MARGE ASKINFORIT

BY BARRY PAIN

NEW YORK

DUFFIELD AND COMPANY

1921

CONTENTS

 AUTHOR'S NOTE 7

 I. THE CATASTROPHIC FAMILY 9

 II. EBULLIENT YOUTH 18

 III. GLADSTONE--LLOYD GEORGE--INMEMORISON--DR. BENGER HORLICK 26

 IV. THE SOLES 40

 V. MISFIRES 50

 VI. TESTIMONIALS--ROYAL APPRECIATION 64

 VII. SELF-ESTIMATE 78 LATE EXTRA 83

 "And every week you opened your hoard Of truthful and tasteful tales-- How you sat on the knees of the Laureate Lord, How you danced with the Prince of Wales-- And we knew that the Sunday Times had scored In Literature and Sales. "

 _To Margot in Heaven. _

 BY CLARENCE G. HENNESSY (circa 1985). 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This book was suggested by the reading of some extracts from theautobiography of a brilliant lady who had much to tell us about a numberof interesting people. There was a quality in that autobiography whichseemed to demand parody, and no doubt the autobiographer who cannot waitfor posterity and perspective will pardon a little contemporarydistortion. 

In adding my humble wreath to the flatteries--in their sincerestform--which she has already received, I should like to point out that aparody of an autobiography should not be a caricature of the peoplebiographed--some of whom must already have suffered enough. I havelowered the social key of the original considerably, not only to bringit within the compass of the executant, but also to make a distinction. I have increased the remoteness from real life--which was sometimesappreciable in the original--to such an extent that it should beimpossible to suppose that any of the grotesques of the parody isintended for anybody in real life. Nobody in the parody is intended tobe a representation, or even a misrepresentation, of any real personliving or dead. For instance, Inmemorison is not intended to be acaricature of Tennyson, but the passage which deals with him is intendedto parody some of the stuff that has been written about Tennyson. 

No doubt the author of the original has opened to the public severaldoors through which it is not thinkable that a parodist would care tofollow her. Apart from that, parody should be brief, just asautobiography should be long--_ars brevis, vita longa_. 

 BARRY PAIN. _October_ 8, 1920. 

_The quotations are from the articles which appeared in "The SundayTimes. " It does not of course follow that these passages will appear inthe same form, or will appear at all, when the complete autobiography ispublished. _

MARGE ASKINFORIT

FIRST EXTRACT

THE CATASTROPHIC FAMILY

I was christened Margarine, of course, but in my own circle I havealways been known as Marge. The name is, I am informed, derived from theLatin word _margo_, meaning the limit. I have always tried to live rightup to it. 

We were a very numerous family, and I can find space for biographicaldetails of only a few of the more important. I must keep room formyself. 

My elder sister, Casein--Casey, as we always called her--was supposed tobe the most like myself, and was less bucked about it than one wouldhave expected. I never made any mistake myself as to which was which. Ihad not her beautiful lustrous eyes, but neither had she my wonderfulcheek. She had not my intelligence. Nor had she my priceless gift foruttering an unimportant personal opinion as if it were the final verdictof posterity with the black cap on. We were devoted to one another, andmany a time have I owed my position as temporary parlour-maid in anunsuspicious family to the excellent character that she had written forme. 

She married Moses Morgenstein, a naturalized British subject, who showedhis love for his adopted country by trading as Stanley Harcourt. He wasa striking figure with his coal-black hair and nails, his droopingeye-lashes and under-lip, and the downward sweep of his ingratiatingnose. The war found him burning with enthusiasm, and I give here oneverse of a fine poem which he wrote and, as I will remember, recited inMrs. Mopworth's _salon_:

 I vos in Luntun since t'ree year, In dis lant I holt so tear, Inklant, my Inklant! Mit her overbowering might If she gonquer in der fight, M. Morgenstein vill be all right-- _Nicht?_-- Inklant, my own!

He was a man of diverse talents, and I used to regret that he gave tothe tripe-dressing what was meant for the muses. Alas, he was, thoughindirectly, one of the many victims of the Great War. His scheme for theconcealment of excess profits was elaborate and ingenious, and practisedwith assiduity. His simple mind could not apprehend that elementalhonesty was in process of modification. "Vot I maig for myself, dat Ikeeb, _nicht?_" he often said to me. And then the blow fell. 

However, he has earned the utmost remission to which good conduct couldentitle him, and we are hoping that he will be out again by Christmas. 

My next sister, Saccharine, was of a filmy and prismatic beauty that wassufficient evidence of her Cohltar origin--our mother, of course, was aCohltar. I never thought her mind the equal of my own. Indeed, at themoment of going to press I have not yet met the mind that I thought theequal of my own. But about her beauty there was no doubt. In thosedays--I am speaking of the 'nineties--it was quite an ordinary event formy sister, inadvertently, to hold up an omnibus. The horses pulled up assoon as they saw her, and refused to move until they had drunk theirfill of her astounding beauty. I well remember one occasion on which thehorses in a West Kensington omnibus met her at Piccadilly Circus andrefused to leave her until she reached Highgate, in spite of the whip ofthe driver, the blasphemy of the conductor, the more formal complaintsof the passengers, and direct police intervention. 

She was a sweet girl in those days, and I loved her. I never had anyfeelings of jealousy. How can one who is definitely assured ofsuperiority to everybody be jealous of anybody?

She married a Russian, Alexis Chopitoff. He was a perfect artist in hisown medium, which happened to be hair. It is to him that I owe what ismy only beauty, and I am assured that it defies detection. At one timelife's greatest prizes seemed to be within his reach. During the war hisskill in rendering the _chevelure_ of noted pianists fit for militaryservice attracted official attention, and if he had been made O. B. E. Itwould have come as no surprise to any of us. Unhappily his interest inthe political affairs of his own country led him to annex at Waterloo adespatch-case which, pedantically speaking, did not belong to him. Thecase unfortunately happened to contain a diamond tiara, and this led tomisunderstandings. Nothing could have exceeded the courage of dearSaccharine when she learned that at the end of his sentence he was to bedeported. 

"It will leave me, " she said, with perfect calm and in words that havesince become historical, "in a position of greater freedom and lessresponsibility. "

But I knew how near she was to a nervous breakdown. Indeed, nervousbreakdown was her successful defence when, a week later, she wasarrested at Whiteridge's with a tin of sardines, two cakes ofsuper-cream toilet-soap, and a bound copy of Keble's "Christian Year" inher muff. The malice and animosity that Whiteridge's showed in theprosecution are but partly excused by the fact that dear Saccharine hadpinched the muff first. 

Another sister, Chlorine, in later years became well known as a medium. She communicated with the hereafter, or at the very least professed todo so, by telephonic wireless. It used to be rather weird to hear herring up "Gehenna, 1 double 7, 6. " I have not the least doubt that shewould have convinced a famous physicist who, curiously enough, is weakon facts, or a writer of detective stories who, equally curiously, isweak on imagination. I am sorry to say that she would never give me thewinner of the next Derby, nor do I remember that she ever used thisspecial and exclusive information for her own benefit. But, like othermediums, she could always give a plausible reason for avoiding any testthat was really a test; and now that she has doubled her fees owing tothe increased cost of labour and materials, she ought to do very well, particularly after the friendly boost that I have just given her. 

Then there was Methyll--this is the old Anglo-Saxon form of Ethel. Shewas a charming child and made a profound study of natural history. Iremember her saying to me at a reception where the refreshments had beensomewhat restricted: "One cocktail doesn't make a swallow. " Modernbiology has, I believe, confirmed this observation. She spent much ofher time at the Zoo, and it was thought that it would be an advantage ifshe could be permanently resident there. But although she was not unlikea flamingo in the face, and I had some interest with the man whosupplies the fish for the sea-lions, no vacant cage could be found. Anoffer to let her share one with the cassowary--_missionaratimbuctana_--was refused. 

I must now speak of another sister, Caramel, though I do so with grief. However, there is a skeleton in every fold--I mean to say, a black sheepin every cupboard. She was undeniably beautiful, and had a romanticpostcard face. Her figure was perfect. Her intelligence was C 3. In aweak moment she accepted a thinking part in a revue at the "Frivolity, "and her career ended, as might have been expected, in a shocking_mésalliance_. She married the Marquis of Beanstrite, and has more thanonce appeared on the back page of the "Daily Mail, " but that is noteverything. She never sees anything of me now, and it brings the tearsto my eyes when I think what she is missing. 

My brothers were all of them sportsmen, but they were seldom at home. They seemed to feel that they were wanted elsewhere, and they generallywere. You ask any policeman in the Kentish Town district, mentioning myname, and he will tell you. 

There were seventy-three of us all together, of whom eighty-foursurvive, including myself. And yet dear papa sometimes seems a littleirritable--I wonder why. 

My mamma was quite different from my papa. They were not even of thesame sex. But that so often happens, don't you think?

My father had a curious fancy for naming all his sons after subsequentwinners of the Derby. No doubt it will be said that this is not alwayspractical; nor is it--the Derby is occasionally won by a gee-gee of thesex which I have myself adopted, and in those cases the name isunsuitable for a boy. But if it could be generally done, it wouldabsolutely preclude any betting on one of our classic races; it wouldprobably also preclude the race. After all, we do have to be moral inthe intervals, and reclaim factory-girls in the dinner-hour. But I fearit will never happen--so few men have dear papa's wonderful foresight. 

Spearmint, my eldest surviving brother, came much under the influence ofAlexis Chopitoff, and entered the same profession. Simple andunassuming, no one would have supposed that in one year he had backedthe winner in all the principal races. But such was veritably the case. 

"There's nothing in it, Marge, " he said to me one evening. "There's onlyone sure way to win--back every horse in the race with another man'smoney. I tell a customer the tale that I was shaving a well-knowntrainer that morning, and that the trainer had given me a certainty; allI ask is that the customer will put half-a-crown on for me. I repeat theprocess, changing the name of the certainty, until I have got all riskscovered. I know it's old fashioned, but I like it. It demands nothingbut patience, and it cannot possibly go wrong. "

But it did go wrong. He was telling the tale of how the well-knowntrainer had given him the certainty to a new customer, whom Spearminthad never shaved before. By a disastrous coincidence it happened thatthe new customer actually was that well-known trainer. He seemed tothink that Spearmint had taken a liberty with his name, and even toresent it. 

Spearmint did not lose the sight of the left eye, as was at one timefeared, but his looks have never been quite the same since his nose wasbroken. 

My next brother, Orby, was born in 1870. He could do the most gracefuland charming things. When his namesake won the Derby in 1907, heimmediately acquired a complimentary Irish accent, and employed it inthe narration of humorous stories. An accent acquired at the age ofthirty-seven is perhaps liable to lack conviction, and I always thoughtthat my brother was over-scrupulous in beginning every sentence with theword "Bedad. " Like myself, he simply did not know what fear was, and inconsequence told his Irish stories in his own Irish accent to a realIrishman. However, now that he has got his new teeth in you would neverknow that he had been hit. It was said of him by a great legalauthority--I forget in which police-court--that he had the best mannersand the least honesty of any taxi-driver on the Knightsbridge rank. 

Another brother, Sunstar, acquired considerable reputation by his skillin legerdemain. If you lent him a watch or a coin, with one turn of hishand he would make it disappear; he could do the same thing when youhad not lent it. He could make anything disappear that was notabsolutely screwed to the floor, and at public-houses where he was knownthe pewter from which he drank was always chained to the bar. He hadsomething of my own quixotic nature, and would probably have taken therest if he had wanted it. One day at Ascot he made a stranger's watchdisappear. When he came to examine his newly-acquired property he wasdisappointed to find that the watch was a four-and-sixpenny AmericanEverbright--"Puts you wrong, Day and night. " He was on the point ofthrowing it away when the kindly thought came to him that perhaps thestranger attached some sentimental value to that watch; indeed, thereseemed to be no other possible reason for wearing it. Sunstar determinedto replace the watch in the stranger's pocket. He did his best, but hewas far more practised in removing than in replacing. The stranger--ahulking, cowardly brute--caught my brother with his hand in his pocket, and failed to grasp the altruism of his motives, and that is why poorSunnie walks a little lame. 

He is not with us at present. He had made quite a number of thingsdisappear, and a censorious world is ever prone to judge bydisappearances. It became expedient--and even necessary--for my brotherto make himself disappear, and he did so. 

The Second Extract, as they say on the film, will follow immediately. 

SECOND EXTRACT

EBULLIENT YOUTH

I have been studying the beautiful pages of the autobiography of myGreat Example--hereinafter to be called the G. E. It is wonderful to beadmitted to the circle of the elect, week after week, at the low rate oftwopence a time. Why, I've paid more to see the pictures. 

Considering the price, one ought not to carp. The G. E. Says in oneextract that she has lost every female friend she ever had, with theexception of four. In a subsequent extract she names six women whosefriendship has remained loving and true to her since girlhood. Shespeaks of a four-line stanza as a couplet. She imputes a "blasphemoustirade" to a great man of science who certainly never uttered one. Shesays that she had a conversation with Lord Salisbury about the fiscalcontroversy, in which he took no part, the year after his death. But whymake a fuss about little things like this? If you write in bed at therate of one thousand words an hour, accidents are sure to happen. 

But there is just one of the G. E. 's sentences that is worrying me andkeeping me awake at night. Here it is--read it carefully:

"I wore the shortest of tweed skirts, knickerbockers of the same stuff, top-boots, a cover-coat, and a coloured scarf round my head. "

And all very nice too, no doubt. But consider the terrific probleminvolved. 

She does not say that the skirt and knickerbockers were made _of thesame kind of stuff_. If she had, I could have understood it, and mynatural delicacy would for ever have kept me from the slightest allusionto the subject. 

What she does say is that the skirt and knickerbockers were made _of thesame stuff_. That is very different, and involves hideous complications. 

Firstly, it must mean that the knickerbockers were made out of theskirt. Well, there may have been surplus material from that colouredscarf, and it is not for me to say. But, secondly, it must also meanthat the skirt was made out of the knickerbockers. Oh, help!

No, I positively refuse. I will not say another word. There are limits. Only an abstruse theologian with a taste for the more recondite nicetiesof obscure heresies could possibly do justice to it. 

All change, please. The next item on the programme will be a succinctaccount of my ebullient girlhood. 

I cannot say that I loved the Warren, my ancestral home. The neighbourscalled it the Warren, but I can't think why. The Post Office said it wasNo. 4, Catley Mews, Kentish Town, and dear papa--who always had the_mot juste_--sometimes said that it was hell. 

We were a high-spirited family with clean-cut personalities, penetratingvoices, short tempers, high nervous tension, and small feet. Don't youwish you were like that?

All the same, there were only the four rooms over the stable. At timesthere were fifteen or sixteen of us at home, and also the lodger--Ishall speak of him presently. And when you have five personal quarrels, baby, the family wash, a sewing-machine, three mouth-organs, friedbacon, and a serious political argument occurring simultaneously in arestricted establishment, something has to go. As a rule, dear papawent. He would make for Regent's Park, and find repose in the old-worldcalm of the parrot-house at the Zoo. 

But there is always room on the top--it is a conviction on which I haveever acted. When I felt too cramped and stifled in the atmosphere of theWarren, I would climb out on the roof. There, with nothing on but mynightgown, tennis shoes, and the moonlight, I would dance frenetically. The tiles would break loose beneath my gossamer tread and, accompaniedby sections of gutter, go poppity-swish into the street below and hitall manner of funny things. I fancy that some of the funny thingscomplained. I know the police called, and I seem to remember rather anasty letter from the landlord's agent. I had a long interview withmamma on the subject. She pointed out that if I slipped and fell Ishould probably make a nasty dent in the pavement, and with many tears Ipromised to relinquish the practice. 

I used to ride on the Heath when I had the opportunity, but I cannotpretend that I was up to the standard of the G. E. I do not think I everrode up a staircase. I certainly never threw my horse down on the marblefloor of the hall of the Warren. There were several reasons for this. Firstly, the Warren had not got a hall, and if it had had a hall, thehall would not have had a marble floor. Secondly, the horses I rode werelikely to be wanted again, being in fact the ponies that unsuspectingtradesmen stabled at Catley Mews. Bogey Nutter looked after them, and Icould always do what I liked with Bogey. He was perhaps the most profuseproposer I ever met. At one time he always proposed to me once a day andtwice on Bank holidays. I was such a dashing, attractive creature, what?

As to my education, a good deal depends on what is meant by education. The kind that was ladled out at the County Council establishment madelittle effect upon me. But I was pretty quick at figures, and knew thatan investment of half-a-crown at eleven to eight should bring me in aprofit of three-and-five--provided that the horse won and the man at thefishmonger's round the corner paid up. My brother Lemberg had the sametalent. If he bought a packet of fags and paid with a ten-shilling note, he could always negotiate the change so that he made ninepence forhimself and had the cigarettes thrown in. His only mistake was in tryingto do it twice at the same shop, but the scar over his right eye hardlyshows now. A sharp-cornered tobacco-tin was not the thing to have hithim with anyhow. 

For autobiographical purposes always treat a deficiency as if it were agift. The G. E. Was apparently a duffer at arithmetic, but she tells youso in a way that makes you admire her for it. All the same I wish I hadbeen one of those factory-girls that she used to reclaim in theirdinner-hour; I am fundamentally honest, but I never could miss a chancewhen it was thrown at me. 

My education in dancing was irregular, as that greasy Italian did notwheel his piano round every week. However I acquired sufficientproficiency to attract attention, and that is the great thing in life. The Italian offered me twopence a day to go on his round with him anddance while he turned the handle. I told Signor Hokey-pokey what Ithought of the offer, and I have some talent for language, if not forlanguages. So, as he could not get me, he did the next best thing andbought a monkey. 

I was by far the most spiritual of the family. But my brother Minoruattended chapel regularly, until they stopped collecting the offertoryin open plates and substituted locked boxes with a slot in them. Hefound another chapel that seemed more promising, but he attended itonly once. I shall always consider that the policeman was needlesslyrough with him, for Minoru said distinctly that he would go quietly. 

My sisters and myself had a fascination for the other sex that wasalmost incredible. At one time we had a Proposal Competition every week;each of us put in sixpence, and the girl who got the greatest number ofproposals took the pool. Casey or I generally won. Then one week Iencountered on the Heath the annual beanfeast of the Pottey Asylum forthe Feeble-minded, and won with a score of a hundred and seven, and Ithink the others said it was not fair. Anyhow, the competitions werediscontinued. 

Really, the way our lodger pestered my sisters and myself with hisabsolute inattentions is difficult to explain. Anyone might have thoughtthat he did not know we were there. While the Proposal Competitions wereon, not one of us thought it worth while to waste time on the man. Wecould get a better return for the same amount of fascination in otherquarters. Afterwards I thought that possibly his employment in themilk-trade might be the cause of his extraordinary mildness, and that itwould be kind to offer him a little encouragement. 

He usually went for a walk on Sunday mornings, and one Sunday I saidthat I would accompany him. 

"Better not, " he said. "Looks to me like rain. "

"But you have an umbrella, " I pointed out. 

"Aye, " he said, "and when two people share one umbrella, they both getall the drippings from it and none of the protection. You take a nicebook and read for a bit. "

"No, " I said. "I'm coming with you, and though it's Leap Year, Idefinitely promise not to propose to you. "

"Well, " he said, "that makes a difference. "

I thrust my arm into his gaily and confidentially, and he immediatelyunhooked. We went on to the Heath together. 

"I was once told by a palmist, " I said, "that I had a mysterious andmagnetic attraction for men. "

"Those palmists will say anything, " he said. "It's just the other wayround really. "

"Perhaps, " I said. "I know I have an unlimited capacity for love--andnobody seems to want it. "

"Ah, " he said, "it's a pity to be overstocked with a perishable article. It means parting with it at a loss. "

What could I say to a brute like that? And I had nobody there to protectme. 

"I wish, " I said, "that you'd look if I've a fly in my eye. "

"If you had, you'd know, " he answered. "The fly sees to that. "

Some minutes elapsed before I asked him to tie my shoe-lace. 

He looked down and said that it was not undone. 

I simply turned round and left him, I was not going to stay there to beinsulted. 

However, he must have been ashamed of himself, for two days later hesub-let his part of the floor in one of the rooms at the Warren to anIrish family. If he was not ashamed, he was frightened. 

Yet, curiously enough, that cowardly brute moulded my future. 

The influx of the Irish family into the Warren drove me out of it. Itmade me feel the absolute necessity for a wider sphere. 

On leaving home I took an indeterminate position in a Bayswaterboarding-house. At any rate, my wages and food were determined, but myhours of work were not. 

A boarding-house is a congeries of people who have come down. Theproprietoress never dreamed that she would have to earn her own livinglike that--though she gets everything to a knife-edge certainty in thefirst week. Then in the drawing-room you have military people who havethundered, been saluted, been respected--and superseded. And nobody canmake worse clothes look better. The cook explains why she's not inGrosvenor Square, and the elderly Swiss waiter says that he has been inplaces where pace was not everytink. If you're out looking fordepression, try a boarding-house. 

I stayed there a week and then said I was going. The lady said she knewthe law and I couldn't. So I said I would stay, and was sorry that thestate of my nerves would mean a good deal in breakages. 

I left at the end of the week. 

THIRD EXTRACT

GLADSTONE--MR. LLOYD GEORGE--INMEMORISON--DR. BENGER HORLICK. 

After this I had a long succession of different situations. It ispossible for a girl to learn the work of any branch of domesticservice in a week, if she wishes to do it, with the exception of thework of a cook or a personal maid. But then, it is quite possible totake a situation as a cook, and to keep it, without knowing anythingappreciable about the work. Thousands of women have done it, andare still doing it. I never went as personal maid--I dislikefamiliarity--but with that exception I played, so to speak, everyinstrument in the orchestra. 

I acquired an excellent stock of testimonials, of which some weregenuine. The others were due to the kindly heart and vivid imaginationof my sister Casey, now Mrs. Morgenstein. 

I rarely kept my places, and never kept my friends. The only thing Idid keep was a diary. A diary is evidence. So if you see anythingabout anybody in these pages, you can believe it without hesitation. Do, please. You see, if you hesitate, you may never believe it. 

I well remember the first and only time that I met Gladstone. I wasstaying with Lady Bilberry at the time at her house in Half MoonStreet. She was a woman with real charm and wit, but somewhat irritable. Most of the people I've met were irritable or became so, and I can'tthink why. I may add that I only stayed out my month as too much wasexpected. Besides, I'd been told there was a boy for the rough work andthere never was. 

But to return to Gladstone. I wrote down every precious word of myconversation with him at the time, and the eager and excited reader maynow peruse it in full. 

 GLADSTONE: Lady Bilberry at home?

 MARGE: Yes, sir. 

 GLADSTONE: Thanks. 

 MARGE: What name, please?

He gave me his name quite simply, without any attempt at rudeness orfacetiousness. I should say that this was typical of the whole characterof the man. With a beautiful and punctilious courtesy he removed hishat--not a very good hat--on entering the house. I formed the impressionfrom the ease with which he did this that the practice must have beenhabitual with him. 

The only thing that mars this cherished memory is that it was not theGladstone you mean, nor any relative of his, but a gentleman of the samename who had called to see if he could interest her ladyship in a schemefor the recovery of some buried treasure. He did not stay long, and LadyBilberry said I ought to have known better. 

About this time I received by post a set of verses which bear quite aresemblance to the senile vivacity of the verses which the realGladstone addressed to my illustrious example of autobiographical art. The verses I received were anonymous, and as a matter of fact thepostmark on the envelope was Beaconsfield. Still, you never know, doyou?

 MARGE. 

 When Pentonville's over and comes the release, With a year's supervision perhaps by the p'lice, Your longing to meet all your pals may be large, But make an exception, and do not ask Marge. 

 She's Aspasia, Pavlova, Tom Sayers, Tod Sloan, Spinoza, and Barnum, and Mrs. Chapone; For a bloke that has only just got his discharge, She's rather too dazzling a patchwork, is Marge. 

 Never mind, never mind, you have got to go slow, One section a year is the most you can know;

 If you study a life-time, you'll jest on the barge Of Charon with madd'ningly manifold Marge. 

By the way, whenever we change houses a special pantechnicon has to beengaged to take all the complimentary verses that have from time to timebeen addressed to me. Must be a sort of something about me somehow, don't you think?

I cannot pretend that I was on the same terms of intimate friendshipwith Mr. Lloyd George. I spoke to him only once. 

It was when we were in Downing Street. There was quite a crowd of usthere, and it had been an evening of exalted and roseate patriotism. Igazed up at the window of No. 10 and said, as loudly as I could:

"Lloyd George! Lloyd George!"

Most of the others in the crowd said the same thing with equal force. Then an uneducated policeman came up to me and asked me to pass along, please, adding that Mr. Lloyd George was not in London. So, simplyreplying "All right, face, " I passalongpleased. 

However, in spite of all that bound me so closely to the great politicalworld, I could not help feeling the claims of literature. I am sensitiveto every claim. It is the claim of history, for example, that compels meto write my autobiography. I seem to see all around me a thousand humanarts and activities crying for my help and interest. They seem to say"Marge, Marge, more Marge!" in the words that Goethe himself might haveused. And whenever I hear the call I have to give myself. 

I doubt if any girl ever gave herself away quite as much as I have done. 

One day in November I met Chummie Popbright in the neighbourhood ofCambridge Circus. He was a man with very little _joie de vivre_, _ventreà terre_, or _esprit de corps_. He had fair hair and no manners, and wasvery, very fond of me. He held a position in the Post Office, and was, in fact, emptying a pillar-box when I met him. I record theconversation. 

 CHUMMIE: Blessed if it ain't Marge! And what would you like for a Christmas present?

 MARGE: I want to spend a week or so at the house of the great poet, Lord Inmemorison. If you really wish to please me, you will use your influence to get me a job there. Your uncle being Inmemorison's butler, you ought to be able to work it. 

 CHUMMIE: Might. What would you go as?

 MARGE: Anything--but temporary parlour-maid is my strong suit. 

 CHUMMIE: And what's your game?

 MARGE: I'm sick of patronizing politicians and want to patronize a poet. When all's said and done, Inmemorison is a proper certificated poet. Besides, I want to put something by for my rainy autobiography. 

 CHUMMIE: Oh, well. I'll try and lay a pipe for it. May come off or may not. 

Chummie managed the thing to perfection. My sister Casey wrote me one ofthe best testimonials I have ever had, and by Christmas I was safelyinstalled for a week. Chummie's uncle treated me with the utmostconsideration, and it is to him that I owe many of the thrilling detailsthat I am now able to present to the panting public. Although there wasa high leather screen in the drawing-room which was occasionally usefulto me, my opportunities for direct observation were limited. 

Lord Inmemorison had a magnificent semi-detached mansion (including abath-room, h. And c. ) in one of the wildest and loneliest parts ofWandsworth Common. The rugged beauty of the scenery around is reflectedin many of his poems. 

There were, as was to be expected, several departures from ordinaryconvention in the household. Dinner was at seven. The poet went to bedimmediately after dinner, and punctually at ten reappeared in thedrawing-room and began reading his poems aloud. 

The family generally went to bed at ten sharp. 

I heard him read once. There were visitors in the house who wished tohear the great man, and it was after midnight before a generalretirement could take place. He had a rich, sonorous, over-proof, pre-war voice, considerable irritability, and a pretty girl sitting onhis knee. The last item was, of course, an instance of poetical licence. 

The girl had asked him to read from "Maud" and he had consented. Hebegan with his voice turned down so low that in my position behind thescreen I could only just catch the opening lines:

 "Hail to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wert. .. "

He opened the throttle a little wider when he came to the passage:

 "His head was bare, his matted hair Was buried in the sand. "

He read that last line "was serried in the band, " but immediatelycorrected himself. And the poignant haunting repetition of the lastlines of the closing stanza were given out on the full organ:

 "And everywhere that Mary went-- And everywhere that Mary went-- And everywhere that Mary went-- The lamb was sure to go. "

It was a great--a wonderful experience for me, and I shall never forgetit. 

I have spoken of his irritability. It is not unnatural in a great poet. He must live with his exquisite sentient nerves screwed up to such apitch that at any moment something may give. 

For example, one evening he was sitting with a girl on his knee, and hadjust read to her these enchanting lines in which he speaks of hearingthe cuckoo call. 

 INMEMORISON (_gruffly and suddenly_): What bird says cuckoo?

 GIRL (_with extreme nervous agitation_): The rabbit. 

 INMEMORISON: No, you fool--it's the nightingale. 

The girl burst into tears and said she would not play any more. I thinkshe was wrong. Whenever I hear any criticism of myself I always take itmeekly and gently, whether it is right or wrong--it has never been rightyet--and try to see if I cannot learn something from it. What the girlshould have said was: "Now it's your turn to go out, and we'll think ofsomething. "

Another occasion when Inmemorison was perhaps more pardonably annoyedwas when a young undergraduate asked him to read out one of his poems. 

"Which?" said Inmemorison. 

I am told that the thirty seconds of absolute silence which followedthis question seemed like an eternity, and that the agony on the youngman's face was Aeschylean. He did not know any precise answer to thequestion. 

"Which?" repeated Inmemorison, like the booming of a great bell at ayoung man's funeral. 

The young man made a wild and misjudged effort, and got right off thetarget. 

"Well, " he said, "one of my greatest favourites of course is'Kissingcup's Race. '"

"Is it, indeed?" said the Poet. "If you turn to the left on leaving thehouse, the second on the right will take you straight to the station. "

The young man never forgave it. And that, so I have always been told, ishow the first Browning Society came to be founded. 

It was a meeting with this undergraduate--purely accidental on mypart--in the romantic garden of the poet's house that first turned mymind towards the university town of Oxbridge. I had no difficulty infinding employment as a waitress there in a restaurant where knowledgeof the business was considered less essential than a turn for reparteeand some gift for keeping the young of our great nobility in theirproper place. It was not long before I had made the acquaintance ofquite a number of undergraduates. Some of them had a marked tendencytowards rapidity, but soon learned that the regulation of the pace wouldremain with me. 

One Sunday morning I had consented to go for a walk with one of my youngadmirers--a nice boy, with more nerve than I have ever encountered inany human being except myself. It happened by chance that we encounteredthe Dean of his college. The Dean, with an unusual condescension--forwhich there may possibly have been a reason--stopped to speak to mycompanion, who without the least hesitation introduced the Dean to me ashis sister. 

That was my first meeting with Dr. Benger Horlick, the celebrated Deanof Belial. 

No social occasion has ever yet found me at a loss. The more difficultand dramatic it is, the more thoroughly do I enjoy its delicatemanipulation. I could not deny the relationship which had been asserted, without involving my young friend. The only alternative was to play upto it, and I played up. The perfect management of old men is bestunderstood by young girls. 

I told him that I was staying with mamma, and mentioned a suitablehotel, adding that I was so sorry I had to return to town thatafternoon, as I had begun to love the scholastic peace of Oxbridge andvalued so much the opportunity of meeting its greatest men. I was brightand poetical in streaks, and every shy--if I may use the expression--hitthe coco-nut. Sometimes I glanced at Willie, my pseudo-brother. His facetwitched a little, but he never actually gave way to his feelings. TheDean had ceased to pay much attention to him. 

For about a quarter of an hour the Dean strolled along with us. Atparting, he held my hand--for a minute longer than was strictlynecessary--and said:

"You have interested me--er--profoundly. May I hope that when you getback to Grosvenor Square, you will sometimes spare a few moments fromthe fashionable circles in which you move, and write to me?"

I said that it would be a great honour to me to be permitted to do so. 

"I hope, " he added, "that you will visit Oxbridge again, and that youwill then renew an acquaintance which, though accidental in its origin, has none the less impressed me--er--very much. "

After his departure Willie became hilarious and I became very angrywith him. He persisted that everything was all right. I had put up afine performance and had only to continue it. The Dean would no doubtwrite to me at Grosvenor Square, and Willie assured me that he had hisfather's butler on a string, and that the butler sorted the letters. Iwould receive the Dean's epistles at any address I would give him, andwould reply on the Grosvenor Square notepaper. 

"I've got chunks of it in a writing-case at my rooms, " he said, "andI'll send it round to you. "

I had to consent to this. However, the next day I skipped for London, somewhat to the disappointment of the restaurant that I adorned, andstill more to the disappointment of Willie. But, as I wrote to him, hehad brought it on himself. I could not take the risk of anotheraccidental meeting with Dr. Benger Horlick. 

Nor, as a matter of fact, did we ever meet again. But for three years wecorresponded with some frequency; it was a thin-ice, high-wire business, but I pulled it through. 

No doubt the task was made easier for me by the fact that the Dean was asingularly simple-minded man. Reverence for the aristocracy had becomewith him almost a religion. When he was brought--or believed himself tobe brought--in contact with the aristocracy, his intellectual visionclosed in a swoon of ecstasy. Snob? Oh, dear, no! Of course not. Whatcan have made you think that? It was simply that the aristocracyappealed to him very much as romance did--he was outside it, but likedto get a near view. 

The G. E. Found that letters, however delightful, bored her when theywere scattered through a biography. For that reason she gave one set ofletters all together. I do not see myself why, if a thing bores you whenyou get a little of it at a time, it should bore you less when you get alot of it. But, determined to follow my brilliant model with simplefaith and humility, I now append extracts from the letters I receivedfrom Dr. Benger Horlick. 

 "I wish I could persuade you to be less precise in your language. If you say what your opinion is, you should take care to be beautiful but unintelligible. Commit yourself to nothing. Words were given us to conceal our thoughts, and with a little practice and self-discipline will conceal them even from ourselves. A candid friend once complained to me that in my translation from the Greek it was sometimes impossible for him to know which of two different _lectiones_ I was translating. As a matter of fact, though I did not tell him this, I did not know either. Especially useful is this when one is confronted with a rude, challenging, direct question as to any point in religion or politics; I reply with a sonorous and, I hope, well-balanced sentence, from which the actual meaning has been carefully extracted, and so escape in the fog. It is indeed from one point of view a mercy that most people are too cowardly or too ashamed to say that they have failed to comprehend. Yet if they had my passion for truth it might be better. Truth is very precious to me--sometimes too precious to give away. 

 "It is good of you to say that the fourteen pages of good advice did not bore you. Can it have been that you did not read them? No Dean--and perhaps no don--who has been in that portentous position as long as I have can fail to become a perennial stream of advice. It is the Nemesis of those who have all their lives been treated with more respect than they have deserved. I am the only exception with which I am acquainted. Child, why do you not make more use of your noble gifts for dancing, amateur theatricals, and general conversation? And yet I'm not grumbling. Only I mean to say, don't you know? Of course, they all do it--the people in the great world to which you, and occasionally I, belong. Still, there it is, isn't it? And you write me such soothing full-cream letters with only an occasional snag in them. So bless you, my child. I do trust that the report which comes to me that you are going with the Prince of Wales, Mrs. H. Ward, and a Mr. Arthur Roberts to shoot kangaroos in Australia is at least exaggerated. These marsupials, though their appearance is sufficiently eccentric to suggest the conscientious objector, will--I am credibly informed--fight desperately in defence of their young. If I may venture to suggest, try rabbits. 

 "I am delighted to hear that you are not the author of the two articles attacking Society. The fact that they happen to be signed with the name of another well-known lady had made me think it possible that this might be the case. Society? It is a great mystery. I can hardly think of it without taking off my boots and prostrating myself orientally. To criticize it is a mistake; it is even, if I may for once use a harsh word, subversive. It is the only one we've got. Oh, hush! Only in whispers at the dead of night to the most trusted friend under the seal of secrecy can we think of criticizing it. But holding, as I do, perhaps the most important public position in the Continent of Europe, if not in the whole world--responsible, as I am, for what may be called the sustenance of the next generation--I do feel called upon to carry out any repairs and re-decoration of the social fabric that may be required. You with your universal influence which--until Einstein arrives--will be the only possible explanation of the vagaries in the orbit of Mercury, can do as much, or nearly as much. Do it. But never speak of it. Oh, hush! (Sorry--I forgot I'd mentioned that before. )

 "In reply to your inquiry, I never read 'Robert Elsmere, ' but understand from a private source that it saved many young men from reading 'David Grieve. ' Your second inquiry as to the lady-love of my first youth is violent--very violent. Suppose you mind your own business. "

FOURTH EXTRACT

THE SOLES

I do not know why we were called the Soles. Enemies said it was becausewe were flat, fishy, and rather expensive. 

Our set comprised the upper servants of some of the best houses inMayfair. Looking back at it now, I can see that no similar body ever hadsuch a tremendous influence. It may not have been entirely due to usthat gravity varies inversely as the square of the distance, but atleast we acquiesced. And what we did in home and foreign politics hasscarcely yet been suspected. 

The reason for our influence is sufficiently obvious. Our great leader, James Arthur Bunting, was perhaps the most perfect butler that the worldhas yet seen; his magnificent presence, plummy voice, exquisite tact, and wide knowledge made him beyond price. We had other butlers whom itwould have been almost equally difficult to replace. We had chefs whowith a chain of marvellous dinners bound their alleged employers totheir chariot-wheels. Nominally, Parliament ruled the country, but wenever had any doubt who ruled Parliament. 

To take but one instance, the sudden _volte face_ of Lord Baringstoke onthe Home Rule Question. This created a great sensation at the time, andvarious explanations were suggested to account for it. Nobody guessedthe truth. The fact is that Mr. Bunting tendered his resignation. 

Lord Baringstoke was much distressed. An increase of salary wasimmediately suggested and waved aside. 

"It is not that, m'lord, " said Bunting. "It is a question of principle. Your lordship's expressed views as to Ireland are not, if I may say so, the views of my friends and of myself. And on that subject we feeldeeply. Preoccupied with that difference, if I remained, I could nolonger do justice to your lordship nor to myself. My wounded andbleeding heart----"

"Oh, never mind your bleeding heart, Bunting, " said Baringstoke. "Do Iunderstand that this is your only reason for wanting to go?"

"That is so, m'lord. "

"Then, supposing that I reconsidered my views as to Ireland and foundthat they were in fact the opposite of what I had previously supposed, you would remain?"

"With very great pleasure. "

"Then in that case you had better wait a few days. I'm inclined to thinkthat everything can be arranged. "

"Very good, m'lord. "

Less than a week later, Lord Baringstoke's public recantation was thetalk of London. In a speech of considerable eloquence he showed how themerciless logic of facts had convinced his intellect, and his consciencehad compelled him to abandon the position he had previously taken up. Fortunately, you can prove absolutely anything about Ireland. It ismerely a question of what facts you will select and what you willsuppress. 

Mr. Bunting is, I believe, still with Lord Baringstoke. This was, perhaps, one of the principal triumphs of the Soles. There were manyothers. We had our own secret service, and I should here acknowledgewith respect and admiration the Gallic ingenuity of two of the Soles, Monsieur Colbert and Monsieur Normand, in reconstructing fragmentaryletters taken from the waste-paper baskets of the illustrious. 

Naturally, we had to suffer from the jealousy and malice of those whohad not been asked to join us, and a rumour even was spread abroad thatwe played bridge for sixpence a hundred. There was no truth in it. Therehave been, and still are, gambling clubs among the younger men-servantsof the West-end, but we never gambled. Mr. Bunting would not have likedit at all. We were serious. We did try to live up to our ideals, andsome of our members actually succeeded in living beyond their incomes. Our principal recreation was pencil-games, mostly of our own invention. 

In this connection I have rather a sad incident to relate. On oneoccasion we had a competition to see which of us could write theflattest and least pointed epigram in rhyme. The prize for men consistedof two out-size Havannah cigars, formerly the property of LordBaringstoke, kindly presented by Mr. Bunting. 

Percy Binder, first footman to the Earl of Dilwater, was extremelyanxious to secure this prize. He took as the subject of his epigram thesudden death of a man on rising from prayer. This was in such lamentablybad taste that he did not win the prize, but otherwise it would havecertainly been his. His four lines could not have been surpassed forclumsy and laboured imbecility. The last two ran:

 "But when for aid he ceased to beg, The wily devil broke his leg. "

And then came a terrible discovery. Percy Binder had stolen these linesfrom the autobiography of my own G. E. She says, by the way, that theirauthor was "the last of the wits. " But how can you be last in a race inwhich you never start? It is always safe to say what you think, butsometimes dangerous to give your reasons for thinking it. 

That, however, is a digression. Percy Binder was given to understandthat we did not know him in future. Mr. Bunting was so upset that hedeclared the competition cancelled, and smoked the prize himself. Hesaid afterwards that what annoyed him most was the foolishness of Mr. Binder's idea that his plagiarism would be undetected. 

"He is, " said Mr. Bunting, "like the silly ostrich that lays its eggsin the sand in order to escape the vigilance of its pursuers. "

One of our pencil-games was known as Inverted Conundrums, and played asfollows. One person gave the answer to a riddle, and mentioned one wordto be used in the question. The rest then had to write down what theythought the question would be. The deafness of dear Violet Orpingtonsometimes spoiled this game. 

For instance, I had once given as an answer "bee-hive, " and said thatone word in the question was "correct. "

The first question I read out was from George Leghorn. He had written:"If a cockney nurse wished to correct a child, what insect-home wouldshe name?" This was accepted. 

The next question was from Violet Orpington: "If you had never correcteda naughty boy before, where would you correct him?"

"But, Violet, " I said, "the answer to that could not be 'bee-hive. '"

"Oh, " she said, "you said 'hive, ' did you? I thought you said somethingelse. "

I have never been able to guess what it was she thought I had said; andshe refused to tell me. 

Another of our pencil-games was Missing Rhymes. One of us would write adeccasyllabic couplet--we always called it a quatrain, as being abetter-class word--and the rhyme in the second line would not beactually given but merely indicated. 

For example, I myself wrote the following little sonnet:

 "I have an adoration for One person only, namely _je_. "

To any reader who is familiar with the French language, this may seemalmost too easy, but I doubt if anybody who knew no language but modernGreek would guess it. For the benefit of the uninitiated I may add thatthe French word _je_ is pronounced "mwor, " thus supplying the missingrhyme. 

Millie Wyandotte disgraced herself with the following lyric:

 "After her dance, Salome, curtseying, fell, And shocked the Baptist with her scream of 'Bother!'"

She had no sooner read it out than Mr. Bunting rose in his place andsaid gravely:

"I can only speak definitely for myself, but it is my firm belief thatall present, with the exception of Miss Wyandotte, have too muchrefinement to be able to guess correctly the missing rhyme in thiscase. " Loud and prolonged applause. 

George Leghorn was particularly happy at these pencil games, and to himis due this very clever combination of the lyrical and the acrostical:

 "My first a man is, and my next a trap; My whole's forbidden, lest it cause trouble. "

The answer to the acrostic is "mantrap"; the missing rhyme is "mishap. "The entire solution was given in something under half an hour by PopsieBantam. She was a very bright girl, and afterwards married a man in theGuards (L. N. W. R. ). 

Mr. Bunting, a rather strong party-politician, one night submitted thislittle triolet:

 "When the Great War new weapons bade us forge, Whom did the nation trust? 'Twas thou, Asquith!"

The missing rhyme was guessed immediately, in two places, as theauctioneers say. 

However, by our next quinquennial meeting Nettie Minorca had thought outthe following rejoinder:

 "When history's hand corrects the current myth, Whose name will she prefer? 'Tis thine, Lloyd George. "

Yes, dear Nettie had a belated brilliance--the wit of the staircase, only more so. We always said that Nettie could do wonderful things ifonly she were given time. 

She was given time ultimately, and is still doing it, but that was in atotally different connection. She inserted an advertisement stating thatshe was a thorough good cook. First-class references. Eight years inpresent situation in Exeter, and leaving because the family was goingabroad. Wages asked, £36 per annum. No kitchen-maid required. No lessthan twelve families were so anxious to receive the treasure that theyoffered her return-fare between Exeter and London, and her expenses, tosecure a personal interview with her. She collected the boodle from alltwelve. And she was living in Bryanstone Square at the time. She is lostto us now. 

As dear old Percy Cochin, also one of the Soles, once said to me: "Weare here to-day, and gone at the end of our month. "

Violet Orpington had an arresting appearance, and walked rather like apoliceman also. Her hair was a rich raw sienna, and any man would havemade love to her had she but carried an ear-trumpet. She is the"retiring Violet" of verse seven. [A] Millie Wyandotte was malicious andunintelligent; she looked well in white, but was too heavily built formy taste. I may add, as evidence of my impartiality, that she laid atable better than any woman I ever knew; in fact, she took first prizein a laying competition. Nettie Minorca was "black but comely, " and hadSpanish blood in her veins. She is the "gipsy" mentioned in verseone-and-a-half. Popsie Bantam was _petite_. Her profile was admired, butI always thought it a little beaky myself. I myself was the leastbeautiful, but the most attractive. Allusions to me will be found inverses 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 12-19, 24, 57-60, 74, 77, 87, 97, and 102-3468. 

[Footnote A: _Publisher_: But you don't give the verses. 

 _Author_: I know. It's a little idea I got from an excellent Sunday newspaper. ]

George Leghorn was an Albino, but his figure was very graceful. From thespecimen which I have already given, it will be easy to believe that hiswit was fluorescent, detergent, and vibratory. He afterwards became awell-known personality on the turf. He gained a considerable fortune bylaying the odds; his family were all reputed to be good layers. 

Dear old Peter Cochin was staunch and true. He reminds me of somethingthat my illustrious model says of another man. She says that he "wouldrisk telling me or anyone he loved, before confiding to an inner circle, faults which both he and I think might be corrected. " Grammar was nodoubt made for slaves--not for the brilliant and autobiographical. Allthe same, a prize should be offered to anybody who can find the missing"risk" in mentioning to another a point on which both are agreed. 

She adds that she has had "a long experience of inner circles. " There, it must be admitted, she is ahead of me. But the only inner circle ofwhich I have had a long experience has been much improved since it waselectrified. 

In congratulating Peter upon a new appointment, with three under him, Iasked when I first met him. His reply was particularly staunch, and Iquote from it:

 "It was in May 28, 1913. The hour was 1. 38. 5 Greenwich Time, and I shall never forget it. You were sixteen then, and the effect as you came into the room was quintessential. Suddenly the sunlight blazed, the electric light went on automatically till the fuses gave way, the chimney caught fire, the roof fell in, the petrol tank exploded, old R--y said that he should never care to speak to his wife again, and the butler dropped the Veuve Clicquot. After that the shooting party came in, but for some reason or other the sentence was not carried out. "

I have very few staunch friends, and many of them have had to bediscarded from weakness; but when they are staunch--well, they reallyare. The only trouble with Peter Cochin was that he was too cautious. Hewas given to under-statement. I do not think he gives a really full andrich idea of the effect I habitually produced. 

I sometimes think that I am almost too effective. Still, as I saidbefore, the Latin word "margo" does mean "the limit. "

FIFTH EXTRACT

MISFIRES

My family had a curious dread that I should marry a groom. I never did. To be quite honest, I never had the opportunity. But I did get engagedto quite a lot of other things. 

My first engagement was when I was very, very young. He was a humorousman, and perhaps I was wrong in taking him so seriously. Still, he musthave adored me. When I accepted him his hair turned completely white--aninfallible test of the depth of emotion. 

He was an excellent whip. It used to be a wonderful sight to see himtaking a pair of young horses down Ludgate Hill on a greasy day at noon, with the whole road chock-a-block with traffic, lighting a pipe with awooden match with one hand, carrying on an animated conversation withthe other with a fare on the front seat, dropping white-hot satire onthe heads of drivers less efficient than himself, and always getting the'bus through safely with about an inch to spare on each side. 

On the other hand, he was almost entirely ignorant of Marcus Aurelius, Henry James, Step-dancing, Titian, the Manners and Customs of PoliteSociety, Factory-Girl Reclamation, Cardinal Newman, or the Art ofSelf-advertisement. He said, with an entire absence of pretension, thatthese things were not on his route. 

When I announced our engagement the members of my family who werepresent, about seventeen of them, all swooned, except dear papa, whosaid in his highly-strung way that if I married anybody he would put theR. S. P. C. A. On to me. 

I said what I thought, and fled for consolation to Casey, my marriedsister. But she also was discouraging. 

"Marge, " she said, "give it a miss. You have a rich nature, beautifulhair, a knowledge of the world, nervous tension, some of the appearanceof education, and four pound fifteen put by in the Post Office. You mustlook higher. "

I have always detested scenes--which, perhaps, seems strange in a girlas fond of the limelight as I was. I began to re-consider the question. Accidentally, I discovered that he had a wife already. What with onething and another, I thought it best to write and give him up. Heimmediately resigned his appointment with the London General, gave me along-priced certainty for the Oaks, and left for New York. When hereturned, two years later, his hair was pale green. 

But if the engagement did not come off, the certainty for the Oaks did. In consequence of this I left for Ramsgate by the "Marguerite" some dayslater. Dressed? Well, you should have seen me. 

It chanced that one of the passengers on the boat was Mr. Aaron Birsch. He had been presented to me some weeks before by Mr. Bunting. I knewthat he was a turf commissioner, had speculated with success in cottageproperty, and was commonly reported to be much richer than he looked. Beyond that, I know very little of him. Apparently, however, he had madeit his business to know quite a good deal of me. Mr. Bunting was hisinformant, and I had always been a quite special favourite of the_doyen_ of the Soles. 

Mr. Birsch came up to me at once. We chatted on various topics, and hetold me of something which was likely to be quite useful for Goodwood. Then he said suddenly:

"Matter of fact, there was a bit of private business I wanted a wordwith you about. This boat's too full of what I call riff-raff. Mouth-organs. Bad taste. Can't hear yourself speak. But we get an hourat Ramsgate, and if you'll take a snack with me there, I can tell youwhat I've got to say. "

More from curiosity than from anything else, I accepted. And I must saythat our luncheon conversation was rather remarkable. 

 BIRSCH: To come to the point, you're the very identical girl that I want Alfred to marry. 

 MARGE (_innocently_): Alfred?

 BIRSCH: Yes, my son. 

 MARGE: But I have never even seen him. 

 BIRSCH: And when you have you'll probably wish you hadn't. But don't let that prejudice you. It's the inside of the head that counts. That boy's got a perfect genius for cottage property and real tact with it. Only last week he raised an old woman's rent a shilling a week, and when he left she gave him a rosebud and said she'd pray for him. It takes some doing--a thing like that. Now, I want a public career for that boy, and if he marries you he can't miss it. Do you know what Mr. Bunting said to me about you?

 MARGE (_breathlessly_): But he's so flattering. I think he likes me--I don't know why. I sometimes wonder----

 BIRSCH (_just as if I'd never spoken_): Bunting said to me: "That girl, Marge, will get into the newspapers. It may be in the Court News, and it may be in the Police-court News. That will depend on which she prefers. But she'll get there, and she'll stick there!" That's what I want for Alfred. Everything's ready for him to start firing, but he needs you to sight the gun. 

 MARGE: And if you can't get me, whom would you like?

 BIRSCH: Well, Lady Artemis Morals has some gift for publicity. But Alfred won't marry a title--say's he rather thinks of making a title for himself. The boy's got ambition. The cash is forthcoming. And you can do the rest. 

 MARGE: It is a flattering offer. You'll let me think over it?

He kindly consented, and we returned to the boat. However, on the wayback the sea became very rough and unpleasant; and I threw up the idea. 

(By the way, you don't mind me writing the dialogue, as above, just asif it were a piece out of a play? I've always brought the sense of thetheatre into real life. )

Poor Aaron Birsch! He was only one of the very many men who have beenextremely anxious that I should marry somebody else. Two years laterAlfred died of cerebral tumescence--a disease to which the ambitious arepeculiarly liable. That cat, Millie Wyandotte, happened to say to Birschthat if I had married his son I should now have been a wealthy youngwidow. 

"Anybody who married Marge, " said Birsch, "would not die at the end oftwo years. "

"I suppose not, " said Millie. "He'd be more likely to commit suicide atthe end of one. "

I never did like that girl. 

But I must speak now of what was perhaps my most serious engagement. Hugo Broke--his mother was one of the Stoneys--was intended from birthfor one of the services and selected domestic service. Here it wasthought that his height--he was seven foot one--would tell in hisfavour. However, the Duchess of Exminster, in ordering that the newfootman should be dismissed, said that height was desirable, but thatthis was prolixity. 

However, it was not long before he found a congenial sphere for hisactivities with the London branch of the Auto-extensor Co. Of America. The Auto-extensor Co. Addresses itself to the abbreviated editions ofhumanity. It is claimed for the Auto-extensor system that there isabsolutely no limit to the increase in height which may be obtained byit, provided of course, that the system is followed exactly, thatnothing happens to prevent it, and that the rain keeps off. 

Hugo walked into the Regent Street establishment of the Auto-extensorpeople, and said:

"Good morning. I think I could be of some service to this company as anadvertisement. "

"I am sure you could, " said the manager. "If you will kindly wait amoment while the boy fetches the step-ladder I will come up and arrangeterms. "

In the result, the large window of the Regent Street establishment wasfurnished as a club smoking-room or thereabouts. In the very centre, ina chair of exaggerated comfort but doubtful taste, sat Hugo. He wasexquisitely attired. He read a newspaper and smoked cigarettes. By hisside, in a magnificent frame, was a printed notice, giving a ratherfanciful biography of the exhibit. 

"This gentleman, " the notice ran, "was once a dwarf. For years hesuffered in consequence agonies of humiliation, and then a friend calledhis attention to the Auto-extensor System of increasing height. He didnot have much faith in it, but in desperation he gave it a trial--and itmade him what he now is. Look for yourselves. Facts speak louder thanwords. All we ask you to do is to trust the evidence of your own eyes. "

The window proved a great attraction. The crowd before it was mostnumerous about four o'clock, because every day at that hour a dramaticand exciting scene was witnessed. Putting down his newspaper, Hugostruck a bell on a little table by his side. A page entered through theexcessively plush curtains at the back, and Hugo gave a brief andhaughty order. The boy somewhat overacted respectful acquiescence, retired through the curtains, and reappeared again with tea and thinbread and butter. Of these delicacies Hugo partook _coram populo_. Thiscarried conviction with it. One onlooker would say to another: "Showsyou he's real, don't it? At one time I thought it was only a dummy. " Andfor some time afterwards the assistant in the shop would be kept busy, handing out the gratis explanatory booklet of the Auto-extensor Co. 

It was in this window that I first saw Hugo. I arrived a little latethat afternoon, and missed the first act, where he puts down thenewspaper and rings the bell. But I saw the conclusion of the piece. 

My eyes filled with tears. Here--here at last--I had met somebody whosechilled-steel endurance of publicity equalled, and perhaps exceeded, myown. 

I entered the shop, procured the explanatory booklet, and asked at whathour they closed. At that hour I met him as he left business, and myfirst feelings were of disappointment. His clothes were not theexquisite raiment that he had worn as an exhibit in the window. Thewhite spats, the sponge-bag trousers with the knife-edge crease, thegold-rimmed eye-glass, the well-cut morning coat, the too assertivewaistcoat--all were the property of the Auto-extensor Co. And not to beworn out of business hours. He now wore a shabby tweed suit and a cap. But he was still a noticeable figure; a happy smile came into the facesof little boys as he went past. 

"Like your job?" I said shyly, as I took the seat next to him on the topof the omnibus. 

He replied rather gruffly that he supposed a bloke had to work for hisliving, and all work was work, whatever way you looked at it. Furtherquestions elicited that the pay was satisfactory, but that he did notregard the situation as permanent. The public would get tired of it andsome other form of advertisement would be found. He complained, too, that he was supposed to keep up the appearance of a wealthy toff smokingcigarettes continually for a period of seven hours, and the managementprovided only one small packet of woodbines per diem for him to do iton. 

I produced my cigarette-case. It was one which Lord Baringstoke--alwaysa careless man--had lost. It had been presented to me by dear Mr. Bunting. Hugo said he had not intended anything of that sort, but helpedhimself. 

A quarter of an hour later we had our first quarrel. I asked him if itwas cold up where he was. He said morosely that he had heard that jokeon his stature a few times before. I told him that if he lived longenough--and I'd never seen anybody living much longer--he was likely tohear it a few times again. He then said that either I could hop off the'bus or he would, and he didn't care which. After that we both wererather rude. He got me by the hair, and I had just landed a straightleft to the point when the conductor came up and said he would not haveit. 

I became engaged to Hugo that night at 10. 41. I remember the timeexactly, because Mrs. Pettifer had a rule that all her maids were to bein the house by ten sharp, and I was rather keeping an eye on my watchin consequence. 

To tell the truth, we quarrelled very frequently. Different though wewere in many respects, we both had irritable, overstrung, tri-chordnatures, with hair-spring nerves connected direct to the high-explosivelanguage-mine. 

On one occasion I went with him to a paper fancy-dress dance at therooms attached to the Hopley Arms. I went as "The Sunday Times, " mydress being composed of two copies of that excellent, thoughinexpensive journal, tastefully arranged on a concrete foundation. 

When Millie Wyandotte saw me, she called out: "Hello, Marge! Got intothe newspapers at last?" I shall be even with that girl one of thesedays. 

I declined to dance with Hugo at all. I said frankly that I preferred todance with somebody who could touch the top of my head without stooping. I went off with Georgie Leghorn, and Hugo sat and sulked. 

Later in the evening he came up to me and asked if he should get mycloak. 

I said irritably: "Of course not. Why should you?"

"Well, " he said, "I don't know whether you're aware of it, but you'vegot three split infinitives in your City article. "

"Ah!" I replied. "The next time Millie Wyandotte telephones up to yourhead, give her my love and tell her not to over-strain herself. "

Things went from bad to worse, and after he had alluded to my backboneas my Personal Column, any possibility of reconciliation seemed at anend. I did not know then what a terribly determined person Hugo was. 

Georgie Leghorn saw me home. I parted with him at the house, let myselfin by the area-gate, locking it after me, and so down the steps and intothe kitchen. 

There I had just taken off my hair when I heard a shrill whistle in thestreet outside. Hurriedly replacing my only beauty, I drew up the blindand looked out. There, up above me on the pavement, was Hugo, stretchingaway into the distance. 

"Called for the reconciliation, " he said. "Just open this area gate, will you?"

"At this time of night?" I called, in a tense whisper. "Certainly not. "

He stepped back, and in one leap jumped over the area-railings and downon to the window-sill of the kitchen. The next moment he had flung thewindow up, entered, and stood beside me. 

"What do you think of that?" he said calmly. 

"Hugo, " I said, "I've known some bounders in my time, but not one whocould have done that. "

We sat down and began discussing the Disestablishment of the WelshChurch, when suddenly the area-gate was rattled and a stern voiceoutside said "Police. "

Instantly, Hugo concealed as much of himself as he could under thekitchen table. There was no help for it. I had to let the policeman in, or he would have roused the household. 

"I'm just going to have a look in your kitchen, " he said. 

"No use, " I replied. "The rabbit-pie was finished yesterday. "

"Saucy puss, ain't you?" he said, as he entered. 

"Well, you might be a sport and tell a girl what you're after. "

"Cabman, driving past here a few minutes ago, saw a man jump thearea-railings and make a burglarious entry by the kitchen window. "

"Is that all?" I said. "A man did enter that way a few minutes ago, butit was not a burglar. It was Master Edward, Mrs. Pettifer's eldest son. He'd lost his latch-key--he's always doing it--and that's how ithappened. He went straight upstairs to bed, or he'd confirm what I say. "

"Went straight up to bed, did he? Did he take his legs off first? Inotice there's a pair of them sticking out from under the kitchentable. "

"Yes, " I admitted, "I've told better lies in my time. Oh, Mr. Policeman, don't be hard. I never wanted my young man to come larking about likethis. But--he's not a burglar. He's the exhibit from the Auto-extensorCo. 's in Regent Street. You can pull out the rest of him and see if heisn't. "

"That's what I told the cabman, " said the policeman. "I said to him:'You juggins, ' I said, 'do you think a burglar who wants to get into ahouse waits till a cab's going past and then gives a acrobaticexhibition to attract the driver's attention? That's some young foolafter one of the maids. ' No, I don't want to see the rest of the youngman--not if he's like the sample. Get him unwound as soon as you can, and send him about his business. If he's not out in two minutes, Ishall ring the front door, and you'll be in the cart. And don't act sosilly another time. "

Hugo was out in 1 min. 35 sec. He stopped to chat with the policeman, jumped the seven-foot railings into the square garden, and jumped backagain, just to show what he could do, and went off. 

I gave a long, deep sigh. I always do that when an incident in my lifefails to reach the best autobiographical level. I neither knew nor caredwhat the policeman thought. You see, I would never deserve a badreputation, but there's nothing else I wouldn't do to get one. 

For eighty-four years--my memory for numbers is not absolutely accurate, but we will say eighty-four--for eighty-four years I wrote him a letterevery morning and evening of every day, with the exception of Sundays, bank holidays, and the days when I did not feel like it. 

But it was not to be. He was not without success in the circus which hesubsequently joined, but he was improvident. His income increased inarithmetical progression, and his expenditure in geometrical. This, asDr. Micawber and Professor Malthus have shown us, must end in disaster. Looking at it from the noblest point of view--the autobiographical--Isaw that a marriage with Hugo would inevitably cramp my style. 

And so the great sacrifice was made. Our feelings were so intense as wesaid farewell that my native reserve and reticence forbid me todescribe them. But we parted one night in June, with a tear in thethroat and a catch in the eye. As he strode from the park, I lookedupward and saw in the brown crags above me some graceful animalsilhouetted against an opal sky. I always have said that those MappinTerraces were an improvement. 

SIXTH EXTRACT

TESTIMONIALS--ROYAL APPRECIATION

Being what I am, it may readily be supposed that I have received manytributes to the qualities that I possess. I have already exposed many ofthese to the public gaze, still have some left, and it seems to me apity that my readers should miss any of the evidence. The firsttestimonial is from my sister Casey, and a melancholy interest isattached to it. It was the last one she wrote for me before I took themomentous step which will be described in my last chapter:

 "Marge Askinforit has been in my service for eight years. I should not be parting with her but for the fact that I am compelled by reasons of health to leave England. Askinforit is clean, sober, honest, an early riser, an excellent plate-cleaner and valet, has perfect manners and high intelligence, takes a great pride in her work, and is most willing, obliging and industrious. She was with me as parlour-maid (first of two), and now seeks temporary employment in that capacity; but there is no branch of domestic service with which she is not thoroughly well acquainted, and when the occasion has arisen she has always been willing to undertake any duties, and has done so with unfailing success. She is tall, of good appearance, Church of England (or anything else that is required), and anybody who secures such a treasure will be exceptionally fortunate. I shall be pleased at any time to give any further information that may be desired. 

 "(Mrs. ) C. MORGENSTEIN. "

I do not say that dear Casey's estimate had the arid accuracy of thepedant, but she had a rich and helpful imagination. In rare moments ofdepression and unhappiness I have found that by reading one of hertestimonials I can always recover my tone. And they were effective fortheir purpose. By this time I was accepting no situations except withtitled people; and some of the language that I heard used suggested tome that the reclamation of baronets during their dinner-hour might afterall be my life's work. 

The next exhibit will be a letter from a famous author, a completestranger to me, whose work I had long known and admired:

 "Dear Madam, For a long time past it has been my privilege to express in the daily newspapers my keen and heartfelt appreciation of a certain departmental store. I thought that I knew my work. I believe even that it gave satisfaction. I could begin an article with fragments of moral philosophy, easily intelligible and certain of general acceptance, modulate with consummate skill into the key of _crêpe de chine_, and with a further natural and easy transition reach the grand theme of the glorious opportunities offered by a philanthropical Oxford Street to a gasping and excited public. Or I would adopt with grace and facility the attitude of a prejudiced and hostile critic, show how cold facts and indisputable figures reversed my judgment, and end with a life-like picture of myself heading frantically in a No. 16 'bus for the bargain basement, haunted by the terror that I might be too late. With what dignity--even majesty--did I not invest an ordinary transaction in _lingerie_, when I spoke of 'the policy of this great House'! Yes, I believed I knew what there was to know of the supreme art of writing an advertisement. 

 "But now the mists roll away and I see as it were remote peaks of delicate and implicating advertising the existence of which I had never suspected. It is to you I owe it. You have a theme that you probably find inexhaustible. Fired by your example I shall turn to my own subject (Government linen at the moment) with a happy consciousness that I shall do a far, far better thing than I have ever done before. 

 "Your obedient servant, "CALLISTHENIDES. "

Of this letter I will only say that few have the courage and candour toacknowledge an inferiority and an indebtedness, and fewer still couldhave done it in the vicious and even succulent style of the above. It isa letter that I read often and value highly. The only trouble about itis that I sometimes wonder if it was not really intended for anotherlady whose name has one or two points of similarity with my own. 

I cannot refrain from quoting also one of the many letters that Ireceived from my dear old friend, Mr. J. A. Bunting:

 "And now I must turn to your request for a statement of my opinion of you, to be published in case an autobiography should set in. It was I who introduced you to a certain circle. That circle, though to me an open sessimy, was no doubt particular, and I confess that I felt some hesitation. Through no fault of your own, you were at that time in a position which was hardly up to our level. But I admired your spirit and thought your manners, of which I can claim to be a good judge, had the correct cashy, though with rather too much tendency to back-chat. At any rate, I took the step, and I have never regretted it. You soon made your way to the front, and it is my firm belief that if you had been dropped into a den of raging lions you would have done the same thing. You are much missed. You have my full permission to make what use you please of this testimonial, which is quite unsolicited, and actuated solely by an appreciation of the goods supplied. 

 "Society in London is very so-so at present, and we leave for Scotland at the end of the week. His lordship's had one fit of his tantrums, but I had a look in my eye that ipsum factum soon put an end to it. I wish it was as easy to put a stop to his leaning to third-class company. Three ordinary M. P. 's at dinner last night and one R. A. I always did hate riff-raff, and should say it was in my blood. "

Unfortunately, it is not everybody who will put into writing, with thesimple manliness of Mr. Bunting, the very high opinion of me which theymust inevitably have formed. Even George Leghorn has proved adisappointment. But in his case I am inclined to think there was amisunderstanding. 

I asked him to send his opinion of me as I thought of making a book. Hereplied on a postcard: "Don't approve of women in the profession, andyou'd better cut it out. It's hard enough for a man bookmaker to scrapea living, with everybody expecting the absurd prices quoted in thepress. "

Many of the contemporary testimonials that I have received are socautiously framed and so wanting in warmth that I decline to make anyuse of them. I have always hated cowardice. I have the courage of myopinions. Why cannot others have the same. 

However, I have through my sister Chlorine succeeded in securing theopinions of some of the greatest in another century. I can only say thatthey confirm my belief in her powers as a medium, and in her wonderfulsystem of wireless telephony. 

The first person that I asked her to ring up was Napoleon. She had somedifficulty in getting through. He spoke as follows:

"Yes, I am Napoleon. Oh, that's you, Chlorine, is it?. .. Quite well, thank you, but find the heat rather oppressive. .. . You want my opinionof your sister Marge? She is wonderful--wonderful! Tell her from me thatif I had but married her when I was a young man, I am confident thatWellington would have met his Waterloo. "

I think he would have liked to say more, but unfortunately the receiverfused. I think it showed such nice feeling in him that he spoke English. Poor Chlorine knows no French. 

After the apparatus had been repaired, Chlorine got into communicationwith Sir Joshua Reynolds. She said that his voice had a fruityceremoniousness, and I wish I could have heard it. But I have notChlorine's gift of mediumship. Sir Joshua said:

"The more I see of your sister Marge, the more I regret the time that Ispent on Mrs. Siddons, who was also theatrical; my compliment that Ishould go down to posterity on the hem of her garment was notill-turned, but she is more likely to go down to posterity as thesubject of my art. Why, even Romney would have been good enough for her. Could I but have painted Marge, my fame had been indeed immortal. Who'sPresident?. .. Well, you surprise me. "

To prevent any possibility of incredulity, I may add that I wrote thosewords down at the time, added the date and address, and signed them; sothere can be no mistake. 

But far more interesting is the important and exclusive communicationwhich Chlorine next received. It was only after much persuasion that Igot her to ring him up; she said it was contrary to etiquette. However, she at last put through a call to Sir Herbert Taylor, who kindlyarranged the matter for us. 

He--not Sir Herbert--showed the greatest readiness to converse. Chlorinesays that he spoke in a quick staccato. He was certainly voluble, andthis is what he said:

"What, what, what? Want my opinion of marriage, do you, MissForget-your-name? I had a long experience of it. Estimable woman, Charlotte, very estimable, and made a good mother, though she showedpartiality. If I'd had my own way though--between ourselves, what, what?--I should have preferred Sarah. More lively, more entertaining. Holland would have been pleased. But it couldn't be done. Monarchs arethe servants of ministers now. Never admitted that doctrine myself. Kicked against it all my life. Ah, if North had been the strong man Iwas! But as to marriage. .. . 

"What, what? You said 'Marge'--not 'marriage'--your sister Marge? Youshould speak more clearly. Get nearer the receiver--age plays havoc withthe hearing. Fine woman, Marge, and you can tell her I said so. Greatspirit. Plenty of courage. Always admired courage. If I were a young manand back on earth again, I might do worse, what, what?"

And then I am sorry to say he changed the subject abruptly. He went on:

"What's this about King Edward potatoes? Stuff and nonsense! I knew allabout potatoes. Grew them at Windsor. Kew too. Wrote an article aboutthem. Why can't they name a potato after me? What?"

Here Chlorine interposed: "Do you wish for another three minutes, sir, or have you finished?"

I hoped he would say, "Don't cut us off, " but, possibly from habits ofeconomy, he did not. I have not given his name, for fear of beingthought indiscreet, but possibly those who are deeply read in historymay guess it. 

It is the greatest tribute but one that I have ever received, and Ithink brings me very nearly up to the level of my Great Example. If Icould only feel that for once I had done that, I could fold my littlehands and be content. 

But it is not quite the greatest tribute of all. The greatest is my ownself-estimate of me myself. It demands and shall receive a chapter allto itself. Wipe your feet, take off your hat, assume a Sundayexpression, and enter upon it reverently. 

After all, the gift of seeing ourselves as others see us is not to bedesired. In your case for certain it would cause you the most intensedepression. Even in my own case I doubt if it would give me the samewarm, pervading glow of satisfaction that obtain from a more Narcissanprocedure. 

By the way, ought one to say "self-estimate" or "self-esteem"? What asilly girl I am! I quite forgot. 

SEVENTH EXTRACT

SELF-ESTIMATE

More trouble. Determined to give an estimate of myself based on the bestmodels, I turned to the pages of my Great Example, and ran into thefollowing sentence:

"I do not propose to treat myself like Mr. Bernard Shaw in thisaccount. "

Does this mean that she does not propose to treat herself as if she wereMr. Bernard Shaw? It might. Does it mean that she does not propose totreat herself as Mr. Bernard Shaw treats her? It is not impossible. 

What one wants it to mean is: "I do not propose to treat myself as Mr. Bernard Shaw treats himself. " But if she had meant that, she would havesaid it. 

I backed away cautiously, and, a few lines further on, fell over herstatement that she has a conception of beauty "not merely in poetry, music, art and nature, but in human beings. " No doubt. And I have aconception of slovenly writing not merely in her autobiography, but inits seventeenth chapter. 

I had not gone very much further in that same chapter before I wascaught in the following thicket:

"I have got china, books, whips, knives, matchboxes, and clocks given mesince I was a small child. "

If these things were given her since she was a small child, they mighthave been given her on the day she wrote--in which case it would nothave been remarkable that she still possessed them. The nearest way outof the jungle would be to substitute "when" for "since. " But it isincredible that she should have thought of two ways of saying the samething, let them run into one another, and sent "The Sunday Times" themess resulting from the collision. 

She must be right. Mr. Balfour said she was the best letter-writer heknew. With generous reciprocity she read Mr. Balfour's books andrealized without external help "what a beautiful style he wrote. "

And for goodness sake don't ask me how you write a style. You do it inprecisely the same way that you cook a saucepan--that is, by theomission of the word "in. "

Yet one more quotation from the last column of the last extract:

"If I had to confess and expose one opinion of myself which mightdifferentiate me a little from other people, I should say it was mypower of love coupled with my power of criticism. "

No, never mind. The power of love is not an opinion; and in ending asentence it is just as well to remember how you began it. But Iabsolutely refuse to let my simple faith be shaken. She records thebones that she has broken, but John Addington Symonds told her that sheretained "_l'oreille juste_. " Her husband said she wrote well, and hemust know. Besides, am I to be convinced in my penultimate chapter thatanything can be wrong with the model I have followed? Certainly not. Itwould be heartbreaking. 

Besides, the explanation is quite simple. When she wrote that lastinstalment in "The Sunday Times, " the power of criticism had gone tohave the valves ground in. 

I will now ask your kind attention for my estimate of me, MargeAskinforit, by myself. 

There is just one quality which I claim to have in an even greaterdegree than my prototype. She is unlike real life--no woman was everlike what any woman supposes herself to be--but I am far more unlikereal life. I have more inconsistency, more self-contradiction, moreanachronism, more impossibility. In fact, I sometimes feel as if somefool of a man were just making me up as he went along. 

And the next article? Yes, my imagination. 

I have imagination of a certain kind. It has nothing to do withinvention or fancy. It is not a mental faculty at all. It is notphysical. Neither is it paralysis, butterscotch, or three spadesre-doubled. I should so much like to give some idea of it if Ihad any. Perhaps an instance will help. 

I remember that I once said to the Dean of Belial that I thought thenaming of a Highland hotel "The Light Brigade" showed a high degree ofimagination. 

"Half a moment, " said the Dean. "I think I know that one. No--can't getit. Why was the hotel called that?"

"Because of its terrific charges. "

"Yes, " he said wearily. "I've heard it. But"--more brightly--"can youtell me why a Highland regiment was called 'The Black Watch'?"

"I can, Massa Johnson. Because there's a 'b' in both. "

"Wrong again. It's because there's an 'e' in each. "

I gave him a half-nelson to the jaw and killed him, and the entirecompany then sung "Way down upon de Swannee Ribber, " with harmoniumaccompaniment, thus bringing the afternoon performance to a close. Thefront seats were half empty, but then it was late in the season, andlooked like rain, and--

Certainly, I can stop if you like. But you do see what I mean, don'tyou? The imagination is something that runs away with you. If I were tolet mine get away with me, it would knock this old autobiography all tosplinters. 

But I do not appear to have the kind of imagination that makes me knowwhat will hurt people's feelings. If I love people I always tell themwhat their worst faults are, and repeat what everybody says about thembehind their back. That ought to make people say: "Thank you, Marge, foryour kind words. They will help me to improve myself. " It has nothappened yet. It is my miraculous power of criticism that causes thetrouble. Whenever I let it off the lead it seems to bite somebody; amuzzle has been suggested. 

The other day I said to Popsie Bantam: "You're quite right to bob yourhair, Popsie. When you have not got enough of anything, always try topersuade people that you want less. But your rouge-et-noir make-up isright off the map. If you could manage to get some of the colours insome of the right places, people would laugh less. And I can never quitedecide whether it's your clothes that are all wrong, or if it's justyour figure. I wish you'd tell me. Anyhow, you should try for a job at aphotographer's--you're just the girl for a dark-room. "

Really, that's all I said--just affectionate, lambent, helpfulcriticism, with a little Tarragon in it. Yet next day when I met her onthe staircase she said she didn't want to talk to me any more. So Iheaved her over the balustrade and she had a forty-foot drop on to themarble below. I am too impulsive--I have always said so. Rather apathetic touch was that she died just as the ambulance reached thehospital. I have lost quite a lot of nice friends in this way. 

With the exception of a few teeny-weeny murders, I do not think I havedone anything in my life that I regret. And even the murders--such asthey were--were more the fault of my circumstances than of myself. If, as I have always wished, I had lived alone on a desert island, I shouldnever have killed anybody at all. But when you go into the great world(basement entrance) and have a bad night, or the flies are troublesome, you do get a feeling of passionate economy; you realize that there arepeople you can do without, and you do without them. This is the wholetruth about a little failing of which my detractors have made the most. Calumny and exaggeration have been carried to such an extent that morethan once I have been accused of being habitually irritable. 

My revered model wrote that she had always been a collector "of letters, old photographs of the family, famous people and odds and ends. " I havenot gone quite as far as this. 

I have collected odds, and almost every autumn I roam over the moors andfill a large basket with them, but I have never collected ends. 

I do want to collect famous people, but for want of a little education Ihave not been able to do it. I simply do not know whether it is best tokeep them in spirits of wine, or to have them stuffed in glasscases--like the canaries and the fish that you could not otherwisebelieve in. I have been told that really the best way is to press thembetween the leaves of some very heavy book, such as an autobiography, but I fancy they lose much of their natural brilliance when treated inthis way. 

Another difficulty is that the ordinary cyanide bottles that you buy atthe naturalist's, though excellent for moths, are not really largeenough to hold a full-sized celebrity. At the risk of being called asentimentalist, I may say that I do not think I could kill famous peopleby any method that was not both quick and painless. If anything likecruelty were involved in their destruction, I would sooner not collectthem at all, but just make a study of them in their wild state. 

I am only a poor little girl, and I can find nothing whatever on thesubject in any reference book in the public reading-room. I need expertadvice. There is quite a nice collection of famous--and infamous--peoplenear Baker Street Station, but I am told these are only simulacra. Thatwould not suit me at all. I am far too genuine, downright, and truthfulto put up with anything less than the real thing. 

There must be some way of doing it. I should like to have a stuffed M. P. In a glass case at each end of the mantelpiece in my little boudoir. They need not be of the rarest and most expensive kinds. A pretty LabourMember with his mouth open and a rustic background, and a Coalitionistlightly poised on the fence, would please me. 

It would be so interesting to display one's treasures when people cameto tea. 

"Never seen a real leader-writer?" I should say. "They're plentifullocally, but mostly come out at night, and so many people miss them. Itis not of the least use to put treacle on the trees. The best way is todrive a taxi slowly down Fleet Street about one in the morning and lookhonest. That's how I got the big leader-writer in the hall. Just presshis top waistcoat button and he'll prove that the lost election was amoral victory. 

"In the next case? Oh, they're just a couple of little Georgian poets. They look wild, but they're quite tame really. Sprinkle an advance onaccount of royalties on the window-sill and they'll come for it. It usedto be pretty to watch those two, pouring adulatory articles over eachother. They sing chopped prose, and it seemed almost a pity to killthem; but there are plenty more. 

"And that very pretty creature is an actress; if you drop an interviewerinto the left hand corner of the dressing-room you will hear her say: 'Ilove a country life, and am never happier than when I am working in mylittle garden, '--insert here the photograph in the sun-bonnet--'I don'tthink the great public often realizes what a vast amount of----'"

But I am talking about collecting other people. I am wandering from mysubject. I must collect myself. 

At a very early age I caught the measles and a little later on thepublic eye. The latter I still hold. But I do not often lose anythingexcept friends, and occasionally the last 'bus, and of course mysituations. My great model says it is a positive punishment to her tobe in one position for long at a time, and I must be something likethat--I rarely keep a place much longer than a month. On the other hand, I still have quite a number of metal discs that formed the wheels of atoy railway train which I had when I was quite a child. I should havehad them all, but I used some to get chocolates out of the automaticmachines. 

I should have liked to have appended here a list of my accomplishments, but I must positively keep room for my last chapter. So to save space Iwill merely give a list of the accomplishments which I have not got, orhave not got to perfection. 

The E flat clarionet is not really my instrument, but I will give youthree guesses what is. 

I skate beautifully, but not so well as I dance. However, I am savingthe I's out of my autobiography for further practice. 

Some people perhaps have better memories. But that's no reason why theyshould write to the "Sunday Times" about it. 

I cannot write Chinese as fluently as English, though I mightconceivably write it more correctly. 

I think I have mentioned everything in which I am not perfectlyaccomplished. Truth and modesty make me do it. 

I would conclude this estimate of myself as follows. If I had to confessand expose one opinion of myself which would record what I believe tobe my differentiation from other people, it would be the opinion that Iam a law unto myself and a judgment to everybody else. 

LATE EXTRA

TRAGIC DISAPPEARANCE OF MARGE ASKINFORIT

I sometimes think that it must have been a sense of impendingautobiography which made me seek employment in the Lightning Laundry. After all, the autobiographist merely does in public what the laundrydoes in the decent seclusion of its works at Wandsworth or Balham. 

The principal difference would appear to be that a respectable laundressdoes know where to draw the line. 

But I admit that I had other motives in seeking a new career. My attemptto reclaim baronets in their dinner-hour had broken down completely; inspite of everything I could do, the dirty dogs would persist in eatingtheir dinner at that time. Then again, the beautiful and imaginativeessays which dear Casey wrote, under different names and with varyingaddresses, on my suitability for domestic service, had begun to attracttoo much attention; and a censorious world stigmatized as false anddishonest what was really poetical. I wanted too, a position of greaterindependence. 

Of course, I had to learn the work. At first I was taught the leadingprinciples of button-removal. Then I went on to the rough-edging. Thisconsists in putting a rough edge on starched collars and cuffs with acoarse file. Afterwards I was promoted to the mixing department. This iswhere the completed articles are packed for delivery. It requires greatquickness and a nice sense of humour. For instance, you take up a pairof socks and have to decide instantly whether you will send them both toan elderly unmarried lady, or divide them impartially between two men. Our skill in creating odd socks and stockings was gratefully recognizedby the Amalgamated Hosiers' Institution, who paid the laundry an annualsubsidy. A good memory was essential for the work. Every girl wasrequired to memorize what size in collars each male client took, sothat the fifteen-inch collars might be sent to the man with theseventeen-inch neck and vice-versa. As the manager said to me once:"What we are here for is to teach people self-control. The rest ismerely incidental. "

I did not remain very long in the mixing department. My head for figuressoon earned me a place in the office. Much of it was routine work. Fourtimes every year we had to send out the notices that owing to theincreased cost of labour and materials we were reluctantly compelled toincrease our prices 22-½ per cent. We made it 22-½ per cent. Withthe happy certainty that very few of our customers would be able tocalculate the amount of the increase, and still fewer would take thetrouble; this left a little room for the play of our fancy. As one ofour directors--a man with a fine, scholarly head--once said to me:"Bring the larger vision into the addition of a customer's account. Theonly natural limit to the charge for washing a garment is the cost ofthe garment. Keep your eyes ever on the goal. Our present prices are butmilestones on the road. " He had a beautiful, ecclesiastical voice. Nobody would have guessed that he was an engineer and the inventor ofthe Button-pulper and Hem-render which have done so much to make ourlaundries what they are. 

From the very first day that I took up my work in the office I becameconscious that Hector, the manager, had his eye upon me. He wouldgenerally read a page or two of Keats or Shelley to us girls, before webegan to make out the customers' accounts. This was all in accord withthe far-seeing and generous policy of the laundry. The reading took alittle time, but it filled us with the soaring spirit. It made pedanticprecision and things-that-are repulsive to us. After I heard Hector readthe "Ode to a Nightingale" I could not bring myself to say that two andtwo were four; nothing less than fourteen seemed to give me anysatisfaction. Hector knew how quickly responsive and keenly sentient Iwas. A friend once told me that he had said of me that I made arithmetica rhapsody. "This, " I replied quietly, "means business. "

It did. One Saturday afternoon I had tea with him--not on the Terrace, as the A. B. C. Shop in the High Street was so much nearer. He was verywonderful. He talked continuously for two hours, and would have gone onlonger. But the waitress pointed out that the charge for a cup of teaand a scone did not include a twenty-one years' lease of the chair yousat on. 

He was, of course, a man of great scientific attainments. His work onthe use of acids in fabric-disintegration has a reputation throughoutthe laundries of Europe. But he had not the habit of screamingblasphemies which my Great Example failed to convince anybody that shehad discovered in Huxley. In brief, he did not conform to theunscientific idea of what a scientific man must be like. He was acultured idealist. I will try to recall a few of the marvellous thingshe said that afternoon. 

In reply to some remark of mine, he said with authority and conviction:"Marge, you really _are_. "

And, indeed, I had to admit that very often I am. 

He was saying that in this world gentle methods have effected more thanharsh, and added this beautiful thought: "In the ordeal by laundry thesoft-fronted often outlasts the starched. "

Later, I led him on to speak of ambition. 

"I am ambitious. That is to say, I live not in the present, but in thefuture. At one time I had a bicycle, but in imagination I drove asecond-hand Ford; and now I possess the Ford, and in imagination I havea Rolls-Royce. I once held a subordinate position in the laundry, but inimagination I was the manager; and now I am the manager, and inimagination am asked to join the Board of Directors. As the poetLongfellow so wisely said--Excelsior. Engraved in letters of gold on theheart of the ambitious are these words: 'And the next article?' At thispresent moment I am having a cup of tea with by far the most brilliantand beautiful girl of my acquaintance, but in imagination----"

And it was just there that the tactless waitress interrupted us sorudely. It was in vain that I tried to lead him back to the subject. Almost his last words to me that afternoon were:

"I suppose you don't happen to know what the time is?"

Nor did I. It was just an instance of his subtle intuition. Heunderstood me at once and without effort. Many men have made a hobby ofit for years and never been within three streets of it. 

The clock at the post-office gave him the information he required, and, raising his hat, he said: "Well, I must be getting on. "

The whole of the man's life was in that sentence. Always, he was gettingon--and always with a compulsion, as of destiny, shoving behind. 

Knowing my keen appreciation of art, of which I have always been a justand unfailing critic, he took me on the following Saturday to see thepictures. It was not a good show--too many comics for my taste, and I'dseen the Charlie Chaplin one before. However, in the dim seclusion ofthe two-shilling seats just as the eighteenth episode of "The WomanVampire" reached its most pathetic passage, and the girl at the pianoappropriately shifted to the harmonium, Hector asked me if I would marryhim. 

(No, I shan't. I know I'm an autobiographer and that you have paid tocome in, but there are limits. You know how shy and retiring I am. Nonice girl would tell you what the man said or did on such an occasion, or how she responded. There will be no details. And you ought to beashamed of yourself. )

But just one of Hector's observations struck me particularly: "You know, Marge, there are not many girls in the laundry I would say as much to. "

That statement of preference, admitting me as it were to a small circleof the elect, meant very much to me. I could only reply that there weresome men I wouldn't even allow to take me to a cinema. I asked, and wasaccorded, time for consideration. 

I was face to face with the greatest problem of my life. There was, Iknow, one great drawback to my marriage with Hector. An immense risk wasinvolved. When the end of this chapter is reached the reader will knowwhat the risk and drawback were. 

At the same time, everybody knew well that Hector was marked out for agreat position. I had already, with a view to eventualities, had somediscussion with one of the Directors, Mr. Cashmere, whom I have alreadyquoted. I was a special favourite of his. But it is quite an ordinarything in business, of course, for a Director to discuss the internalaffairs of the Board with one of the Company's junior clerks. 

Mr. Cashmere expressed the highest opinion of Hector, and said he had nodoubt that Hector would become a Director, as a result of a complicatedsituation that had arisen. Two of the Directors, Mr. Serge and Mr. Angora, while remaining on the best possible social terms with thechairman, Sir Charles Cheviot, were bitterly opposed to him on questionsof policy. On the other hand, though agreed on questions of policy, Mr. Serge and Mr. Angora were bitterly jealous of each other, and a rupturewas imminent. Under the circumstances, Mr. Cashmere, while assuringeverybody of his whole-hearted support, had a private reservation ofjudgment to be finally settled by the directional feline saltation. 

Whichever turn the crisis took, he regarded it as certain that therewould be a resignation, and that Hector would get the vacant place. 

"Why, " I said, "it's rather like the Government of the British Empire. "

"Hush!" he said, warningly. "It is exactly like it, but in the interestsof the shareholders we do not wish that to be generally known. It woulddestroy confidence. "

I myself felt quite certain that if Hector did become a Director hewould very shortly be chairman of the Board. He was a man that naturallytook anything there was. 

It was in my power to marry a man who would become the chairman of aLaundry Company with seventeen different branches. It was a greatposition. Had I any right to refuse it? If I did not take it, I feltsure that somebody else would. Was anybody else as good as I was? Truthcompelled me to answer in the negative. The voice of conscience said:"Take a good thing when you see it. People have lost fortunes by openingtheir mouths too wide. "

On the other hand there were two considerations of importance. I mightpossibly receive a better offer. If I had been quite sure that Hectorwould have taken it nicely, I would have asked him for a three months'option to see if anything better turned up, but I knew that with hissensitive nature he might be offended. 

The second consideration was the terrible risk to which I have alreadyreferred. Do be patient. You will know all about it when the time comes. 

I had to decide one way or the other, and--as the world knows now--Idecided in favour of Hector. And immediately the storm broke. 

Every old cat that I knew--and I knew some--began to give me advice. Now, nobody takes advice better than I do, when I am conscious that Ineed it and am sure that the advice is good. Of this I feel as sure asif such an occasion had ever actually arrived. In an InternationalSweet-nature Competition I would back myself for money every time. 

I was told that in the dignified position which was to be mine I mustgive up larking about and the use of wicked words when irritated. Itseemed to me that if I was to surrender all my accomplishments I mightjust as well never marry Hector at all. I avoid a certain freedom ofspeech which my great predecessor uses on a similar occasion. 

Dear old Mr. Cashmere found me in almost a bad temper about it, andlistened gravely to my complaint. Placing one hand on my shoulder, hesaid:

"Marge, I have lived long, and in the course of my life I have receivedmuch advice. My invariable rule has always been to thank for it, expressing my gratitude with some warmth and every appearance ofsincerity. This is all that the adviser requires. It gives him, or her, complete satisfaction. It costs nothing. Afterwards, I proceed preciselyas if no advice had been given. "

That freak, Millie Wyandotte, sent me a plated toast-rack and a letterfrom which I extract the following:

 "If you were half as extraordinary as you think you are, this would be a miserable marriage. Anybody who married it would get lost, bewildered, and annoyed, and the hymn for those at sea should be sung at the wedding ceremony. But cheer up, old girl. Really extraordinary people never think it worth while to prove that they are extraordinary, and mostly would resent being told it. You'll do. Psychologies like yours can be had from any respectable dealer at a shilling a dozen, including the box. They wear very well and give satisfaction. Here's luck. "

Mr. J. A. Banting sent me a travelling-clock at one time the property ofLord Baringstoke, and a letter of such fervent piety and tenderaffection that it is too sacred for me to quote. 

Fifty-eight rejected suitors combined to send me a hand-bag of no greatintrinsic value. I cannot but think that the principle of syndication ismore suited to business than to generosity. 

But I will not weary the reader with a list of the numerous and costlygifts that I received. Suffice it to say that one of my brothers, anexcellent judge, offered me a fiver for the lot, and said that heexpected to lose money by it. 

 * * * * *

Immediately after the wedding ceremony the blow fell. I had foreseen thedanger of disaster from the very first, and that disaster came. I canhardly bring myself to write of it. 

I have spoken of my husband as Hector, but his surname was Harris--hismother was one of the Tweeds. Consequently, I had become Mrs. Harris. 

The tendency of a Mrs. Harris to become mythical was first noticed by anEnglish writer of some repute in the nineteenth century. I forget hisprecise name, but believe that it was Thackeray. 

It was in the vestry that I seemed to hear the voice of an elderly andgin-bemused female telling me that there was no sich person. I did notcease to exist, but I became aware that I never had, and never couldhave, existed. I was merely mythical. Gently whispering "The Snark was aBoojum, " I faded away. 

The last sound I heard was the voice of Hector calling to me:

"Hullo, hullo! Are you there? Harris speaking. .. . Hullo, hullo. .. . Areyou there?"

And, as not infrequently happens, there was no answer. 

 H. G. WELLS' Best Novels

 TONO BUNGAY (11th Edition)

 THE NEW MACHIAVELLI (10th Edition)

 MARRIAGE (12th Edition)

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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to be true to the author's words and intent.