UNIVERSIT Y OF CA BIVEIIblLiL LIHHAIi ^.O ;::>AJLi n ALMONDS Ijli • illiliiml! feimiiiiimn LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA KlVERSiDE SALTED ALMONDS This Edition is intended for circulation only in India and the British Colonies flDacmiUaiVe Colonial Xibrar^ SALTED ALMONDS BY F. ANSTEY , ("i ^Cui 7 AUTHOR OF "VICE VERSA," "THE BRASS BOTTLE' ETC. ETC. LONDON MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED No. 515 1906 [All rights reserved] Printed by Bai.i.antynk, Hanson &♦ Co. At ilie IjuUantyiie Press PREFACE I TAKE this opportunity of explaining that the title of these collected stories and sketches has not been chosen merely because it is that of the first in the list of contents — although if that were the only reason I might claim many dis- tinguished precedents in justification — but also because it seemed appropriate to the collection generally. For the contents of this volume resemble salted almonds in that they are not provided as articles of nourishment, but rather to beguile the intervals between the courses of a substantial banquet. And, like salted almonds too, they should be indulged in with a certain discretion, since, if more than, let us say, two or three are taken at a time, they are extremely apt to prove indigestible. But 1 am quite aware that even the choice of so unambitious a title as this is not without its vi PREFACE danger. It affords an obvious opening to the caustic critic for a complaint that the description implies a flavour which, after conscientiously tasting the samples before him, he has entirely failed to detect. However, we must take our risks, and so I have decided to face this, trusting that to less fastidious palates these particular almonds may not seem altogether insipid. F. ANSTEY. February 1906. CONTENTS Salted Almonds ; or, Playing the Game At a Moment's Notice . "As THE Twig is Bent . . ." &c. Caveat Emptor ! . . . Lunch among the Ruins Why I have given up writing Novels Going Round the Caves Mrs. Brassington-Claypott's Children's Party A Business Meeting of the Society of Pen- guins • The Gull . The Game of Adverbs A Bohemian Bag The Magic H's . After Rehearsal The Lights of Spencer Primmett's Eyes A "First Night" Supper The Adventure of the Snowing Globe I 12 67 76 86 97 116 125 138 147 190 209 217 244 254 271 281 SALTED ALMONDS OR, PLAYING THE GAME Scene I. — At the Dinner-table. Situation — Mr. Plumley Duff, a middle-aged bachelor with a well-earned reputation for social tact and fluency combined luith extreme polish, has been sent in to dinner with Miss IMOGEN PUREFOY, an obvious ingenue. Her youthful charm, hotvever, has induced him to overlook any intellectual iftferiority, and, even on the stairs, he has so far unbent as to impart some highly valuable information concerning the state of the weather for the last few days, besides confiding the intelligence that the Par- liamentary Session is responsible for many more people being in Town than usual. Miss PUREFOY has received these utterances tvith a reverential assent which only confirms him in an impression originally favourable. Miss PurefOY {after declining fish — to Mr. P. D.). Aren't those salted almonds over there ? 4 SALTED ALMONDS bloom" coloured satin. Now, I don't suppose / pay [^He discourses here at some length on the precise sum per annum his evening clothes cost him, while Miss PUREFOY listens ivitJi rapt attention. Miss P. Really ! How interesting ! And I suppose there were all sorts of other expensive things they had to wear, besides ? Mr. D. (^pleased with her intelligence^. Why, if you merely take such indispensable items as a silver-hilted sword, a lace cravat, a snuff-box, shoe-buckles, and so forth, they would represent a serious outlay. Not to speak of Wigs, which frequently cost as much as thirty or forty guineas. Miss P. {as she absently pushes one of her salted almonds over the edge of the brocade " table- centre "). Not really ? How glad you must be that you can keep your money to spend on more sensible things ! Motor-cars, perhaps ? For I'm sure you go in for motoring ? Mr. D, {flattered, but a little disconcerted by this abmpt change of subject, as he was about to give her an instructive catalogue of the various wigs that characterised the eighteenth century). I SALTED ALMONDS 5 confess I do not. Quite apart from all ques- tions of a pecuniary nature, I should decline to give any countenance to a form of convey- ance which, in my opinion, will soon render the horse as extinct an animal as the — er — dodo. Miss P. Ah, the poor horse ! But perhaps he won't mind being extinct so very much ! I mean, I've often thought it rather unfair that Jie should be chosen to draw us about, and not some other animal. Mr. D. {delighted by her ingenuousness). Nature has her injustices, I am afraid. Possibly her excuse in this case would be that no other quadruped is so well adapted for the — er — particular purpose. But you are mistaken in assuming that the horse alone has been so employed. Miss P. Why, of course ! How idiotic of me ! I was forgetting the Donkey I Mr. D. Also the Dog, the Bullock, the Rein- deer, and — for heavy artillery, if for no other vehicle — the Indian Elephant. Miss P. {ivith sparklitig eyes). You make me feel so ignorant 1 Though of course I might have remembered thou. But I can't think of 6 SALTED ALMONDS any other animal that is used in that way. And I don't beheve that even j^z^ can, either ! Mr. D. {in quiet triunipli). I think I can. Unless I am greatly misinformed, Zebras have been successfully trained to go in harness. Miss P. Zebras ! Isn't it wonderful ! {She deposits a second almond by the side of the first.) Is there anything you don't know, Mr. Duff ? Mr. D. I dare say I could tell you a few further facts about Zebras which may be new to you. Miss P. They're quite certain to be. You see, I've never learnt atiy facts. I've been so shockingly educated. Like all women ! Mr. D. [bowing with the courtly grace that he has found effective on former occasions). No woman can be badly educated when she has learnt to render herself an agreeable companion to Man. Miss P. {pouti?ig). Ah, I see what it is ! You despise women. {As Mr. Y)\}¥¥ protests gallantly.) Oh yes, you do ! You don't believe they can do anything as well as men can. You would prevent them even trying to — if you only could ! Mr. D. I would prefer to put it in this form. SALTED ALMONDS 7 While I allow that your — er — charming sex is capable of attaining a certain proficiency — I will go even further, and say, excellence — in the Arts, I frankly own that I have far too high an admir- ation for Woman to endure to see her unsex herself by stepping into the arena to engage with Man in the sterner conflicts of what I may describe as the serious Business of Life. Miss P. But don't women make rather good clerks ? Mr. D. I will grant you that the superior suppleness of the feminine hand — {zv it h a glance at Miss Purefoy's, which is idly fingering a third almond) — may give a woman some small advantage in manipulating purely mechanical instruments like — well — Typewriters — but, Great Heavens ! is such slavery as that a fitting career for — {He enlarges on this theme with real eloquence, until he is brought up short by the discovery that her mind is elsewhere, and that she is frivolously attracting the notice of somebody tvhom he cannot see across the table to three salted almonds, with which she has amused herself by placing side by side). I fear I have failed to retain your entire attention ! Miss P. How can you think so ! Why, I've 8 SALTED ALMONDS been most awfully interested ! You don't know how much you have helped me ! You've said exactly what I wished you to say ! But you must tell me the rest another time. Because, do you know, your other neighbour has been trying to get a word from you for ever so long — so I'm afraid I must be unselfish and give you up to her. \She turns to the man on her right y who monopolises her during the remaining courses. Mr. D. {later, seizing his chance just before their hostess gives the signal). I observe, Miss Purefoy, that, notwithstanding your — er — professed adoration for salted almonds, you are leaving the few you took absolutely un- touched. Miss P. You are too frightfully observant, Mr. Duff ! I see I had better confess at once that I didn't take them to eat — only to play with. Mr. D. [to himself, as the ladies rise). Rather an attractive child — but immature at present. A mind that merely requires forming, though. SALTED ALMONDS 9 Scene H. — In the Drawing-room. Situation — The men have come upstairs; Mr. Plumley Duff, who was hoping for a further opportunity of sounding the depths of Miss Purefoy'S engaging ignorance, finds himself intei'cepted by his hostess, and pre- sented to another young lady — a Miss Peggy Blount. Mr. Duff [with heroic affability). The — er — gaieties of the Season are beginning early this year. I dare say you are already up to your eyes, Miss — er — Blount, in what one may per- haps be permitted to term the Social Whirlpool — dances, dinners, and so forth — h'm ? Miss Blount. Oh, I don't know. Not any dances, so far. Another dinner-party though, only next week — {with a little grimace) — worse luck ! Don't tell anybody — but I simply loathe dinners ! Mr. D. At your age, my dear young lady, one has not yet commenced to dine. But I infer from your tone that you have not been entirely fortunate in your partner this evening. Or am I mistaken ? Miss B. Well, he might have been worse. I lo SALTED ALMONDS wish he had been. Then I should have had a chance of winning. Mr. D. a chance of ? Pardon me, but I don't quite understand. Miss B. How could you, when you don't know ! But I'll tell you, if you'll promise faithfully not to give me away. (Mr. Duff promises^ Well, a girl-friend and I have in- vented a game for getting through dull dinner- parties without being bored. We each try to get the man who takes us in to mention certain things, and the one who does it first wins. Now do you see ? Mr. D. {amused). Perfectly. And I must congratulate you on a most ingenious device for avoiding boredom. Miss B. hrit it ? But this evening Miss Purefoy (my friend's name, you know) won in a perfect canter. By two salted almonds ! Mr. D. By two ? Miss B. We use them to score with, you know. That is, when there are any. There generally are — but bread pills will do instead. And, as soon as each of the three things is mentioned, one of us puts an almond where it can catch the other's eye. SALTED ALMONDS ii Mr. D. And is it allowable to ask what those three things were, on this particular occasion ? Miss B. Let me see. The first was "Wigs," the second "Zebras," and — what was the third ? Oh, /know, "Typewriters." And just imagine ! Miss Purefoy managed to make her partner mention all three before dinner was half over. It's a record ! Mr. D. {acidly). Miss Purefoy must be a young lady of quite exceptional ability. Miss B. She did awfully well at Newnham in the History Tripos. Still, I expect whoever took her in this evening must have been — well, rather a duffer. I couldn't see who it was, because of the flowers between us. I wonder \{ you noticed, and could point him out to me ? Mr. D. {stiffly). I'm afraid it is not in my power to oblige you. \He takes his leave as soon as he can, without making any further attejnpts to stimulate the intelligence of Miss Imogen Purefoy. AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE I Nothing could have been more unexpected. If any fellow had met me as I was leaving my rooms, and told me what sort of day I was in for, my reply to him would have been " Liar ! " But he'd have been right all the same. I was due to lunch with Monty Blundell at his Club, and started to walk, but when I got into Piccadilly I found I was beastly late. It's funny, but, though I haven't anything in par- ticular to do, I generally am beastly late for most things. So of course I had to call a hansom. It struck me, as I told the Johnny across the roof to drive like the very deuce to the Junior Beaufort Club, that he was a trifle glassy in the eye and white about the gills, and he was driving a chestnut that seemed to have got a bit out of hand. But AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 13 I was in a hurry, and we were off at a canter before I had time to do more than tumble in anyhow and hope for the best. The canter quickened up into a gallop very soon, and, at the top of St. James's Street, the gallop be- came an unmistakable bolt. I saw the cabbies on the stand running to their horses' nose- bags, and everybody skipping out of our road, and I sat as tight as I knew and prepared for trouble. The gate of St. James's Palace was open, and I rather expected to find myself put down there, where of course they weren't expecting me — but the cabman managed to slew round somehow into Pall Mall. There was a piano-organ just ahead with a monkey on top, and I made sure we should bowl over the entire show in another second. But there had been some rain, and the going was greasy, so, just before we overtook it, there was a slither, a tremendous crash, followed by fire- works * * * * and the next thing I knew I was standing looking on from a distance, feeling rather muzzy, but otherwise quite all right. The usual crowd had sprung up, as if through star-traps in the road. They got the chestnut 14 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE on his legs, looking as if he was beginning to suspect he had made a fool of himself ; the driver, too, appeared to be none the worse, and was being questioned by a constable, who did not seem to show him all the sympathy he expected. I was rather puzzled, though, when I saw them lifting a young fellow up and carrying him off to the nearest chemist's. He was evi- dently the fare, and, up to then, I had been under the impression that it was my accident. I saw now it couldn't have been, since there I was, looking on. But, from a glimpse I caught of him in passing, I had an idea I'd met him somewhere or other, and I wondered whether I oughtn't to go and see if there was anything I could do for him. I knew the chemist very well, having often looked in there for a pick-me-up. Still, if I did, I should be later than ever for that appointment — whatever it was, for I couldn't recollect it for the moment. Besides, now I came to think, I couldn't really have recognised him, he was much too muddy ; it was only his overcoat, which happened to be of much the same pattern as the one I had AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 15 on. I glanced at my coat-sleeve to make sure of this — and then I made a perfectly fearful discovery. It wasn't so much that I wasn't wearing any overcoat, because it was a mild spring morning, and I'd hesitated for some time whether I hadn't better leave it at home. It was the suit I was in. I take a lot of pains over choosing my clothes, and I think I'm entitled to call myself a well-turned-out man. So it was a most awful shock to find that I had come out — in Pall Mall too — in a lounge suit of red and blue plaid, with black braid round the cuffs ! I couldn't think what had induced me to order such things — or, for that matter, my tailor to make them. / should have ex- pected he'd sooner have died. While I was wondering, a tambourine was suddenly shoved under my nose. I never encourage street music at any time, and I was certainly not in the humour for it just then, so I pushed the tambourine away — not over civilly, I dare say — and it fell into the gutter. On this the person with the tambourine caught me a downright nasty clip on the side of my head. I was just hesitating whether to call a con- i6 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE stable and give the bounder in charge, or risk a row by knocking him down — he seemed rather below my height — when I happened to notice what queer gloves I'd got on instead of my ordinary white buckskins. I do occasionally wear grey reindeer — but these were so beastly hairy. Feeling more upset than ever, I put my hand to my head, and found I was wearing, very much on one side, a small round cap fastened under the chin by elastic. This I took off and examined closely ; it had no hatter's name printed inside, and seemed to be of some regi- mental pattern, perhaps the latest War Office improvement. Now, except that I did once join a Volunteer corps for a short time (and might have stuck it, if they'd only let me take my poodle into camp with me), I never was what you might call a military man, and even if I had been I shouldn't parade Pall Mall in an undress cavalry cap. It was so utterly unlike me 1 And then I suddenly remembered my engage- ment — and the thought of it made me feel prickly all over. I was lunching with Monty Blundell at the AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 17 Junior Beaufort Club, where he had promised to put me up for election — and I'd actually, for some reason or other which was beyond me, proposed to go there like this ! For all I knew, Monty might have asked some influential fellows on the Committee to meet me — and what on earth would they think of a candidate who was capable of turning up on such an occasion in dittoes of some beastly loud tartan ? I should be pilled to a dead certainty ! It wasn't fair on old Monty either, who's even more particular, if possible, about clothes than I am. Altogether the best thing to do was to slip quietly back to my rooms while I could, and pretend afterwards that the engagement had slipped my memory. I'd have done it, too — but unfortunately it was just too late. I'd been moving slowly along Pall Mall all this while without noticing, and when I looked up, there was I, right under the Club windows, and there was Monty, evi- dently on the look-out for me ! I caught his eye, and I thought I saw him nod cheerily in return. After all, if he didn't see anything to object to in my get-up, why should I? So long as a fellow looks a gentleman and all that. i8 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE he can carry off the rummest sort of clothes. I'd forgotten that for the moment. Anyhow, I couldn't get out of it now. So I waved to him in an airy kind of manner, as much as to say : " Got here at last, my dear old chap. Awfully sorry I'm so late. Explain everything when I get in." Though how the deuce I was going to explain, I'd no idea. And I admit I rather funked passing the hall-porter and the page-boys — not to mention the Club waiters in their black velvet knee-breeches and silk stockings. However, Blundell didn't answer my signal ; he simply stared at me as if he'd never seen me before in all his life, and then turned away. There couldn't be a neater cut. And really, now I come to think of it, I couldn't blame him. It is enough to put the best-tempered chap off when he asks a fellow to lunch at his Club (and an exclusive Club too, mind you — not a pot-house !) and a fellow actually drives up to the door on top of a piano-organ ! For that was where I luas — though somehow I hadn't given it a thought before. That ex- plained why I felt taller than usual, and — just here my conveyance gave a lurch, and, as I AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 19 steadied myself, I caught a glimpse between my legs of something long and greyish and hairy, like a lady's boa which had seen better days — and it flashed upon me suddenly that there could be only one explanation of my situation. . . . I dare say I ought to have realised it long before, but when a fellow has just been shot out of a hansom like a clay pigeon out of a trap, it's generally some time before he's able to make out exactly where he is. Now I understood. That young fellow I had seen being carried off to the chemist's round the corner was myself after all. But he was far beyond the aid of any pick-me-up. The vital principle, or intelligence, or whatever you choose to call it, which had inhabited the body of Reginald Ballimore, had already quitted it, and was now occupying this little beast of a monkey. Perhaps there was nowhere else for it to go to just then — and I remember noticing at the time that the monkey's mouth was ajar — perhaps it was even betting on the cab-horse. I don't know, and I must leave it to the scientific Johnnies to explain exactly how it happened. It had happened — and that was enough for me. 20 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE And really, you know, to come in at one end of Pall Mall in a hansom cab as a well- groomed young bachelor, and to come out at the other as a shockingly-dressed monkey on a piano-organ, is one of those blows which would knock most men out of their stride, for a time at all events. II As I said before, it must naturally be a nasty jar for any fellow to find himself suddenly reduced, through no fault of his own, to the position of a monkey on a piano-organ. And I don't mind admitting that, for a moment or two, I was what you might call in the cart. After that, oddly enough, I began to see that in some ways it was almost a relief. For one thing, I didn't feel nearly such a fool. You see, for a man who prides himself on dressing correctly, it's impossible to feel at ease in Pall Mall with nothing on but a plaid tunic fastened up the back with mother-o'-pearl buttons, and a frill round the neck. But, for a monkey, it's quite correct kit — if it isn't actually classy. And I hadn't got to lunch at AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 21 the Junior Beaufort in it either, which was a let-off. Another thing : without being what you would call extravagant, I never have been able to live within my income. Consequently my affairs had got into a regular beastly mess. I was simply up to my neck in money worries of all kinds. Well, I was out of them all now. No- body would dream of serving me with a writ. Again, I'd every reason to suppose that the Reggie Ballimore of old must have pegged out — or else I shouldn't be where I was. But I was alive at all events — and that's something. Isn't there a proverb about a live monkey being better than a dead policeman ? So altogether I bucked up sooner than might have been expected. I didn't attempt to leave the organ. To tell you the truth, it wouldn't have been any good, as I was attached to the confounded instrument by a stoutish cord and a leather belt round my waist. Nor yet, though, as we passed down Pall Mall, I met several men I knew, did I hail them and explain the fix I was in. What was the use ? The right words wouldn't come : 1 didn't under- stand what I said myself, so how could 1 expect 22 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE any one else to ? Besides, I'd a sort of feeling that it wouldn't be quite Cricket. I know / shouldn't have cared to be appealed to as an old pal by a monkey on an organ. No, since that was what I had come down to, it seemed to me that the manly thing to do was to grin and bear it — to play the monkey, in short, for all it was worth. People were always telling me I ought to make a fresh start, and do some- thing for my living. Now perhaps they would be satisfied ! There was just one thing, though, that caused me a pang when I remembered it. This change in my mode of life would prevent me from dining at my Aunt Selina's that evening. She didn't often ask me, and when she did I seldom went — for her parties are, as a rule, devilish dull. But somehow I had been rather looking forward to this particular dinner. My cousin Phyllis would be there now — which made all the differ- ence. She only came out last year, and, so I understand, with considerable success. I know 1 saw her described as "the lovely Miss Adeane " in the Society journals, and as being present at every smart party of the season. I only met her very occasionally, but she seemed to me no end AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 23 improved since I remembered her in a pigtail — in fact, she'd grown into an absolute ripper — though perhaps a little bit above herself, inclined to be airified, if you know what I mean. She hadn't taken much notice of me, so far — seemed indeed to consider I had become rather a piffler. But I'd been hoping that I might sit next to her, perhaps even take her in to dinner that evening. Then I could let her see that there was a more serious side to my character than I chose to show the world. Of course, all that was out of the question now. No matter ! I might have been a failure as a man — but, hang it all ! with my education and intelligence, any monkey ought to have a fine career before it ! Pall Mall — as the couple of idiots with my piano-organ might have known — is a most unsuitable place for a street perform- ance, but, as soon as we were permitted to halt without being moved on, I was determined to show the public that I was a cut above the ordinary professional. I should have preferred Trafalgar Square as a pitch, but my two ruffians took me up a small lane near the National Gallery and across Coventry Street into Soho, and I didn't get a 24 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE chance of displaying my abilities till we stopped in a slum off Wardour Street. My idea was to surprise the audience by giving them a cake-walk, in which I hoped to make some sensation. But it didn't come off, some- how. It wasn't nervousness exactly — that would have been ridiculous when they were all so young. I fancy the cord hampered me, and my tail kept getting in the way, too — and then the tunes I was expected to dance to ! I've noticed that a monkey generally has rather poor luck in the music he's sent out with, and I'll defy any one to cake-walk to ^^ Jerusalem" or ^^ Killarney" and put any kind of " go " into it. So I gave it up, and just jumped about any- how, accompanying myself on the tambourine. But the bally tambourine had two of the jingling thingummies missing and ivouldnt keep time. I don't believe I got much more music out of it than an ordinary monkey would have, I really don't. However, my chance came presently. One of the organ Johnnies handed me up a little wooden musket. " What-oh ! " I said to myself. " Now I'll open their eyes!" For of course you can't be in a Volunteer corps, even for a short time. AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 25 without knowing more about the manual exercise than your average monkey. I had got rustier in the drill than I thought, and besides it was a rotten little rifle to handle when you're so long in the arms, and haven't learnt to control them completely. Still, it was a fairly creditable performance, and improved with practice, though quite thrown away on such audiences as I had. Not that 1 was a failure — don't imagine that for a moment. I should think I took at least thirteen halfpence in the first ten minutes — more than I had ever earned before in all my life ! But it went rather against the grain to take the money — especially from some poor little beggar who obviously belonged to quite the lower orders. I should like to have said, " Don't you be a young ass — run away and spend your halfpenny on sweets instead of squandering it on these lazy bounders ! " But whenever I did reject a copper I got a tug at the belt that nearly cut me in two. I should say we gave a matinee that afternoon in every street in Soho. I was getting quite knocked up, for I had had no lunch. At least I don't call half a cracknel biscuit and the 26 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE over-ripe end of a banana " lunch " myself. Monty would have done me to rights at the Junior Beaufort. We stopped at last outside a small public just off Oxford Street, and my men went inside for refreshment. They might have thought of sending me out a whisky-and-soda — but not they! So I sat on the top of the piano in the sunshine, keeping a wary eye on my tail, which some of the little brutes of children thought it funny to pull. When we moved off again in the direction of the Marble Arch, I felt more cheerful. Thank Heaven ! we had got back into a civilised region again. There would be people there capable of appreciating real talent when they saw it. Suppose — only suppose — some music - hall manager happened to be in the crowd and offered me an engagement ? Why not ? I ought to be able to wear evening" clothes, order a little dinner, and smoke a cigar on the stage better than a common Chimpanzee who'd never done the real thing in any kind of society ! Great Scot ! I might be earning my hundred quid a week before long — which I should never have done as Reggie Ballimore. And I'd always AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 27 had a hankering after the stage, and should have gone on it long before, if it didn't cut into one's evenings so. I was still indulging these golden dreams when I was brought up with a round turn. . . . There was a victoria standing outside a glove and fan shop we were coming to, and on the box I recognised Tumbridge, my aunt's coachman. And in the carriage, as I saw when our respec- tive vehicles were alongside, sat my cousin Phyllis, looking simply ripping ! Upon my word, I didn't quite know wJiat to do. I knew she must have seen me, for she smiled in that perfectly fetching way she has. My hand flew to my hat instinctively, but the infernal elastic made it fly back and catch me on the ear. Then, recollecting myself, I gave what I am afraid was a rather sketchy rendering of a military salute, and at that same instant my aunt came out of the fan and glove shop, followed by an assistant with parcels. I felt most beastly awkward — I all but lost my head — and wished more than ever that the frill round my neck had been a trifle cleaner. But something had to be done, and, as luck would have it, I was still carrying the little 28 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE wooden musket. So, as my aunt was about to step into the carriage, I presented arms. It was a jolly decent " present," too — though I say it myself ! Ill " O Mums ! " cried my cousin Phyllis, with that impulsive enthusiasm of hers which some people — not myself — say is all put on, "do look at this sweet little monkey on the organ ! Isnt he deevie ? " "Deevie" is, I believe, short for "divine" with certain sets. I wouldn't mind betting that Phyllis had never applied such a term to me before. My aunt didn't seem impressed by my deevi- ness just then. She examined me through a pair of long-handled glasses, which always had the effect of making me feel rather a worm. On this occasion I dropped feebly on all fours. "Since you ask me, Phyllis," said my aunt, " I think he's a frightful little object ! " Which was my poor dear aunt all over — never could make the slightest allowances for me ! "/ call him perfectly twee !" persisted Phyllis. AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 29 (I don't know what " twee " stands for exactly — but something deuced comphmentary.) " Only see how prettily he's scratching his ducky little ear." (This was a bad habit I had been trying all the afternoon to correct). " He's quite too trotty for words. I wonder if those two nice men would part with him ? " " My dear Phyllis ! " exclaimed my aunt, step- ping into the victoria. " Are you quite mad ? Home, Charles." "No, wait, Charles," said Phyllis, as he was about to touch his hat and mount the box by Tumbridge's side. " Darling Mums, I'm quite serious — I am, really. And you know we've no pet ever since poor Cockie died." {Cockle was a white cockatoo, and I could understand from what I remembered of him that they would be glad of a little peace.) " I nmst just see if they will sell him." Even as a child Phyllis generally got her own way. Now she had come out, everybody — my aunt included — knocked under to her at once if she was at all keen on anything. It saved time. Phyllis opened negotiations at once. Fortu- nately she had no difiiculty in making herself 30 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE understood, as the two sportsmen who ran my show happened to be British artisans of sorts who, being presumably thrown out of employ- ment by foreign competition, had adopted this means of Retaliation. But as a crowd had already collected, a con- stable promptly appeared, and, with a civility paid rather to my aunt's conveyance than my own, requested us to move on and not obstruct the traffic. Aunt Selina would have driven off and left me to my fate, but Phyllis wouldn't hear of it, so the disgusted Tumbridge had to turn up a small and unfrequented street close by, fol- lowed by me and the piano-organ, and the crowd, which by this time was taking a deep interest in my future. Phyllis is a most awfully charming girl, but a poor hand at monkey - buying — much too eager. Even those two utter outsiders spotted at once that she had set her heart on getting me, and piled it on accordingly. I'd no idea before how fond they were of me — it appeared I was the sunbeam of their cheerless homes, the darling of Joe's missus, the playfellow of Bill's offspring. AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 31 "Really, Phyllis," said my downy aunt, "I think it would be too cruel to deprive the poor men of such a pet." I knew the idiots would muff it ! and, in my despair, I hit my tambourine a vicious bang. "Yer see, lydy," explained Bill, "my kids and his missus 'd be on'y too thankful to 'ear as poor Jocko 'ad found a good 'ome where he'd be took proper care on. For, I tell yer strife, we can't feed 'im not like the likes of 'im had orter be fed, bein' so dellikit." "My mate means a de\\'\kit feeder," put in Joe hastily, "and, bein' outer work, we can't git him luxuries and rehshes like we did in 'appier times." It's my belief that precious pair of humbugs had never seen me till that morning, when they had probably hired me for the day with the organ in Leather Lane or Saffron Hill. All this took time, and I could see that Aunt Selina was getting a bit restive ; even Phyllis seemed to find the publicity and notice she was attrac- ting rather more than she had bargained for. It isn't every day a London crowd has the excitement of seeing a sumptuously -attired young person in a victoria trying to buy a 32 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE monkey at a fancy figure off an organ, so she was immensely popular. Several of her admirers urged my proprietors to " let the young lydy 'ave the monkey cheap as she'd took sech a fancy for it," though there were one or two soured sociahsts who cried " Shame ! " on the idle aristocracy which was trying to deprive two poor hard-working men of their only bread-winner. As for me, I was powerless. I could only sit and look on from the top of my pedestal like some classical Johnny in a melodrama being put up to auction as a Greek slave. Except that whenever I thought Phyllis was beginning to weaken, I tried to revive her enthusiasm by rattling the tambourine. Perhaps that just turned the scale. Anyhow, she got me at last. What she actually paid for me I don't know — but I've no doubt it was a long way above the market value for a monkey, of whatever breed I belonged to. To be sure, I had talents and intelligence denied to any monkey — but then neither of the parties suspected that as yet. There wasn't enough in the purse which Phyllis took out of her dainty wrist-bag to AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 33 make up the purchase - money. She was obhged to borrow from my aunt, and even from the blushing Charles, before my ransom was finally paid in full. My aunt declined to have me on the little strapontin seat in front. As a matter of fact I had been there before, more than once — and a jolly uncomfortable perch it was, too. Still, I'm bound to say I didn't altogether blame her just then. So, when we drove off amidst loud cheers, which I do not think were intended altogether in chaff, I was on the box, sitting bodkin between Charles and Tumhridge, who were distinctly shirty at having to drive home through the Park with such a companion. At least so I gathered from the subdued remarks they exchanged above my inoffen- sive head. Till then I had always thought Tumbridge and Charles such respectable men ! Much I cared for their opinions ! I had got a rise in the world already, and in a quarter I little expected. I wonder what they would have said if they had known who the quiet, unassuming-looking monkey that was sharing 34 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE the box-seat with them really was, or guessed that if I blinked my eyes it was merely because I was dazzled by the brilliancy of the future that seemed within my grasp. Naturally they couldn't know all that — and perhaps it was just as well they didn't. IV As we bowled swiftly along past Hyde Park Corner, Albert Gate, and the Cavalry Barracks, my brain was working busily on the problem of how to carry out my idea of going on the Variety Stage and knocking spots out of the ignorant apes which were being palmed off on a credulous Public as *' educated." Now I really was educated, having been at a well-known Public School — at tzvo of them, for that matter ! And if an ordinary baboon can earn the screw of a Cabinet Minister or a Judge by simply appearing on the stage for a few minutes, and giving a clumsy imitation of some outsider's notion of a man-about-town, what mightn't / expect ? Without being a positive Paderewski, I could pick out several tunes by ear on the piano ; I AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 35 could play billiards, and bridge, too — I won't say well, but marvellously for a monkey ! The only rock ahead I saw was Phyllis. She mightn't like the notion of any monkey of hers performing nightly at the Palace or the Empire. She might consider it would deprive her of most of the advantage of my society. I de- cided not to spring the idea on her all at once, but accustom her to it by degrees. First of all, she would naturally notice a sort of distinction about me ; she would realise that I possessed a tact and savoir /aire, an ease of manner which no piano -organ can impart. Then, when she had learnt to respect me, I could reveal my accomplishments gradually, one by one, and she would have to admit that such talents as mine ought not to be wasted in obscurity — they belonged not to her, but to the whole World ! It was a bit of a bunker that, as yet, I could not talk intelligibly — but I was sure to hit upon some method of conveying my ideas before long — and then I could inform Phyllis that I had quite made up my mind to go on the stage. She was too sensible to stand in my way — 36 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE especially if I offered her a commission on my salary — say ten per cent,, which, even if I was making no more than two hundred a week, would be a welcome addition to her pocket- money. Should I ever reveal to her the secret of my identity ? It would be a temptation some day to let her know that the brilliant and wealthy monkey who was the darling of Society and the idol of the Public had once been her rather shiftless and unsatisfactory cousin Reginald. Still, perhaps it was better she should never suspect the truth. It would put the family in a deuced awkward position. No, Reggie Balli- more was better dead. I would use his dead self, as some poet-Johnny (Milton, isn't it ? or Shakespeare?) puts it, "as a stepladder to something higher." By the time I had come to this decision, the carriage stopped at my aunt's house in Cadogan Gardens — and 1 shall never forget Macrow the butler's face as Charles handed me to him by the scruff of my neck. '' It is Miss Phyllis's monkey, Macrow," ex- plained my aunt, with an anxiety to disown all responsibility for me that was not flattering. AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 37 "And, Phyllis, dearest, if you insist on having it in the drawing-room, hadn't you better ?" I failed to catch the rest, but Phyllis replied, " Well, perhaps it might be as well. Macrow, will you take him to Friswell, please, and ask her to — to wash him for me and send him into the drawing-room ? " Friswell, I fancy, was not altogether chummy with Macrow just then ; at all events she told him it was " no part of her work to bath a little beast of a monkey," and recommended him strongly to do it himself. But he turned me over to the under scullery- maid instead — and even she was sniffy about it. To be held under a tap in a sink, soused with cold water, and scrubbed with beastly yellow soap and a most infernal hard brush, is not exactly the kind of treatment I was ac- customed to, even under my aimt's roof — but I showed no resentment. I thought I probably required it. It was over at last, and in a condition of almost offensive cleanliness [I loathe the smell of yellow soap myself — so depressing !] I was carried upstairs and deposited outside the draw- ing-room door, which Macrow opened for me. 38 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE My little plaid tunic had been burnt, so I had absolutely nothing on but the leather belt. One can't get rid of one's prejudices all at once, and though I knew that even this costume wouldn't be considered at all outre \n my present case, I did feel just a little bit shy about going in. After all, though, I was one of the family, and I resolved to saunter in unconcernedly, as a person who had a right to feel at home. Whether Nature was too strong for me, or whether I got a gentle push from Macrow's boot, I can't say, but I'm afraid that, as a matter of fact, I shambled in anyhow on all fours. " You can't say he isn't clean now, Mums ! " cried Phyllis. " Isn't he a perfect angel ? I think I must have some new clothes made for him — he'll look frightfully sweet in them ! " I thought I should look all right if she would only let me go to my own tailor, who, though a trifle too given to press for immediate pay- ment, does understand my figure — but how was I to give her his address ? She said a lot more about me, till at last, not being used to such open admiration — especially from her — I began to feel a bit embarrassed ; it was enough to turn most monkeys' heads. To cover my confusion, AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 39 I wandered round the room, just as 1 should have done if I had remained my old self, look- ing at this and that, taking up an article here and there, fingering it, and putting it down again. Then I sat on the music-stool and struck a few careless chords on the piano. I had meant to play them as much as I could re- member of the Choristers Waltz, but my fingers had all got so fumbly that I couldn't raise any tune in particular. But that would come back to me, with practice. Phyllis was highly amused, at first, by my performance, but she did not appear to think it showed any marked musical ability. If she had, she would not have insisted on my leaving off so soon. Of course a hint from her was enough for me, and I got off the music-stool and retired to a sofa without, I hope, letting her see how deeply she had disappointed me. I took up the nearest Society journal and began to glance through it with a show of interest. Not that I really cared two straws how Lady Honor Hyndlegge's small dance had gone off, or who were letting their houses for Ascot week, or going to have a houseboat at Henley — 1 seemed now to have got so far beyond all that ! 40 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE But I was determined to make Phyllis under- stand that I had intellectual tastes. However, it was a deuced tricky paper to manage — especially as my feet would keep on trying to turn over the pages instead of leaving it to my hands. So I am not sure that Phyllis quite took in the fact that I was actually read- ing, and, whatever it was I did read, I can't remember a single line of it now. But all of a sudden, as I sat there, Macrow appeared and announced : " Mr. Blundell " — and sure enough, in walked old Monty, irre- proachably got up as usual ! I was a bit staggered at first, for I wasn't aware he knew my aunt — / hadn't introduced him. Then it struck me ivhy he had come. He had heard of my decease, and volunteered to break the sad news to my family. It was pretty decent of him, really — though I would rather it had been anybody else. Because, between ourselves, I wouldn't have trusted dear old Monty to break the death of a bluebottle with- out managing to foozle it somehow. He couldn't see nie behind the paper, and, as I couldn't be of much assistance to him, I lay doggo, being naturally curious to hear AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 41 how he would prepare them for the shock, and how they — especially Phyllis — would bear up under it. V As it happened, my aunt and Phyllis had met Monty already, and evidently imagined he was merely making an ordinary afternoon call. Monty sat down, and asked Phyllis " if she had been in the Park that afternoon " — which struck me as rather a circuitous route to the information that I'd been cut off in the flower of my youth by being pitched out of a cab in Pall Mall. But he went on talking Society drivel for some minutes before my aunt in- quired " if he had seen anything lately of her good-for-nothing nephew ? " — meaning me. This of course was Monty's cue — and I poked my head out round the corner of my paper, and nodded hard at him, meaning, " Now's your time ! Out with it ! Don't keep 'em in suspense ! Tell 'em the worst ! " I suppose he hadn't noticed me before, and it rather upset him, for he dropped his eyeglass as if it had been red-hot. For the moment, I thought he must have recognised me, without remem- 42 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE bering how improbable that was under the circumstances. " Oddly enough," said Monty, looking every- where but at me, " I was expecting him to lunch with me at the Club to-day. But he — er — didn't turn up." " He gets more erratic every day ! " lamented my dear aunt. " He ought to be dining here this evening, and I shall be seriously annoyed if he forgets that, as there will be nobody to take in poor Miss Yellowly." So I was to have taken in Miss Yellowly ! If I had zvanted anything to reconcile me to what I had become, that would have about done it ! " I suppose he sent you some sort of excuse ? " said Phyllis. Again I tried to catch Monty's eye and buck him up to tell his news and get it over — but it was no good. " What ? Reggie ! He's much too casual for that ! " said Monty. " Likely as not he overslept himself or somethin'." Now this was too bad of Monty — he knows perfectly well that I hardly ever sit down to breakfast later than half-past twelve ! But I AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 43 began to see now that he couldn't have heard of my accident after all. "Disgraceful!" said my aunt. "At his age, he ought to be ashamed of such lazy, idle habits." "There's this to be said," put in Monty. " Dear old Reggie hasn't anything particular to do when he is up." " Then he ought to have ! " declared my aunt — and Monty agreed with her. " I'm always tellin' him he doesn't take half enough exercise," he added. He wouldn't have said that if he had seen me jumping about all the afternoon with that confounded tambourine ! And Monty, too ; who takes all his exercise in a motor ! " I didn't mean exercise^" said Aunt Selina. " I meant work. Every young man ought to have some profession." Monty agreed once more, and said that, for his part, he found being at the Bar had made all the difference to hitn. What difference — except knowing that his name was painted up outside some door in Lincoln's Inn which he never by any chance darkened, I fancy Master Monty wouldn't have found it easy to explain. 44 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE But my aunt said she was glad to think that I had one friend who set me a good example, and begged him to look after me as much as possible. To which old Monty, trying to look as like the infant Samuel in plaster as he could at such short notice, replied that she could rely on him to do his best to keep me out of any serious mischief. The notion of old Monty as my guardian angel was so rich that I couldn't resist grinning at him from behind the journal — and I saw him gasp. No doubt he thought that, for a monkey, I was a trifle over familiar, but he took no further notice. And my aunt went on slanging me ; I had had every advantage, excellent opportunities of making my own way in the world, and I was so incorrigibly indolent that I had neglected them all — and so forth, all of which I had heard on several previous occasions. Good old Monty stuck up for me — after a fashion. He didn't think it was my fault exactly ; I was a dear good chap — one of the best, in short. It was only that I was naturally too thick to learn anything thoroughly, and in fact, what he might call — if my aunt would AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 45 forgive the expression — "a born rotter." Aunt Selina didn't object to the expression in the least — in fact, both she and Phylhs appeared to think it hit me off rather neatly. Then they asked if Monty considered I was likely to do better in the Colonies, but Monty thought (and it just shows how little he knows me) that roughing it was not precisely in my line of country. By this time I was, as you may suppose, getting fairly sick of the subject. It wasn't pleasant to feel I was eavesdropping, as it were, and I knew, too, that when they did hear that I was scratched for ail my engage- ments, they would be no end sorry they had been so down on me. For myself, of course, I didn't mind a rap. The worse they made Reggie Ballimore out, the more satisfied / felt at being no longer connected with such a waster. Still, it struck me it was quite time to switch Monty on to some pleasanter topic, so I got quietly down from the sofa, and, stealing up behind his chair, I scratched him gently just above his coat-tail buttons. He turned sharp round and saw me. I never 46 AT A MOMENTS NOTICE saw any one go quite so green before — but he said nothing. " I'm afraid, Mr. Blundell," said my aunt, noticing how he was shifting about in his seat, "that you have chosen rather an uncomfortable chair ? " Monty said, '' Oh, not at all — most comfort- able," and inquired if Phyllis " had done the Academy yet ? " Which, as it didn't open for some days, was a silly-ass thing to say — even for Monty — but I don't believe he knew pre- cisely what he was saying just then. "Are you quite sure the monkey isn't bother- ing you ? " asked Phyllis ; " I thought he was on the sofa." "Oh, then — then you noticed it too?" poor old Monty blurted out. "Why, of course — it's mine," said Phyllis, "I only bought it this afternoon. I hope you've no antipathy to monkeys ? " "Oh, not a bit!" said Monty, beginning to turn a wholesomer colour. " Can't say I ever kept one myself — but awfully fond of them, assure you I am." On which Phyllis gave the history of my purchase. AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 47 " Wish you'd told me you were on the look- out for a monkey, Miss Adeane," said that blundering ass Monty, " because / could have got you one from a man who has some clinkers ; real well-bred ones, don't you know — the sort they don't send out with organs ! " Phyllis — bless her ! — replied with a slight fall of temperature that she was "afraid she pre- ferred to choose her pets for herself, and that I was the only monkey she had ever seen that she could imagine herself caring for in the least." Which was one in the eye for old Monty ! I could afford to despise him now; my position in the household was already secure. Before she was much older, Phyllis would be proud that she alone had had the insight to detect my marvellous superiority ! So, as I sat in one of the window-seats, cooling my tail among the marguerites that filled the flower-box, I allowed myself to dream of my coming glory — till Macrow came in with afternoon tea. Here, I thought, was a good opportunity to show that I was perfectly familiar with the ordinary social amenities. I was in my aunt's house — almost in the position of host, so to 48 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE speak — and anyway I wasn't going to let Monty attend to Phyllis's wants while I was there to look after her myself ! So I made a bee-line for the tea-table, and got hold of a plate of hot tea-cakes and another of cucumber sandwiches. Perhaps I was too impetuous ; my wrists were weaker than 1 had thought, and, as usual, I did not take my tail into consideration. The result was that I not only shot the cakes and cucumber sandwiches over my cousin's charm- ing afternoon frock, but upset the cream-jug into Aunt Selina's lap. It was awkward of course — but it might have happened to any fellow without necessarily putting him out of countenance ; it was the kind of thing which a man of the world could pass o£f easily enough with a graceful apology or a witty remark, and perhaps make a friend for life into the bargain. Only, unfortunately, situated as I was, I could do nothing at all just then except gibber — and I realised that one of the undeniable drawbacks to monkey-existence is that one is so apt to get misunderstood over the merest trifles. AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 49 VI I should say it would be about as much as Aunt Selina's place is worth to speak severely to Phyllis, and, to do her justice, she is far too well-bred a woman to make any visitor feel uncomfortable by ragging her in his presence. Still, any one could have seen she was annoyed ; and, while the cream was being spooned out of her lap into a slop-basin, she made remarks on the inconveniences of allowing monkeys to be about at afternoon tea which I, for one, considered most beastly offensive. And even Phyllis could find no better excuse for me than that I was probably half-starved, and the sight of cucumber sandwiches had proved too much for my manners. Which was too sickening — considering my sole object had been to nip in ahead of Monty in handing the food to her ! And yet people talk rot about "feminine insight ! " But I kept my temper. I merely let them see that I was hurt by turning my tail on them all, and stalking off to a corner — not, I flatter myself, without a certain dignity. I had 50 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE had nothing since breakfast, except, as I fancy I mentioned before, a bit of biscuit and a rotten banana — but, after my aunt had called me "a greedy little horror," I could not bring myself to accept one of her sandwiches. Not to mention that my doctor has often told me never on any account to touch cucumber. Presently I had what I thought (and still think) a flash of real inspiration. If I couldn't speaky by Jove ! I could spell ! Rather rockily, perhaps — in fact it was my spelling that really spun me in more than one exam. — but still, quite well enough to make myself understood by the meanest intelligence. All I actually required was some sort of Alphabet. With that I could fix up a few simple sentences and lay them at Phyllis's feet. When she read, for instance, something like this : " Sorry. My mistake. Not Pig. Only Polite. Disguised, but still a Gentleman. Please let me go on Stage," she would be astonished — but even more touched by my appeal. The problem was, how to get hold of an Alphabet. Now, though few people give me credit for it, I Jiave brains when I choose to exert them AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 51 — and it didn't take me long to come across the identical thing for my purposes. For, lying on a chair in the corner, I found a book in a thick leather binding — oldish, I imagined (I must tell you my aunt rather fancies herself as a Connoisseur, and of course gets taken in with all manner of worthless old rubbish). But what fetched 7ne was the inside of the book. On nearly every page there was a big fat capital letter, gilded and painted in a rather gaudy style, much after that of the texts I used to illuminate when I was a good little boy in a holland blouse. If I'd searched for a month I couldn't have got hold of anything more topping ! So I went to work, and soon ferreted out an S, and an O, and then an R — but I couldn't discover another R, and the silly old Johnny who had painted the bally book didn't seem ever to have heard of a Y ! However, SORI was correct enough for a monkey, and I tore those letters out — pretty neatly on the whole, for the paper was devilish tough — and then selected others I was likely to want, keeping as quiet as possible, so as to surprise Phyllis all the more later on. 52 AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE But that interfering idiot of a Monty spotted me before I was half ready ! " Mischievous Httle beggars monkeys are," he remarked, " always up to somethin' or other ! " " So7He monkeys may be," said Phyllis ; " not lume. It wasn't mischief just now — only hunger, poor darling ! " " Well, but I say," persisted Monty, " he's busy tearin' up some paper now, with pictures in it, too !" "Oh, I expect it's only Punch" said Phyllis, without looking round. " It doesn't matter, because we've seen that — at least we've looked at the pictures, you know." Monty said he never saw Punch himself — it didn't amuse him, somehow — still, he might be mistaken, but he'd a sort of idea that it hadn't gone in yet for giving coloured illustrations. That fetched them all up to see what I was about, and then my aunt gave a kind of scream : "Good gracious, Phyllis!" she cried, "the miserable little wretch has got hold of that book of ours" (or she may have said "Hours," — / don't know) "which Professor Peagrum kindly lent me to look at. And he's tearing it all to pieces ! " AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE 53 All Phyllis said to me was, " O Monkey ! — Monkey I ^^ But even as I still frantically tried to deal her out an S and an O and an R, this gentle reproof cut me to the quick. "What shall I say to the poor dear Pro- fessor ? " wailed my aunt. " A valuable MS. like that ! And when he was hoping the British Museum might buy it, too ! " "Afraid they won't give him much for it ?/ead her no more Shelley. He spent a pleasanter evening at Craven Hill Gardens than he had anticipated. Doriel was i66 THE GULL no longer the pretty romp he remembered. She had become an extremely charming young woman, and the frank friendliness with which she received him was soothing to his overstrung nerves. It was late when he returned to his rooms. Isolde was sleeping peacefully on her perch, her beak pointing towards her tail, and the sight of her filled him with compunction. Would she slumber so serenely if she knew where he had been and how completely he had forgotten her ? He resolved to see no more of Doriel in future — and, for a time, he kept his resolution. Unfortunately, Isolde either could not or would not make any effort to be an intellectual companion to him. She seemed fond of him, in her way, but gradually all her former sprightliness deserted her, and there were times when he feared that she had found him a bore. Nothing, it is well known, is so calculated to estrange affection as the mere suspicion that we bore our beloved, and Kilmer was not long in realising that the boredom was, to say the least, reciprocal. THE GULL 167 What wonder, then, that he should sometimes seek solace and recreation in the sight of Doriel's winsome face, in the sound of her gay chatter ? He did not mention this to the gull, because she would not have understood it ; but when with Doriel he endeavoured to convey that some hidden sorrow had set him apart from all other men, and that his heart was dead to all earthly love. He honestly believed this himself, and hoped that she realised it also, until an evening came which revealed to him the peril to which they were both unconsciously drifting. He was dining at Craven Hill Gardens, and, as usual, his place was next to Doriel. On her other side sat a young man of the name of Mowbray, a good-looking, athletic, if somewhat unintel- lectual youth, who was obviously attracted by Miss Doriel, and in whom she might have been expected to take at least a passing interest. Filmer had honestly sought to efface himself by directing his conversation to his other neighbour, and replying to Doriel's overtures with a brevity that only just escaped brusque- ness ; but she declined to be repulsed, and exerted all her very considerable powers of i68 THE GULL witchery to subdue him, entirely neglecting the unfortunate Mowbray. To his consternation, Filmer found that his heart was very much alive after all ; and for the remainder of the dinner, and even upstairs in the drawing-room afterwards, he surrendered himself entirely to Doriel's charm, and was rather stimulated than otherwise by observing the increasing gloom on young Mowbray's in- genuous countenance. But on his way home the inevitable reaction followed. He saw, in a flash, that he was fast falling in love with Doriel ; that, should she continue this encouragement, nothing would save him from proposing to her — and he was pledged, solemnly pledged, to lifelong constancy to Isolde 1 Isolde was awake that evening ; she had evidently been sitting up for him, and he could scarcely bring himself to meet her bright, re- proachful eye. " I know what you would say if you could," he faltered apologetically; "and I deserve it. I have neglected you shamefully of late. I will do so no more. In future, Isolde, all my evenings shall be passed with you ! " THE GULL 169 Isolde explored the region under her wing with her beak — it was a mannerism of hers which had often distressed him — before she raised her head and gazed intently at him for an instant. Then her glittering eye slowly dis- appeared in the soft down that surrounded it — and he felt that she was appeased, and that he was forgiven. Doubtless a more prosaic and practical mind than Kilmer's would have rebelled against the fate which required him to abandon all hope of married felicity, and be content to remain platonically bound for life to a mere bird. But to his exalted and mystical nature such abnega- tion seemed an obvious duty. After all, Isolde had made the greater sacrifice in voluntarily projecting herself into the body of a bird so grossly unromantic in its captive state as a sea-gull. She must be suffering at least as much as himself for her generous impetuosity, and he was determined never again to vex her gentle spirit by ingratitude or unfaithfulness. Accordingly — much as it cost him — he kept away from the Challises, hoping that in time 170 THE GULL they would understand that he preferred to be left in solitude. And his renunciation did not go altogether unrewarded, for it really seemed as if the gull were trying to do her best to fill the blank in his life. She grew gentler, more subdued, every day ; the brisk perkiness that had once repelled him disappeared ; she even overcame her voracious appetite, as though in deference to his prejudices — he was touched to observe that she could scarcely be prevailed upon now to dally with the most tempting slug. The year drew to its close, and he had almost succeeded in putting Doriel out of his thoughts, when one Sunday afternoon the maid-servant suddenly opened the door and announced : "Mr. and Miss Challis" — and Filmer sprang to his feet with a wild joy, which he could only hope escaped the gull's observant eye. "We've just been to service at the Abbey," explained Doriel, looking more bewitching than ever in a highly becoming black hat and sables, " and I insisted on Frank bringing me on here to ask you what you mean by neglecting us for weeks and weeks." " I told her you had one of your unsociable THE GULL 171 fits on, and didn't want to be bothered," said Frank, " but she would come. She will have it that you're offended with us." Filmer stammered something incoherent as he offered them tea. He did not think the gull could object to his doing that. " You know you're glad to see us ! " said Doriel : " confess you were feeling horribly lonely up here ! " " Not he ! " laughed Frank. " He's got his beloved gull to keep him company." "A gull?" cried Doriel. "So that's what you keep in that cage there. What a queer sort of pet ! Is it amusing ? Can it do any tricks ? " Her light tone jarred on Filmer just then. He replied, somewhat shortly, that a gull was hardly on the same footing as a performing canary. " How dull ! " said Doriel, going up to the cage. " I should have thought a cockatoo would be more cheerful for you than a mopy creature like this. I'd no idea gulls were such ugly things. What makes it flap its wings at me like that ?" "She is not accustomed to hearing such 172 THE GULL extremely personal remarks," said Filmer coldly. "You say that as if you thought she under- stood what I said ! " exclaimed Doriel, raising her pretty eyebrows. "And if I do, Miss Challis," he replied, "perhaps I have my reasons." " I'm sorry," said Doriel with provoking good- humour. " I apologise. Do you hear, gull ? — I apologise. And just to show there's no ill- feeling, you may come and perch on my finger." She had already stripped off her glove, and, before Filmer could interfere, she had thrust her slim white hand into the gull's cage. . . . The temptation was too much for Isolde : she struck viciously at her rival's forefinger with her sharp yellow beak, and Doriel drew back her hand with a little cry of pain. " See what your horrid bird has done to me ! " she said, exhibiting the wound to him with a childishly pathetic inoue ; and he longed to seize the injured hand and cover it with kisses, but loyalty to Isolde forbade. It was not Doriel, standing there in her fresh young beauty, that most deserved his pity, but rather the homely THE GULL 173 grey bird fluttering in a paroxysm of impotent jealousy. *^ Aity bird would be frightened," he said, clumsily enough, "when you put your hand in like that." " I suppose I ought to have known," said Doriel, with a distinct change of manner; ''but you see I'd no idea my poor hand was quite such a hideous object. Frank, will you lend me your handkerchief and bind it up — as Mr. Filmer doesn't seem to think it worth troubling himself about ? " " I say ! it's bleeding like blazes ! " cried her brother, binding up the linger, as the unhappy Filmer stood there, too paralysed to offer his services. "You poor little girl! Upon my soul, Filmer," he added indignantly, " it would serve that brute right if you were to wring its beastly neck for it. I'd do it myself for two- pence ! " ''Touch her if you dare!" cried Filmer, exasperated beyond all self-control. " It was not her fault ; she was provoked — deliberately, wantonly provoked ! You — you don't know what she is to me ! " "Apparently not," said Doriel. "I think we 174 THE GULL won't wait for tea, Frank. Mr. Filmer doesn't seem to be quite himself this afternoon." Filmer made no attempt to detain them — he felt it would be useless. As soon as they were gone he turned to Isolde, who had quieted down again. "Are you satisfied 7iow?" he cried fiercely. " I loved that girl — do you hear ? I own it ; and I have let her go, — for your sake. You need not fear that she will ever come between us in future ; that accursed beak of yours has alienated her for ever. But oh, Isolde, think — is it fair to demand this from me ? Must you always remain a bird ? Can you not comfort me in some less incongruous shape ? I implore you at least to make an effort ! " As he said this he heard a sound behind him, and turned, to see Doriel Challis standing in the doorway. " I — I fancy I must have dropped my glove here," she said, and he noticed that she was deadly pale. " Did you hear," — he asked her, — " did you hear anything ? " " Everything," she admitted. " I — I came back, really, to tell you but that doesn't THE GULL 175 matter now. Parmenas, you mustn't give way to these morbid ideas — I can't bear it ! Get rid of that wretched bird — to please me !" She was tempting him — Doriel was tempting him — to some unspeakable infamy ; but he felt just then that he was proof against all her wiles. " I will not ! " he cried. " I have sworn to be constant, and I will be ! Nothing on earth shall make me part from my Isolde, so long as she chooses to remain with me." "You will never be happy till you do," en- treated Doriel. " Dear, dear Parmenas, doiit make me miserable ! Come to me to-morrow and tell me that it is over — that you are your own self again. Then I shall have something to tell you." And so she left him ; but her spell over him was broken by the callous selfishness of her request. She knew all now, and yet she could urge him to destroy (for what else could her words mean ?) this bird which stood in her way. ''No, Isolde," he murmured, "I may be weak — but I am not so weak as that. She has made me yours once more. I love her no longer. This time my heart will never waver from you again ! " 176 THE GULL But the gull made no response ; she was strangely still, he thought. It was growing dark, and he lit a candle and peered into the cage. . . . There she lay at the bottom, her wings spread, her eyes dull and filmy, her yellow beak partly open, her crumpled feet already stiffening. She was quite dead. Isolde's spirit had, as she had once predicted, been unable to bear the revelation of his inconstancy. In the first ecstasy of his remorse Filmer had no sense of recovered freedom. On the con- trary, he felt more irrevocably bound than ever. Wherever Isolde's spirit had betaken itself, he vowed that it should never again be grieved by the least inconstancy on his part. Perhaps, he thought, when she realised the sincerity of his repentance, she would return to him in some form more worthy of her. And, that he might always have a safeguard at hand against further backsliding, he took the gull himself to be prepared and set up by one of the leading naturalists in London. But the naturalist kept it a long time — and insensibly Kilmer's thoughts began to recur to THE GULL 177 Doriel Challis. Had she really been so heart- less as she seemed ? She had only begged him to "get rid of" the gull : might she not merely have meant that he should part with it ? If so, how unjust he had been to her ! And what if Isolde had vacated the bird in pity for them both ? In that case he was simply frustrating her generous intention. His relations with Frank had, ever since that memorable Sunday afternoon, been of the most distant character ; they never spoke to one another, except when the work of their depart- ment brought them in contact ; but he saw no reason why he should not write to Doriel, and one evening in February, on his way home from the ofHce, he made up his mind to do so. But no sooner had he carried his reading- lamp to his bureau and sat down to write, tha. he fell back in his chair in stupefied dismay. On the blank surface of his blotting-pad a sentence was traced in large irregular letters which turned his heart sick and cold as he read. " Could stay no longer. Will come back if possible, — Isolde," ran the message. She was coming back ! In what form ? Hardly the gull's — since that was in the hands M 178 THE GULL of the stuffer. One thing only was clear — she had not intended to release him after all, and with that spirit-message staring him in the face it was impossible to write that letter to Doriel. As he sat there trying to collect his scattered senses, there came three low raps at his door, which he knew were given by no maidservant ; he tried to say " Come in," but his dry tongue refused to obey him. And the door opened slowly, and on the threshold stood a figure which, even in the comparative darkness, he knew could only be that of Isolde. At least, he thought, she had come in human shape this time. " Have you no welcome for me, Parmenas ? " she said, in the voice he so well remembered. " Or are you too utterly disgusted by the way I behaved?" " If you refer to — to the slugs, Isolde," he replied, "forget them — as / do. I could not hold you responsible for the appetites of the form you assumed I " " I'm afraid I don't understand," she said ; and he perceived that she either did not re- member, or did not choose to be reminded of, this incident in her recent avatar. THE GULL 179 " You are thinking of how you pecked Doriel's— Miss ChaUis's hand ?" he said. "It was a not unnatural outburst of jealousy — you had much provocation." " I've no recollection of pecking any person's hand," she said. "And who is Miss Challis ? " " You cannot really have forgotten the girl who made uncomplimentary remarks on you when you were in that cage ? " he replied. " That was Miss Challis." " When I was in that cage ! " she repeated slowly. " Parmenas ! what are you talking about ? " " It will all come back to you," he said. "Think, Isolde! That last day, at Weymouth, when you solemnly promised that, if you should die before me, you would come to me in the form of a white dove — now don't you re- member ? " " Did I ever really say anything so ridiculously sentimental ? " she asked. " Ah, don't scoff, Isolde ! Because you kept your word. Yes, on that fatal night when the Chamois went down, a bird — not a white dove precisely, but a grey gull — flew in at my open window. I knew you at once — at least, almost i8o THE GULL at once. And I brought you here, and kept you in that very cage till — till you could remain in the gull no longer. ... So you have for- gotten ? No matter, since you have come back to me once more." She threw herself rather suddenly in the nearest arm-chair (he would have offered it to her before but for an impression that spirits never sat down), and then — to his utter astonish- ment, for in life she had seldom relaxed even into a smile — she went into peal after peal of half-hysterical laughter. At first he imagined that she was sobbing convulsively, but he soon recognised that he was mistaken. " How could you have been so absurd ? " she gasped, as soon as she could speak. " It's horrid of me to laugh — for it's really rather touching of you — but a gull ! . . . Me ! . . . Oh, it's quite too killing!" "But it's true!" he assured her: "I could show you the gull, only it's being stuffed ! " This only set her off again. " But / wasn't in the thing 1 " she cried. " How could I be ? Why, I do believe you've been taking me for a ghost all this time I " THE GULL i8i " My poor Isolde," he said, endeavouring to break the truth to her as gently and con- siderately as he could, " can you really be un- aware of — of your present state ? " " Don't be so silly ! " she replied petulantly. *' How can I be a ghost when I'm not dead ? There, take that green shade off the lamp, and look at me well. . . . Now do you see anything spectral about me ? " As she sat there in the white glare of the unshaded lamp, Filmer had to admit that she was indeed a creature of solid flesh and blood — almost too solid, in fact — for in her robust physique there were few traces of the fragile and almost diaphanous form of the Isolde of the previous August — there were even indica- tions of an approaching double chin ! " Yes," he said slowly, " I see now. You are no ghost, Isolde ! " " Perhaps you would have preferred that I kad been ? " she said. He could not help feeling that he was pledged to her, and that she was here to claim him ; but all he said was : " /so/de ! When I have been faithful to your memory all these weary months !" i82 THE GULL ''Are you quite sure that you have been faith- ful ? " she asked. " Honestly now, Parmenas ? " ''There may have been moments," he con- fessed, ''when the gull failed to fill the aching void in my life." "And then you fitted that Miss — what is her name ? Challis, isn't it ? — into the vacancy ? I'm rather glad she got her hand pecked ! " "I am still yours," he said, "if you care to claim me." " But supposing I don't — you would use your liberty to propose to this Challis girl ? Well, you may do so, Parmenas — you are free." "This is too generous!" he cried in a burst of Quixotism. "No, Isolde, I cannot accept this sacrifice ! " " It's no sacrifice at all, because, as it happens, I am already another's." "What?" he cried, with unspeakable relief. "You have married Mr. Tiudevin, then?" It was Isolde's turn to look embarrassed. " No, not him," she replied—" somebody else. Somebody who was on board the Chamois that night. I was in a covered seat on deck — he came and shared it with me. We discovered that we had much in common. When the crash THE GULL 183 came, he got me into one of the boats with a few sailors, and we drifted for days. He did not propose to me until we were reduced to the last Osborne biscuit ; and, under the im- pression that, in any case, we had but a short time to live, I accepted him. The people on the liner that picked us up took us for a newly- wedded couple, and, not wishing to be identified, I did not undeceive them. The fraud was a very innocent one, for as soon as we reached Malta I became Mrs. Goldingham." " You might have let me know all this earlier," he said : " it would have spared me considerable inconvenience." " I could not bear to shatter your ideal of me," she explained. " I felt that you would rather think of me as dead than know the truth, And there was Mr. Taudevin to be considered, too. But he has married since. Then I thought that, as I was about to return for the last time to South Africa, it was fairer perhaps to come and tell you that you needn't grieve for me any longer. So I came — only to find that you are faithless too. Ah, there is no such thing as constancy in men ! " " You would not say so," he remonstrated, i84 THE GULL " if you knew how I cherished the gull for your sake, Isolde ! " She began to laugh again. " I think there were — intervals," she said; "and I utterly de- chne to be responsible for the gull. But now neither of us will stand in your way any longer. I must run away now — or my husband will be asking inconvenient questions. . . . Good-bye, Parmenas — accept my best wishes ! " She was gone — and he was free, really free at last — to write to Doriel. Stay : why should he write, when he might go to her and plead his cause in person ? In ten minutes he was on his way to Craven Hill Gardens in a hansom. It was dark by the time he reached the house, but not so dark that he failed to notice a temporary awning over the front door. So the Challises were giving a dance, or an evening party. He had forfeited all right to an invita- tion, he knew, but he felt sure that he would have one, when once Doriel had realised that he was in his right mind at last, cured for ever of his fantastic delusion. He asked for " Mr. Frank," meaning first to set himself right with Challis, who, he THE GULL 185 remembered now with some anxiety, had not been at the ofBce that day. He could not be seriously ill, however, for the man - servant showed him into the billiard - room, where Frank was engaged in idly knocking the balls about. He was clearly surprised to see Filmer, though he tried not to betray it. " Sit down, old chap," he said, as heartily as though there had been no coolness between them. " Sorry you couldn't turn up before— but better late than never ! " " I — I wasn't free to come before," said Filmer, and added, with a gulp, " I can't help being afraid that you and — and Doriel thought I be- haved rather oddly — about that wretched gull, you know." "Oh, that's all right!" said Frank hurriedly. " Have you got rid of it at last, eh ? " " It died," said Filmer simply. " I made a fearful ass of myself over it. I see that now ! " "Then don't say any more about it. IVe understand how it was," declared Frank, who seemed unaccountably anxious to avoid the subject. " But I must tell Doriel that — that I've come to my senses." i86 THE GULL "You take my advice and leave things as they are," counselled Frank. "And anyway, you can't tell Doriel anything at present — she's half-way to Dover by this time ! " " To Dover ! what has she gone to Dover for?" asked Filmer, rendered inquisitive by disappointment. " Well, they only stay the night there," said Frank, "on their way to the Italian Lakes." "They?" said Filmer. "Has your mother gone too, then ? " " Not exactly ! " said Frank, with a laugh : " Doriel and Cecil Mowbray — for their honey- moon. Didn't you know ? I made sure you'd had an invitation. Doriel meant to send you one, I know." For a moment the billiard-table and lamps seemed to spin round giddily, and then Filmer heard himself saying, quite quietly and naturally, " No, I never got it. Did you say — Cecil Mow- bray ? " " Yes ; clinking good chap he is, too. You met him here the last time you dined with us — don't you remember ? It was just beginning then. We dropped in to tell you the news that Sunday just before Christmas — only — well, we THE GULL 187 came away without doing it for some reason. Care to come up and have a look at the presents ? They won't have put 'em away yet, and she's had some rather jolly ones." But Filmer thought he had hardly time for it that evening. " Well, I won't ask you to stay and dine to- night, because it would be rather poor fun for you — we shan't be over cheery, now Doriel's gone. You must come and meet them both when they're back from the honeymoon." "Thanks," said Filmer, "I — I will, if I can. And when you're writing, will you tell — Mrs. Mowbray that I wish her every happiness?" Some hours later he got back to Spring Gardens, after consuming a dismal dinner at an Italian restaurant, surprised to find that he could eat at all, and that he felt no particular emotion. But the truth was that he was still numbed by the shock he had undergone. When he reached his sitting-room he found a large wooden box on his table, which he opened with no very clear notion of what might be inside. It contained a glass case, in which, on a i88 THE GULL rock covered with dried seaweed and with a background imperfectly suggesting the bound- less ocean, the gull w^as perched in a lifelike attitude. She had been admirably stuffed, and in the glass eyes which challenged his he seemed to see a gleam of cynical mockery, as though the bird were exulting in the thought of the long and successful imposture by which she had obtained food and shelter, and the most reverent and unremitting attention — all under false pretences ! He felt a sudden impulse to destroy it then and there, and with it every vestige of his in- fatuation — he had already seized the poker for the purpose — and then his hand relaxed. After all, it was childish as well as brutal to wreak vengeance on the dead. Besides, this poor effigy had not deceived him — it was he who had deceived himself. And then he re- membered how much she — if the bird was a female, for he had taken her sex for granted — had done to sustain him at the beginning of his imaginary bereavement ; he thought of the patience with w^hich she, a wild sea-bird, had endured captivity, of her fearless trust in him, THE GULL 189 and her dumb efforts to be a companion to him ; and his heart softened. Gull though she was, she was the one creature that had been constant to him to the end. And so the glass case was suffered to remain intact — but not in Kilmer's sitting-room : he felt he could not stand the ironical inquiry of those artificial eyes — and the stuffed gull now forms the most cherished ornament in his house- keeper's parlour. In fact, the good woman appreciates it far more in its present condition than ever she did in the flesh, when, as she remarks — with more accuracy than she is aware of — " It couldn't have made more mess and trouble if it had been a Christian ! " THE GAME OF ADVERBS (^A Country-house Tragi-comedy, in Two Parts) PART I Scene — The Drawing-room at Dripstone Manor ^ a stately Jacobean mansioti recently acquired by Mr. Joseph Shuttleworth {of Shuttle- worth & Clack, Carpet Manufacturers, Yarmninster). It is towards dusk i?t early October, Mrs. Shuttleworth, a plump, good-humoured-looking matron of about fifty, is discovered with her children, viz. GRACE, a rather prim and precise young woman of twenty-three ; FLOSSIE, a pretty and lively girl of eighteen ; CONNIE, trvelve, and COLlN, ten. With them are Gillian Pinceney, a High School friend of GRACE'S ; Ut Gor- ing, a Boarding-school chum of Flossie's, who are staying at the Manor ; and the younger children's Governess, Miss Mark- HAM. Mr. Shuttleworth, fifty -five, florid and prosperous-looking, enters with his son Bob, twenty-one, of Eton and Cambridge. Both are in shooting tilings. Mrs. Shuttleworth {to them). So you're back at last ! I've just sent away the tea. But if you'd like some, I could easily THE GAME OF ADVERBS 191 Mr. Shutt. Not for me, Louisa, thanks. Bob and I had something as we came through the dining-room. That Jack-o'-dandy friend of Bob's, Dormer, may Uke a cup, though, for all I can say. Mrs. Shutt. But what's become of Mr. Dormer ? Mr. Shutt. Gone upstairs to titivate, I expect. Bless you, you wouldn't catch him coming in here in his shooting toggery ! Bob. Fact is. Mater, the Governor's rather riled with Dormer for saying on the way home that, on the whole, he thought the safest thing to be was a pheasant. Dormer didn't mean anything by it. Sir. Mr. Shutt. It's my belief he did. And considering how confoundedly bad the light's been this afternoon, and that I never took to shooting at all till late in life, I don't call myself a particularly poor shot. Bob {sotto voce, to Miss GORiNG). Never knew any one who did. But the poor old Governor is rather apt to draw his bow at a venture. Mrs. Shutt. I can't say I quite take to your friend Mr. Dormer, Bob. He has such a nasty sneering way with him. 192 THE GAME OF ADVERBS Grace. He's atrociously conceited. If he's a type of the Oxford undergraduate, I prefer Cambridge, Flossie. I'm certain he's looking down on us secretly all the time. Bob. What bosh ! You don't understand old Dormer, that's all. He's a nailing good fellow. Capital company ! Mrs. Shutt. You said he would keep us all amused if he could only be got to come. But so far, I can't say Bob. Well, Mater, after being at the same house at Eton with him, I ouglit to know. And all I can tell you is, that he was far and away the best mimic I ever heard. He could imitate everybody and everything. Flossie. Up to now he has only favoured us with an imitation of a disagreeable stuck-up pig. It's life-like — but still it is beginning to pall. i^She starts as DORMER lounges in ; he has dressed for dinner, except that he is wearing a black smoking -coat.) Oh, Mr. Dormer, you did startle me so ! You look exactly like a curate. Dormer. And are curates such alarming objects ? But you're all in the dark, here. THE GAME OF ADVERBS 193 Flossie. Yes. We thought you would come in and be brilHant. DoKMEK. I'm afraid I can't compete with the ordinary methods of illumination. {To himself.) Wish this girl would see that Fm not in the humour for this sort of thing. Mr. Shutt. {to himself). Can't do with this young fellow ! {Aloud, to his wife.) Fm off to my study, Louisa. Got some letters to write. [^He goes out. Dormer {to himself). On the sofa — with his eyes shut ! Only wish I could slip out, too — but they might think it rather casual. {Aloud, to Flossie.) You haven't told me why you charged me with looking clerical ? Can't say I feel complimented. Flossie. Oh, it doesn't go any deeper than a buttoned-up coat and white tie. And you might have a worse compliment than being compared to a clergyman ! Mrs. Shutt. Talking of clergymen, my dear, that reminds me the Rector has never called yet. Considering we have been here six weeks, and attended church regularly every Sunday morning, I do think he might have found time to return the civility before this ! N 194 THE GAME OF ADVERBS Dormer. If it was the Rector I had the privilege to hear last Sunday, impressing upon us the duty of cheerfulness in sepulchral tones that were calculated to draw howls from a china poodle, I should be inclined to think myself that the gaiety of the party has not suffered appreciably from his delay. Mrs. Shutt. Mr, Polyblank's pulpit manner is a little melancholy, certainly — he's a bachelor, poor man. But they tell me he's very much looked up to ; comes of a very good family, and intimate with all the county folk, so perhaps he doesn't consider us good enough for him, Grace. Really, mamma, you talk as if we were pariahs ! Most of the county people round here have called on us. What does it matter if Mr. Polyblank chooses to stay away ? Mrs. Shutt. All the same, my dear, there's a sort of natural tie between the Rectory and the Manor which — not that I'm one to force my acquaintance on anybody. Still he might give us credit for not being downright savages, if we do come from Yarnminster ! Flossie. There, mother dear, that's enough of the Reverend Poly. I vote we have a game THE GAME OF ADVERBS 195 at something. Are you fond of games, Mr. Dormer ? Dormer. Indoor games ? Er — not immoder- ately. The mere fact of being suppHed with a slip of paper and a stumpy pencil, and required to compile a list of animals beginning with A, paralyses my faculties. I assure you I never can produce a single animal beginning with A. Flossie {with intention). Not even one ? But it's too dark to see to write. We might have a guessing game — where somebody has to go out of the room, you know. Dormer. Ah, I think 1 could play at that. Flossie. And when you come back, you have to guess from our questions what cele- brated historical person you're supposed to be. Dormer. I should never get within a mile of it. I've forgotten my Little Henry s History of England ages ago. Miss Markham {in a small thin voice). There's a most amusing guessing game called " Adverbs." Dormer. It sounds perfectly delightful. Only I'm afraid that I've only the sketchiest idea of what sort of thing an adverb is. Miss Markham. Surely you know that ! It's a 196 THE GAME OF ADVERBS part of speech, formed by adding the termina- tion "ly" to an adjective. For instance : bad — badly Dormer. Good — goodly. I see now, Miss Markham. Tremendous fun, I've no doubt. Miss Markham {annoyed). I was about to explain how it's played. One of the party goes out, and the rest agree in what manner they are all to receive him when he returns — "admiringly," "affectionately," and so on. Dormer. And he comes in pretending he's somebody else ? Miss Markham. He can if he chooses, of course. But all he need do is to ask ques- tions all round, and from the way in which they are answered he guesses what the adverb is. Now do you see, Mr. Dormer ? Dormer. I think I have grasped the idea. 1 don't mind volunteering to go out of the room, at all events. Grace. Very well. You go out, Mr. Dormer, and just wait about in the hall till we call you in. Dormer. Delighted. {To himself, as he goes out.) It's just possible I may be a little hard of hearing. THE GAME OF ADVERBS 197 Flossie {after he has closed the door). Now, what adverb shall it be ? Do let's make it something difficult! Miss Pinceney. Why not something which would let us show him what we think of him— "Candidly" ? "Contemptuously" ? Bob. That would be rather rough on him, Miss Pinceney. I asked him down here, you know, and really Mrs. Shutt. Yes, my dear, it wouldn't be kind to make any visitor of ours uncomfort- able, would it ? Flossie. He makes us uncomfortable. He's as rude as ever he can be ! Grace {thoughtfully). Why not make the adverb "rudely"? We could be rude without being personal, Mrs. Shutt. If you're sure he won't mis- understand Bob. Oh, hell understand all right. After all, it's only a game. " Rudely " will do first-rate. I'll call him in. In the Entrance-Hall. The Rev. Peregrine Polyblank {at the glazed doors). 1 wonder if they heard me ring. 198 THE GAME OF ADVERBS {He descries Dormer in the gloom.) Ah, at last ! He doesn't seem to see me Perhaps I'd better {^He goes in.) Er — I am the Rector — Mr. Polyblank. Is Mrs. Shuttleworth at home, my good man ? Dormer {stiffly). I've no doubt Mrs. Shuttle- worth will be pleased to see you, Sir, if you wait a moment. ( To himself ^ as he passes on to the library.) Confounded cheek, taking me for the butler ! But this will put that adverb foolery out of their heads, thank goodness. I shall get a nap in peace, now ! The Rector {alone, to himself). Painful to enter the old place again, I miss those poor dear Hardupps at every turn. To find strangers in the familiar rooms — it will be an ordeal, but I could not put it off any longer. . . . Why doesn't the butler return ? Does this good lady mean to keep me here awaiting her pleasure ? If these are manufacturing manners- • But I must beware of prejudice. No doubt there is some good reason for her delay. After all, people may have made a fortune out of carpets without being necessarily lacking in the refinements and courtesies of well-bred society. THE GAME OF ADVERBS 199 Bob {opening the draiving-room door). We're ready for you now, old chap. You can come in as soon as you like ! The Rector [to himself). "Old chap!" I "can come in!" . . . Well, well, I suppose this is the Yarnminster idea of cordiality. A little crude, perhaps — but well-meant, \He enters the drawing-room. PART II Scene — The Drawing-room at Dripstone. THE Rector has just entered, and stands help- lessly endeavouring to identify the Mistress of the House in the deepening dusk. Bob {cheerily). Make yourself at home, old fellow. Take a pew ! The Rector {to himself). "Take a pew!" The heartiness of manufacturing circles is really rather trying ! {Aloud.) But excuse me, I don't yet see Bob {taking him by the shoulders and thrusting him down on a couch in the centre of the circle). Squat there, and hre away. The Rector. I — ah — don't know whether you are aware that mv — um — ah — name is 200 THE GAME OF ADVERBS Polyblank, and that I am the Rector of Drip- stone ? [A general ripple of genuine, if reluctant, amusement. Bob. The Reverend Poly, eh ? by Jove ! capital ! All right, now begin asking questions — any rot will do, you know. Start with the Mater. The Rector {to himself). Are they all like this in Yarnminster ? {Aloud.) I confess that in this — ah — semi-darkness I find considerable difficulty in ascertaining the precise whereabouts of my — um — ah — hostess. \_A n outburst of irrepressible laughter. Mrs. Shutt. {giggling helplessly). Oh, dear, dear, I oughtn't to laugh — but he is so ridicu- lous ! This is me, over here in the corner. The Rector {pitching his voice in that direc- tion). I trust, my deah Mrs. Shuttleworth, that I have not seemed reprehensibly — ah — tardy in coming here to make your acquaintance ? Mrs. Shutt. {in a whisper). I don't know what to answer. {Aloud.) Tardy ? Oh dear, no. I shouldn't have cared if you'd stayed away altogether. {In a whisper, to Grace.) Do you think that was too rude, dear ? Grace. Oh, not at all, mamma. {Aloud to THE GAME OF ADVERBS 201 The Rector.) There, you've had mamma's answer. Now it's my turn. The Rector [to himself, in mild surprise). These people are really too impossible ! [Ad- dressing himself to Grace.) May I plead in excuse that my delay is due (firstly) to the preparations for our Harvest Festival, and (secondly) to the entire parish work being thrown upon my shoulders by my curate's having unexpectedly extended his holiday. \^A universal roar of delight. Bob. fust his pulpit manner, isn't it ? {Sotto voce, to Flossie.) Now perhaps you'll own I was right about Dormer. Flossie {in the same tone, to him). I must say he can be awfully clever and amusing — when he chooses. Grace {replying to The Rector). You can plead no excuse for trying to be clever at the expense of a clergyman who, with all his peculiarities, has fifty times your brains. The Rector {to himself). I should not have said that Barlam's brains were But why should I let myself be annoyed by such a trifle ? {Aloud.) My dear young lady, need I protest that I had not the slightest ideah ? 202 THE GAME OF ADVERBS Bob. Leave this to me, Grace. {To The Rector.) Not the sHghtest idea ? No, old chap, nobody here ever supposed you hadl \Applause. The Rector {to himself). I trust I am not unduly puffed up with the pride of intellect — but really ! {Aloud.) I came here in the hope that the natural — ah — bond between the Rectory and the Manor {Shouts of laugh- ter.) Don't you think — {with pathos) — don't you think you are making this rather difficult for me ? Flossie. It would be easy enough for any one who wasn't a hopeless idiot. The Rector {to himself). Can there be in- sanity in this family ? Merely ill-manners, I suspect. I won't give up just yet. Perhaps, by patience and sweetness, I shall win them over in the end. {Aloud, with laboured urbanity^ I am indeed in the Palace of Truth ! But there — we must no more look for reverence from the young than for— er— figs from an — um — ah — thistle. Must we ? Ivy Goring. I should have thought myself you \VQV\\& prefer the um — ah — thistles. [ Uproarious applause. THE GAME OF ADVERBS 203 The Rector {gasping). You compel me to remind you of a certain passage in the beautiful Catechism of our Church which Gillian Pinceney. Please don't. There are some things which should be respected — even by a professional buffoon ! The Rector {thunderstruck). A professional buff ! {Allowing his voice to boom.) Is there nobody here capable of answering the most ordinary remark without some monstrous insult ? Colin. Not j^z/r remarks. The Rector {to himself). I was never in such a household in all my life — never ! {Aloud.) As far as I can distinguish in this dusk, there is a little girl sitting over there. I'm sure she^ {To Connie.) Are you fond of animals, little girl ? Connie. I'm not fond of animals like you. \^A felicitous repartee, which is received with the zvildest enthusiasm. The Rector {to himself). I will make just one more effort. {To Mrs. Shuttleworth.) You must find a great pleasure, Mrs. — ah — Shuttle- worth, in occupying such a picturesque, and, I may say, historic house as this ? 204 THE GAME OF ADVERBS Mrs. Shutt. [wiping her eyes). Oh, dear, is it me again ? . . . Yes, it is a pleasant house — except when one has to entertain tire- some visitors who tvill ask foolish questions. The Rector. You may rely upon being secure from such inflictions for the future, madam. ( With warmth.) Why, why is it that I can count upon a kindly welcome in the humblest cottage, whereas here ? \He chokes. Miss Markham [demurely). I really can't say, perhaps cottagers are not vtvy particular. The Rector [passing his hand over his brow). I confess I am utterly at a loss to understand what all this means I Colin. Keep on asking questions. Ask Grace how she'd like to be the Reverend Mrs. Poly, and see what she says. Mummy said only the other day how nice it would be if The Rector [rising). Silence, boy ! I have heard enough ! I have stayed too long. I will go, before I am tempted to disgrace my calling by some unclerical outburst ! All [in fits of laughter). No, no, you mustn't go yet. You haven't said how we've received you ! THE GAME OF ADVERBS 205 The Rector {in a white rage). How ? How ! ! . . . Why, outrageously ! Abominably ! ! {General hissing. All. Wrong, wrong ! You haven't got it yet. Don't give it up ! Try again ! The Rector [stiffly). Pardon me — but a neces- sarily restricted vocabulary {Howls of laughter. Flossie {as they calm down). Well, the right adverb was " rudely." The Rector. I am not prepared to dispute it. Though there are others which perhaps are even more Flossie. I thought you saw it long ago. We might have been a little ruder, perhaps. The Rector. I should be sorry to question your capabilities — but still, I can hardly con- ceive that possible. Mrs. Shutt. Well, I don't know when I've had such a good laugh. It certainly is a most amusing game. Or at least you made it so. How wonderfully you did take the poor dear Rector off, to be sure ! When you first came in, I said to myself, " That cafi't be Mr, Dormer ! " But of course, directly you began to be so ridiculous, I remembered Bob had told 2o6 THE GAME OF ADVERBS us what a mimic you were. You really ought to go on the stage. You'd make your fortune as an actor, you would indeed ! The Rector {dropping feebly into a chair). I — ah — you do me too much honour, my dear Mrs. Shuttleworth. {To himself.) These poor dear deluded people ! I see now. . . It was a game . . . They didn't know me in the dark — they don't know me now ! . . . What a position — for them and me. What a horrible position ! Mrs. Shutt. Grace, my dear, will you ring for the lights ? The Rector {to himself). The lights ! If they're brought in, I shall never be able to look this family in the face again ! {Aloud.) Er — ah — so pleased to have afforded you so much — um — ah — innocent amusement — but I'm a little fatigued, and, if you'll allow me, I — I think I'll slip away. \^He makes his exit, amidst hearty rounds of applause. In the Library — A Little Later. Bob {to Dormer whom he discovers asleep on a sofa). What, lying down, old chap ? Well, I must say you deserve a rest after your labours. THE GAME OF ADVERBS 207 Dormer {apologetically). Tramping over those beastly wet roots does take it out of a fellow. But hasn't somebody called — the Rector, wasn't it? Bob. What a chap you are ! I should jolly well think it was the Rector ! Joking apart, old man, you were simply ripping ! How on earth you got old Poly's voice and manner so perfectly, after only hearing him once, beats vie. What with the room being dark, and that, 1 swear that once or twice, when we were all rotting you, and being as beastly rude as we knew, I half thought you really were the Rector. Dormer {to himself). The Rector must have had the deuce's own time of it ! {Aloud.) I — I hope your mother isn't — er — doesn't ? Bob. The Mater ? Not she ! She was in fits. And as for the girls, why, they're all raving about you ! Dormer. Are they, though ? Very nice of them. {To himself^ I'm like Thingummy — I've awoke to find myself famous ! Bob. The way you kept it up to the very end ! Dormer. I'm glad you think I kept it up to the very end. Bob. Your exit was a stroke of genius. I'm 2o8 THE GAME OF ADVERBS not flattering you, old chap, it was downright genius. I say, you'll do old Poly for us again after dinner, eh ? Dormer. My dear fellow, I couldn't if you paid me. Besides, I — I'd rather, if you don't mind, it didn't get talked about ; it — well, it might be awkward^ don't you know. Bob [noddmg his head sapiently). I see. You mean, it might get round to the Rector, eh ? Dormer. Exactly. It might — er — get round to the Rector. A BOHEMIAN BAG In appearance it is quite an ordinary Gladstone — but either the cow from which it derived its being was exceptionally erratic in her habits, or else the bag is possessed by some inferior order of demon with an elementary sense of humour. The salesman at the portmanteau-shop where I bought it assured me that I should find it a very good little bag indeed — for the price — but I do him the justice of believing that, like my- self, he was imposed upon by its extremely in- offensive appearance. I had not been on many journeys with it before I became indignantly aware of the gross carelessness with which porters on every line I travelled by seemed to treat luggage com- mitted to their charge. I tried taking it in the carriage with me — but it refused to go under the seat, while it was too bulky to remain long in a rack intended 209 Q 210 A BOHEMIAN BAG for light articles only, so I entrusted it to a porter, saw it labelled myself, and thought no more about it until I arrived at my destined station — which the bag never by any chance did until hours afterwards. It is trying at first — especially on a visit to comparative strangers — to enter a country-house drawing-room, and join a large and formal dinner-party in the clothes one has travelled down in — but I became fairly accustomed to it in time. Some of my fellow-guests — particu- larly when I met them again under precisely similar conditions — no doubt concluded that I had some conscientious objection to dress for dinner. Those who knew wondered at my lack of even sufficient intelligence to look after my own luggage like other people. They didn't lose their bags. Which was all very well — but I would defy them not to lose tnine. Yet, although I see now of course how blind I was, I went on blaming porters, traffic-super- intendents, station-masters, even myself, for months before it ever occurred to me to sus- pect the bag. How could I imagine that, under its sleek and stolidly respectable surface, it was seething with suppressed revolt, that a A BOHEMIAN BAG 211 passion for liberty and independence had per- meated every fibre of its leather ? Perhaps my eyes were not even partly opened till one autumn, when I had been staying with some friends in Ayrshire. My bag had rejoined me there in a day or two, after running up as far as Inverness. So, on my way south from Edinburgh to York, I saw the bag with other luggage into a composite luggage-van, and took a compartment immediately adjoining it, ex- pressly to keep an eye upon it. At York an elderly guard in the van attempted to convince me that my luggage was at the other end of the train, and while I persisted in demanding it the argument was interrupted by the arrival of several huge Saratoga trunks which monopolised his attention. At last I had to get in myself, and identify my property. I got out all but the bag, which I could see, but not reach, behind a pile of other luggage; just then the train began to move, and I had to leap out to avoid being taken on to Peterborough. The bag, of course, went on. It condescended to return late the same night, but from that instant my confidence in it was shaken. I could not understand such obstinacy 212 A BOHEMIAN BAG and cunning in a mere bag, nor how it had contrived to enlist, not only Saratoga trunks, but a white-bearded Scotch railway-guard, as its accomplices. I only felt that in future, even for week-end visits, I should prefer to take a portmanteau. It might give the impression that I expected to be pressed to stay longer — but at least we should arrive in company. And so the bag was condemned to inglorious idleness till the next summer, when, not without mis- givings, I decided to give it another chance by permitting it to accompany me and the port- manteau in my Continental wanderings. Any ordinary bag would have been touched by this appeal to its better feelings — mine merely regarded it as an opportunity to work off long arrears of devilry. It broke out as early as Paris, where I had seen my baggage registered for Munich and received the bulletin for it at the Gare de I'Est. I was roused from sleep at about 1.30 A.M. to go to the luggage-car and see it examined by the Customs officers. But it had spared them that trouble by inducing somebody to put it into the express for Carlsbad, and, which I minded even more, it had per- suaded my hitherto immaculate portmanteau to A BOHEMIAN BAG 213 elope with it. They came back together in a day or two, and, while I thought I could see signs of depression, if not penitence, in the portmanteau, the bag maintained the demure calm of a cat that has taken a retriever out for his first poaching expedition. The bag, by the way, possessed a key — a long one with a weak profile which could never prevail upon it to open under a quarter of an hour, an embarrassing delay when crossing a frontier. At last it broke short off in the lock, and I had to send for an Italian locksmith to force it open — an indignity which I fear de- stroyed any lingering remnant of self-respect the bag had still retained. It would roll out on the platform, yawning impudently, and pro- ceed to disgorge articles which a more loyal bag would have kept to itself. Italian officials refused at last to register it without the pre- cautions of a stout rope and a leaden seal — which unfortunately was not stamped with the name of Solomon — and every time it was thus corded and sealed I had to pay an extra fee. Whenever an eye was off it for a single moment it escaped. It saw considerably more of Italy than I did myself, so much of my time 214 A BOHEMIAN BAG was spent in describing its salient features to officials, who drew up innumerable documents concerning it with leisurely thoroughness. It returned from these escapades an absolute wreck ; I was obliged to have its back strength- ened with an iron brace, while its mouth re- mained as permanently open as an imbecile's. Still, I managed to get it safely home — though it very nearly contrived to return to Calais by the next boat from Dover. Since then it has been once more in peniten- tial retreat till this very last Christmas. Then — it may have been the influence of the season — I relented. I was spending Christmas a little way out of town, and I thought the bag must be tired of tomfoolery by that time, so I started with it in a hansom on that particularly foggy Wednesday afternoon which no Londoner who was out in it is likely to forget. My hansom, after landing me in a ciil de sac, declined to take me any further, so I had to get myself and the bag to the District Station at Victoria as well as I could. I was not sorry when a stranger, who — so much as was visible of him in the fog, seemed respectable enough — offered to carry it for me. A BOHEMIAN BAG 215 I know now that he was quite honest, but I confess that I had my doubts of it when, after dismissing him at the station, I discovered that my confounded bag had vanished during the short time I was taking my ticket. I gave in- formation at the proper quarters, with no real expectation of seeing it again. It was only too easy for a thief to make off with it in such a fog, and, on the whole, I was rather relieved to be rid of it. For once — I chuckled to think — it had overreached itself in its artfulness. But I was mistaken. The bag turned up in the last place I expected to find it in — the Left Luggage Office. Somehow, at the moment I put it down by the booking office, it had managed to suggest to a man (who must have been a bit of an idiot) that it had been left behind by a friend of his. So he had rushed down below after him — only to find out his mistake, and hand the bag to a porter, who took it up to the superintendent as soon as he had time. Still the bag got out of coming with me, which was evidently its intention from the first. I cannot help thinking there must be something morbid and depraved about a bag which can prefer to spend its Christmas in a 2i6 A BOHEMIAN BAG Left Luggage OfBce instead of in a cheerful family circle. After this last mortification I feel that all further attempts on my part to civilise a bag like that must be abandoned. And yet — am I justified in letting it loose on society ? I doubt it. If I presented it to a gipsy caravan, it might settle down with its fellow nomads. Or it might, out of sheer perversity, insist on tracking its way back to me. Is there any kind reader with a talent for reclaiming abandoned baggage who would care to adopt it ? If so, I shall be pleased to hand it over to any one who will undertake to provide it with a comfortable home. It mayn't be such a bad bag, if only it finds some one who really understands it. THE MAGIC H'S (A Society Story of Up-to-date Diablerie) [I DID not invent this story myself — I should not have dared. Nor will I pledge myself — even in a political sense — for it as being true in every particular. There is much in it that 1 can only accept under considerable reserve ; there are even certain things that strike me as frankly incredible. However, I tell it as it was related to me by a communicative and rather seedy stranger, in the Tube between Shepherd's Bush and Tottenham Court Road Stations, on Saturday the ist of April last. I am able to fix the precise date, because it was the day I lost my pocket-book. The stranger began abruptly with a remark on the singular value of the letter " h " as a passport to polite society. " I happen," he said, " to know a rather striking instance in point, if you would care to hear it." Whereupon he told me the following narrative, for the somewhat 217 2i8 THE MAGIC H'S inflated diction of which I must decline to be responsible : — ] "Harold Hipperholme seemed, at the time when I first knew him, a young man on whom Fortune had showered her choicest gifts. Of respectable, though not distinguished, origin, he possessed exceptional good looks, a commanding intelligence, considerable ac- complishments, and wealth that was absolutely phenomenal. But alas ! there was a dash of bitter irony in the cup of his happiness — he had everything — everything he could possibly require — except 'h's.' The unhappy young man had never yet succeeded in aspirating even his own name ! " For a while he could scarcely be said to suffer acutely from this infirmity. Indeed, he was scarcely conscious of it. Not till he became acquainted with the beautiful Lady Icilia Chilwell, daughter of the Earl of Stoni- stairs, was his deficiency brought home to him in all its full horror. He met her first at a Charity Bazaar, where she was assisting at a stall of fancy goods, and he fell hopelessly in love with her at first sight. After purchasing a ' toilet-tidy,' worked, as she assured him, THE MAGIC H'S 219 by her own hands, for the sum of ten guineas, he had ventured to remark that 'the 'eat was simply 'orrible.' It struck him afterwards that she had shivered — but he thought nothing of it at the moment ; and at their next meeting (which took place at a Flower Show in the Botanical Gardens) he addressed her more boldly with an inquiry whether she was 'going to 'Urlingham that Saturday.' Once more he observed her shiver, but, gathering courage as he went on, he ended by making her a formal offer of his hand and heart. No doubt his handsome appearance and faultless attire, together with the fact (which he did not try to conceal) that he was a person of unbounded affluence, prevented Lady Icilia's refusal from being as harsh as might otherwise have been expected. But she made it abundantly clear that it zvas a refusal. Even should she herself have been able to overlook such an insuperable barrier as utter ' h '-lessness in a suitor, she gave him distinctly to understand that her haughty father, the Earl, would never permit her union with one to whom the very existence of an eighth letter of the alphabet seemed so entirely problematical. . . ." 220 THE MAGIC H'S [Here I could not help remarking that I should hardly have thought that any aristo- cratic parent in these days would reject an aspirant as wealthy as Harold Hipperholme for so trifling a reason. For, though I cannot boast an acquaintanceship at first hand with any members of the nobility, I have read the diatribes of "Rita" and Miss Corelli, and have also frequently seen impecunious peers in society comedies welcome proposals from the most impossible outsiders, when sufficiently wealthy, with positive effusion. So that I felt pretty sure of my ground. The stranger, however, replied that my objection merely showed that I must temporarily have forgotten the extreme fastidiousness that notoriously characterises the House of Stonistairs. I ad- mitted that I had, and he resumed his story : — ] "Needless to say that Harold endeavoured to overcome her decision by all the eloquence at his command. He urged that a true heart could beat as faithfully without its ' h ' as with it. He reminded her that the very letter on which she laid such unnecessary stress modestly ignored its own existence, since it was uni- THE MAGIC H'S 221 versally pronounced 'aitch' — not 'haitch.' All was in vain. Unless, or until, she told him, he could acquire a complete mastery of the elusive aspirate, he must never hope to call her his ! He left her with the fixed resolve to win her, whatever it might cost him. " He put himself under several professors of elocution. They taught him to elocute, it is true — but not one of them could instil a solitary * h ' into him, and elocution without aspirates is as incapable of soaring to the sublime as a cherub with its wings clipped ! There came an hour when he realised that he had exhausted all human aid, and that henceforth his sole hope lay in seeking assistance from the Powers of Evil ! " By the merest chance he saw on a railway bookstall a volume of one of the admirable < A B C ' series, entitled ' The A B C of the Black Art. By a Black Artist. With an appendix containing fifteen different formulcB for invoking fiends.' He purchased the book — for, to one of his vast means, a shilling net was the merest trifle — took it home, and, locking himself into his study, traced a penta- gram on the floor, as directed, and set to work 222 THE MAGIC H'S to raise some unemployed fiend who should help him to attain his ends. *' For whole days and nights he laboured without conspicuous success. Occasionally some evil spirit with nothing worse to do would obey his summons, but no sooner did they hear the purpose for which they had been invoked, than (whether in disgust at its utter triviality, or to conceal their own incompetence) they indulged in demonstrations of fury so violent as almost to frighten him out of his wits. But the fifteenth and last formula produced a more satisfactory result. This time the fiend who answered his call was both less appalling of appearance and more obliging in disposition. In comparison with his predecessors he was almost undersized and, though inky, he was sympathetic and even resourceful. " I suppress his name for obvious reasons — but he seemed to see no difficulty whatever in the affair. According to him, all Harold had to do was to procure certain articles, of which he gave him a list, and be at a given spot by the following midnight. There the fiend undertook to meet him with a magic typefoundry, and together they would turn THE MAGIC H'S 223 out as many ' h's ' as possible before cockcrow. It is conceivable that the fiend may have been inspired by reminiscences of the opera of Der Freischiitz. Or it may have been his own idea entirely. That we shall never know now ! "After ascertaining that he would not be in any way prejudicing his future prospects by compliance, Harold made a note of the appointment, and the demon left. The next day was spent in collecting the necessary skulls and braziers, &c., and, shortly after II P.M., Hipperholme chartered a four-wheeler to convey himself and his occult paraphernalia to the midnight rendezvous. "The precise spot I prefer not to indicate further than by mentioning that it was where four cross-roads met, and just outside the radius. You may readily believe that on that journey Harold's heart was not altogether free from apprehensions. He could not but be aware that proceedings which might well escape remark in the seclusion of a German forest would inevitably attract attention in a London suburb. Suppose he and the fiend were brought up before a London magistrate for disturbing the traffic ? What an opportunity 224 THE MAGIC H'S for, say, Mr. Plowden ! However, after arriving at the cross-roads and dismissing the cab with an extra sixpence, he found the fiend punctually awaiting him with a curious contrivance, some- what between a cauldron and a type-casting machine on the Linotype principle. They set out a circle with the skulls and lamps and sundries, and then the weird labour commenced. But not, as Harold had anticipated, without an- noying interruptions — from motor-cars, market- waggons, nocturnal hansoms, and the like. Fortunately, the fiend had a short and summary method of dealing with tJicin. Once, at a critical stage in the proceedings, a constable on night duty came up with a request to know ' what they were up to ' — but the fiend explained that they were only relaying the gas-pipes under instructions from the Local Borough Council, and the policeman departed quite satisfied, after wishing them a not uncordial good- night. "And at last, well before the earliest village cock had shaken off his slumber, the dread task was accomplished. I am unable to furnish the exact figures of their output, but it may be safely estimated at several millions — a THE MAGIC H'S 225 sufficient supply of h's to set up the most inveterate and conversational Cockney for eighteen months at the very least ! " I must not forget to mention that the fiend, before taking his leave, remarked, with a dia- bolical giggle to which Harold at the time was too elated to attach any importance, ' By the way, my friend, I had better warn you that six of those h's are "wrong 'uns ! " ' With which he sank through the soil, and Hipper- holme never saw him again. " But his spirits were high as he hastened home with his ill-gotten acquisitions. I hear you ask" — [I had not opened my lips, but the question had certainly occurred to me] — " by what possible process a supply of typed as- pirates, even from an infernal matrix, could be introduced into any mortal's system ? I can only reply that I have not the smallest idea — but that the assimilation undoubtedly took place. For no sooner had Harold reached his quarters than he hastened to put his new powers to the test. It so happened that he had accepted a generous offer from the Times to lend him their new Century Dictionary for a week, gratis, on approval, and he now went P 226 THE MAGIC H'S all through the h's in one of the volumes without a single mishap. He was just exult- ing over the fact when his Guardian Fairy unexpectedly appeared, . . ." [I suppose the fairy, coming so soon after the fiend, must have caused me to exhibit an involuntary sur- prise, for he immediately explained :] " You may or may not be aware of it — but certain indi- viduals do possess a Guardian Fairy, whose busi- ness it is, according to so distinguished an authority on the subject as Mr. W. S. Gilbert, to see that they do not get into scrapes, or to pull them through when they have done so. Hipperholme was one of these favoured persons, and his Guardian Fairy, on hearing his account of the lurid scene that had transpired at the cross-roads, naturally expressed strong dis- approval of his proceedings. She considered he had acted most imprudently in having any dealings whatever with a fiend, who was almost certain to do him in the long run. Harold replied that this one seem.ed a decent sort enough, and had made no attempt to bind him by any obligation whatever, and that, anyhow, he was several millions of h's to the good by the transaction. THE MAGIC H'S 227 "'But I understood,' said the fairy, 'that six of those h's are — to use your new friend's sHghtly common expression — "wrong 'uns"?' " ' So they are,' said Harold ; ' but what are half-a-dozen out of all those millions ? ' "'Still,' she said, 'if but a single one of the six were to slip out in the hearing of Lady I cilia or her father before she has be- come your bride, it would suffice to undo you ! ' " Harold said that, according to the theory of probabilities, it was uncommonly long odds against a wrong 'un turning up at all. "The fairy retorted that, probabilities or no probabilities, he might take it from her that it would. "'In that case,' he said, 'I think you might have warned me before, instead of after, I had embarked upon such an enterprise as this.' " She said that it was his fault, not hers — for, if his previous conduct had not been so invariably discreet that her office was prac- tically a sinecure, she would never have felt free to take a brief holiday, during which all the mischief was done. ' Fortunately, how- ever,' she added, ' it is not too late to repair it — even yet. Take this talisman,' — and here 228 THE MAGIC H'S she handed him a small crystal locket, con- taining a model of a ladybird coloured after Nature, but lacking in finish — in fact, just such a trinket as you may see in almost any jeweller's window, marked as low occasionally as eighteen- pence, though the price will vary accordmg to size. 'Take this,' she said, 'and should any vowel escape you at some unguarded moment unattended by its rightful aspirate, you have merely to touch your locket and all will be well ! ' " Immediately after her departure Hipper- holme attached the charm to his watch-chain, though he did not, even then, expect that he would ever be reduced to put its powers to the test. That same afternoon he repaired in rich apparel to the Earl's portals, and, giving his full name to the butler without the slightest effort, was ushered into Lady Icilia's presence. "At first she could scarcely credit him when he gave her the joyful intelligence that the sole obstacle to their union was now removed — but when she had the unspeakable happi- ness of hearing him triumphantly reel off a long string of words beginning with h, and THE MAGIC H'S 229 including such compounds as ' hedge-hog/ * heart-whole/ and even * hen-house,' her last doubt vanished, and she acknowledged that he could now speak to her parent with no apprehension that the peppery old peer would summon his menials to eject him from the premises. "If Hipperholme behaved with some lack of candour in encouraging Lady Icilia to believe that his proficiency was the result of the lessons he had taken in elocution, we should not condemn him too harshly on this account. How few of us in his situation would have had the moral courage to admit the dubious means by which such h's had been actually obtained ! Rightly or wrongly, he preserved his sinister secret to the end. " Lord Stonistairs, when Harold applied to him for his daughter's hand, consented, though without enthusiasm, to a trial engagement, which, as you will no doubt remember, was duly announced in the Mornijig Post. " But a formidable ordeal was still to be faced. He had to undergo inspection by Icilia's high-born and extremely critical relatives. For this purpose the Earl had invited the family 230 THE MAGIC H'S to partake of a sumptuous and recherche high tea at his town residence in Belgrave Square. "The gathering was small but select, com- prising as it did Icilia's aunt, the Duchess of Marsaye and her daughter, Lady Fresia Ded- cott ; the Earl and Countess of Northpole ; Lord Norman Beaucoe (another cousin) ; Sir Basil Iske ; the Hon. Medusa Glayre ; Mrs. 'Jack' Frost, and one or two others — all names that will be familiar to you, and some of whose owners you have probably met in society on more than one occasion." [I could not remember ever having even heard of any one of them — but does there breathe an Englishman with a soul so dead as to confess to ignorance of his own peerage ? I murmured an assent from which almost any inference might be drawn, and tlie stranger proceeded :] " Hipperholme was a trifle nervous at start- ing ; he found them rather difficult to get on with — in fact, they literally paralysed him. But Love put him, so to speak, on his mettle. He exerted all his considerable social powers to break the glacial spell, and he succeeded be- yond his hopes. Gradually there came a THE MAGIC H'S 231 general thaw, until even the proud old Earl unbent so far as to recommend him strongly to have a second helping of ham and eggs, and to rally him, in an affable, good-humoured way, upon betraying some indecision on the subject. "This set Harold completely at his ease: ' Since,' he replied, with a graceful deference that sat well upon him, ' since your lordship is so pressing, I will take another poached egg — witJiout any more 'am.' . . . The word had slipped out before he could prevent it. He had felt so absolutely sure of that h — and it had turned out a 'wrong 'un ' ! "Already the haughty aristocrats around the board were perceptibly stiffening ; Lady Icilia had turned deadly pale ; her noble father rose, bristling, with the obvious intention of declaring the engagement 'off' — when Hipperholme sud- denly bethought him of the ladybird in his pocket. He touched it with frantic haste, and, as he did so, heard himself serenely finishing his sentence with — * biguity.' He was saved ! He regained his former control of aspirates, and by the time the powdered lackeys appeared to clear the table he was now fully recognised 232 THE MAGIC H'S as one of the family. All the same, it had been an unpleasant shock for the moment, though the effect soon passed from his memory. He told himself that it was over, and most unlikely to occur again. " Nor did it, for several delirious weeks — and then, once more, he found himself on the very verge of a similar abyss. He had been invited, together with his fiancee and her father, to join certain members of the Smart Set in an excursion to Epping Forest, and the dis- tinguished party was driving in a brake drawn by four spanking steeds along an avenue of magnificent beeches. The sense of intimacy with such a company, the charm of Lady Icilia's society, the azure sky, the glorious sunshine, the surroundings generally, all con- tributed to render him intoxicated with sheer happiness. He became almost lyrical in his ecstasies. " * Oh the relief,' he exclaimed, ' the unspeak- able refreshment, for jaded worldlings like our- selves, to escape — if only for the day — from the fevered social round to such rural scenes as these ! To revel in the scent of bracken, the song of birds, and the 'um ' He broke off THE MAGIC H'S 233 in horror; he had intended to say the 'hum of insects' — for the flies were unusually per- sistent that summer — but another spurious ' h ' had perfidiously betrayed him ! " ' Yes ? ' said the grim old Earl, who sat opposite, in a tone of sardonic encouragement. * Pray proceed. You were remarking, " the urn " ' " * Brageous foliage!' Harold just managed to gasp as he clutched his talisman — and, as before, the danger was averted. ** Another interval succeeded of such absolute immunity that the possibility of ever again omitting anything so obvious as an aspirate seemed unthinkable. . . . And then, like a bolt from the blue, out came a most unmistakable wrong 'un ! He had arranged to escort his betrothed to a Gala Fete, which was one of the principal functions of that season, and which Royalty was expected to attend. It was at Rosherville Gardens, and Lady Icilia, having in a moment of caprice insisted that the party should go down by an ordinary penny steamer, Hipperholme, after arraying himself in a fault- less frock-coat, had, very naturally, thought it more prudent to put on a billycock hat as 234 THE MAGIC H'S being less likely to blow off. When he joined the others on the landing-stage at Charing Cross, Lord Norman Beaucoe, who, as usual, was in a blue striped lounge suit and a tall white chimney-pot, permitted himself to pass some remark on Harold's choice of head-gear. It was not precisely a sneer, but sufBciently so to nettle Hipperholme's high spirit. " * I would have you to know, my lord,' he retorted, ' that a gentleman can look the gentle- man in any kind of 'at !' ... As the fatal word left his lips he caught the Earl's eye and his talisman at the same moment. 'Tire,' he con- cluded calmly, and the ill-concealed discom- fiture of Lord Norman, the milder expression of his uncle, and the proud glow that suffused the face of Lady Icilia, told him not only that his faux pas had been successfully obliterated, but that he had actually risen a step higher in their esteem ! " What wonder then if, when the date of their nuptials was fixed and the invitations issued for the ceremony, he ceased to have any further misgivings ? And yet, little as he suspected it, beneath the roses which strewed his path to the altar there lurked still another THE MAGIC H'S 235 pitfall, and the moment was fast approaching when he would see it yawning in front of him — and this time ! " ["Was, I should imagine," I put in, sup- pressing a tendency to imitate the pitfall, " exactly like the other three. If not, what on earth was the good of giving him a talisman at all?" " Don't be in such a hurry ! " said the stranger, patting me significantly on the chest (he had a most unpleasant habit of pawing me about in the course of his narrative), " Wait till you have heard the sequel." We had by this time arrived at Bond Street, and I dia wait for the sequel. As I was getting out at the British Museum, I could not very well help myself.] "You implied just now," said the voluble stranger, as the train glided out of Bond Street Station, "that, even should any further disaster overtake Hipperholme, the talisman given to him by his Guardian Fairy could safely be de- pended upon to extricate him. That was a very natural assumption on your part, and in the main a perfectly correct one. Under ordinary cir- cumstances, it is a matter of common knowledge 236 THE MAGIC H'S that a fairy is fully a match for the average fiend. But such calculations are always liable to be upset by some trivial accident which it is totally impossible to foresee. As Harold was soon to discover : " He was at a brilliant evening party given by a certain peeress, who shall be nameless, at her magnificent mansion in Park Lane. The society craze last season, as I dare say you re- collect, took the form of parlour games — an intellectual pastime for which Harold had a natural aptitude, and in which he easily held his own against the very smartest of the Smart Set. That night he outshone even himself, and Lady Icilia (who with her father, the Earl, was of course among those invited) was the pleased recipient of many congratulations on the gentle- manly deportment and ready wit displayed by the object of her choice. At last, after repeated triumphs, he was required to submit himself to a test compared with which all previous ones were child's play. He had to leave the room while the rest of the company settled among themselves what celebrated historical character on what particular occasion he was to repre- sent, and it was for him to guess, if he could. THE MAGIC H'S 237 from the cryptic remarks addressed to him by each of the players in turn, whom they supposed him to be. Very possibly you iiave played this game yourself ? " . . . [I had — and had not found it particularly exhilarating, though I did not consider it neces- sary to say so.] "Well, Hipperholme came in, and brought all the powers of his mind to bear on the prob- lem — but for once he found himself completely baffled. Nothing they said afforded him the faintest clue. " ' I must admit, my lords, ladies, and gentle- men,' he owned at length with a genial frank- ness, 'that I'm rather up the stick this time. I'm really afraid I must ask you to assist me a little by giving me just the slightest 'mt!' . . . " He knew what he had done, but he was not seriously perturbed — the talisman would get him out of it as usual, and instinctively his fingers sought his watch-chain. Judge of his horror when he found that the crystal locket was no longer there ! He searched his waist- coat pockets in vain — it was not in either of them ; he had lost it somehow ! " ' Just the slightest 'int/ the wretched man 238 THE MAGIC H'S repeated mechanically, amidst a silence so in- tense that, had any patrician present possessed such a thing as a pin and allowed it to drop, it would assuredly have fallen with a sickening thud. Fortunately, this was not the case. " Hipperholme gazed round the semicircle in wild despair, as he wiped the perspiration from his clammy brow — and then he caught sight of a glittering object lying just underneath a gilded sofa. He dived for it frantically ; with inex- pressible relief he recognised his lost ladybird, and, as he resumed the perpendicular with the talisman in his clutch, the conclusion — 'erval for reflection ' — fell from his lips, and the in- tolerable strain was instantly relaxed. " Immediately afterwards it flashed upon him that he could be no other personage but King Harold on the occasion of being hit in the eye by an arrow at the Battle of Hastings — which proved to be perfectly correct. " But, even amidst the general applause that greeted this display of penetration, Hipperholme shivered at the recollection of the narrow squeak he had just experienced. ** He had the fastening of the talisman re- paired — while he waited — at the earliest oppor- THE MAGIC H'S 239 tunity, after which he felt himself once more invuhierable. To be sure, there were two more 'wrong 'uns' to be expected — but, even if they did slip out before his marriage with Lady Icilia, it would not signify so long as he had the charm at hand — and he would take un- commonly good care not to lose sight of it in future. " When she was once his bride, he would be safer still. It would take more than a couple of defective aspirates to sever them then ! " As it happened, during the weeks that re- mained he was never once under the necessity of employing the talisman, a circumstance which so increased his sense of security that, while arraying himself on his wedding morn for the ceremony, it occurred to him that he might safely leave the locket on his dressing-table. " He had always thought it a rather cheap and tawdry ornament for a man of his means to wear ; it w^ould be an unsightly blot on the magnificence of his attire on this momentous occasion ; it w'ould not be required, since he could hold no conversation with either Lady Icilia or her parent until after the conclusion of the nuptials. 240 THE MAGIC H'S " Still, he would have to say a few words in the vestry afterwards — and then there was the drive with his bride from the church, and the wedding breakfast. Perhaps it would be wisest to avoid all risks. So, for the present, at all events, he decided to allow the locket to remain on his watch-chain. "The wedding was at St. George's, Hanover Square, which was crowded to suffocation by persons of rank, commoners finding it hopeless to obtain admittance, and the vergers being compelled to turn even Countesses away ! " Harold, with Lord Norman Beaucoe as his best man, stood by the altar, awaiting the arrival of the bridal cortege, and, as he heard the society small talk behind him drowning even the peal- ing notes of the organ, his bosom swelled with a satisfaction that made him entirely oblivious of the fact that he owed the proud position in which he stood to a fiend of the most plebeian order. "And then — preceded by the choir, and fol- lowed by eight bridesmaids, all ladies of title, and wearing costly diamond brooches in the form of two interlaced h's, the gift of the bride- groom — Lady Icilia Chilwell came slowly up the THE MAGIC H'S 241 centre aisle, leaning on the arm of her father, the Earl of Stonistairs, and the ceremony com- menced. " It was conducted by the Bishop of Mumble- borough, assisted by several of the minor clergy, and, as the venerable prelate, in accents almost inaudible with emotion, dictated the responses, the happy bridegroom repeated them in tones as full as was his heart. *To have and to hold,' quavered the good old Bishop — and through the sacred edifice Harold's resonant voice rang out like a clarion call: 'To 'ave and to 'old ! ' " I can only qualify the result as electrical. Never before, perhaps, had that aristocratic fane heard the aspirate treated with such appalling irreverence ; the walls seemed to rock, strong men grew pale, the very choristers were visibly concerned, the Bishop was struck dumb, while Lady Icilia, withdrawing her hand from Harold, shrank from him with a movement of uncontrol- lable repulsion, " Hipperholme alone preserved his composure. He felt that he could hardly have dropped two h's at a more unpropitious moment — but fortu- nately the matter could easily be set right. How 242 THE MAGIC H'S lucky that he had not followed his first impulse and left his ladybird at home ! He fingered the talisman with confidence. "To his indescribable dismay it failed him for the first time ! He could not believe it at first, could not understand how such a thing could have happened. And then the terrible truth dawned upon him. It was useless to ex- pect the talisman to aid him there. Not even a fairy could venture to introduce any additions to the marriage service. What he had said he had said ! " Lady Icilia had already collapsed — a mere heap of white satin, Brussels lace, and orange blossom — into the arms of her principal brides- maid, the Earl had stepped forward and held a whispered colloquy with the Bishop, who seemed to agree with him that the ceremony could not proceed, as Harold rushed madly from the building, bareheaded, for he had re- signed his hat to Lord Norman Beaucoe. And, at the moment he gained the portico, and was descending the steps into George Street, he heard a malicious snigger, which seemed to come from the telephone wires overhead, and a voice he remembered but too well cried out THE MAGIC H'S 243 with shrill derision: 'What did I tell you? Six of 'em wrong 'uns I ' ''The fairy knew more about hends than he did, after all. They were not to be trusted ! " " But surely," I said, as we ran into the next station, " that isn't the end of the story ? The fairy couldn't possibly leave him in such a fix as that. Or why have a Guardian Fairy at all ? " "You are right," he said impressively, pat- ting me with approval on the chest ; "absolutely right ! That is 7wt the end. The finale is singular, but satisfactory, as you are about to hear. . . . But, bless me, this is Tottenham Court Road ! I'm afraid I must bid you fare- well, with many thanks foi your courteous attention. I get out here." And he did — so I missed the finale. It was not till I reached the British Museum that I missed my pocket-book. AFTER REHEARSAL (An Object-lesson for would-be Playwn'ghfs) Scene — 7 Vie interior of the Vacuity Theatre^ which is to open shortly under the manage- ment of that enterprisijig a?td popular young actor, Mr. SIDNEY Sangwin. Time — The fag-end of a November afternoon. On the stage — which is lit by a feiv electric lights in the flies, and is bare, except for sundry pieces of furniture placed to mark the entrances — the rehearsal of ^' A House of Cards," the comedy by a hitherto unacted dramatist with which Mr, S. S. Jias decided to tempt Fortune, is slowly dragging to a close. Mr, Aikenhead, the author, is seated in an un- shrouded section of the stalls, drearily wonder- ing hoiv he could ever have deluded himself into a belief that his dialogue was humorous. Next to him is MiSS Ardleigh, who, not being on in the final act, is kindly endeavour- ing to relieve his obvious depression. Miss Ardleigh {referring to her part — a haronefs wife who has been on the music-hall stage). The on'y thing I'm afraid of is that AFTER REHEARSAL 245 I shall be too refined in it — that's reely how I feel ! (Mr. A. hastens to reassure her on this score.) Oh, it's very sweet of you to say so, I'm sure — and of course it's wonderful what one can do with technique — still, vulgarity doesn't seem to come easy to me, somehow. I should love to play Lady Cynthia. Now, Miss Daintrey — well, I don't know what you think — but to me, her style isn't distangay enough, — she seems to fall just short of the real lady, if you understand my meaning ! Mr. Aikenhead {for whom Miss Phyllis Daintrey is the one bright star in his clouded horizon). Afraid I can't agree with you — Miss Daintrey is everything I could wish. Miss A. Well, if yoiixQ. satisfied, that's every- thing, isn't it ? But I'm understudying her, as p'raps you know, so, if anything should occur to prevent her playing Mr, a, {watching Miss DAINTREY, as she looks on with a charmingly amused smile during a pro- tracted wrangle over a ^^ cross" which is not down in the prompter'' s book, and inwardly congratulating himself upon her evidently perfect health). Miss Daintrey doesn't look as if she was going to break down just yet. 246 AFTER REHEARSAL Miss A. It was on'y something she said to me this morning. But, as I told her, " My dear girl^' I said, " when you've been ten years longer in the profession you can begin to pick and choose. You don't hear me grum- bling," I said, "and yet, look at my part com- pared to yours ! " And such lovely frocks as she'll have, too ! 1 don't know what more she wants, I'm sure! \The rehearsal comes to an end. Mr. Sangwin {on stage). We'll take the first act to-morrow at eleven sharp, please, and I do hope some of you will be better up in your words by then. At present the only person who rehearses without the script in her hand is Miss Daintrey. You really must buck up a bit! Mr. Stiltney Bellairs. Dear old boy, what is the use of studying till we get our scenery ? Only means beginning all over again when it comes. Thought it was promised for last week — and here we are, still messin' about ! \^Sympathetic murmurs from the Company. Mr. S. S. We'll get it in time, old chap. They're all rather elaborate sets, but old Dawbler thinks he can get the first act up AFTER REHEARSAL 247 by next P>iday. {To Miss Daintrey) Eh? Certainly, dear — just step up into my room — I'll be there in half a jiff. {To Mr. A. as Miss D. departs) Just a word with you, Aiken- head, my boy. (Mr. A. finds his way through the proscenium door on to the stage.) Well, it's beginning to shape a bit better, eh ? The only thing it wants now is — but I'll talk to you about that presently, when I've settled things with Miss Daintrey — it's about time she signed her contract. Mr. a. {aghast). Why, hasn't she done that yet? Mr. S. S. No, asked for time to think over it — several of 'em did, you know. But I'm not going to stand any more shilly-shallying. I'll run up and make sure of her — don't go away till I see you. \^He bustles off. Miss Nurosa Reckitt {intercepting Mr. a.). Mr. Aikenhead, I must speak to you, I simply must! I'm absolutely in despair about my part! I feel I can do nothing with it — nothing! I'm merely a " feeder " to Miss Nasmyth. She crushes me whenever we're on the stage to- gether — I'm nowhere ! Mr. a. But I assure you, Miss Reckitt, you're 248 AFTER REHEARSAL quite admirable. I'm perfectly satisfied — per- fectly ! Miss R. {with dignity). I hope, Mr. Aiken- head, I am capable of satisfying any author. I ought to be with all my experience. But {becoming agitated again) I cant make bricks without straw. If I might speak my Hnes with a stutter — anything — anything in the world to put a litte colour into them ! If not, I shall have to consider very seriously whether \She goes off with a gulp of repressed emotion. Mr. Ravensnell. Another rocky rehearsal, Mr. Aikenhead ! 'Pon my soul, I think things get worse instead of better ! Most of 'em as fluffy as feather beds ! Though your lines, if you'll pardon my frankness, sir, are difficult to get round the tongue — writing for the stage has to be learnt, like everything else. But it's the slackness everywhere that / complain of. A dear good fellow, old Sidney, but no disciplinarian. Lets 'em do whatever they please. I don't know if you remarked it, but the tag was actually spoken to-day at rehearsal ! That's always supposed, as you are probably aware, to bring bad luck. All superstition, of AFTER REHEARSAL 249 course. Though I'm bound to say that, in my experience, I've never known it fail. By-the- bye, do you think that " Dumb-Crambo " scene in the second act will go ? Don't see your way to cutting it out, I suppose ? Mr. a. No, I think it will be all right when it's worked up. And it's never been done on the stage. Mr. R. There you're mistaken, sir. It was done two years ago at the Nullity, in a piece called A Flash in the Pan. I remember it ran just a week. I happen to know because I was in the cast. I thought it as well to mention it. \He shuffles away as Mr. Stiltney Bellairs approaches. Mr. S. B. I say, Mr. Aikenhead, I wish you'd let me leave out a line in the last act. It's no use to me, and it strikes me as a bit dangerous. I mean where I say, "Well, 1 call this thunderin' rot ! " Gives the gallery such a chance, don't you know ! \0n reflection, Mr. A. consents to this omission. Mr. Pettipher [who is on for about five minutes in the first act). One moment, Mr. Aikenhead. How would you wish me to make up for Captain 250 AFTER REHEARSAL Guestling, now ? For instance, what is the pre- cise shade of wig you have in ^^our mind's eye ? Mr. A. [conscious of utter vacancy in that organ). Well, I hardly — need you wear a wig at all ? Mr. p. Played in my own hair, sir, the character would never come out. I was think- ing that a chestnut wig, not too light — and what would you say, now, to a chintuft ? Mr. a. [with a forlorn attetnpt at jocularity). Wouldn't that rather depend on what the chin- tuft said to me ? Mr. p. [luith solenmity). I beg you will not treat this matter in a spirit of flippancy, sir. My one anxiety is to realise my author's con- ception, — and there's really nothing in the lines themselves for me to build up a character upon or I wouldn't trouble you. I see him myself as a sort of man-about-town, with a chintuft, and, I think, spats would complete the costume ? Then I may take it you agree to spats ? Now, regarding the colour. Should they be white, or drab ? I possess both. Perhaps drab would be more in keeping ? Vv\)uld you have a white edging to his waistcoat ? Well, we can discuss that question to-morrow. {^He makes way for Mr. Newgass. AFTER REHEARSAL 251 Mr. Newgass. Oh, I've thought out rather a good bit of business for my entrance in the second act. How would it be if I took the butler for the old Earl and shook hands, and asked him to present me to Lady Cynthia, eh ? \He chuckles. Mr. a. Afraid it would be rather forced. You see, the butler has just shown you in, and, besides, you've met Lord Livipsfield already. Mr. N. But I might be short-sighted — eyeglass worked down the back of my neck — frantic search for it, and all that. . . . Well, of course your wishes are paramount — but it would be a big laugh — and if you don't mind my saying so, that's what the piece wants I However, since you don't accept my suggestion, I say no more. \He goes off in a huff. Mr. Ion Selfe. We're pulling it together, Mr. Aikenhead, pulling it together — by degrees. But you'll have to cut a good half-hour out of it yet I Mr. a. [thinking he has cut several out of it already). I might shorten the scene between you and Limpsfiehi, perhaps, and your soliloquy after reading the letter. I don't see what else I can do. 252 AFTER REHEARSAL Mr. I. S. {with a falling jaw). Mark my words, sir. If you touch a word of my part — in the way of compression — you ruin your play. I should say just the same if I was playing any other part. Where the piece drags, where it's let down, is precisely in those scenes where I'm 7iot on. Shorten those, give me a little more to do in the last act, let me go off just before the curtain, instead of ten minutes earlier, and it's a dead cert ! Otherwise, it's my deliber- ate opinion, sir, that we're in for a record frost. Now I've got that off my chest I feel happier ! \He stalks away with the air of a Sibyl. In the Vestibule — A Little Later. Mr. Sidney Sangwin. Oh, there you are, Aikenhead ! . . . Miss Daintrey ? What, haven't you seen her ? She wanted to speak to you before she went, I know. . . . Well, no, she hasn't signed her contract — not exactly. In fact, she's rather thrown us over . . . Yes, it is a nuisance, of course — but it can't be helped. ... I did my best, old chap ! . . . No, only that, on consideration, she didn't think it quite worth her while. Pretty little part enough — if she'd AFTER REHEARSAL 253 only see it ! . . . Oh, that Ardleigh girl won't be half bad as Lady Cynthia / . . . I don't say she is — but she'll look quite young enough at night, and Phyllis's frocks can be altered to fit her. . . . My dear fellow, there's no time to get anybody else in now — and she's up in the part. . . . Well, we may have to alter the cast a bit, but they're getting used to that by now. . . . Don't you worry — we're going to come out on top all right — and let me see, there was something I wanted to say to you. Ah yes, look here, I wish you'd take this script home with you and just run through the dialogue again. . . . No, no, capital, Ai, old boy! I only thought that, if you could see your way to working in a smart line here and there, don't you know — well, it wouldn't do any harm, eh ? [Mr. a. goes home to give these finishing touches with all the verve and freshness that can reasonably be anticipated. THE LIGHTS OF SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES A WORTHIER and more estimable young man than Spencer Primmett it would have been difficult to find in the whole of London. He was in one of the Government Departments, in which he occupied an exceptionally good posi- tion for one of his years, while he was also in enjoyment of a very comfortable private income. His principal ambition was to eschew any conduct which might possibly have the effect of rendering him conspicuous, in which laudable object he had so far succeeded admirably. There was nothing whatever remarkable about his countenance, which was mild and rather round; or his demeanour, which was correct without assumption; or his opinions, which were those of all well-regulated persons. Wherefore mothers and chaperons generally regarded him with favour as a highly eligible parti — a fact of which he was modestly but fully aware. SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 255 He had indeed but one defect, and that of so gradual a growth that he was pardonable for being the last to perceive it. He was ex- cessively near-sighted. For some time it had struck him more and more forcibly that the British climate was becoming mistier than at any previous period in his recollection, and he was surprised that none of his friends and acquaintances were observant enough to notice so obvious an atmospherical deterioration. But there came an afternoon when Spencer Primmett was compelled to admit that his own observation was less acute than he had imagined. For while paying a call — a social duty which he was ever punctilious in discharging — on the Bellinghams in Cornwall Gardens, he was not a little mortified by the discovery that he had been wasting much time and many blandish- ments in a futile endeavour to induce a foot- stool to sit up and beg for a biscuit. This led him to infer that there might be some slight imperfection in his eyesight, which, to avoid all chance of some really ludicrous blunder, he would do well to rectify by pur- chasing an eyeglass. He had another and even stronger motive 256 THE LIGHTS OF for taking such a step. Hilda and Rhoda Bellingham were both extremely attractive girls, and of late his thoughts had begun to dwell, not unpleasingly, upon the possibility of his falling in love with one of them. But which ? For the life of him he could not determine, being by no means sure, now that he came to consider, whether he had ever seen either at all distinctly. Ordinary prudence suggested that it would be advisable to be better acquainted with the features of each before committing himself by any definite advances to either. It would be a pity to find out, when it was too late to retract, that he had pledged himself to the plainer of the two. So he tried several opticians in turn, but none of them had an eyeglass, or even a pince-nez, in stock that could do anything more than increase the dimness of his natural sight, and at last he took the course which he should have taken at first, and consulted a leading oculist. After a prolonged examination, the oculist in- formed him that he was " abnormally astigmatic," which seems a harsh thing for any man to say of a fellow-creature. SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 257 However, he wrote him out a prescription for a pair of special glasses of differing powers, and this Spencer took to be made up by the firm to whom he was recommended. A few days afterwards, on returning from Whitehall to his rooms, he found awaiting him a neat little parcel containing a pair of spectacles, and accompanied by the account, which came to more than he had anticipated. He would have preferred, too, a pair of pince-nez to spectacles, which he knew have a tendency to add years without the corresponding experience, and it was not without anxiety that he fitted them on and inspected himself in a hand-glass which lay on his dressing-table. It was a considerable relief to him to find that they were not by any means unbecoming. Indeed, his eyes, now that they were framed and glazed, as it were, looked larger and more brilliant ; the glasses gave him an air of higher intelligence and deeper thoughtfulness than he had previously discerned in his expression, while they were so light and so easily adjusted that he was scarcely aware of having them on. But it was less from vanity than an un- controllable impatience to see what the Miss 258 THE LIGHTS OF Bellinghams were really like that he called a hansom and gave the address of Cornwall Gardens. As he drove westward, facing the sunset sky, he was delightfully conscious of the extraordinary degree to which his powers of vision had im- proved. No longer was the sun a mere scarlet blur for him, but a clear golden disc surrounded by mauve and crimson clouds, while more immediate objects had become defined with a sharpness that revealed much that hitherto would have altogether escaped him. For instance, he remarked for the first time the singular incompetency of London cabmen, evidenced by the fact that the drivers of almost all the hansoms he met seemed to have the greatest difficulty in controlling their horses. It impressed him as an additional proof of the decadence in our national character. Fortunately his own cabman was an exception to the general rule, and brought him to his destination without mishap. Spencer learnt on inquiry that Mrs. Belling- ham was at home, and he followed the butler upstairs to the drawing-room with a thrill of excitement. For he might find the daughters SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 259 of the house there as well, and then he would know at last whether it was Hilda or Rhoda who would prove to be his actual enchantress. They were at home, as it happened, and greeted him with a cordiality sufficiently charm- ing to remove all doubt, had he felt any, which he did not, of the gratification he was affording them. He accepted a cup of tea and a seat by the fire, and, as often and intently as he could without infringing the ordinary rules of good breeding, he studied the features of the two graceful girls who sat opposite to him in the lamplight. Thanks to his recent acquisition, he could now see them perfectly, and was delighted to find that they surpassed all his previous conceptions. Even then he had as much difficulty as ever in making up his mind which of the two was the more irresistibly engaging, they were both so adorably pretty in their different styles ; but at least he saw now that there was a difference. So he sat there talking — rather pleasantly, he thought — to all three ladies, with the sense that he was making an increasingly favourable im- pression. Indeed, before long he began to fear that he was inspiring a deeper sentiment in 26o THE LIGHTS OF both the Miss Belhnghams than he had any right or intention to do at that stage of their acquaintance. Without being unduly conceited, he could not help observing that, whenever he turned to address Miss Bellingham, she regarded him with a kind of spellbound subjection closely re- sembling fascination ; whereas Miss Rhoda, on the other hand, seemed powerless to meet his eye at all. These were trifles, no doubt, — but not without significance. He was wondering whether he had not better go, when the dog, which had been previously snoring soundly in its basket, created a diversion by waking up and coming out for its usual saucer of weak and milky tea. This time Spencer made no mistake ; he knew it was not a footstool, or even a door-mat, but a Maltese terrier a trifle out of condition. So he beamed upon it with affable recognition, and called it by its name, which was " Lulu." But instead of responding to his advances, the animal uttered a sharp howl and fled into the back drawing-room with every sign of abject terror. SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 261 Spencer said he could not understand it, as he generally got on so well with dogs, and the Bellinghams agreed that it was most unaccount- able, and began to talk of something else. But somehow the incident caused a certain constraint. Hilda and Rhoda chattered on, it was true, but in rather a random and desultory manner, while their mother's silence was marked by a want of repose which was unusual in one so essentially a woman of the world. So he cut short his visit, after staying little more than an hour, heartily wishing that the dog had not chosen to make such a fool of itself, just when things were going so well. On thinking over it afterwards, he recalled sundry symptoms which almost led him to the distressing conclusion that the Bellingham family was inclined to be slightly hysterical. Spencer had forgotten that he had to dine out that evening at a house in Lancaster Gate, and did not get back to his rooms until just before eight, which obliged him to dress in frantic haste. Even then he arrived quite a quarter of an hour after everybody else, so that he could hardly expect anything but the chilling reception which he certainly got. 262 THE LIGHTS OF He was consoled, however, by the discovery that the Bellinghams were among the guests, and that it would be his privilege to take Miss Bellingham in to dinner. He would have been equally pleased had she been her sister, for both were looking more bewitching than ever in those brilliantly-lighted rooms. Still, as he advanced eagerly to claim her, he felt at once that something had come between them ; he distinctly noticed her fhnch, as though with repressed aversion, as he offered her his arm with a playful allusion to his good fortune. And when they were seated at the dinner- table, on which innumerable electric lamps, artistically disposed around the walls, shed a soft but still dazzling radiance, he could not feast his eyes on her face so constantly as he desired and expected, for the reason that she seldom looked at him in speaking, and then only by an obvious effort. Was it merely his dis- ordered fancy, or did she invariably turn away her head on such occasions with something suspiciously like a shudder ? At the first opportunity she turned away from him altogether to enter into an animated con- versation with her right-hand neighbour, leaving SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 263 him with nothing of her to contemplate except her left shoulder till dessert. He tried his other neighbour, but she was anything but forthcoming, and after one or two perfunctory replies, evidently preferred to be entertained by her allotted partner. So, in his utter isolation, Spencer was free to let his thoughts dwell on Miss Rhoda, who was seated exactly opposite. He wished now that it had been she who had fallen to his lot ; she would not have treated him, he was sure, with this inexcusable caprice, she was much too kind- hearted, and, besides, she was quite as pretty as Hilda, if not actually prettier. He directed a glance of half-humorous, half- melancholy appeal for sympathy across the table at her, which he intended should establish a secret bond of intelligence between them, but he found an unexpected difficulty in catching her eye. Even when he succeeded in doing so, he only knew it because he saw her start and bite her lower lip hard, as if to control some rising emotion which too obviously was not maidenly confusion, since she neither blushed nor accorded him the discreetest smile of recog- nition. 264 THE LIGHTS OF What in the world was the matter with them both ? It was impossible that he could have done anything since that afternoon to account for the change in their conduct. Surely they could not be influenced by the fact that that little overfed beast of a terrier of theirs had exhibited a perfectly unreasonable antipathy to him ! He had thought modern young women possessed more common-sense. And presently it was apparent to him, as he allowed his eyes to wander idly round the table, that he must be generally unpopular — or how was it that every face on which his gaze casually lighted seemed to freeze instantly into petrifac- tion ? He had arrived a little late, he knew, but, hang it all ! he could not think he had spoilt the dinner so much as all that! And even if he had, it was most unchristian of them to carry unforgiveness further than the fish ! It was horrible to sit there, feeling like an apologetic skeleton. He had never felt less at home at a dinner-party in all his life. Even on rising, Rhoda had no look nor word for him, and, as soon as the ladies had departed, Mr. Bellingham began to tell a story that gave SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 265 every promise of lasting for a considerable time. Spencer had never met him before, and, had he been the parent of anybody but Hilda and Rhoda, might have been tempted to regard him as an insufferable old bore. As it was, in his anxiety to propitiate at least one member of the family, he leaned forward, drinking in every detail of the narrative with an air of absorbed and eager interest which was perhaps a little overdone. At all events, he did not propitiate the old gentleman — he merely put him out. For Mr. Bellingham grew more and more uneasy under Spencer's ardent attention, until at length he brought his monologue to a lame and evidently premature conclusion. Primmett made really heroic efforts during the awkward silences that ensued to put the company at their ease by throwing out in- telligent remarks from time to time on some topic of the day. But, although he was con- fident that he said nothing that was not perfectly safe in any gathering, somehow his blameless platitudes seemed to burst on his hearers like bombshells. Every one appeared to have a 266 THE LIGHTS OF positive dread of being drawn into conversa- tion with him. He noticed those he addressed directly blinking nervously as they returned some monosyllabic reply, w^hile others evaded his advances by studiously looking in any other direction but his own. He affected the nerves of the very servants, for, as he turned towards a footman who was offering him coffee, the man suddenly let the tray fall with a crash. Spencer was glad when the host proposed that they should go upstairs, though, even when he reached the drawing-room, he was no happier. Before he could obtain the explana- tion for which he was hoping from Rhoda or Hilda, he was introduced to two or three older ladies, all of whom responded to his agreeable nothings with absent minds and roving eyes, and before he could escape from these com- pulsory amenities, he had the misery of seeing the Bellinghams take their leave. He left himself as soon afterwards as he was able, and it struck him that his hostess was almost indecently glad to get rid of him. Spencer walked back to his rooms in a piti- able frame of mind. He was conscious of SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 267 having shed a kind of blight on the whole dinner-party — but how or why he was at a loss to imagine. Was there, unknown to him, some discredit- able rumour in circulation with regard to his private character ? But that was impossible, for his conscience assured him that he had done nothing that could have given occasion for the slightest scandal. Then why — why did the BeUinghams and everybody else shrink from him as though he were some accursed thing ? Was he to go through life henceforth as an object of uni- versal repugnance — he, who by nature was so eminently sociable and desirous of winning esteem ? Would he never find any one to look him in the face again with the old friendliness and approval ? If so, it seemed hard that he should not even know why this fate had befallen him ! Still gloomily pondering over his probable future, he regained his sitting-room, where, rest- ing his elbow upon the mantelpiece, he stood staring hopelessly down at the cheerily burning fire! Suddenly, on looking up, he beheld his own 268 THE LIGHTS OF reflection in the bevelled mirror of the over- mantel, and recoiled in positive terror. For the eyes that met his own were no human eyes — they were two glowing caverns in which flickered lurid flames, as though his brain were being slowly consumed by an infernal fire ! The eff^ect was simply appalling. He realised at once that no man with such eyes as those could ever hope to inspire the object of his affection with any feelings but instinctive dis- trust, and even horror. Gaze at her as tenderly and pleadingly as he might, it was impossible to prevent his ardour from impressing her as unpleasantly volcanic. And yet, how could he have been thus trans- formed into a fiend of peculiarly repulsive aspect without being even aware of the process ? Then all at once he remembered his spec- tacles. They fitted him so comfortably that after he had once grown accustomed to the improvement in his sight, he had ungratefully forgotten their very existence. However, he found that he was still wearing them. Was it just barely possible that they — He re- moved them hurriedly, and, on closely approach- ing the mirror, discovered with inexpressible SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES 269 relief that his eyes were no longer ilkimined by their former baleful glare. He put them on once more, and, placing a lamp between himself and the mirror, observed the result at some distance. The right lens was slightly concave, and threw rays as blinding as those of a search-light, while the left, which was convex, blazed like some illuminated globe of distilled water in a chemist's window ! After repeated experiments, he ascertained that — to himself at least — this disquieting phenomenon was apparent in the mirror only when a strong artificial light struck his spec- tacles at particular angles of refraction, which accounted for his failure to notice it by day- light, or even while dressing for dinner. But he had no difficulty in understanding now why the cab-horses had shied that after- noon as his spectacles reflected all the glories of the sunset ; why the Bellinghams' dog had fled in dismay from the unearthly radiance of his eyes, and the Bellinghams themselves had been so susceptible to their mesmeric influence ; or why, in short, throughout that fearful evening he had been innocently producing the effect of a human basilisk or a Medusa head ! 270 SPENCER PRIMMETT'S EYES He felt he could not go about doing that any more — it made him altogether too remarkable. And so, in another instant he had torn those costly but perifidious spectacles from his ears, and ground the glasses to splinters under his heel. . . . Since that day he has not had the courage to try any others — but he is rewarded for his sacrifice by the knowledge that he can now permit his eyes to rest on both the Miss Belling- hams without reducing them to a cataleptic condition. The only drawback is that he is as unable as ever to distinguish one from the other. Which is possibly the reason why there has been no intimation, as yet, of his engagement to either. A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER Scene — A Corridor m the Hotel Magnifique. Time — About 11.30 p.m. Sydney Shel- CASTLE, a diffide7tt young Dramatist whose first Comedy, " Facing the Music, ^^ has been produced that evening at the Jollity Theatre, is discovered in the act of giving hat and coat to an attejidant. Sydney Shelcastle. Er — Mr. Berkeley Carl- ton expects me. I believe he has a supper-party here ? Attendant. Quite correct, sir. Straight down the corridor and third door on the left. Syd. Shel. {to himself). Almost wish I'd gone to the Jollity first. {As he reaches door of private supper-room) However, I shall soon know now I \_?Ie pulls himself together and enters; the only persons in the room as yet are his host, Berkeley Carlton, the popidar Actor- Manager ; HoRSLEY COLLARD, who plays the chief cJiaracter-part in his piece ; and Spkatt-Whaley, the lessee of the follity. The first two greet his arrival with a heartiness which strikes Jiim as overdone. 272 A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER Syd. Shel. Well ? Did it— did it go off all right ? Berkeley Carlton {raising his eyebrows). " Did it go off all right ? " Why — weren't you in front ? Syd. Shel. {embarrassed). Well — a — no. I didn't feel quite equal to it. ( Watching their faces) I hope it wasn't ? HORSLEY COLLARD [with a glance at CARLTON which does not escape the Dramatist). Haven't you heard anything ? Syd. Shel. Not a word. I — I haven't met anybody who could tell me. I came straight here. Berk. Carlt. Been strollin' up and down the Embankment to pass the time, eh ? Syd. Shel. No,— as a matter of fact I went to the Hippodrome. Berk. Carlt. Did you, though ? What did you think of the show ? Syd. Shel. Capital ! That is, I didn't pay much attention to it — wondering all the time how Facing the Music was getting on. Berk. Carlt. Ah ? Glad you gave us a thought now and then. I say, Horsley, know whether Angela Daventry means to turn up ? A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER 273 HORS. Coll. Can't say. She may be feeling too upset. Perhaps I'd better go and see where the others are. {To Berkeley Carlton, in a too audible undertone) I'll leave you to break it to the poor chap while I'm gone. \He goes out. Berk. Caret. Well, Shelcastle, you seem to have spent a pleasant evenin' anyhow. Always amusin' beggars, elephants. And these plunge, don't they ? By the way, you don't know Spratt-Whaley. {He introduces them.) He's just been tellin' us all about his new motor-car. \_The unhappy Playwright strives to affect an interest in automobiles, while wishing that Carlton would not be so con- foundedly tactful — until HORSLEY Collard returns with the other in- vited members of the Co7npany, who are obviously putting considerable re- straint on themselves. Miss Angela Daventry {the extremely charm- ing and sympathetic actress who impersonates S.'s heroine). Good evening, Mr. Shelcastle. I hear you didn't patronise our poor little efforts to- night. Oh, we quite understood. And we all think it so wise of you. {She approaches the fire- place^ Br-r-r ! Isn't it cold ! I'm sure there's a frost to-night ! s 274 A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER Miss Daisy Archbutt {engaged for the light comedy part). Oh, my dear ! For goodness' sake don't mention frosts ! Before poor dear Mr. Shelcastle, too ! Hawley Bray [whose forte is Society idiots). I say, you know. Now you have done it ! If you hadn't said that, Mr. Shelcastle wouldn't have been any the wiser — he wasn't there. Mrs. Chesterfield Manners [the Dowager in S.'s play). I'm afraid it must have been an effort for you to give us the pleasure of seeing you at all this evening, Mr. Shelcastle — under the circumstances ! Syd. Shel. Well, you see, Mrs. Manners, when I came here I hadn't heard — in fact, I don't know anything definite even now — though I — I gather HORSLEY COLLARD [compassionately). Now, my dear old chap, do take a tip from me. Don't you spoil your supper by trying to gather any more. Be jolly while you may ! Angela Dav. But you will spoil his supper. It isn't fair to keep him in suspense like this ! Berk. Carlt. Don't fuss, dear. You leave it to us. He'll find out quite soon enough — and now let's have supper. [They sit down. A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER 275 Syd. Shel. {who is seated next to Daisy Archbutt). Yoii might just tell me this, Miss Archbutt — was there — was there 7nuch of a row ? Daisy {tuith a giggle). I — I really shouldn't like to say, Mr. Shelcastle. But in the last act you might have fancied you were in church — so much coughing, you know ! [Hawley 'Bra^ gufaws suddenly. Syd. Shel. I was always afraid of that last act. But — it didn't all drag, eh ? HORS. Coll. Not while / was on, old man. I took care of that. I hate gagging as a general rule — inartistic, / call it. But I simply had to bring in a wheeze now and then — just to keep the gallery quiet. Syd. Shel. {with a pale smile). I can quite imagine it — a — would have that effect. Still, if you don't mind, Collard, I must ask you to stick to the original lines, for the future. HoRS. Coll. Certainly, dear boy. It will be quite a relief not to have to be funny ! Angela {indignantly). Horsley ! How can you ? Berk. Carlt. Ah, well — there's this to be said: a first-night house isn't like any other. HORS. Coll. Fuller, for one thing! 276 A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER Berk. Carlt. You can always paper. And I don't despair of seeing the piece catch on yet, Shelcastle, if we can only see our way between us to cutting, say, about a third of each act. {^Another guffaw from Hawley Bray. Syd. Shel. You may do what you like with it, Carlton — but I'm hanged if /touch the beastly thing again ! Angela [aside). Berkeley ! Do stop it ! Only look at his face, poor little thing ! Berk. Carlt. [aside to her). Nonsense, dear, hes all right! [Aloud) Well, it must take its chance as it is, then. After all, it might have had a worse reception. If they did boo a bit, they didn't mean it ill-naturedly. Anythin' amusin' you, Hawley ? Hawley Bray [who has guffazved again). No — nothing particular. I — I was only thinking of that chap in the gallery. Berk. Carlt. Oh, ah, the beggar in the brown bowler. He was rather nasty at times. I'd have had him chucked, only the gallery all seemed to be with him. Still, I distinctly saw some of the stalls applaudin' when it was all over. A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER 277 Spratt-Whaley. What will the critics say to-morrow, my boy, that's the question ! Berk. Carlt. We shall know before we're much older. Old Bill Burleigh can't say much, anyhow, for he bolted in the middle of the second act. But Jack Hall came round after- wards and said there could only be one opinion about the piece. Didn't like to ask him what. Miss Dav. [impulsively). Haven't you rubbed it in quite enough ? Mr. Shelcastle, you mustn't mind them ! Berk. Carlt. My dear child, he dont. It's nothing to liini. Why, he didn't even care enough to come and see us. Preferred the performin' elephants ! Mrs. Chest. Man. And I've no doubt he found them far more graceful and accomplished comedians. Syd. Shel. I — I assure you you're mistaken. I wasn't indifferent. I knew I couldn't have a better cast and that you'd all do your very best for me. It was the piece that was all wrong. I saw that at the last dress rehearsal. And — well, I'm afraid I funked the first night. I'm awfully sorry it's come to grief — for your 278 A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER sakes as well as my own. I suppose I ought to have known I couldn't write a play. {He rises.) And now I must ask you to excuse me. I — I've got to go home and pack. . . . I'm going away early to-morrow, for — for a little holiday. I may be away some years. [Reaction, followed by general applause. Angela. Now, I will speak ! Dear Mr. Shelcastle, don't you see ? We've been taking you in all this time. Oh, I know it was per- fectly piggish of us. Only we did think you might have been there, you know ! Syd. Shel. I — don't understand. You don't mean that the piece wasn't such an absolute failure after all ? Berk. Caret. Considerin' we were all called five times after every act, and I had to make a speech and explain that the author was not in the house at the end, I shouldn't describe it myself as a howling frost precisely. Daisy. Why, they simply roared all through ! I was only chipping you about the coughing. Hawley Bray. And that Johnnie in the brown bowler — all spoof, you know. Jove ! I nearly gave the show away by smiling like a silly ass once or twice ! A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER 279 HORS. Coll. I'd no need to gag^ my boy. Got my laughs all right without that! Berk. Carlt. And I don't think there'll be much to alter to-morrow. Every scene seemed to^^. Spratt-Whaley. The box offices have come forward in style. We shall want three extra rows of stalls. Syd. Shel. {sitting down heavily). Look here — you — you're not pulling my leg again, are you ? Angela. Indeed we're not ! And you must try to forgive us for doing it at all. Say you do ! Syd. Shel. {recovering). But there's nothing to forgive. I knew all along that it couldn't really have gone wrong. Berk. Carlt. Of course you did, old boy. Pity you've got to go home and pack, though. How many years did you say you would be away ? Syd. Shel. {rising and going towards him). You didn't think I meant it, did you ? When I've got an idea for a new comedy which would — I say, I should like most awfully to tell you about it. Berk. Carlt. {pressing him back into his chair). Now just you try and manage a little food first, 28o A "FIRST NIGHT" SUPPER old fellow. You haven't had a mouthful yet. You've lots of time to vi^rite me a new comedy — we shan't be wanting it for another eight months at least ! [Sydney Shelcastle sits down and makes the discovery that he was hungrier than he imagined. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SNOWING GLOBE Bef"ORE beginning to relate an experience which, I am fully aware, will seem to many so singular as to be almost, if not quite, in- credible, it is perhaps as well to state that I am a solicitor of several years' standing, and that I do not regard myself — nor, to the best of my knowledge and belief, have I ever been regarded — as a person in whom the imaginative faculty is at all unduly prominent. It was in Christmas week of last year. I was walking home from my office in New Square, Lincoln's Inn, as my habit is — except on occasions when the state of the weather renders such open-air exercise too imprudent — and on my way I went into a toy-shop, with a view to purchasing some seasonable present for a small godchild of mine. As was only to be expected at that time of year, the shop was crowded with customers, 2S1 282 THE ADVENTURE OF and I had to wait until one of the assistants should be at liberty. While waiting, my atten- tion was attracted to a toy on the counter before me. It was a glass globe, about the size of a moderately large orange. Inside it was a representation of what appeared to be the fagade of a castle, before which stood a figure holding by a thread a small pear-shaped air- ball striped red and blue. The globe was full of water containing a white sediment in solu- tion, which, when agitated, produced the effect of a miniature snowstorm. I cannot account for such a childish pro- ceeding, except by the circumstance that I had nothing better to occupy me at the moment, but I employed myself in shaking the globe and watching the tiny snowflakes circulating in the fluid, till I became so en- grossed as to be altogether oblivious of my surroundings. So that I was not particularly surprised when I found, as I presently did, that the flakes were falling and melting on my coat-sleeve. Before me was a heavy gate- way belonging to a grim, castellated edifice, which I thought at first must be Holloway THE SNOWING GLOBE 283 Gaol, though how I could have wandered so far out of my way was more than I could understand. But on looking round I saw no signs of any suburban residences, and recognised that I had somehow strayed into a locality with which I was totally unacquainted, but which was evidently considerably beyond the Metro- politan radius. It seemed to me that my best plan would be to knock at the gate and ask the lodge-keeper where I was and my way to the nearest railway-station ; but before I could carry out my intention a wicket in one of the gates was cautiously opened by a person of ancient and venerable appearance. He did not look like an ordinary porter, but was in a peculiar livery, which I took to be a seneschal's — not that I have ever seen a seneschal, but that was my impression of him. Whoever he was, he appeared distinctly pleased to see me. " You are right welcome, fair sir ! " he said, in a high, cracked voice. "Well knew I that my hapless lady would not lack a protector in her sad plight, though she had well-nigh abandoned all hope of your coming ! " 284 THE ADVENTURE OF I explained that I had not called by appoint- ment, but was simply a stranger who found himself in the neighbourhood by the merest chance. "'Tis no matter," he replied, in his old- fashioned diction, " seeing that you have come, for truly, sir, she is in sore need of any one who is ready to undertake her cause ! " I said that I happened to be a member of the legal profession, and that if, as I gathered, his mistress was in any difficulty in which she desired my assistance, I was quite prepared to advise her to the best of my ability, and to act for her, should her case be one which, in my opinion, required it. "That does it, indeed!" he said; "but I pray you stand no longer parleying without, which, since I perceive you are but ill-pro- tected at present," he added fussily, " may be fraught with unnecessary danger. Come within without further delay ! " I did not think there was any real risk of catching cold, but I did wonder why it had not occurred to me to put up my umbrella, until I discovered that my right hand was alreadly engaged in holding a cord to which THE SNOWING GLOBE 285 was attached a gaudily-coloured balloon that floated above my head. This was so unsuitable an appendage to any solicitor, especially to one about to offer his services in an affair which was apparently serious, that I was somewhat disconcerted for the moment. But I soon recollected having gone into a toy-shop some time previously, and concluded that I must have purchased this air-ball as a present for my godchild. I was about to explain this to the old man, when he pulled me suddenly through the wicket-gate, shutting the door so sharply that it snapped the string of the balloon. I saw it soaring up on the other side of the wall till a whirl of snow hid it from my sight. "Trouble not for its loss," said the seneschal ; " it has fulfilled its purpose in bringing you to our gates." If he really supposed that anybody was at all likely to adopt so eccentric a means of conveyance, he must, I thought, be in his dotage, and I began to have a misgiving that, by accepting his invitation to step in, I might have placed myself in a false position. However, I had gone too far to retract 286 THE ADVENTURE OF now, so I allowed him to conduct me to his mistress. He took me across a vast court- yard to a side entrance, and then up a winding stair, along deserted corridors, and through empty ante-chambers, until we came into a great hall, poorly lighted from above, and hung with dim tapestries. There he left me, saying that he would inform his mistress of my arrival. I had not long to wait before she entered by an opposite archway. I regret my inability — owing partly to the indifferent manner in which the apartment was lit — to describe her with anything like precision. She was quite young — not much, I should be inclined to say, over eighteen ; she was richly but fantastically dressed in some shimmering kind of robe, and her long hair was let down and flowing loose about her shoulders, which (although I am bound to say that the effect, in her case, was not unbecoming) always has, to my mind at least, a certain air of untidiness in a grown-up person, and almost made me doubt for a moment whether she was quite in her right senses. THE SNOWING GLOBE 287 But, while she was evidently in a highly emotional state, I could detect nothing in her manner or speech that indicated any actual mental aberration. Her personal ap- pearance, too, was distinctly pleasing, and altogether I cannot remember ever to have felt so interested at first sight in any female client. " Tell me," she cried, " is it really true ? Have you indeed come to my deliverance ? " " My dear young lady," I said, perceiving that any apology for what I had feared must seem a highly irregular intrusion was un- necessary, " I have been given to understand that you have some occasion for my services, and if that is correct I can only say that they are entirely at your disposal. Just try to com- pose yourself and tell me, as clearly and con- cisely as you can, the material facts of your case." " Alas ! sir," she said, wringing her hands, which I remember noticing were of quite remarkable beauty, " I am the unhappiest Princess in the whole world." I trust I am as free from snobbishness as most people, but I admit to feeling some 288 THE ADVENTURE OF gratification in the fact that I was honoured by the confidence of a lady of so exalted a rank. " I am extremely sorry to hear it, ma'am," I said, recollecting that that was the proper way to address a Princess. " But I am afraid," I added, as I prepared to take her instruc- tions, "that I can be but of Httle assistance to you unless you can bring yourself to furnish me with somewhat fuller particulars." " Surely," she said, " you cannot be ignorant that I am in the power of a wicked and tyrannous uncle ? " I might have explained that I was far too busy a man to have leisure to keep up with the latest Court scandals, but I refrained. " I may take it, then," I said, " that you are an orphan, and that the relative you refer to is your sole guardian ? " She implied by a gesture that both these inferences were correct. " He has shut me up a close prisoner in this gloomy place," she declared, "and deprived me of all my atten- dants one by one, save the aged but faithful retainer whom you have beheld." I replied, of course, that this was an un- THE SNOWING GLOBE 289 warrantable abuse of his authority, and in- quired whether she could assign any motive for such a proceeding on his part. " He is determined that I shall marry his son," she explained, " whom I detest with an unutterable loathing ! " " Possibly," I ventured to hint, " there is some one else who " " There is none," she said, " since I have never been permitted to look upon any other suitor, and here I am held in durance until I consent to this hated union — and I will die sooner ! But you will save me from so terrible a fate ! For what else are you here ? " " I should be incompetent indeed, ma'am," I assured her, " if I could not see a way out of what is really a very ordinary predicament. By attempting to force you into a marriage against your will your guardian has obviously shown himself a totally unfit person to have you in his custody. You have the law en- tirely on your side." " Unfit is he, truly ! " she agreed. " But I care not who else is on my side, so long as you will be my champion. Only, how will you achieve my rescue ? " 290 THE ADVENTURE OF " Under all the circumstances," I told her, " I think our best course would be to apply for a habeas corpus. You will then be brought up to the Courts of Justice, and the judge could make any order he thought advisable. In all probability he would remove your uncle from his position and have you made a ward of court." There is always a difficulty in getting ladies to understand even the simplest details of legal procedure, and my Princess was no exception to the rule. She did not seem in the least to realise the power which every court possesses of enforcing its own decrees. " Sir, you forget," she said, " that my uncle, who has great renown in these parts as a sor- cerer and magician, will assuredly laugh any such order to scorn." " In that case, ma'am," said I, " he will render himself liable for contempt of court. Besides, should his local reputation answer your de- scription, we have another hold on him. If we can only prove that he has been using any subtle craft, means, or device to impose on any of his Majesty's subjects, he could be pro- secuted under the Vagrancy Act of 1824 as a THE SNOWING GLOBE 291 rogue and a vagabond. He might get as much as six months for it ! " "Ah, sir," she cried — rather peevishly, I thought — ''we do but waste precious time in idle talk such as this, of which I com- prehend scarce a word ! And the hour is nigh when I must meet my uncle face to face, and should I still refuse to obey his will, his wrath will be dire indeed!" " All you have to do is to refer him to nie,' I said. " I think I shall be able, in the course of a personal interview, to bring him to take a more reasonable view of his position. If you are expecting him shortly, perhaps I had better remain here till he arrives ? " "Happily for us both," she replied, "he is still many leagues distant from here ! Can you not see that, if my rescue is to be accom- plished at all, it must be ere his return, or else am I all undone ? Is it possible that, after coming thus far, you can tarry here doing naught?" I took a little time for reflection before answering. "After careful consideration," I said at last, " I have come to the conclusion that, as you are evidently under grave apprc- 292 THE ADVENTURE OF hension of some personal violence from your uncle in the event of his finding you on the premises, I should be fully justified in dispen- sing with the usual formalities and removing you from his custody at once. At all events, I will take that responsibility on myself — what- ever risk I may incur." " I crave your pardon for my seeming petu- lance," she said, with a pretty humility. " I should have known right w-ell that I might safely rely on the protection of so gallant and fearless a knight ! " "You will understand, I am sure, ma'am," I said, " that I cannot, as a bachelor, offer you shelter under my own roof. What I propose (subject, of course, to your approval) is that I should place you under the care of an old aunt of mine at Croydon until some other arrangement can be made. I presume it will not take you long to make your pre- parations for the journey ? " "What need of preparation?" she cried. "Let us delay no longer, but fly this instant!" " I should recommend you to take at least a dressing-bag," 1 said ; " you will have time to pack all you may require while your retainer THE SNOWING GLOBE 293 is fetching us a fly. Then I know of nothing to hinder us from leaving at once." "Nothing?" she exclaimed. "Do you dread a dragon so little, then, that you can speak thus lightly ? " I could not help smiling ; it was so sur- prising to find a Princess of her age who still retained a belief in fairy-tales. " I think, ma'am," I said, "that at this time of day a dragon is not an obstacle which we need take into serious consideration. You have evidently not been informed that such a monster has long since ceased to exist. In other words, it is undoubtedly extinct." "And you have slain it!" she cried, and her eyes blazed with admiration. " I might have guessed as much ! It is slain — and now even my uncle has no longer power to detain me here ! For many a long month I have not dared to look from out my casements, but now I may behold the light of day once more without shrinking ! " She drew back some hangings as she spoke, disclosing a large oriel window, and the next moment she cowered away with a cry of abject terror. 294 THE ADVENTURE OF "Why have you deceived me?" she de- manded, with indignant reproach. " It is not extinct. It is still there. Look for yourself!" I did look ; the window commanded the rear of the castle, which I had not hitherto seen, and now I saw something else so utterly unexpected that I could hardly trust the evi- dence of my own eyesight. Towering above the battlemented outer wall I saw a huge horny head, poised upon a long and flexible neck, and oscillating slowly from side to side with a sinister vigilance. Although the rest of the brute was hidden by the wall, I saw quite enough to convince me that it could not well be anything else than a dragon — and a formidable one at that. I thought I understood now why the seneschal had been so anxious to get me inside, though I wished he had been rather more explicit. I stood there staring at it — but I made no remark. To tell the truth, I did not feel equal to one just then, The Princess spoke first. "You seem as- tonished, sir," she said " yet you can hardly have been in ignorance that my uncle has set this ferocious monster to guard these THE SNOWING GLOBE 295 walls, and devour me should I strive to make my escape." "I can only say, ma'am," I replied, "that this is the first intimation I have had of the fact." " Still, you are vi'ise and strong," she said. " You will surely devise some means whereby to rid me of this baleful thing ! " " If you will permit me to draw the curtain again," I said, " I will endeavour to think of something. . . . Am I right in assuming that the brute is the property of your uncle ? " She replied that that was so. "Then I think I see a way," I said. "Your uncle could be summoned for allow- ing such a dangerous animal to be at large, since it is clearly not under proper control. And if an application were made to a magis- trate, under the Act of 187 1, he might be ordered to destroy it at once." "You little know my uncle," she said, with a touch of scorn, " if you deem that he would destroy his sole remaining dragon at the bidding of any person whatever ! " " He will incur a penalty of twenty shillings a day till he does," I replied. " In any case, 296 THE ADVENTURE OF I can promise you that, if I can only manage to get out of this place, you shall not be exposed to this annoyance very much longer." "You will ?" she cried. "Are you quite sure that you will succeed ? " " Practically I am," I said. " I shall apply — always supposing I can get home safely — the first thing to-morrow morning, and, if I can only convince the Bench that the terms of the Act are wide enough to include not only dogs, but any other unmanageable quadrupeds, why, the thing is as good as done ! " " To-morrow ! to-morrow ! " she repeated impatiently. " Must I tell you once more that this is no time to delay? Indeed, sir, if I am to be rescued at all, your hand alone can deliver me from this loathly worm ! " I confess I considered she was taking an altogether extravagant view of the relations between solicitor and client. " If," I said, " it could be described with any accuracy as a worm, I should not feel the slightest hesitation about attacking it." "Then you will?" she said, entirely missing my point, as usual. "Tell me you will — for mj/ sake ! " THE SNOWING GLOBE 297 She looked so engaging whilst making this appeal that I really had not the heart to pain her by a direct refusal. "There is nothing," I said, "that is, nothing in reason, that I would not do cheerfully for your sake. But if you will only reflect, you will see at once that, in a tall hat and over- coat, and with absolutely no weapon but an umbrella, I should not stand the ghost of a chance against a dragon. I should be too hopelessly overmatched." " You say truth," she replied, much to my satisfaction. " I could not desire any champion of mine to engage in so unequal a contest. So have no uneasiness on that score." On this she clapped her hands as a summons to the seneschal, who appeared so promptly that I fancy he could not have been very far from the keyhole. "This gallant gentleman," she explained to him, " has undertaken to go forth and encounter the dragon without our walls, provided that he is fitly furnished for so deadly a fray." I tried to protest that she had placed a con- struction on my remarks which they were not intended to bear — but the old man was so 298 THE ADVENTURE OF voluble in thanks and blessings that I could not get in a single word. "You will conduct him to the armoury," the Princess continued, " and see him arrayed in harness meet for so knightly an endeavour. Sir," she added to me, " words fail me at such an hour as this. I cannot even thank you as I would. But I know you will do your utmost on my behalf. Should you fall " She broke off here, being evidently unable to complete her sentence, but that was un- necessary. I knew what would happen if I fell. " But fall you will not," she resumed. " Something tells me that you will return to me victorious ; and then — and then — should you demand any guerdon of me — yea " (and here she blushed divinely) " even to this hand of mine, it shall not be denied you." Never in the whole course of my pro- fessional career had I been placed in a posi- tion of greater difficulty. My common sense told me that it was perfectly preposterous on her part to expect such services as these from one who was merely acting as her legal adviser. Even if I performed them successfully — which THE SNOWING GLOBE 299 was, to say the least of it, doubtful — my prac- tice would probably be injuriously affected should my connection with such an affair become known. As for the special fee she had so generously suggested, that, of course, was out of the question. At my time of life marriage with a flighty young woman of eighteen — and a Princess into the bargain — would be rather too hazardous an experiment. And yet, whether it is that, middle-aged bachelor as I am, I have still a strain of un- suspected romance and chivalry in my nature, or for some other cause that I cannot explain, somehow I found myself kissing the little hand she extended to me, and going forth without another word to make as good a fight of it as I could for her against such an infernal beast as a dragon. I cannot say that I felt cheerful over it, but, anyhow, I went. I followed the seneschal, who led me down by a different staircase from that I had come up, and through an enormous vaulted kitchen, untenanted by all but black-beetles, which were swarming. Merely for the sake of conversation, I made some remark on their numbers and pertinacity, and inquired why no steps had 300 THE ADVENTURE OF apparently been taken to abate so obvious a nuisance. "Alas! noble sir," he replied, as he sadly shook his old white head, " 'twas the scullions' office to clear the place of these pests, and the last minion has long since vanished from our halls ! " I felt inclined to ask him where they had vanished to — but I did not. I thought the answer might prove discouraging. Even as it was, I would have given something for a whisky- and-soda just then — but he did not offer it, and I did not like to suggest it for fear of being misunderstood. And presently we entered the armoury. Only a limited number of suits were hanging on the walls, and all of them were in a deplor- ably rusty and decayed condition, but the seneschal took them down one by one, and made fumbling attempts to buckle and hook me into them. Most unfortunately, not a single suit proved what I should call workmanlike, for I defy any man to fight a dragon in armour which is too tight even to move about in with any approach to comfort. " I'm afraid it's no use," I told the seneschal, as 1 reluctantly resumed my ordinary garments. THE SNOWING GLOBE 301 " You can see for yourself that there's nothing here that comes near my size ! " " But you cannot engage in combat with the dragon in your present habihments ! " he re- monstrated. " That were stark madness ! " I was glad that the old man had sufficient sense to see that. " I am quite of your opinion," I replied ; " and believe me, my good old friend, nothing is farther from my thoughts. My idea is that if — I do not ask you to expose yourself to any unnecessary risk — but if you could con- trive to divert the dragon's attention by a demonstration of some sort on one side of the castle, I might manage to slip quietly out of some door on the other." "Are you but a caitiff, then, after all," he exclaimed, *' that you can abandon so lovely a lady to certain doom ? " " There is no occasion for addressing me in offensive terms," I replied. " I have no inten- tion whatever of abandoning your mistress. You will be good enough to inform her that I shall return to-morrow without fail with a weapon that will settle this dragon's business more effectually than any of your obsolete lances and battle-axes ! " 302 THE ADVENTURE OF For I had already decided on this as the only course that was now open to me. I had a friend who spent most of the year abroad in the pursuit of big game, but who chanced by good luck to be in town just then. He would, I knew, willingly lend me an express rifle and some expansive bullets, and, as an ex-volunteer and marksman, I felt that the odds would then be slightly in my favour, even if I could not, as I hoped I could, persuade my friend to join me in the expedition. But the seneschal took a less sanguine view of my prospects. '' You forget, sir," he remarked lugubriously, " that, in order to return hither, you must first quit the shelter of these walls — which, all un- armed as you are, would be but to court instant death ! " "I don't quite see that," I argued. "After all, as the dragon made no effort to prevent me from coming in, it is at least possible that it may not object to my going out." "For aught I can say," he replied, "it may have no orders to hinder any from entrance. As to that I know naught. But of this I am very sure — it suffers no one to depart hence undevoured." THE SNOWING GLOBE 303 " But could I not contrive to get out of its reach before it was aware that I had even started ? " I suggested. " I fear me, sir," he said despondently, " that the creature would not fail to follow up your tracks ere the snow could cover them." "That had not occurred to me," I said. " But now you mention it, it does not seem altogether unlikely. In your opinion, then, I should do better in remaining where I am ? " " Only until the enchanter return," was his reply, " as, if I mistake not, he may do at any moment, after which your stay here will assuredly be but brief." " You can't mean," I said, " that he would have the inhumanity to turn me out to be de- voured by his beastly dragon ? For that is what it would come to." " Unless, perchance, by dint of strength or cunning you were to overcome the monster," he said. " And methought you had come hither with that very intent." " My good man," I replied, " I've no idea why or how I came here, but it was certainly with no desire or expectation of meeting a dragon. However, I begin to see very clearly 304 THE ADVENTURE OF that if I can't find some way of putting an end to the brute — and promptly, too — he will make an end of me. The question is, how the deuce am I to set about it ? " And then, all at once, I had an inspiration. I recollected the black-beetles, and something the seneschal had said about its being the scullions' duty to keep them down. I asked him what methods they had employed for this purpose, but, such humble details being naturally outside his province, he was unable to inform me. So I returned to the kitchen, where I began a careful search, not without some hope of success. For awhile I searched in vain, but at last, just when I had begun to despair, I found on a dusty shelf in the buttery the identical thing I had been looking for. It was an earthen vessel containing a paste, which, in spite of the fungoid growth that had collected on its surface, I instantly recognised as a composition warranted to prove fatal to every description of vermin. I called to the seneschal and asked if he could oblige me with a loaf of white bread, which he brought in evident bewilderment. I THE SNOWING GLOBE 305 cut a slice from the middle and was proceeding to spread the paste thickly upon it when he grasped my arm. " Hold ! " he cried. " Would you rashly seek your death ere it is due ? " "You need not be alarmed," I told him; "this is not for myself. And now will you kindly show me a way out to some part of the roof where I can have access to the dragon ? " Trembling from head to foot he indicated a turret-stair, up which, however, he did not offer to accompany me ; it brought me out on the leads of what appeared to be a kind of bastion. I crept cautiously to the parapet and peeped over it, and then for the first time I had a full view of the brute, which was crouching im- mediately below me. I know how prone the most accurate are to exaggeration in matters of this kind, but, after making every allowance for my excited condition at the time, I do not think I am far out in estimating that the dimensions of the beast could not have been much, if at all, less than those of the " Diplo- docus Carnegii," a model of which is exhibited at the Natural History Museum, while its ap- pearance was infinitely more terrific. I do not mind admitting frankly that the 3o6 THE ADVENTURE OF sight so unmanned me for the moment that I was seized with an almost irresistible impulse to retire by the way I had come before the creature had observed me. And yet it was not without a certain beauty of its own ; I should say, indeed, that it was rather an unusually handsome specimen of its class, and I was especially struck by the magnificent colouring of its scales, which surpassed that of even the largest pythons. Still, to an unaccustomed eye there must always be something about a dragon that inspires more horror than admiration, and I was in no mood just then to enjoy the spec- tacle. It was hunched up together, with its head laid back, like a fowl's, between its wings, and seemed to be enjoying a short nap, I suppose I must unconsciously have given some sign of my presence, for suddenly I saw the horny films roll back like shutters from its lidless eyes, which it fixed on me with a cold glare of curiosity. And then it shambled on to its feet, and slowly elongated its neck till it brought its horrible head on a level with the battlements. I need not say that on this I promptly retreated to a spot where I judged I should be out of im- THE SNOWING GLOBE 307 mediate danger. But I had sufficient presence of mind to remember the purpose for which I was there, and, fixing the prepared sHce on the ferrule of my umbrella, I extended it as far as my arm would reach in the creature's direction. I fancy it had not been fed very lately. The head made a lightning dart across the parapet, and a voracious snap — and the next moment both bread and umbrella had disappeared down its great red gullet. The head was then withdrawn. I could hear a hideous champing sound, as of the ribs of the umbrella being slowly crunched. After that came silence. Again I crawled to the parapet and looked down. The huge brute was licking its plated jaws with apparent gusto, as though — which was likely enough — an umbrella came as an unaccustomed snack to its jaded palate. It was peacefully engaged now in digesting this hors d'ccuvre. But my heart only sank the lower at the sight. For if an alpaca umbrella with an ebony handle could be so easily assimilated, what possible chance was there that beetle- paste would produce any deleterious effect ? 3o8 THE ADVENTURE OF I had been a fool to place the faintest hope on so desperate a hazard. Presently he would be coming for more — and I had nothing for him ! But by-and-by, as I gazed in a sort of fascinated repulsion, I fancied I detected some slight symptoms of uneasiness in the reptile's demeanour. It was almost nothing at first — a restless twitch at times, and a squint in its stony eyes that I had not previously noticed — but it gave me a gleam of hope. Presently I saw the great crest along its spine slowly begin to erect itself, and the filaments that fringed its jaws bristling, as it proceeded to deal a suc- cession of vicious pecks at its distended olive- green paunch, which it evidently regarded as responsible for the disturbance. Little as I knew about dragons, a child could have seen that this one was feeling somewhat seriously indisposed. Only — was it due to the umbrella or the vermin-killer ? As to that I could only attempt to speculate, and my fate — and the Princess's, too — hung upon which was the correct diagnosis ! However, I was not kept long in suspense. THE SNOWING GLOBE 309 Suddenly the beast uttered a kind of bellowing roar — the most appalling sound I think I ever heard — and after that I scarcely know what happened exactly. I fancy it had some kind of fit. It writhed and rolled over and over, thrashing the air with its big leathery wings, and tangling itself up to a degree that, unless I had seen it, I should have thought impossible, even for a dragon. After this had gone on for some time, it untied itself and seemed calmer again, till all at once it curved into an immense arch, and remained perfectly rigid with wings outspread for nearly half a minute. Then it suddenly collapsed on its side, panting, snorting, and quivering like some monstrous automobile, after which it stretched itself out to its full length once or twice, and then lay stiff and still. Its gorgeous hues gradually faded into a dull, leaden-grey tint. . . . All was over — the vermin-destroyer had done its work after all. I cannot say that I was much elated. 1 am not sure that I did not even feel a pang of self-reproach. I had slain the dragon, it was true, but by a method which I could not think would have commended itself to St. 3IO THE ADVENTURE OF George as entirely sportsmanlike, even though the circumstances left me no other alternative. However, I had saved the Princess, which, after all, was the main point, and there was no actual necessity for her to know more than the bare fact that the dragon was dead, I was just about to go down and inform her that she was now free to leave the castle, when I heard a whirring noise in the air, and, glancing back, I saw, flying towards me through the still falling snow, an elderly gentle- man of forbidding aspect, who was evidently in a highly exasperated state. It was the Princess's uncle. I don't know how it was, but till that moment I had never realised the extremely unprofessional proceeding into which I had been betrayed by my own impulsiveness. But I saw now, though too late, that, in taking the law into my own hands and administering a poisonous drug to an animal which, however furious it might be, was still the property of another, I had been guilty of conduct un- worthy of any respectable solicitor. It was undoubtedly an actionable tort, if not a tres- pass — while he might even treat it as a criminal offence. THE SNOWING GLOBE 311 So, as the magician landed on the roof, his face distorted with fury, I felt that nothing would meet the case but the most ample apology. But, feeling that it was better to allow the first remark to come from him, I merely raised my hat and waited to hear what he had to say. . . . *' Are you being attended to, sir?" was the remark that actually came — and both words and tone were so different from what I had expected that I could not repress a start. And then, to my utter astonishment, I dis- covered that battlements and magician had all disappeared. I was back again in the toy- shop, staring into the glass globe, in which the snow was still languidly circling. " Like to take one of these shilling snow- storms, sir ? " continued the assistant, who seemed to be addressing me ; " we're selling a great quantity of them just now. Very suit- able and acceptable present for a child, sir, and only a shilling in that size, though we have them larger in stock." I bought the globe I had first taken up — but I have not given it to my godchild. I pre- ferred to keep it myself. Of course, my adventure may have been 312 THE SNOWING GLOBE merely a kind of day-dream ; though, if so, it is rather odd that it should have taken that form, when, even at night, my dreams — on the rare occasions when I do dream — never turn upon such subjects as castles, princesses, or dragons. A scientific friend, to whom I related the experience, pronounces it to be an ordinary case of auto-hypnotism, induced by staring into a crystal globe for a prolonged period. But I don't know. I cannot help thinking that there is something more in it than that. I still gaze into the globe at times, when I am alone of an evening ; but while I have occasionally found myself back in the snow- storm again, I have never, so far, succeeded in getting into the castle. Perhaps it is as well ; for, although I should not at all object to see something more of the Princess, she has most probably, thanks to my instrumentality, long since left the premises — and I cannot say that I have any particular desire to meet the magician. Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson <5h Co. Edinburgh <5r* London CATALOGUE OF Macmillan'S Colonial Library OF COPYRIGHT BOOKS FOR CIRCULATION ONLY IN INDIA AND THE COLONIES All ike 7!0iunies are issued in paper coi'ers and in cloth. 519. The Invasion of 1910. By William Le Queux. 518. Fenwick's Career. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. 517. The Wrong Envelope, and other Stories. By Mrs. Molesworth. 516. Kid McGhie : A Nugget of Dim Gold. By S. R. Crockett. 515. Salted Almonds. By F. Anstey. 513. If Youth but Knew ! By Agnes and Egerton Castle. 512. Lord Curzon in India. With an Introduction by Sir Thomas Ralligh, K. C.S.I. 2 vols. 511. Sophy of Kravonia. By Anthony Hope. 510. Yolanda : Maid of Burgundy. By Charles Major. 509. The King's Revoke. By Mrs. Margaret L. Woods. 508. The House of Blirth. By Edith Wharton. 506, 507. The Voyage of the " Discovery," By Captain Robert F. Scott, R.N. 505. A Pillar of Dust. By Mrs. Frances Campbell. 502. Back to Sunny Seas. By P'rank T. Buli.en. 501. French Nan. By Acines and Egerton Castle. 500. The Toll of the Bush. By William Satchell. 499 Lone Marie. By W. E. Norris. 498. The Household of Peter. By Rosa Nouchette Carey. 497. Kipps. By II. G. Wells. 498. Soprano : A Portrait. By F. Marion Crawford. 495. Fond Adventures: Tales of the Youth of the World, By Maurice Hewlett. 494. A Waif's Progress. By Rhoda Broughton. 493. The Marriage of William Ashe. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. 2 Macmillmi's Colonial Library 492. The Prisoner of Carisbrooke. By Sidney Herbert Burchell. 491. The Red Cravat. By A. T. Sheppard. 490. Atoms of Empire. By Cutcliffe Hyne. 489. Traffics and Discoveries. By Rudyard Kipling. 488. The Bell in the Fog, and other Stories. By Gertrude Atherton. 487. Rose of the World. By Agnes and Egerton Castle. 486. Whosoever shall Offend ... By F. jNIarion Crawford. 485. The Food of the Gods, and how it came to Earth. Byll. G.Wells. 484. The Last Chance. A Tale of the Golden West. By Rolf Boldrewood. 483. The Last Hope. By H. Seton Merriman. 482. At the Moorings. By Rosa Nouchette Carey. 481. The Descent of Man, and other Stories. By Edith Wharton. 480. Joshua Newings, or The Love Bacillus. By F. Bradby. 479. The Queen's Quair, or the Six Years' Tragedy. By Maurice Hewlett. 478. The Adventures of Elizabeth in Riigen. By the Author of " Elizabeth and Her German Garden." 477. Rulers of Kings. By Gertrude Atherton. 476. Flotsam. By H. Seton Merriman. 475. Tomaso's Fortune, and other Stories. By H. Seton Merriman. 474. The Loves of Miss Anne. By S. R. Crockett. 472. The Naulahka. By Rudyard Kipling and Wolcott Balestier. 471. A Forest Hearth. By Charles Major. 470. Sea-Wrack. By Frank T. Bullen. 469. An Unshared Secret, and other Stories. By F. Montgomery. 468. Two Sides of the Face. By A. T. Quiller-Couch. 467. Twelve Stories and a Dream. By H. G. Wells. 466. Round Anvil Rock. By Nancy H. Banks. 465. The Crossing. By Winston Churchill. 464. The Heart of Rome. By F. Marion Crawford. 463. Barlasch of the Guard. By H. Seton Merriman. 462. McTodd. By Cutcliffe Hyne. 461. The " Paradise " Coal-Boat. By Cutcliffe Hyne, 460. Helianthus. By Ouida. 459. John Maxwell's Marriage. By Stephen Gwynn. 458. The Children who Ran Away. By E\'elyn Sharp. 457. A Passage Perilous. By Rosa Nouchette Carey. 455. Lady Rose's Daughter. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. 454. The Flower 0' the Com. By S. R. Crockett. 453. The Ghost Camp ; or, The Avengers. By Rolf Boldrewood. 452. The Vultures. By H. Seton Merriman. 451. Jan Van Elselo. By Gilbert and Marion Coleridge, 450. By Dulvercombe Water. By Harold Vallings, 449. The Highway of Fate. By Rosa N. Carey. 448. Lavinia. ISy Rhoda Broughton. 447. The Virginian. By Owen Wister. 446. Cecilia: A Story of Modem Rome. By F. Marion Crawford. 445 Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall. By Charles Major. 444. The Conqueror. By Gertrude Atherton. 443. Gentleman Garnet. By H. B. Vogel. 442. Michael Ferrier. By E. Frances Poynter. 441. The Dark o' the Moon, By S. R. Crockett. 440. The Velvet Glove. By II. Seton Merriman. 439, The Westcotes. By A. T. Quiller Couch. 438. The Tory Lover. By Sarah Okne Jkwett. Maoiiillan's Colonial Library 3 437. The Youngest Girl in the School. By Evelyn Sharp. 436. The Making of a Marchioness. By Mrs. Hodgson Burnett. 435. Deep Sea Plunderings. By K. T. Buli.en. 434. The Sinner and the Problem. By Eric Parker. 433. The Old Knowledge. By Stephen Gwynn. 432. St. Nazarius. By Mrs. Farquharson. 431. Princess Puck. By Una L. Silberrad. 430. Herb of Grace. By Rosa N. Carey. 429. A Maid of Venice. By F. Marion Crawford. 428. The Benefactress. By the Author of " Elizabeth and Her German Garden." 427. The Dolly Dialogues. By Anthony Hope. 426. Count Hannibal. By Stanley J. Weyman. 425. The Firebrand. By S. R. Crockett. 424. The Helmet of Navarre. By Bertha Runkle. 423. In Bad Company. By Rolf Boldrewood, 422. Cinderella. By S. R. Crockett. 421. The Silver Skull. By S. R. Crockett. 420. In the Kanks of the C.I.V. By E. Childers. 419. Number One and Number Two. By F. M. Beard. 418. Old New Zealand. Preface by the Earl of Pemuroke. 416. Men of the Merchant Service. By F. T. Bullen. 415. Eleanor. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. 414. Kim. By Rudyard Kiplinc. 413. Marshfield the Observer, etc. By Egerton Castle. 412. Four Months Besieged (Ladysmith). By H. H. S. Pearse. 411. The Crisis. By Winston Churchill. 410. The Secret Orchard. By Egerton Castle. 409. Prejudged. By Florence Montgomery. 405. Foes in Law. By Rhoda Broughton. 407. In the Palace of the King. By F. M. Cra\vfori>. 406. Richard Yea and Nay. By Maurice Hewlett. 405. Rue with a Difference. By Rosa N. Carey. 404. Modern Broods. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 403. The Increasing Purpose. By James Lane Allen. 402. The Bath Comedy. By A. and E. Castle. 401. An Isle of Unrest. By H. S. Mkrriman. 400. Babes in the Bush. By Rolf Boldrewood. 399. The Cambric Mask. By W. R. Chambers. 398. Little Anna Mark. By S. R. Crockett. 397. Donna Teresa. By F. M. Peard. 395> 396- From Sea to Sea. By Rudyard Kipling. 2 vols. 394. Valda Hanem. By Miss t). H. Pryce. 393. Breaking the Shackles. By Frank Barrett, 392. The Mettle of the Pasture. By J. Lane Allen. 391. Via Crucis. By F. Marion Crawford. 390. A Bitter Vintage. By K. D. King. 389. She Walks in Beauty. By Mrs. Hinkson (Katharine Tynan). 388. Richard Carvel. By Winston Churchill. 387. Little Novels of Italy. By M. Hewlett. 386. Stalky and Co. By Rudyard Kipling. 385. Miranda of the Balcony. By A. E. W. Mason. 384. War to the Knife. By Rolf Boldrewood. 3S3. The Log of a Sea- Waif. By F. T. Bullen. 382. The Enchanter. By Miss U. L. Silberrad. 381. The Cardinal's Page. By James Baker. 380. A Drama in Sunshine. By H. A. Vachell. 4 Macmillan's Colonial Library 379. Rupert, by the Grace of God— By Dora McChesney. 378. Black Douglas. By S. R. Crockett. 377. The Etchingham Letters. By Mrs. Fuller Maitland and Sii F. Pollock, Bart. 376. A Modern Mercenary. By K. and H. Prichard. 375. Cruise of the "Cachalot." By F. T. Bullen. 374. On many Seas. By PI. E. Hamblen. 373. The Pride of Life. By Sir W. Magnay, Bart. 372. Off the High Road. By Eleanor C. Prigs. 371. Young April. By Egerton Castle. 370. The Pride of Jennico. By Egerton Castle. 369. The Game and the Candle. By Rhoda Broughton 368. One of the Grenvilles. By S. R. Lysaght. 367. Selah Harrison. By S. Macnaughtan. 366. The Adventures of Francois. By S. Weir Mitchell. 365. For the Term of his Natural Life. By Marcus Clarke. 364. The Gospel Writ in Steel. By Arthur Paterson. 363. Bismillah. By A. J. Dawson. 362. A Treasury Officer's Wooing. By C. Lowis. 360. Her Memory. By Maakten Maartens. 359. That Little Cutty. By Mrs. Oliphant. 357. The Red Axe. By S. R. Crockett. 356. The Castle Inn. By Stanley J. Weyman. 355. Roden's Corner. By H. Seton Merriman. 354. The Day's Work. By Rudyard Kipling. 352. Helbeck of Bannisdale. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. 350. The Forest Lovers. By Maurice Hewlett. 349. The Concert-Director. By Miss Nellie K. Blissett. 34S. The Philosopher's Romance. By John Berwick. 345. Plain Living. By Rolf Boldrewood. 344. Rupei-t of Hentzau. By Anthony Hope. 342. The Choir Invisible. By J. Lane Allen. 341. A Chapter of Accidents. By Mrs. Hugh Eraser. 340. For Prince and People. By E. K. Sanders. 339. Corleone. By F. Marion Crawford. 337. Unkist Unkind. By Violet Hunt. 336. The Well Beloved. By Thomas Hardy. 334. Lawrence Clavering. By A. E. W. Mason. 332. A Rose of Yesterday. By F. AIarion Crawford. 331. Sport and Travel in India and Central America. By A. G. Bagot. 327. The Fall of a Star. By Sir W. Magnay. 326. The Secret of Saint Florel. By John Berwick. 325. My Run Home. By Rolf Boldrewood. 320. The Philanderers. By A. E. W. Mason. 319. Queen of the Moor. By F. Adye. 317, 318. Farthest North. By F. Nansen. 2 vols. 316. The Pilgrimage of the Ben Beriah. By C. M. Yonge. 315. Stories of Naples and the Camorra. By C. Grant. 312. The Green Book ; or, Freedom under the Snow. By M. Jokai. 310. The Money Spinner. I'y H. S. Merriman and S. G. Tai.lkntvre. 309. Palladia. By Mrs. Hugh Fraser. 307. Wheels of Chance. By II. G. Wells. 30&. A Woman of Thirty. By H. de Balzac. 305. About Catherine de Medicis. By ?I. de Balzac. 304. The Peasantry. By H. dk I^ai.zac. MaanillarCs Colonial Library 5 303. Ravenstone. By C. R. Colp:ridge and Helen Siupton. 301. Camps, Quarters, and Casual Places. By Archibald Forbes. 300. The Story of Maurice Lestrange. By Mrs. Omond. 299. The Sealskin Cloak. By Rolf Boldkewood. 298. For Freedom's Sake. By Arthur Paterson. 297. Taquisara. By F. Marion Crawford. 296. Sir George Tressady. By Mrs. Humihry Ward. 295. Master Beggars. By L. Cope Cornford. 294. Jude the Obscure. By Thomas Hardy. 293. Beatrix. By H. dk Balzac. 290. Mrs. Martin's Company. By Jane Barlow. 289. Tom Grogan. By F. Hopkinson Smith. 288. The Inn by the Shore. By Florence Warden. 287. Old Melbourne Memories. By Rolf Boldrewood. 286. Denis. By Mrs. E. M. Fif:ld. 285. Caesar Eirotteau. By H. de Balzac. 284. Pierette. By H. de Balzac. 283. A Bachelor's Establishment. By H. de Balzac. 282. His Honour and a Lady. By S. J. Duncan. 281. The Unknown Masterpiece. By H. de Balzac. 280. The Grand Bretache. By H. de Balzac. 279. Robert Helmont. By A. Daudet. 276. Recollections of a Literary Man. By A. Uaude r. 275. Kings in Exile. By A. Daudet. 274. Tartarin of the Alps. By A. Daudet. 273. Tartarin of Tarascon. By A. Daudet. 272. Disturbing Elements. By M. C. Birchenough. 271. The Sowers. By H. 8. Merriman. 270. Cleg Kelly. By S. R. Crockett. 269. The Judge of the Four Comers. By G. B. Burgin. 268. The Release. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 267. The Atheist's Mass, etc. By H. de Balzac. 266. Old Goriot. By H. de Balzac. 264. The Courtship of Morrice Buckler. By A. E. W. Mason. 263. Where Highways Cross. By J. S. Fletcher. 262. A Ringby Lass. By Mary Beaumont. 261. A Modem Han. By Ella MacMahon. 260. Maureen's Fairing. By Jane Barlow. 258. Tryphena in Love. By W. Raymond. 257. The Old Pastures. By Mrs. Leith-Adams. 256. Lindsay's Girl. By Mrs. Herbert Martin. 255. Ursule Mirouet. By H. de Balzac. 254. The Quest of the Absolute. By H. de Balzac. 253. Wee Willie Winkie, etc. By Rudyard Kipling. 252. Soldiers Three, etc. By Rudyard Kipling. 251. Many Inventions, etc. By Rudyard Kipling. 250. Life's Handicap, etc. By Rudyard Kipling. 249. The Light that Failed. r>y Rudyard Kipling. 248. Plain Tales from the Hills. By Rudyard Kipling. 247. The Country Doctor. By H. de Balzac, 246. The Chouans. By H. de Balzac. 245. Eugenie Grandet. By H. de Balzac. 244. At the sign of the Cat and Racket. By II. de Balzac. 243. The Wild Ass's Skin. By 11. dk Balzac. 241. The btory of a Marriage. By Mrs. A. Baldwin. 241. The Wonderful Visit. By H. G. Wells. 240. A Youth of Parnassus, iiy L. Pearsai i. Smith. 6 Macmillans Colonial Library 239. A Sweet Disorder. By Norma Lorimer. 238, The Education of Antonio. By F. E. Phillips. 237. For Love of Prue. By Leslie Keith. 236. The Wooing of Doris. By Mrs. J. K. Spender. 235. Captain Flick. By Fergus Hume. 234. Not Exactly. By E. M. Stooke. 233. A Set of Rogues. By Frank Barrett. 232. Minor Dialogues. By W. Pett Ri uge. 231. My Honey. By the Author of " Tipcat." 230. The Shoulder of Shasta. By Bram Stoker. 229. Casa Braccio. By F. Marion Crawford. 228. The Salt of the Earth. By P. Lafargue. 227. The Horseman's Word. By Neil Roy. 226. Comrades in Arms. By Arthur Amyand. 225. The Wild Rose. By Francis Francls. 224. The Crooked Stick. By Rolf Boldrewood. 223. The Herons. By Helen Shipton. 222. Adam Johnstone's Son. By F. Marion Crawford. 220. A Son of the Plains. By Arthur PatersOxN. 219. Winifred Mount. By Riciiaku Pryce. 218. The Lovely Malincourt. By Helen Mathers. 217. Mistress Dorothy Marvin. By J. C. Snaith. 216. The Renegade. By James Chalmers. 215. Prisoners of Silence. By Mary A. Dickens. 214. By Order of the Brotherhood. By Le Voleur. 213. Neighbours of Om"s. By H. W. Nevinson. 212. The Martyred Fool. By D. Christie Murray. 211. Under God's Sky. By Deas Cromarty. 210. Alice Lauder. By Mrs. J. Glenny Wilson. 209. Thirteen Doctors. By Mrs. J. K. Spender. 208. The Burden of a Woman. By Richard Pryce. 207. Peter Steele, the Cricketer. By II. G. Hutchinson. 206. Two in the Bush, etc. By Frankfort Moore. 205. The Great Dominion. By G. R. Parkin. 204. A Long Vacation. By C. M. Yonge. 203. The Ralstons. By F. Marion Crawford. 202. Seething Days. By Caroline C. Holroyd. 201. In the Lion's Mouth. By Eleanor C. Price. 200. Chapters from some Memoirs. By Mrs. Ritchie. 199. The Vagabonds. By Margaret L. Woods. 198. Peter Ibbetson. By George du Maurier. 197. Sibylla. By Sir Henry Cunningham, K.C I.E. 196. Two on a Tower. By Thomas Hardy. 194. A Laodicean. By Thomas Hardy. 193. The Hand of Ethelberta. By Thomas Hardy. 192. Life's Little Ironies. By Thomas Hardy. 191. A Group of Noble Dames. By Thomas Hardy. 190. The Trumpet Major. By Thomas Hardy. 189. The Return of the Native. By Thomas Hardy. 188. Far from the Madding Crowd. By Thomas Hardy. 187. A Pair of Blue Eyes. By Thomas Hardy. 186. Desperate Remedies. By Thomas Hardy. 185. Tess of the D'Urbervilles. By Thomas Hardy. 184. The Prisoner of Zenda. By Anthony Hope. 183. The Story of Dan. By M. E.Francis. 181. Katharine Lauderdale. By F. Marion Crawford. 180. The Raiders. P>y S. R. Crockei r. Macinillaiis Colonial Library y [79. Cawnpore. By Rt. Hon. Sir G. O. Tkevelyan, Bart. [78. Elements of Metaphysics. By Dr. Paul IJeussen. [77. A Valiant Ignorance. By Mary Angela Dickens. [75. A Modern Buccaneer. By Rolf Boldrewood. [74. Marcella. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. 173. Round London. By Montagu Williams, Q.C. 172. Later Leaves. By Montagu Williams, Q.C. 171. Leaves of a Life. By Montagu Williams, Q.C. With a Portrait, 170. Yeast: A Problem. By Charles Kingsley. 169. Two Years Ago. By Charles Kingsley. 165. Hereward the Wake. By Charles Kingsley. 167. Hypatia. By Charles Kingsley. 166. Alton Locke, Tailor and Poet. By Charles Kingsley. 165. Westward Ho! By Charles Kingsley. With a Portrait. 164. Adventures in Mashonaland. By Blennerhasseit and Sleeman. 163. Richard Escott. By E. H. Cooper. [62. Lady William. By Mrs. Oliphant. 161. Marion Darche. By F. Marion Crawford. [58. Pietro Ghisleri. By F. Marion Crawford. [57. The Last Touches. By Mrs. Clifford. [56. Strolling Players. By C. M. Yonge and C. R. Coleridge. [55. Grisly Grisell. By C. M. Yonge. 154. Records of Tennyson, Euskin, and Browning. By Mrs. Ritchie. [53. The Marplot. By S. R. Lysaght. [52. John I'revennick. By W. C. Riioades. 151. A Mere CjT)h6r. By Mary Angela Dickens. [50. A Bom Player. By Mary West. [49. The Real Thing, etc. By Henry James. ~. The Lesson of the Master, etc. By Henry James. 147. Don Orsino. By F. Marion Crawford. 146. The Heir Presumptive and the Heir Apparent. By Mrs. Oliphant. 145. Under Pressure. By the Marchesa Theodoli. 144. The Children of the King. By F. Marion Crawford. 143. Imperial Federation. By G. R. Parkin. 142. Imperial Defence. By Sir Chas. Dilke and S. Wilkinson. 141. Helen Treveryan. By Sir M. Durand, K.C.I.E. 140. The Story of Dick. By Major Gambier Parry. 139. The Three Fates. By F. Marion Crawford. [38. The Marriage of Elinor. By Mrs. Oliphant. [37. A Strange Elopement. By W. Clark Russell. 136. A First Family of Tasajara. By Bret Harte. [35. The History of David Grieve. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. 134. Mariam, or Twenty-one Days. By H. Victor. 133. The Railway Man and his Children. By Mrs. Oliphant. (32. Blanche, Lady Falaise. ByJ. H. Shorthouse. 131. Cecilia de Noel. By Lanoe Falconer. 29. The Witch of Prague. By F. Marion Crawford. Illustrated. [28. That Stick. By C. M. Yonge. 127. Nevermore. By Rolf Boldrewood. [26. Tim. [24. A Sydney- Side Saxon. By Rolf Boldrewood. (23. The Philadelphian. By L. J. Jennings, M.P. , Khaled. By F. Marion Crawford. :i9. Two Penniless Princesses. By Charlotte M. Yonge. [18. The Expansion of England. ByJ. R. Seeley. 8 Maanillafis Colonial Library ii6. A Colonial Reformer. By Rolf Boldrewood. 115. Kirsteen. By Mrs. Olithant. 114. The Squatter's Dream. By Rolf Boldrewood. 113. More Bywords. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 112. Wheat and Tares. By Sir Henry Conningham. Ill, A Cigarette-Maker's Romance. ByF. Marion Crawford. 109. The Tragic Muse. By Henry James. 108. The Ring of Amasis. By Lord Lytton. 107. The Miner's Right. By Rolf Boldrewood, 106, The Heriots. By Sir Henry Cunningham. 105. A Lover of the Beautiful. By the Marchioness of Carmarthen. loi. English Traits. By Ralph Waldo Emerson. 99. Sant' Ilario, By F. Marion Crawford. 98. Marooned. By W. Clark Russell. 97. A Reputed Changeling. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 96. The Intellectual Life. By Philip Gilbert Hamerton. 95. The Gospel of the Resurrection. By Bishop Westcott. 94. Robbery under Arms. By Rolf Boldrewood. 93. An Author's Love. 92. French and English : A Comparison. By P. G. Hamerton. 90. Neighbours on the Green. By Mrs. Oliphant. 89. Greifenstetn. By F. Marion Crawford. 85. Kophetua the Thirteenth. By Julian Corbett. 84. Miss Bretherton. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. 83. Beechcroft at Rockstone. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 82. The Countess Eve. By J. H. Shorthouse. 80. The Mediation of Ralph Hardeiot. By Wm. Minto. 79. Cressy. By Bret Harte. 76. With the Immortals. By F. Marion Crawford. 74. Wessex Tales. By Thomas Hardy. 72. The Argonauts of North Liberty. By Bret Harte. 71. Joyce. By Mrs. Oliphant. 70. Chris. By W. E. Norris. 69. A Teacher of the Violin, and other Tales. ByJ. H. Shorthouse. 65. Paul Patoff. By F. Marion Crawford. 64. Marzio's Crucifis. By F. Marion Crawford. 63. The Second Son. By Mrs. Oliphant. 59. Zoroaster. By F. Marion Crawford. 55. The Crusade of " The Excelsior." By Bret Harte. 49. The Woodlanders. By Thomas Hardy. 46. Saracinesca. By F. Marion Crawford. 44. Critical Miscellanies. By John Morley. 41. Tom Brown's School Days. By an Old Boy. 40. Essays in Criticism. By Matthew Arnold. 36. Sir Percival. By J. H. Shorthouse. 35. A Modem Telemachus. By Chakloi'te M. Yonge. 32. The Mayor of Casterbridge. By Thomas Hardy. 26. Living or Dead. By IT unii Conway, Author of "Called Back," etc. 8. A Tale of a Lonely Parish. By F. Marion Crawford. 7. A Roman Singer. By F. Marion Crawford. 6. Dr. Claudius : A True Story. By F. Marion Crawford. 5. Mr. Isaacs : A Tale of Modern India. By F. Marion Crawford. 4. A Family Affair. By Hugh Conway, Author of "Called Back." *,* Coinplele Cala/o^/es sen! post free on application. MACMILLAN .-\ND CO., Ltd., LONDON. CI.. 10.3.06. GA VLORD PRINTED IN U.S.A.