutty prospect. Descending vertically, I 
 alighted on the roof. Tiles proved no obstacle to my airy 
 particles. I sank through them and found myself in a 
 room which, from the character of its furniture and orna- 
 ments, was plainly the children's nursery. There were 
 only two occupants a baby asleep in a cradle, and my 
 Miss Williams-Johnson." 
 
 His eyes sparkled at the delightful recollection. 
 
 "Time has not impaired those personal attractions, 
 which, in conjunction with the properties of her mind, 
 first enchained my steadfast affections," he said. "She
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 231 
 
 was perfectly delightful to look at, without and within. 
 I say within, because in this astral condition I was en- 
 abled to penetrate into the recesses of her mind and read 
 her thoughts before they dawned in her (most expres- 
 sive) countenance. She was thinking about Me" he 
 hesitated, and looked a little sheepish "and in such a 
 strain of warm and constant regard and tenderness, that 
 I was quite affected." 
 
 " 'How good he is, poor fellow, and how he loves me/ 
 she said, without speaking, 'and how long it is since we 
 have met. How long must it be before we meet again 
 how long before we are rich enough to marry? Ah, think 
 if I were only Llewellyn's wife.' " 
 
 "I didn't know your Christian name was Llewellyn," 
 I put in. 
 
 " 'And we were rich enough to have a little house of 
 our own to live in, and a little servant to wait on us, in 
 some neat suburb of London, not too near the City be- 
 cause of the fogs they are so bad for Llewellyn's chest 
 I should be the happiest girl in all the world !' " 
 
 "Miss Williams-Johnson must be a very nice girl," I 
 thought. 
 
 "I knew you'd say so," responded Johnson-Williams, 
 just as if I had spoken. "Then her face clouded over, 
 and I found she was thinking of the miserly old aunt 
 who had brought her up from childhood, and who had 
 died a little while previously, leaving all her property 
 for the benefit of a charitable institution. Gwendollen 
 could not help wishing that the old lady had left just a 
 little to her, more for my sake than her own ; and then 
 she began to conjure up a picture of me in her mind 
 to recall my features, one by one, and each separate 
 article of dress which I am accustomed to wear, with the 
 most surprising result! Happening to stretch my hand 
 out, what was my surprise to find that it was coming 
 slowly into view transparent as yet, but gradually gain-
 
 232 A Sailor's Home 
 
 ing in density and opacity. I was, in fact, undergoing 
 the process of materialisation, just as happened when 
 you " 
 
 "Yes, yes!" I assented hastily. 
 
 "With a pardonable feeling of alarm," resumed my 
 visitor, "I glanced downwards." 
 
 VI 
 
 "Downwards." Johnson-Williams seemed to blush. 
 "It had occurred to me that the earthly and perishable 
 garments in which my worldly frame is customarily at- 
 tired might not be reproduced upon the in short As- 
 tral Body. But there they were! It was reassuring to 
 recognise the pattern. In another moment Gwendolen's 
 eyes turned full upon me. She stared and uttered a 
 slight scream. Now, one of my pet theories, often un- 
 folded to you, my dear Pegley, is based on the compos- 
 ing influence in moments of intense excitement or men- 
 tal confusion of the repetition, on the part of the 
 patient, of a familiar formula of words. From this 
 arose my suggestion that you should repeat the multi- 
 plication table in the first moments of your surprise at 
 my unexpected appearance. I see that you recall the 
 instance! Therefore, when I put to Gwendollen the 
 opening interrogation of the Catechism, according to 
 the Book of Common Prayer, generally used by mem- 
 bers of the Protestant Church, it was done deliberately 
 and the result more than justified my previous convic- 
 tions. To the first question, 'What is your name?' the 
 dear girl replied hesitatingly enough ; but 'Who gave you 
 that name?' met with a fluent response, and 'What did 
 your Godfathers and Godmothers then do for you?' 
 brought her round completely. With the secret of my 
 Theosophical studies Gwendollen has long been familiar. 
 Therefore it was possible to answer her interrogations
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 233 
 
 as to how I had come to Merthyr, and in what manner 
 obtained access to the nursery of her infant charges, 
 and so forth, in a very few sentences: 
 
 " 'I can hardly believe it,' said Gwendollen, when I 
 had done. 
 
 " 'If you doubt me, my dearest girl,' I replied, 'put 
 the truth of my assertions to the test. Give me a kiss !' 
 
 "She pursed up her lips in the old delightful way, and 
 came towards me, blushing like like a June rose! I 
 kissed her with all my heart. Judge of my concern 
 when her face puckered and her eyes filled with tears ! 
 
 " 'What is the matter ?' I exclaimed. 
 
 " 'You are so so unsubstantial !' she sobbed. 'You 
 look just as usual, yet, when I came to kiss you, it was 
 worse than kissing a soap-bubble. There wasn't even 
 the taste of soap !' 
 
 "I wanted very much to comfort Gwendollen, and the 
 best way of doing it, it appeared to me, would have 
 been to take her on my knee. But, under the circum- 
 stances, was that to be managed? We did at last 
 surmount the difficulty iir a kind of way. I sat on a 
 chair, as I sit now, and she placed herself on the same 
 piece of furniture sidewise ; but it was not half so com- 
 forting as the real thing. However, we could talk, and 
 talk we did, without any apprehension on my part of 
 losing the train and forfeiting my return ticket, and not 
 having enough money to pay for a lodging, or to take 
 me back to London next morning. The baby slept 
 soundly all this time, and the mutual confidences of 
 Gwendollen and myself were only disturbed by a knock 
 at the door. Gwendollen, tearing her attention from me, 
 instantly sprang to it and opened it a very little way. 
 The knocker proved to be one of the female servants 
 with a letter. 
 
 " 'For you, please, miss,' she said, seeming quite de- 
 lighted (Gwendollen is a universal favourite). 'I do
 
 234 A Sailor's Home 
 
 hope it is the right one!' (I need hardly explain, my 
 dear Pegley, that the right one would have been a let- 
 ter from me.) Then she went on to say that she hoped 
 the baby would soon go off to sleep and give Miss 
 Williams- Johnson a chance to read it. (The good crea- 
 ture could hardly have been more eager over an amatory 
 epistle from a sweetheart of her own.) 
 
 '"Why, Winny/ said Gwendollen, in surprise, 'the 
 baby has been asleep this hour and more!' 
 
 "Winny could hardly believe it ; for happening to pass 
 the nursery door several times within the last hour, 
 when engaged in the exercise of her household duties, 
 she had distinctly, she averred, heard the sound of voices 
 'murmuring-like.' This had conveyed to her the impres- 
 sion that the baby was obstinately wakeful, and that his 
 governess was endeavouring to lull him into forgetful- 
 ness by telling him a story. 
 
 "'I I was reading aloud to myself, Winny,' Gwen- 
 dollen returned, and though her back was turned to me, 
 I could see the tips of her ears redden at the fib she was 
 telling. Then she would have shut the door, but, before 
 she could do so, Winny uttered an exclamation. 
 
 "'Lawk!' she said, 'how the parlour flue do leak, to 
 be sure!' (There was no fire in the nursery grate.) 'The 
 room is full of smoke, miss, so it is!' And before my 
 alarmed Gwendollen could prevent her, she pushed past 
 her and came in, walking heavily on tiptoe. She sniffed 
 as she approached me. 'My heart! what a smell o' 
 soot! Sure to goodness, miss, you must be smothered 
 alive!' She walked backwards and forwards through 
 me, without (to my intense relief) appearing to notice 
 anything in the least out of the common. She flapped 
 vigorously with her apron, creating a draught which 
 nearly carried me up the chimney. ' Tis a shame !' she 
 said, 'and the window not to be opened acause of the 
 baby/ She shook her head, she sighed loudly and os-
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 235 
 
 tentatiously. 'I've often murmured, miss/ she said, 
 'acause the Lord had been pleased to make me nothing 
 better than a housemaid. But He might have done 
 worse. . . . He might have made me a nursery gov- 
 erness!' She shook her head again, heaved another 
 gusty sigh, and creaked out of the room. Gwnedollen 
 turned to me with the letter in her hand. 
 
 " 'How annoying !' she exclaimed, 'that girl should 
 have come in like that ! It seems so so degrading, that 
 you should have been mistaken for a smoky chimney, 
 though you have grown so faint I can hardly believe 
 that you are really there.' 
 
 "I was beginning to revive now that Gwendolen's 
 undivided attention was mine again. A burning eager- 
 ness possessed me. As soon as I became developed 
 enough to speak, I begged her to read the letter in her 
 hand. Its contents had greatly astonished me." 
 
 "How could you know what the letter said," I asked, 
 "when you had not opened the envelope?" 
 
 "Easily enough," returned Johnson- Williams. "Mat- 
 ter is no obstruction to the thought-body, and therefore 
 to the thought-intelligence the contents of an unopened 
 letter one has any desire to read are as plain as print. 
 When a common earthly medium," he spoke with great 
 scorn, "can perform the feat in question, is it likely that 
 it would present any unsurmountable difficulties to Me 
 in my present etherealised condition?" 
 
 I begged his pardon quite humbly, and he went on: 
 
 "The letter contained astonishing news glorious 
 news, for Gwendollen and myself." 
 
 VII 
 
 "The letter contained glorious news, as I have said. 
 The writer was head clerk in the employ of a firm of 
 solicitors established in Llanberis, the town where
 
 236 A Sailor's Home 
 
 Gwendollen, until a few years previously, had resided 
 with the elderly aunt who, in fact, reared her from in- 
 fancy, though not with affection, still with a kind of 
 sour kindness, and whose recent decease and eccentric 
 testamentary " 
 
 "I know," I interrupted, "few thousands in Consols 
 little furniture left to an hospital. You said that be- 
 fore." 
 
 "I may have done so, my dear Pegley," remonstrated 
 the Shade of Johnson-Williams, "but I wish you had let 
 me say it again, because, in point of fact, the contents 
 of the solicitor's letter did much to remove any imputa- 
 tion of injustice from the old lady's conduct. It ap- 
 peared that a codicil had been discovered in a Delft tea- 
 pot, bearing a later date than the Will itself, and provid- 
 ing humbly enough but still providing for Gwendol- 
 len's future wants. A hundred a year, together with a 
 small houseful of furniture, is not a windfall to be 
 sneezed at." 
 
 I agreed to that. 
 
 "I leave you to imagine Gwendolen's joy," went on 
 my friend, smiling. "Her first impulse was to throw 
 herself into my arms ; in fact, she only just remembered 
 herself in time to prevent an unpleasant contingency. But 
 I took her round the waist, and we did do a few steps 
 of a polka together, so inexpressible was our joy. We 
 had a short consultation before I took my leave, and the 
 upshot of it all was that Gwendollen should communicate 
 her good fortune to her employers, take all necessary steps 
 to secure her legacy, follow up with a month's warning, 
 at the expiration of the month proceed to London 
 (where, in the meantime, I am to engage suitable lodg- 
 ings for her), marry me as cheaply, strongly and quickly 
 as the knot can be tied, and instantly set about the in- 
 stallation of a calm connubial Paradise upon the fourth 
 floor of 26, Great Joram Street."
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 237 
 
 He beamed with delightful anticipation as he uttered 
 those concluding words. I sprang from my chair. I 
 seized his hand and squeezed it warmly. I slapped him 
 on the back at least, I went through a pantomime of 
 doing these things. He was very much gratified, and 
 tears rose to his eyes; whether from genuine emotion 
 or the thump I had given him I had no opportunity of 
 ascertaining. 
 
 "You you are most kind, my dear Pegley!" he said, 
 winking rapidly and swallowing a lump that seemed to 
 rise in his throat, "and embolden me to make a request 
 in which in which Gwendollen joins. Will you favour 
 me, when the nuptial ceremony really comes off, by be- 
 ing, in fact, my Best Man?" 
 
 I said I would, with hearty pleasure. 
 
 "And if at the same time Gwendollen and myself 
 having so few friends you would go through the form 
 of giving away the the Bride," said my friend, "we 
 should take it very kindly of you. A quiet little break- 
 fast afterwards at Joram Street I see what is passing 
 through your mind, but make yourself quite easy" 
 Johnson-Williams rubbed his hands delightedly and 
 chuckled "the Spartan regimen to which 1 have of 
 late accustomed myself will from henceforth be aban- 
 doned in favour of a more generous diet. And now, as 
 it is getting late " 
 
 "You are going ?" 
 
 "I am about to return to Great Joram Street, and 
 resume my ordinary everyday material self," returned 
 Johnson-Williams. "I must confess that I am curious 
 to learn how things have gone on in my absence; for I 
 came straight here from Wales. Somebody may be 
 knocking at the door, or," he grew pale, "something may 
 have caught fire! It would not be a nice thing for me 
 to return and find my ordinary corporeal frame calcined 
 to a cinder, particularly when I shall be wanting it in a
 
 238 A Sailor's Home 
 
 month's time to be married in. Even if it were possible 
 to obtain another," ended Johnson-Williams bashfully, 
 "I I really think the substitution would not be agreeable 
 to Gwendollen, for, strange as it may seem, the dear girl 
 really loves me, Pegley." 
 
 We shook hands. He waved me farewell, and prepared 
 to depart. "You may like to note the process," he said, 
 a little patronisingly. "Oblige me by putting me com- 
 pletely out of your thoughts; it makes it easier! Now 
 I fix my own mind firmly on Jorarn Street." He began 
 to grow transparent and thin ; he spoke in muffled accents. 
 "Good-bye! we shall meet at the office to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 Gradually he faded from my sight. The last thing I 
 distinguished was the pattern of his necktie. That 
 vanished, and from Nowhere in particular a voice a 
 mere thread of a voice uttered faintly : 
 
 "Old fellow, office to-morrow ! Ta-ta !" 
 
 VIII 
 
 We did not meet at the office on Wednesday morning. 
 Johnson-Williams never turned up. He was ordinarily 
 the very soul of punctuality, and the general impression 
 was that he must either have had a severe accident, or 
 have been taken seriously ill, with something catching, 
 because an ordinary ailment never kept Johnson- Williams 
 from his big ledger. He had worked so many 
 bilious attacks, sun-headaches, neuralgias, sore throats, 
 rheumatisms and catarrhs into its columns since he and 
 it first became mutually acquainted, that it had become, in 
 my perverted imagination, a kind of Calendar of Ailments 
 appropriate to the varying seasons of the year. 
 
 "Unless he has been left a fortune unexpectedly," said 
 young Simpson, our Junior Partner, in his grimly humor- 
 ous way, "Johnson- Williams is certainly confined to his
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 239 
 
 bed. You don't live very far from him, Mr. Pegley." '(I 
 lived at the other end of the same parish, but that was 
 nothing to the Junior Partner.) "You might call in on him 
 on your way home and see for yourself how the poor 
 fellow is getting on, if we don't hear from him in the 
 course of the day." 
 
 I made no demur. I would have gone, under any 
 circumstances. I really felt anxious. 
 
 To Great Joram Street, therefore, I directed my steps 
 at the conclusion of the business day. I found it, after 
 some inquiry, to be a murky, ill-lighted thoroughfare, in 
 but not of the neighbourhood of Russell Square. The 
 houses that loomed on either side were old-fashioned, 
 gaunt and sooty of face, and so much in need of rebuild- 
 ing that every vehicle that rattled over the ill-set cobble- 
 stones set them quaking to their very foundations. 
 Joram Street I found to be prolific in cats, vociferous 
 with children; unmelodious by reason of many organs, 
 and redolent of red herrings. But its respectability was 
 evident. I walked along, looking for number twenty-six. 
 That was the house on the other side of the street, with 
 a little crowd assembled about the railings. Most of 
 these were staring up at the unlighted fourth-floor win- 
 dows ; the rest were gazing into the area. A sweep and a 
 baked-potato-seller were in the midst of a heated argu- 
 ment concerning some individual unknown. As I 
 ascended the steps and knocked, the general attention, in 
 an instant, became diverted to me. Excited whispers 
 guessed at my identity. "It's the Doctor !" said one. "It's 
 the Coroner !" growled another. A shock of alarm passed 
 through my being at the mention of the Doctor and the 
 Coroner. I raised my hand and plied the knocker. The 
 door was opened. The landlady appeared against a halo 
 of yellow gaslight, as a stout, respectable, elderly person. 
 She blinked as she looked at me, and smoothed down 
 the greasy crape- front of her shabby black gown.
 
 240 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Did you want lodgings, sir?" she asked blandly. 
 
 "No," I returned; "I called I am an acquaintance of 
 Mr. Johnson-Williams to enquire " 
 
 I became conscious of a warm blast powerfully 
 flavoured with onions blowing down the back of my 
 neck. I glanced round. The crowd had surged to the 
 level of the top door-step, and a burly butcher was drink- 
 ing in, with hard-breathing, round-eyed curiosity, the 
 words that fell from my lips. I glanced back at the land- 
 lady. Her hands were uplifted, palms outward, her face 
 was pursed up and working in a most curious fashion. 
 Her dress-bodice was agitated with subterranean sighs, 
 a tear slid down from the corner of each eye in another 
 minute, fell upon a projecting cornice of her figure, and 
 splashed upon the oilcloth of the dingy hall. 
 
 "Oh, sir!" sobbed the landlady. "Oh, sir! oh! That 
 ever I should 'a' seen the day!" 
 
 "For Heaven's sake let me come in !" I cried, in great 
 agitation, "away from these people!" The butcher 
 snorted indignantly. "And tell me, as quickly and as 
 plainly as you can, what has happenend !" 
 
 By this time I stood on the hall-mat, and the landlady 
 had shut the door, in spite of a vain effort on the part of 
 the butcher to follow me inside. Her tears still trickled. 
 She seemed too conscious of their value as testimonials 
 to the softness of her nature, and the worth of my un- 
 happy friend, to wipe them away. 
 
 "Speak!" I cried. "Tell me Mr. Johnson-Wil- 
 liams " 
 
 The landlady swallowed hard. She cast up her eyes 
 and hands again, and produced from the innermost re- 
 cesses of her being a sepulchral utterance : 
 
 "Gone!" 
 
 "Gone !" I repeated. 
 
 "Gone !" cried the landlandy hysterically ; "and him with 
 half a peck of wholemeal in the cupboard, and three
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 241 
 
 pounds of American russets, and seven best quartern 
 browns, slack-baked a-purpose, laid in for the week, likin' 
 'em better stale, and cheaper too. Cut down like the 
 greens in the field, as are on the coster's barrer to-day 
 and gone to-morrow. And me to find him, poor young 
 lamb, after breaking into my own house like a burglar! 
 and how that hussy of a girl managed to bolt both the 
 doors after her when she took and offed it with that 
 young man of hers, I cannot imagine !" 
 
 She stopped for breath, and I stood trying to realise 
 the full horror of the catastrophe. My unhappy friend's 
 last act before leaving his body had been to secure the 
 house. In absolute loneliness the closing scenes of his 
 life had faltered to an end. The poor girl in Wales! 
 Who was to tell her? I shuddered at the thought of the 
 blow that was about to fall on that young hopeful heart. 
 I tried to speak, and failed at first. Then I pointed up- 
 wards, and managed to get out : 
 
 "Can I see ?" 
 
 The landlady looked terribly confused. She groaned 
 to hide the confusion, and let fall another tear or two. 
 I repeated my question more loudly. 
 
 "Of course, of course, sir!" she said soothingly, "and 
 none more welcome than yourself" (she did not even 
 know my name) "as the poor dear thought a deal of. 
 But, not to go on deceiving of you, he ain't here." 
 
 These words flashed on my mental retina the picture 
 of a hospital ward, followed by a view of the interior of 
 a mortuary, and I interrupted her suddenly. 
 
 "Tell me where he has been taken." 
 
 The landlady's face puckered up, but the tears did not 
 come this time. 
 
 She formed with her lips the words "Not beknown."
 
 242 A Sailor's Home 
 
 IX 
 
 She groaned again, and waggled her head from side to 
 side. 
 
 "Do you mean," I raised my voice, "that you do not 
 even know the name of the hospital to which my poor 
 friend has been conveyed?" 
 
 The landlady blinked at me. The landlady returned, 
 "He was never conveyed to no horspittle as I am aweer 
 on." 
 
 "Mortuary, then," I substituted. 
 
 "Nor no mortuary neither." 
 
 "In the name of Heaven," I burst out, "where is he?" 
 
 "If anyone knows," said the landlady, "that person is 
 Doctor George!" She breathed hard as she made this 
 admission. Her evasive manner, her evident confusion, 
 filled me with suspicion and distrust. 
 
 "And who is Doctor George ?" I demanded. 
 
 "A medical gentleman," returned the landlady, hesi- 
 tatingly, "as passed when I was a-rattlin' at my own 
 front door, an' obligingly offered to 'elp me get inside 
 without callin' a policeman. Whips over the railin's, he 
 does, an' climbs on the sill of the parlour winder an' 
 pushes back the sash-bolt with a penknife. Then he 
 crawls in an' comes round an' opens the door. 'You'd 
 a'most think I was a perfesshnal burglar,' says 'e, with a 
 pleasant smile. 'Ho! never, sir,' says I, an' my little 
 Eliza laughs at the gentleman's funny way. 'I won't 
 leave you yet,' says 'e, 'as somethink might 'ave 'appened 
 wrong, the 'ouse bein' left so queerly, an' the 'all door 
 bell stuffed up.' An' we goes downstairs, 'im 'an me an' 
 little Eliza, an' there ain't no sign of a girl, an* we goes 
 upstairs in the same way. 'E peeps in at the empty draw- 
 in'-room an' then above, an' then we comes to the fourth 
 floor. 'Locked!' sez 'e, rattlin' Mr. Johnson-Williams's 
 door-handle. Then 'e stoops an' peeps through a crack.
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 243 
 
 ' 'E's lyin' on the sofy in there/ sez 'e, 'an' appearances 
 are suspishus. I'm a-goin' to break open this door !' An' 
 'e takes somethin* from a pocket at the back of 'is waist 
 an' breaks it in oh! deary dear! as if 'e was quite ac- 
 customed. But you're standin', sir." This was another 
 device to gain a little time. "Please to walk upstairs." 
 She began to exude tears again, like a slow still-worm, as 
 she lighted a candle that stood in a battered tin candle- 
 stick on the crazy hall-table. She groaned again as she 
 beckoned me to follow her, and, panting, laboured up the 
 steep old-fashioned stairs as high as the fourth floor. 
 "You'll find all his little things about," she said, as she 
 enfolded the door-knob in her apron. "Dear deary 
 me !" She opened the door. I went in. 
 
 My poor friend's lodging was a good-sized combined 
 bed-and-sitting-room situated at the back of the house, 
 and commanding from its two windows an extensive 
 prospect of chimney-pots, and an angular slice of a mews 
 where hissing men rubbed down horses and clanked 
 buckets at all hours of the day and night. There were 
 his few books on a shelf; there was his old blackened 
 pipe; there was his poor, worn overcoat hanging now 
 behind the door; there was his umbrella standing in a 
 corner; and there his Sunday hat in a blue band- 
 box on the top of the chest of drawers. My chest 
 pained me as I looked about; my eyes filled and 
 smarted. 
 
 "Which a nicer and quieter young gentleman I never 
 lodged," said the landlady, setting down the candle on the 
 chest of drawers. "And when me and Doctor George 
 busted into the room"; she pointed to the damaged door- 
 lock "and found him a-layin' on the sofy" she waved 
 her hand towards an ancient article of furniture, covered 
 with slippery horsehair, which stood near the fireplace 
 "you might V felled me to the floor with a feather- 
 duster, such was the turn I experienced. And then the
 
 244 A Sailor's Home 
 
 doctor, a-puttin' his 'and as solemn as solemn on my 
 shoulder and sayin' " 
 
 "What did the doctor say?" I faltered. 
 
 The landlady responded with a Delphic utterance: 
 "Faileroftheartaxiom." 
 
 I grasped her meaning after a few ineffectual efforts. 
 
 "Failure of the heart's action," I repeated. "And 
 what what induced you to let him take him take it 
 
 away, without leaving any address, or Good 
 
 heavens ! It is monstrous, monstrous ! You must have 
 been out of your senses! What will my poor friend's 
 family say to it!" 
 
 The landlady saw her chance and grasped it. 
 
 "Bless you, sir! many and many a time has the poor 
 dear told me he hadn't got a living soul in the world, of 
 his own blood ! Many a " 
 
 I spoke to the woman sternly. 
 
 "Mr. Johnson- Williams had employers. Mr. Johnson- 
 Williams had friends. I, as one of them, shall report 
 your disgraceful conduct to the firm he has served for so 
 many years. They will take action in the matter." My 
 voice rose. The woman cowered under my anger. "How 
 do I know that my friend is dead at all?" I went on. 
 "How do I know that he is not the victim of foul play? 
 How do I know that " 
 
 I stopped. The landlady had sunk upon the floor, a 
 jellified heap of conscience-stricken misery. She rocked 
 to and fro, and wept in real earnest. 
 
 "Oh! my dear 'eart alive! Kind gentleman, don't be 
 hard on a widow woman as always kep' her house respect- 
 able, and sent her children neat to school. Which wrong 
 it was to leave the 'ouse, but the worrit and Doctor 
 George as I wish I'd never set eyes on sendin' me with 
 a shillin' to the 'Man and Magpie' in Kemmis Street close 
 by, for a quartern of gin hot, with lemon to be drunk on 
 the premises. 'Which your nerves, Missis Tichett,' he
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 245 
 
 say, ' 'ave 'ad a shock, and unless you take somethink 
 to compose 'em, I will not answer for the consequences.' 
 And me a-takin' it, consequently, and coming back to 
 find 'em both gone, and little Eliza, says she, 'I fetched 
 a cab for the doctor, mother, and he's took the poor young 
 gentleman away.' 'Where?' I says, and nothink can 
 that child tell me, except that I'm to hear from Doctor 
 George in the morning. And never a line ! And me that 
 worrited, with my 'ead a-spinning like little Johnny's top. 
 And the story leaking out, and the dear child jeered at 
 passin' the public-'ouse on 'is way to school with 'Who 
 stole the corpse?' and 'Who cheated the Coroner?' and 
 me obliged to keep the blinds down because of people 
 staring in at the front windows all day, and throwin' 
 things down the airy. Oh, deary dear ! And friends and 
 employers comin' to ask for the young gentleman, only to 
 find him kidnapped by a body-snatcher or worse. And 
 me a lost woman, if ever there was one." 
 
 "Go downstairs, woman," I commanded, in tones 
 strangely stern. And Mrs. Tichett surged away. 
 
 I sat on the hard bed ; my elbows rested on my knees, 
 my fingers were twisted in my hair. Vainly I strove to 
 probe the maddening mystery. Was my poor friend 
 really dead? Supposing the landlady's tale true and 1 
 was strongly inclined to believe it who was the mys- 
 terious stranger who had helped Mrs. Tichett to break 
 into her own house, discovered (perhaps with pre-knowl- 
 edge) the condition of her unfortunate lodger, taken his 
 own measure for getting rid of her, and then eloped with 
 the body. I had heard dark things hinted about the 
 Vivisectionists ere then. A man had told me, who had 
 had it from another man, who was said to have had it 
 whispered in his ear by a member of the Detective Force,
 
 246 A Sailor's Home 
 
 that in Berlin, Paris, Vienna and London, human subjects 
 are regularly kidnapped, experimented on, and then 
 either released under terrible oaths of non-betrayal, 
 bribed into holding their tongues, or summarily put out 
 of the way; that four-wheeled cabs patrol lonely streets 
 for other purposes than those of obtaining casual fares, 
 and that an elderly gentleman, a personal acquaintance 
 of the original teller of the story, had, while walking up 
 the Regent's Park Road in broad daylight, been hustled 
 by three men into one of these vehicles, gagged and con- 
 veyed to a certain house in the neighborhood of Maida 
 Vale, where, after being strapped down upon a table 
 covered with sheet-lead and furnished with a sink and 
 gutter, he had subsequently undergone the mortification 
 of being ripped up, of having the whole of his digestive 
 apparatus extracted "under his very eyes" (cocaine or 
 some other pain-deadening drug having been previously 
 administered), of having the essential organs put back 
 again after liesurely examination, and after three weeks 
 of well-tended imprisonment this victim found himself, 
 after a short period of unconsciousness, lying on his 
 back in the middle of Paddington Green, with a bank- 
 note for a thousand pounds in his vest pocket, and no 
 other trace of a recent operation remaining, than a neat 
 longitudinal seam, which he carried about with him until 
 his dying day. 
 
 My mind revolting from these horrible suspicions, I 
 began to recall the good, simple ways of my poor vanished 
 friend to conjure up his image as it had appeared before 
 me that night at Hampton Wick. 
 
 Great Heavens! was it possible? There he stood be- 
 fore me, neatly defined, if somewhat cloudy, in the un- 
 certain light of the guttering, flaring candle. 
 
 I sprang to my feet with a shout of joy. 
 
 "Less emotion, I beg, my dear Pegley," said the faint, 
 hollow voice I knew so well. "The disturbance and
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 247 
 
 agitation of your mind have prevented my getting here 
 sooner, and delay, under the present circumstances, is an 
 aggravation of the anxiety from which I am just now 
 suffering." 
 
 "I cannot express what relief it is to see you," I said, 
 "under any circumstances," grasping his filmy hand. 
 "But if you will not think me rude, I had rather you had 
 brought your body with you I had indeed!" 
 
 The features of Johnson- Williams twitched. He 
 seemed to swallow once or twice convulsively before 
 utterance became possible. Then he said: 
 
 "That is just what I wanted to speak to you about. 
 I in fact, I don't know where it is." 
 
 "YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE IT IS-" 
 
 "Be calm, my dear Pegley!" entreated Johnson-Wil- 
 liams. "I am perfectly earnest in saying I don't know 
 where my my bodily substance is located at this 
 moment," he gulped. "It appears to have been mislaid 
 or or stolen." He winked convulsively and loosened his 
 wraith of a shirt collar. "The landlady's story I should 
 adjudge to be true. Last night when I came home and 
 found myself Gone ! the woman was in strong hysterics, 
 genuinely induced by fear and alarm. This Doctor 
 George! What motive could that person possibly have 
 had, my dear Pegley, in taking me away? You had 
 Vivisection in your mind just now. I hardly agree with 
 that supposition." He took a seat on the edge of one of 
 the rickety chairs, and crossing his phantom legs, bent 
 on me the look he always put on when he felt he was go- 
 ing to get the better of me in an argument. "I was sup- 
 posed to be dead, you know ; and you can't possibly 
 vivisect a dead person." 
 
 "I suppose not," I agreed thoughtfully. 
 
 "Therefore," said Johnson-Williams more cheerfully, 
 "let us put unpleasant contingencies out of mind for the 
 present. I have been all my life a toiling, moiling, in-
 
 248 A Sailor's Home 
 
 dustrious kind of body, but now that I have no body to 
 toil and moil with, I feel myself justified in taking a short 
 holiday. Meanwhile, my dear Pegley, if you would oblige 
 me by keeping your eyes open and lookrng about a little, 
 I make no doubt that you will obtain some clue to the 
 whereabouts of my corporeal entity in a very short time ; 
 in fact, I feel sure it will ultimately turn up," said John- 
 son-Williams, quite light-heartedly. "A cautiously- 
 worded advertisement, now, short and cheap, in the 
 'Wanted' column of The Echo might bring about a desir- 
 able result. Put it something in this way: 'Will the 
 gentleman who accidentally' mustn't offend him, you 
 know 'accidentally abstracted a Body from 26, Great J. 
 Street, on evening of Monday last, kindly communicate 
 with owner of same? Small reward will be given* 
 it will have to be a small one, you know 'on return un- 
 damaged, to original address.' Perhaps you will not mind 
 drawing the formula up, and getting it inserted. You will 
 find six-and-sixpence inside the lining of my Sunday hat, 
 in the blue bandbox you see upon the chest of drawers." 
 
 "Of course," I cried, starting to my feet, "anything I 
 can do shall be done!" 
 
 "I knew I might rely on you, Pegley," said the phantom 
 of my friend, brightening dimly, "in this perplexing 
 dilemma for it is a perplexing dilemma, isn't it ? When 
 I drifted in at the office ventilator this morning, and saw 
 you all at work and my place empty, it struck me more 
 forcibly than ever what a perplexing dilemma it was." 
 He sighed. "But as I cannot be of much use in my pres- 
 ent condition, I must leave the matter entirely in vour 
 hands. I have so much belief in your intelligence and 
 energy" this sounded a little patronizing, I thought 
 "that I feel almost easy in doing so." To my consterna- 
 tion, he began to fade away. 
 
 "Where are you going?" I demanded. 
 
 "Back to Wales," said the receding voice.
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 249 
 
 In another minute he would be out of hearing. 
 
 "Stop !" I shouted. 
 
 "Hullo !" returned Johnson- Williams, from quite a long 
 way off. 
 
 "What am I to say to the landlady? How am I to 
 account for your absence to Mr. Simpson?" I dragged 
 him back with all the will-power I could compress into a 
 single effort. 
 
 "Hah!" he said, reappearing suddenly. "That is a 
 difficulty. I'm afraid you will have to be rather subtle 
 my dear Pegley, to avoid telling an actual falsehood." It 
 struck me forcibly that in shifting the burden of his 
 responsibilities to my shoulders, he had somehow con- 
 fused our relative positions. "You should begin, I 
 think," he said, "by advising Mrs. Tichett to keep her 
 own counsel for a day or two. And you might account 
 to the people at the office for my non-attendance, by say- 
 ing that I am not at all myself just now which is abso- 
 lutely true ; and that I am lying by I wish I knew where 
 I was lying by until I am recovered; and that I hope 
 soon to be out of the doctor's hands which I do most 
 fervently. Good-bye, again, my dear fellow." He waved 
 his hand, and started for Merthyr Tydvil. 
 
 XI 
 
 I am ashamed to say that the Heads of our Office were 
 taken in by that Delphic message of Johnson- Williams. 
 His long years of assiduous attendance to duty, his un- 
 wavering adherence io the big ledgers up to the present 
 moment, stood him in good stead. 
 
 "How is pocrr old J.W. today?" the clerks would en- 
 quire sympathisingly. "Pretty bad, eh? Thought so; 
 you look so fagged and green about the gills. No idea 
 you were such friends." 
 
 I had no idea of it myself before that period. But I
 
 250 A Sailor's Home 
 
 led a life of wasting anxiety upon the account of Johnson- 
 Williams. To begin with, the advertisement in The Echo 
 had never been answered; and a carking sense of re- 
 sponsibility under which I laboured, robbed me of all 
 relish of life. I continually found myself making out 
 policies of insurance in which the Al copper-bottomed 
 teak-built schooner Merthyr Tydvil, owned by the firm of 
 Blank and Blank, Great Joram Street Docks, under com- 
 mand of Doctor George, and laden with crates, chests and 
 bales of Johnson-Williamses to the amount of so many 
 thousands, was underwritten for so much in case of loss, 
 under the protection of the Collision Clause. 
 
 When the working day was done I would snatch a 
 hurried meal and start upon the track of Doctor George. 
 I had looked him up in the Medical Directory and found 
 two of him; one resident at Highgate and the other at 
 Kew. Subsequent investigations proved the first to be 
 a weak-eyed young man who lived with and under the 
 continual supervision of a mother and aunt of undoubted 
 respectability and severe appearance ; while the second 
 was a white-haired old gentleman who had long aban- 
 doned practice and used to be taken out in a Bath chair 
 drawn by a rosy-cheeked gardener, for a daily airing 
 round the Gardens. It was plainly apparent that neither 
 of these could have kidnapped the body of my friend, and 
 yet I felt it my duty to keep them under perpetual 
 observation. 
 
 "Doctor George ! A feigned name, of course !" I would 
 mutter as I tossed on my sleepless bed. "Doctor George !" 
 The name seemed written on my brain in letters of phos- 
 phorus. My flesh fell away, though barely a fortnight 
 had passed since the abduction from Great Joram Street ; 
 my features, like my boot-heels, began to show traces of 
 my restless existence. I unspeakably longed for an inter- 
 view with the astral being of my unhappy friend, yet 
 I forebore to summon him; such was my dread of the
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 251 
 
 look of reproach with which he would receive the confes- 
 sion of my failure. 
 
 It struck me sometimes that he was near; that he 
 wanted to see me. But, like a coward, I resolutely put 
 him out of mind. It was upon the second Sunday fol- 
 lowing my first memorable visit to Great Joram Street 
 (whose inhabitants had left off staring down the area of 
 No. 26 and greeting Mrs. Tichett with opprobrious epi- 
 thets), that this consciousness of proximity came upon 
 me with irresistible force. I had intended a journey 
 to Highgate that day which happened to be a very wet 
 one ; and in no very happy frame of mind, I sat at break- 
 fast dipping into the columns of The Sunday Intelligence, 
 and a loud-flavoured egg, alternately. 
 
 "THE CATALEPTIC CASE IN CHELSEA 
 No SIGNS OF RETURNING ANIMATION 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE MEDICAL MEN/' 
 
 I read aloud and yawned. The papers had been full of 
 that cataleptic case for two weeks more than two weeks " 
 past. I turned to the leader. . . . 
 
 "Cases of a similar description to that which has 
 
 recently occurred in Briggs Street, Chelsea," . . . 
 
 wrote the Editor, strong in the consciousness that the 
 
 office Encyclopedia, open at the double heading (Cata- 
 
 falco Catalepsy) lay at his elbow . . . 
 
 "are far from infrequent or uncommon. Katalepsis, 
 in the original Greek, signifies a taking possession of 
 a state of more or less complete insensibility, with 
 absence of the power of voluntary motion and statue- 
 like rigidity of the body and limbs. . . . Patients in 
 the death-like trance inseparable from the attack may 
 remain (as in the present case) for weeks in that
 
 252 A Sailor's Home 
 
 condition, with circulation and respiration little af- 
 fected. Though in the instance so prominently 
 brought before our notice, these functions are said 
 to be entirely suspended, there is little reason to 
 apprehend any fatal termination. A few hours a 
 few days or months from the date of our present 
 issue, Professor Phineas J. Pargeter's phenomenon 
 will awake as bright as the proverbial button, thirst- 
 ing for the sustaining half-pint of British bitter and 
 urgent for the administration of the solid and sus- 
 taining steak." 
 
 I turned to the third page in weary disgust. Catalepsy 
 cropped out there in the form of a detailed account of a 
 reporter's pilgrimage to Chelsea, and consequent inter- 
 view with the unconscious subject, who belonged (it ap- 
 peared) to the sterner sex. The reporter dished up his 
 facts attractively, seasoning them with bits of smart de- 
 tail and racy description. 
 
 "A seething crowd," he wrote, "not entirely com- 
 posed of the residents of Briggs Street, surged round 
 the door of the shabby little public-house where the 
 Cataleptic Wonder has remained in unbroken slum- 
 ber for a fortnight or more. I pushed my way 
 through the barrier of humanity and entered the 
 bar. It was crowded with thirsty customers the 
 landlord and three shirt-sleeved assistants perspired 
 freely in their efforts to cope with the demands 
 made on them. After having swallowed the half -pint 
 of malt liquor which it behooved me to order, I, in 
 the interests of The Sunday Intelligence, proceeded 
 to business. Mentioning the magic name before 
 which all doors must open, I at the courteous invita- 
 tion of mine host of the 'Pink Lion/ entered the 
 bar parlour and sat down. Professor Phineas J. Par- 
 geter joined me in a few minutes. . > >" 
 I finished my coffee at a gulp, and resting my elbows
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 253 
 
 on the tablecloth, read on with a kind of dreary despera- 
 tion. 
 
 XII 
 
 "A tall, athletic form, clad in professional black, 
 a handsome face, an affable expansive manner, neatly 
 kept white hands, which gracefullly threaded the 
 masses of dark clustering locks, or waved in the air, 
 gracefully accompanied the harmonious tones of a 
 deep baritone voice . . . somewhat tinged with an 
 American accent ... all these characteristics dis- 
 tinguish the individuality of Professor Pargeter, late 
 occupant of a distinguished post in one of the most 
 famous Transatlantic Medical Colleges. After a brief 
 yet profoundly interesting account of the peculiar 
 features presented in the case (all of which will be 
 found in detail in our sixth column) the Professor 
 courteously introduced me to his charge. (I may add 
 that pure Christian charity alone has induced Pro- 
 fessor Pargeter to consent to superintend the slum- 
 bers of the cataleptic, and that the philanthropic idea 
 of raising by the small charge levied per head on 
 visitors, a sum of money to be ultimately employed 
 for the benefit of the sleeper, emanated from his 
 large and teeming brain.)" 
 "Ha-aah !" I yawned, and read on : 
 
 "I found the Cataleptic Wonder in a small room 
 on the second floor of the 'Pink Lion/ He reclined 
 upon a small bedstead, about six feet in length, and 
 three and a half in width, fully dressed, with the 
 exception of his coat and boots, which had been 
 removed, revealing a pair of much-darned brown 
 worsted socks. He presented, at the first glance, the 
 appearance of a sleeping man ; but a closer inspection 
 revealed the unnatural rigidity of the limbs and the
 
 254 A Sailor's Home 
 
 bluish shades that veiled the mouth and closed eye- 
 lids. ..." 
 
 I refolded the paper to get at the top of a fresh column, 
 and, proping it against the milk- jug, read on: 
 
 "In his waking moments, the Cataleptic Man of 
 Chelsea cannot, even by his most partial acquain- 
 tances, be considered a specimen of beauty. His 
 developments are meagre, his skin sallow, his hair 
 possesses the reddish hue which is unflatteringly 
 stigmatised by many persons as 'carroty,' and his 
 chin is decorated with a stubby growth of corres- 
 ponding colour, which has made its appearance dur- 
 ing his protracted slumber. His linen (of course, 
 his collar has been removed) boasts a pattern of 
 brown horse-shoes, his cravat is a cheerful mixture 
 of navy blue and orange, and the articles vulgarly 
 known as 'reach-me-downs' are of loud-patterned 
 tweed ..." 
 
 (The day was growing foggy. I could hardly dis- 
 tinguish the column of type before me) . . . 
 
 "stripes and bars of greenish black and chocolate 
 being thrown into relief against a background of 
 mustard colour." 
 (How dark it was growing!) 
 
 "His black waistcoat was garnished by a nickel 
 watch-chain ..." 
 
 The letters faded completely out of view. I looked up. 
 The shade of Johnson-Williams was standing between 
 the table and the window. Had I summoned him with- 
 out knowing it? conjured up his image in my mind 
 without an absolute effort of volition? 
 
 "If you only knew how impatiently I have waited for 
 this moment," he began. 
 
 I looked at him narrowly. Surely surely, he was 
 strangely altered for the worse. His shape was no longer 
 clearly defined, but nebulous and indistinct ; his hues and
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 255 
 
 tints seemed, as it were, to have run into one another; 
 his outlines were ragged and incomplete. He saw that I 
 noticed this, and shook his head sorrowfully. 
 
 "Is anything wrong ? I should say, more wrong than 
 usual?" I faltered. 
 
 "An unforeseen contingency, my dear Pegley," returned 
 Johnson-Williams, "threatens to render my present 
 crucial position more desperate still. If you had brought 
 me out a little sooner, something might have been done, 
 but," he shook his head again, "I fear it is now too 
 late." 
 
 "In Heaven's name, speak plainly !" 
 
 "I will endeavour to do so," said my poor friend. "The 
 fact is, Pegley, I am beginning to Go." 
 
 "To go?" 
 
 "To wear out," explained Johnson-Williams, with 
 dreadful calmness. "In point of fact, the the friction 
 of this mundane atmosphere is beginning to be too much 
 for me. The airy, nebulous individuality which ambitious 
 effort rashly expelled from that envelope or case of flesh 
 and blood (which, in my absence, was fraudulently pur- 
 loined by the reptile whom we both abhor) is beginning 
 to crumble away. The tender tail of a hermit-crab 
 deprived of the protecting shell in which its owner inviari- 
 ably encases it, suffers injuries and abrasions, may be 
 broken or torn off. The chrysalis, stripped of its protect- 
 ing husk, shrivels and dies. My case parallels with either 
 of these. Look!" 
 
 He held out his right hand three of its unsubstantial 
 fingers were missing! He pointed to the left side of his 
 head an ear was wanted there ! 
 
 "As the process of Decay advances," he said gloomily, 
 "and my airy particles disintegrate with greater rapidity, 
 my dear Pegley, I shall lose not only fingers and ears, but 
 entire limbs whole sections of my anatomy will disap- 
 pear, in fact, then ..." His voice died away.
 
 256 A Sailor's Home 
 
 I glared at him. My mind seemed paralysed by this 
 new disaster. It was piling Pel 
 
 " ion upon Ossa," said Johnson-Williams, promptly 
 filling up the gap in my memory. 
 
 "Has Miss . . . ?" I choked. 
 
 "I take you. Has the attention of Miss Williams- 
 Johnson been drawn to the fact that I am considered as 
 a Specimen incomplete!" He touched the place where 
 his ear should have been, and glanced at the remaining 
 digits of his right hand, sadly. "It has, more than once. 
 But on these occasions I have diverted her from the topic 
 with airy badinage, and upon her reverting to it later, 
 persuaded her that she had materialised me imperfectly. 
 If anything could add to my agony of spirit, it would be 
 the knowledge that she is, at this moment (in complete 
 ignorance of the dreadful Secret which you and I, my 
 dear Pegley, enjoy the dismal privilege of sharing), em- 
 ployed in making her wedding-gown." 
 
 Johnson-Williams wiped away the semblance of a 
 tear. I had no words wherewith to comfort him. 
 
 XIII 
 
 "She suspects nothing, then?" I gasped. 
 
 "Nothing," returned Johnson-Williams. "It puzzles 
 the dear girl a little to find me so constantly about her ; 
 she thinks, I know, that in my joy at having attained the 
 Pitch, I am neglecting my business duties, in running 
 backwards and forwards between Merthyr Tydvil and 
 London by any astral current that happens to be con- 
 venient." 
 
 "Could you not ... ?" 
 
 "I have not the moral courage," my friend replied, "to 
 administer such a terrible shock. And my cowardice, and 
 her own desire to act for my welfare in all things, have 
 resulted in her dealing me, unconsciously, a frightful 
 Blow." He winced as if he had really had it.
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 257 
 
 "A blow?" I interrogated. 
 
 "The firm of solicitors in Llanberis which you may 
 remember was entrusted with the settlement of her aunt's 
 affairs, and whose Senior Partner first communicated to 
 Gwendollen the fact of a legacy having been left her" 
 really, Johnson-Williams was very prolix "have got 
 through the legal formalities inseparable from testa- 
 mentary dispositions, with extraordinary celerity. Gwen- 
 dollen is mistress of a little income in her own right, and 
 a moderately-sized household of furniture. And I joy- 
 fully regret to say, my dear Pegley," said Johnson- Wil- 
 liams, "that she gave warning to the coal-merchant a 
 week ago, and will arrive in London within the next forty- 
 eight hours or so with the avowed intention of getting 
 married directly. Meanwhile," continued the miserable 
 fellow, "I am to look out quiet respectable lodgings for 
 a single young lady, and give notice of our intending 
 nuptials to the Registrar of the parish in which they hap- 
 pen to be situated." 
 
 He tore his shadowy hair and seemed to gnash his 
 teeth. 
 
 "Where am I? Who has got me? Days weeks you 
 have been searching high and low, I know ; I have been 
 near you often when you seemed" there was a tinge of 
 bitterness in his tone "to be quite unconscious of my 
 proximity. I have accompanied you in your excursions 
 North and West. I have seen the Doctor George who 
 lives at Highgate and the Doctor George who resides at 
 Kew. Neither of these is identical with the miscreant 
 who has my property in his possession. That villain, 
 when about to carry out his nefarious designs, began by 
 giving the landlady a name as much unlike his own as 
 could be invented on the spur of the moment. Therefore, 
 by a very natural deduction, the man you should have 
 been looking for all this time, ought to have been an indi- 
 vidual whose name was Anything but Doctor George!"
 
 258 A Sailor's Home 
 
 Such was his frenzied vehemence that he quivered like 
 a cobweb in a strong draught. I began to feel that I had 
 not been born for a detective. 
 
 "Never say die!" It was an idiotic remark to make, 
 but I could not think of any other. 
 
 "I should much prefer not to do so, my dear Pegley," 
 said Johnson-Williams, with the ghost of his amenable 
 manner. "But you must admit that I am in a horrible 
 situation. If within the next few days my corporeal 
 tenement cannot be recovered, I shall be forced to com- 
 municate the crudest of shocks to a dear, beautiful girl." 
 His shadowy features quivered, like the reflection of a 
 face seen in water over which a breeze is passing, and he 
 wrung his filmy hands. "And even should her true 
 affection triumph over circumstances," he continued, 
 "and she was to announce her willingness to marry the 
 mere unsubstantial shadow of a husband what ordinary 
 Registrar would consent to perform the ceremony? Or 
 if a Clergyman gifted with the necessary amount of 
 imagination could be found, with what truth could I 
 approach the hymeneal altar with the solemn declaration 
 that there is no existing barrier to my union with 
 Gwendollen ?" 
 
 He clasped his hands under his ghostly coat-tails, and 
 began to fluctuate I cannot say walk rapidly up and 
 down the room. 
 
 "If nothing comes to light, if no trace of me is dis- 
 covered before the period of my poor dear girl's arrival, 
 perhaps you would not mind, my dear Pegley, meeting 
 the Welsh Express at Huston Road Station, No. 3 plat- 
 form, Tuesday morning, 8.30 a.m., and assisting Gwen- 
 dollen to procure a comfortable, quiet apartment in some 
 respectable lodging-house. There is a notice of Rooms 
 To Let in one of the fanlights over the front door of this 
 very house ; I saw it in ascending from the level of the 
 first floor to your window" (I lived on the third floor).
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 259 
 
 "The Poet has observed that when we stoop to deceive 
 for our own good or that of others we weave a Tangled 
 Web!" He shook his faint head sorrowfully. "If I 
 should still persist, up to and after Gwendollen's arrival 
 upon the in short the scene, in not turning up, I must 
 trouble you, my dear Pegley, to add a few strands to the 
 Fabric already elaborated. It is desirable that I should, 
 in my present deplorable condition of mind I cannot 
 say body avoid an interview with Gwendollen at pres- 
 ent shun her very vicinity, in the fear of being forced 
 in a moment of weakness to reveal my pitiable condition. 
 Pressure of business at the office would, I think, be a 
 feasible excuse ! Or a natural delicacy in obtruding my 
 presence upon her, previously to our union I leave it to 
 you to decide upon the line it would be best to take. 
 Divert her mind, my dear Pegley, as much as you can. 
 Prevent her, if possible, from thinking about me. Keep 
 her, if you can again, from wishing to see me from 
 forming that mental image of me which will infallibly 
 result in my Development." 
 
 He had come to me without being summoned in this 
 way. 
 
 "You must have done it unconsciously," said Johnson- 
 Williams, answering my thought, "it could not have 
 happened otherwise." Then the agitation returned and 
 seized him, and shook him in a manner painful to witness. 
 "My body, my body!" he groaned. "Who knows what 
 treatment that that villain may not have subjected it 
 to? Who knows where it may be lying at this moment? 
 A fortnight ago I rejected your theory of Vivisection as 
 too impossible to entertain. To-day I find myself 
 struggling against the growing conviction that I have 
 been Dissected for medical purposes" I felt my hair 
 creep sympathetically and a cold chill run down my 
 back "and that the most important features of my 
 organisation are at present on on exhibit, in glass demi-
 
 260 A Sailor's Home 
 
 Johns of proof spirit, tied over the top with oiled parch- 
 ment and string, on the dusty shelf of an obscure 
 surgery! The rest of me" he turned a lack-lustre eye 
 on mine "has most probably been buried in a dust-heap ! 
 It it's a dreadfully choky idea, isn't it? Hope I haven't 
 spoiled your breakfast. Good morning." 
 
 XIV 
 
 The 8.30 Welsh Express came into Euston Station 
 punctually that is, at little more than half-past nine. 
 In the cold white light of a damp and cheerless May 
 morning, the tousled heads of passengers who had been 
 travelling all night were thrust out of the windows, and 
 shouts of "Porter!" made the glass roof echo again. 
 
 There were two Pullman cars on the train. I did not 
 trouble about examining their inmates very minutely, but 
 walked on towards the end of the platform, where the 
 third-class compartments were. I had formed a picture 
 of Miss Williams- Johnson in my mind, as a red-cheeked, 
 healthy young woman of the nursery-governess type ; and 
 under the influence of this pre-conviction, looked into a 
 good many faces without finding any to correspond with 
 my ideal. Minutes passed. The carriages emptied, the 
 platform cleared, and still I rambled vaguely up and 
 down. Perhaps Miss Williams-Johnson had been de- 
 tained perhaps she would come by the next train. But 
 at that moment, a porter passed me shouldering a small 
 black trunk. The initials G. W. J. were painted on it in 
 white. He dangled a bonnet-box and a small bag in his 
 unoccupied hand, and was followed by a young lady. 
 
 "I don't see the gentleman, miss!" 
 
 "He is sure to be here," said the young lady ; "please 
 look about you again, and remember the description I 
 gave you." 
 
 The porter's countenance expanded into a grin.
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 261 
 
 "There's a many gents in London as answers to that 
 description," he said. "But I'll ask the constable at the 
 turnstile. ..." Box and all, he broke into a run. 
 
 The young lady put back a brown gauze veil from a 
 charming face and looked about her a little bewilderedly 
 with a pair of brilliant blue eyes. She had evidently been 
 travelling all night, for she looked fatigued and slightly 
 crumpled, but there was not a speck of dust or grime on 
 her neat little person. Those lovely eyes lighted with 
 hope as the returning bulk of the porter in company with 
 a large smiling policeman bore down upon her. 
 
 The policeman was something of a joker in his way. 
 
 "Jim this man here, miss," he said with assumed 
 stolidity, "tells me that you were expecting a gent to 
 meet you as 'asn't, so to speak, come up to the mark. 
 Might I ask what kind of looking individual he might be ?" 
 
 The young lady blushed a little. 
 
 "He is tall and thin," she said, "with auburn hair and 
 no mustache to speak of, and he wears a brown bowler 
 hat, and a suit of checked tweed a yellow and chocolate 
 pattern, and a blue tie with orange spots, and a black 
 waistcoat, and a watch-chain which looks like silver, but 
 is not," she concluded. 
 
 The policeman and the porter suppressed a mutual 
 guffaw. 
 
 "As Jim here said just now," the policeman remarked, 
 "we have a good many young gentlemen in London as 
 dress like that. You're from the country, no doubt ?" 
 
 "I am a native of Wales," said the young lady quietly. 
 "And as this is the first time I ever was in London, I 
 cannot believe that the gentleman I speak of would have 
 been so so forgetful, or so unkind, as to break his 
 promise of meeting me !" Her blue eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "They're all like that, miss, bless you !" said the police- 
 man. "He's just dropped it clean out of his mind and 
 gone with a 'andsomer gal, as the song says. Not that I
 
 262 A Sailor's Home 
 
 believe she would be, neither." He turned an admiring 
 leer upon the pretty face of Gwendollen, for, by this 
 time, I was sure of her identity. I stepped forward and 
 raised my hat. 
 
 "Miss Williams- Johnson, I believe ?" 
 
 "Yes. You come from from Llewellyn?" she said 
 anxiously. I bowed assent. 
 
 "Oh! where is he? Can he be ill," she cried, "that he 
 does not come himself ? Perhaps you are the doctor ?" 
 
 "I am only a fellow clerk in the same office," I replied. 
 
 "Mr. Pegley !" she cried. "Oh, he has so often talked 
 of you! Pray tell me " 
 
 "He is not ill." 
 
 "Thank Heaven !" Gwendollen cried. 
 
 The policeman had retired, but the porter still loomed 
 in the neighborhood upbearing his burden of luggage. I 
 procured a cab and put Miss Williams-Johnson into it. 
 
 "My friend is unavoidably prevented from appearing," 
 I explained, as the porter hoisted Miss Williams-John- 
 son's box upon the top of the vehicle and crowded her 
 bandbox and bundle under the little front seat. "There- 
 fore, he has deputed me to meet and accompany you to 
 your lodgings." 
 
 I had engaged the vacant bed and sitting room imme- 
 diately beneath my own, as Johnson- Williams had sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "And I was to give you his love his devoted love" 
 her bright eyes grew brighter "and to beg you not to 
 be anxious or worried on his account, until he is able to 
 appear in person and set all your doubts at rest. Mean- 
 while" I spoke with meaning "he hopes that nothing 
 will happen to divert him from his employment, which is 
 of a most important nature. He has neglected his busi- 
 ness sadly of late, owing to other preoccupations, the 
 nature of which, he said, you would be able to guess." 
 She nodded. "So," I went on, "if you would think of him
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 263 
 
 as little as you conveniently can during the interval he 
 would be deeply indebted to you." 
 
 "It will be difficult to help thinking about him!" she 
 said tenderly, "but I will try. Perhaps you could tell me 
 something of the nature of the business he is engaged in?" 
 
 "It involves a great deal of research," I said truthfully ; 
 "and his whole future depends upon its successful carry- 
 ing out. If I were you, I would not even write until 
 you receive a letter from my friend." 
 
 "Is that part of the message?" asked Gwendollen 
 quickly, and I answered: 
 
 "That is part of the message." 
 
 xv 
 
 Then as the cab wobbled along, I began to point out to 
 her the different objects of interest to be seen in the 
 streets of the Metropolis. It was necessary she should 
 not be allowed to brood on Johnson-Williams too much. 
 Her artless enthusiasm was delicious; her wonder and 
 delight at the gaudy omnibuses, the smart carriages, the 
 bright shops and staring advertisements, lent these things 
 a charm they had never held before in my eyes. 
 
 My landlady received her with empressement. I saw 
 the dingy door of my lodgings close upon that charming 
 vision of youth and beauty with a sigh. She had thanked 
 me warmly at parting. I paid and dismissed the four- 
 wheeler and walked to the City, revolving in my mind 
 plans for the sparkling creature's entertainment and 
 amusement. Her thoughts must be diverted from her 
 absent lover ; she must not be allowed to brood in loneli- 
 ness. . . . Ah, I had got it ! I would write to a theatrical 
 friend obtain through his mediation three upper circle 
 tickets for the Adelphi. . . . Three, because my land- 
 lady must accompany us as chaperon. That our party 
 would include an invisible fourth member in the spirit 
 of Johnson- Williams I suspected. But yet . ... 1
 
 264 A Sailor's Home 
 
 The tickets arrived next morning. 
 
 "Never been to a theayter in all her sweet young life," 
 said my landlady, "and jumped for joy at the bare thought 
 of it. 'Will it be quite proper, though, Mrs. Toms?' shj 
 says, 'to go with a gentleman and one I know so little 
 of ?' the artful dear !" Mrs. Toms evidently thought but 
 what did it matter what Mrs. Toms thought? She went 
 on : " 'Which a more delicate-minded gentleman than Mr. 
 Pegley never yet breathed,' I says to 'er ; and the presence 
 of a respectable married person as has seen better days 
 in a black silk gownd as turned like new,' I says,' 'puts 
 questions of proper or not proper entirely by !' And she 
 jumped and clapped her hands like the bright bird she is, 
 with 'Oh! Mrs. Toms, how delightful!' 'Which others 
 think so, too, my lamb,' I says, and she blushed like a 
 damson rose." 
 
 "You are not to think, Mrs. Toms " I began. 
 
 "Bless your dear heart, I never thinks!" said Mrs. 
 Toms, with dreadful slyness. "If," she went on, "a bit 
 of supper arter the play would be agreeable, I'm sure my 
 parlour is at your service. With a quart of stout and 
 bitter, and a half-crown lobster, and a dish of salad, and 
 a shape of jelly, and me being present, the tongue of 
 scandal has no handle, as the saying is." 
 
 The evening that ensued was a delightful one. I look 
 back to it novr as an oasis in the desert of my common- 
 place life. The play we witnessed, was a celebrated melo- 
 drama with comic situations, and I am not clear to 
 this day what it was all about. But the tragic bits (where 
 the villain and the heroine are locked into a lonely wind- 
 mill together, and the bold girl, preferring death to his 
 loathsome declarations of love, hurls herself upon the 
 sails and is carried, amidst deafening applause, slowly to 
 the ground) made Gwendollen tremble and clutch me, un- 
 consciously, with one little white hand such a dainty 
 little hand that I longed to comfort it by holding it in my
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 265 
 
 own! and the funny scenes (where the sailor having 
 primed himself with Jamaica rum to the pitch of making 
 a proposal of marriage, is confounded by seeing two 
 sweethearts in the place of one, for instance) made her 
 laugh heartily, and in laughing, appeal to me with such 
 brimming bright eyes and such pearly little teeth, to know 
 whether she was right in doing so, that I spent the eve- 
 ning in a foolish condition of ecstacy. Mrs. Toms was 
 very sympathetic and cried at all the love-making bits, 
 finding out resemblances in the hero and heroine to 
 Gwendollen (I kept calling her Gwendollen in my heart) 
 and myself that were agreeably confusing. The lobster 
 supper went off splendidly, and when I mixed a glass 
 of gin and water for Mrs. Toms after a prescription com- 
 piled for her in those better days by a doctor who kept 
 his carriage, and she slumbered after its absorption, 
 stertorously in her chair, we conversed for quite half an 
 hour, in whispers, about nothing in particular. And 
 when I gave her her bedroom candle she frankly gave 
 me that dear little hand I had been yearning to touch all 
 the evening, and the tattoo my heart beat against my 
 shirt-front was so loud that I fled for fear she should 
 hear it! 
 
 "I have done as he asked me," I said, defiantly address- 
 ing my bedroom candle, as I set it down upon my chest 
 of drawers. "I have succeeded in diverting her mind." 
 
 I took off my boots tenderly she slept in the room 
 underneath and went to bed. I dropped into slumber 
 almost instantly, and not having thought about Johnson- 
 Williams much during the day, naturally dreamed of him. 
 Dreamed of him vividly, and awoke to find his lambent 
 astra hovering by my bedside. He looked terribly ragged, 
 and his outlines were more indistinct than ever. 
 
 "I say, how long is this going to go on ?" he said, the 
 moment our eyes met. "Two days of the time gone and 
 no news of my whereabouts. It is perfectly sickening !"
 
 266 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "If you are dissatisfied with my efforts," I said, sitting 
 up, "why not enlist those of somebody else? I have acted 
 as your unpaid detective for weeks past ; I have laboured 
 in your interests like a galley-slave" I felt my voice 
 tremble "and you knock me up in the middle of the 
 night to find fault." 
 
 "You dreamed of me, my dear Pegley," said Johnson- 
 Williams pleadingly. 
 
 "If I did I didn't mean to," I said brusquely. 
 
 "My good friend my only adviser," said the poor 
 fellow, "I am afraid you will find me trying to your 
 patience. But consider my cruel situation." 
 
 "You call me your adviser," I said. "I am afraid I 
 am but a poor one. Is there nobody in your own sphere 
 nobody of your own consistency whom you might 
 consult?" 
 
 "Not a body I should say, not a single soul. You 
 don't know how stiff and standoffish they are I mean 
 the people whom I come across from time to time. The 
 Fifth Rounders won't speak to the Third Rounders and 
 the Third Rounders think it beneath them to respond to 
 any advances from a mere beginner." He sighed. "No ; 
 I haven't a ghost of a chance of getting any help that 
 way, my dear Pegley." 
 
 "No chance whatever !" I echoed brutally. 
 
 "They are dreadfully classy you can have no idea 
 how classv they are," rejoined my poor friend despond- 
 ently. "The brokers at Lloyd's are contemptuous and 
 overbearing in their way of treating underwriter's clerks 
 and agents' assistants. But the Mahatmas and Adepts 
 and so forth whom I occasionally encounter are worse 
 far worse! They consider me an interloper. If ever I 
 get back into myself again, Pegley, nothing shall induce 
 me to venture out of me, even for a short excursion. I 
 am going now! Pray, prav don't relax your efforts in 
 my behalf! Keep Gwendolen's mind occupied be on
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 267 
 
 the lookout for any clue that may be picked up, and ..." 
 He was nearly gone, but came back to say, "You know 
 I have explained to you that I have not dared to venture 
 into Gwendolen's vicinity since her arrival for fear, in a 
 weak moment, of betraying myself and shocking her. 
 How how does she look?" 
 
 "Very beautiful !" I answered shortly. 
 
 "How kind of you, my dear Pegley, to speak so appre- 
 ciatively," said Johnson- Williams, offering me a phantom 
 hand, which I shook without heartiness. "It does me 
 good to hear it it does indeed. I had had my doubts 
 whether she might be fretting just a little on account 
 of my absence." 
 
 "Not a bit," I said heartlessly. "At least, if she does 
 fret she hides it very well. You ought to have heard her 
 laugh to-night. It sounded like a mountain rivulet, a 
 Welsh mountain rivulet, gurgling over pebbles." 
 
 "You have such a happy knack of simile and allusion, 
 my dear fellow ! Like a Welsh mountain rivulet !" com- 
 mented the shade of Johnson-Williams. "I have often 
 wondered what it was Gwendolen's laugh reminded me 
 
 of, and now I know, 'a Welsh mountain ' " He broke 
 
 off apologetically. "I beg your pardon, I'm afraid you 
 are sleepy. But indeed, indeed, you have done me good. 
 'A Welsh . . . ' so very appropriate ! My dear old Pegley, 
 good-night." 
 
 He was gone. 
 
 XVI 
 
 "Which to the theayter I should have pinned my faith 
 as full of opportunities for a young gentleman to refer to 
 the condition of his feelinks between the ax," said Mrs. 
 Toms, "to say nothing of being let 'old her 'and when 
 guns are going off and a dark drive 'ome in a four-wheel 
 cab, behind a nuffy 'orse, if ever I see one. And yet if
 
 268 A Sailor's Home 
 
 you was to ast me on my oath, 'Do you see signs of any- 
 thing like comin' to the p'int?' if my lips were to 
 breathe their last this minute! 'Yes' I could not bring 
 myself to say. We have been to the Harcade in Covent 
 Garden, and likewise the Tower, which with them nar- 
 row twisty stone stairs full of corners, and the thumb- 
 blocks and screw-jaxes, and iron gentlemen grinnin* 
 'orrid at you with 'alberds in their 'ands, fairly swarms 
 with opportunities, if you'll excuse me, sir, for saying so. 
 Also we have been to the British Museum, where many 
 a young couple with mutual hobelisk" I believe Mrs. 
 Toms meant "object," but became confused by associa- 
 tions "in view, has come to an understandin'. An' to 
 the New Law Courts an' Westminster Abbey, to say 
 nothing of the Zoologicum Gardens an' both of you 
 like pictur's ridin' on a nelefunk as kep' twistin* 'is 
 little tail round like a negg- whisk, as the keeper said were 
 not temper, but pleasure in the exercise alone. More- 
 over, we have been to the Tppodrom," said Mrs. Toms, 
 who was beginning to get her second wind by this time ; 
 "to say nothing of Venison Revived at Hearl's Court, 
 when in a small boat shootin' under one of them dark 
 archways, you might 'a' popped the question in her year, 
 when duck year heads you must, or 'ave your brains 
 dashed out before your own eyes. But never once," 
 concluded Mrs. Toms pathetically, "have you snatched 
 the lucky moment an' made mention of the condition of 
 your 'eart. It isn't nat'ral, Mr. Pegley, and what's more, 
 she feels it, poor dear! . Else why was she crying this 
 morning 1" 
 
 "Crying?" 
 
 "Dropping tears like a cut cowcumber," said Mrs. 
 Toms emphatically, "and therefore, my advice is, with- 
 out delay, up and speak to her, Mr. Pegley, like a man. 
 You're a retiring gentleman, Mr. Pegley, you don't know 
 your own wally, sir. If you knowed as much as I know,
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 269 
 
 and had heered as much as I have heerd," said Mrs. 
 Toms with something very nearly approaching to a wink, 
 "you'd be bolder, you would indeed. Take and ask 'er 
 this afternoon take and marry her as quick as can be 
 turn the two combination bed an' sittin' rooms into one 
 sweet you shall have 'em at thirty shillin's weekly 
 an' be 'appy," ended Mrs. Toms, adding the fininshing 
 touch to the alluring picture with one masterly sentence. 
 Then, with a great assumption of delicacy, she retired 
 down the wooden hatchway that led to the kitchen, as 
 Gwendollen came downstairs. She was so simply and 
 prettily dressed, looking such a very incarnation of early 
 Summer on that beamy day, that my treacherous heart 
 jumped madly, and I turned quite giddy at the first 
 glance. 
 
 She had a little navy serge gown on, from the collar of 
 which her white throat rose like a flower, and under a 
 little black straw hat with a bunch of coquettish pink 
 moss-rosebuds in it, her blue eyes looked out, all the 
 brighter perhaps for the tears she had been shedding, and 
 her golden brown locks wooed the sunshine to tangle in 
 their meshes. 
 
 Tip-tap, came the little patent-leather shoes downstairs. 
 Gwendollen had certainly spent several sovereigns of her 
 aunt's legacy on prettiments of various kinds, since she 
 had come to London. She smiled and gave me her 
 delicious hand. But she looked thoughtful. As we 
 descended the hall doorsteps and turned into the street, 
 the area gate clashed, and a worn-out list slipper of 
 heroic dimensions whizzed past my ear, and fell with a 
 dull splash into a mud-cart which happened to be lum- 
 bering by. 
 
 XVII 
 
 "Why does Mrs. Toms throw her old shoe after us?" 
 enquired Gwendollen innocently.
 
 270 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "It it's a London custom," I replied mendaciously. 
 
 "Oh," commented Gwendollen. Then we walked on 
 together in silence. If there can be a state of mind 
 which is at once a state of misery and a state of rapture, 
 my mental condition may be said to have balanced equally 
 between those extremes that afternoon. My heart was 
 heavy, and yet my spirits were elated; I hardly felt the 
 pavement underneath my boots. My companion, too 
 was fitfully talkative and monosyllabic by turns as we 
 walked down Southampton Row, turned into Holborn, 
 and keeping our faces Westwards soon arrived at that 
 ganglion of thoroughfares, from which springs one of the 
 leading business arteries of London the Tottenham 
 Court Road. Here Gwendollen paused, and looked up at 
 me with enquiring eyes. She wanted to know where we 
 were going. The conviction that I had exhausted the 
 resources of most of the inexpensive daylight sights of 
 the Metropolis, in the effort to keep the mind of my com- 
 panion from dwelling on her absent lover, came upon me 
 in a cold dash of realism. Only the Botanical Gar- 
 dens, the Chelsea Hospital, and South Kensington 
 Museum remained. What should I do, I wondered, when 
 no single spot of any celebrity remained untrodden ? But 
 I ran over the list of places to my companion, and begged 
 her to decide upon our destination. It was all the same 
 to me where I went, I asseverated, and I spoke the truth. 
 Whitechapel itself would have seemed as another 
 Arcadia, had I been privileged to wander through its un- 
 savoury labyrinths with Miss Williams-Johnson by my 
 side. From which it will plainly be inferred that I was 
 very far gone indeed. 
 
 "I should like to go," answered Gwendollen, a little 
 wistfully, with an involuntary shrinking from the coarse 
 noise and bustle of the Tottenham Court Road "I 
 should like to go somewhere where there is plenty of 
 space, and a little grass, and something to sit down upon ;
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 271 
 
 and nothing in particuar," she went on, "that one is 
 obilged to look at because I have seen so many things 
 since I came to London, that I feel quite giddy ; and be- 
 cause" she hesitated "I have something important to 
 say to you." 
 
 Something to say to me! What could it be? And 
 where how to pitch upon a spot presenting all the dis- 
 tinctive or indistinctive peculiarities preferred by my 
 companion ! Kensington Gardens was disqualified by the 
 existence of the Albert Memorial. Regent's Park would 
 be, I knew, at this time of year, suffering from a vivid 
 eruption of potted-out plants. Primrose Hill the name 
 came to me like a revelation. I hailed the Camden Town 
 ^bus as it lumbered past I assisted Gwendollen to the 
 top and reverently took my place on the garden seat 
 beside her. It was a delightful, agonising, torturing, 
 intoxicating experience. . . . And then we got down 
 and walked, and I was more miserably blissful than ever. 
 And when we passed in at the turnstile in the palings, 
 and felt the soft turf under our feet, and began climbing 
 the artistically oramented walks paved by an enlightened 
 County Council, with broken cockleshells and cinders 
 together smiling, talking, and panting up the grassy 
 ascent, my sensations became altogether indescribable. If 
 I could have seen a white stone anywhere, I would have 
 picked it up and made a mark on the day. 
 
 The summit of Primrose Hill a circular space of grass 
 is a little dented, like the top of a boiled apple-pudding ; 
 a homely comestible which the Hill itself resembles in no 
 slight degree. Not a living creature occupied the seats 
 which have been placed there for the convenience of 
 Cockney mountaineers. We were alone quite alone. 
 Eastwards, the dome of St. Paul's reared against a soft 
 purplish-dun background of smoke, beyond which the
 
 272 A Sailor's Home 
 
 glittering towers of the Crystal Palace lifted themselves 
 out of the green foliage of the Sydenham trees. 
 
 Highgate towered to the north, and the Hampstead 
 Heights lifted themselves into a purer atmosphere. A 
 lion's roar boomed out from the Zoological Gardens. If 
 the beast had been free, and had sprung upon Gwendollen 
 at that moment, I should have engaged him single-handed 
 with my umbrella, and performed prodigies of valour 
 before he ate me up. 
 
 "Will this do?" I asked, as we sat down upon the 
 central bench, and looked about us at least, Gwendollen 
 looked about her I looked at Gwendollen. 
 
 Gwendolen's answer was irrelevant. "It does seem 
 strange," she said slowly, drawing patterns on the soft 
 ground with the ferrule of her sunshade, as she spoke, 
 "Llewellyn's never having come near me all this while, 
 I should have thought . . . !" 
 
 "Remember," I said, infusing a certain degree of gentle 
 remonstrance into my tone, "that you promised not to 
 think at all." 
 
 "I know, and I have tried to keep my promise. It has 
 been very hard to do so you can hardly realise how 
 hard." She breathed quickly and drew more patterns. 
 "You meet him every day at the office. You enjoy the 
 pleasure of his society and conversation each day at the 
 office." Her tone sounded a little hard and strange to 
 me. "Of course," she continued, "I have heard from 
 you regularly" (Heaven forgive me, she had!) "just 
 how he seemed, and what he said. This morning, for 
 instance, you told me that he looked " 
 
 "Not quite as complete as as I could have wished," I 
 stammered. "He is grinding away gradually at those 
 researches I told you of, and has lost some of his sub- 
 stantiality, it is true, but he seems to grow more light- 
 hearted" I might have said light-bodied "every day." 
 
 She turned and looked me straight in the face. My
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 273 
 
 mendacious tongue clave to the roof of my mouth, the 
 blood rushed into my very eyeballs, and my heart dropped 
 into my boots, as she said slowly: 
 
 "I wonder you can dare to look me in the face and tell 
 me such a wicked story!" 
 
 "Story!" I stuttered guiltily. 
 
 "Story!" cried Gwendollen, flushing royal red and 
 starting to her feet, "when you know he has not been to 
 the office for weeks! that he has even left his lodgings, 
 secretly, and his landlady does not even know where he 
 has gone ! I do not blame you" her tone softened as 
 she contemplated the scarlet misery of my countenance, 
 and the crushed humiliation of my attitude "I do not 
 blame you. You have some kindly motive in screening 
 Llewellyn you have deceived me, out of sheer pity 
 wasted your time in endeavoring to stave off the dis- 
 covery which you knew to be inevitable. Dear Mr. 
 Pegley, kind Mr. Pegley, pray do not look so wretched, 
 pray do not glare at me in such a dreadful manner! If 
 Llewellyn," her voice faltered, "does not love me any 
 more, it is not your fault, it is" she broke down and 
 began to cry "it is Fate. He though you may not 
 know it," she sobbed hysterically, "has great gifts 
 capacities of a wonderful and extraordinary kind. By 
 dint of study and research he has gone beyond himself" 
 it was easy to see that her mind was reverting to his 
 performances upon the astral plane "and beyond me. 
 I have always known I was not worthy of him, but I 
 never dreamed that he would prove unworthy of him- 
 self!" 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Her eyes flashed through the tears that hung on her 
 dark curling lashes. She had never looked prettier. 
 "For days weeks I tried, as he desired, to dismiss
 
 274 A Sailor's Home 
 
 him from my mind. I scrupulously kept from forming 
 
 even the wish to see him lest " She stopped, but I, 
 
 with my unguessed knowledge, filled in the blank. "Only 
 as he had not exacted any promise from me that I would 
 not attempt, indirectly, to gain any news of him" (fool ! 
 fool! I had never thought of blocking up that avenue of 
 discovery) "other than the intelligence I received from 
 you" her lip curled "I employed Mrs. Toms" (Oh, 
 Toms! Toms!) "to make, very quietly and carefully, 
 enquiries at his lodgings and at the office, with the result 
 that I discovered the trick that had been played me the 
 cruel trick three days ago !" She stamped her little foot 
 upon the ground, and went on : "Where he is what he is 
 doing I cannot tell. You, who are in his confidence" 
 (she drew herself up proudly), "know, of course, and I 
 do not ask you to betray him. I only command you rely 
 on you, to give him a message from me. Find him out 
 tell him that this miserable state of things must end 
 that my love for him, deeply wounded by deception and 
 coldness, is fast bleeding to death. Say that I have de- 
 cided to put his love for me to a final test that I have 
 taken the one irrevocable step, which can never be re- 
 traced AND BOUGHT THE LICENCE!" 
 
 "Bought the license?" I echoed blankly. 
 
 "I see by your face," cried Gwendollen, "that you 
 think I have been a rash, rash girl" (why rash? I won- 
 dered) ; "but the torturing suspense the doubts were 
 too much to bear, and I resolved to stake all all upon 
 one cast!" 
 
 She was quite pale, and looked even wild. I could not 
 see for the life of me why the mere purchase of the 
 licence should be regarded by her from such an inveter- 
 ately tragic point of view. But I tried to look as if I 
 understood everything, and partially succeeded. She 
 continued : 
 
 ".You remember, a few days ago, that I sent you to
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 275 
 
 borrow a book something suitable for Sunday reading. 
 You sent me " 
 
 "Pittaker's Almanac. I know." 
 
 "It was not quite the kind of thing I expected," went 
 on Gwendollen, "but I looked in the index, to see if there 
 was anything interesting, and under the letter 'M' I 
 found 
 
 "Marriage," I put in gloomily. 
 
 "Marriage," repeated Gwendollen, suppressing her 
 tendency to cry, as laboriously as I was suppressing the 
 almost irresistible inclination to take her in my arms and 
 kiss the tears away "and all the different ways of getting 
 married are set down so clearly that the most ignorant 
 person could hardly fail to understand." She dried her 
 brimming eyes with three inches of pocket-handkerchief 
 and went on, with the calmness of despair: "So I found 
 out that the easiest and quickest way of doing it was to 
 buy a license, and that to be qualified to get one from 
 Doctor's Commons you had only to have lived in a 
 parish for fifteen days and my fifteen days were up on 
 Monday . . . and I made up my mind." 
 
 "Did you take Mrs. Toms with you?" 
 
 "Yes," said Gwendollen, "but I left her in a cab outside 
 while I went in to to buy it. There were some young 
 clerks and two nice old gentlemen with gray heads and 
 I told them about Llewellyn being unable to come himself, 
 and I paid thirty shillings, besides thirteen and sixpence 
 for the stamp. Doesn't it seem a dreadful lot of money? 
 And I went into several little dark offices one after an- 
 other and swore all sorts of things that they told me I 
 had got to swear ; and kissed a Testament such a dusty 
 one and never knew what an awful, awful thing I was 
 doing, till " She broke down. 
 
 "Till? Pray go on !" I begged. No baleful light had 
 as yet dissipated the mental darkness in which I wan- 
 dered.
 
 276 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Till just as I was coming away !" almost shrieked 
 Gwendollen. 
 
 "I met the fattest and most fatherly of the two old 
 gentlemen. . . . Of course I shook hands with him, in 
 saying good-bye, and he kept my hand in his and patted 
 it as if he was sorry for me, and said : 'I hope you may 
 never, never regret the step, young lady, that you have 
 taken to-day.' I said, 'Oh, why?' And he said. ..." 
 
 She stopped to have her sob out, and a great coil of her 
 chestnut hair freed itself from the mass crowned by her 
 little hat, and fell in silken heaviness upon her slight 
 heaving shoulders. 
 
 "He said he hoped I realised the gravity of my position. 
 Of course I knew that if the young gentleman to whose 
 willingness to marry me I had just solemnly testified did 
 not 'come up to time' (those were the very words) within 
 twenty-one days from date, I should be obliged, under 
 penalty of fine and imprisonment, to marry Somebody 
 Else. Her Majesty the Queen and the Archbishop of 
 Canterbury did not c-care who it was, but it must be 
 Somebody ; they were not going to give their permission 
 for nothing nothing! When I had paid t-two pounds 
 three and s-six! ... I don't know how I got away, I 
 was frightened and dazed it was only when I reached 
 home that the full meaning of what I had done came upon 
 me like a thunderbolt. It has been growing clearer and 
 more plain every hour. . . . See! there is the awful, 
 awful thing!" She pulled the stamped and folded official 
 paper out of her little pocket and threw it on the ground. 
 "I cannot bear to look at it ; it reminds me of the dreadful 
 risk I run. The risk of being married to some strange, 
 dreadful Somebody, if Llewellyn after all the years we 
 have been engaged doesn't love me w-well enough to 
 come and do it himself!" 
 
 She buried her face in her hands. I rose and picked up 
 the marriage licence, and stood looking down at her and
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 277 
 
 thinking. There are people who consider me an honest, 
 kindly sort of fellow, to-day. These laugh if I tell them 
 that I once came very near being a villain and a scoundrel. 
 Yet it is true. I felt not a spark of pity as I watched the 
 girlish creature sorrowing there. I triumphed in my 
 friend's misfortune the misfortune which was now my 
 opportunity. Love comes upon us all in different guises ; 
 sometimes as a jester, sometimes as a beggar, sometimes 
 as an angel of light, sometimes as a Devil. Love had 
 come to me with the crape and jemmy of a burglar had 
 cracked the crib of my integrity and stolen away the 
 jewels of honesty, true faith and friendship. Because, 
 adoring Gwendolen as I did, it had occurred to me that 
 the harmless little joke of the lively old gentleman at 
 Doctors' Commons, which the innocent girl had taken 
 seriously might be turned to account to my account! 
 We don't generally believe stories about Possession. . . . 
 But upon my honor, so nearly forfeited ! upon my soul, 
 so nearly stained with a wicked deed! some strange 
 Power forced me to act, to speak, to look, as I would not 
 of my own conscious volition have acted or spoken or 
 looked. I touched Gwendollen on the shoulder, and she 
 lifted her head that dear head! I met her eyes with 
 mine, and a feeling I had never before experienced awoke 
 in me as I plunged my glance into those clear blue depths. 
 
 "You will take him my message ?" Gwendollen begged. 
 "You will tell him that if I acted foolishly it was out of 
 my my love for him. And that he must but he will, 
 he will ! come and save me !" 
 
 "I will tell him !" That cold metallic voice ! How un- 
 like mine ! 
 
 "Thank you! oh, thank you! And he will come. 
 You believe so?" 
 
 "I do not believe it, Miss Williams-Johnson !"
 
 278 A Sailor's Home 
 
 XIX 
 
 She gasped and swayed backwards. She was not going 
 to faint, she said, as I threw my arm about her in sup- 
 port. What treacherous joy it gave me ! Only rich girls 
 in novels fainted, and she was not one of them. But 
 she was quite well now, and I must explain to her can- 
 didly and plainly the meaning of my cruel words. 
 
 The exigencies of the past ten weeks had developed in 
 me a talent for fiction which, until recently, had lain 
 dormant in my system. The consciousness of unveracity 
 no longer was painful to me : I had begun almost to take 
 a pride in lying, and lying well. But my newly-gained 
 experience did not account for the fiendish facility with 
 which I unrolled my web of falsehood under the eyes of 
 the, poor girl turned it this way and that like a skilled 
 shopman, and persuaded her, with glib readiness, that the 
 article was geneuine. No! my theory, that I was tem- 
 porarily possessed then and afterwards has never been 
 shaken never will be, while life remains! 
 
 "You ask for an explanation," said the voice which was, 
 and which was not mine. "You wish for candour. Let 
 the candour be on both sides. You spoke just now of 
 Llewellyn's peculiar pursuits of a wonderful and 
 extraordinary faculty which, by laborious efforts, he has 
 attained. What those pursuits are, the nature of that 
 faculty, are known to me as well as to yourself. On the 
 same evening on which he visited you at Merthyr Tydvil, 
 to report his wonderful discovery" (she started) "he paid 
 me a visit literally a flying visit on the way home. 
 That I have been in his confidence to a certain extent 
 during these past weeks, you are aware. You know 
 now how entirely he has placed his trust in me. I could 
 wish," I faltered dramatically, "that he had not made me 
 the recipient of his secrets. Now " 
 
 "Go on!" said Gwendollen breathlessly.
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 279 
 
 And I, or rather It, went on: 
 
 "It is true that my friend has not been near the office 
 for a considerable time. It is true that he has secretly 
 abandoned his lodgings. I will tell you why when you 
 have answered me a question or two. To begin with, 
 when did your last interview take place at Merthyr 
 Tydvil?" 
 
 Gwendollen considered a moment. "Some twenty-four 
 hours before I left. I had been seeing a great deal of him 
 up till then so much that I feared, in his enjoyment of 
 the exercise of his new power of conveying himself 
 wherever he liked, he was neglecting his work at the 
 office." 
 
 "Did you," I continued gravely, "make any announce- 
 ment to him of any decision you had formed any step 
 you were determined to take at that last interview?" 
 
 "I told him about my having quite made up my mind 
 to come to London" (she blushed) "and get married 
 immediately." 
 
 "Did he forgive me! did he seem delighted or dis- 
 turbed by the news? Did he endeavor to persuade you 
 to remain in Wales, for instance, and hint that the wed- 
 ding might be put off a little longer?" 
 
 "He certainly did! Oh, Mr. Pegley!" 
 
 "Keep calm, I beg you. Another question. Did any- 
 thing strike you as strange in his appearance?" 
 
 "Yes ; he seemed I cannot explain !" She shook her 
 head and knitted her lovely brows. "He seemed not 
 altogether there ; for instance, I questioned him about 
 about the strangeness, but he explained everything quite 
 easily." She started to her feet. "Was he deceiving 
 me?" she cried. "Was he " 
 
 "Sit down again." I fixed my eyes on hers, and she 
 obeyed. "He was deceiving you in a measure." 
 
 "Yes; and where where is he now? After all this 
 deception, all this falsity, tell me plainly, Mr. Pegley!"
 
 280 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "He is in India." (What was I going to say 
 next!) 
 
 "!N INDIA!" 
 
 "I should have said Thibet." What in the name of all 
 that is diabolical put Thibet into my mouth ? 
 
 "Thibet!" 
 
 "That is his spiritual body. His earthly body is at 
 present traversing the Suez Canal in the hold of a Cal- 
 cutta-bound merchant-steamer." 
 
 The unhappy girl stared at me blankly. But I, or It, 
 was not in the least abashed. I could have gone on 
 slowly, clearly, smoothly, distilling mendacity after men- 
 dacity, without the slightest sense of fatigue for hours 
 and hours. 
 
 "But how? I do not understand. He could not pos- 
 sibly afford to pay the passage, even if " 
 
 I smiled coldly. 
 
 "He has no passage to pay. He has projected his 
 animating essence on before, by means of his geographical 
 knowledge which, as you know, is very considerable. 
 From England to Calcutta, from Calcutta to Benares, 
 from Benares to the Sikkim Himalaya" (what had I ever 
 heard about the Sikkim Himalaya?), "from thence to 
 Central Thibet. While his inferior earthly envelope" (I 
 was quoting his own words) "travels, packed in a crate 
 or box (I believe a box), simply and cheaply, as cargo." 
 I anticipated a question here, so went on to explain, with 
 a glib smoothness that astonished me. "You know he 
 has been connected with a firm of underwriters for years ; 
 you are aware that he must have acquaintances in the 
 shipping line ; that one of these, in return for some slight 
 service, could have obliged him by forwarding, free of 
 expense, a crate or packing-case containing supposedly, 
 gardening tools and flower bulbs (at once accounting for 
 the length of it, and the inscription 'With Care. Perish- 
 able !' nailed on the lid) to a firm of luggage agents in
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 281 
 
 Calcutta to be left till called for is hardly inconceiv- 
 able." 
 
 It was inconceivable, but did she not guess that. My 
 astonishing fecundity of invention, my cool self-posses- 
 sion were irresistible. I had the marriage licence in one 
 hand, having enforced points in my explanation, by tap- 
 ping it on the palm of the other. She put out her poor 
 little trembling fingers, and drew it from mine as she 
 said, with forced calmness : 
 
 "And when Llewellyn arrives at the Calcutta agents', 
 how is he going to claim himself ?" 
 
 I lied again, before I could stop myself. I made a new 
 link in the chain of forged evidence which I was winding 
 round my victim at a blow. 
 
 "She will arrange all that!" 
 
 "SHE! Ah!" cried Gwendollen, springing to her feet 
 with blazing cheeks, and eyes that darted blue lightning. 
 "At last I begin to understand!" 
 
 That was a good thing, because I did not! I was a 
 passive instrument in the hands of the cunning inventive 
 demon that had got hold of me. 
 
 "Who is she ?" She stamped her pretty little foot upon 
 the ground. 
 
 "She is the daughter of a Rajah a Thibetan Rajah. 
 A Buddhist priestess, if I understood my friend aright." 
 
 "And how where did they meet? You shall tell 
 me !" Miss Williams-Johnson commanded imperiously. 
 
 "You see," I said, "it has always been the dream of 
 Llewellyn's life to travel. In the first blush of his great 
 discovery when he found that he had really attained the 
 Pitch he spent all the time that he did not devote to you 
 in visiting foreign countries." 
 
 "He never told me so !" 
 
 "He would not. He might have feared your being 
 jealous." 
 
 "Jealous!"
 
 282 A Sailor's Home 
 
 XX 
 
 "Jealous!" Gwendollen repeated scornfully. 
 
 "Or over-anxious for his safety. Well, of all the coun- 
 tries he visited, Thibet, as the home of Theosophic 
 Buddhism, attracted him the most. Then, as he became 
 drawn into the vortex of attraction created by Sankara- 
 charita Princess Sankaracharita is her name " 
 
 "How hideous !" 
 
 "I fear his fidelity to you wavered, if it did not alto- 
 gether go by the board. Even when impelled by self-re- 
 proach, remorseful regard, he sought your society, you 
 must remember that you could never develop him 
 completely." 
 
 "It is true." 
 
 "Because his spirit a good deal of it at least still 
 remained with Sankaracharita. They are in absolute 
 sympathy, I believe, and she is an extremely gifted 
 woman though she has only been a votary of Buddha 
 for two hundred years. During a hundred and fifty of 
 them, he tells me, she has sat upon a palm-leaf mat, 
 revolving her thumbs slowly one over the other, and 
 reflecting on the Imponderability of Negative Reality." 
 
 "He has fallen in love?" Gwendollen uttered slowly, 
 "Llewellyn has fallen in love with a woman who has 
 lived for two hundred years! Why, she must be a 
 mummy!" 
 
 "Buddhists lead a very calm existence," I responded, 
 "and consequently live to incredible ages. When you 
 have sat upon a palm-leaf mat for ninety years, you may 
 just as well go on doing it for two hundred. And it is 
 not the beauty of her body, but of her soul, her fifth 
 principle, which fascinates Llewellyn. He tells me that 
 she possesses a finer fifth principle than any woman he 
 has ever met." 
 
 "He has not met very many," said Gwendollen, with
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 283 
 
 bitter contempt. "Let him stop with Sankaracharita if 
 he chooses let him sit on a palm-leaf mat and turn into 
 a mummy, too, if he likes I shall not trouble my head, 
 or my heart, about him any more ! I will never think of 
 him or wish to see him any more ! I will forget him as 
 completely as he has asked me to forget him! I know 
 why he did that now! It was to prevent himself from 
 being drawn out of the 'vortex' of Princess Whatever- 
 you-may-like-to-call-her's attractions ha, ha, ha!" She 
 laughed hysterically. "When I go home, Mr. Pegley, I 
 will burn all his letters, every one, with all the presents 
 I ever received from him." (I guessed that there were 
 not many, as the poor fellow whom I had so cruelly 
 misrepresented had never had any money to spend.) 
 "And as for this " 
 
 I snatched the marriage licence from the hands that 
 were about to rend it into fragments. 
 
 "Stop!" I said sepulchrally. "Recall yourself! Re- 
 member the danger to which you are exposed remember 
 the warning given you by the old gentleman at Doctors' 
 Commons! Do you wish to be fined? imprisoned for 
 life in Holloway Gaol? I wish to be a friend to you, 
 Miss Williams-Johnson again I threw a hypocritical 
 quiver of emotion into my accents "and a friend must 
 speak plainly If I had done so before consented to 
 betray the confidence of the unhappy man who once" 
 I drove in the nail with a repetition "once loved you, 
 I might have saved you from what is now inevitable. 
 You have bought a marriage licence, and you must marry 
 marry within twenty-one no nineteen days, for three 
 are gone, never to return. The question is, WHO ?" 
 
 She regarded me with eyes full of inexpressible dread. 
 Her pale lips moved, repeating: 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 I, or the diabolical creature that had got hold of me, 
 pretended to consider.
 
 284 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Who ! Is there any person in Wales who has at any 
 time professed regard more than regard you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "Nobody whom I could think of for a moment. Not 
 one" (there had been more than one, then) "whom I 
 could ever look upon as as a husband !" 
 
 "Unfortunately," I sighed, "you cannot, in your pres- 
 ent position, afford to pick and choose. There is so 
 little time" (she shuddered), "that the most indispensable 
 qualification, in the person you ultimately decide upon, 
 is that he should be a bachelor. Are they all bachelors ?" 
 
 "All except one," replied Gwendollen unwillingly, "an 
 elderly widower, with a family. He is an oil-merchant 
 in a very extensive way of business." 
 
 "An oil-merchant!" I shook my head. "It is an 
 inflammable calling. I have known a good many oil- 
 merchants who systematically ill-treated their wives. As 
 to the others?" 
 
 "There are only two others," answered Gwendollen. 
 "One of them is the chief engineer of a Mining Company. 
 He is paid quite a large salary, and is a very clever young 
 man, having invented a pneumatic shaft-borer out of his 
 own head, but " 
 
 "Oh, come !" I said, in a tone of fastidious disgust, "it 
 will never do for you to throw yourself away on a Borer." 
 
 "I felt that myself," replied Miss Williams-Johnson 
 modestly. "The last " 
 
 "Number Three?" 
 
 "Number Three is a young Dissenting minister; a 
 Baptist I believe he is very eloquent as a preacher, and 
 very good; but, oh!" she winced, "he has such damp, 
 red hands, and he combs his hair into his neck, and uses 
 a great deal of pomatum or something to make it shiny." 
 "And were you to marry him, he would probably dip 
 you into his chapel-tank!" I suggested.
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 285 
 
 "I would never submit to that," cried Gwendollen 
 emphatically. Then her tone changed: "Dear Mr. 
 Pegley," she said sadly, "why do you take so much 
 trouble about a poor deserted girl? Let the Archbishop 
 of Canterbury take away all my money let him shut me 
 up in the Tower of London, if he likes, for all the re- 
 maining years I have got to live what does it matter 
 after all?" 
 
 I moved closer to her. She did not draw away she 
 was too near the end of the seat for that; I took her 
 hand gently; she let the pretty little fingers remain in 
 mine. 
 
 "It matters a great deal to me," I said, and here I 
 spoke nothing but the truth. "Dear Miss Williams-John- 
 son dearest Gwendollen; if you would give me the 
 precious right to protect and care for you always if you 
 would bestow on me the invaluable treasure of your love, 
 priceless boons both, which Another has rejected, you 
 would make me the happiest man in London in the 
 whole world !" 
 
 She turned red and pale, and at last, softly drew away 
 her dear hand and raised her candid eyes to mine. 
 
 "You are very noble, very generous," she said, and I 
 winced, knowing what a mean young hound I was ; even 
 as I wince to-day, after the lapse of more than twenty 
 years : "Dear, kind Mr. Pegley, I trust you with all my 
 heart ; I believe you to be a sincere, disinterested, honour- 
 able man." (Stab after stab, making the moribund carcass 
 of my conscience quiver !) "And so it is my duty to be 
 perfectly sincere, perfectly candid with you. I have 
 considerable regard for you, but I I can never love you 
 at least I think not as I loved him!" She choked a 
 little over the allusion. "Would it oh, pray, pray re- 
 flect ! would it not be a dreadful thing to marry a girl 
 to have a wife who "
 
 286 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Who is the sweetest, the dearest, the prettiest girl 
 under the sun ? No ! A thousand times, NO !" 
 
 I kissed her, Usurper that I was! I put my arm 
 around her slight, submissive waist, and after the first 
 recoil, she let it rest there peacefully. We sat a little 
 while longer on the top of Primrose Hill, and then went 
 home on the top of the omnibus an engaged couple. 
 We had tea together that evening in Mrs. Toms' sitting- 
 room, and under the auspices of that maternal person. 
 And I felt no remorse ; I gloried in my treachery. And 
 that night, when I retired to bed, I summoned the shade 
 of Johnson- Williams, and broke the news to him. 
 
 XXI 
 
 "You will excuse me, my dear Pegley, but I cannot 
 I can not believe it !" 
 
 Sitting on my bolster, with my elbows on my knees, 
 and my chin propped between my fists, I looked in his 
 face as much as was left of it and laughed defiantly. 
 
 "Wait!" 
 
 His ragged outlines wavered ; he turned on me the faint 
 lamps of his astral eyes and shook his shadowy head. 
 
 "I have studied your character closely during the years 
 that we have been associated," he said, "and I have no 
 hesitation in saying that you are incapable of meanness 
 or treachery. You have told Gwendollen for what 
 reason I cannot imagine a most extraordinary story! 
 You have asked her to consider yourself in the light of 
 her future husband, and obtained her partial consent. 
 Now you deliberately summon me and assure me that you 
 are going to make her your wife, and defy me, as a 
 mere wandering, bodiless Third Principle, to interfere. 
 Had I less faith in you, Pegley, such an announcement 
 would drive me to the last pitch of desperation. But I 
 see through your pretence. I know you better than you
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 287 
 
 know yourself. Look the thing in the face. Suppose 
 you were travelling in the desert and met a wandering 
 Arab whose only sustenance was a single date and a drop 
 of water, you woulddn't you couldn't deprive the man 
 of what meant a few more hours of life to him? I am 
 like that Arab, my dear fellow, and Gwendollen is my 
 date my drop of water! If you willl look at the situa- 
 tion from my point of view you will agree with me that 
 to take advantage of my helpless condition to rob me of 
 her would be a mean thing, a base thing, a despicable 
 thing, and that nothing could possibly induce you to 
 doit!" 
 
 "Yet I am going to do it !" 
 
 "Take time, my dear fellow," pleaded my unhappy 
 friend. "You know my favourite recipe for composing 
 the mind. Run over the Merchant Shipping List, or the 
 clauses of the Tonnage Act, before you make a positive 
 reply, for my sake !" 
 
 I emphasized my words, spoken very calmly and dis- 
 tinctly, with beats of my right forefinger upon my left 
 palm. 
 
 "I tell you again, my mind is made up. I have be- 
 haved like a villain I mean to behave like a blackguard 
 before I have done. I have slandered you purposely. 
 I have deceived Miss Williams-Johnson deliberately. 
 To-morrow I mean to have your name erased from the 
 marriage licence and my own put in its place. And before 
 another fortnight is over, Gwendollen will be my wife." 
 
 He flickered with passionate agitation. 
 
 "She shall not ! I will go to her this instant. I will 
 warn her tell her all!" 
 
 I sneered superior. 
 
 "Go if you like, but your efforts to interview her will 
 be in vain. She has dismissed you from her mind; 
 burned your letters. She will decline to enter into any 
 conversation with or receive any visits from the astral
 
 288 A Sailor's Home 
 
 personality of a sweetheart" I laughed triumphantly 
 "who had jilted her, heartlessly for a Thibetan lady of 
 two hundred years of age." 
 
 Johnson-Williams paled and faded, but he recovered 
 himself sufficiently to speak. 
 
 "It it is incredible! that you that you should have 
 turned Gwendollen against me. That she should have 
 stooped to believe such a cock-and-bull story for it is a 
 cock-and-bull story, Pegley! is bewilderingly incompre- 
 hensible. But I I will be patient. I will try to believe 
 that you have some excellent motive" I laughed again, 
 malignantly "at the bottom of all this. You have pur- 
 posely misrepresented yourself, but it is no use no use 
 at all. You couldn't be a villain, Pegley, my dear fellow, 
 you couldn't indeed !" 
 
 "SCAT!" 
 
 The fellow's persistent belief in me had irritated me 
 past bearing. With a violent effort of will-power, I 
 extinguished him, and sinking back upon my pillow, slept 
 the sleep of the just. Next morning I awoke bright as 
 the proverbial button a breathing, sentient proof to the 
 contrary of the assertion that the wicked man cannot 
 possibly be a happy one. Bent as I was upon making 
 Gwendollen my own at the earliest possible date, it may 
 be easily believed that I set at once about the necessary 
 preparations. I began by applying for three weeks' leave 
 of absence from the office. And, as a new book-keeper 
 had been temporarily obtained in the place of Johnson- 
 Williams, poor wretch ! and in consideration of my hav- 
 ing, previously to his advent, performed much of the 
 extra duty that the absence of mmy betrayed friend en- 
 tailed upon the rest of the working staff my request was 
 granted. Then I bought a new licence, carefully putting 
 the old one away in a pigeon-hole of my bureau, with a 
 kind of feeling that it would be unlucky to use it and 
 gave the necessary notice to the incumbent of the parish.
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 289 
 
 In a few days more Gwendollen oh ! dizzying thought ! 
 would be my own. My own ; whom neither man nor 
 ghost should ever take from me. And as soon as the 
 hymeneal knot was fairly tied, we were to start for 
 Margate Margate at the end of June is both healthful 
 and delightful while Mrs. Toms who had been in a 
 permanent condition of pleasing agitation designated by 
 herself as "the twitters" ever since the announcement of 
 our engagement performed the sleight-of-hand feat 
 designated by herself as "throwing two combination-bed- 
 and-sittings into one sweet!" 
 
 And I got myself measured for the first superfine frock- 
 coat I had ever contemplated wearing, with other es- 
 sentials on a corresponding scale of magnificence. It 
 may be imagined that I was kept pretty well employed 
 by the cares inseparable to my approaching change of 
 condition and the necessity of keeping Gwendolen's 
 mind employed. 
 
 To keep Gwendolen's mind employed, her thoughts 
 diverted! It was a poignant necessity. The regular 
 sights of the metropolis being by this time completely 
 exhausted, I had invested in an Historical Guide to 
 London a publication which no one needs more than 
 the born cockney, who has never spent three weeks out 
 of sound of Bow Bells in his life; and I was in hopes, 
 as I whirled Gwendollen from one memorable spot to 
 another, that the resources of the volume to which I so 
 desperately clung might not be exhausted before our 
 wedding-day. 
 
 But Fate was against me. The long-dreaded moment 
 came ! Upon the very morning of the eve of the day that 
 was to make Gwendollen my own forever, I realised that 
 there was nothing more left to see. It was ten o'clock on 
 a Friday morning ; twenty- four hours yet remained to be 
 filled up. And what what was I to fill them up with ? 
 
 We sat at breakfast together in Mrs. Toms' sitting-
 
 290 A Sailor's Home 
 
 room. That estimable female had poured out our coffee, 
 and quitted the apartment with an elaborate delicacy of 
 manner. Gwendollen made no effort to detain her. It 
 was I I who could have found it in my heart to ask her 
 to stop, for the silence maintained with regard to John- 
 son-Williams by his pstudo- fiancee from the moment 
 of the revelation upon Primrose Hill until now, was, I 
 felt, about to be broken, and my invention, I felt, would 
 not be up to supplying any demands that might be made 
 upon it in the way of biographical details regarding Her 
 Highness the Princess Sankaracharya or the geographi- 
 cal formation of Thibet. My inventive genius had 
 deserted me I knew, I felt. Indeed, the frenzy of 
 mendacity which overpowered me on the occasion pre- 
 viously recorded, was my single experience of the kind. 
 I have been truthful, to the verge of dulness, ever since. 
 The words came at last. . . . 
 
 XXII 
 
 Yes, the words came! I had seen them plowing in 
 her eyes poor blue eyes! they seemed to have cried a 
 good deal in the last few weeks and on her lips. 
 
 "How long does it take a vessel a steamship to 
 reach Calcutta?" 
 
 "About a month." 
 
 She leaned her round chin upon her white palm and 
 pondered. 
 
 "You are neglecting your breakfast," I suggested. 
 
 "I don't want any!" she answered, rather curtly, and 
 again pursued her train of thought in silence. Which 
 she broke a few moments later, by saying: 
 
 "I hope Llewellyn's body will get there safely.'* 
 
 "No doubt," I responded, with inward quakings. "The 
 freight-agents will take care of that." 
 
 "I suppose so," she assented. "And yet there are
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 291 
 
 dangers which carefulness does not always avert. White 
 ants, for instance." She shuddered inexpressibly. "One 
 never takes up a book about travels in India, without 
 reading something about the ravages of white ants. But 
 she will take all needful precautions, I suppose, know- 
 ing the country at least, she ought to know it, as she 
 is a native!" 
 
 "Who?" I asked blandly. 
 
 "Sankaracharya, of course," responded Gwendollen. 
 
 "Oh! Sankaracharya!" I echoed stupidly. My mind 
 was anxiously employed in sorting out a scheme in 
 compiling a pretext by which my bride-elect's attention 
 might be diverted from the undesirable subject. But I 
 couldn't hit on one. The well of invention seemed to 
 have run dry. 
 
 "I suppose she is very brown," Gwendollen continued. 
 "Quite coffee-coloured, perhaps." 
 
 "Quite coffee-coloured !" 
 
 "I thought so!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "I 
 bought a book all about Thibet yesterday, and nearly all 
 last night I have not slept a wink lately" she sighed 
 "I lay awake pondering over what I had read in it. I 
 looked up the subject of Buddhist priestesses, the very 
 first thing, and" she produced the back of an envelope 
 scribbled over with pencil notes "this is the kind of 
 costume they wear. A scarlet mitre-shaped head-dress, 
 gilt on the top, a yellow sheepskin mantle, short petti- 
 coats, only reaching as far as the knees striped with 
 different colours, and to finish up with a nose-ring and 
 a pair of green top-boots." She waited a moment to let 
 the description soak in. "Well?" she ejaculated impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 I smiled what I felt to be a feeble smile. 
 
 "I I should think it must be " 
 
 "Awful!" interrupted Gwendollen. (I had been on 
 the point of insanely saying "very becoming.")
 
 292 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "You are quite right, Edward." (She had never called 
 me Edward of her own free will before.) "Awful! I 
 should think so. And the man who could allow himself 
 to be captured by such a creature must be mad! 
 M-mad !" 
 
 In another moment she would have begun to cry. I 
 seized the newspaper in despair it was the first thing I 
 could think of and handed it hurriedly across the table. 
 
 "Have you seen the news about " I slurred and 
 
 mumbled, "if you haven't, you ought to. Wonderfully 
 interesting and vivid. Gives quite a new view of the 
 case." 
 
 "I don't know what case you mean," replied my fiancee 
 (how could she when I didn't?) "unless you are 
 talking about that tiresome cataleptic creature at " 
 
 She broke off in surprise. "You haven't half finished 
 breakfast," she cried, "so what are you saying grace for?" 
 
 I had bowed my head in thankfulness for an idea 
 which might prove my salvation, in the matter of dis- 
 tracting Gwendollen's mind. 
 
 "Yes, we will go. A nice long journey there; a nice 
 long journey back. Saved!" 
 
 "I beg your pardon?" Gwendollen interrogated. 
 
 I said, recovering myself: "Of course, reading about 
 the cataleptic case in Chelsea is dull work. To appreci- 
 ate the thing properly it has to be seen." 
 
 "O-oh!" ejaculated Gwendollen, with a little pout of 
 disgust. "I wouldn't look at such a thing for the world!" 
 
 "My dear girl," I responded, assuming a tone of al- 
 most husband-like authority, "you don't mean that you 
 wouldn't really? You only think you wouldn't. It is 
 an experience which for my sake, for your own, for 
 that of others, perhaps, you ought to undergo." 
 
 "Why? You're dreadfully puzzling sometimes," said 
 Gwendollen, "and this is one of the times. You aren't 
 a catalepser"
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 293 
 
 "Cataleptic !" I corrected. 
 
 "And I'm sure I'm not. And I don't know anybody 
 else who is. And if you knew how dreadfully I feel at 
 the bare idea of seeing the horrid creature, you wouldn't 
 talk about it any more." 
 
 "This is folly," I said gravely, "which your cooler 
 judgment will condemn as mine does now. I will not 
 argue any more in such a clear case of absolute ahem ! 
 I will plead. To oblige me, my dear girl !" I gnashed 
 my teeth at my own stupidity in using a term of endear- 
 ment so commonly employed by him! "To oblige me, 
 come and see the Cataleptic Man. I cannot I really 
 cannot take a refusal. You are aware," I went on, re- 
 calling to mind a disintegrated fragment of the original 
 editorial notice of the case, "you are aware that the word 
 Katalepsis in the original Greek, means taking possession 
 of " 
 
 "I did not know it," Gwendollen retorted, "but asking 
 me to oblige you in the original English, seems to mean 
 that I must go whether I like or not." She tossed her 
 pretty head rather rebelliously, and went upstairs to put 
 her hat on. In ten minutes more we started. It was, as 
 I had anticipated, rather a long jolting journey. There 
 were a number of dingy little back streets to wind in and 
 out of, before we reached Biggs Street, which proved by 
 far the dingiest of all. I did not feel cheerful as I 
 glanced down the vista it presented it certainly was not 
 the kind of thoroughfare a young lady would care to 
 perambulate, even with a male escort. The public-house 
 I must have been mad to think of taking Gwendollen 
 to a public-house was a low-browed, scowling, wooden- 
 fronted tavern, opposing a baker's shop of clean and 
 cheerful aspect. The baker's shop, together with a 
 glimpse I had of a clean and cheerful woman behind 
 the counter, and a police-constable patrolling the pave- 
 ment outside, suggested the idea that Gwendollen should
 
 294 A Sailor's Home 
 
 wait there in safety, while I tested the respectability of 
 the "Pink Lion" before allowing her to place her foot 
 upon its threshold. So having seen her deposited in a 
 clean Windsor chair by the clean counter of the bakery, 
 being smiled upon by the clean bakeress, and stared at by 
 the bakeress's clean children, I crossed the street, pushed 
 open the swing-doors of the public-house and entered. 
 
 Public interest in the Cataleptic Wonder appeared to 
 have diminished. Instead of the seething crowd of 
 would-be sightseers described by the rapturous reporter 
 of the Sunday Intelligencer the bar only contained a 
 drunken navigator and a miserable-looking woman, hold- 
 ing a baby in her arms, who was trying to persuade him 
 to go home. To her entreaties were added the counsels 
 of the landlord, a bibulous-nosed, large-bodied man, in 
 a white apron and shirt-sleeves. 
 
 XXIII 
 
 "That's right, M'ria," the landlord observed paternally, 
 as the miserable woman, using the baby apparently as a 
 battering-ram, half dragged, half hustled her sodden 
 spouse into the open air ; "tyke 'im aw'y. 'E's spent orl 
 'is money, an' we don't want 'im 'ere. Wot's for you, 
 sir?" 
 
 He leaned across the counter and adjusted a large 
 greasy smile to the size of his face, which was also 
 large and greasy. 
 
 "You have," I said, throwing down twopence to pay 
 for the beer I was firmly determined not to drink, "you 
 have a cataleptic gentleman here whose case has created 
 a great deal of interest?" 
 
 The landlord's large face lost its smile. He knocked 
 on the counter with the bottom of a pint pot and roared 
 for "Chally," who appeared, in the person of a smutty- 
 faced boy.
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 295 
 
 " 'Ere you ! Go and wake up Professor Pargeter 
 'e's asleep in the club-room an' tell 'im 'ere's a gent 
 come to look at the catalepser." Chally vanished. Turn- 
 ing to me, the landlord resumed: "The Professor's the 
 medical gent wot watches the case. 'E keeps the key 
 of the room where Old Snoozelum we calls the cata- 
 lepser Old Snoozelum by way of a joke 'angs out. 
 You'll 'ave to pay a bob to see 'im it's wrote up there." 
 
 He indicated a fly-blown notice-card stuck up on the 
 shelf behind him among the bottles, and yawned compre- 
 hensively, as if to indicate satiation with the novelty my 
 soul thirsted to see. 
 
 "We've 'ad 'im a long time," he said, checking the 
 yawn which threatened to partly decapitate him with 
 one huge, dingy paw, "an' the public intress is fallin' 
 orf more than a bit. At first it was nothink but 'urry- 
 scurry, with newspaper gents as are gen'rally a thusty 
 lot an' bettin' gents, as is thustier an' the common 
 yerd, pushin' an' scramblin' to get at 'im, and nab locks 
 of 'is 'air for keepsakes, or chip bits orf 'is features 
 as they would V done if we 'adn't kep' a sharp look- 
 out " I pointed to my untasted beer, as he paused, 
 
 expressively, and emptying the pewter at a single gulp, 
 he went on: "But that was weeks an' weeks ago, an' 'e 
 ain't no nearer wakin' up than 'e was at the beginnin', 
 to jedge by his looks. An' me and my missus are getting 
 sick of the 'ole lay. Out o' pocket for the rent o' 'is 
 room, for one think as 'e can't up an' pay us afore 'e 
 wakes; an* the Professor 'is actin' manager, as e' calls 
 'isself keeps a tight 'old on the box." 
 
 "The box?" I repeated. 
 
 "Ah !" the landlord nodded solemnly. "When fust 'e 
 come yeer, we nailed a money-box 'Orspital Sund'y 
 size to the wooden mankel-piece at the 'ead of 'is bed, 
 because I don't take no 'count of professors or actin' 
 managers I've rubbed up agin' that kind o' cattle
 
 296 A Sailor's Home 
 
 afore." He buttonholed me across the counter with a 
 dirty finger, and went on, breathing samples of his own 
 stock upon me, and blinking in the light of the single 
 flaming gas-jet, like a kind of featherless owl. "Nails 
 it on the chimbley-piece, we does. And every individual 
 as comes to see the catalepser, 'e drops 'is bob into that 
 box to which there ain't no key, but to open you must 
 take an' bust it with a poker or sich. And me and the 
 Professor each has a key, to the room, but neither of 
 us ain't to enter it without the other unless 'e can. 
 But the Professor, 'e's too fly for me ; and I'm too 'anky 
 for 'im, if it comes to that." He laid his bulbous fore- 
 finger against his bulbous nose ; he winked a wink of 
 alcoholic significance, as the door of the little bar-par- 
 lour opened and the Professor appeared upon its thres- 
 hold. 
 
 My first impression was, that the reporter of the 
 Sunday Telegraph had not been accurate in his descrip- 
 tion of the Professor. My second, that the Professor 
 had, in a manner of speaking, gone to seed since the 
 decline of those flowery days of popular patronage which 
 had greeted the first appearance of the Cataleptic 
 Wonder. 
 
 He wore no shining suit of professional black, but a 
 tweed shooting jacket, villainously greasy and out at 
 elbows, and a pair of short brown trousers from which 
 protruded a pair of large feet in dirty striped socks, 
 garnished with soiled red morocco slippers. He was 
 innocent of linen; wore a pink handkerchief knotted 
 tightly about his coarse neck, and an oleaginous black 
 velvet smoking cap on the back of his large shaggy 
 head. When I add that his cheeks and chin bristled with 
 a beard of several weeks' growth ; that his nose was in- 
 flamed from the same causes that induced redness in the 
 landlord's; and that he appeared to have slept in his 
 clothes for a protracted period, I have, to all intents and
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 297 
 
 purposes, completed the description of Professor Par- 
 geter. 
 
 "This yeer," said the landlord, indicating me with a 
 wave of a dirty hand, "is the gent as 'as called to see 
 our Cataleptic Wonder. Sir name unknowed" (with 
 a gleam of humour) "Professor Pargeter." 
 
 The Professor bowed and genteelly repressing an im- 
 minent hiccough, said: "Stremely gladsher meeshim 
 shooah! Sharge" (with a tremendous effort), "wun 
 shillun!" 
 
 I produced a shilling from my waistcoat pocket. The 
 landlord lifted up the zinc-covered counter flap and in- 
 vited me to pass into the bar. I did so, without one 
 intuition oh, fool ! of what was about to befall. The 
 Professor, with some difficulty, executed a right-about 
 face; I fell into rank behind him: the landlord, after 
 hailing "Chally" and bidding him mind the bar, fell in 
 behind me, and away I was marched like a theatrical 
 captive between two guards, on the way to execution. 
 We crossed the dirty little parlour back of the bar, fell 
 out of a narrow doorway down three steps, climbed six, 
 and paused upon a dark, little strip of landing about the 
 size of a tea-tray. A key rattled in the lock a door 
 swung back. I had penetrated to the interior of the 
 casket which contained the Cataleptic Wonder. 
 
 The room was small and close, containing nothing but 
 a small bedstead, a chair, and a chest of drawers. Upon 
 the bedstead was stretched a recumbent figure, the death- 
 like rigidity of which caused me a momentary shudder. 
 Such light as made its way into the chamber was filtered 
 through a dirty white window blind, so that, while broad 
 generalities were to be distinguished, details remained 
 unseen. 
 
 "You shee beforeyou," began Professor Pargeter 
 balancing himself in an upright position and carefully 
 extending an indicatory right arm towards the inanimate
 
 298 A Sailor's Home 
 
 subject of his lecture, "wunsha mosh moshramarshable 
 cash caseshonrecordish of condish', cashalepsh, protrash' 
 protrash forperiod nearl' twomunsh hie!" 
 
 "Doorin* which time," said the landlord's voice from 
 behind me, repeating what was evidently a familiar for- 
 mula, "the subjec' 'as not partook of no nourishment 
 wotever. If you was to fire cannons in 'is yeer, or insert 
 'airpins in his body, sich heffiks would be inadekit to 
 arouse 'm from 'is happythetic conditions." 
 
 "You will perapshask," resumed the Professor, who 
 seemed to resent the landlord's interference, "whesh no 
 injoosh resush mi' mi' beantishipash from sho pro- 
 tracted periosh abshinensh? Medical shiensh ansh No! 
 No!" He nearly tilted himself over with the violent 
 stress he laid on the negative. "I repeash, No !" 
 
 "Beyond a wisible wastin' of the hadipost 'issues," 
 continued the landlord from behind, "wich materially in- 
 creases the attentooation of the subjec', an' the pallig 
 yew of 'is features, there is nothin' to shrink from in the 
 haspik of the Cataleptic Wonder. There is even majisty 
 in 'is calm attitude, remindin' to the observer of 
 Napolyum at Saint 'Eleener. 'E wears a smile upon 'is 
 lips, as though revertin* in his dreams to the 'appy days 
 of child'ood." 
 
 "Can't you draw up the blind?" I said. "I can see 
 nothing plainly." 
 
 XXIV 
 
 Compliantly the landlord creaked across the floor. The 
 blind flapped and rotated on its roller. Daylight poured 
 into the stuffy room, now just revealed to the observer in 
 all its dinginess and showed me ... lying there . . . 
 
 "JOHNSON-WILLIAMS !" 
 
 "Did you speak, sir?" queried the landlord, while the 
 Professor, blinking in the light, like some unsavoury kind 
 of night-bird, demanded :
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 299 
 
 "Whasheshay?" 
 
 I was fortunate enough to be able to hide my agita- 
 tion I was inventive enough to produce a lie. 
 
 "I merely said 'Jerusalem!' The gentleman looked 
 so very very dead!" 
 
 "I 'arf b'lieve 'e his, sometimes !" the landlord mut- 
 tered, while the Professor admonished him in an equally 
 audible aside. 
 
 "Shushup!!!" 
 
 I grasped the foot-rail of the bedstead in both hands, 
 and with a mighty effort, steadied my whirling brain, 
 and forced my thumping heart to beat less furiously. 
 I turned to the two men. I addressed the inebriate Pro- 
 fessor the long-sought, but now discovered, Doctor 
 George. 
 
 "I am (I omitted to mention the fact before) a medi- 
 cal student." This falsehood, framed on the spur of the 
 moment, was fated to be the last of the series. "The 
 case is extremely interesting, and I should like to ex- 
 amine the subject more closely. If you will consent to 
 leave me alone with him for the space of a quarter of 
 an hour, I will put into this box upon the mantelpiece" 
 towards which the landlord directed an expressive eye 
 "ten shillings instead of the single one which you are 
 accustomed to charge to visitors." 
 
 Professor Pargeter and the landlord looked at one 
 another. 
 
 "Qui' shafe," the Professor commented. "Bosh nailsh 
 shimpiece !" 
 
 "And the winder screwed up," rejoined the landlord, 
 "as was done to purvent any outside party as took a 
 interest in the inside of the Cataleptic Wonder's collectin' 
 box, gettin' in that way one fine night. So we're safe in 
 strikin' a bargain. Done with you ! For ten bob !"
 
 300 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Allri'l" agreed the Professor. He reeled, the land- 
 lord rolled, out of the room and shut the door. 
 
 Left alone, I walked to the bedside. I gazed upon the 
 corporeal tenement of the friend I had betrayed. He 
 was unchanged, though preceptibly thinner; and though 
 it was evident he had not been dusted for some time, 
 there were no marks of rough usage on his lace or 
 person. His boots stood upon the chest-of-drawers, as 
 if they had been a curious pair of fossils; his shabby 
 coat hung over a chair ; his linen had yellowed with the 
 passage of time ; his nickel watch-chain had tarnished for 
 want of rubbing; but it was the same old Johnson-Will- 
 iams. Should I leave him to his fate, I argued with my 
 evil demon, as I stood by his bedside ? Should I go upon 
 my heartless way? crown my treachery by marrying 
 Gwendollen and being happy ever afterwards? for in 
 the poetical justice of remorse I had ceased to believe ! 
 Or should I call him back to himself; restore all that 
 Fate and I had taken from him; be best man at his 
 wedding, and die eventually of a broken heart within a 
 decent interval? I don't know how long I should have 
 gone on revolving the pros and cons of the question. I 
 don't know which side of the balance would have kicked 
 the beam had not Johnson-Williams saved me the trouble 
 by sneezing violently and opening his eyes. In another 
 instant he sat up, regarded me intently, and exclaimed, 
 as he held out his hand: 
 
 "You see I was right. I knew you could not be a 
 villain, my dear Pegley, in spite of all your assertions 
 to the contrary. And now tell me where I am, and how 
 you managed to trace me to my in point of fact, my 
 Lair?" 
 
 The next ten minutes were occupied with explanations, 
 interrogations, and replies. We must have raised our 
 voices incautiously, because, many minutes before the 
 expiration of the purchased quarter-hour, heavy foot-
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 301 
 
 steps creaked cautiously upon the staircase and stopped 
 upon the landing, whilst heavy breathing sounded out- 
 side the door, which the key having been left inside I 
 had locked. 
 
 "The landlord," I whispered to Johnson-Williams, 
 "and Doctor George." 
 
 He bit his lips and his thin face flushed. 
 
 "We must face them and have it out, my dear Pegley," 
 he whispered. "Give me a minute to put my boots on, 
 help me into my coat, for I feel a little weak and giddy" 
 '(it would have been queer, I thought, if he did not), 
 "and then unlock the door." 
 
 I did as he asked and flipped off some of the dust that 
 had accumulated upon the cornices, ledges and projec- 
 tions of his anatomy, with my pocket-handkerchief. I 
 had hardly finished doing so, when a tremendous blow 
 caused the door to quiver on its hinges. 
 
 "Now then!" roared the landlord in stentorian ac- 
 cents, "wot's goin' on in 'eer? Wot do you mean by 
 lockin* the bloomin' door, an' talkin' to yourself like a 
 Punch and Judy? If any 'arm's done to the Catalepser, 
 you'll 'ave to pay for it. D'yeer? Come out o' that 
 afore I busts in the door !" Another thump. "Come out, 
 you meddlin' young sawbones !" 
 
 I glanced at Johnson- Williams. He was standing lank, 
 tall and upright, at the foot of the bed. His fists were 
 clenched; his lips set with unusual sternness. Perhaps 
 the thought of Gwendollen inspired him Gwendollen, in 
 the baker's shop over the way, waiting for me ; wonder- 
 ing at my delay guessing what caused it. I swallowed 
 down the lump that rose in my throat at the recollection. 
 In obedience to a nod from my friend who seemed to 
 assume the lead, quite naturally I unlocked the door 
 and threw it open. I anticipated an inrush and prepared 
 to receive it, without pausing to calculate the effect the 
 appearance of the Cataleptic Wonder, revivified and on
 
 302 A Sailor's Home 
 
 his legs, might have upon the landlord of the "Pink Lion" 
 and Professor Pargeter. 
 
 The effect was a magnificent one. With a wild yell 
 of horror, the Professor, who pot-valiantly led the 
 charge, bounded backwards, upsetting the landlord, who 
 followed close upon his heels. They must have rolled 
 together down the six steps that led to the room, for go- 
 ing out upon the landing and looking down, I saw them 
 lying in a very tangled condition at the bottom. 
 
 "Come," I said hurriedly to Johnson-Williams. "We 
 must run for it." I prepared to lead the way, but he 
 stopped me. 
 
 "I do not leave this place, my dear Pegley, after all 
 I have undergone in it without my property." 
 
 XXV 
 
 "Your property?" I repeated blankly. "What prop- 
 erty?" 
 
 As Johnson-Williams pointed to the money-box upon 
 the mantelpiece, and seized the poker, a light burst upon 
 me. The box bore an inscription, in staggering letters of 
 white paint: 
 
 "FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE CATALEPTIC WONDER" 
 
 "If that money is not mine, my dear Pegley," said 
 Johnson- Williams, "I never earned a penny in my life." 
 He swung the poker aloft, and with a greater display of 
 power than I should have expected him to manifest, 
 smashed in the lid. 
 
 The sound of breaking wood and jingling coins seemed 
 to animate the craven spirits on the staircase with a 
 desperate accession of boldness. The landlord began to 
 shout "Thieves!" the Professor to swear horribly, 
 whilst the hoarse voice of the bar-boy, Chally, and the 
 shriller accents of a female presumably the landlady 
 were heard enquiring into the cause of the disturbance,
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 303 
 
 and suggesting that a policeman should be fetched. The 
 crisis demanded action. Stepping out upon the landing, 
 I looked down upon the aggressive group below, and 
 said loudly: 
 
 "Send for a policeman if you like. The sooner the 
 better for us ; the sooner the worse for you. Rascal !" 
 I turned my indignant gaze downwards upon the inflamed 
 countenance of the Professor "who under the name of 
 Doctor George kidnapped the body the living body of 
 this gentleman my friend" I waved my hand in the 
 direction of Johnson-Williams "from his address at 
 26, Great Joram Street, two months ago ! Rogue !" 
 I turned my attention to the landlord, whose flabby 
 countenance was streaked with alarm and perspiration 
 "Rogue, who received and harboured thrt body, knowing 
 it to have been nefariously obtained " 
 
 "Which he never!" shrilled the landlady. 
 
 "The Law will deal with you according to your deserts. 
 Penal servitude probably for life is the mildest sen- 
 tence you may expect! Dare to attempt violence" the 
 landlord had begun to turn up his sleeves "and I break 
 the bedroom window and blow this police whistle" I 
 produced one from my pocket, which I had carried about 
 with me for years without ever being called upon to use 
 it "till every constable in Chelsea comes about your 
 ears." 
 
 "And while they are coming," put in Johnson- Williams, 
 "we will barricade this room door with the bedstead, 
 and defy you through the keyhole to do your worst." 
 
 The latter threat did not appear to me a very terrible 
 one; but a silence ensued upon it, and a muttered col- 
 loquy of short duration took place between the Professor 
 and the landlord. Then the latter called upstairs in a 
 would-be conciliatory tone: 
 
 "Gents !" 
 
 "Well," we answered.
 
 304 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Look 'ere. Me and the Professor 'as got a word to 
 say. Can't this 'ere difference be squared?" 
 
 "Squared?" echoed Johnson-Williams. 
 
 "Settled. I don't want no constables 'eer I don't," 
 continued the landlord. "I've got a character to lose 
 and a license to keep. Let's come up an' palaaver." 
 
 I held a short consultation with Johnson-Williams. 
 
 "You may come up," I said, "but alone and unarmed. 
 Hold your hands above your head" I shook the poker, 
 which I had borrowed from Johnson-Williams, warn- 
 ingly "so that we may be quite sure you intend no foul 
 play. Now then!" 
 
 And the landlord came up. 
 
 He looked funny enough, holding his arms in the pre- 
 scribed position, while endeavouring to staunch the effu- 
 sion from a bleeding nose dealt him by the elbow of the 
 Professor with a dirty shirt-sleeve. 
 
 "Gents," he said, as soon as he recovered breath enough 
 to speak for his fall had shaken him considerably, and 
 he was by nature an asthmatic, pursy kind of man 
 "gents, I don't deny you 'ave us on the 'ip, as the sayin' 
 is. But, though things looks bad agin me, I ain't such 
 a reg'lar bad 'un as the Professor." He wiped his tear- 
 ful eyes and his bleeding nose with the other shirt-sleeve, 
 and went on: "I don't deny I've kep' 'is company an* 
 give in to 'is persuasions, but it's laid 'eavy on my con- 
 science the 'ole time. When he drove up to my privit 
 door, quite sober, in a cab one night, an' sent for me 
 round from the bar and told me as 'e'd collared a cata- 
 lepsy an' meant to 'ave a show, and share the dibs the 
 public 'ud pay to see the corpuss" Johnson-Williams 
 turned his head indignantly "I did my best to argey 'im 
 out of it. 'It ain't a 'onest act, George ' " 
 
 "Then his name is George?" 
 
 "One of 'is names," sniffed the landlord ; "but between 
 me an' you, 'e's got a plenty of aliases to pick and choose
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 305 
 
 from. A bad lot, a reg'lar bad lot, an' my shame it is I 
 ever took up with 'im. 'George/ I says, that night, Mo 
 reflectuate, George ! This is a wrong thing, George, and 
 will bring no luck.' Then 'e says : 'Wen we comes for 
 to divide the swag' an Apollyum 'e is in the temptin' 
 line 'w'en we comes to divide the swag, you'll sing a 
 different toon, old cockyolly-bird.' 'But, George,' I says, 
 'Wot are we to do with the gen'lemen w'en 'e wakes up ?' 
 'Ho!' 'e says, 'there'll be time to think of that when he 
 does wake up.' But all along it's laid 'eavy on my mind 
 an' even keepin' a key to the door, an' settin' Chally to 
 watch on the landin' o' nights, ain't been no relief to my 
 f eelin's : for George 'e kep' puttin' off dividin' the money 
 from day to day, an' I've knowed as 'e were only watchin* 
 'is opportunity to bolt with the 'ole lump." 
 
 "Sixty-five pounds in silver," said Johnson- Williams, 
 producing a heavy bundle tied up in a coarse towel. 
 Methodical fellow ! He had counted the contents of the 
 box and packed it conveniently for porterage, even while 
 I had been parleying on the stairs. 
 
 "Sixty-five ! I made sure there was more," groaned 
 the landlord. "George must a' found some way o' gettin' 
 at it, in spite of me tryin' to keep 'im content with drink, 
 and watchin' 'im like the apple o' my hi! Sixty-five! 
 Now if you two gents was to take thirty-two ten, betwigst 
 you, an' 'and me over the rest, I should be quite satisfied 
 I should indeed." 
 
 "And of course you will divide with us the handsome 
 profits realised over the sale of drinks to the thousands 
 of individuals who have, within the last two months, 
 crowded to your house, to inspect the gentleman whom 
 you illegally assisted to kidnap and make an exhibition 
 of?" I suggested. 
 
 The landlord's jaw dropped. 
 
 "You had better make no more demands," I said, "lest 
 we lose patience. If you escape through our leniency
 
 306 A Sailor's Home 
 
 prosecution and imprisonment for the outrage you have 
 perpetrated upon the most susceptible feelings of a harm- 
 less gentleman, you may consider yourself lucky. The 
 money is his, and he intends to keep it." 
 
 "Intends to keep it," echoed Johnson-Williams, lov- 
 ingly cuddling the heavy bundle. 
 
 "And ain't I to be paid my rent for the room as you've 
 occkypied for nigh on ten weeks past?" demanded the 
 crestfallen landlord. 
 
 "Not one stiver," I said decidedly. 
 
 "Not the half of one," echoed Johnson-Williams. 
 
 "Then I'm beat," said the landlord, "and throws up 
 my 'ands." He let them drop heavily at his sides as he 
 spoke. 
 
 XXVI 
 
 "That is enough," I said. "Now go downstairs before 
 us." 
 
 "Wot! Ain't you goin' to 'ave it out with the Pro- 
 fessor?" queried the landlord. 
 
 "With the Professor," I answered sternly, "we have 
 nothing to do, except to hand him over to the authorities 
 if he endeavours to molest us." 
 
 And still grasping the poker, and followed by my re- 
 covered friend, bearing the weighty mass of shillings, I 
 descended the short staircase. We turned into the little 
 bar-parlour, where we found the landlord's wife in hys- 
 terics, undergoing vigorous ministrations on the part of 
 the boy Chally and a grimy little servant maid, and en- 
 tered the bar. As we did so, a tall figure staggered 
 forward and endeavoured to prevent our egress. 
 
 It was the Professor, who had been steadying his 
 nerves, inwardly, by the absorption of more alcohol, 
 and outwardly by a liberal application of cold water. He 
 held a battered stethoscope in one hand, as a direct illus-
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 307 
 
 tration of his medical attainments, I suppose, and a long 
 slip of dirty paper in the other. 
 
 "One momensh !" He stretched out the stethoscope im- 
 pressively. "Before you leave shish philanshropic opic 
 roofsh" he addressed himself particularly to Johnson- 
 Williams "I hie ! demandsh tobeyerd ! Tobeyerd ! 
 The ingrashisood humanashurish proverbial" he shook 
 his drunken head with solemnity "bushimashy in whole 
 coursh my life sho flagram flagram cashi nev' met. 
 Nev' !" Here he began to shed tears. "I foun' a total- 
 teetotal shrangeish in shate cashalepshish, an' took shat 
 shrangerish in. I roush public in'ris in behalf shat mansh ! 
 I raish shubscripshush for fan's benefish. How doesh 
 'at mansh rirrurn kinnish? Waksh up, an' endeavoursh 
 take Frensh leave. Copsh sh'swagsh, without one 
 shought for man man who befrenned him." He dried 
 his tears with the end of his draggled neckerchief, and 
 went on: "When man dosh at, though my art may 
 bleedsh, I ussher no reproach. I shtand upon fair bashish 
 phil philanshopy." He staggered wildly. "I shay 
 Human Nashur hash in person shish man desheived me. 
 I am berrayed, calumniarided, bush I bear no malsh' at 
 mansh. I mere merely offer 'at mansh My Bill." 
 
 He waved the dirty slip of paper frantically in the face 
 of Johnson- Williams. My pacific friend was roused at 
 last. To be presented by the drunken medical villain who 
 had kidnapped him, with an account for attendance ! It 
 was too much. He dealt the Professor an energetic shove 
 with the bundle of money in the sensitive regions situated 
 behind the middle buttons of the waistcoat, and had the 
 satisfaction of seeing him collapse, gaspingly, upon a pile 
 of spittoons. 
 
 As we shook the sawdust of the "Pink Lion" from the 
 soles of our boots for ever, he scrambled up again. His 
 lofty mood had changed. He implored us, with tears, to 
 return and hear the sad story of his life. He had been
 
 308 A Sailor's Home 
 
 a wrongdoer, he said, but the demon who had tempted 
 him to his fall was the landlord, and he was ready to 
 expose and denounce him for the small sum of five 
 pounds cash. We did not accept his offer. Fate has 
 never thrown either of those two scoundrels in our way 
 since then. The only light that ever shone upon their sub- 
 sequent career was turned on a few days later by a re- 
 porter belonging to the staff of the Sunday Intellingencer: 
 
 "POLICE INTELLIGENCE 
 "CHELSEA BEFORE MR. PINCHING HATSHER. 
 
 "Amusing Affray in a Public-House. WILLIAM 
 BULGER, landlord of the 'Pink Lion' public-house, 
 Biggs Street, and GEORGE HENRY HAMILTON WASH- 
 INGTON PARGETER (an alleged Professor of an 
 American medical university, and the person who 
 obtained a considerable amount of credit for philan- 
 thropic efforts in raising a public subscription for the 
 Cataleptic Wonder, who, it will be remembered, was 
 on exhibition at the 'Pink Lion'), were charged by 
 Constables Rickards and Tinley with drunkenness, 
 violent conduct and the use of abusive language on 
 the above-named premises, on the afternoon of the 
 th. The constables being questioned, said that 
 they found a crowd assembled round the door of 
 the 'Pink Lion.' The landlord and the 'Professor,' 
 both in an evident state of intoxication, were rolling 
 on the floor, pummelling one another. They sepa- 
 rated them with difficulty. MR. PINCHING HAT- 
 SHER: What was the cause of the quarrel? CON- 
 STABLE RICKARDS : It seems the Cataleptic Wonder, 
 after lying insensible for over a month at the 'Pink 
 Lion,' come to his self and hooked it with the money- 
 box that very morning. MR. PINCHING HATSHER:
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 309 
 
 Whose money-box? CONSTABLE TINLEY: His own ! 
 It was put by his bedside for people to drop con- 
 tributions in. MR. PINCHING HATSHER: Then 
 these men, apparently, intended to divert the result 
 of the public collection to their own uses, and fought 
 when they found that the man had made sure of 
 his own? (Here one of the prisoners was under- 
 stood to say something about philanthropy.) MR. 
 PINCHING HATSHER: Yes, there is a great deal of 
 your kind of philanthropy going about (laughter}. 
 I shall fine you each ten shillings. In default of 
 payment, you can go to prison and take your phil- 
 anthropy with you (more laughter). The money was 
 paid and the men left the court, but before they 
 were out of the precincts the Professor, who it ap- 
 pears, has long been 'wanted* by the American po- 
 lice for complicity in a series of impudent swindles, 
 was arrested on an extradition warrant." 
 
 Need I describe the scene that took place in the little 
 baker's shop, when Johnson- Williams and I tumbled in 
 together ? How I, after handing the astonished bakeress 
 five shillings, induced her to retire into her private par- 
 lour, locked the shop-door to keep out possible intruders, 
 and went into the business of explanation, with the des- 
 perate resolve to make a clean breast of it. How Gwen- 
 dollen, after emptying the vials of her wrath upon the 
 innocent head of her lover of her rightful lover was 
 taken faint, and had to be revived with milk out of the 
 pail on the counter, while Johnson- Williams who had 
 certainly a good right to the possession of an appetite 
 after a two months' fast perpetrated fearful ravages 
 upon the relays of rolls that had just come up smoking 
 hot from the oven, and felt very ill afterwards, in con- 
 sequence ! Useless ! Impossible ! No pen, wielded by a 
 human being in possession of ordinary powers, could
 
 A Sailor's Home 
 
 do justice to the scene, which attained its wildest 
 pitch of indescribability, when both Johnson-Williams 
 and Gwendollen absolutely refused to credit my assur- 
 ance that I had thoroughly intended to play the villainous 
 role I had set down for myself, to the bitter end. Nothing 
 I could say could convince them. Nothing ! To this day, 
 my friend and his wife believe me in spite of my reit- 
 erated assurances to the contrary to be the most noble, 
 modest, unselfish, generous of men. They hold me up as 
 a model before their children. As long as I live, I, un- 
 worthy, shall continue to be lauded, blessed and praised 
 by those two people. And when I die, they will mourn 
 me deeply sincerely though I don't deserve it. 
 
 XXVII 
 
 We released the bakeress from her back-parlour by- 
 and-by, paid for the rolls and milk, hailed a passing four- 
 wheeler, and were driven home. 
 
 We dined together. Johnson-Williams to whom I 
 gave up my room retired early, feeling weak and over- 
 done : while I went round and paid his rent and took away 
 his few goods, and fewer garments, from 26, Great Joram 
 Street. I was not communicative, but reserved, and to 
 this day, the landlady does not know what was the ulti- 
 mate fate of the lodger who was kidnapped by the in- 
 genious and as ingenuous "Doctor George." 
 
 We had the wedding the next day. It was lucky I had 
 kept Gwendolen's purchased licence by me ! I gave away 
 the bride, who was married with the ring I had bought, 
 and stood best man to the bridegroom, who wore the 
 superfine coat I had ordered for my o-wn wedding! I 
 kept the trousers, as they were so much too short. 
 
 Subsequently, we breakfasted at a restaurant, because 
 Mrs. Toms could not be brought to understand the situa- 
 tion, or regard Johnson- Williams in any other light than
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 311 
 
 that of an interloper, who had stepped in at the last 
 moment and robbed me of my bride. And herself of a 
 let, because the "two combined bed and sittings" were 
 never "throwed into one sweet" after all. 
 
 But it was a pleasant wedding breakfast. I believe 
 pleasanter than if it had been my own, and when Johnson- 
 Williams looked at me over his second glass of cham- 
 pagne I had dedicated the first to the health of the 
 new-made bride and said leaning across the table 
 and speaking in a low tone because of the other people 
 in the room that he had a Toast to propose I smoth- 
 ered the shrieks of my conscience as well as I could 
 and let him go on. 
 
 "Our Benefactor." They both looked at me, with 
 grateful glittering eyes. "To the friend who has proved 
 himself so staunch - " 
 
 "No !" I interposed. 
 
 "So leal!" 
 
 "So unselfish!" 
 
 "Oh!" I groaned, "so disinterestedly generous!" 
 
 "So sincere, true, untiring and noble in his efforts on 
 my on our behalf. I drink to him, and you, my dear 
 girl - " 
 
 "I drink to him with all my heart," said Gwendollen. 
 
 I writhed in my chair. I was going to utter something 
 aloud, but Johnson-Williams politely prevented me. 
 
 "One moment, my dear Pegley. Even your modesty" 
 my modesty? "must yield to my desire to render 
 praise and thanks where both are due. From the first 
 moment of our acquaintance, you accorded me your 
 sympathy and attention. My confidence in you increased. 
 I made your bosom if I may say so the Repository of 
 my Aims. When I triumphed over circumstances, and 
 freed myself from trammels which nothing on earth 
 would ever again induce me to unloose my first thought,
 
 312 A Sailor's Home 
 
 after communicating my discovery to Gwendollen was 
 to communicate it to you. You heartily congratulated 
 me; and when dreadful Complications ensued when, 
 lost and wandering, I appealed to you for help and guid- 
 ance, you nobly responded to the appeal. 
 
 "While I live, my dear Pegley, I shall never forget 
 how many miles you walked in search of Doctor 
 George whom you afterwards discovered in the per- 
 son of the bibulous blackguard, Professor Pargeter, or 
 how many falsehoods you burdened your upright con- 
 science with, in the endeavours to conceal my unfor- 
 tunate position from the Heads of the Office, to which 
 I return, with renewed energy, upon next Monday 
 week." 
 
 He sipped a little of the glassful of gas and grape-juice 
 he held, and continued: "In the supreme agony of the 
 conviction that I was wasting away, undiscovered" he 
 glanced at his left hand and felt his right ear "you were 
 my consoler. It was you who engaged to meet Gwen- 
 dollen at the Railway Station ; it was you who hit upon 
 a perfectly original and successful plan of diverting her 
 mind from my unhappy self, by inventively persuading 
 her that I was unworthy of her regard in the matter 
 of Sankaracharya ha, ha, ha! and proceeding to make 
 love, feigned love, to her yourself. Then, having picked 
 a quarrel with me and your acting on the occasion does 
 you credit, my dear fellow ! though I never did believe 
 that you could contemplate the perpetration of anything 
 villainous! you pursued your researches undisturbed; 
 discovered me, and took immediate steps to restore me to 
 myself and Gwendollen. It is owing to your forethought, 
 boldness and sagacity, that I escaped from that abomin- 
 able captivity, sound in mind and limb, and moreover, 
 with a handsome sum of ready money in small silver 
 honestly earned, too! Words fail, my dear Pegley" 
 he grasped me warmly by one hand, while Gwendollen
 
 The Man Who Lost Himself 313 
 
 slid her little fingers into the other "to express our 
 united gratitude to you. We can only say with one 
 voice being one flesh at last good friend, God bless 
 you!" 
 
 Then we broke up the little party, and Johnson-Will- 
 iams proudly paid the bill and tipped the waiter, and I 
 saw the happy couple off from St. Paul's Station en 
 route for Margate, where, you will perhaps remember, 
 I had already engaged rooms. 
 
 Well, well ! Their married life has been a very happy 
 one. Johnson-Williams has abandoned Theosophic 
 Buddhism, and attained the eminent position of work- 
 ing partner in the old office where once he kept the 
 books. I have long started on my own account in the 
 ship-broking business line, and command the services of 
 three clerks and a boy. Clients flock to me. I have 
 a reputation for honesty in all my dealings. So much 
 so, that I find it difficult to believe that once in my 
 life, for several days together, I was an absolute 
 scoundrel.
 
 XIII 
 THE RECTOR'S DUTY 
 
 IT was Monday morning, and the Reverend Aloysius 
 Cottle, B.A., of Caleb College, Cambridge, was 
 kneeling, very red in the face, upon the prostrate body 
 of a plethoric portmanteau. Mrs. Mivitts, the gouty el- 
 derly landlady of the quiet Gower Street apartments, 
 knocked upon the panel of his combined bedchamber 
 and sitting-room with the largest of her chalkstones. 
 
 "Come in," cried Reverend Aloysius. On Mrs. 
 Mivitts' partially obeying the command, and explaining 
 that a person wanted to see him: 
 
 "A lady?" he asked anxiously, his eye he had a fine 
 eye* wandering around the room as though in search 
 of opportunities for concealment. 
 
 "Sir, to be frank with you," replied Mrs. Mivitts, 
 settling her thread mittens, "it's a gentleman." 
 
 "Tell the gentleman," said the Reverend Aloysius, 
 after hastily rummaging amongst his collection of truth- 
 ful evasions, "tell the gentleman, please, that Mr. Cottle 
 is particularly engaged just now, but that after six 
 o'clock he will be quite at liberty." He added to him- 
 self : "Which is quite true, because I leave Victoria by 
 four o'clock train for Dover, and by six o'clock the 
 white cliffs of Albion will be fading in the steamer's 
 wake. And if I am not at liberty then when I shall
 
 The Rector's Duty 315 
 
 have left all my worries behind me for six weeks when 
 shall I be at liberty?" 
 
 He gave another tug at the strap, and Mrs. Mivitts 
 lingered. Her triangular face, of the shape and colour 
 of a pound of pale American cheese, and her spare and 
 flattened form remained wedged between the door and 
 the door-jamb. Looking at his widowed landlady more 
 closely, the Reverend Aloysius became aware that she 
 was simpering, and that her cap was disarranged. In- 
 stantly, before Mrs. Mivitts had time to utter the fra- 
 ternal word, he realised that the visitor must be his 
 brother, and his decidedly handsome countenance became 
 overshadowed with foreboding gloom. 
 
 "It is ah Mr. Alaric?" he began. But a neat half- 
 gray suede glove with a well-cut coat-sleeve attached 
 glided round the waist of Mrs. Mivitts, causing the 
 simper to develop into an hysterical giggle, and over the 
 summit of Mrs. Mivitts' cap appeared a face exactly 
 like the face of the Reverend Aloysius, only that it was 
 adorned with a waxed moustache instead of an expres- 
 sion of waxy sanctity, and a high, loud, lively voice 
 the voice of the Reverend Aloysius, deprived of its Gre- 
 gorian snuffle or Anglican drawl, exclaimed : 
 
 "It is, my bucko, and that's a fact!" 
 
 "You ah! can go, Mrs. Mivitts," remarked the Rev- 
 erend Aloysius coldly. He looked on with strong dis- 
 approval as Alaric released the widow from his embrace, 
 urging upon her not to promise herself again in mar- 
 riage before the urger came downstairs. Then he said 
 snappishly : 
 
 "Why do you come here? What do you want? If 
 it is money, I haven't got it to lend. I urgently need a 
 holiday I am about to take one and every pound I 
 can scrape goes into that. I should have supposed that 
 our late poor Uncle Digby " 
 
 "Digby was short of chips himself, poor old boy!"
 
 316 A Sailor's Home 
 
 said Alaric cheerfully. He leaned his broad shoulders 
 against the doorpost, tilted back his chin, and thrusting 
 his hands deep down into his pockets looked down upon 
 his clerical twin-brother, as Aloysius, to whom indigna- 
 tion had imparted strength, sternly strapped the port- 
 manteau. "Diggy had been going to the Jews all his 
 life, and when Diggy went to the " 
 
 "Alaric!" exclaimed Aloysius in a deep tone of warn- 
 ing. 
 
 "To the Family Vault at Woking" supplied Alaric 
 "there wasn't anything left for his adopted boy." 
 
 "At any rate Lord Digby did adopt you," responded 
 the Reverend Aloysius angrily, washing his hands, "and 
 he settled upon you I had the information from your 
 own lips a sum sufficient to bring you an annual in- 
 come of 500. What did you do with that?" He knew 
 quite well; but he wished, in a pious kind of way, to 
 be aggravating. 
 
 "What did I do with it?" pondered Alaric aloud, 
 dreamily twisting his moustache. He closed his eyes in 
 the effort to remember. "Why will you clever fellows 
 put such puzzlin' questions?" he said wearily, opening 
 his eyes again to encounter his twin's indignant glare. 
 
 The Reverend Aloysius, in a cold, respectable rage, 
 thrust himself into his coat a long-tailed High Church 
 garment with a shy retreating collar, and brushed his 
 hair as another man might have sworn to relieve his 
 feelings. 
 
 "I did not invite you here to cross-examine you," the 
 young clergyman said, putting a clean handkerchief in 
 his pocket and hastily concealing his purse. "I have 
 been for the last two months doing duty for the invalid 
 Rector of Mangold Wurzelfield, who is taking a recuper- 
 ative holiday of some months' duration on the Riviera, 
 and now I am going for a Continental trip with ; " 
 
 Alaric winked slightly.
 
 The Rector's Duty 317 
 
 "With clergyman's sore throat, which I have con- 
 tracted through over-exertion in the pulpit," said Aloy- 
 sius, getting very red. "If I can be of no use to you, 
 Alaric, I should be really very much obliged by your 
 leaving me. You possess a very large circle of sporting 
 acquaintances, of whose society I should not like to 
 deprive you, and " 
 
 "No deprivation, old chap," returned Alaric simply. 
 "It's September and they're all out o' town." 
 
 "Then how comes it that you are in town in Sep- 
 tember?" queried the Reverend Aloysius. 
 
 "Because town in September is the last place where 
 anybody who knows anythin* of me would think of 
 lookin' for me," said Alaric lucidly. "It's necessary for 
 me to keep dark and lie low for a bit, if you must 
 know." 
 
 The Reverend Aloysius snorted scornfully. "So it 
 has come to this that you must hide from your cred- 
 itors !" he commented. "I thought so ! I thought so !" 
 
 "That's where you parsons are generally out of it," 
 said Alaric with some disdain. "You're always so bally 
 cocksure ! If I want to disappear for a week or so, it 
 isn't to do my creditors in the eye, it's to pay 'em. I've 
 got an investment which is simply bound to turn up 
 trumps before a fortnight's over, and then I shall be 
 able to burst upon these fellows with a dazzling offer 
 of nine-pence in the pound." 
 
 "Some gambling Turf venture, I suppose," sneered 
 Aloysius. 
 
 "Out of it again!" said Alaric with calm triumph. 
 "It's nothin' to do with the Turf, though I won't go so 
 far as to say it isn't gamblin'. A friend of mine a chap 
 who's got a head and a half on him has found out to 
 a dead cert the vray to win, nine times out of ten, at the 
 game they call the petits chevaux. Homburg and Bou- 
 logne and Spa and Aix . . . you'll find the sport flour-
 
 318 A Sailor's Home 
 
 ishin' at all those places. And I've put some capital in 
 this scheme, and he's gone to carry it out and in two 
 months, mark my words, you'll see him back with the 
 bullion. There's no end to that chap." 
 
 "There will not be yet, I daresay," assented the Rev- 
 erend Aloysius in a tone which predicted hanging. 
 
 "That's your narrow clerical way of lookin' at things," 
 grumbled Alaric. "Never give a layman credit for com- 
 mon decency! If you parsons are better than other men 
 and you're always tellin' us so you've no excuse for 
 braggin' about it. It's your business all said and done. 
 Piety and virtue are your stock-in-trade. Look at you 
 now, as serene and self-satisfied as a jackdaw that's 
 hidden a dog's bone. No sympathy about you for other 
 people's troubles no allowances for their shortcomin's. 
 . . . You can't even realise the fact that it would be an 
 advantage to ... many another bloke besides myself to 
 wipe himself out of existence for a week or so, to be 
 Somebody Else for the time bein' until bothers blow over 
 and things settle down. Not you! You couldn't for 
 nuts!" 
 
 The Reverend Aloysius flushed faintly, and opened his 
 mouth and shut it again, looking at the wall and not at 
 Alaric. 
 
 "If you think that the lives of the clergy are free from 
 ah! anxiety, you are painfully mistaken," he said. 
 "They are, upon the contrary, subjected to peculiar 
 trials. As to the wish you have just expressed, I may 
 own that while I should have conscientious scruples 
 against shirking my responsibilities in the manner you 
 suggest, I should be absolutely alive to the advantage of 
 being able to do so for a period not exceeding one 
 month." 
 
 "You mean that you actually wish you could wipe 
 yourself out of existence for a month?" cried Alaric. 
 
 "I do mean it !" said Aloysius firmly.
 
 The Rector's Duty 319 
 
 "Sorry to intrude, but here's a tellygramp, sir!" said 
 Mrs. Mivitts, who had knocked until she was weary 
 and now entered with a yellow envelope. The Rev- 
 erend Aloysius opened and perused the communication 
 with marked distaste. Then he crumpled it into a ball, 
 hurled it into the fireplace; tucked his umbrella under 
 his arm, seized his travelling bag, overcoat and portman- 
 teau, and bidding his twin brother a brief farewell, strode 
 from the apartment and downstairs. The hall door 
 opened and shut a passing taxicab stopped in answer 
 to a hail, then drove away with the Reverend Al- 
 oysius. . . . 
 
 "Curious beggars, parsons!" said Alaric, glancing to- 
 wards the sideboard, which boasted a parched lemon 
 and a half -emptied syphon of soda-water. He tried the 
 cupboard, but it was sternly locked. "Inhospitable beg- 
 gars, too !" he said bitterly. Then he strolled to the win- 
 dow, which was on the second-floor front, and glancing 
 down into Gower Street recognized in two shabby indi- 
 viduals who stood leaning against the railings on the op- 
 posite side persons whom it seemed to him that he par- 
 ticularly wished to avoid. 
 
 "Confound 'em !" he ejaculated. "They've winded me 
 already. Now, if I'd had any decent luck they'd have 
 taken old Ally for me in clerical disguise, and while they 
 were paddlin' after his taxi, I could have got away. We 
 can't be as alike as twins ought to be or perhaps it's 
 my moustache that makes the difference." He wheeled 
 about and went to the toilet-table, and covering the hir- 
 sute ornament with his hand, gazed at himself long and 
 earnestly. "It is the moustache!" he murmured, as his 
 eye fell upon a patent safety razor in a case, which 
 Aloysius had omitted to pack away or lock up. An at- 
 tenuated stump of shaving soap lay near the razor. 
 Alaric picked it up, gazed at it intently, and then a 
 strange light shone in his eyes and the determined ex-
 
 320 A Sailor's Home 
 
 pression which came over his face made him very like 
 Aloysius. "By the living Jingo, I'll do it!" he said. He 
 went to the sideboard, filled a tumbler with soda from 
 the syphon, dipped in the soap, improvised a lather, and 
 ... in another minute the handsome hairless face of 
 the Reverend Aloysius was reflected in the toilet mirror 
 over the fashionable collar and dandy necktie of Alaric, 
 the Man About Town. . . . 
 
 "You thought I'd looked you up to borrow money," 
 said Alaric, addressing the face in the glass, "but you 
 were wrong. I'm only going to borrow your lodgings 
 and your landlady, and your Christian name and your 
 clerical clothes I suppose you've left some of 'em be- 
 hind you " 
 
 He went to the wardrobe, which was firmly fastened 
 with a cheap lock. "Blood's thicker than water," he 
 murmured as he produced his own bunch of keys, "and 
 you can hardly be had up for burglin* your own twin 
 brother." He looked into the well-stocked wardrobe and 
 smiled. "He's gone away in his oldest togs and left the 
 swell ones behind," Alaric said contentedly. "Ally was 
 always such a careful old chap !" And then he selected 
 garments and made a complete change. The transfor- 
 mation was just complete, the giddy butterfly had been 
 changed into a handsome young grub, and the worldly 
 garb of Alaric Cottle had just been put away in the 
 wardrobe, when there was a loud knock at the room 
 door. 
 
 "Come in!" said Alaric, reluctantly quitting the look- 
 ing-glass as a short little red-headed gentleman in em- 
 phatic check tweeds darted into the room. 
 
 "Mercy upon me, Cottle," cried the red-headed gentle- 
 man, falling upon Alaric and shaking him violently by 
 both hands, "how fortunate that I insisted upon coming 
 upstairs ! They said you had gone away in a taxi ; I in- 
 sisted that you wouldn't dream of going without leaving
 
 The Rector's Duty 321 
 
 a letter for me and instead of finding the letter, I find 
 yourself ! My dear friend !" 
 
 "We are evidently old pals," thought Alaric. "I'd 
 better shake hands again!" and he did. 
 
 "You guess why I'm here?" said the little gentleman, 
 blowing his nose. "My dear Cottle, the Rector has re- 
 lapsed again, and no one but yourself can help us in the 
 emergency. I received a cable from Monte Carlo yes- 
 terday to say that it is imperative that his cure should 
 be prolonged for another three weeks, or a month and 
 urgently asking for funds. His system is weaker than 
 we feared, Cottle, considerably weaker!" 
 
 "Systems are all my eye at roulette," said Alaric, "and 
 if he's been puntin' on principle no wonder if he's cleaned 
 out." He stopped because the red-headed little gentle- 
 man was looking rather puzzled. Then he said affably, 
 "But you haven't told me yet what I can do for you, you 
 know." 
 
 "Come back and reassume the duty, Cottle," said the 
 little gentleman, clasping his hands upon the top of his 
 umbrella. "No more unpleasant things will be said about 
 the intoning, and if Bulpit brings up the question of the 
 flower-vases and banners at any future Vestry-meeting, 
 he shall be pulverised. And you grumbled at two 
 guineas a week because of the size of the parish. I have 
 consulted Mrs. Mantowler and Squire Halkett, and we 
 are prepared to make it three. So come back to duty, 
 Cottle, and Mangold Wurzelfield will welcome you my 
 word and hand upon it!" 
 
 Alaric smiled rather foolishly. 
 
 "I know why you hesitate, Cottle," resumed the excit- 
 able little gentleman. "But Mrs. Mantowler has been 
 very different since you left, quite manageable in fact. 
 Before, I grant you, she was a Dragoness ! And I know 
 her interference was a thorn in your side. But she has 
 left off interfering you could hardly get her to meddle
 
 322 A Sailor's Home 
 
 now if you tried, she was so tamed by your spirited ac- 
 tion in throwing up the duty last week and going back to 
 London when she introduced the Swedish Musical Dumb- 
 bell Exercises into the Sunday School routine." 
 
 "Was that why we quarrelled?" asked Alaric. 
 
 "I told her I knew you would have forgotten all about 
 it, but she didn't seem so sure," said the little gentle- 
 man, nodding. "However, she owned to me when she 
 saw me off at the Junction this morning that she'd sent 
 you a telegram of apology. She's a highly educated 
 woman and knows how to do the proper thing in the 
 proper way; it's bound to be something gratifying and 
 soothing. Haven't you had it?" 
 
 "I don't seem to remember " stammered Alaric. 
 
 "You're always absent-minded on Fridays," said his 
 visitor admiringly. "That's what started the story about 
 your fasting. And Louisa Brigg, who used to do your 
 washing, made things worse by pretending that you wore 
 hair undershirts. But Mrs. Mantowler set that right. 
 She said they were only Jaegers. Isn't that a crumpled 
 telegram lying in the fireplace?" 
 
 Red Head darted at it, but Alaric, in whom the quality 
 of caution was not wanting, got it before him. He un- 
 rolled the crumpled parallelogram of pink paper and 
 glanced at it. The message ran thus: 
 
 "Come back or will tear the mask from your false face 
 and all shall know you for a villain. LAVINIA." 
 
 "This is hardly gratifyin' or even soothin'," thought 
 Alaric. "Perhaps it's from another friend not Mrs. 
 What's-her-name?" 
 
 "You wouldn't care to let me see that wire?" insin- 
 uated the little red-headed man. 
 
 "I don't think I should, quite," replied Alaric cau- 
 tiously.
 
 The Rector's Duty 323 
 
 "Not in Mrs. Mantowler's own interests ? to prove to 
 the Vestry, should the question be mooted hereafter, that 
 she had done the proper thing?" 
 
 Alaric shook his head. 
 
 "Or, leaving me out of consideration as a Parish Trus- 
 tee and Vestryman and looking at me merely as Peter 
 Turbeyson, her husband's cousin and her own co-lega- 
 tee," hinted the visitor, "wouldn't you think it proper 
 to ?" 
 
 Alaric intimated that he wouldn't. 
 
 "Then give me your hand and pack your portmanteau 
 and come back with me by the next train to Mangold 
 Wurzelfield," exclaimed Mr. Peter Turbeyson with ap- 
 parent heartiness. "We're all ready to welcome you, if 
 we are a 'pack of riotous fox-hunters/ " 
 
 "Are you though?" exclaimed Alaric. 
 
 "You called us so yourself, or somebody said you 
 did," said Mr. Peter Turbeyson. "But we overlook it 
 on account of your not being a man to ride yourself." 
 
 "But I am," said Alaric. 
 
 Mr. Peter Turbeyson's eyes became circular in shape. 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 "I am not a man to ride myself," said Alaric, "be- 
 cause I never tried. But I am a man to ride a horse 
 and pretty straight too, I can tell you !" 
 
 "Why, bless my soul, Cottle!" cried the bewildered 
 Mr. Turbeyson, "we all thought hunting was dead 
 against your principles." 
 
 "Did you ever offer me a mount, old chap?" said 
 Alaric, clapping the parish magnate familiarly on the 
 back. 
 
 "No," replied Mr. Turbeyson shortly, "I can't say I 
 ever did!" 
 
 "You shall," said Alaric, "before we are a week 
 older!" 
 
 "He's changed his tactics," reflected Mr. Peter Turbey-
 
 324 A Sailor's Home 
 
 son, glancing out of the corners of his little pink eyes at 
 the young clergyman. "Going to play the tolerant game, 
 hang him !" But he said aloud, genially : 
 
 "I'll be off now, and leave you to your packing. Meet 
 me at Victoria seven o'clock sharp, and I'll take you 
 down by the Sussex Express." He turned on his heel as 
 he got to the door, and said in rather a marked way: 
 "Geraldine will be glad to welcome you again. I think 
 she realises that she acted hastily, and will soon discover 
 that she has misjudged you." 
 
 "I'm sure I hope she will !" said Alaric warmly. When 
 the door closed behind Mr. Turbeyson he added as he 
 drew the crumpled telegram from his pocket and again 
 perused its contents : "I wonder which I shall like best, 
 being welcomed by Geraldine or unmasked by Lavinia? 
 Upon my soul, my reverend brother has been goin' it 
 strong down at Mangold Wurzelfield! No wonder he 
 talked about the life of a clergyman bein' full of peculiar 
 trials!" 
 
 And with a running commentary of conjectures which 
 would have caused the blood of the Reverend Aloysius 
 to creep, Alaric rummaged out a kit-bag from under the 
 bed and stowed into it such articles of underclothing as 
 he thought he should require. "I shall telegraph to my 
 landlady at Tuke Street," he reflected, "and tell her to 
 send a bag of socks and underwear to care of the Rev- 
 erend Aloysius Cottle at Mangold Wurzelfield. For 
 whether Lavinia is right about the Jaegers or not, and 
 I wonder how she got her information? I'm hanged if 
 I'm going 1 to wear 'em !" said Alaric. 
 
 n 
 
 Thursday had come round, and in the neat, lavender- 
 smelling, chintzy parlour of the Rectory at Mangold 
 Wurzelfield, Alaric was sitting at breakfast. A small but
 
 The Rector's Duty 325 
 
 noisy church bell was clanging away persistently close 
 by. 
 
 "Dash that bell!" said Alaric, chipping his third egg, 
 "it gets on my nerves !" He glanced up and encountered 
 the blank stare of the curate, Mr. Choom, who had called 
 in upon business connected with the parish. 
 
 "It's tolling for old Mrs. Tradgett," said Mr. Choom, 
 withdrawing his large watery eyes from Alaric's with 
 obvious difficulty. "You bury her this morning, you 
 know !" 
 
 "Do I?" Alaric's face fell, and he pushed away the 
 unfinished egg and drank his coffee hastily. "Do you 
 know, Choom, old chap," he said after a pause, "that 
 you would oblige me very much by doin' it instead. If 
 it came to pinch, I dare say I could bury a live person, 
 but buryin' a dead one is beyond me." 
 
 "I could perform the duty if you would undertake the 
 house-visiting in my place," said Mr. Choom after reflec- 
 tion. "There are three bedridden old women at Acre 
 Lane to be read to, and the members of the Coal and 
 Blanket Club have a general meeting at the Recreation 
 Room on the Goose Green." 
 
 "I'll see you!" said Alaric absently, "I mean ... I 
 take the old women and the blankets." He drew out his 
 cigar-case as he spoke and selected a choice cheroot. 
 
 "Dear me ! you have changed your views with regard 
 to smoking!" said Mr. Choom with mild surprise. "I 
 always understood that you abhorred tthe weed." 
 
 "I may abhor the weed," said Alaric, lighting one, 
 "but I should be shirkin' my duty if I hesitated to to 
 smoke at the instance of my medical man." 
 
 "Oh ! I see !" said the enlightened Choom. "It's nec- 
 essary for your throat, he thinks, and so you do it?" 
 
 "And so I do it!" echoed Alaric absently. "By the 
 way, have you noticed a lady who sits in tthe front pew 
 on the left side of the chancel, under a marble effigy with
 
 326 A Sailor's Home 
 
 a ruff and a broken nose? At least she sat there at 
 Evening Service yesterday. She is dark, and rather 
 crummy I mean the lady, not the effigy, and she 
 wears plenty of colours and looks determined. Who is 
 she?" 
 
 "Why . . . don't you know Mrs. Mantowler ?" Choom 
 asked in low and broken tones, "or are you joking?" 
 
 "Of course I know Mrs. Mantowler," said Alaric com- 
 posedly, "and of course I was jokin'. . . . Don't you 
 know me by this time?" 
 
 He slapped Mr. Choom gaily on the back and the 
 curate reddened to the ears. 
 
 "I certainly thought I knew you, Mr. Cottle !" he said, 
 with marked stress upon the third word. "But since 
 since your arrival upon the afternoon of Monday last, I 
 will candidly confess I have been mistaken." 
 
 Alaric, who was pouring a liqueur of brandy out of a 
 silver pocket flask into a clean egg-cup, turned round 
 sharply. 
 
 "Why mistaken ?" he demanded. 
 
 "If I must speak out I must !" said Choom, with beads 
 of perspiration breaking out all over his knobby forehead. 
 "You weren't like yourself on Wednesday evening you 
 behaved as queerly as could be and the whole parish is 
 agog about it." 
 
 "Let the parish mind its own business," said Alaric 
 defiantly. 
 
 "That's just what the parish is doing," said Mr. Choom, 
 plucking up. "There's Mrs. Tradgett's bell stopping at 
 the ninety-third stroke. I must go and get my surplice 
 on." 
 
 "Let Mrs. Tradgett keep a little," said Alaric, getting 
 between Mr. Choom and the door. "If she's waited 
 ninety-three years to be buried, a few minutes won't 
 make any difference to her. I want to hear about Wed- 
 nesday evening."
 
 The Rector's Duty 327 
 
 "Well, for one thing, you bungled the Ritual dread- 
 fully," said Mr. Choom. 
 
 "I'm down on Ritualism," said Alaric promptly, "like 
 nails !" 
 
 "Why, you're an advanced High Churchman," cried 
 the astonished Choom, "or you've " 
 
 "Say I pretended to be," said Alaric, winking, "and 
 perhaps you'll be right." 
 
 "When you read the Lessons you didn't know when 
 to leave off," said the curate. "We should have been 
 listening, and you would have been reading now if I 
 hadn't led you by force from the lectern." 
 
 "That's zeal," said Alaric, "and ought to be called by 
 its proper name. What else?" 
 
 "Well, you didn't begin to do things when you ought 
 to have done them, and when I went to do them for you 
 you started in and mixed everything up," continued the 
 curate, wiping his streaming brow: "and you read the 
 Responses right through never gave the congregation 
 the ghost of a chance. ..." 
 
 "And?" interrogated Alaric freezingly. 
 
 "And," continued Mr. Choom, warming with his recol- 
 lections, "you gave the Epistle for the second Sunday 
 after Doncaster, and I must say, Mr. Cottle " 
 
 "Absence of mind," said Alaric. "Pure absence of 
 mind !" 
 
 "Even though the announcement was made uninten- 
 tionally, sir," said Mr. Choom weightily, "the effect upon 
 the congregation was none the less bad." 
 
 "They laughed," said Alaric doubtfully, feeling for a 
 moustache that was not there. 
 
 "They did laugh, sir," said Mr. Choom bluntly. "The 
 hilarity was not subdued when I ascended the pulpit. 
 It broke out at intervals irrepressibly throughout my 
 sermon." 
 
 "Well, if they could find anything to laugh at in that,
 
 328 A Sailor's Home 
 
 old chap," said Alaric, smothering a yawn, "they're easily 
 amused." 
 
 He let Mr. Choom escape and strolled out into the 
 Rectory garden. "Choom shall coach me all the week," 
 he said to himself with determination. "There shall be 
 no bungling next Sunday, if I work him off his feet. It'll 
 be my turn to preach then. I wonder if I've got the pluck 
 to do it, or if I'd better have a cold? Hi ! you there !" 
 
 He addressed an ancient man in moleskins who was 
 digging dandelions out of the lawn with a dibble, and 
 the ancient man came shambling towards him, fingering 
 the remnant of a hat. 
 
 "I suppose you are the gardner, old chappie," said 
 Alaric, "and know all about everybody in the neighbour- 
 hood. If you can tell me who was pitchin' gravel up at 
 my bedroom window last night between eleven-thirty and 
 twelve, I'll be obliged to you!" 
 
 The ancient man rasped his thumb upon his stubbly 
 chin. 
 
 "Maybe 'twer a sick call," he said slowly, "or maybe 
 'twer a ghost." 
 
 "Ghost be smothered," said Alaric impatiently. "How 
 could a ghost chuck gravel ?" His eyes were attracted to 
 the neatly-clipped garden hedge, above the top of which 
 swiftly glided a charming female head, surmounted by a 
 coquettish hat and apparently unattached to a body. 
 "If that's a ghost," said Alaric, recovering his temper, as 
 the head bowed and smiled, "it's the kind I don't object 
 to. Who is the young lady?" 
 
 "Ey?" said the ancient man, opening his rheumy eyes. 
 
 "I asked the name of that young lady!" explained 
 Alaric. 
 
 "You be a-jokin' !" said the gardener with a cavernous 
 grin. Then he raised a horny hand and pointed to the 
 garden-gate. "Miss Geraldine be a-comin' in !" he said 
 simply.
 
 The Rector's Duty 329 
 
 "So this is Geraldine," reflected Alaric, as the owner of 
 the charming head that had bowed to him, easily wheeling 
 her bicycle, walked towards him up the short gravel drive. 
 "Perhaps she has come to own that she misjudged me." 
 And he hastened to meet her, wearing his brightest smile. 
 
 Miss Geraldine smiled brightly, holding out her hand. 
 "So you have come back to us after all !" she said in a 
 pleasant voice, "though you said you never would." Her 
 manner was tinged with coquetry. 
 
 "When a man has been cruelly misjudged by a woman 
 whom he warmly admires," said the ingenious Alaric, 
 diving at his opportunity, "he's apt to form rash deter- 
 minations. I reconsidered mine in cooler blood, and as 
 you say, I have come back to you-^after all !" 
 
 "I should have said back to Mangold Wurzelfield," 
 explained Miss Geraldine, frowning slightly. 
 
 "Ah, but you said the other thing first," said Alaric, 
 throwing into his smile all the fascination of which he 
 was capable. 
 
 "How wonderfully changed he is!" thought Miss 
 Geraldine. "Well," she said aloud, "I must be going 
 back to give uncle his lunch. Come to tea at four, if you 
 can spare the time from your parish duties." As Alaric 
 eagerly accepted his fair visitor's invitation, the even beat 
 of a pony's trot broke upon their ears, and a smart dog- 
 cart drawn, by a neat cob and driven by a lady, passed 
 along the road beyond the garden-hedge and vanished in 
 a light puff of dust. 
 
 Alaric recognised in the driver of the dog-cart the lady 
 who had occupied the front pew on the left-hand side of 
 the chancel, but the lady, who was a stout, handsome 
 brunette of forty, did not appear to recognise Alaric. Her 
 eyes, which were large and black, dealt him a passing 
 glance of stony indifference. Perhaps her lips tightened 
 as her regard included Mr. Cottle's companion, but her 
 bright complexion underwent no change.
 
 33 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Oh!" ejaculated Miss Geraldine. She stamped her 
 small, neatly shod foot upon the close-cut turf and flushed 
 with indignation. "Did you see that? Why, she cut us 
 both dead!" Her eyes filled with tears and her lips 
 quivered. "Forgive me, Mr. Cottle !" she said. "I seem 
 fated to do foolish, ill-considered things. Perhaps it is 
 because I never knew a mother because my stepmother 
 and my uncle have been too indulgent. ... I realise now 
 that I ought not to have stopped as I cycled past, and 
 that my having been detected in conversation with you 
 will give rise to fresh annoyance. ..." Her clear eyes 
 overflowed, she searched for her handkerchief. Before 
 Alaric knew what he was doing, he had taken the foolish 
 little square of cambric out of her hand, and wiped away 
 the shining drops that chased each other down the charm- 
 ing cheeks of the young girl. 
 
 "Don't cry," he said bravely. "I would bear more 
 than that willingly for you." 
 
 "But you ought not to say so," said Miss Geraldine 
 warmly. "She is my friend at least she was until a 
 few weeks ago, and I would not grieve or wound her for 
 the world! You believe me, don't you?" 
 
 "Indeed I do !" said Alaric warmly. "And would you 
 mind tellin' me who you mean by 'she'?" 
 
 "Are you joking?" cried Geraldine, opening her blue 
 eyes widely. "Why, who should I mean but Lavinia 
 Mantowler?" 
 
 "Was that Lavinia?" exclaimed Alaric. 
 
 "How can you make a jest of her?" said Geraldine, 
 "after all that has passed? You, who owned just now 
 that you warmly admired her, and that to be misjudged 
 by her was enough to drive you to a rash determination !" 
 Her eyes shot blue fire. 
 
 Alaric drew himself to his full height. "Pardon me," 
 he said coldly, "it is you who are jesting. The woman 
 who misjudged me and whose undeserved scorn drove
 
 The Rector's Duty 331 
 
 the" he hesitated "the iron into my soul, was Geral- 
 dine. Geraldine, who afterwards realised that she acted 
 hastily and who let her deny it if she will " 
 
 "Stop!" cried Geraldine, as Alaric was pounding on. 
 "Be generous, Mr. Cottle! Say no more!" 
 
 She was in earnest, for her cheeks were pale and her 
 hand trembled so that Alaric took it in his own. 
 
 "All right, I'll hold my tongue !" he said heroically. 
 
 "I too will try to be generous," said Geraldine. "I 
 will try to think that when you allowed yourself to be so 
 far carried away by the impulse of the moment I refer 
 for the first and last time to the Eve of the Harvest Festi- 
 val when we were garlanding the pulpit with tomatoes 
 and hop-vine as to tell me that you loved me, you were 
 not so base as to triumph over the admission you wrung 
 from my lips. I will believe that in momentary delirium, 
 you were forgetful of the sacred pledere that you had 
 given to Lavinia Mantowler." 
 
 "Pledge!" shouted Alaric. "Why, I never spo I 
 never pledged anything to her in my life. We're absolute 
 strangers I mean to anything of the kind you mean !" 
 
 Geraldine gazed at him in amazement. "Then she 
 told me what was not true ! Oh ! if I could believe that !" 
 she said under her breath. 
 
 "You may believe it!" said Alaric hotly. 
 
 "You say it as a clergyman?" breathed Geraldine. 
 
 "I say it as the whole Bench of Bishops," he retorted, 
 "if you like!" 
 
 "Then," said Geraldine, studying her machine and 
 placing one foot upon the pedal, as a rainbow of a smile 
 shone through the tear drops that yet gemmed her lashes, 
 "I can speak frankly. You may despise me for it, 
 but . . ." 
 
 "But?" 
 
 "Please let go the handle-bar," said Geraldine. Then 
 as Alaric obeyed she continued : "You were not the only
 
 33 2 A Sailor's Home 
 
 one to blame ... on the Eve of the Harvest Festival. 
 When you . . . kissed me in the pulpit. ..." 
 
 "Did I?" said Alaric eagerly. "I should say ... I 
 know it was wrong, but " 
 
 " 7 meant you to," said Geraldine softly, and shot 
 away like an arrow. 
 
 "I'm glad of that," said Alaric, as the machine with its 
 fair rider sped down the road. "No, I'm dashed if I 
 am!" he continued after a moment's reflection. "To 
 throw herself at the head of a muff like old Ally is simple 
 coquetry. Still, I can't believe a girl like that would go 
 so far as to throw gravel at windows !" 
 
 He set out, fortified by no previous knowledge of the 
 locality, upon his consoling errand to the bedridden old 
 women of Acre Lane, which proved to be a damp double- 
 row of miserable cottages with a muddy ditch between 
 them. Alaric had forgotten to provide himself with 
 religious literature, but none of the old women appeared 
 to mind. He left behind him at each cottage instead of 
 holy precepts, a thin deposit of silver, and more than one 
 old woman to whom he had promised a bottle of real 
 whisky to rub on her joints, vociferously called down 
 blessings on his head. 
 
 He encountered a few people as he returned from his 
 errand of mercy, having forgotten all about the meeting 
 of the Coal and Blanket Club, and these persons saluted 
 him with a mingling of cordiality and reserve. 
 
 "They're thinkin' about Wednesday evenin'," said 
 Alaric to himself, and so they were. But under the spell 
 of the young clergyman's cheerfulness doubts were for- 
 gotten ; and Mrs. Bindle of the Manor Farm and Colonel 
 Crotch of The Hawbitts shook hands and departed 
 upon their respective ways, feeling warmly prepossessed 
 in favour of Mr. Cottle. 
 
 "Only wanted knowing!" the Colonel said, as he 
 whistled to his dogs, and resumed his constitutional.
 
 Tta Rector's Duty 333 
 
 "And here have I been for weeks on end, shunning, posi- 
 tively shunning the sight of that young fellow! 'A 
 canting Ritualist' I called him. Well, if all Ritualists 
 know as much about mange in setters as that chap . . . 
 or tell" he chuckled hoarsely "a good story with as 
 much point, I shall be glad to see 'em down here, that's 
 all!" 
 
 "Who'd have dreamed, Mar, of you asking Mr. Cottle 
 to tea !" giggled Miss Bindle, as her mother clicked to the 
 broken-kneed old pony that drew the Manor Farm 
 governess-cart, and Alaric's parting smile left reflected 
 radiance in the puddles. "After all the things you've 
 called him, too!" 
 
 "I was hasty, Maria, and I own it," said Mrs. Bindle. 
 "Though when I met him first, he looked as glum as 
 yellow soap and held his nose in the air over my head as 
 though he couldn't afford to breathe on the same level. 
 But since he's come back he's as affable and polite as if 
 he'd been away to be inoculated for civility. And remind 
 me to make a whipped-cream for Saturday, and get out 
 the best quince-marmalade." 
 
 "Hang it all !" ejaculated Alaric, stopping in the middle 
 of the road as Mrs. Bindle uttered these hospitable direc- 
 tions, "it's close on four o'clock, and Geraldine asked me 
 to tea. What a duffin' silly thing of me not to have asked 
 her what her surname was and where she lived? The 
 thought did occur, but I shied at doin' it. And now . . . 
 Hallo!" 
 
 He jumped out of the way as a vehicle rattled round 
 the corner of the muddy green lane in which he stood. 
 The cob shied, the charioteer (a lady) pulled up smartly, 
 and Alaric found himself face to face with the handsome 
 Mrs. Mantowler. She bent her dark eyes full upon 
 Alaric's with a look of fiery indignation, and Alaric, not 
 knowing what else to do, took off his hat with his best 
 manner.
 
 334 & Sailor's Home 
 
 Mrs. Mantowler spoke, after a strong, emotional pause. 
 ''Man !" she uttered in deep accents, "do you know that 
 you have made me hate you?" 
 
 "Don't say that !" said Alaric coaxingly. 
 
 "I told you in my telegram," said Mrs. Mantowler, 
 "that if you did not return you would be a villain !" 
 
 "So you did !" said Alaric, thinking that the mild name 
 of "Lavinia" was singularly unsuited to the stormy lady 
 who bore it. 
 
 "Now that you have returned, it is to play the part 
 of a traitor!" said Mrs. Mantowler, nervously gripping 
 her driving-whip. "Did not I see you with Geraldine 
 this morning?" 
 
 "I must soften her down somehow," thought Alaric. 
 Aloud he said, in a tone of entreaty: "Lavinia! why 
 can't you be just to me?" 
 
 Mrs. Mantowler burst into a mocking laugh. "If I 
 treated you with justice I should lash you from here to 
 the village," she said, a dangerous light in her black eyes. 
 "Tell Geraldine Halkett so from me!" 
 
 "I would if I knew where she lived," said Alaric 
 bluntly. Mrs. Mantowler stared at him fiercely. 
 
 "What do you mean? Do you not constantly visit 
 at Wychwood?" 
 
 "Never been into the house in my life!" said Alaric 
 with truth, making a mental note of the address. 
 
 "I would give worlds to believe you !" said Mrs. Man- 
 towler, almost in Geraldine's own words. "But at any 
 rate you will not deny that you are intimate. You will 
 not pretend that on the Eve of the Harvest Festival " 
 
 "Ah, you're thinking of the kissing in the pulpit," said 
 Alaric unguardedly. 
 
 "You would deny that, I suppose, if I had not myself 
 witnessed the outrage !" sneered the angry lady. 
 
 "Outrage! I like that!" said Alaric. "Why, she 
 meant me to! She said so!"
 
 The Rector's Duty 335 
 
 "The barefaced flirt!" cried Mrs. Mantowler. 
 
 "And whether a man is a parson or isn't a parson, when 
 a pretty girl gives him a lead, he is bound to follow!" 
 continued Alaric. 
 
 "Men are weak creatures!" said Mrs. Mantowler 
 gloomily. "Aloysius!" Alaric jumped at the name. 
 "Perhaps I have been hard on you unjust to you " 
 
 "Well, takin' things all the way round, perhaps you 
 have!" returned Alaric, feeling again for the moustache 
 that was not there. 
 
 "At any rate, Geraldine shall never enter my doors 
 again!" said Mrs. Mantowler firmly. 
 
 "I wonder where your doors are?" thought Alaric. 
 But he pulled out his watch and said : 
 
 "It's close on four. Can you tell me a short cut to 
 Wychwood?" 
 
 "Ah ! that is how you are going to revenge yourself !" 
 cried Mrs. Mantowler, bristling. She pointed with a 
 trembling whip across a stile on the left of the road, indi- 
 cating a field-path leading to a plantation-gate, beyond 
 which, amidst autumnal-tinted trees, rose the white 
 chimneys of a comfortable-looking country-house. "Go 
 to her! You have my full permission!" said the lady 
 with a sarcastic smile. 
 
 "Many thanks !" said Alaric, smiling and bowing. Then 
 he leaped the stile. The sound of a sob caught his ear 
 and he glanced back in mid-air to see Mrs. Mantowler, 
 her face hidden in her hands, crying heartily. 
 
 "Upset, poor thing!" he thought, and had the impulse 
 to go back and comfort her, but it struck him that 
 Geraldine's tea must be getting cold, and he strode hur- 
 riedly away in the direction of the white chimneys. 
 
 "Oh, why was I born to be the victim of this man's 
 fatal charm!" moaned the weeping Mrs. Mantowler as 
 she dried her eyes. "I thought him my vassal my 
 trembling serf. I meant to humble, crush quell him!
 
 336 A Sailor's Home 
 
 and what is the result? He deserts me, insults and 
 defies me; and why I cannot tell! I love him all the 
 better for it !" 
 
 She recovered and whipped up the cob as Geraldine put 
 sugar and cream in Alaric's cup. He spent a very pleasant 
 hour or two at Wychwood, and returned to the Rectory 
 to dinner, only to be disturbed at the outset of the meal 
 by a visitor in the person of the late Mrs. Tradgett's 
 grandson, a sleek-headed farmer, desirous of obtaining a 
 reduction in the customary burial fee on the ground that 
 his deceased grandmother had been interred in a damp 
 corner of the churchyard. 
 
 "Thankee kindly, sir!" said the bereaved relative 
 heartily, as he received back the disputed half-crown out 
 of the little pile of moist silver he had placed in Alaric's 
 unwilling hand. "You be a gen'l'man, you be, an' for 
 arl folks say, I wish there were more like ye !" 
 
 "You're very kind," said Alaric. "Would you mind 
 tellin* me what folks say?" he added curiously. 
 
 "They say as ye be cracky i' th' top-storey since ye 
 came back from Lunnon !" said Mr. Tradgett, wiping the 
 inside of his crape-banded white hat with a red cotton 
 handkerchief, "an* drat me if I doon't think there mun 
 be some truth in th' tale since ye giv' me back that half- 
 crownd." He put away his receipt in the lining of the 
 white hat before putting it on and continued : "Parsons 
 i' their wits bain't so ready to leggo o' money they've 
 once got their clawses on. Goo'-night, sir !" He lumbered 
 out. 
 
 "This is gratitude in the Rural Districts !" said Alaric, 
 as he went back to his cooling dinner. 
 
 He sighed, because the fowl, with its homely but 
 savoury accompaniments, had been temptingly hot when 
 Mr. Tradgett was announced. Hannah, the serving-maid, 
 who was both pretty and kind-hearted, was touched by 
 the obvious depression of her young pastor. "You mus'n't
 
 The Rector's Duty 337 
 
 mind him, please, sir !" she said. "A meaner scrimp than 
 that Joe Tradgett never drawed breath, an' as for grati- 
 tude, if you was to kill 'n wi' kindness he'd never thank 
 ye ! An' I can hot up the pullet in a minute if you'll wait !" 
 
 "You're a very considerate little girl," said Alaric, 
 smiling into Hannah's eyes as she leant over to take the 
 dish. In helping her to raise it from the table he mixed 
 up his hands with Hannah's, and in the midst of the slight 
 confusion that ensured a distinct rap sounded upon the 
 glass of the French window, which was so thickly 
 screened with Virginia creeper that the blind was seldom 
 drawn. 
 
 "Oh, mussy !" cried Hannah, turning from crimson to 
 pink her way of becoming pale. 
 
 "What the mischief was that? Did you see anything?" 
 asked Alaric. 
 
 "No, please, sir!" shuddered Hannah. "But oh! I 
 think it was the ghost that rattles and scrapes o' nights !" 
 
 "And throws gravel, do you mean?" said Alaric in- 
 cautiously. 
 
 "Cook and me heard it again last night!" quavered 
 Hannah. "Since you went away to Lunnon us hadn't 
 but now you've come back it's beginned again. And 
 oh! I'm afraid o' the passages when my blood runs cold 
 like this!" 
 
 Alaric encouraged the frightened girl as best he could, 
 begged her not to dilute the gravy by crying into it, and 
 at last escorted her as far as the kitchen, carrying the 
 dish himself. But Hannah's alarm had infected the cook, 
 for the fowl came back in an unsatisfactory condition and 
 the bread-and-butter pudding which followed was calcined 
 to uneatableness. Perhaps because of the unsatisfactory 
 nature of his meal, perhaps owing to the disturbed con- 
 dition of his mind, Alaric, when he at length retired to 
 rest, wooed slumber in vain. He tossed and turned upon 
 his bed for an hour, and then, opening his eyes sudden-
 
 338 A Sailor's Home 
 
 ly, sat up. There was no mistake about the sharp crack- 
 ling sound. A shower of gravel had been thrown at his 
 window. He slipped out of bed and into his dressing- 
 gown, and stealing noiselessly across the room, lifted the 
 sash, received a second volley full in his face. 
 
 "For shame !" came from below in a deep resonant 
 whisper, as the young clergyman spluttered forth an 
 expression but little in keeping with his reverend calling. 
 "How can you disgrace your cloth by such expressions ?" 
 
 "I haven't got my cloth on!" said Alaric wrathfully, 
 "and if you want a man to keep his temper, you shouldn't 
 chuck pebbles down his throat, whoever you are!" He 
 cleared his eyes of grit, and looked down into the garden, 
 the moon was concealed by clouds, but he made out a 
 dark figure standing by a bush immediately beneath the 
 window. 
 
 "Why have you come here and what do you want?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Speak lower," said the mysterious visitant, "unless 
 you want to rouse the servants, and as quickly as you 
 can come down and unbolt the little side-door." 
 
 "Who are you? and why am I to undo the little side- 
 door?" asked Alaric. 
 
 "Do you wish to madden me to frenzy?" said the 
 unknown. "Do you dare to deny my right to be ad- 
 mitted to the house you occupy when I choose to exert 
 that right? I do not ask I command you to come down 
 and unbolt the little side-door!" 
 
 The imperious tone reminded Alaric of Mrs. 
 Mantowler. He had not the least doubt that she and 
 this mysterious stranger were one. He leaned out into 
 the chilly darkness and said soothingly: 
 
 "My dear lady, do go home !" 
 
 The adjuration had not the pacifying effect Alaric had 
 intended. His visitor uttered a kind of indignant snort 
 and said:
 
 The Rector's Duty 339 
 
 "This has decided me. I came to-night to give you a 
 last chance to explain yourself and arrest the inevitable 
 exposure. But now as I stand here I declare I will be 
 pitiless. To-morrow " 
 
 " You will tear the mask from my false face and the 
 world shall know me for a villain," said Alaric. "But 
 the world or as much of it as you can conveniently reach 
 is in bed and asleep just now and I have had rather a 
 fatiguin' day, and should like to follow other people's 
 example, if you don't mind ?" 
 
 "Ah, you think to brave me!" said Mrs. Mantowler, 
 "and Geraldine is in the plot or else you have deceived 
 her. But I will let her know that my self-respect is more 
 to me than money. Let her take it let her take it all ! 
 But you she cannot take with it for you are mine! 
 Mine ! and the struggle between us will be to the death ! 
 Now go to bed, and sleep if you can. Good-night!" 
 
 She turned to go. 
 
 "Night-night!" said Alaric. "Oh! Lavinia!" 
 
 "Yes!" she said shortly and sternly, halting in her 
 stride. 
 
 "I suppose it was you who did the gravel-throwin' last 
 night, eh?" hinted Alaric. 
 
 "I will admit it," said Mrs. Mantowler. "I came, 
 thinking to find you humbled and repentant I did not 
 dream that you were capable of the brazen effrontery 
 the revolting hypocrisy which I now know you can com- 
 mand at will. But though you triumph to-night, be sure 
 of this you will not triumph to-morrow!" 
 
 She was gone, with the Delphic utterance. As Alaric 
 turned to grope back through the darkness to his couch, 
 he .found that he had forgotten where it was. Finally, 
 after stumbling in rapid succession over a fender and a 
 chair ; after having been brought up sharp by the corner 
 of a chest of drawers, after having firmly wedged the 
 burner of a gas-bracket into the socket of his left eye and
 
 34 A Sailor's Home 
 
 stepped into the bath of cold water that stood ready for 
 the morning, Alaric found a match and struck it, and the 
 bed at the same moment. The light showed him a photo- 
 graph of the Reverend Aloysius hanging on the opposite 
 wall. He had never entertained a particularly high 
 opinion of his brother, but he was sensible that Aloysius 
 had risen several degrees in his estimation. 
 
 "Two women both attractive one charmin'!" he 
 murmured, "pullin' caps over him. And one calls in the 
 mornin' and one wakes him out of his beauty-sleep by 
 throwing gravel and demanding explanations. Upon my 
 word, Ally, for a parson you have been goin' it, my boy ! 
 And Hannah seemed quite used to being protected from 
 ghosts in the passage." He pursued his train of musings, 
 until the hot end of the match falling upon his bare instep, 
 banished these reflections, and with another lay expletive 
 Alaric bounced into bed. At breakfast next morning he 
 had a visitor. 
 
 "Mr. Turbeyson," Hannah announced, and the red- 
 headed little man bustled in. 
 
 "Don't apologise, Cottle !" He took Alaric's chair and 
 swept Alaric's coffee-cup and plate of fried kidneys and 
 ham away to make room on the table for his elbows. 
 
 "I don't," said Alaric. "I'm waitin' for you," 
 
 "Why I have your seat, haven't I ?" said Mr. Turbey- 
 son . 
 
 "Not now !" said Alaric cheerfully, lifting Mr. Turbey- 
 son out of it and assuming it and resuming his interrupted 
 meal with placid cheerfulness. 
 
 "The fact is, Cottle," said Mr. Turbeyson, "the secret 
 is out. Lavinia Mantowler has been to my place this 
 morning." He waited to mark the effect of the announce- 
 ment. "And she had told me all!" His red hair stood 
 on end as he rubbed it up in his excitement, and his little 
 pink eyes twinkled eagerly. "She has been rash from 
 a worldly point of view and from an unworldly point
 
 The Rector's Duty 341 
 
 you have been disinterested in doing what you have 
 done. I sincerely hope you may neither of you live to 
 regret it. But whether you do or not, the bulk of the 
 money goes to Mantowler's step-sister. I think that's 
 plain enough." 
 
 "Quite!" said Alaric, taking more toast. 
 
 "Lavinia Mantowler will have about seven hundred a 
 year," said Mr. Turbeyson. "As her late husband's 
 agent and executor I speak with certainty. Seven hundred 
 a year, with economy, ought to be enough for both of 
 you!" 
 
 "My good sir," said Alaric, "I don't want any of it. 
 Let Mrs. Mantowler keep her income for me! My 
 simple wants are easily satisfied." He took another 
 kidney. "She will go her way and I shall go mine. She 
 will do as she likes and I shall do as I like. Perfect 
 freedom on either side !" He drank his coif ee defiantly. 
 
 "Cottle! Cottle!" said Mr. Turbeyson in horror. 
 "Your cloth, man! your cloth!" 
 
 "I have had my cloth stuffed down my throat," said 
 Alaric peevishly, "until I feel like a boa-constrictor who 
 has swallowed his blanket. As for Mrs. Mantowler, I will 
 admit that she is a fine woman even a takin' woman. 
 But all this dagger-and-bowl business tries a man. And 
 this I say and this I stick to her jealousy of Miss Geral- 
 dine is unladylike and unwomanly." 
 
 "You must own, Cottle, that you have given her the 
 excuse to be jealous," said Mr. Turbeyson. 
 
 "Never, I'll swear!" affirmed Alaric. 
 
 "Do you deny that any tie exists between you?" cried 
 Mr. Turbeyson, jumping up. 
 
 "I do," said Alaric. His head was dizzy, he yielded in 
 a kind of delirium to the tide of circumstances that swept 
 him along. "If she asserts it let her prove it!" he added 
 defiantly. 
 
 "I will see her at once must get to the bottom of this.
 
 342 A Sailor's Home 
 
 But if she cannot prove what she asserts the money is 
 hers inalienably hers," shouted Turbeyson, thumping the 
 table. 
 
 "Damn the money !" exploded Alaric, hitting it too. 
 
 "Cottle, I overlook this," said Mr. Turbeyson, rising, 
 "as in your present state of excitement I do not hold you 
 responsible for your words. But if it occurs again, it 
 will be my painful duty to report you to the Vestry, which 
 will communicate with the Rural Dean, who will take his 
 own measures with regard to laying the case before the 
 Bishop of Wimsterford. Good-morning!" 
 
 He left very quickly, in order to avoid hearing the 
 ultimate destination to which the frenzied Alaric con- 
 signed both the Bishop and the Rural Dean. 
 
 "Cottle denies the bond and as calm and cool as you 
 please !" Mr. Turbeyson muttered to himself as he strode 
 down the short gravel drive. "On the other hand, 
 Lavinia affirms it. It's not natural, seeming anxious to 
 part with two thousand a year and Hilcot Manorlees in 
 favour of the girl, and I'm beginning to think it's a trap." 
 He blinked his pink eyes rapidly. "Odd if I'd baited one 
 for Cottle to fall into it myself ! I'd an idea that Mrs. 
 Mantowler's enmity towards him arose from jealousy of 
 his even temporarily occupying the Rector's place, and I 
 more than suspect there was something between him and 
 Geraldine. But I've been going too quick. I must keep 
 quiet be vigilant and keep quiet, if ever I am to ben- 
 efit by Mantowler's hatred of parsons!" So instead of 
 going straight back to Mrs. Mantowler Mr. Turbeyson 
 went home and spent the day over his farm accounts 
 for he was a sharp and money-making land-cultivator. 
 
 Thenceforward the days passed peacefully for Alaric. 
 By dint of straining to the utmost his native ingenuity 
 he managed to avoid not only burying his parishioners, 
 but baptising them and marrying them, and thanks to 
 the assiduous coaching of Mr. Choom the Sunday service
 
 The Rector's Duty 343 
 
 which was attended by many persons to whom church- 
 going was the exception rather than the rule was not 
 stirred by any peculiar element of strangeness. Yet, as 
 Alaric preached, embroidering upon a well-worn temper- 
 ance sermon of the Reverend Aloysius's arabesques born 
 of his own imagination and experience nobody went 
 away without something to talk about. 
 
 "You certainly possess a great knowledge of human 
 nature of a certain kind," said the bewildered Mr. 
 Choom afterwards; "but is it necessary to the success 
 of this new scheme of yours that you should" he 
 coughed "employ slang in the pulpit?" 
 
 "Did I?" said Alaric, opening his eyes. 
 
 "You said and I don't deny the expression was ner- 
 vous : 'The man who ignores good breeding is a bounder, 
 the man who ignores decency is a sweep; the man who 
 ignores religion is not only a bounder and a sweep, but a 
 cad into the bargain!' And then you said, alluding to 
 the liquor-habit, 'Constant pegging ends in unlimited 
 booze, and unlimited booze, my brethren, ends in D.T.' 
 And speaking of the only really good man you person- 
 ally had even known, you added, 'You will be sorry to 
 hear that he is now in Heaven !' And I don't venture 
 to say the line you're taking is an ill-advised one, but I 
 am sure that it will scandalise a great many persons." 
 
 "Will they stay away from church in consequence, or 
 will they come to be scandalised again?" asked Alaric 
 acutely. 
 
 "They'll come again !" said Mr. Choom with conviction. 
 "Trust them for that!" 
 
 "Then what have you got to complain of?" asked 
 Alaric. 
 
 He was in good spirits. The country diet, constant 
 exercise and regular hours had given tone to his system 
 and renewed vigour to his muscles. The absence of
 
 344 A Sailor's Home 
 
 dunning letters and County Court summonses had re- 
 lieved his mind and cheered his spirits. And added to 
 this, he was in love, and with a charming girl, who made 
 no pretence of regarding his sentiments with indifference. 
 He knew that the jealous Mrs. Mantowler regarded his 
 constant meetings with Geraldine as so many repeated 
 insults to herself, and that she would carry out her 
 threat of one day unmasking him, and sometimes he 
 could hardly contain his curiosity to learn the real 
 nature of the wrong she had sustained. 
 
 And he urged on his suit with Geraldine. He was very 
 much in love Miss Halkett was no longer a minor, and 
 in the same condition ; and when Alaric boldly proposed 
 to seal the compact between them by a visit to the office 
 of the District Registrar, she was not as much shocked 
 as he had expected. 
 
 "Even if I consented which I don't dream of doing," 
 she said, "it seems wrong for a clergyman to be civilly 
 married." 
 
 "We'll be uncivilly married afterwards," said Alaric, 
 "and if you insist on a Bishop and sixteen bridesmaids 
 you shall have 'em. Only let me make sure of you let 
 me be certain that nobody can part us, Jerry, dear, before 
 we let people into our secret." 
 
 "You are afraid of Lavinia, I believe," said Geraldine, 
 scanning her lover's countenance. 
 
 "She has threatened to part us, and I have no doubt 
 she'll try to keep her word !" said Alaric ruefully. 
 
 "And if I consent to this dreadfully informal course 
 of action," said Geraldine, "are you sure that you will 
 never repent marrying a comparatively poor young 
 woman ?" 
 
 "Sure!" said Alaric, who, to do him justice, had been 
 too much engaged by Geraldine's person to think much 
 about her purse.
 
 The Rector's Duty 345 
 
 "My step-brother was a strange man," said Geraldine 
 pensively, "Scarcely sane on certain points, I fancy. And, 
 by the conditions his will imposes on me, I forfeit the 
 greater part of my income by marrying you." 
 
 "But your step-brother didn't know me I" objected 
 Alaric. 
 
 "If my step-brother had," said Geraldine fondly, "I 
 believe he would have made a different will." 
 
 "By the way, who was he when he was alive?" asked 
 Alaric. Geraldine opened her lovely eyes. 
 
 " Who was he I" Lavinia's late husband Harrison 
 Mantowler, of course. How can you ask when you know 
 quite well?" 
 
 Alaric repressed the impulse to ask many more ques- 
 tions, but with an inward conviction that his stay in 
 Mangold Wurzelfield would be of short duration, he 
 hastened his preparations for the wedding before the 
 District Registrar. It took place on the morning of 
 the County Harriers' Ball, which was annually celebrated 
 in the Masonic Hall given to Mangold Wurzelfield by a 
 local magnate and generally pointed out to strangers by 
 residents as being, next to the Church, the Recreation 
 Hall, and the Salvation Army Barracks, the chief archi- 
 tectural feature of the village. 
 
 The Registrar's office was a mile out of Mangold Wur- 
 zelfield, and the Registrar, Alaric ascertained when he 
 went to give the customary notice, was away in London. 
 His representative, a pimply elderly man, carried out the 
 duties of his office without enthusiasm, in the presence 
 of Geraldine's maid and a comparatively respectable 
 tramp whom Alaric had impressed from the highway 
 and then the newly-married couple parted and went 
 home to breakfast. 
 
 "You have given up a lot for me, Jerry, my darling !" 
 said the bridegroom repentantly. "I hope you may never 
 regret it!" 

 
 346 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "As if I could ! I shall think of you at the Ball to-night, 
 dearest!" said Mrs. Cottle fondly, as Alaric kissed her. 
 
 "You will not only think of me but see me!" said 
 Alaric, "because I have had an invitation and shall 
 certainly be there!" 
 
 "But I thought you absolutely disapproved of dancing 
 clergymen!" said Geraldine in surprise. 
 
 "That was a long while ago," said Alaric, "and as you 
 have often remarked, I am changed. I am not what I 
 was when I knew you first, Geraldine." 
 
 "It is the change in you that made me love you !" said 
 Geraldine. 
 
 "If that fellow De Braybroke hasn't dropped my last 
 dollars over his System, instead of breakin' the banks 
 wherever he goes," thought Alaric as he kissed his newly- 
 made bride and hurried back to the Rectory, "there won't 
 be change enough to buy sugar for the bird. Jerry tells 
 me she'll have a few hundreds a year left when the bulk 
 is scooped by Mantowler's executors. That must be 
 secured to her absolutely, bless her ! And when I chuck 
 the parson business which naturally I shall almost im- 
 mediately I must get something to do. A comfortable 
 sinecure with a large salary attached ought to be easily 
 picked up." 
 
 His depression did not last long. He was cheerful at 
 breakfast, lively at lunch, hilarious at dinner. He dressed 
 with care in the best evening clericals of the Reverend 
 Aloysius, and smiled at himself approvingly in the muslin- 
 draped toilet glass of the Rector's dressing-room. 
 
 "Parsons don't usually wear button holes," he said, as 
 Hannah blushingly pinned a tuberose in the correct spot, 
 "but on this occasion we'll break the rule." Then he 
 drew a pair of Aloysius's goloshes over his smart 
 buckled pumps, and hurried down the road to the village. 
 
 Mangold Wurzelfield was in a state of great excite- 
 ment. Smart carriages deposited their county loads at
 
 The Rector's Duty 347 
 
 the doors of the brilliantly lighted Masonic Hall, and 
 shabby flies disgorged their humbler burdens. The ball- 
 room was decorated with flags, flowers and electric lights, 
 the Yeomanry Band united with the Volunteers in Terpsi- 
 chorean melody. The opening quadrilles were over. 
 Couples of all sorts and sizes spun over the well-waxed 
 floor in the opening valse. And there was Geraldine! 
 Geraldine in full ball-costume and wearing her mother's 
 diamonds, entering on the arm of her uncle, Captain Hal- 
 kett. And there, too, in the middle of a knot of county 
 dowagers stood Mrs. Mantowler, looking handsomer than 
 Alaric had ever seen her and more determined. 
 
 "Good gracious, Cottle!" said a voice behind Alaric, 
 as Mr. Peter Turbeyson, in an old-fashioned evening suit, 
 rushed up and buttonholed the young man : "You here ? 
 And mercy on us ! you can't possibly intend to dance ?" 
 
 "Certainly I do!" said Alaric. He went up to Geral- 
 dine, who received him with a radiant smile. "Our valse, 
 I think !" he said, passed his arm about his bride's waist 
 and plunged into the midst of the revolving mob of 
 couples. 
 
 "Darling," gasped Geraldine, "do you think you " 
 
 but her breath failed her as she was swept upon the 
 strong arm of a skilful dancer into the giddy maze. 
 People stood aside to watch the handsome couple, a buzz 
 
 "It's sacrilege ! rank sacrilege !" cried Mr. Peter Tur- 
 beyson. "He ought to be stopped! . . . it's enough to 
 give a Parish Councillor and Vestryman the apoplexy to 
 of comments arose, both admiring and deprecating. . . . 
 see such goings on !" 
 
 He reeled back giddily, and trod heavily upon the toe 
 of somebody who uttered a sharp exclamation in a 
 familiar voice. 
 
 "Cottle !" he gasped, recognising the owner. 
 
 The Reverend Aloysius, pale, unshaven and dusty from 
 travel, clutched Mr. Peter Turbeyson by the arm.
 
 
 348 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Where is he?" he cried hoarsely. "Show him to me! 
 They told me at the Rectory he was here! Point him 
 out! Ah! there he is!" 
 
 The trembling finger of the agitated young clergyman 
 indicated the whirling figures of Alaric and Geraldine. 
 Then a fierce denunciatory cry broke forth. The dancers 
 stopped . . . the band did the same. A circle of eager 
 faces hemmed in a group of three Alaric, composed and 
 easy, Geraldine pale and panting, clinging to his arm, 
 and the almost awe-inspiring figure of Mrs. Mantowler. 
 
 "Behold!" she cried, or something to that effect, "this 
 creature this dancing dervish of a clergyman, who 
 flourishes his heels in the face of Decency and Propriety 
 and thinks that he can continue to do so with impunity. 
 Aye!" she shrieked, her black eyes blazing upon Alaric, 
 "I vowed to unmask you, sir, and I will ! Gentlemen and 
 ladies, ten years ago I was left, as you are aware, with 
 this young lady whom you all know" she pointed to 
 Geraldine "co-legatee of my husband's large property. 
 One-third went to her the rest to me. The money was 
 to remain, as long as we continued to fulfil the conditions 
 of the will absolutely at our own disposal. But if either 
 of us married a clergyman my poor dear husband hated 
 them and I have learned to share in his dislike! that 
 one was to forfeit the bulk of the legacy in favour of the 
 other. If both of us persisted in wedding husbands in 
 the Church both of us were stripped of our inheritance, 
 which in that event went to my husband's distant rela- 
 tive, Mr. Peter Turbeyson." She stopped for breath. 
 
 "Very well put," said Mr. Peter Turbeyson. 
 
 "I will own it, when I first met with Mr. Cottle I was 
 carried off my feet," said Mrs. Mantowler. "I will con- 
 fess it, I encouraged his advances. And I was privately 
 married to him two months ago at the District Registrar's 
 office without telling him about the terms of my late 
 husband's will."
 
 The Rector's Duty 349 
 
 "No, no!" cried Geraldine passionately. She clutched 
 Alaric by the arm. "Oh ! speak !" she cried. "Tell them 
 it is not true !" 
 
 "He can't !" said Mrs. Mantowler, with dilated nostrils 
 and blazing eyes. "Ask him something else. Ask him 
 whether we did not quarrel, and whether you were not 
 the cause? Deny that he kissed you in the pulpit you 
 meant him to do it, you know ! on the Eve of the Har- 
 vest Festival. And you, you twirling clerical teetotum !" 
 she cried, with a suddenness that made Alaric jump, 
 "deny that I drove you from my presence with the scorn 
 you merited, and that when my woman's weakness led 
 me to summon you back again you brazenly insulted 
 and defied me bade me go my way and pursued your 
 own career of crime which has ended, this very morn- 
 ing, in a bigamous marriage contracted with this unhappy 
 girl, before the Registrar's deputy, Mr. Smithers, who, 
 finding your name already recorded coupled with my 
 own upon the Marriage Register communicated very 
 properly with me! And now you are unmasked!" said 
 Mrs. Mantowler, folding her jewelled arms upon her 
 heaving bosom and regarding Alaric sternly: "And I 
 hope you like it !" 
 
 "I can't say that I do," said Alaric, supporting the half- 
 swooning Geraldine. "Publicity's beastly, you know, and 
 dirty linen especially if it's a surplice oughtn't to be 
 washed in a ball-room." He glanced round the staring 
 circle of faces, and his perturbed eye lightened. He 
 recognised his brother. "Why, Ally, old man, is that 
 you?" he said good-temperedly. "Come in time to tell 
 'em all about it and save me a lot of trouble?" 
 
 "What have you done profligate?" demanded the 
 dusty young clergyman addressed, pushing his way into 
 the circle. "And you madam!" he cried, turning on 
 the appalled Lavinia Mantowler. "What do you mean 
 by these accusations?"
 
 350 A Sailor's Home 
 
 "Aloysius," cried Mrs. Mantowler, staring wildly from 
 twin-brother to twin-brother. "Which are you ? oh ! 
 am I mad or dreaming?" 
 
 "Aloysius !" sobbed Geraldine, clinging to Alaric. "Ex- 
 plain or I shall die!" 
 
 "The explanation consists of three words," said Alaric. 
 "We are twins me and old Ally here, though he has 
 never told you about his little brother. One of us went 
 into the Church that's him ! the other stopped outside 
 that's me ! Like the celebrated Two-Headed Nightingale, 
 a strong attachment has always existed between us, and 
 a few weeks ago when Aloysius on the eve of goin' 
 abroad with a clergyman's sore throat would have been 
 recalled to duty I unknown to him threw myself de- 
 votedly into the breach. Let no one chuck bricks at a 
 man who is capable of such a sacrifice. Madam" he 
 turned to Mrs. Mantowler "you will now exonerate me 
 from any lack of hospitality in the matter of not unbolt- 
 ing the little side-door. Geraldine, if you can put up 
 with the lifelong devotion of a mere layman, it is yours ! 
 Ladies and gentlemen," he addressed the crowd "in the 
 past six weeks, durin' which I have performed the Rec- 
 tor's duty in this parish, I have got out of christenin' 
 some people dodged marryin' others and drawn the 
 line at buryin' the rest." There was a guffaw of mascu- 
 line and feminine laughter. "To-day I have myself 
 been married you all know my wife I hope, now that 
 you all know me, you will not decline my further ac- 
 quaintance." 
 
 "Why should we?" said Mrs. Mantowler, beaming as 
 she held her recovered Aloysius fast with one hand and 
 extended the other to Alaric, who squeezed it warmly. 
 "Don't mention the gravel again!" she whispered. "He 
 might think it odd !" 
 
 And the band struck up again and the dance went on 
 merrily.
 
 XIV 
 THE FROZEN TRUTH 
 
 As TOLD IN A PORTION OF A LETTER FROM No. 2035 
 PRIVATE ALFRED HARRIS, WEST MIDSHIRE REGI- 
 MENT, THE CAMP, HORNECLIFFE, TO Miss SARAH 
 BISBEE, 2, LITTLE POTTER'S BUILDINGS, CANAL ROAD, 
 EAST DITCHAM, S.E. 
 
 i Rite from Provishunal Camp Gink pendink the 
 Dissision of the Court of Inkwiry to Put things Strate 
 betwixt me and Yu Deer old Gal in Case Yu Hav Bene 
 upsett bi the Bloomin' Lise in the London Nusepappers 
 about Mutiny & Riot which Has werked the ole Camp 
 into a stait of indiggnashun imposable to xaggrate. 
 
 That there Took Plais a Bit of a Scrapp Between Ours 
 & a Party of the Ballyduff Fusiliers from Frisborough 
 West Camp oo Wishes to Deny? but to balli Well say 
 that Baynits was imploid in the Komflik & that 2 of the 
 Guard Neer got Outed in consekens is fair Old Rot and 
 Nonsens. As to an Orfcer Firin is Rivolver in Self 
 Di fence, That be jiggared for a Tale. Also to stait that 
 the Ole Aphair ad its oragin in an Unpoplar Order Plais- 
 ing Our Canteen out of boundse for Other Regiments, 
 is Wot Mullins Colour Sergeant of my comny calls an 
 offensive alligator which means a Crimson Cuffer if ever 
 Their Was Wun. The 5000 Men quartered Hear rep- 
 
 351
 
 352 A Sailor's Home 
 
 presenting Cavalry Artillery & Infantry of the King's 
 Army Feel Akutely, Mullins sais that a Gross Injusstis 
 Has Bin Dun by These Injurius Reportse. Deer Sal i 
 Feel Anxious on mi Own Akount that yu as mi Yung 
 Woman Shold Nott Taik the Neadle on Akounts of Wot 
 i supose yu Ave Bin Told bi now, bi that Slab-Sided 
 slack-jord Civilian T. Jones Which is alwais Hanging 
 abart yure little Plais at Ditcham Tel Him to go & Fry 
 His Face a Helthy Brown and Not For the Futur get Up 
 Any little gamse trying To Part True Luverse (xxxxx !). 
 
 The ritse of the Matter is mi Deer that on Satterday 
 Nite Me and my Pal F. Brown attended the Music All at 
 Sandspade & There Chumd up With Two BallydufFs 
 Named Donergan & Sheehy. Privit Donergans Back 
 Teeth Ware Under Whisky wile His Mate Was Disididly 
 Under the influense of swipse. Me & F. Brown Had a 
 cupple of Potse of ^ & Y-Z likewise 4 Threes of Scotch, 
 F. Brown Aving Pulled Orf a Bett With a chap of Ours 
 & Being Flush of the Reddy in Consequens. 
 
 A Yung Lady in a Red Costum & A Blew Hat with 
 Ostridg Plums Passed the Time of Day With Donergan 
 & Another yung Lady in a Pink Blowse Pulled Up With 
 F. Brown Saying She was a Old Joint of 'is From Whit- 
 chapel Wot e ad Bin & Forgotten For other Faces & it 
 Took Two 2's of Gin to quiet 'er Down. The Turns Had 
 Bigunn and the Audiens was shouting Order most 
 stremenjus Bikause Private Donergan Kep a Putting is 
 Oar in and a jining With the Gent what was Getting a 
 Paterotic Song off of His Chest Bifore the Time came for 
 the Corus. Besides Which Sheehy was Carrying on Like 
 a regler Loomey Bicaus wich The Yung Lady in Red 
 with a Blew Hat wold sit Nex Me which deer Sal you 
 kno was not along of My Passing Her the Come Along 
 Ducky, & when there was a Military Sketch With a 
 Cupple of Blokes in Kharki Service Kit gassing abart the 
 Honour of the British Soldier & a Firing Section Volleyse
 
 The Frozen Truth 353 
 
 of Blank Cartridg out of Condemd Martinis over A 
 Protecting- Earthwork of Sackse Stuffed with Straw. She 
 Kep a Squealing and Pinching of Yurs Truly & Then 
 Pritended to Get Faint & Fell Back on Support Me 
 Hapning to Ave my Arm Along the Back of the Pit 
 Bench behind her. 
 
 Which Sheehy sees and Gits Puffick Outragious a 
 shoving is Ugly Mug against my Fais & says he : "You 
 bloomin' Shoreditch Swine," he sais, "if yu Hav the 
 Marrow Av a Man in the Bacbone Av ye Come Outside 
 wid Me Till I knock yure Teeth Out at the Back av yure 
 Neck," he says "For sejoosin the affections of the Yung 
 Lady I'd clapped me oi on," he says "before ever got the 
 dirty arm of you round the Waste of her," says he. 
 
 The Yung Lady in the Blew Hat she told Him He 
 was a Low Vulgar feller and she wold Not Be Seen Dead 
 in the Saim Strete With Him for harf a Bull. Every- 
 boddy in the Audiens was shouting Order bi This Time 
 Til the People on the Stag Had to Talk in Dum Sho & a 
 Big Powerful Bloke in a gilt Edged Cap Came shoving 
 Threwgh & Collared Donergan & Chuckd Him And the 
 People Aplauded like mad & Sheehy joined in. 
 
 There was No more Rowse Deer Sal & the Evenin 
 Passed Me & F. Brown Enjoying Ourselves a Fair Old 
 Treat. Last Thing Me & F. Brown had See of Sheehy 
 Was Wen E Run His Ed up agin F. Brown's Fist. F. 
 Brown Aving called im a Sneaking Swine for Letting 
 Donergan Get the Blossoming Chuck Out For the Dis- 
 turbans E Ad Maid & then Aplauding the Chucker & 
 Sheehy aving Told F. Brown to Come On & Ave it Hout. 
 The Yung Lady in Red with the Blew At Got so Upsett 
 at the site of the Blood (N.B. Sheehy's nose) That Me & 
 F. Brown Took Er And Er Lady Pal in the Pink Blowse 
 into a Public Ouse to Ave a Scotch Cold Which she said 
 she Ad taken for Fainting From Childhood. Later on Me 
 & F. Brown Falls in & Priserving Our Formation by
 
 354 A Sailor's Home 
 
 Elber Touch Marches Back to Camp where 24 of Ourse 
 Ware Pigging it in a Korrugated Iron Hutt Miskalled 
 y 2 Com'ny Quarters. 
 
 Me & F. Brown Aving Passes we nigotiated the 
 Sentries with Eese, Entered Camp by the Quarter Guard 
 Tent & Riported Ourselves to the Guard, Sergeant 
 Murphy Carfully Searching Us in the Wrong Plaisis to 
 Maik Sure No Liquor Was Being Smugld Into The 
 Lines. As I Slipt a Flat */ 2 Pint Bottle Up His Cuff and 
 Tipt Im the Wink: 
 
 "Wot Mangy Civilian Doggs," sais He "Have Followed 
 You & Your Mate Back to the Lines ? Clear off !" Sais 
 He lifting His Big Voice & Shouting "Or I'll come out 
 to you in My Thousandse & Perish Ye off of the Fais of 
 the Erth," & at That Some skulkink Shadders Maid off 
 & "By my thumb !" Sais the Sergeant glimsing under His 
 Big Hand, "they're Sojer men & Not sivilians. For all 
 the Dark it is I caught the glitter of Their Belt-Buckles 
 & Buttons & What Ye have been Doing Me two fine 
 Men?" Sais He "To Dhraw down the Vengeanse Av the 
 Ballyduffs Upon your Heads I'll Not be Askin Now. Off 
 to Your Cotse An Be Glad Ye Have Whole Heads to Lay 
 on your Pillows," Sais He "For there is No Neater Skull 
 Crackers than the Ballyduff Fusiliers," He Sais, "in the 
 British Army this Day." 
 
 Talkin Not Bein Alowed after Lights Out Me & F. 
 Brown Could Not Exchange Opinions as to oo Ad Fol- 
 lered Us xcept in Wispers & the snoring in the Corrigated 
 Hut was Such we Could not Hear Each other Speek. 
 Barmy Sleep Ad not Long Disended On Our Pilows 
 Bifore A Volley of Stones with Arf Bricks & Empty Beef 
 Tins Comes Through the Open Winders on the Looard 
 Side & Wakes up the Chaps by Rattlin abut Their Eds. 
 
 "Wot the Crimson Fushia Bell is That?" sais Corporal 
 Jones walking up with One of is Eyes in Want of a sling, 
 "an oo are You Outside There?"
 
 The Frozen Truth 355 
 
 "We're the Ballyduffs," says a Fritefully Intoxicated 
 voice which Me & F. Brown Rekognised for Sheehy's 
 "An We're looking for the Dirty Blaggard that Has 
 Spoiled the Good Looks av the Purtiest Young Man that 
 iver Marched In soaped Socks to the chune av 'Draw a 
 Threaded Needle Through An Lave the Worsted In.' 
 Give Him Out to us" sais He "Till we Clane Him off 
 the Fais av the Earth, both him an the dhirty little Beggar 
 He Had wid Him. Hand Thim Out here while I'm 
 spakin, ye potted sardines, or by my song! we'll make 
 Chape Paste av you for the billstickers, so we will Stand 
 back, boyos, an take the worrd from rrte to burrst in the 
 dure." 
 
 Deer Sal the Hut door Was bolted Inside & Stood the 
 First Rush. Nex Minnit it was atop of Me & F. Brown 
 wich slep Nearest to it, the Ballyduffs Pored in over it 
 & the Corrigated Iron Quarters Was As Full of Life & 
 Xitement As a Maggotty Tin of Commissariat Mutton. 
 There Was No Room to Use Belts, Men fought with their 
 Bare Fists & the Ends of Their Noses Touching as they 
 Swore Like Tom Catse In a Patent Covered Dustbin. 
 
 The Ballyduffs Which Could not squeeze Inside the 
 Hutt were Foaming Maniaxe Bicause They ad broke out 
 of Camp & Got Inside the West Midshire Lines to kill 
 2 of Ours (meening F. Brown & Me) & Not To Be Able 
 to Do it First Go Orf Was A Disgrais That Nawed 
 Them to the Marrer. They Was cumming In By the 
 Roof When Sum of Our Chapse Fired their Rifles in that 
 Direkshn. (N.B. Our Men Ave all Swore on Being 
 Interrigated by the Court of Inquiry that they used 
 Blank Cartridge but ow Pick & Chuse in such a skirm- 
 maje Deer Sal it is Not Possable, besides which Wun of 
 the Assaleants ad the Rim of is Yeer chipt & Another 
 ad a Bullet Thro is Cap. As For the Rest of us the 
 Caswaltys are cheafly Swelld Noses & Black Eyes Not 
 to Menshun Sum Cutse from Treading on Broken Glass
 
 356 A Sailor's Home 
 
 with Bare Feet.) We Ad just Got Baynits Fixed When 
 the Guard come a Running Up Follered by the Camp 
 Polise with the Waterin Cart & Hand Pump, For Sum 
 Bally Loonatic ad cried Fire! 
 
 "Buzz an sting, ye crimson Nest av Hornits," yells 
 Sergeant Murphy which I Heered Him Plane. "We'll 
 Sluice yees out av that" sais He, "in the Shake av a 
 Lambs Tail. Turn the hose through the dure, Corp'rl 
 Scanlan, an bid the boys pump wid a will. Disinfect the 
 blaggards to their dirty souls," he sais, "lay the divil in 
 them as well as the dust," sais E, "wid Condy and pond- 
 wather." Deer Sal it wil be Best to draw a Vale over 
 the seen which follered. Enuff to sett Down Ere that 
 the Brigade Major Turned up shortly After the Arrival 
 of the Guard & the Fire Brigade, that the Gilty as wel as 
 the Innacent was Marched Orf to Clink & that the Re- 
 mainder of the Nite passed Peecefully. 
 
 It wil be Planely Understood by You deer Sal from 
 this Sworn Staitment of fax that the maylay i discribe 
 does not Warrant the descripshun of a Ryot or of Mutiny, 
 so you can tel A. Jones nex time E reads the Paperse to 
 Yu to Fish & Find out For Sumthing Else to Bring Up 
 against Absant Frendse. As to Being Drunk & Disorderly 
 tell Im to Look at 'Ome nex Time E is Not Able to 
 Bribe the Copper Not to Pick Im For a Riper. As to 
 Wantonly-Asaulting a Private of another Regiment Out- 
 side a Place of Entertainment I nevr; which Sheehy up 
 an run is Ead against F. Brown's Fist a Purpose ; as for 
 Risisting the Regamental Police in the Xacution of their 
 Duty, they was 3 to 1 an ow could I? As to Aving 
 Walked Orf with another Cove's Young Woman she 
 done 'er best to Get Round Yurse Truly But I was not 
 Taking Any & So I Let Er Know. 
 
 Hoping this Finds you as if Leevs Me & with Love & 
 (xxxxxxx) for Yourself I remane 
 
 My Deer Sal Afexnat yourse T. ATKINS.
 
 THE people who occupy the flat immediately beneath 
 ours are great diners-out; and as their dog is of a 
 sociable disposition and entertains an objection to the 
 society of the charwoman, he commonly burrows under 
 the doormat and howls until the return of his proprietors. 
 But the howls now heard by myself and my wife were 
 distinctly human, and proceeded from our culinary de- 
 partment at the passage end. Something must have hap- 
 pened to Loosha ! We sprang from the dinner-table, and 
 made one bound to the kitchen door. With instinctive 
 delicacy we listened a moment before bursting in. The 
 outcries never ceased, though at times they sounded 
 strangely muffled. Had a burglar dropped in for a late 
 afternoon visit? Was he garrotting the too faithful 
 creature who had refused to reveal the whereabouts of 
 the plate-basket? I grasped the soup-ladle which I had 
 unconsciously retained with nervous determination. We 
 rushed in quietly. There was no burglar. Only Loosha 
 behind the scullery-door, with her head wrapped up in 
 the jack-towel, was giving vent to bursts of emotion which 
 might well have aroused the envy of the poodle down- 
 stairs. With compassion, slightly tempered with severity, 
 we questioned the girl. She took some time to coax out 
 of the chrysalis or pupa condition; but finally emerged 
 from the folds of the jack-towel and explained. Mother 
 who should have known better, having but a brief 
 
 357j
 
 358 A Sailor's Home 
 
 twelvemonth since interred her Second was now receiv- 
 ing the addresses of a potential Third, himself a widower 
 with nine encumbrances. In justice to the aspirant we 
 may mention that he was fairly well to do, being a retired 
 joiner by the name of Mr. Brown. In Loosha's bitterest 
 moments she deprived him of the prefix, calling him 
 simply, and for short, "That there Brown." 
 
 The fell news had only been brought by Loosha's 
 little step-sister Emmeline, though Loosha had had a 
 premonitory warning in the way of creeps down her back 
 whenever she had encountered the designing Mr. Brown 
 for some time past. It had been a-dorning in her mind, 
 she said, by degrees as there was something up ; and this 
 very afternoon he had upped and spoke, most barefaced, 
 on the identical doorstep. Says he, "Mrs. Hemmans, I 
 will not deceive you, that it was just through you drop- 
 ping in in a friendly way to 'elp at the laying out of Her 
 as is gone (and Her only buried eleven months) that my 
 attention was, in a manner of speaking, drawed to you ; 
 and in a homely way, putting the thing plainly for your 
 thinking over quiet, by yourself, I will say, you have three 
 and me similarly nine; and both unincumbijed, why not 
 make one extra large table out of your medium and my 
 full-sized?" Which table, Loosha parenthetically ob- 
 served, would ultimately prove her death-bed. 
 
 We tried to soothe the aggrieved handmaid by every 
 means in our power. Being within three days of Christ- 
 mas Day, and having purposed to entertain the represen- 
 tative members of our respective families between 
 whom all the year round great enmity exists at a social 
 dinner, the prospect before us was overshadowed by 
 Loosha's grief. If matters came to a crisis she would, as 
 like as not, take to her bed and remain there for two 
 days. At the end of her period of sackcloth and ashes 
 she would, we knew by previous experience, reappear as 
 fresh as paint and quite reconciled to the dispositions of
 
 The Checkmating of Mr. Brown 359 
 
 i 
 
 Fate. But, in the meanwhile, what would become of us ? 
 I tried to argue. I reminded Loosha that her mother was 
 still young, active and industrious ; and that one could 
 not, while deploring the act of Mr. Brown, revile him 
 for his choice of a successor to the departed; that that 
 successor might be called, even now, a pretty woman, 
 and that men would be men, no matter how foolish it 
 was. I would have continued in this strain, but that 
 Loosha became hysterical. 
 
 "She ain't young," she screamed. "With me twenty- 
 three, how could she ? And she ain't pretty, or if she is, 
 she ought to be ashamed of herself ! And both my father 
 and Emmeline and Elf red's father would say so if they 
 was here ! And if she does it which at her time of life 
 is a disgrace I shall drown myself over the Albit Bridge, 
 in the Serpentine !" The Serpentine is not far from our 
 Brompton door, and Loosha is a very determined girl. I 
 was conscious of a momentary dismay. But I remembered 
 just in time that the Serpentine had been announced as 
 frozen over in the evening papers. I mentioned this. 
 
 "Then I'll marry the Railway Guard," sobbed Loosha. 
 Then she went into hysterics and drummed the floor with 
 her heels and the back of a Windsor chair with her head, 
 in quite an alarming manner ; and I was ordered out of 
 the kitchen that she might be unfastened and the inevit- 
 able remedies applied. It took a whole gill of Tarragon 
 vinegar and the best part of the tail feathers of our 
 Christmas turkey to bring her to anything like composure. 
 
 That was three days before Christmas. We have got 
 over the dinner and the meeting of the clans without any 
 casualties other than those we were bound to expect. 
 And Loosha is preternaturally bright, sharp, tight, and 
 brisk. As she goes about her work she sings. "Come 
 buy my Coloured Errin" is a favourite vocal exercise with 
 her. But it has been superseded by "Take Back the 
 Art." And from the piquantly expressive meaning Lossha
 
 360 A Sailor's Home 
 
 infuses into the opening lines it is plain that she applies 
 them to Mr. Brown, whose addresses have been dis- 
 couraged, and whose matrimonial plans have been cir- 
 cumvented, thanks to the prompt action taken by Loosha 
 in the matter. It may be mentioned that our handmaid's 
 baptismal appellation was originally derived from a 
 popular Opera, called "Loosha of Lam Her More," wit- 
 nessed by mother at an important crisis. Mother is quite 
 a cultured person, having chared for several authors, one 
 of whom was a poetical genius attached to a well-known 
 firm of soap-makers. The way that man would carry on 
 when the rhymes wouldn't come, and the extent to which 
 he used to wipe his pens in his hair, must, we are given to 
 understand, have been seen to be believed. 
 
 Loosha's mother, like many small, meek-looking people, 
 possesses a considerable amount of determination. If she 
 really entertained a weakness for Mr. Brown, that weak- 
 ness was not to be put down with the strong arm. Loosha 
 realised that, she tells us, as she stood on the kitchen- 
 floor and met those black beady eyes, so like her own. 
 True, she opened no parallels, but dashed upon her sub- 
 ject in a way peculiarly distinctive. Emmeline and Elfred, 
 seated on two chairs against the wall, paused in their 
 consumption of bread-and-treacle on hearing themselves 
 alluded to as poor lambs, and joined their lamentations 
 to sister Loosha's. The Serpentine and the Railway 
 Guard came to the fore, with certain other ultimate possi- 
 bilities of an equally harrowing nature. The tumult 
 raged high, though Mrs,. Hemmans preserved a calm, even 
 stony, demeanour. And in the middle of it all That There 
 Brown knocked at the door. 
 
 No quick-change artist ever effected a more wondrous 
 transformation than did Loosha, in that minute. Mrs. 
 Hemmans had glided away to put her cap straight and 
 smooth her sleek parting. In the interval between her 
 disappearance ad her return, Loosha and Mr. Brown
 
 The Checkmating of Mr. Brown 361 
 
 had become quite friendly. Brown's manner was quite 
 fatherly, and his features shone with smiles and gin-and- 
 water. He had been screwing up his courage with that 
 fortifying beverage. Loosha, as she sent the astonished 
 Emmeline out for a quartern of the best and provided 
 the visitor with a reliable chair, made up her mind that 
 the doom of That There Brown, matrimonially speaking, 
 was sealed. Mother, without knowing why, felt uncom- 
 fortable when the widowed joiner proposed taking the 
 entire family (it was Loosha's day out) to the World's 
 Fair and Loosha warmly responded to the overture. They 
 took Emmeline and Elf red and the Islington 'bus, and 
 That There Brown and Loosha occupied a garden-chair 
 seat together outside, mother and the children being 
 stowed in the interior of the vehicle. Brown was fatherly 
 when they started : Portland Road found him affectionate. 
 By the time they were launched amidst the giddy delights 
 
 of the Fair he was beginning to think Deluded 
 
 wretch! What matters it what he thought? It was 
 deliberately done of Loosha, the betraying of That There 
 Brown. He wandered with the mother and daughter, 
 each on an arm, through a fairyland of mingled fog and 
 gaslight. They visited the birds, the beasts, and reptiles ; 
 and Loosha appealed to him for information as to their 
 names, species, and general habitat, and greeted every 
 remark of his with admiring "Lors !" She never seemed 
 to notice when he mixed up the Bactrian camel with the 
 water buffal. She went upon the circular switchback with 
 him -Mother being too timid to venture and became 
 nervous in the middle of the airy journey, clinging to the 
 arm of the ravished widower with feminine squeaks of 
 terror. How enthralled she was by his performance on 
 the try-your-strength machine, though the marker on 
 the dial indicated nothing much in the way of a record ! 
 The more fascinating Loosha became, the warmer and 
 more perspiring became That There Brown. He nudged
 
 362 A Sailor's Home 
 
 her frequently. All the sensation of his corporeal frame 
 seemed to have taken its abode in the elbow to which 
 she hung. The widow was a dead weight on the other. 
 He and Loosha got lost for a moment in the Channel 
 Tunnel. 
 
 Was it, then, that the miserable man uttered the words 
 which sealed his fate? It may have been. All we know 
 for certain is that those words once uttered, Loosha's 
 manner became distant and offhand. There were moments 
 when she was even vinegarish. That There Brown put 
 it down to maiden coyness, and renewed the siege with 
 redoubled rashness. It was when the Flying Demons 
 were about to take their marvellous leap through space, 
 and the popular attention was uniformly diverted to the 
 ceiling, that Mrs. Hemmans who was not without a 
 consciousness as that for a suitor trembling on the brink 
 of acceptance, Mr. Brown's conduct was, to say the least 
 of it, inadequate felt a tug at her shawl. It came from 
 the infant Emmeline, whose watchful eye, unchildlike in 
 its keen appreciation of the situation, had detected the 
 joiner's arm in the act of enclosing the figure of Loosha 
 under the shadow of her bead-fringed mantle. After that 
 the widow was taken faintish, and had to be revived with 
 peppermint drops ere the company returned to Brompton. 
 Mr. Brown was not invited in to tea, though he lingered 
 long upon the doorstep. And when he had gone Loosha 
 uncorked the vials of her contempt, and told her parent 
 that she had been nursing a addick in her bosom; but 
 thank Providence, it was unmasked at last! 
 
 Next morning a procession of four started for the 
 cemetery. Emmeline and Elf red walked in front, hand in 
 hand and bearing votive garlands. In the presence of 
 the headstone on which the virtues of her Second were 
 recorded, Mrs. Hemmans renewed her vows of faithful 
 widowhood. On the way back the party encountered 
 That There Brown.
 
 The Checkmating of Mr. Brown 363 
 
 "Mother just 'ung her 'ed," said Loosha afterwards, 
 "and walked by him without taking no more notice than 
 if he was dirt. But he spreads 'isself out over the path, 
 and sezee, 'Don't you reckonise your friends, Mrs. Hem- 
 mans, mum, at this time o' day, after all as has been said 
 between us?' And then I pushes in, an' he looks up and 
 met my eye. I give 'im a cold stare, and you might see 
 'im shrink, as if 'e knowed what was comin'. 'Begging 
 your pardon,' I says, 'but did you mean me or my 
 mother?' 'Your mother/ says That There Brown, 'as I 
 think and 'ope will make a good wife to me and mother 
 to my nine children.' 'Which you was of a different 
 opinion yesterday,' I sharps back on 'im, 'when you ast 
 me to marry you at the World's Fair. Per'aps you'd like 
 to 'ave us both, as the Salt Lake Morgans ain't too 
 particular in that way, and you may belong to the 
 English branch of the dinomagation.' 'You've been and 
 raised a nornick's nesk about my yeers, you cat!' says 
 That There Brown, with a scowl. 'Maria,' and he looked 
 imploring like at mother, 'the 'uman 'art is impulshuous, 
 special when led away by gin-and-water. Overlook the 
 accidence and you won't have no reason to complain.' 'I 
 could never 'ave no reliance on you, Mr. Brown,' says 
 mother, with her eyes cast down, and speakin' as if she'd 
 got pins in 'er mouth, 'after what has took place.' 'So 
 make your mind up to it,' I says, 'as neither me nor my 
 mother ain't going to be no wife to you nor your nine 
 children neither.' And he took and hooked it, did That 
 There Brown."
 
 XVI 
 
 THE MOTOR 'BUS BEANO 
 
 ONE ques'n I'm a-going for to arsk," says Mosey 
 name of 'im bein' properly Charles, but called 
 Mosey by me an' 'is other pals along of a bend 'e 'ad in 
 the boko what made 'im look more like a reg'lar Petti- 
 coat Lane Sheeny than Alf Emanuel, what was 'is 
 bosom friend an' 'ad a uncle a Rabbi what was a Kosher 
 butcher in Shoreditch. "If we are a-going to ride in a 
 bloomin' motor 'bus instead of a double 'orse brake, on 
 the 'casion of our annual beano, wot excuse 'ave we for 
 stoppin' at the public 'ouses along the road as we go, to 
 give the pore 'osses a drink ! I'm a Conservative, I am, 
 an* I set my face against new-fangled ways, that's wot 
 I do." 
 
 'E shook 'is 'ead as solemn as a undertaker when I said 
 we'd drink for the 'osses an* ourselves too. It wos cheer 
 an' early, not more than seven, but 'is nose was fair afire, 
 an' Alf Emanuel pretended to light a fag at it an' tipped 
 the wink to me. Then the other blokes begins to roll 
 up with their bits o' frock, an' Alf's sister, Leah, came 
 bounce round the corner into the yard an' I clean forgot 
 everything but 'er directly I piped she was there. "Way 
 oh !" she says. "This is what I call a regular day for a 
 beano an* no error. Pity you left your eyes be'ind, 
 Cocky," she says to me, 'cos she sor as wot they was glued 
 to 'er, an* small wonder. Eyes like black billiard balls, 
 she 'ad, an' skin as white as them penny cream cheeses 
 with a. rose in the middle of each of 'em, an' enough 
 
 364
 
 The Motor 'Bus Beano 365 
 
 black 'air to stuff a bolster, with a wave in it an' natural 
 chasers on each side like what the other gals puts in 
 with 'ot pokers. She 'ad a whoppin' big red 'at with black 
 ostridge feathers an' a blue silk dress with lace on it, an' 
 yellow shoes an' pink silk openwork stockin's I 'ad a 
 glim of when she showed 'er ankles 'oistin' 'er frock out 
 of the mud, an' a gold chain an' ticker an' a dimond 
 brooch she'd borrowed out o' the safe where 'er dad 
 kept the pledges, to give 'em the benefit o' the sunshine 
 an' fresh air, she said. 
 
 Twenty- four yobs and their donahs we was o' that 
 party, every bloke pay in' for 'isself an' 'is gal. Four 
 married couples lumped in along o' the rest, an' all us 
 men 'ad straw 'ats wiv a special green an' yellow ribbin 
 so's to know each other by in case they got lost. The 
 dollar apiece inclooded grub. We was to 'ave dinner at 
 a place on Kew Green an' meat tea at another place 
 when we come out o' the Gardens. I call it good enough 
 if you don't. 
 
 Eight sizes larger than life was 'ow we felt when the 
 motor 'bus w'd 'ired for the day come snortin* an' clat- 
 terin' into the yard be'ind the Stratford Theayter, where 
 we was awaitin' as J appy as orphans expectin' a Christ- 
 mas tree. The driver, 'oo wouldn't stand bein' called a 
 "shuffer" not at no price, 'ad a gilt band on 'is cap, an' 
 the conductor was a 'andsome fair young man in a gray 
 suit o' second-'anders with a fancy waister an' a clean 
 collar an' a Reckitt's blue scragrag an' a brown bowler 
 like a toff, a' though 'e said at the start as wot 'e was a 
 married man, the gals rokkered it was only done to keep 
 'em from quarrellin' over 'is large eyes an' lovely com- 
 plexion an' 'is curly 'air. Perish me pink if I ever see'd 
 anything like 'im outside a waxworks, at the start, but 
 'e was only fit for the Chamber of 'Orrors by the time 
 we got 'ome. 'Is fatal beauty was wot upset the apple- 
 cart and sjwled the funeral.
 
 366 A Sailor's Home 
 
 I lay there was a squeeze an' a 'arf to git the best 
 places on the Vanguard what we'd 'ired. A Pavilion 
 Theayter crush on Boxin' night was well outside it. 
 " 'Old me close, I'm fainting," says Leah, and I didn't 
 want tellin' pre'aps! Likely! 
 
 We started with a row like twenty railway trucks full 
 of old iron thrown over on the line, an' it was plain to 
 see as what that "Vanguard" 'ad bin up in orspital for 
 repairs an' come out too soon. She sent out back-smoke 
 what fair choked the kids tryin' to 'ang on be'ind, an' 
 snorted an* grunted as if she felt 'erself above 'er job 
 an' was trying to say so. Every onst in a while some- 
 think in 'er inside would bank off, and the fust three or 
 four times it 'appened it emptied the show an' the 
 married wimmin let the driver 'ave it 'ot for scaring fe- 
 males with 'is machines. But 'e soothed 'em, and so did 
 the pretty conductor, tellin' 'em the engine 'ud go quieter 
 when she warmed to 'er work. Lumme ! she got wuss 
 instead of better. Perish me pink if I don't believe she 
 was the fust one ever invented, an' they'd stole 'er out 
 of a museum to take our gang to Kew. But after the 
 fust three stops for a 'arf pint all round, nobody tore 
 their feathers about 'er goings on. She frightened 'osses, 
 an' made coppers jump, an' drawed plenty of chyikin' 
 from the other yobs we come across. We'd got too busy 
 to mind 'er. 
 
 Up along Bow Road an' the Mile Road we went to 
 Cheapside, tearin' the bowels out o' the new wood-pavin' 
 whenever we put on the brake, an' singin' all the songs 
 we knowed an' most o' those wot we never 'card. Every 
 bloke 'ad a pipe or a fag, 'is bonce on the back o' 'is 'ead, 
 'is arm round the girl he liked best, an* 'is eyes full o f 
 dust an' grit. The 'ole world was out on wheels an* 
 singin' "A great big Girl like me," "She had an eye to 
 business," and "Buzz, buzz, blue blowfly." Down Pic- 
 cadilly was a jam, spite of its bein' October an' lots
 
 The Motor 'Bus Beano 367 
 
 o' the upper ten out of town, but our back-smoke kept 
 making a way. A Lord Mayor' Show crowd would 'ave 
 'ad to make room for us, or die. 
 
 ''' 'Er engines are crooil foul," Mosey kep* on bleatin'. 
 " 'Er feed-pipe is rusted through an' 'er oil tank is full o' 
 dead beetles and cetera. She 'asn't a nut that ain't 
 droppin' off or a screw thread that isn't wore, an' as for 
 'er carburetters they're fair rotters an' that's the truth." 
 
 Leah turned on 'im an' said 'e was a rotter 'isself to 
 spoil the day with 'is grumblin'. After that 'e shut up, 
 an' never opened 'is mouth till we got off at Kew, an' 
 after rushin' a bar an' drinkin' the till full an' the 'arf an' 
 'arf casks fair dry, we filed into Kew Gardens two by 
 two like the animals out o' Noah's Hark. The sky was 
 as blue as Leah's frock, an' the grass smooth an' green 
 till you fair perished to 'ave a roll on it, with chrysan- 
 tuerums an' chinarasters an' red-berried srubs growin* 
 everywhere, and a sweet smell o' dead leaves an* clean 
 earth, what give the old Vanguard points for sweetness, 
 you can lay. 
 
 "Ain't it lovely, though a little damp, bein' so late in 
 the year," says the married ladies, keepin' tight 'old o' 
 their 'usbands, for Kew is a place to stray an' get lost 
 in an' never find yourself till you want to, don't yer 
 pipe? 
 
 "A few roundabouts an' shows 'ud make this a perfect 
 paradise," says Leah, chuckin' a pork-pie paper an' some 
 orange peel into the middle of a flower-bed, "with fire- 
 works when it got dark." 
 
 I plucked up me dandy then, and arsked 'er if she'd 
 'ave me for Adam to her Eve, an' she landed me one on 
 the jaw that spoiled my chewin' for a week, 'cos I tried 
 to get a kiss orf of 'er mouth that was as red as sealin' 
 wax. 
 
 "Fair trade is wot I'm after," I says, with the water 
 runnin' out o' my eyes. "Wot I want is to take you for
 
 368 A Sailor's Home 
 
 better or worse," an' perish me pink! if she didn't hitch 
 up 'er lower lip an' say she was surprised at my impu- 
 dence, an' wanted to know wot encouragement she'd ever 
 give me, what was goin' to stand up under the canopy 
 wiv 'er father's foreman, Barney Solomon, in a fortnight 
 from that day. 
 
 After that we did the gardens, pourin' into tropical 
 'ouses full of horkids, an' temperate 'ouses full o' ferns 
 an' Chrisanthums, an' intemperate 'ouses full o' nothing 
 to speak o', but the 'ole show run orf me like rain down 
 a 'carding. All I wanted was to git into me own pocket 
 an' 'ide, 'cos I'd bin made such a blushin' fool of, an' 
 then the thought o' the dollar I'd paid for Leah an' the 
 drinks I'd stood 'er got into my blood an' made me 
 barmy. When we come pourin' out o' the Gardens an' 
 raged into the place where we was to 'ave our blow-out, 
 I couldn't do no proper justice to the biled beef with 
 carrots an' dumplin's, nor the raspberry jam roll. My 
 throat pipe seemed too narrer for anythink but beer, and 
 then more beer an' gin, an' stout, an' nips o' Scotch, but 
 beer particularly. I played the goat an' found myself 
 singin' songs. Once they 'ad to 'aul me down from the 
 table, which I'd got on to make a speech. An' twice 
 they took me outside an' sat on me, but I come back 
 fresh an' more fresh. Leah pretended to think I was 
 'appy, but she knoo better, an' eight or nine other wim- 
 min was as fly as she was. "There's more fish in the 
 sea," they kep' a sayin', an' also as what marriage was 
 a lottery, but Emma Barker, what was a red-'aired cat 
 with green eyes an' one shoulder 'igher than the other, 
 she kep' close beside me an' 'eld my 'and whenever she 
 could. An' she kep' a whisperin' to me as how Leah 
 was a painted bit o' rubbish what I was well out of 
 takin' up wiv, an' as wot Barney Solomon 'ud be sorry 
 for 'isself before 'e'd bin married to 'er for a week, an' 
 she sang "Lay your 'ead on my shoulder, dear, an' sob
 
 The Motor 'Bus Beano 369 
 
 your grief away," till I did, an' it was a precious bony 
 one, too. 'Strewth! 
 
 Then we went on some motor-car roundabouts wot 
 they 'ad on the green, me an' Emma side by side, an* I 
 come off, an' they 'ad to stop the machinery to get at 
 me, an* I 'ad a bit of a mill with the chap what fetched 
 me out. My lip got split some'ow, an' the bloke what 
 'ad 'eld my coat made orf wiv it, an' my front teeth 
 being loose I didn't make much play at the cold-meat tea, 
 but Emma stuck to me like wax and put away grub 
 enough for the two. Alf Emanuel came an' arsked me 
 wot I meant by bein' rude to 'is sister Leah, an' when 
 I let 'im know wot I thought of 'er there was another 
 mill, me showin' science an' never gettin' home, sweet 
 home, an' Alf playin' dab, but touchin' the spot till the 
 bell rang every time, though 'e knoo no more about 
 fightin' than a passover kid. 
 
 An' it got dark an' the stars shone, an* we piled into 
 the old Vanguard to come 'ome to Stratford by moon- 
 light. The driver was cryin' drunk, an' the waxworks 
 conductor sat inside with one arm round Leah and the 
 other round another gal, an' owned that 'e was a bache- 
 lor after all. Emma 'eld my 'and tight, that is, till the 
 engine broke down, an* the driver tried to look inside 
 the petrol tank with a lighted match an' dropped it in. 
 Then we came of of 'er an' out in a 'urry, and there 
 was nothin' to do after that but stand about an' see the 
 bonfire, for she blazed till the telephone wires crossin' 
 'Ammersmith Broadway began to melt, an' though three 
 fire engines played on 'er at once, they couldn't git the 
 fire under till there wasn't as much left of the pore old 
 Vanguard as 'ud 'ave made a cookin' range or a perambu- 
 lator. Then come the cream o' the holiday, which was 
 walkin' 'ome to Stratford without a coat in a drizzle o' 
 rain what come on to make things pleasanter, an' Emma 
 'anging to my arm, as 'eavy as a sack o' coals. "Re-
 
 370 A Sailor's Home 
 
 member, you've arsked me to 'ave you, George, an' I'm 
 goin' to put the banns up," she says when I landed 'er 
 at 'er mother's. It cost me eighteen an' six an' a new 
 'at to git another gal what works at my shop Luce 
 Rainey 'er name was to go round to Emma's mother's 
 an' say as wot I was already promised in marriage to 'er, 
 an' then the donah wanted to stick to me after me payin' 
 'er to get me out of Emma's clutches. 
 
 I've never bin for a beano in a motor 'bus since then. 
 But now I've 'card as wot Barney 'ud give anything not 
 to be married to Leah, an' as wot Leah 'ud fair kiss the 
 boots of any bloke wot 'ud take Barney in for a swim 
 an' sink 'im, Fme gettin' more reconciled. See?
 
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