THE HOLIDAY ROUND

BY

A. A. MILNE

AUTHOR OF "THE DAYS' PLAY"

LONDON

1912

CONTENTS

HOLIDAY TIME

THE HOUSE-WARMING

AT PLAY

TWO STORIES

AN ODD LOT

LITTLE PLAYS FOR AMATEURS

A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

STORIES OF SUCCESSFUL LIVES

A FEW FRIENDS

EPILOGUE

HOLIDAY TIME

I. --THE ORDEAL BY WATER

"We will now bathe, " said a voice at the back of my neck. 

I gave a grunt and went on with my dream. It was a jolly dream, andnobody got up early in it. 

"We will now bathe, " repeated Archie. 

"Go away, " I said distinctly. 

Archie sat down on my knees and put his damp towel on my face. 

"When my wife and I took this commodious residence for six weeks, "he said, "and engaged the sea at great expense to come up to itsdoors twice a day, it was on the distinct understanding that ourguests should plunge into it punctually at seven o'clock everymorning. "

"Don't be silly, it's about three now. And I wish you'd get off myknees. "

"It's a quarter-past seven. "

"Then there you are, we've missed it. Well, we must see what we cando for you to-morrow. Good-night. "

Archie pulled all the clothes off me and walked with them to thewindow. 

"Jove, what a day!" he said. "And can't you smell the sea?"

"I can. Let that suffice. I say, what's happened to my blanket? Imust have swallowed it in my sleep. "

"Where's his sponge?" I heard him murmuring to himself as he cameaway from the window. 

"No, no, I'm up, " I shouted, and I sprang out of bed and put on ashirt and a pair of trousers with great speed. "Where do I takethese off again?" I asked. "I seem to be giving myself a lot oftrouble. "

"There is a tent. "

"Won't the ladies want it? Because, if so, I can easily have mybathe later on. "

"The ladies think it's rather too rough to-day. "

"Perhaps they're right, " I said hopefully. "A woman's instinct--No, I'm NOT a coward. "

It wasn't so bad outside--sun and wind and a blue-and-white sky andplenty of movement on the sea. 

"Just the day for a swim, " said Archie cheerily, as he led the waydown to the beach. 

"I've nothing against the day; it's the hour I object to. The Lancetsays you mustn't bathe within an hour of a heavy meal. Well, I'mgoing to have a very heavy meal within about twenty minutes. Thatisn't right, you know. "

By the time I was ready the wind had got much colder. I looked outof the tent and shivered. 

"Isn't it jolly and fresh?" said Archie, determined to be helpful. "There are points about the early morning, after all. "

"There are plenty of points about this morning. Where do they getall the sharp stones from? Look at that one there--he's simplywaiting for me. "

"You ought to have bought some bathing shoes. I got this pair in thevillage. "

"Why didn't you tell me so last night?"

"It was too late last night. "

"Well, it's much too early this morning. If you were a gentlemanyou'd lend me one of yours, and we'd hop down together. "

Archie being no gentleman, he walked and I hobbled to the edge, andthere we sat down while he took off his shoes. 

"I should like to take this last opportunity, " I said, "of tellingyou that up till now I haven't enjoyed this early morning bathe onelittle bit. I suppose there will be a notable moment when theecstasy actually begins, but at present I can't see it coming atall. The only thing I look forward to with any pleasure is thetelling Dahlia and Myra at breakfast what I think of theircowardice. That and the breakfast itself. Good-bye. "

I got up and waded into the surf. 

"One last word, " I said as I looked back at him. "In my whole careerI shall never know a more absolutely beastly and miserable momentthan this. " Then a wave knocked me down, and I saw that I had spokentoo hastily. 

The world may be divided into two classes--those who drink when theyswim and those who don't. I am one of the drinkers. For this reasonI prefer river bathing to sea bathing. 

"It's about time we came out, " I shouted to Archie after the thirdpint. "I'm exceeding my allowance. "

"Aren't you glad now you came?" he cried from the top of a wave. 

"Very, " I said a moment later from inside it. 

But I really did feel glad ten minutes afterwards as I sat on thebeach in the sun and smoked a cigarette, and threw pebbles lazilyinto the sea. 

"Holbein, how brave of you!" cried a voice behind me. 

"Good-morning. I'm not at all sure that I ought to speak to you. "

"Have you really been taking the sea so early, " said Myra as she satdown between us, "or did you rumple each other's hair so as todeceive me?"

"I have been taking the sea, " I confessed. "What you observe outthere now is what I left. "

"Oh, but that's what _I_ do. That's why I didn't cometo-day--because I had so much yesterday. "

"I'm a three-bottle man. I can go on and on and on. And after allthese years I have the most sensitive palate of any man living. Forinstance, I can distinguish between Scarborough and Llandudno quiteeasily with my eyes shut. Speaking as an expert, I may say thatthere is nothing to beat a small Cromer and seltzer; though someprefer a Ventnor and dash. Ilfracombe with a slice of lemon ispopular, but hardly appeals to the fastidious. "

"Do you know, " said Archie, "that you are talking drivel? Nobodyought to drivel before breakfast. It isn't decent. What does Dahliawant to do to-day, Myra?"

"Mr Simpson is coming by the one-thirty. "

"Good; then we'll have a slack day. The strain of meeting Simpsonwill be sufficient for us. I do hope he comes in a yachtingcap--we'll send him back if he doesn't. "

"I told him to bring one, " said Myra. "I put a P. S. In Dahlia'sletter--please bring your telescope and yachting cap. She thought wecould have a good day's sailing to-morrow, if you'd kindly arrangeabout the wind. "

"I'll talk to the crew about it and see what he can do. If we getbecalmed we can always throw somebody overboard, of course. Well, Imust go in and finish my toilet. "

We got up and climbed slowly back to the house. 

"And then, " I said, "then for the heavy meal. "

II. --BECALMED

"Well, " said Dahlia, giving up the tiller with a sigh, "if this isall that you and Joe can do in the way of a breeze, you needn't haveworried. "

"Don't blame the crew, " said Archie nobly, "he did his best. He satup all night whistling. "

"ARE we moving?" asked Myra, from a horizontal position on the shadyside of the mainsail. 

"We are not, " I said, from a similar position on the sunny side. "Let's get out. "

Simpson took off his yachting cap and fanned himself with a nauticalalmanac. "How far are we from anywhere?" he asked cheerfully. 

"Miles, " said Archie. "To be more accurate, we are five miles from apublic-house, six from a church, four from a post-office, and threefrom the spacious walled-in kitchen-garden and tennis-court. On theother hand, we are quite close to the sea. "

"You will never see your friends again, Simpson. They will miss you... At first ... Perhaps; but they will soon forget. The circulationof the papers that you wrote for will go up, the brindled bull-pupwill be fed by another and a smaller hand, but otherwise all will beas it was before. "

My voice choked, and at the same moment something whizzed past meinto the sea. 

"Yachting cap overboard! Help!" cried Myra. 

"You aren't in The Spectator office now, Simpson, " said Archieseverely, as he fished with the boat-hook. "There is a time forballyragging. By the way, I suppose you do want it back again?"

"It's my fault, " I confessed remorsefully; "I told him yesterday Ididn't like it. "

"Myra and I do like it, Mr Simpson. Please save it, Archie. "

Archie let it drip from the end of the boat-hook for a minute, andthen brought it in. 

"Morning, Sir Thomas, " I said, saluting it as it came on board. "Lovely day for a sail. We've got the new topmast up, but Her Gracehad the last of the potted-meat for lunch yesterday. "

Simpson took his cap and stroked it tenderly. "Thirteen andninepence in the Buckingham Palace Road, " he murmured. "Thanks, oldchap. "

Quiet settled down upon the good ship Armadillo again. There was nocloud in the sky, no ripple on the water, no sound along the deck. The land was hazy in the distance; hazy in the distance waspublic-house, church, post-office, walled-in kitchen-garden andtennis-court. But in the little cabin Joe was making a pleasantnoise with plates.... 

"Splendid, " said Archie, putting down his glass and taking out hispipe. "Now what shall we do? I feel full of energy. "

"Then you and Simpson can get the dinghy out and tow, " I suggested. "I'll coach from the Armadillo. "

"We might go for a long bicycle ride, " said Myra; "or call on theVicarage girls. "

"There isn't really very much to do, is there?" said Dahlia, gently. "I'm sorry. "

Simpson leapt excitedly into the breach. 

"I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll teach you all the different knotsand things. I learnt them coming down in the train. Everybody oughtto know them. Archie, old man, can you let me have a piece of rope?"

"Certainly. Take any piece you like. Only spare the main-sheet. "

Simpson went forward to consult Joe, and came back with enough tohang himself with. He sat down opposite to us, wrapped the rope onceround his waist, and then beamed at us over his spectacles. 

"Now supposing you had fallen down a well, " he began, "and I letthis rope down to you, what would you do with YOUR end?"

We thought deeply for a moment. 

"I should wait until you were looking over the edge, and then giveit a sharp jerk, " said Archie. 

"One MUST have company in a well, " I agreed. 

"They're being silly again, " apologized Myra. "Tell ME, Mr Simpson!I should love to know--I'm always falling down wells. "

"Well, you tie it round you like this. Through there--and overthere--and then back under there. You see, it simply CAN'T slip. Then I should pull you up. "

"But how nice of you. Let me try. ... Oh, yes, that's easy. "

"Well, then there's the hangman's knot. "

Archie and I looked at each other. 

"The predicaments in which Simpson finds himself are extraordinarilyvaried, " I said. 

"One of these days he'll be in a well, and we shall let down a ropeto him, and he'll hang himself by mistake. "

"That would look very determined. On the other hand there must beannoying occasions when he starts out to strangle somebody and findsthat he's pulling him out of the cistern. "

"Why, how delightful, Mr Simpson, " said Myra. "Do show us somemore. "

"Those are the most important ones. Then there are one or two fancyones. Do you know the Monkey's Claw?"

"Don't touch it, " said Archie solemnly. "It's poison. "

"Oh, I must show you that. "

Joe showed me the Monkey's Claw afterwards, and it is a beautifulthing, but it was not a bit like Simpson's. Simpson must havestarted badly, and I think he used too much rope. After about twentyminutes there was hardly any of him visible at all. 

"Take your time, Houdini, " said Archie, "take your time. Just let usknow when you're ready to be put into the safe, that's all. "

"You would hardly think, to look at him now, " I said a minute later, "that one day he'll be a dear little butterfly. "

"Where's the sealing-wax, Maria? You know, I'm certain he'll nevergo for threepence. "

"What I say is, it's simply hypnotic suggestion. There's no ropethere at all, really. "

An anxious silence followed. 

"No, " said Simpson suddenly, "I'm doing it wrong. "

"From to-night, " said Archie, after tea, "you will be put onrations. One cobnut and a thimbleful of sherry wine per diem. I hopesomebody's brought a thimble. "

"There really isn't so very much left, " said Dahlia. 

"Then we shall have to draw lots who is to be eaten. "

"Don't we eat our boots and things first?" asked Myra. 

"The doctor says I mustn't have anything more solid than alightly-boiled shoe-lace the last thing at night. "

"After all, there's always the dinghy, " said Archie. "If we put in atin of corned beef and a compass and a keg of gunpowder, somebodymight easily row in and post the letters. Personally, as captain, Imust stick to my ship. "

"There's another way I've just thought of, " I said. "Let's sail in. "

I pointed out to sea, and there, unmistakably, was the least littlebreeze coming over the waters. A minute later and our pennant nappedonce Simpson moistened a finger and held it up. 

The sprint for home had begun. 

III. --A DAY ASHORE

"Well, which is it to be?" asked Archie. 

"Just whichever you like, " said Dahlia, "only make up your minds. "

"Well, I can do you a very good line in either. I've got a lot ofsea in the front of the house, and there's the Armadillo strainingat the leash; and I've had some land put down at the back of thehouse, and there's the Silent-Knight eating her carburettor off inthe kennels. "

"Oh, what can ail thee, Silent-Knight, alone and palely loitering?"asked Simpson. "Keats, " he added kindly. 

"Ass (Shakespeare), " I said. 

"Of course, if we sailed, " Simpson went on eagerly, "and we gotbecalmed again, I could teach you chaps signalling. "

Archie looked from one to the other of us. 

"I think that settles it, " he said, and went off to see about themotor. 

"Little Chagford, " said Archie, as he slowed down. "Where are wegoing to, by the way?"

"I thought we'd just go on until we found a nice place for lunch. "

"And then on again till we found a nice place for tea, " added Myra. 

"And so home to dinner, " I concluded. 

"Speaking for myself--" began Simpson. 

"Oh, why not?"

"I should like to see a church where Katharine of Aragon or somebodywas buried. "

"Samuel's morbid craving for sensation--"

"Wait till we get back to London, and I'll take you to MadameTussaud's, Mr Simpson. "

"Well, I think he's quite right, " said Dahlia. "There is an oldNorman church, I believe, and we ought to go and see it. ThePhilistines needn't come in if they don't want to. "

"Philistines!" I said indignantly. "Well, I'm--"

"Agagged, " suggested Archie. "Oh no, he was an Amalekite. "

"You've lived in the same country as this famous old Norman churchfor years and years and years, and you care so little about it thatyou've never been to see it and aren't sure whether it was Katharineof Aragon or Alice-for-short who was buried here, and now that youHAVE come across it by accident you want to drive up to it in abrand-new 1910 motor-car, with Simpson in his 1910 gent. 's fancyvest knocking out the ashes of his pipe against the lych-gate as hegoes in. ... And that's what it is to be one of the elect!"

"Little Chagford's noted back-chat comedians, " commented Archie. "Your turn, Dahlia. "

"There was once a prince who was walking in a forest near his castleone day--that's how all the nice stories begin--and he suddenly cameacross a beautiful maiden, and he said to himself, 'I've lived herefor years and years and years, and I've never seen her before, andI'm not sure whether her name is Katharine or Alice, or where heruncle was buried, and I've got a new surcoat on which doesn't matchher wimple at all, so let's leave her and go home to lunch.... ' AndTHAT'S what it is to be one of the elect!"

"Don't go on too long, " said Archie. "There are the performing sealsto come after you. "

I jumped out of the car and joined her in the road. 

"Dahlia, I apologize, " I said. "You are quite right. We will visitthis little church together, and see who was buried there. "

Myra looked up from the book she had been studying, Jovial JauntsRound Jibmouth. 

"There isn't a church at Little Chagford, " she said. "At least therewasn't two years ago, when this book was published. So that looks asthough it can't be VERY early Norman. "

"Then let's go on, " said Archie, after a deep silence. 

We found a most delightful little spot (which wasn't famous foranything) for lunch, and had the baskets out of the car in no time. 

"Now, are you going to help get things ready, " asked Myra, "or areyou going to take advantage of your sex and watch Dahlia and me doall the work?"

"I thought women always liked to keep the food jobs for themselves, "I said. "I know I'm never allowed in the kitchen at home. Besides, I've got more important work to do--I'm going to make the fire. "

"What fire?"

"You can't really lead the simple life and feel at home with Natureuntil you have laid a fire of twigs and branches, rubbed two stickstogether to procure a flame, and placed in the ashes the pemmican orwhatever it is that falls to your rifle. "

"Well, I did go out to look for pemmican this morning, but therewere none rising. "

"Then I shall have my ham sandwich hot. "

"Bread, butter, cheese, eggs, sandwiches, fruit, " catalogued Dahlia, as she took them out; "what else do you want?"

"I'm waiting here for cake, " I said. 

"Bother, I forgot the cake. "

"Look here, this picnic isn't going with the swing that one hadlooked for. No pemmican, no cake, no early Norman church. We mightalmost as well be back in the Cromwell Road. "

"Does your whole happiness depend on cake?" asked Myra scornfully. 

"To a large extent it does. Archie, " I called out, "there's nocake. "

Archie stopped patting the car and came over to us. "Good. Let'sbegin, " he said; "I'm hungry. "

"You didn't hear. I said there WASN'T any cake--on the contrary, there is an entire absence of it, a shortage, a vacuum, not to say alacuna. In the place where it should be there is an aching void ormere hard-boiled eggs or something of that sort. I say, doesn'tANYBODY mind, except me?"

Apparently nobody did, so that it was useless to think of sendingArchie back for it. Instead, I did a little wrist-work with thecorkscrew.... 

"Now, " said Archie, after lunch, "before you all go off with yourbutterfly nets, I'd better say that we shall be moving on at abouthalf-past three. That is, unless one of you has discovered the slotof a Large Cabbage White just then, and is following up the trailvery keenly. "

"I know what I'm going to do, " I said, "if the flies will let mealone. "

"Tell me quickly before I guess, " begged Myra. 

"I'm going to lie on my back and think about--who do you think dothe hardest work in the world?"

"Stevedores. "

"Then I shall think about stevedores. "

"Are you sure, " asked Simpson, "that you wouldn't like me to showyou that signalling now?"

I closed my eyes. You know, I wonder sometimes what it is that makesa picnic so pleasant. Because all the important things, the eatingand the sleeping, one can do anywhere. 

IV. --IN THE WET

Myra gazed out of the window upon the driving rain and shook herhead at the weather. 

"Ugh!" she said. "Ugly!"

"Beast, " I added, in order that there should be no doubt about whatwe thought. "Utter and deliberate beast. "

We had arranged for a particularly pleasant day. We were to havesailed across to the mouth of the--I always forget its name, andthen up the river to the famous old castle of-of-no, it's goneagain; but anyhow, there was to have been a bathe in the river, andlunch, and a little exploration in the dinghy, and a lesson in theMorse code from Simpson, and tea in the woods with a real fire, andin the cool of the evening a ripping run home before the wind. Butnow the only thing that seemed certain was the cool of the evening. 

"We'll light a fire and do something indoors, " said Dahlia. 

"This is an extraordinary house, " said Archie. "There isn't a singlebook in it, except a lot of Strand Magazines for 1907. That musthave been a very wet year. "

"We can play games, dear. "

"True, darling. Let's do a charade. "

"The last time I played charades, " I said, "I was Horatius, thefront part of Elizabeth's favourite palfrey, the arrow which shotRufus, Jonah, the two little Princes in the Tower, and MrsPankhurst. "

"Which was your favourite part?" asked Myra. 

"The front part of the palfrey. But I was very good as the twolittle Princes. "

"It's no good doing charades, if there's nobody to do them to. "

"Thomas is coming to-morrow, " said Myra. "We could tell him allabout it. "

"Clumps is a jolly good game, " suggested Simpson. 

"The last time I was a clump, " I said, "I was the first coin paid onaccount of the last pair of boots, sandals, or whatnot of the manwho laid the first stone of the house where lived the prettiest auntof the man who reared the goose which laid the egg from which camethe goose which provided the last quill pen used by the third manShakespeare met on the second Wednesday in June, 1595. "

"He mightn't have had an aunt, " said Myra, after a minute's profoundthought. 

"He hadn't. "

"Well, anyhow, one way and another you've had a very adventurouscareer, my lad, " said Archie. "What happened the last time youplayed ludo?"

"When I played clumps, " put in Simpson, "I was the favourite spokeof Hall Caine's first bicycle. They guessed Hall Caine and thebicycle and the spoke very quickly, but nobody thought of suggestingthe favourite spoke. "

Myra went to the window again, and came back with the news that itwould probably be a fine evening. 

"Thank you, " we all said. 

"But I wasn't just making conversation. I have an idea. "

"Silence for Myra's idea. "

"Well, it's this. If we can't do anything without an audience, andif the audience won't come to us, let's go to them. "

"Be a little more lucid, there's a dear. It isn't that we aren'ttrying. "

"Well then, let's serenade the other houses about here to-night. "

There was a powerful silence while everybody considered this. 

"Good, " said Archie at last. "We will. "

The rest of the morning and all the afternoon were spent inpreparations. Archie and Myra were all right; one plays the banjoand the other the guitar. (It is a musical family, the Mannerings. )Simpson keeps a cornet which he generally puts in his bag, but Icannot remember anyone asking him to play it. If the question hasever arisen, he has probably been asked not to play it. However, hewould bring it out to-night. In any case he has a tolerable voice;while Dahlia has always sung like an angel. In short, I was thechief difficulty. 

"I suppose there wouldn't be time to learn the violin?" I asked. 

"Why didn't they teach you something when you were a boy?" wonderedMyra. 

"They did. But my man forgot to put it in my bag when he packed. Heput in two tooth-brushes and left out the triangle. Do you thinkthere's a triangle shop in the village? I generally play on anisosceles one, any two sides of which are together greater than thethird. Likewise the angles which are opposite to the adjacent sides, each to each. "

"Well, you must take the cap round for the money. "

"I will. I forgot to say that my own triangle at home, the Strad, isin the chromatic scale of A, and has a splice. It generally gets thechromatics very badly in the winter. "

While the others practised their songs, I practised taking the capround, and by tea-time we all knew our parts perfectly. I hadreceived permission to join in the choruses, and I was also to beallowed to do a little dance with Myra. When you think that I hadcharge of the financial arrangements as well, you can understandthat I felt justified in considering myself the leader of thetroupe. 

"In fact, " I said, "you ought to black your faces so as todistinguish yourselves from me. "

"We won't black our faces, " said Dahlia, "but we'll wear masks; andwe might each carry a little board explaining why we're doing this. "

"Right, " said Archie; and he sat down and wrote a notice forhimself--

"I AM AN ORPHAN. SO ARE THE OTHERS, BUT THEY ARE NOT SO ORPHAN AS IAM. I AM EXTREMELY FREQUENT. "

Dahlia said--

"WE ARE DOING THIS FOR AN ADVERTISEMENT. IF YOU LIKE US, SEND ASHILLING FOR A FREE SAMPLE CONCERT, MENTIONING THIS PAPER. YOURMONEY BACK IF WE ARE NOT SATISFIED WITH IT. "

Simpson announced--

"WORLD'S LONG DISTANCE CORNETIST. HOLDER OF THE OBOE RECORD ONGRASS. RUNNER-UP IN THE OCARINA WELTER WEIGHTS (STRANGLE HOLDBARRED). MIXED ZITHER CHAMPION (1907, COVERED COURTS). "

Myra said--

"KIND FRIENDS, HELP US. WE WERE WRECKED THIS AFTERNOON. THE CORNETWAS SINKING FOR THE THIRD TIME WHEN IT WAS RESCUED, AND HAD TO BEBROUGHT ROUND BY ARTIFICIAL RESPIRATION. CAN YOU SPARE US A DRINK OFWATER?"

As for myself I had to hand the Simpson yachting cap round, and mynotice said--

"WE WANT YOUR MONEY. IF YOU CANNOT GIVE US ANY, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKEKEEP THE CAP. "

We had an early dinner, so as to be in time to serenade our victimswhen they were finishing their own meal and feeling friendly to theworld. Then we went upstairs and dressed. Dahlia and Myra hadkimonos, Simpson put on his dressing-gown, in which he fancieshimself a good deal, and Archie and I wore brilliantly-colouredpyjamas over our other clothes. 

"Let's see, " said Simpson, "I start off with 'The Minstrel Boy, 'don't I? And then what do we do?"

"Then we help you to escape, " said Archie. "After that, Dahlia sings'Santa Lucia, ' and Myra and I give them a duet, and if you're backby then with your false nose properly fixed it might be safe for youto join in the chorus of a coon song. Now then, are we all ready?"

"What's that?" said Myra. 

We all listened ... And then we opened the door. 

It was pouring. 

V. --MAROONED

"Stroke, you're late, " said Thomas, butting me violently in the backwith his oar. 

"My dear Thomas, when you have been in the Admiralty a little longeryou will know that 'bow' is not the gentleman who sets the time. What do you suppose would happen at Queen's Hall if the secondbird-call said to the conductor, 'Henry, you're late'?"

"The whole gallery would go out and get its hair cut, " said Archie. 

"I'm not used to the Morse system of rowing, that's the trouble, "explained Thomas. "Long-short, short-short-long, short-long. You'respelling out the most awful things, if you only knew. "

"Be careful how you insult me, Thomas. A little more and I shalltell them what happened to you on the ornamental waters in Regent'sPark that rough day. "

"Really?" asked Simpson with interest. 

"Yes; I fancy he had been rather overdoing it at Swedish drill thatmorning. "

We gave her ten in silence, and then by mutual consent rested on ouroars. 

"There's a long way yet, " said Myra. "Dahlia and I will row ifyou're tired. "

"This is an insult, Thomas. Shall we sit down under it?"

"Yes, " said Thomas, getting up; "only in another part of the boat. "

We gave up our seats to the ladies (even in a boat one should bepolite) and from a position in the stern waited with turned-upcoat-collars for the water to come on board. 

"We might have sailed up a little higher, " remarked Simpson. "It'sall right, I'm not a bit wet, thanks. "

"It's too shallow, except at high tide, " said Myra. "The Armadillowould have gone aground and lost all her--her shell. Do armadilloeshave shells, or what?"

"Feathers. "

"Well, we're a pretty good bank-holiday crowd for the dinghy, " saidArchie. "Simpson, if we upset, save the milk and the sandwiches; mywife can swim. "

The woods were now beginning to come down to the river on bothsides, but on the right a grassy slope broke them at the water'sedge for some fifty yards. Thither we rowed, and after a littlecomplicated manoeuvring landed suddenly, Simpson, who was standing inthe bows with the boat-hook, being easily the first to reach theshore. He got up quickly, however, apologized, and helped the ladiesand the hampers out. Thereafter he was busy for some time, makingthe dinghy fast with a knot peculiarly his own. 

"The first thing to do is to build a palisade to keep the savagesoff, " said Archie, and he stuck the boat-hook into the ground. "After which you are requested to light fires to frighten the wildbeasts. The woodbines are very wild at this time of the year. "

"We shall have to light a fire anyhow for the tea, so that will bevery useful, " said the thoughtful Dahlia. 

"I myself, " I said, "will swim out to the wreck for the musket andthe bag of nails. "

"As you're going, " said Myra, unpacking, "you might get the sugar aswell. We've forgotten it. "

"Now you've spoilt my whole holiday. It was bad enough with the cakelast week, but this is far, far worse. I shall go into the wood andeat berries. "

"It's all right, here it is. Now you're happy again. I wish, if youaren't too busy, you'd go into the wood and collect sticks for thefire. "

"I am unusually busy, " I said, "and there is a long queue of clientswaiting for me in the ante-room. An extremely long queue--almost ahalf-butt in fact. "

I wandered into the wood alone. Archie and Dahlia had gonearm-in-arm up the hill to look at a view, Simpson was helping Myrawith the hampers, and Thomas, the latest arrival from town, waslying on his back, telling them what he alleged to be a good storynow going round London. Myra told it to me afterwards, and we agreedthat as a boy it had gone round the world several times first. Yet Iheard her laugh unaffectedly--what angels women are!

Ten minutes later I returned with my spoil, and laid it before them. 

"A piece of brown bread from the bread-fruit tree, a piece ofindiarubber from the mango tree, a chutney from the banana grove, and an omelet from the turtle run, I missed the chutney with myfirst barrel, and brought it down rather luckily with the ricochet. "

"But how funny; they all look just like sticks of wood. "

"That is Nature's plan of protective colouring. In the same wayapricots have often escaped with their lives by sitting in the creamand pretending to be poached eggs. "

"The same instinct of self-preservation, " added Archie, "has ledmany a pill called Beauchamp to pronounce its name Cholmondeley. "

Simpson begged to be allowed to show us how to light a fire, and wehadn't the heart to refuse him. It was, he said, the way they litfires on the veldt (and other places where they wanted fires), andit went out the first time because the wind must have changed roundafter he had begun to lay the wood. He got the draught in the rightplace the next time, and for a moment we thought we should have totake to the boats; but the captain averted a panic, and the fire wasgot under. Then the kettle was put on, and of all the boiled water Ihave ever tasted this was the best. 

"You know, " said Archie, "in Simpson the nation has lost a wonderfulscoutmaster. "

"Oh, Samuel, " cried Myra, "tell us how you tracked the mules thatafternoon, and knew they were wounded because of the blood. "

"Tell us about that time when you bribed the regimental anchovy ofTroop B to betray the secret password to you. "

"I ignore you because you're jealous. May I have some more tea, MissMannering?"

"Call me Myra, Scoutmaster Simpson of The Spectator troop, and youshall. "

"I blush for my unblushing sex, " said Dahlia. 

"I blush for my family, " said Archie. "That a young girl of gentlebirth, nurtured in a peaceful English home, brought up in anatmosphere of old-world courtesy, should so far forget herself asto attempt to wheedle a promising young scoutmaster, who can light afire, practically speaking, backwards--this, I repeat, is toomuch. "

It was Thomas who changed the subject so abruptly. 

"I suppose the tide comes as far as this?" he said. 

"It does, captain. "

"Then that would account for the boat having gone. "

"That and Simpson's special knot, " I said, keeping calm for the sakeof the women and children. 

Archie jumped up with a shout. The boat was about twenty yards fromthe shore, going very slowly upstream. 

"It's very bad to bathe just after a heavy meal, " I reminded him. 

"I'm not sure that I'm going to, but I'm quite sure that one of uswill have to. "

"Walk up the river with it, " said Myra, "while Dahlia and I pack, and the one who's first digested goes in. "

We walked up. I felt that in my own case the process of assimilationwould be a lengthy one. 

VI. --A LITTLE CRICKET FOR AN ENDING

We came back from a "Men Only" sail to find Myra bubbling over withexcitement. 

"I've got some news for you, " she said, "but I'm not going to tellyou till dinner. Be quick and change. "

"Bother, she's going to get married, " I murmured. 

Myra gurgled and drove us off. 

"Put on all your medals and orders, Thomas, " she called up thestairs; "and, Archie, it's a champagne night. "

"I believe, old fellow, " said Simpson, "she's married already. "

Half an hour later we were all ready for the news. 

"Just a moment, Myra, " said Archie. "I'd better warn you that we'reexpecting a good deal, and that if you don't live up to theexcitement you've created, you'll be stood in the corner for therest of dinner. "

"She's quite safe, " said Dahlia. 

"Of course I am. Well, now I'm going to begin. This morning, abouteleven, I went and had a bathe, and I met another girl in the sea. "

"Horribly crowded the sea is getting nowadays, " commented Archie. 

"And she began to talk about what a jolly day it was and so on, andI gave her my card--I mean I said, 'I'm Myra Mannering. ' And shesaid, 'I'm sure you're keen on cricket. '"

"I like the way girls talk in the sea, " said Archie. "So direct. "

"What is there about our Myra, " I asked, "that stamps her as acricketer, even when she's only got her head above water?"

"She'd seen me on land, silly. Well, we went on talking, and at lastshe said, 'Will you play us at mixed cricket on Saturday?' And a bigwave came along and went inside me just as I was saying yes. "

"Hooray! Myra, your health. "

"We're only six, though, " added Archie. "Didn't you swim up againstanybody else who looked like a cricketer and might play for us?"

"But we can easily pick up five people by Saturday, " said Myraconfidently. "And oh, I do hope we're in form; we haven't played foryears. "

. . . . . . . 

We lost the toss, and Myra led her team out on to the field. Thelast five places in the eleven had been filled with care: apreparatory school-boy and his little sister (found by Dahlia on thebeach), Miss Debenham (found by Simpson on the road with a puncturedbicycle), Mrs Oakley (found by Archie at the station andre-discovered by Myra in the Channel), and Sarah, a jolly girl ofsixteen (found by me and Thomas in the tobacconist's, where she wasbuying The Sportsman). 

"Where would you all like to field?" asked the captain. 

"Let's stand round in groups, just at the start, and then see wherewe're wanted. Who's going to bowl?"

"Me and Samuel. I wonder if I dare bowl over-hand. "

"I'm going to, " said Simpson. 

"You can't, not with your left hand. "

"Why not? Hirst does. "

"Then I shan't field point, " said Thomas with decision. 

However, as it happened, it was short leg who received the first twoballs, beautiful swerving wides, while the next two were well caughtand returned by third man. Simpson's range being thus established, he made a determined attack on the over proper with lobs, andmanaged to wipe off half of it. Encouraged by this, he returned withsuch success to overhand that the very next ball got into theanalysis, the batsman reaching out and hitting it over the hedge forsix. Two more range-finders followed before Simpson scored anotherdot with a sneak; and then, at what should have been the last ball, a tragedy occurred. 

"Wide, " said the umpire. 

"But--but I was b-bowling UNDERHAND, " stammered Simpson. 

"Now you've nothing to fall back on, " I pointed out. 

Simpson considered the new situation. "Then you fellows can't mindif I go on with overhand, " he said joyfully, and he played histwelfth. 

It was the batsman's own fault. Like a true gentleman he went afterthe ball, caught it up near point, and hit it hard in the directionof cover. Sarah shot up a hand unconcernedly. 

"One for six, " said Simpson, and went over to Miss Debenham toexplain how he did it. 

"He must come off, " said Archie. "We have a reputation to keep up. It's his left hand, of course, but we can't go round to all thespectators and explain that he can really bowl quite decent longhops with his right. "

In the next over nothing much happened, except that Miss Debenhammissed a sitter. Subsequently Simpson caught her eye from anotherpart of the field, and explained telegraphically to her how sheshould have drawn her hands in to receive the ball. The third overwas entrusted to Sarah. 

"So far, " said Dahlia, half an hour later, "the Rabbits have notshone. Sarah is doing it all. "

"Hang it, Dahlia, Thomas and I discovered the child. Give the creditwhere it is due. "

"Well, why don't you put my Bobby on, then? Boys are allowed to playright-handed, you know. "

So Bobby went on, and with Sarah's help finished off the innings. 

"Jolly good rot, " he said to Simpson, "you're having to bowlleft-handed. "

"My dear Robert, " I said, "Mr Simpson is a natural base-ballpitcher, he has an acquired swerve at bandy, and he is alepidopterist of considerable charm. But he can't bowl with eitherhand. "

"Coo!" said Bobby. 

The allies came out even more strongly when we went in to bat. I wasthe only Rabbit who made ten, and my whole innings was played in anatmosphere of suspicion very trying to a sensitive man. Mrs Oakleywas in when I took guard, and I played out the over with great care, being morally bowled by every ball. At the end of it a horriblethought occurred to me: I had been batting right-handed! Naturally Ichanged round for my next ball. (Movements of surprise. )

"Hallo, " said the wicket-keeper, "I thought you were left-handed;why aren't you playing right?"

"No, I'm really right-handed, " I said. "I played that way by mistakejust now. Sorry. "

He grunted sceptically, and the bowler came up to have thingsexplained to her. The next ball I hit left-handed for six. (LOUDMUTTERS. )

"Is he really right-handed?" the bowler asked Mrs Oakley. 

"I don't know, " she said, "I've never seen him before. " (SENSATION. )

"I think, if you don't mind, we'd rather you played right-handed. "

"Certainly. " The next ball was a full pitch, and I took aright-handed six. There was an awful hush. I looked round at thefield and prepared to run for it. I felt that they suspected me ofall the undiscovered crimes of the year. 

"Look here, " I said, nearly crying, "I'll play any way youlike--sideways, or upside down, or hanging on to the branch of atree, or--"

The atmosphere was too much for me. I trod on my wickets, burst intotears, and bolted to the tent. 

. . . . . . . 

"Well, " said Dahlia, "we won. "

"Yes, " we all agreed, "we won. "

"Even if we didn't do much of it ourselves, " Simpson pointed out, "we had jolly good fun. "

"We always have THAT, " said Myra. 

THE HOUSE-WARMING

I. --WORK FOR ALL

"Well, " said Dahlia, "what do you think of it?"

I knocked the ashes out of my after-breakfast pipe, arranged thecushions of my deck-chair, and let my eyes wander lazily over thehouse and its surroundings. After a year of hotels and otherpeople's houses, Dahlia and Archie had come into their own. 

"I've no complaints, " I said happily. 

A vision of white and gold appeared in the doorway and glided overthe lawn toward us--Myra with a jug. 

"None at all, " said Simpson, sitting up eagerly. 

"But Thomas isn't quite satisfied with one of the bathrooms, I'mafraid. I heard him saying something in the passage about it thismorning when I was inside. "

"I asked if you'd gone to sleep in the bath, " explained Thomas. 

"I hadn't. It is practically impossible, Thomas, to go to sleep in acold bath. "

"Except, perhaps, for a Civil Servant, " said Blair. 

"Exactly. Of the practice in the Admiralty Thomas can tell us lateron. For myself I was at the window looking at the beautiful view. "

"Why can't you look at it from your own window instead of keepingpeople out of the bathroom?" grunted Thomas. 

"Because the view from my room is an entirely different one. "

"There is no stint in this house, " Dahlia pointed out. 

"No, " said Simpson, jumping up excitedly. 

Myra put the jug of cider down in front of us. 

"There!" she said. "Please count it, and see that I haven't drunkany on the way. "

"This is awfully nice of you, Myra. And a complete surprise to allof us except Simpson. We shall probably be here again to-morrowabout the same time. "

There was a long silence, broken only by the extremely jolly soundof liquid falling from a height. 

Just as it was coming to an end Archie appeared suddenly among usand dropped on the grass by the side of Dahlia. Simpson lookedguiltily at the empty jug, and then leant down to his host. 

"TO-MORROW!" he said in a stage whisper. "ABOUT THE SAME TIME. "

"I doubt it, " said Archie. 

"I know it for a fact, " protested Simpson. 

"I'm afraid Myra and Samuel made an assignation for this morning, "said Dahlia. 

"There's nothing in it, really, " said Myra. "He's only trifling withme. He doesn't mean anything. "

Simpson buried his confused head in his glass, and proceeded tochange the subject. 

"We all like your house, Archie, " he said. 

"We do, " I agreed, "and we think it's very nice of you to ask usdown to open it. "

"It is rather, " said Archie. 

"We are determined, therefore, to do all we can to give the house ahomey appearance. I did what I could for the bathroom this morning. I flatter myself that the taint of newness has now been dispelled. "

"I was sure it was you, " said Myra. "How do you get the water rightup the walls?"

"Easily. Further, Archie, if you want any suggestions as to how toimprove the place, our ideas are at your disposal. "

"For instance, " said Thomas, "where do we play cricket?"

"By the way, you fellows, " announced Simpson, "I've given up playingcricket. "

We all looked at him in consternation. 

"Do you mean you've given up BOWLING?" said Dahlia, with wide-openeyes. 

"Aren't you ever going to walk to the wickets again?" asked Blair. 

"Aren't you ever going to walk back to the pavilion again?" askedArchie. 

"What will Montgomeryshire say?" wondered Myra in tones of awe. 

"May I have your belt and your sand-shoes?" I begged. 

"It's the cider, " said Thomas. "I knew he was overdoing it. "

Simpson fixed his glasses firmly on his nose and looked round at usbenignly. 

"I've given it up for golf, " he observed. 

"Traitor, " said everyone. 

"And the Triangular Tournament arranged for, and everything, " addedMyra. 

"You could make a jolly little course round here, " went on theinfatuated victim. "If you like, Archie, I'll--"

Archie stood up and made a speech. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, " he said, "at 11. 30 to-morrow precisely Iinvite you to the paddock beyond the kitchen-garden. "

"Myra and I have an appointment, " put in Simpson hastily. 

"A net will be erected, " Archie went on, ignoring him, "and MrSimpson will take his stand therein, while we all bowl at him--or, if any prefer it, at the wicket--for five minutes. He will then bowlat us for an hour, after which he will have another hour's smartfielding practice. If he is still alive and still talks about golf, why then, I won't say but what he mightn't be allowed to plan out alittle course--or, at any rate, to do a little preliminary weeding. "

"Good man, " said Simpson. 

"And if anybody else thinks he has given up cricket for ludo orcroquet or oranges and lemons, then he can devote himself toplanning out a little course for that too--or anyhow to removing afew plantains in preparation for it. In fact, ladies and gentlemen, all I want is for you to make yourselves as happy and as useful asyou can. "

"It's what you're here for, " said Dahlia. 

II. --A GALA PERFORMANCE

THE sun came into my room early next morning and woke me up. It wasfollowed immediately by a large blue-bottle which settled down toplay with me. We adopted the usual formation, the blue-bottlekeeping mostly to the back of the court whilst I waited at the netfor a kill. After two sets I decided to change my tactics. I lookedup at the ceiling and pretended I wasn't playing. The blue-bottlesettled on my nose and walked up my forehead. "Heavens!" I cried, clasping my hand suddenly to my brow, "I've forgotten mytoothbrush!" This took it completely by surprise, and I removed itscorpse into the candlestick. 

Then Simpson came in with a golf club in his hand. 

"Great Scott, " he shouted, "you're not still in bed?"

"I am not. This is telepathic suggestion. You think I'm in bed; Iappear to be in bed; in reality there is no bed here. Do go away--Ihaven't had a wink of sleep yet. "

"But, man, look at the lovely morning!"

"Simpson, " I said sternly, rolling up the sleeves of my pyjamas withgreat deliberation, "I have had one visitor already to-day. Hiscorpse is now in the candlestick. It is an omen, Simpson. "

"I thought you'd like to come outside with me, and I'd show you myswing. "

"Yes, yes, I shall like to see that, but AFTER breakfast, Simpson. Isuppose one of the gardeners put it up for you? You must show meyour box of soldiers and your tricycle horse, too. But run away now, there's a good boy. "

"My golf-swing, idiot. "

I sat up in bed and stared at him in sheer amazement. For a longtime words wouldn't come to me. Simpson backed nervously to thedoor. 

"I saw the Coronation, " I said at last, and I dropped back on mypillow and went to sleep. 

. . . . . . 

"I feel very important, " said Archie, coming on to the lawn whereMyra and I were playing a quiet game of bowls with the croquetballs. "I've been paying the wages. "

"Archie and I do hate it so, " said Dahlia. "I'm luckier, because Ionly pay mine once a month. "

"It would be much nicer if they did it for love, " said Archie, "andjust accepted a tie-pin occasionally. I never know what to say whenI hand a man eighteen-and-six. "

"Here's eighteen-and-six, " I suggested, "and don't bite thehalf-sovereign, because it may be bad. "

"You should shake his hand, " said Myra, "and say, 'Thank you verymuch for the azaleas. '"

"Or you might wrap the money up in paper and leave it for him in oneof the beds. "

"And then you'd know whether he had made it properly. "

"Well, you're all very helpful, " said Archie. "Thank you extremely. Where are the others? It's a pity that they should be left out ofthis. "

"Simpson disappeared after breakfast with his golf-clubs. He is inhigh dudgeon--which is the surname of a small fish--because no onewanted to see his swing. "

"Oh, but I do, " said Dahlia eagerly. "Where is he?"

"We will track him down, " announced Archie. "I will go to thestables, unchain the truffle-hounds, and show them one of hisreversible cuffs. "

We found Simpson in the pig-sty. The third hole, as he was planningit out for Archie, necessitated the carrying of the farm buildings, which he described as a natural hazard. Unfortunately, his ball hadfallen into a casual pig-sty. It had not yet been decided whetherthe ball could be picked out without penalty--the more immediateneed being to find the blessed thing. So Simpson was in the pig-sty, searching. 

"If you're looking for the old sow, " I said, "there she is, justbehind you. "

"What's the local rule about loose pigs blown on to the course?"asked Archie. 

"Oh, you fellows, there you are, " said Simpson rapidly. "I'm gettingon first-rate. This is the third hole, Archie. It will be rathergood, I think; the green is just the other side of the pond. I canmake a very sporting little course. "

"We've come to see your swing, Samuel, " said Myra. "Can you do it inthere, or is it too crowded?"

"I'll come out. This ball's lost, I'm afraid. "

"One of the little pigs will eat it, " complained Archie, "and weshall have indiarubber crackling. "

Simpson came out and proceeded to give his display. Fortunately theweather kept fine, the conditions indeed being all that could bedesired. The sun shone brightly, and there was a slight breeze fromthe south which tempered the heat and in no way militated againstthe general enjoyment. The performance was divided into two parts. The first part consisted of Mr Simpson's swing WITHOUT the ball, thesecond part being devoted to Mr Simpson's swing WITH the ball. 

"This is my swing, " said Simpson. 

He settled himself ostentatiously into his stance and placed hisclub-head stiffly on the ground three feet away from him. 

"Middle, " said Archie. 

Simpson frowned and began to waggle his club. He waggled itcarefully a dozen times. 

"It's a very nice swing, " said Myra at the end of the ninthmovement, "but isn't it rather short?"

Simpson said nothing, but drew his club slowly and jerkily back, twisting his body and keeping his eye fixed on an imaginary balluntil the back of his neck hid it from sight. 

"You can see it better round this side now, " suggested Archie. 

"He'll split if he goes on, " said Thomas anxiously. 

"Watch this, " I warned Myra. "He's going to pick a pin out of theback of his calf with his teeth. "

Then Simpson let himself go, finishing up in a very creditable knotindeed. 

"That's quite good, " said Dahlia. "Does it do as well when there's aball?"

"Well, I miss it sometimes, of course. "

"We all do that, " said Thomas. 

Thus encouraged, Simpson put down a ball and began to address it. Itwas apparent at once that the last address had been only histelegraphic one; this was the genuine affair. After what seemed tobe four or five minutes there was a general feeling that someapology was necessary. Simpson recognized this himself. 

"I'm a little nervous, " he said. 

"Not so nervous as the pigs are, " said Archie. 

Simpson finished his address and got on to his swing. He swung. Hehit the ball. The ball, which seemed to have too much left-hand sideon it, whizzed off and disappeared into the pond. It sank.... 

Luckily the weather had held up till the last. 

"Well, well, " said Archie, "it's time for lunch. We have had ariotous morning. Let's all take it easy this afternoon. "

III. --UNEXPECTED GUESTS

Sometimes I do a little work in the morning. Doctors are agreed nowthat an occasional spell of work in the morning doesn't do me anyharm. My announcement at breakfast that this was one of the morningswas greeted with a surprised enthusiasm which was most flattering. Archie offered me his own room where he does his thinking; Simpsonoffered me a nib; and Dahlia promised me a quiet time till lunch. Ithanked them all and settled down to work. 

But Dahlia didn't keep her promise. My first hour was peaceful, butafter that I had inquiries by every post. Blair looked in to knowwhere Myra was; Archie asked if I'd seen Dahlia anywhere; and whenfinally Thomas's head appeared in the doorway I decided that I hadhad enough of it. 

"Oh, I say, " began Thomas, "will you come and--but I suppose you'rebusy. "

"Not too busy, " I said, "to spare a word or two for an old friend, "and I picked up the dictionary to throw at him. But he was gonebefore I could take aim. 

"This is the end, " I said to myself, and after five minutes moredecided to give up work and seek refreshment and congenialconversation. To my surprise I found neither. Every room seemed tobe empty, the tennis lawn was deserted, and Archie's cricket-bag andSimpson's golf-clubs rested peacefully in the hall. Something wasgoing on. I went back to my work and decided to have the secret outat lunch. 

"Now then, " I said, when that blessed hour arrived, "tell me aboutit. You've deserted me all morning, but I'm not going to be leftout. "

"It's your fault for shutting yourself up. "

"Duty, " I said, slapping my chest--"duty, " and I knocked my glassover with an elbow. "Oh, Dahlia, I'm horribly sorry. May I go andstand in the corner?"

"Let's talk very fast and pretend we didn't notice it, " said Myra, helping me to mop. "Go on, Archie. "

"Well, it's like this, " said Archie. "A little while ago the Vicarcalled here. "

"I don't see that that's any reason for keeping me in thebackground. I have met clergymen before and I know what to say tothem. "

"When I say a little while ago I mean about three weeks. We'd haveasked you down for the night if we'd known you were so keen onclergymen. Well, as the result of that unfortunate visit, the schooltreat takes place here this afternoon, and lorblessme if I hadn'tforgotten all about it till this morning. "

"You'll have to help, please, " said Dahlia. 

"Only don't spill anything, " said Thomas. 

They have a poor sense of humour in the Admiralty. 

. . . . . . . 

I took a baby in each hand and wandered off to look for bees. Theiridea, not mine. 

"The best bees are round here, " I said, and I led them along to thefront of the house. On the lawn was Myra, surrounded by about eightbabies. 

"Two more for your collection, " I announced. "Very fine specimens. The word with them is bees. "

"Aren't they darlings? Sit down, babies, and the pretty gentlemanwill tell us all a story. "

"Meaning me?" I asked in surprise. Myra looked beseechingly at me asshe arranged the children all round her. I sat down near them andtried to think. 

"Once upon a time, " I said, "there was a--a--there was a--was a--abee. "

Myra nodded approvingly. She seemed to like the story so far. Ididn't. The great dearth of adventures that could happen to a beewas revealed to me in a flash. I saw that I had been hasty. 

"At least, " I went on, "he thought he was a bee, but as he grew uphis friends felt that he was not really a bee at all, but a dearlittle rabbit. His fur was too long for a bee. "

Myra shook her head at me and frowned. My story was gettingover-subtle for the infant mind. I determined to straighten it outfinally. 

"However, " I added, "the old name stuck to him, and they all calledhim a bee. Now then I can get on. Where was I?"

But at this moment my story was interrupted. 

"Come here, " shouted Archie from the distance. "You're wanted. "

"I'm sorry, " I said, getting up quickly. "Will you finish the storyfor me? You'd better leave out the part where he stings the Shah ofPersia. That's too exciting. Good-bye. " And I hurried after Archie. 

"Help Simpson with some of these races, " said Archie. "He's gettinghimself into the dickens of a mess. "

Simpson had started two races simultaneously; hence the trouble. Inone of them the bigger boys had to race to a sack containing theirboots, rescue their own pair, put them on, and race back to thestarting-point. Good! In the other the smaller boys, each armed witha paper containing a problem in arithmetic, had to run to theirsisters, wait for the problem to be solved, and then run back withthe answer. Excellent! Simpson at his most inventive. Unfortunately, when the bootless boys arrived at the turning post, they foundnothing but a small problem in arithmetic awaiting them, while onthe adjoining stretch of grass young mathematicians were trying, with the help of their sisters, to get into two pairs of boots atonce. 

"Hallo, there you are, " said Simpson. "Do help me; I shall be mobbedin a moment. It's the mothers. They think the whole thing is ascheme for stealing their children's boots. Can't you start a racefor them?"

"You never ought to go about without somebody. Where's Thomas?"

"He's playing rounders. He scored a rounder by himself just now froman overthrow, but we shall hear about it at dinner. Look here, there's a game called 'Twos and Threes. ' Couldn't you start themothers at that? You stand in twos, and whenever anyone stands infront of the two then the person behind the two runs away. "

"Are you sure?"

"What do you mean?" said Simpson. 

"It sounds too exciting to be true. I can't believe it. "

"Go on, there's a good chap. They'll know how to play all right. "

"Oh, very well. Do they take their boots off first or not?"

Twos and Threes was a great success. 

I found that I had quite a FLAIR for the game. I seemed to take toit naturally. 

By the time our match was finished Simpson's little footwear troublewas over and he was organizing a grand three-legged race. 

"I think they are all enjoying it, " said Dahlia. 

"They love it, " I said; "Thomas is perfectly happy making rounders. "

"But I meant the children. Don't you think they love it too? Thebabies seem so happy with Myra. I suppose she's telling themstories. "

"I think so. She's got rather a good one about a bee. Oh, yes, they're happy enough with her. "

"I hope they all had enough to eat at tea. "

"Allowing for a little natural shyness I think they did well. And Ididn't spill anything. Altogether it has been rather a success. "

Dahlia stood looking down at the children, young and old, playing inthe field beneath her, and gave a sigh of happiness. 

"Now, " she said, "I feel the house is REALLY warm. "

IV. --A WORD IN SEASON

"Archie, " said Blair, "what's that big empty room above thebilliard-room for?"

"That, " said Archie, "is where we hide the corpses of our guests. Isleep with the key under my pillow. "

"This is rather sudden, " I said. "I'm not at all sure that I shouldhave come if I had known that. "

"Don't frighten them, dear; tell them the truth. "

"Well, the truth is, " said Archie, "that there was some idea of alittle play-acting there occasionally. Hence the curtain-rod, theemergency exit and other devices. "

"Then why haven't we done any? We came down here to open your housefor you, and then you go and lock up the most important room of all, and sleep with the key under your pillow. "

"It's too hot. But we'll do a little charade to-night if youlike--just to air the place. "

"Hooray, " said Myra, "I know a lovely word. "

Myra's little word was in two syllables and required threeperformers. Archie and I were kindly included in her company. Simpson threatened to follow with something immense and archaic, andThomas also had something rather good up his sleeve, but I am notgoing to bother you with these. One word will be enough for you. 

FIRST SCENE

"Oh, good-morning, " said Myra. She had added a hat and a sunshade toher evening-frock, and was supported by me in a gentleman'slounge-coat and boater for Henley wear. 

"Good-morning, mum, " said Archie, hitching up his apron andspreading his hands on the table in front of him. 

"I just want this ribbon matched, please. "

"Certainly, mum. Won't your little boy--I beg pardon, the oldgentleman, take a seat too? What colour did you want the ribbon, mum?"

"The same colour as this, " I said. "Idiot. "

"Your grandfather is in a bit of a draught, I'm afraid, mum. Italways stimulates the flow of language. My grandfather was just thesame. I'm afraid, mum, we haven't any ribbon as you might say theSAME colour as this. "

"If it's very near it will do. "

"Now what colour would you call that?" wondered Archie, with hishead on one side. "Kind of puce-like, I should put it at. Puce-magenta, as we say in the trade. No; we're right out of puce-magenta. "

"Show the lady what you have got, " I said sternly. 

"Well, mum, I'm right out of ribbon, altogether. The fact is I'mmore of an ironmonger really. The draper's is just the other side ofthe road. You wouldn't like a garden-roller now? I can do you a nicegarden-roller for two pound five, and that's simply giving it away. "

"Oh, shall we have a nice roller?" said Myra eagerly. 

"I'm not going to carry it home, " I said. 

"That's all right, sir. My little lad will take it up on hisbicycle. Two pounds five, mum, and sixpence for the mouse-trap thegentleman's been sitting on. Say three pounds. "

Myra took out her purse. 

SECOND SCENE

We were back in our ordinary clothes. 

"I wonder if they guessed that, " said Archie. 

"It was very easy, " said Myra. "I should have thought they'd haveseen it at once. "

"But of course they're not a very clever lot, " I explained. "Thatfellow with the spectacles--"

"Simpson his name is, " said Archie. "I know him well. He's aprofessional golfer. "

"Well, he LOOKS learned enough. I expect he knows all right. But theothers--"

"Do you think they knew that we were supposed to be in a shop?"

"Surely! Why, I should think even--What's that man's name overthere? No; that one next to the pretty lady--ah, yes, Thomas. Isthat Thomas, the wonderful cueist, by the way? Really! Well, Ishould think even Thomas guessed that much. "

"Why not do it over again to make sure?"

"Oh no, it was perfectly obvious. Let's get on to the final scene. "

"I'm afraid that will give it away rather, " said Myra. 

"I'm afraid so, " agreed Archie. 

THIRD SCENE

We sat on camp-stools and looked up at the ceiling with our mouthsopen. 

"'E's late, " said Archie. 

"I don't believe 'e's coming, and I don't mind 'oo 'ears me sye so, "said Myra. "So there!"

"'Ot work, " I said, wiping my brow. 

"Nar, not up there. Not 'ot. Nice and breezy like. "

"But 'e's nearer the sun than wot we are, ain't 'e?"

"Ah, but 'e's not 'ot. Not up there. "

"'Ere, there 'e is, " cried Myra, jumping up excitedly. "Over there. 'Ow naow, it's a bird. I declare I quite thought it was 'im. Sillyof me. "

There was silence for a little, and then Archie took a sandwich outof his pocket. 

"Wunner wot they'll invent next, " he said, and munched stolidly. 

. . . . . . . 

"Well done, " said Dahlia. 

"Thomas and I have been trying to guess, " said Simpson, "but thestrain is terrific. My first idea was 'codfish, ' but I supposethat's wrong. It's either 'silkworm' or 'wardrobe. ' Thomas suggests'mangel-wurzel. ' He says he never saw anybody who had so much thewhole air of a wurzel as Archie. The indefinable elan of the wurzelwas there. "

"Can't you really guess?" said Myra eagerly. 

"I don't know whether I want you to or not. Oh no, I don't want youto. "

"Then I withdraw 'mangel-wurzel, '" said Simpson gallantly. 

"I think I can guess, " said Blair. "It's--"

"Whisper it, " said Simpson. "I'm never going to know. "

Blair whispered it. 

"Yes, " said Myra disappointedly, "that's it. "

V. --UNINVITED GUESTS

"Nine, " said Archie, separating his latest victim from the marmaladespoon and dropping it into the hot water. "This is going to be asanguinary day. With a pretty late cut into the peach jelly Mr A. Mannering reached double figures. Ten. Battles are being won whileThomas still sleeps. Any advance on ten?"

"Does that include MY wasp?" asked Myra. 

"There are only ten here, " said Archie, looking into the basin, "andthey're all mine. I remember them perfectly. What was yours like?"

"Well, I didn't exactly kill him. I smacked him with a teaspoon andasked him to go away. And he went on to your marmalade, so I expectyou thought he was yours. But it was really mine, and I don't thinkit's very sporting of you to kill another person's wasp. "

"Have one of mine, " I said, pushing my plate across. "HaveBernard--he's sitting on the green-gage. "

"I don't really want to kill anything. I killed a rabbit once and Iwished I hadn't. "

"I nearly killed a rabbit once, and I wished I had. "

"Great sportsmen at a glance, " said Archie. "Tell us about it beforeit goes into your reminiscences. "

"It was a fierce affair while it lasted. The rabbit was sitting downand I was standing up, so that I rather had the advantage of him atthe start. I waited till he seemed to be asleep and then fired. "

"And missed him?"

"Y-yes. He heard the report, though. I mean, you mustn't think heignored me altogether. I moved him. He got up and went away allright. "

"A very lucky escape for you, " said Archie. "I once knew a man whowas gored to death by an angry rabbit. " He slashed in the air withhis napkin. "Fifteen. Dahlia, let's have breakfast indoorsto-morrow. This is very jolly but it's just as hot, and it doesn'tget Thomas up any earlier, as we hoped. "

All that day we grilled in the heat. Myra and I started a game ofcroquet in the morning, but after one shot each we agreed to abandonit as a draw--slightly in my favour, because I had given her thechipped mallet. And in the afternoon, Thomas and Simpson made agreat effort to get up enthusiasm for lawn-tennis. Each of themreturned the other's service into the net until the score stood ateight all, at which point they suddenly realized that nothing butthe violent death of one of the competitors would ever end thematch. They went on to ten all to make sure, and then retired to thelemonade and wasp jug, Simpson missing a couple of dead bodies byinches only. And after dinner it was hotter than ever. 

"The heat in my room, " announced Archie, "breaks all records. Thethermometer says a hundred and fifty, the barometer says very dry, we've had twenty-five hours' sunshine, and there's not a drop ofrain recorded in the soap-dish. Are we going to take this lyingdown?"

"No, " said Thomas, "let's sleep out to-night. "

"What do you say, Dahlia?"

"It's a good idea. You can all sleep on the croquet lawn, and Myraand I will take the tennis lawn. "

"Hadn't you better have the croquet lawn? Thomas walks in his sleep, and we don't want to have him going through hoops all night. "

"You'll have to bring down your own mattresses, " went on Dahlia, "and you've not got to walk about the garden in the early morning, at least not until Myra and I are up, and if you're going to fallover croquet hoops you mustn't make a noise. That's all the rules, Ithink. "

"I'm glad we've got the tennis lawn, " said Myra; "it's muchsmoother. Do you prefer the right-hand court, dear, or theleft-hand?"

"We shall be very close to Nature to-night, " said Archie. "Now weshall know whether it really is the nightjar, or Simpson gargling. "

We were very close to Nature that night, but in the early morningstill closer. I was awakened by the noise of Simpson talking, as Ihoped, in his sleep. However, it appeared that he was awake andquite conscious of the things he was saying. 

"I can't help it, " he explained to Archie, who had given expressionto the general opinion about it; "these bally wasps are all overme. "

"It's your own fault, " said Archie. "Why do you egg them on? I don'thave wasps all over ME. "

"Conf--There! I've been stung. "

"You've been what?"

"Stung. "

"Stung. Where?"

"In the neck. "

"In the neck?" Archie turned over to me. "Simpson, " he said, "hasbeen stung in the neck. Tell Thomas. "

I woke up Thomas. "Simpson, " I said, "has been stung in the neck. "

"Good, " said Thomas, and went to sleep again. 

"We've told Thomas, " said Archie. "Now, are you satisfied?"

"Get away, you brute, " shouted Simpson, suddenly, and dived underthe sheet. 

Archie and I lay back and shouted with laughter. 

"It's really very silly of him, " said Archie, "because--goaway--because everybody knows that--get away, you ass--that waspsaren't dangerous unless--confound you--unless--I say, isn't it timewe got up?"

I came up from under my sheet and looked at my watch. "Four-thirty, "I said, dodged a wasp, and went back again. 

"We must wait till five-thirty, " said Archie. "Simpson was quiteright; he WAS stung, after all. I'll tell him so. "

He leant out of bed to tell him so, and then thought better of itand retired beneath the sheets. 

At five-thirty a gallant little party made its way to the house, itsmattresses over its shoulders. 

"Gently, " said Archie, as we came in sight of the tennis lawn. 

We went very gently. There were only wasps on the tennis lawn, butone does not want to disturb the little fellows. 

VI. --A FINAL ARRANGEMENT

"Seeing that this is our last day together, " began Archie--

"Oh, DON'T, " said Myra. "I can't bear it. "

"Seeing that this is our first day together, we might have a littletournament of some kind, followed by a small distribution of prizes. What do you think, Dahlia?"

"Well, I daresay I can find something. "

"Any old thing that we don't want will do; nothing showy orexpensive. Victory is its own reward. "

"Yes, but if there IS a pot of home-made marmalade going with it, " Isaid, "so much the better. "

"Dahlia, earmark the marmalade for this gentleman. Now, what's itgoing to be? Golf, Simpson?"

"Why, of course, " said Myra. "Hasn't he been getting it ready fordays?"

"That will give him an unfair advantage, " I pointed out. "He knowsevery single brick on the greens. "

"Oh, I say, there aren't any greens yet, " protested Simpson. "That'll take a year or two. But I've marked out white circles andyou have to get inside them. "

"I saw him doing that, " said Archie. "I was afraid he expected us toplay prisoners' base with him. "

The game fixed upon, we proceeded to draw for partners. 

"You'll have to play with me, Archie, " said Dahlia, "because I'm nogood at all. "

"I shall have to play with Myra, " I said, "because I'm no good atall. "

"Oh, I'm very good, " said Myra. 

"That looks as though I should have to play with--" "Simpson, ""Thomas, " said Thomas and Simpson together. 

"You're all giving me a lot of trouble, " said Archie, putting hispencil back in his pocket. "I've just written your names out neatlyon little bits of paper, and now they're all wasted. You'll have tostick them on yourselves so that the spectators will know who youare as you whizz past. " He handed his bits of paper round and wentin for his clubs. 

It was a stroke competition, and each couple went round by itself. Myra and I started last. 

"Now we've got to win this, " she said, "because we shan't playtogether again for a long time. "

"That's a nice cheery thing to say to a person just when he'sdriving. Now I shall have to address the ball all over again. "

"Oh, NO!"

I addressed and despatched the ball. It struck a wall about eightyyards away and dropped. When we got there we found to our disgustthat it was nestling at the very foot. Myra looked at it doubtfully. 

"Can't you make it climb the wall?" I asked. 

"We shall have to go back, I'm afraid. We can pretend we left ourpocket-handkerchiefs behind. "

She chipped it back about twenty yards, and I sent it on again abouta hundred. Unfortunately it landed in a rut. However Myra got it outwith great resource, and I was lucky enough with my next to place itinside the magic circle. 

"Five, " I said. "You know, I don't think you're helping me much. Allyou did that hole was to go twenty-one yards in the wrongdirection. "

Myra smiled cheerfully at me and did the next hole in one. "Wellplayed, partner, " she said, as he put her club back in its bag. 

"Oh, at the short holes I don't deny that you're useful. Where do wego now?"

"Over the barn. This is the long hole. "

I got in an excellent drive, but unfortunately it didn't aviatequick enough. While the intrepid spectators were still holding theirbreath, there was an ominous crash. 

"Did you say IN the barn or OVER the barn?" I asked, as we hurriedon to find the damage. 

"We do play an exciting game, don't we?" said Myra. 

We got into the barn and found the ball and a little glass on thefloor. 

"What a very small hole it made, " said Myra, pointing to the brokenpane. "What shall I do?"

"You'll have to go back through the hole. It's an awkward littleshot. "

"I don't think I could. "

"No, it IS rather a difficult stroke. You want to stand well behindthe ball, and--however, there may be a local rule about it. "

"I don't think there is or I should have heard it. Samuel's beentelling me EVERYTHING lately. "

"Then there's only one thing for it. " I pointed to the window at theother end of the barn. "Go straight on. "

Myra gave a little gurgle of delight. 

"But we shall have to save up our pocket-money, " she said. 

Her ball hit the wood in between two panes and bounded back. My nextshot was just above the glass. Myra took a niblick and got the ballback into the middle of the floor. 

"It's simply sickening that we can't break a window when we'rereally trying to. I should have thought that anyone could havebroken a window. Now then. "

"Oh, good SHOT!" cried Myra above the crash. We hurried out and didthe hole in nine. 

At lunch, having completed eighteen holes out of the thirty-six, wewere seven strokes behind the leaders, Simpson and Thomas. Simpson, according to Thomas, had been playing like a book. Golf FaultsAnalysed--that book, I should think. 

"But I expect he'll go to pieces in the afternoon, " said Thomas. Heturned to a servant and added, "Mr Simpson won't have anythingmore. "

We started our second round brilliantly; continued (after an unusualincident on the fifth tee) brilliantly; and ended up brilliantly. Atthe last tee we had played a hundred and thirty-seven. Myra got in abeautiful drive to within fifty yards of the circle. 

"How many?" said the others, coming up excitedly. 

"This is terrible, " said Myra, putting her hand to her heart. "Ahundred and--shall I tell them?--a--a--Oh, dear--a--hundredandthirtyeight. "

"Golly, " said Thomas, "you've got one for it. We did a hundred andforty. "

"We did a hundred and forty-two, " said Archie. "Close play at theOval. "

"Oh, " said Myra to me, "DO be careful. Oh, but no, " she went onquickly, "I don't mind a bit really if we lose. It's only a game. Besides, we--"

"You forget the little pot of home-made marmalade, " I saidreproachfully. "Dahlia, what ARE the prizes? Because it's justpossible that Myra might like the second one better than the first. In that case I should miss this. "

"Go on, " whispered Myra. 

I went on. There was a moment's silence--and then a deep sigh fromMyra. 

"How about it?" I said calmly. 

Loud applause. 

"Well, " said Dahlia, "you and Myra make a very good couple. Isuppose I must find a prize for you. "

"It doesn't really matter, " said Myra breathlessly, "because on thefifth tee we--we arranged about the prizes. "

"We arranged to give each other one, " I said, smiling at Dahlia. 

Dahlia looked very hard at us. 

"You DON'T mean--?"

Myra laughed happily. 

"Oh, " she said, "but that's just what we do. "

AT PLAY

TEN AND EIGHT

The only event of importance last week was my victory over Henry byten and eight. If you don't want to hear about that, then I shallhave to pass on to you a few facts about his motor bicycle. You'drather have the other? I thought so. 

The difference between Henry and me is that he is what I should calla good golfer, and I am what everybody else calls a bad golfer. Inconsequence of this he insults me with offers of bisques. 

"I'll have ten this time, " I said, as we walked to the tee. 

"Better have twelve. I beat you with eleven yesterday. "

"Thank you, " I said haughtily, "I will have ten. " It is true that hebeat me last time, but then owing to bad management on my part I hadnine bisques left at the moment of defeat simply eating their headsoff. 

Henry teed up and drove a "Pink Spot" out of sight. Henry swears bythe "Pink Spot" if there is anything of a wind. I use either a "QuoVadis, " which is splendid for going out of bounds, or an "Ostrich, "which has a wonderful way of burying itself in the sand. I followedhim to the green at my leisure. 

"Five, " said Henry. 

"Seven, " said I; "and if I take three bisques it's my hole. "

"You must only take one at a time, " protested Henry. 

"Why? There's nothing in Wisden or Baedeker about it. Besides, Iwill only take one at a time if it makes it easier for you. I takeone and that brings me down to six, and then another one and thatbrings me down to five, and then another one and that brings me downto four. There! And as you did the hole in five, I win. "

"Well, of course, if you like to waste them all at the start--"

"I'm not wasting them, I'm creating a moral effect. Behold, I havewon the first hole; let us be photographed together. "

Henry went to the next tee slightly ruffled and topped his ball intothe road. I had kept mine well this side of it and won in four tofive. 

"I shan't take any bisques here, " I said. "Two up. "

At the third tee my "Quo Vadis" darted off suddenly to the left andtried to climb the hill. I headed it off and gave it a nasty dentfrom behind when it wasn't looking, and with my next shot started itrolling down the mountains with ever-increasing velocity. Not untilit was within a foot of the pin did it condescend to stop. Henry, who had reached the green with his drive and had taken one putt toomany, halved the hole in four. I took a bisque and was three up. 

The fourth hole was prettily played by both of us, and with twobisques I had it absolutely stiff. Unnerved by this Henry went allout at the fifth and tried to carry the stream in two. Unfortunately(I mean unfortunately for him) the stream was six inches too broadin the particular place at which he tried to carry it. My own viewis that he should either have chosen another place or else have gota narrower stream from somewhere. As it was I won in an uneventfulsix, and took with a bisque the short hole which followed. 

"Six up, " I pointed out to Henry, "and three bisques left. They'rejolly little things, bisques, but you want to use them quickly. Bisque dat qui cito dat. Doesn't the sea look ripping to-day?"

"Go on, " growled Henry. 

"I once did a two at this hole, " I said as I teed my ball. "If I dida two now and took a bisque, you'd have to do it in nothing in orderto win. A solemn thought. "

At this hole you have to drive over a chasm in the cliffs. My ballmade a bee line for the beach, bounced on a rock, and disappearedinto a cave. Henry's "Pink Spot, " which really seemed to have achance of winning a hole at last, found the wind too much for it andfollowed me below. 

"I'm in this cave, " I said when we had found Henry's ball; and witha lighted match in one hand and a niblick in the other I went in andtried to persuade the "Ostrich" to come out. My eighth argument wastoo much for it, and we re-appeared in the daylight together. 

"How many?" I asked Henry. 

"Six, " he said, as he hit the top of the cliff once more, and shotback on to the beach. 

I left him and chivied my ball round to where the cliffs are lowest;then I got it gradually on to a little mound of sand (very delicatework this), took a terrific swing and fairly heaved it on to thegrass. Two more strokes put me on to the green in twenty. I lit apipe and waited for Henry to finish his game of rackets. 

"I've played twenty-five, " he shouted. 

"Then you'll want some of my bisques, " I said. "I can lend you threetill Monday. "

Henry had one more rally and then picked his ball up. I had wonseven holes and I had three bisques with which to win the match. Iwas a little doubtful if I could do this, but Henry settled thequestion by misjudging yet again the breadth of the stream. What isexperience if it teaches us nothing? Henry must really try toenlarge his mind about rivers. 

"Dormy nine, " I said at the tenth tee, "and no bisques left. "

"Thank Heaven for that, " sighed Henry. 

"But I have only to halve one hole out of nine, " I pointed out. "Technically I am on what is known as velvet. "

"Oh, shut up and drive. "

I am a bad golfer, but even bad golfers do holes in bogey now andthen. In the ordinary way I was pretty certain to halve one of thenine holes with Henry, and so win the match. Both the eleventh andthe seventeenth, for instance, are favourites of mine. Had I halvedone of those, he would have admitted cheerfully that I had playedgood golf and beaten him fairly. But as things happened--

What happened, put quite briefly, was this. Bogey for the tenth isfour. I hooked my drive off the tee and down a little gully to theleft, put a good iron shot into a bunker on the right, and than randown a hundred-yard putt with a niblick for a three. One of thosedifficult down-hill putts. 

"Luck!" said Henry, as soon as he could speak. 

"I've been missing those lately, " I said. 

"Your match, " said Henry; "I can't play against luck like that. "

It was true that he had given me ten bisques, but, on the otherhand, I could have given him a dozen at the seventh and still havebeaten him. 

However, I was too magnanimous to point that out. All I said was, "Ten and eight. "

And then I added thoughtfully, "I don't think I've ever won by morethan that. "

PAT BALL

"You'll play tennis?" said my hostess absently. "That's right. Letme introduce you to Miss--er--urn. "

"Oh, we've met before, " smiled Miss--I've forgotten the name againnow. 

"Thank you, " I said gratefully. I thought it was extremely nice ofher to remember me. Probably I had spilt lemonade over her at adance, and in some way the incident had fixed itself in her mind. Wedo these little things, you know, and think nothing of them at themoment, but all the time--

"Smooth, " said a voice. 

I looked up and found that a pair of opponents had mysteriouslyappeared, and that my partner was leading the way on to the court. 

"I'll take the right-hand side, if you don't mind, " she announced. "Oh, and what about apologizing?" she went on. "Shall we do it afterevery stroke, or at the end of each game, or when we say good-bye, or never? I get so tired of saying 'sorry. '"

"Oh, but we shan't want to apologize; I'm sure we're going to get onbeautifully together. "

"I suppose you've played a lot this summer?"

"No, not at all yet, but I'm feeling rather strong, and I've got anew racket. One way and another, I expect to play a very powerfulgame. "

Our male opponent served. He had what I should call a nasty swiftservice. The first ball rose very suddenly and took my partner onthe side of the head. ("Sorry, " she apologized. "It's all right, " Isaid magnanimously. ) I returned the next into the net; the thirdclean bowled my partner; and off the last I was caught in the slips. (ONE, LOVE. )

"Will you serve?" said Miss--I wish I could remember her surname. Her Christian name was Hope or Charity or something like that; Iknow, when I heard it, I thought it was just as well. If I mightcall her Miss Hope for this once? Thank you. 

"Will you serve?" said Miss Hope. 

In the right-hand court I use the American service, which means thatI never know till the last moment which side of the racket is goingto hit the ball. On this occasion it was a dead heat--that is tosay, I got it in between with the wood; and the ball sailed awayover beds and beds of the most beautiful flowers. 

"Oh, is THAT the American service?" said Miss Hope, much interested. 

"South American, " I explained. "Down in Peru they never use anythingelse. "

In the left-hand court I employ the ordinary Hampstead Smash intothe bottom of the net. After four Hampstead Smashes and fourPeruvian Teasers (LOVE, TWO) I felt that another explanation wascalled for. 

"I've got a new racket I've never used before, " I said. "My old oneis being pressed; it went to the shop yesterday to have the creasestaken out. Don't you find that with a new racket you--er--exactly. "

In the third game we not only got the ball over but kept it betweenthe white lines on several occasions--though not so often as ouropponents (THREE, LOVE); and in the fourth game Miss Hope servedgentle lobs, while I, at her request, stood close up to the net anddefended myself with my racket. I warded off the first two shotsamidst applause (THIRTY, LOVE), and dodged the next three (THIRTY, FORTY), but the last one was too quick for me and won the coco-nutwith some ease. (GAME. LOVE, FOUR. )

"It's all right, thanks, " I said to my partner; "it really doesn'thurt a bit. Now then, let's buck up and play a simply dashing game. "

Miss Hope excelled herself in that fifth game, but I was stillunable to find a length. To be more accurate, I was unable to find ashortness--my long game was admirably strong and lofty. 

"Are you musical?" said my partner at the end of it. (FIVE, LOVE. )She had been very talkative all through. 

"Come, come, " I said impatiently, "you don't want a song at thisvery moment. Surely you can wait till the end of the set?"

"Oh, I was only just wondering. "

"I quite see your point. You feel that Nature always compensates usin some way, and that as--"

"Oh, no!" said Miss Hope in great confusion. "I didn't mean that atall. "

She must have meant it. You don't talk to people about singing inthe middle of a game of tennis; certainly not to comparativestrangers who have only spilt lemonade over your frock once before. No, no. It was an insult, and it nerved me to a great effort. Idiscarded--for it was my serve--the Hampstead Smash; I discarded thePeruvian Teaser. Instead, I served two Piccadilly Benders from theright-hand court and two Westminster Welts from the left-hand. ThePiccadilly Bender is my own invention. It can only be served fromthe one court, and it must have a wind against it. You deliver itwith your back to the net, which makes the striker think that youhave either forgotten all about the game, or else are apologizing tothe spectators for your previous exhibition. Then with a violentcontortion you slue your body round and serve, whereupon youropponent perceives that you ARE playing, and that it is just onemore ordinary fault into the wrong court. So she calls "Fault!" in acontemptuous tone and drops her racket... And then adds hurriedly, "Oh, no, sorry, it wasn't a fault, after all. " That being where thewind comes in. 

The Westminster Welt is in theory the same as the Hampstead Smash, but goes over the net. One must be in very good form (or have beenrecently insulted) to bring this off. 

Well, we won that game, a breeze having just sprung up; and, carriedaway by enthusiasm and mutual admiration, we collected another. (FIVE, TWO. ) Then it was Miss Hope's serve again. 

"Good-bye, " I said; "I suppose you want me in the fore-front again?"

"Please. "

"I don't mind HER shots--the bottle of scent is absolutely safe; butI'm afraid he'll win another packet of woodbines. "

Miss Hope started off with a double, which was rather a pity, andthen gave our masculine adversary what is technically called "one tokill. " I saw instinctively that I was the one, and I held my racketready with both hands. Our opponent, who had been wanting his teafor the last two games, was in no mood of dalliance; he fairly lethimself go over this shot. In a moment I was down on my knees behindthe net ... And the next moment I saw through the meshes a verystrange thing. The other man, with his racket on the ground, washolding his eye with both hands!

"Don't you think, " said Miss Hope (TWO, FIVE--ABANDONED), "thatyour overhead volleying is just a little severe?"

THE OPENING SEASON

"My dear, " said Jeremy, as he folded back his paper at the sportingpage, "I have some news for you. Cricket is upon us once again. "

"There's a nasty cold upon Baby once again, " said Mrs Jeremy. "Ihope it doesn't mean measles. "

"No child of mine would ever have measles, " said Jeremy confidently. "It's beneath us. " He cleared his throat and read, "'The comingseason will be rendered ever memorable by the fact that for thefirst time in the history of the game--' You'll never guess what'scoming. "

"Mr Jeremy Smith is expected to make double figures. "

Jeremy sat up indignantly. 

"Well of all the wifely things to say! Who was top of our averageslast year?"

"Plummer. Because you presented the bat to him yourself. "

"That proves nothing. I gave myself a bat too, as it happens; and abetter one than Plummer's. After all, his average was only 25. Mine, if the weather had allowed me to finish my solitary innings, wouldprobably have been 26. "

"As it was, the weather only allowed you to give a chance to thewicket-keeper off the one ball you had. "

"I was getting the pace of the pitch, " said Jeremy. "Besides, itwasn't really a chance, because our umpire would never have giventhe treasurer out first ball. There are certain little courtesieswhich are bound to be observed. "

"Then, " said his wife, "it's a pity you don't play more often. "

Jeremy got up and made a few strokes with the poker. 

"One of us is rather stiff, " he said. "Perhaps it's the poker. If Iplay regularly this season will you promise to bring Baby to watchme?"

"Of course we shall both come. "

"And you won't let Baby jeer at me if I'm bowled by a shooter. "

"She won't know what a shooter is. "

"Then you can tell her that it's the only ball that ever bowlsfather, " said Jeremy. He put down the poker and took up a ball ofwool. "I shall probably field somewhere behind the wicket-keeper, where the hottest drives don't come; but if I should miss a catchyou must point out to her that the sun was in father's eyes. I wantmy child to understand the game as soon as possible. "

"I'll tell her all that she ought to know, " said his wife. "And whenyou've finished playing with my wool I've got something to do withit. "

Jeremy gave himself another catch, threw the wool to his wife anddrifted out. He came back in ten minutes with his bat under his arm. 

"Really, it has wintered rather well, " he said, "considering that ithas been in the boot cupboard all the time. We ought to have putsome camphor in with it, or--I know there's SOMETHING you do to batsin the winter. Anyhow, the splice is still there. "

"It looks very old, " said Mrs Jeremy. "Is that really your new one?"

"Yes, this is the one that played the historic innings. It has onlyhad one ball in its whole life, and that was on the edge. The partof the bat that I propose to use this season will therefore comeentirely fresh to the business. "

"You ought to have oiled it, Jeremy. "

"Oil--that was what I meant. I'll do it now. We'll give it a goodrub down. I wonder if there's anything else it would like?"

"I think, most of all, it would like a little practice. "

"My dear, that's true. It said in the paper that on the Countygrounds practice was already in full swing. " He made an imaginarydrive. "I don't think I shall take a FULL swing. It's so much harderto time the ball. I say, do YOU bowl?"

"Very badly, Jeremy. "

"The worse you bowl the more practice the bat will get. Or whatabout Baby? Could she bowl to me this afternoon, do you think, or isher cold too bad?"

"I think she'd better stay in to-day. "

"What a pity. Nurse tells me she's left-handed, and I particularlywant a lot of that; because Little Buxted has a very hot left-handbowler called--"

"You don't want your daughter to be an athletic girl, do you?"

Jeremy looked at her in surprise and then sat down on the arm of herchair. 

"Surely, dear, " he said gravely, "we decided that our child wasgoing to play for Kent?"

"Not a girl!"

"Why not? There's nothing in the rules about it. Rule 197 (B) saysthat you needn't play if you don't like the Manager, but there'snothing about sex in it. I'm sure Baby would love the Manager. "

Mrs Jeremy smiled and ruffled his hair. 

"Well, " said Jeremy, "if nobody will bowl to me, I can at least takemy bat out and let it see the grass. After six months of boots itwill be a change for it. "

He went out into the garden, and did not appear again until lunch. During the meal he read extracts to his wife from "The ComingSeason's Prospects, " and spoke cheerfully of the runs he intended tomake for the village. After lunch he took her on to the tennis lawn. 

"There!" he said proudly, pointing to a cricket pitch beautifullycut and marked with a crease of dazzling white. "Doesn't that lookjolly?"

"Heavenly, " she said. "You must ask someone up to-morrow. You canget quite good practice here with these deep banks all round. "

"Yes, I shall make a lot of runs this season, " said Jeremy airily. "But, apart from practice, don't you FEEL how jolly and summery acricket pitch makes everything?"

Mrs Jeremy took a deep breath. "Yes, there's nothing like a bucketof whitening to make you think of summer. "

"I'm glad you think so too, " said Jeremy with an air of relief, "because I upset the bucket on the way back to the stables--justunderneath the pergola. It ought to bring the roses on likeanything. "

AN INLAND VOYAGE

Thomas took a day off last Monday in order to play golf with me. Forthat day the Admiralty had to get along without Thomas. I tremble tothink what would have happened if war had broken out on Monday. Could a Thomasless Admiralty have coped with it? I trow not. Even asit was, battleships grounded, crews mutinied, and several awkwardquestions in the House of Commons had to be postponed till Tuesday. 

Something--some premonition of this, no doubt--seemed to beweighing on him all day. 

"Rotten weather, " he growled, as he came up the steps of the club. 

"I'm very sorry, " I said. "I keep on complaining to the secretaryabout it. He does his best. "

"What's that?"

"He taps the barometer every morning, and says it will clear up inthe afternoon. Shall we go out now, or shall we give it a chance tostop?"

Thomas looked at the rain and decided to let it stop. I made him ascomfortable as I could. I gave him a drink, a cigarette, andMistakes with the Mashie. On the table at his elbow I had in reserveFaulty Play with the Brassy and a West Middlesex Directory. Formyself I wandered about restlessly, pausing now and again to readenviously a notice which said that C. D. Topping's handicap wasreduced from 24 to 22. Lucky man!

At about half-past eleven the rain stopped for a moment, and wehurried out. 

"The course is a little wet, " I said apologetically, as we stood onthe first tee, "but with your naval experience you won't mind that. By the way, I ought to warn you that this isn't all casual water. Some of it is river. "

"How do you know which is which?"

"You'll soon find out. The river is much deeper. Go on--your drive. "

Thomas won the first hole very easily. We both took four to thegreen, Thomas in addition having five splashes of mud on his facewhile I only had three. Unfortunately the immediate neighbourhood ofthe hole was under water. Thomas, the bounder, had a small heavyball, which he managed to sink in nine. My own, being lighter, refused to go into the tin at all, and floated above the hole in themost exasperating way. 

"I expect there's a rule about it, " I said, "if we only knew, whichgives me the match. However, until we find that out, I suppose youmust call yourself one up. "

"I shall want some dry socks for lunch, " he muttered, as he sploshedoff to the tee. 

"Anything you want for lunch you can have, my dear Thomas. I promiseyou that you shall not be stinted. The next green is below sea-levelaltogether, I'm afraid. The first in the water wins. "

Honours, it turned out, were divided. I lost the hole, and Thomaslost his ball. The third tee having disappeared, we moved on to thefourth. 

"There's rather a nasty place along here, " I said. 

"The Secretary was sucked in the other day, and only rescued by thehair. "

Thomas drove a good one. I topped mine badly, and it settled down inthe mud fifty yards off. "Excuse me, " I shouted as I ran quicklyafter it, and I got my niblick on to it just as it was disappearing. It was a very close thing. 

"Well, " said Thomas, as he reached his ball, "that's not what I calla brassy lie. "

"It's what we call a corkscrew lie down here, " I explained. "If youhaven't got a corkscrew, you'd better dig round it with something, and then when the position is thoroughly undermined--Oh, goodshot!"

Thomas had got out of the fairway in one, but he still seemedunhappy. 

"My eye, " he said, bending down in agony; "I've got about halfMiddlesex in it. "

He walked round in circles saying strange nautical things, and mysuggestions that he should (1) rub the other eye, and (2) blow hisnose suddenly, were received ungenerously. 

"Anything you'd like me to do with my ears?" he asked bitterly. "Ifyou'd come and take some mud out for me, instead of talking rot--"

I approached with my handkerchief and examined the eye carefully. 

"See anything?" asked Thomas. 

"My dear Thomas, it's FULL of turf. We mustn't forget to replacethis if we can get it out. What the Secretary would say--There!How's that?"

"Worse than ever. "

"Try not to think about it. Keep the OTHER eye on the ball as muchas possible. This is my hole by the way. Your ball is lost. "

"How do you know?"

"I saw it losing itself. It went into the bad place I told youabout. It's gone to join the Secretary. Oh, no, we got him out, ofcourse; I keep forgetting. Anyhow, it's my hole. "

"I think I shall turn my trousers up again, " said Thomas, bendingdown to do so. "Is there a local rule about it?"

"No; it is left entirely to the discretion and good taste of themembers. Naturally a little extra licence is allowed on a very muddyday. Of course, if--Oh, I see. You meant a local rule about losingyour ball in the mud? No, I don't know of one--unless it comes underthe heading of casual land. Be a sportsman, Thomas, and don'tbegrudge me the hole. "

The game proceeded, and we reached the twelfth tee without anyfurther contretemps; save that I accidentally lost the sixth, ninthand tenth holes, and that Thomas lost his iron at the eighth. He hadcarelessly laid it down for a moment while he got out of a hole withhis niblick, and when he turned round for it the thing was gone. 

At the twelfth tee it was raining harder than ever. We pounded alongwith our coat-collars up and reached the green absolutely wetthrough. 

"How about it?" said Thomas. 

"My hole, I think; and that makes us all square. "

"I mean how about the rain? And it's just one o'clock. "

"Just as you like. Well, I suppose it is rather wet. All right, let's have lunch. "

We had lunch. Thomas had it in the only dry things he had broughtwith him--an ulster and a pair of Vardon cuffs, and sat as near thefire as possible. It was still raining in torrents after lunch, andThomas, who is not what I call keen about golf, preferred to remainbefore the fire. Perhaps he was right. I raked up an old copy ofStrumers with the Niblick for him, and read bits of the TelephoneDirectory out aloud. 

After tea his proper clothes were dry enough in places to put on, and as it was still raining hard, and he seemed disinclined to comeout again, I ordered a cab for us both. 

"It's really rotten luck, " said Thomas, as we prepared to leave, "that on the one day when I take a holiday, it should be sobeastly. "

"Beastly, Thomas?" I said in amazement. "The ONE day? I'm afraid youdon't play inland golf much?"

"I hardly ever play round London. "

"I thought not. Then let me tell you that to-day's was the bestday's golf I've had for three weeks. "

"Golly!" said Thomas. 

AN INFORMAL EVENING

DINNER was a very quiet affair. Not a soul drew my chair away fromunder me as I sat down, and during the meal nobody threw breadabout. We talked gently of art and politics and things; and when theladies left there was no booby trap waiting for them at the door. Ina word, nothing to prepare me for what was to follow. 

We strolled leisurely into the drawing-room. A glance told me theworst. The ladies were in a cluster round Miss Power, and Miss Powerwas on the floor. She got up quickly as we came in. 

"We were trying to go underneath the poker, " she explained. "Can youdo it?"

I waved the poker back. 

"Let me see you do it again, " I said. "I missed the first part. "

"Oh, I can never do it. Bob, you show us. "

Bob is an active young fellow. He took the poker, rested the end onthe floor, and then twisted himself underneath his right arm. Iexpected to see him come up inside out, but he looked much the sameafter it. However, no doubt his organs are all on the wrong sidenow. 

"Yes, that's how I should do it, " I said hastily. 

But Miss Power was firm. She gave me the poker. I pressed it hard onthe floor, said good-bye to them all, and dived. I got half-wayround, and was supporting myself upside down by one toe and theslippery end of the poker, when it suddenly occurred to me that theearth was revolving at an incredible speed on its own axis, andthat, in addition, we were hurtling at thousands of miles a minuteround the sun. It seemed impossible in these circumstances that Ishould keep my balance any longer; and as soon as I realized this, the poker began to slip. I was in no sort of position to do anythingabout it, and we came down heavily together. 

"Oh, what a pity!" said Miss Power. "I quite thought you'd done it. "

"Being actually on the spot, " I said, "I knew that I hadn't. "

"Do try again. "

"Not till the ground's a little softer. "

"Let's do the jam-pot trick, " said another girl. 

"I'm not going under a jam-pot for anybody, " I murmured. 

However, it turned out that this trick was quite different. Youplace a book (Macaulay's Essays or what not) on the jam-pot and siton the book, one heel only touching the ground. In the right handyou have a box of matches, in the left a candle. The jam-pot, ofcourse, is on its side, so that it can roll beneath you. Then youlight the candle ... And hand it to anybody who wants to go to bed. 

I was ready to give way to the ladies here, but even while I wasbowing and saying, "Not at all, " I found myself on one of thejam-pots with Bob next to me on another. To balance with the armsoutstretched was not so difficult; but as the matches were thenabout six feet from the candle and there seemed no way of gettingthem nearer together the solution of the problem was as remote asever. Three times I brought my hands together, and three times thejam-pot left me. 

"Well played, Bob, " said somebody. The bounder had done it. 

I looked at his jam-pot. 

"There you are, " I said, "'Raspberry--1909. ' Mine's'Gooseberry-1911, ' a rotten vintage. And look at my book, Alone onthe Prairie; and you've got The Mormon's Wedding. No wonder Icouldn't do it. "

I refused to try it again as I didn't think I was being treatedfairly; and after Bob and Miss Power had had a race at it, which Bobwon, we got on to something else. 

"Of course you can pick a pin out of a chair with your teeth?" saidMiss Power. 

"Not properly, " I said. "I always swallow the pin. "

"I suppose it doesn't count if you swallow the pin, " said Miss Powerthoughtfully. 

"I don't know. I've never really thought about that side of it much. Anyhow, unless you've got a whole lot of pins you don't want, don'task me to do it to-night. "

Accordingly we passed on to the water-trick. I refused at this, butMiss Power went full length on the floor with a glass of waterbalanced on her fore-head and came up again without spilling asingle drop. Personally, I shouldn't have minded spilling a singledrop; it was the thought of spilling the whole glass that kept meback. Anyway, it is a useless trick, the need for which never arisesin an ordinary career. Picking up The Times with the teeth, whileclasping the left ankle with the right hand, is another matter. Thatmight come in useful on occasions; as, for instance, if having lostyour left arm on the field and having to staunch with the right handthe flow of blood from a bullet wound in the opposite ankle, youdesired to glance through the Financial Supplement while waiting forthe ambulance. 

"Here's a nice little trick, " broke in Bob, as I was preparingmyself in this way for the German invasion. 

He had put two chairs together, front to front, and was standingover them--a foot on the floor on each side of them, if that conveysit to you. Then he jumped up, turned round in the air, and came downfacing the other way. 

"Can YOU do it?" I said to Miss Power. 

"Come and try, " said Bob to me. "It's not really difficult. "

I went and stood over the chairs. Then I moved them apart and walkedover to my hostess. 

"Good-bye, " I said; "I'm afraid I must go now. "

"Coward!" said somebody, who knew me rather better than the others. 

"It's much easier than you think, " said Bob. 

"I don't think it's easy at all, " I protested. "I think it'simpossible. "

I went back and stood over the chairs again. For some time I waitedthere in deep thought. Then I bent my knees preparatory to thespring, straightened them up, and said:

"What happens if you just miss it?"

"I suppose you bark your shins a bit. "

"Yes, that's what I thought. "

I bent my knees again, worked my arms up and down, and then stoppedsuddenly and said:

"What happens if you miss it pretty easily?"

"Oh, YOU can do it, if Bob can, " said Miss Power kindly. 

"He's practised. I expect he started with two hassocks and worked upto this. I'm not afraid but I want to know the possibilities. Ifit's only a broken leg or two, I don't mind. If it's permanentdisfigurement I think I ought to consult my family first. "

I jumped up and came down again the same way for practice. 

"Very well, " I said. "Now I'm going to try. I haven't the faintesthope of doing it, but you all seem to want to see an accident, and, anyhow, I'm not going to be called a coward. One, two, three... "

"Well done, " cried everybody. 

"Did I do it?" I whispered, as I sat on the floor and pressed acushion against my shins. 

"Rather!"

"Then, " I said, massaging my ankles, "next time I shall try tomiss. "

THE CONTINENTAL MANNER

OF course I should recognize Simpson anywhere, even at a maskedball. Besides, who but Simpson would go to a fancy-dress dance as ashort-sighted executioner, and wear his spectacles outside hismask? But it was a surprise to me to see him there at all. 

"Samuel, " I said gravely, tapping him on the shoulder, "I shall haveto write home about this. "

He turned round with a start. 

"Hallo!" he said eagerly. "How splendid! But, my dear old chap, whyaren't you in costume?"

"I am, " I explained. "I've come as an architect. Luckily the eveningclothes of an architect are similar to my own. Excuse me, sir, butdo you want a house built?"

"How do you like my dress? I am an executioner. I left my axe in thecloak-room. "

"So I observe. You know, in real life, one hardly ever meets anexecutioner who wears spectacles. And yet, of course, if one CAN'Tsee the head properly without glasses--"

"By Jove, " said Simpson, "there she is again. "

Columbine in a mask hurried past us and mixed with the crowd. Whatone could see of her face looked pretty; it seemed to have upsetSimpson altogether. 

"Ask her for a dance, " I suggested. "Be a gay dog, Simpson. WakeLondon up. At a masked ball one is allowed a certain amount oflicence. "

"Exactly, " said Simpson in some excitement. "One naturally looks fora little Continental ABANDON at these dances. " (PORTRAIT OF SIMPSONSHOWING CONTINENTAL abandon. ) "And so I did ask her for a dancejust now. "

"She was cold, Samuel, I fear?"

"She said, 'Sorry, I'm full up. '"

"A ruse, a mere subterfuge. Now, look here, ask her again, and bemore debonair and dashing this time. What you want is to endue herwith the spirit of revelry. Perhaps you'd better go to the bar firstand have a dry ginger-ale, and then you'll feel more in theContinental mood. "

"By Jove, I will, " said Simpson, with great decision. 

I wandered into the ball-room and looked round. Columbine wasstanding in a corner alone; some outsider had cut her dance. As Ilooked at her I thought of Simpson letting himself go, and smiled tomyself. She caught the edge of the smile and unconsciously smiledback. Remembering the good advice which I had just given another, Idecided to risk it. 

"Do you ever dance with architects?" I asked her. 

"I do sometimes. " she said. "Not in Lent, " she added. 

"In Lent, " I agreed, "one has to give up the more furious pleasures. Shall we just finish off this dance? And don't let's talk shop aboutarchitecture. "

We finished the dance and retired to the stairs. 

"I want you to do something for me, " I began cautiously. 

"Anything except go into supper again. I've just done that forsomebody else. "

"No, it's not that. The fact is, I have a great friend calledSimpson. "

"It sounds a case for help, " she murmured. 

"He is here to-night disguised as an executioner in glasses. He is, in fact, the only spectacled beheader present. You can't miss him. "

"All the same, I managed to just now, " she gurgled. 

"I know. He asked you for a dance and you rebuffed him. Well, he isnow fortifying himself with a small dry ginger, and he will then askyou again. Do be kind this time; he's really a delightful personwhen you get to know him. For instance, both his whiskers arefalse. "

"No doubt I should grow to love him, " she agreed; "but I didn't muchlike his outward appearance. However, if both whiskers are false, and if he's really a friend of yours--"

"He is naturally as harmless as a lamb, " I said; "but at a dancelike this he considers it his duty to throw a little ContinentalABANDON into his manner. "

Columbine looked at me thoughtfully, nodding her head, and slowlybegan to smile. 

"You see, " I said, "the possibilities. "

"He shall have his dance, " she said decidedly. 

"Thank you very much. I should like to ask for another dance formyself later on, but I am afraid I should try to get out of you whathe said, and that wouldn't be fair. "

"Of course I shouldn't tell you. "

"Well, anyhow, you'll have had enough of us by then. But softly--heapproaches, and I must needs fly, lest he should pierce my disguise. Good-bye, and thank you so much. "

. . . . . . . 

So I can't say with authority what happened between Simpson andColumbine when they met. But Simpson and I had a cigarette togetherafterwards and certain things came out; enough to make it plain thatshe must have enjoyed herself. 

"Oh, I say, old chap, " he began jauntily, "do you know--match, thanks--er--whereabouts is Finsbury Circus?"

"You're too old to go to a circus now, Simpson. Come and have a dayat the Polytechnic instead. "

"Don't be an ass; it's a place like Oxford Circus. I suppose it's inthe City somewhere? I wonder, " he murmured to himself, "what shewould be doing in the City at eleven o'clock in the morning. "

"Perhaps her rich uncle is in a bank, and she wants to shoot him. Iwish you'd tell me what you're talking about. "

Simpson took off his mask and spectacles and wiped his brow. 

"Dear old chap, " he said in a solemn voice, "in the case of a womanone cannot tell even one's best friend. You know how it is. "

"Well, if there's going to be a duel you should have chosen somequieter spot than Finsbury Circus. The motor-buses distract one'saim. "

Simpson was silent for a minute or two. Then a foolish smile flittedacross his face, to be followed suddenly by a look of alarm. 

"Don't do anything that your mother wouldn't like, " I saidwarningly. 

He frowned and put on his mask again. 

"Are chrysanthemums in season?" he asked casually. "Anyhow, Isuppose I could always get a yellow one?"

"You could, Simpson. And you could put it in your button-hole, sothat you can be recognized, and go to Finsbury Circus to meetsomebody at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning. Samuel, I'm ashamed ofyou. Er--where do you lunch?"

"At the Carlton. Old chap, I got quite carried away. Things seemedto be arranged before I knew where I was. "

"And what's she going to wear so that you can recognize HER?"

"Yes, " said Simpson, getting up, "that's the worst of it. I told herit was quite out of date, and that only the suburbs wore fashions ayear old, but she insisted on it. I had no idea she was that sort ofgirl. Well, I'm in for it now. " He sighed heavily and went off foranother ginger-ale. 

I think that I must be at Finsbury Circus to-morrow, for certainlyno Columbine in a harem skirt will be there. Simpson in hisloneliness will be delighted to see me, and then we can throw awayhis button-hole and have a nice little lunch together. 

TWO STORIES

THE MAKING OF A CHRISTMAS STORY

(AS CARRIED OUT IN THE BEST END OF FLEET STREET)

YULETIDE!

London at Yuletide!

A mantle of white lay upon the Embankment, where our story opens, gleaming and glistening as it caught the rays of the cold Decembersun; an embroidery of white fringed the trees; and under a canopy ofwhite the proud palaces of Savoy and Cecil reared their silentheads. The mighty river in front was motionless, for the finger ofDeath had laid its icy hand upon it. Above--the hard blue skystretching to eternity; below--the white purity of innocence. Londonin the grip of winter!

[EDITOR. Come, I like this. This is going to be good. A cold day, was it not?

AUTHOR. Very. ]

All at once the quiet of the morning was disturbed. In the distancea bell rang out, sending a joyous paean to the heavens. Another tookup the word, and then another, and another. Westminster caught themessage from Bartholomew the son of Thunder, and flung it to GilesWithout, who gave it gently to Andrew by the Wardrobe. Suddenly theair was filled with bells, all chanting together of peace andhappiness, mirth and jollity--a frenzy of bells. 

The Duke, father of four fine children, waking in his Highlandcastle, heard and smiled as he thought of his little ones.... 

The Merchant Prince, turning over in his Streatham residence, heard, and turned again to sleep, with love for all mankind in hisheart.... 

The Pauper in his workhouse, up betimes, heard, and chuckled at theprospect of his Christmas dinner.... 

And, on the Embankment, Robert Hardrow, with a cynical smile on hislips, listened to the splendid irony of it. 

[EDITOR. We really are getting to the story now, are we not? AUTHOR. That was all local colour. I want to make it quite clear that it wasChristmas. EDITOR. Yes, yes, quite so. This is certainly a Christmasstory. I think I shall like Robert, do you know?]

It was Christmas day, so much at least was clear to him. With thatsame cynical smile on his lips, he pulled his shivering rags abouthim, and half unconsciously felt at the growth of beard about hischin. Nobody would recognize him now. His friends (as he had thoughtthem) would pass by without a glance for the poor outcast near them. The women that he had known would draw their skirts away from him inhorror. Even Lady Alice--

Lady Alice! The cause of it all!

His thoughts flew back to that last scene, but twenty-four hoursago, when they had parted for ever. As he had entered the hall hehad half wondered to himself if there could be anybody in the worldthat day happier than himself. Tall, well-connected, avice-president of the Tariff Reform League, and engaged to thesweetest girl in England, he had been the envy of all. Little did hethink that that very night he was to receive his conge! Whatmattered it now how or why they had quarrelled? A few hasty words, abitter taunt, tears, and then the end. 

A last cry from her--"Go, and let me never see your face again!"

A last sneer from him--"I will go, but first give me back thepresents I have promised you!"

Then a slammed door and--silence. 

What use, without her guidance, to try to keep straight any more?Bereft of her love, Robert had sunk steadily. Gambling, drink, morphia, billiards and cigars--he had taken to them all; until nowin the wretched figure of the outcast on the Embankment you wouldnever have recognized the once spruce figure of Handsome Hardrow. 

[EDITOR. It all seems to have happened rather rapidly, does it not?Twenty-four hours ago he had been--AUTHOR. You forget that this isSHORT story. ]

Handsome Hardow! How absurd it sounded now! He had let his beardgrow, his clothes were in rags, a scar over one eye testified--

[EDITOR. Yes, yes. Of course, I quite admit that a man might go tothe bad in twenty-four hours, but would his beard grow as--AUTHOR. Look here, you've heard of a man going grey with trouble in a singlenight, haven't you?

EDITOR. Certainly. 

AUTHOR. Well, it's the same idea as that. 

EDITOR. Ah, quite so, quite so. 

AUTHOR. Where was I?

EDITOR. A scar over one eye was just testifying--I suppose he hadtwo eyes in the ordinary way?]

---testified to a drunken frolic of an hour or two ago. Neverbefore, thought the policeman, as he passed upon his beat, had sucha pitiful figure cowered upon the Embankment, and prayed for thenight to cover him. 

The--

He was--

Er--the--

[EDITOR. Yes?

AUTHOR. To tell the truth I am rather stuck for the moment. 

EDITOR. What is the trouble?

AUTHOR. I don't quite know what to do with Robert for ten hours orso. 

EDITOR. Couldn't he go somewhere by a local line?

AUTHOR. This is not a humorous story. The point is that I want himto be outside a certain house some twenty miles from town at eighto'clock that evening. 

EDITOR. If I were Robert I should certainly start at once. 

AUTHOR. No, I have it. ]

As he sat there, his thoughts flew over the bridge of years, and hewas wafted on the wings of memory to other and happier Yuletides. That Christmas when he had received his first bicycle.... 

That Christmas abroad.... 

The merry house-party at the place of his Cambridge friend.... 

Yuletide at The Towers, where he had first met Alice!

Ah!

Ten hours passed rapidly thus... 

. . . . . . . 

[AUTHOR. I put dots to denote the flight of years. EDITOR. Besides, it will give the reader time for a sandwich. ]

Robert got up and shook himself. 

[EDITOR. One moment. This is a Christmas story. When are you comingto the robin?

AUTHOR. I really can't be bothered about robins just now. I assureyou all the best Christmas stories begin like this nowadays. We mayget to a robin later; I cannot say. 

EDITOR. We must. My readers expect a robin, and they shall have it. And a wassail-bowl, and a turkey, and a Christmas-tree, and a--

AUTHOR. Yes, yes; but wait. We shall come to little Elsie soon, andthen perhaps it will be all right. 

EDITOR. Little Elsie. Good!]

Robert got up and shook himself. Then he shivered miserably, as thecold wind cut through him like a knife. For a moment he stoodmotionless, gazing over the stone parapet into the dark riverbeyond, and as he gazed a thought came into his mind. Why not end itall--here and now? He had nothing to live for. One swift plunge, and--

[EDITOR. YOu forget. The river was frozen. 

AUTHOR. Dash it, I was just going to say that. ]

But no! Even in this Fate was against him. THE RIVER WAS FROZENOVER! He turned away with a curse.... 

What happened afterwards Robert never quite understood. Almostunconsciously he must have crossed one of the numerous bridges whichspan the river and join North London to South. Once on the otherside, he seems to have set his face steadily before him, and to havedragged his weary limbs on and on, regardless of time and place. Hewalked like one in a dream, his mind drugged by the dull narcotic ofphysical pain. Suddenly he realized that he had left London behindhim, and was in the more open spaces of the country. The houses weremore scattered; the recurring villa of the clerk had given place tothe isolated mansion of the stock broker. Each residence stood inits own splendid grounds, surrounded by fine old forest trees andapproached by a long carriage sweep. Electric--

[EDITOR Quite so. The whole forming a magnificent estate for aretired gentleman. Never mind that. ]

Robert stood at the entrance to one of these houses, and the ironentered into his soul. How different was this man's position fromhis own! What right had this man--a perfect stranger--to be happyand contented in the heart of his family, while he, Robert, stood, ahomeless wanderer, alone in the cold?

Almost unconsciously he wandered down the drive, hardly realizingwhat he was doing until he was brought up by the gay lights of thewindows. Still without thinking, he stooped down and peered into thebrilliantly lit room above him. Within all was jollity; beautifulwomen moved to and fro, and the happy laughter of children came tohim. "Elsie, " he heard someone call, and a childish treble responded. 

[EDITOR. Now for the robin. 

AUTHOR. I am very sorry. I have just remembered something rathersad. The fact is that, two days before, Elsie had forgotten to feedthe robin, and in consequence it had died before this story opens. 

EDITOR. That is really very awkward. I have already arranged with anartist to do some pictures, AND _I_ REMEMBER _I_ PARTICULARLYORDERED A ROBIN AND A WASSAIL. WHAT ABOUT THE WASSAIL?

AUTHOR. ELSIE ALWAYS HAD HER PORRIDGE upstairs. ]

A terrible thought had come into Robert's head. It was nearly twelveo'clock. The house-party was retiring to bed. He heard the"Good-nights" wafted through the open window; the lights went out, to reappear upstairs. Presently they too went out, and Robert wasalone with the darkened house. 

The temptation was too much for a conscience already sodden withbilliards, drink and cigars. He flung a leg over the sill and drewhimself gently into the room. At least he would have one good meal, he too would have his Christmas dinner before the end came. Heswitched the light on and turned eagerly to the table. His eyesravenously scanned the contents. Turkey, mince-pies, plum-pudding--all was there as in the days of his youth. 

[EDITOR. THIS IS BETTER. I ORDERED A TURKEY, I REMEMBER. WHAT ABOUTTHE MISTLETOE AND HOLLY? I RATHER THINK I ASKED FOR SOME OF THEM. 

AUTHOR. WE MUST LET THE READERS TAKE SOMETHING FOR GRANTED

EDITOR. I AM NOT SO SURE. COULDN'T YOU SAY SOMETHING LIKE THIS:"HOLLY AND MISTLETOE HUNG IN FESTOONS UPON THE WALL?"]

Indeed, even holly and mistletoe hung in festoons upon the wall. 

[EDITOR. THANK YOU. ]

With a sigh of content Hardrow flung himself into a chair, andseized a knife and fork. Soon a plate liberally heaped with goodthings was before him. Greedily he set to work, with the appetite ofa man who had not tasted food for several hours.... 

"Dood-evening, " said a voice. "Are you Father Kwistmas?"

Robert turned suddenly, and gazed in amazement at the white-robedfigure in the doorway. 

"Elsie, " he murmured huskily. 

[EDITOR. HOW DID HE KNOW? AND WHY "HUSKILY"?

AUTHOR. HE DIDN'T KNOW, HE GUESSED. AND HIS MOUTH WAS FULL. ]

"Are you Father Kwistmas?" repeated Elsie. 

Robert felt at his chin, and thanked Heaven again that he had lethis beard grow. Almost mechanically he decided to wear the mask--inshort, to dissemble. 

"Yes, my dear, " he said. "I just looked in to know what you wouldlike me to bring you. "

"You're late, aren't oo? Oughtn't oo to have come this morning?"

[EDITOR. THIS IS SPLENDID. THIS QUITE RECONCILES ME TO THE ABSENCEOF THE ROBIN. BUT WHAT WAS ELSIE DOING DOWNSTAIRS?

AUTHOR. I AM MAKING ROBERT ASK HER THAT QUESTION DIRECTLY. 

EDITOR. YES, BUT JUST TELL ME NOW--BETWEEN FRIENDS. 

AUTHOR. SHE HAD LEFT HER GOLLIWOG IN THE ROOM, AND COULDN'T SLEEPWITHOUT HER. 

EDITOR. I KNEW THAT WAS IT. ]

"If I'm late, dear, " said Robert, with a smile, "why, so are you. "

The good food and wine in his veins were doing their work, and apleasant warmth was stealing over Hardrow. He found to his surprisethat airy banter still came easy to him. 

"To what, " he continued lightly, "do I owe the honour of thismeeting?"

"I came downstairs for my dolly, " said Elsie. "The one you sent methis morning, do you remember?"

"Of course I do, my dear. "

"And what have you bwought me now, Father Kwistmas?"

Robert started. If he was to play the role successfully he must findsomething to give her now. The remains of the turkey, a pair offinger-bowls, his old hat--all these came hastily into his mind, andwere dismissed. He had nothing of value on him. All had been pawnedlong ago. 

Stay! The gold locket studded with diamonds and rubies, whichcontained Alice's photograph. The one memento of her that he hadkept, even when the pangs of starvation were upon him. He brought itfrom its resting-place next his heart. 

"A little something to wear round your neck, child, " he said. "See!"

"Thank oo, " said Elsie. "Why, it opens!"

"Yes, it opens, " said Robert moodily. 

"Why, it's Alith! Sister Alith!"

[EDITOR. HA!

AUTHOR. I THOUGHT YOU'D LIKE THAT. ]

Robert leapt to his feet as if he had been shot. 

"Who?" he cried. 

"My sister Alith. Does oo know her too?"

Alice's sister! Heavens! He covered his face with his hands. 

The door opened. 

[EDITOR. HA AGAIN!]

"What are you doing here, Elsie?" said a voice. "Go to bed, child. Why, who is this?"

"Father Kwithmath, thithter. "

[EDITOR. HOW EXACTLY DO YOU WORK THE LISPING?

AUTHOR. WHAT DO YOU MEAN? DON'T CHILDREN OF ELSIE'S TENDER YEARSLISP SOMETIMES?

EDITOR. YES; BUT JUST NOW SHE SAID "KWISTMAS" QUITE CORRECTLY--

AUTHOR. I AM GLAD YOU NOTICED THAT. THAT WAS AN EFFECT WHICH IINTENDED TO PRODUCE. LISPING IS BROUGHT ABOUT BY PLACING THE TONGUEUPON THE HARD SURFACE OF THE PALATE, AND IN CASES WHERE THE SUBJECTIS UNDULY EXCITED OR INFLUENCED BY EMOTION THE LISP BECOMES MOREPRONOUNCED. IN THIS CASE--

EDITOR. YETH, I THEE. ]

"Send her away, " cried Robert, without raising his head. 

The door opened, and closed again. 

"Well, " said Alice calmly, "and who are you? You may have lied tothis poor child, but you cannot deceive me. You are NOT FatherChristmas. "

The miserable man raised his shamefaced head and looked haggardly ather. 

"Alice!" he muttered, "don't you remember me?"

She gazed at him earnestly. 

"Robert! But how changed!"

"Since we parted, Alice, much has happened. "

"Yet it seems only yesterday that I saw you!"

[EDITOR. IT was ONLY YESTERDAY. 

AUTHOR. YES, YES. DON'T INTERRUPT NOW, PLEASE. ]

"To me it has seemed years. "

"But what are you doing here?" said Alice. 

"Rather, what are YOU doing here?" answered Robert. 

[EDITOR. I THINK ALICE'S QUESTION WAS THE MORE REASONABLE ONE. ]

"My uncle Joseph lives here. "

Robert gave a sudden cry. 

"Your uncle Joseph! Then I have broken into your uncle Joseph'shouse! Alice, send me away! Put me in prison! Do what you will tome! I can never hold up my head again. "

Lady Alice looked gently at the wretched figure in front of her. 

"I am glad to see you again, " she said. "Because I wanted to saythat it was MY fault!"

"Alice!"

"Can you forgive me?"

"Forgive you? If you knew what my life has been since I left you! Ifyou knew into what paths of wickedness I have sunk! How only thisevening, unnerved by excess, I have deliberately broken into thishouse--your uncle Joseph's house--in order to obtain food. Already Ihave eaten more than half a turkey and the best part of aplum-pudding. If you knew, I--"

With a gesture of infinite compassion she stopped him. 

"Then let us forgive each other, " she said with a smile. "A new yearis beginning, Robert!"

He took her in his arms. 

"Listen, " he said. 

In the distance the bells began to ring in the New Year. A messageof hope to all weary travellers on life's highway. It was New Year'sDay!

[EDITOR. I THOUGHT CHRISTMAS DAY HAD STARTED ON THE EMBANKMENT. THISWOULD BE BOXING DAY. AUTHOR. _I_'M SORRY, BUT IT MUST END LIKE THAT. _I_ MUST HAVE MY BELLS. YOU CAN EXPLAIN SOMEHOW. 

EDITOR. THAT'S ALL VERY WELL. _I_ HAVE A GOOD DEAL TO EXPLAIN AS ITIS. SOME OF YOUR STORY DOESN'T FIT THE PICTURES AT ALL, AND IT ISTOO LATE NOW TO GET NEW ONES DONE. 

AUTHOR. _I_ AM AFRAID _I_ CANNOT WORK TO ORDER. 

EDITOR. YES, _I_ KNOW. THE ARTIST SAID THE SAME THING. WELL, _I_MUST MANAGE SOMEHOW, _I_ SUPPOSE. GOOD-BYE. ROTTEN WEATHER FORAUGUST, ISN'T IT?]

A MATTER-OF-FACT FAIRY TALE

Once upon a time there was a King who had three sons. The two eldestwere lazy, good-for-nothing young men, but the third son, whosename was Charming, was a delightful youth, who was loved byeverybody (outside his family) who knew him. Whenever he rodethrough the town the people used to stop whatever work they wereengaged upon and wave their caps and cry "Hurrah for PrinceCharming!"--and even after he had passed they would continue to stopwork, in case he might be coming back the same way, when they wouldwave their caps and cry "Hurrah for Prince Charming!"again. It was wonderful how fond of him they were. 

But alas! his father the King was not so fond. He preferred hiseldest son; which was funny of him, because he must have known thatonly the third and youngest son is ever any good in a family. Indeed, the King himself had been a third son, so he had really noexcuse for ignorance on the point. I am afraid the truth was that hewas jealous of Charming, because the latter was so popular outsidehis family. 

Now there lived in the Palace an old woman called Countess Caramel, who had been governess to Charming when he was young. When the Queenlay dying the Countess had promised her that she would look afterher youngest boy for her, and Charming had often confided in Caramelsince. One morning, when his family had been particularly rude tohim at breakfast, Charming said to her:

"Countess, I have made up my mind, and I am going into the world toseek my fortune. "

"I have been waiting for this, " said the Countess. "Here is a magicring. Wear it always on your little finger, and whenever you wanthelp turn it round once and help will come. "

Charming thanked her and put the ring on his finger. Then he turnedit round once just to make sure that it worked. Immediately theoddest little dwarf appeared in front of him. 

"Speak and I will obey, " said the dwarf. 

Now Charming didn't want anything at all just then, so afterthinking for a moment he said, "Go away!"

The dwarf, a little surprised, disappeared. 

"This is splendid, " thought Charming, and he started on his travelswith a light heart. 

The sun was at its highest as he came to a thick wood, and in itsshade he lay down to rest. He was awakened by the sound of weeping. Rising hastily to his feet he peered through the trees, and there, fifty yards away from him, by the side of a stream sat the mostbeautiful damsel he had ever seen, wringing her hands and sobbingbitterly. Prince Charming, grieving at the sight of beauty in suchdistress, coughed and came nearer, "Princess, " he said tenderly, for he knew she must be a Princess, "you are in trouble. How can I help you?"

"Fair Sir, " she answered, "I had thought to be alone. But, since youare here, you can help me if you will. I have a--a brother--"

But Charming did not want to talk about brothers. He sat down on afallen log beside her, and looked at her entranced. 

"I think you are the most lovely lady in all the world, " he said. 

"Am I?" said the Princess, whose name, by the way, was Beauty. 

She looked away from him and there was silence between them. Charming, a little at a loss, fidgeted nervously with his ring, andbegan to speak again. 

"Ever since I have known you--"

"You are in need of help?" said the dwarf, appearing suddenly. 

"Certainly not, " said Charming angrily. "Not in the least. I canmanage this quite well by myself. "

"Speak, and I will obey. "

"Then go away, " said Charming; and the dwarf, who was beginning tolose his grip of things, again disappeared. 

The Princess, having politely pretended to be looking for somethingwhile this was going on, turned to him again. 

"Come with me, " she said, "and I will show you how you can help me. "

She took him by the hand and led him down a narrow glade to a littleclearing in the middle of the wood. Then she made him sit downbeside her on the grass, and there she told him her tale. 

"There is a giant called Blunderbus, " she said, "who lives in agreat castle ten miles from here. He is a terrible magician, andyears ago because I would not marry him he turned my--my brotherinto a--I don't know how to tell you--into a--a tortoise. " She puther hands to her face and sobbed again. 

"Why a tortoise?" said Charming, knowing that sympathy was useless, but feeling that he ought to say SOMETHING. 

"I don't know. He just thought of it. It--it isn't a very nice thingto be. "

"And why should he turn your BROTHER into it? I mean, if he hadturned YOU into a tortoise--Of course, " he went on hurriedly, "I'mvery glad he didn't. "

"Thank you, " said Beauty. 

"But I don't understand why--"

"He knew he could hurt me more by making my brother a tortoise thanby making me one, " she explained, and looked at him anxiously. 

This was a new idea to Charming, who had two brothers of his own;and he looked at her in some surprise. 

"Oh, what does it matter WHY he did it?" she cried as he was aboutto speak. "Why do giants do things? _I_ don't know. "

"Princess, " said Charming remorsefully, and kissed her hand, "tellme how I can help you. "

"My brother, " said Beauty, "was to have met me here. He is lateagain. " She sighed and added, "He used to be SO punctual. "

"But how can I help him?" asked Charming. 

"It is like this. The only way in which the enchantment can be takenoff him is for someone to kill the Giant. But if once theenchantment has stayed on for seven years, then it stays on forever. "

Here she looked down and burst into tears. 

"The seven years, " she sobbed, "are over at sundown this afternoon. "

"I see, " said Charming thoughtfully. 

"Here IS my brother, " cried Beauty. 

An enormous tortoise came slowly into view. Beauty rushed up to himand, having explained the situation rapidly, made the necessaryintroduction. 

"Charmed, " said the Tortoise. "You can't miss the castle; it's theonly one near here, and Blunderbus is sure to be at home. I need nottell you how grateful I shall be if you kill him. Though I mustsay, " he added, "it puzzles me to think how you are going to do it. "

"I have a friend who will help me, " said Charming, fingering hisring. 

"Well, I only hope you'll be luckier than the others. "

"The others?" cried Charming, in surprise. 

"Yes; didn't she tell you about the others who had tried?"

"I forgot to, " said Beauty, frowning at him. 

"Ah, well, perhaps in that case we'd better not go into it now, "said the Tortoise. "But before you start I should like to talk toyou privately for a moment. " He took Charming on one side andwhispered, "I say, do YOU know anything about tortoises?"

"Very little, " said Charming. "In fact--"

"Then you don't happen to know what they eat?"

"I'm afraid I don't. "

"Dash it, why doesn't ANYBODY know? The others all made the mostridiculous suggestions. Steak and kidney puddings--and shrimpsandwiches--and buttered toast. Dear me! The nights we had afterthe shrimp sandwiches! And the fool swore he had kept tortoises allhis life!"

"If I may say so, " said Charming, "I should have thought that YOUwould have known best. "

"The same silly idea they all have, " said the Tortoise testily. "When Blunderbus put this enchantment on me, do you suppose he got ablackboard and a piece of chalk and gave me a lecture on the dietand habits of the common tortoise, before showing me out of thefront gate? No, he simply turned me into the form of a tortoise andleft my mind and soul as it was before. I've got the anatomy of atortoise, I've got the very delicate inside of a tortoise, but Idon't THINK like one, stupid. Else I shouldn't mind being one. "

"I never thought of that. "

"No one does, except me. And I can think of nothing else. " He pausedand added confidentially, "We're trying rum omelettes just now. Somehow I don't think tortoises REALLY like them. However, we shallsee. I suppose you've never heard anything definite against them?"

"You needn't bother about that, " said Charming briskly. "By to-nightyou will be a man again. " And he patted him encouragingly on theshell and returned to take an affectionate farewell of the Princess. 

As soon as he was alone, Charming turned the ring round his finger, and the dwarf appeared before him. 

"The same as usual?" said the dwarf, preparing to vanish at theword. He was just beginning to get into the swing of it. 

"No, no, " said Charming hastily. "I really want you this time. " Hethought for a moment. "I want, " he said at last, "a sword. One thatwill kill giants. "

Instantly a gleaming sword was at his feet. He picked it up andexamined it. 

"Is this really a magic sword?"

"It has but to inflict one scratch, " said the dwarf, "and the resultis death. "

Charming, who had been feeling the blade, took his thumb awayhastily. 

"Then I shall want a cloak of darkness, " he said. 

"Behold, here it is. Beneath this cloak the wearer is invisible tothe eyes of his enemies. "

"One thing more, " said Charming. "A pair of seven-league boots.... Thank you. That is all to-day. "

Directly the dwarf was gone, Charming kicked off his shoes andstepped into the magic boots; then he seized the sword and the cloakand darted off on his lady's behest. He had barely gone a hundredpaces before a sudden idea came to him, and he pulled himself upshort. 

"Let me see, " he reflected; "the castle was ten miles away. Theseare seven-league boots--so that I have come about two thousandmiles. I shall have to go back. " He took some hasty steps back, andfound himself in the wood from which he had started. 

"Well?" said Princess Beauty, "have you killed him?"

"No, n-no, " stammered Charming, "not exactly killed him. I wasjust--just practising something. The fact is, " he addedconfidentially, "I've got a pair of new boots on, and--" He saw thelook of cold surprise in her face and went on quickly, "I swear, Princess, that I will not return to you again without his head. "

He took a quick step in the direction of the castle and foundhimself soaring over it; turned eleven miles off and stepped back apace; overshot it again, and arrived at the very feet of thePrincess. 

"His head!" said Beauty eagerly. 

"I--I must have dropped it, " said Charming, hastily pretending tofeel for it. "I'll just go and--" He stepped off in confusion. 

Eleven miles the wrong side of the castle, Charming sat down tothink it out. It was but two hours to sundown. Without his magicboots he would get to the castle too late. Of course, what he reallywanted to do was to erect an isosceles triangle on a base of elevenmiles, having two sides of twenty-one miles each. But this wasbefore Euclid's time. 

However, by taking one step to the north and another to thesouth-west, he found himself close enough. A short but painful walk, with his boots in his hand, brought him to his destination. He had amoment's natural hesitation about making a first call at the castlein his stockinged feet, but consoled himself with the thought thatin life-and-death matters one cannot bother about little points ofetiquette, and that, anyhow, the giant would not be able to see him. Then, donning the magic cloak, and with the magic sword in his hand, he entered the castle gates. For an instant his heart seemed to stopbeating, but the thought of the Princess gave him new courage.... 

The Giant was sitting in front of the fire, his great spiked clubbetween his knees. At Charming's entry he turned round, gave a startof surprise, bent forward eagerly a moment, and then leant backchuckling. Like most overgrown men he was naturally kind-hearted andhad a simple humour, but he could be stubborn when he liked. Theoriginal affair of the tortoise seems to have shown him both at hisbest and at his worst. 

"Why do you walk like that?" he said pleasantly to Charming. "Thebaby is not asleep. "

Charming stopped short. 

"You see me?" he cried furiously. 

"Of course I do! Really, you mustn't expect to come into a housewithout anything on your feet and not be a LITTLE noticeable. Evenin a crowd I should have picked you out. "

"That miserable dwarf, " said Charming savagely, "swore solemnly tome that beneath this cloak I was invisible to the eyes of myenemies!"

"But then we AREN'T enemies, " smiled the Giant sweetly. "I like youimmensely. There's something about you--directly you came in ... Ithink it must be love at first sight. "

"So that's how he tricked me!"

"Oh, no, it wasn't really like that. The fact is you are invisibleBENEATH that cloak, only--you'll excuse my pointing it out--thereare such funny bits of you that aren't beneath the cloak. You've noidea how odd you look; just a head and two legs, and a couple ofarms.... Waists, " he murmured to himself, "are not being worn thisyear. "

But Charming had had enough of talk. Gripping his sword firmly, hethrew aside his useless cloak, dashed forward, and with a beautifullunge pricked his enemy in the ankle. 

"Victory!" he cried, waving his magic sword above his head. "Thus isBeauty's brother delivered!"

The Giant stared at him for a full minute. Then he put his hands tohis sides and fell back shaking in his chair. 

"Her brother!" he roared. "Well, of all the--Her BROTHER!" Herolled on the floor in a paroxysm of mirth. "Her brother! Oh, you--You'll kill me! Her b-b-b-b-brother! Her b-b-b-b--her b-b-b--her b-b--"

The world suddenly seemed very cold to Charming. He turned the ringon his finger. 

"Well?" said the dwarf. 

"I want, " said Charming curtly, "to be back at home, riding throughthe streets on my cream palfrey, amidst the cheers of thepopulace.... At once. "

. . . . . . . 

An hour later Princess Beauty and Prince Udo, who was not herbrother, gazed into each other's eyes; and Beauty's last illusionwent. 

"You've altered, " she said slowly. 

"Yes, I'm not REALLY much like a tortoise, " said Udo humorously. 

"I meant since seven years ago. You're much stouter than I thought. "

"Time hasn't exactly stood still with you, you know, Beauty. "

"Yet you saw me every day, and went on loving me. "

"Well-er--" He shuffled his feet and looked away. 

"DIDN'T you?"

"Well, you see--of course I wanted to get back, you see--and as longas you--I mean if we--if you thought we were in love with eachother, then, of course, you were ready to help me. And so--"

"You're quite old and bald. I can't think why I didn't notice itbefore. "

"Well, you wouldn't when I was a tortoise, " said Udo pleasantly. "Astortoises go I was really quite a youngster. Besides, anyhow onenever notices baldness in a tortoise. "

"I think, " said Beauty, weighing her words carefully, "I thinkyou've gone off a good deal in looks in the last day or two. "

. . . . . . . 

Charming was home in time for dinner; and next morning he was morepopular than ever (outside his family) as he rode through thestreets of the city. But Blunderbus lay dead in his castle. You andI know that he was killed by the magic sword; yet somehow a strangelegend grew up around his death. And ever afterwards in thatcountry, when one man told his neighbour a more than ordinarilyhumorous anecdote, the latter would cry, in between the gusts ofmerriment, "Don't! You'll make me die of laughter!" And then hewould pull himself together, and add with a sigh--"Like Blunderbus. "

AN ODD LOT

THE COMING OF THE CROCUS

"IT'S a bootiful day again, Sir, " said my gardener, James, lookingin at the study window. 

"Bootiful, James, bootiful, " I said, as I went on with my work. 

"You might almost say as spring was here at last, like. "

"Cross your fingers quickly, James, and touch wood. Look here, I'llbe out in a minute and give you some orders, but I'm very busy justnow. "

"Thought praps you'd like to know there's eleven crocuses in thefront garden. "

"Then send them away--we've got nothing for them. "

"Crocuses, " shouted James. 

I jumped up eagerly, and climbed through the window. 

"My dear man, " I said, shaking him warmly by the hand, "this isindeed a day. Crocuses! And in the front gar--on the south lawn! Letus go and gaze at them. "

There they were--eleven of them. Six golden ones, four white, and alittle mauve chap. 

"This is a triumph for you, James. It's wonderful. Has anything likethis ever happened to you before?"

"There'll be some more up to-morrow, I won't say as not. "

"Those really are growing, are they? You haven't been pushing themin from the top? They were actually born on the estate?"

"There'll be a fine one in the back bed soon, " said James proudly. 

"In the back--my dear James! In the spare bed on the north-eastterrace, I suppose you mean. And what have we in the DutchOrnamental Garden?"

"If I has to look after ornamental gardens and south aspics and all, I ought to have my salary raised, " said James, still harping on hisone grievance. 

"By all means raise some celery, " I said coldly. 

"Take a spade and raise some for lunch. I shall be only toodelighted. "

"This here isn't the season for celery, as you know well. Thishere's the season for crocuses, as anyone can see if they use theireyes. "

"James, you're right. Forgive me. It is no day for quarrelling. "

It was no day for working either. The sun shone upon theclose-cropped green of the deer park, the sky was blue above therose garden, in the tapioca grove a thrush was singing. I walked upand down my estate and drank in the good fresh air. 

"James!" I called to my head gardener. 

"What is it now?" he grumbled. 

"Are there no daffodils to take the winds of March with beauty?"

"There's these eleven croc--"

"But there should be daffodils too. Is not this March?"

"It may be March, but 'tisn't the time for daffodils--not on threeshillings a week. "

"Do you only get three shillings a week? I thought it was threeshillings an hour. "

"Likely an hour!"

"Ah well, I knew it was three shillings. Do you know, James, in theScilly Islands there are fields and fields and fields of noddingdaffodils out now. "

"Lor'!" said James. 

"Did you say 'lor'' or 'liar'?" I asked suspiciously. 

"To think of that now, " said James cautiously. 

He wandered off to the tapioca grove, leant against it in thoughtfor a moment, and came back to me. 

"What's wrong with this little bit of garden--this here park, " hebegan, "is the soil. It's no soil for daffodils. Now what daffodilslike is clay. "

"Then for Heaven's sake get them some clay. Spare no expense. Getthem anything they fancy. "

"It's too alloovial--that's what's the matter. Too alloovial. Now, crocuses like a bit of alloovial. That's where you have it. "

The matter with James is that he hasn't enough work to do. The restof the staff is so busily employed that it is hardly ever visible. William, for instance, is occupied entirely with what I might callthe poultry; it is his duty, in fact, to see that there are alwaysenough ants' eggs for the goldfish. All these prize Leghorns youhear about are the merest novices compared with William's protegees. Then John looks after the staggery; Henry works the colouredfountain; and Peter paints the peacocks' tails. This keeps them allbusy, but James is for ever hanging about. 

"Almost seems as if they were yooman, " he said, as we stood andlistened to the rooks. 

"Oh, are you there, James? It's a beautiful day. Who said thatfirst? I believe you did. "

"Them there rooks always make a place seem so home-like. Rooks andcrocuses, I say--and you don't want anything more. "

"Yes; well, if the rooks want to build in the raspberry canes thisyear, let them, James. Don't be inhospitable. "

"Course, some do like to see primroses, I don't say. But--"

"Primroses--I knew there was something. Where are they?"

"It's too early for them, " said James hastily. "You won't getprimroses now before April. "

"Don't say 'now, ' as if it were my fault. Why didn't you plant themearlier? I don't believe you know any of the tricks of yourprofession, James. You never seem to graft anything or pruneanything, and I'm sure you don't know how to cut a slip. James, whydon't you prune more? Prune now--I should like to watch you. Where'syour pruning-hook? You can't possibly do it with a rake. "

James spends most of his day with a rake--sometimes leaning on it, sometimes working with it. The beds are always beautifully kept. Only the most hardy annual would dare to poke its head up and spoilthe smooth appearance of the soil. For those who like circles andrectangles of unrelieved brown, James is undoubtedly the man. 

As I stood in the sun I had a brilliant idea. 

"James, " I said, "we'll cut the croquet lawn this afternoon. "

"You can't play croquet to-day, it's not warm enough. "

"I don't pay you to argue, but to obey. At the same time I shouldlike to point out that I never said I was going to play croquet. Isaid that we, meaning you, would cut the lawn. "

"What's the good of that?"

"Why, to encourage the wonderful day, of course. Where is yourgratitude, man? Don't you want to do something to help? How can welet a day like this go past without some word of welcome? Out withthe mower, and let us hail the passing of winter. "

James looked at me in disgust. 

"Gratitude!" he said indignantly to Heaven. "And there's my elevencrocuses in the front all a-singing together like anything on threebob a week!"

THE ORDEAL BY FIRE

Our Flame-flower, the Family Flame-flower, is now plainlyestablished in the north-east corner of the pergola, and flourishesexceedingly. There, or thereabouts, it will remain through thegenerations to come--a cascade of glory to the eye, a fountain ofpride to the soul. "Our fathers' fathers, " the unborn will say ofus, "performed this thing; they toiled and suffered that we mightfront the world with confidence--a family secure in the knowledgethat it has been tried by fire and not found wanting.... "

The Atherley's flame-flower, I am glad to inform you, is dead. 

. . . . . . . 

We started the work five years ago. I was young and ignorant then--Idid not understand. One day they led me to an old apple tree andshowed me, fenced in at its foot, two twigs and a hint of leaf. "Theflame-flower!" they said, with awe in their voices. I was veryyoung; I said that I didn't think much of it. It was from thatmoment that my education began.... 

Everybody who came to see us had to be shown the flame-flower. Visitors were conducted to the apple tree in solemn procession, andpresented. They peered over the fence and said, "A-ah!" just as ifthey knew all about it. Perhaps some of them did. Perhaps some ofthem had tried to grow it in their own gardens. 

As November came on and the air grew cold, the question whether theflame-flower should winter abroad became insistent. After muchthought it was moved to the shrubbery on the southern side of thehouse, where it leant against a laburnum until April. With thespring it returned home, seemingly stronger for the change; but thethought of winter was too much for it, and in October it was orderedsouth again. 

For the next three years it was constantly trying different climatesand testing various diets. Though it was touch and go with it allthis time our faith was strong, our courage unshaken. June, 1908, found it in the gravel-pit. It seemed our only hope.... 

And in the August of that year I went and stayed with the Atherleys. 

. . . . . . 

One morning at breakfast I challenged Miss Atherley to an immediategame of tennis. 

"Not directly after, " said Mrs Atherley, "it's so bad for you. Besides, we must just plant our flame-flower first. "

I dropped my knife and fork and gazed at her open-mouthed. 

"Plant your--WHAT?" I managed to say at last. 

"Flame-flower. Do you know it? John brought one down last night--itlooks so pretty growing up anything. "

"It won't take a moment, " said Miss Atherley, "and then I'll beatyou. "

"But--but you mustn't--you--you mustn't talk like THAT about it, " Istammered. " Th-that's not the way to talk about a flame-flower. "

"Why, what's wrong?"

"You're just going to plant it! Before you play tennis! It isn'ta--a BUTTERCUP! You can't do it like that. "

"Oh, but do give us any hints--we shall be only too grateful. "

"Hints! Just going to plant it!" I repeated, getting more and moreindignant. "I--I suppose Sir Christopher Wren s-said to his wife atbreakfast one morning, 'I've just got to design St Paul's Cathedral, dear, and then I'll come and play tennis with you. If you can giveme any hints--'"

"Is it really so difficult?" asked Mrs Atherley. "We've seen lots ofit in Scotland. "

"In Scotland, yes. Not in the South of England. " I paused, and thenadded, "WE have one. "

"What soil is yours? Do you plant it very deep? Do they like a lotof water?" These and other technical points were put to me at once. 

"Those are mere details of horticulture, " I said. "What I amprotesting against is the whole spirit in which you approach thebusiness--the light-hearted way in which you assume that you cansupport a flame-flower. You have to be a very superior family indeedto have a flame-flower growing in your garden. "

They laughed. They thought I was joking. 

"Well, we're going to plant it now, anyhow, " said Miss Atherley. "Come along and help us. "

We went out, six of us, Mrs Atherley carrying the precious thing;and we gathered round an old tree trunk in front of the house. 

"It would look rather pretty here, " said Mrs Atherley. "Don't youthink?"

I gave a great groan. 

"You--you--you're all wrong again, " I said in despair. "You don'tput a flame-flower in a place where you think it will look pretty;you try in all humility to find a favoured spot where it will bepleased to grow. There may be such a spot in your garden or theremay not. Until I know you better I cannot say. But it is extremelyunlikely to be here, right in front of the window. "

They laughed again, and began to dig up the ground. I turned my backin horror; I could not watch. And at the last moment some qualms ofdoubt seized even them. They spoke to me almost humbly. 

"How would YOU plant it?" they asked. 

It was my last chance of making them realize their responsibility. 

"I cannot say at this moment, " I began, "exactly how the ceremonyshould be performed, but I should endeavour to think of something inkeeping with the solemnity of the occasion. It may be that MrsAtherley and I would take the flower and march in procession roundthe fountain, singing a suitable chant, while Bob and Archie withshaven heads prostrated themselves before the sundial. Miss Atherleymight possibly dance the Fire-dance upon the east lawn, while MrAtherley stood upon one foot in the middle of the herbaceous borderand played upon her with the garden hose. These or other symbolicrites we should perform, before we planted it in a place chosen byChance. Then leaving a saucer of new milk for it lest it shouldthirst in the night we would go away, and spend the rest of the weekin meditation. "

I paused for breath. 

"That might do it, " I added, "or it might not. But at least that isthe sort of spirit that you want to show. "

Once more they laughed ... And then they planted it. 

. . . . . . . . 

These have been two difficult years for me. There have been timeswhen I have almost lost faith, and not even the glories of our ownflame-flower could cheer me. But at last the news came. I was athome for the week-end and, after rather a tiring day showingvisitors the north-east end of the pergola, I went indoors for arest. On the table there was a letter for me. It was from MrsAtherley. 

"BY THE WAY, " she wrote, "THE FLAME-FLOWER IS DEAD. "

"By the way"!

But even if they had taken the business seriously, even if they hadunderstood fully what a great thing it was they wereattempting--even then I think they would have failed. 

For, though I like the Atherleys very much, though I think them allextremely jolly ... Yet--I doubt, you know, if they are QUITE thefamily to have a flame-flower growing in their garden. 

THE LUCKY MONTH

"KNOW thyself, " said the old Greek motto. (In Greek--but this is anEnglish book. ) So I bought a little red volume called, terselyenough, WERE YOU BORN IN JANUARY? I was; and, reassured on thispoint, the author told me all about myself. 

For the most part he told me nothing new. "You are, " he said ineffect, "good-tempered, courageous, ambitious, loyal, quick toresent wrong, an excellent raconteur, and a leader of men. " True. "Generous to a fault"--(Yes, I was overdoing that rather)--"you havea ready sympathy with the distressed. People born in this month willalways keep their promises. " And so on. There was no doubt that theauthor had the idea all right. Even when he went on to warn me of myweaknesses he maintained the correct note. "People born in January, "he said, "must be on their guard against working too strenuously. Their extraordinarily active brains--" Well, you see what he means. It IS a fault perhaps, and I shall be more careful in future. Mind, I do not take offence with him for calling my attention to it. Infact, my only objection to the book is its surface application toALL the people who were born in January. There should have been moredistinction made between me and the rabble. 

I have said that he told me little that was new. In one matter, however, he did open my eyes. He introduced me to an aspect ofmyself entirely unsuspected. 

"They, " he said-meaning me, "have unusual business capacity, and aredestined to be leaders in great commerical enterprises. "

One gets at times these flashes of self-revelation. In an instant Irealized how wasted my life had been; in an instant I resolved thathere and now I would put my great gifts to their proper uses. Iwould be a leader in an immense commercial enterprise. 

One cannot start commercial enterprises without capital. The firstthing was to determine the exact nature of my balance at the bank. This was a matter for the bank to arrange, and I drove thererapidly. 

"Good-morning, " I said to the cashier, "I am in rather a hurry. MayI have my pass-book?"

He assented and retired. After an interminable wait, during whichmany psychological moments for commercial enterprise must havelapsed, he returned. 

"I think YOU have it, " he said shortly. 

"Thank you, " I replied, and drove rapidly home again. 

A lengthy search followed; but after an hour of it one of thosewhite-hot flashes of thought, such as only occur to the naturalbusiness genius, seared my mind and sent me post-haste to the bankagain. 

"After all, " I said to the cashier, "I only want to know my balance. What is it?"

He withdrew and gave himself up to calculation. I paced the floorimpatiently. Opportunities were slipping by. At last he pushed aslip of paper across at me. My balance!

It was in four figures. Unfortunately two of them were shillings andpence. Still, there was a matter of fifty pounds odd as well, andfortunes have been built up on less. 

Out in the street I had a moment's pause. Hitherto I had regarded mycommercial enterprise in the bulk, as a finished monument ofindustry; the little niggling preliminary details had not come upfor consideration. Just for a second I wondered how to begin. 

Only for a second. An unsuspected talent which has long lain dormantneeds, when waked, a second or so to turn round in. At the end ofthat time I had made up my mind. I knew exactly what I would do. Iwould ring up my solicitor. 

"Hallo, is that you? Yes, this is me. What? Yes, awfully, thanks. How are you? Good. Look here, come and lunch with me. What? No, atonce. Good-bye. "

Business, particularly that sort of commercial enterprise to which Ihad now decided to lend my genius, can only be discussed properlyover a cigar. During the meal itself my solicitor and I indulged inthe ordinary small-talk of the pleasure-loving world. 

"You're looking very fit, " said my solicitor. "No, not fat, FIT. "

"You don't think I'm looking thin?" I asked anxiously. "People arewarning me that I may be overdoing it rather. They tell me that Imust be seriously on my guard against brain strain. "

"I suppose they think you oughtn't to strain it too suddenly, " saidmy solicitor. Though he is now a solicitor he was once just anordinary boy like the rest of us, and it was in those days that heacquired the habit of being rude to me, a habit he has never quiteforgotten. 

"What is an onyx?" I said, changing the conversation. 

"Why?" asked my solicitor, with his usual business acumen. 

"Well, I was practically certain that I had seen one in the Zoo, inthe reptile house, but I have just learnt that it is my lucky monthstone. Naturally I want to get one. "

The coffee came and we settled down to commerce. 

"I was just going to ask you, " said my solicitor--"have you anymoney lying idle at the bank? Because if so--"

"Whatever else it is doing, it isn't lying idle, " I protested. "Iwas at the bank to-day, and there were men chivying it about withshovels all the time. "

"Well, how much have you got?"

"About fifty pounds. "

"It ought to be more than that. "

"That's what I say, but you know what banks are. Actual merit countsfor nothing with them. "

"Well, what did you want to do with it?"

"Exactly. That was why I rang you up. I--er--" This was really mymoment, but somehow I was not quite ready to seize it. My vastcommercial enterprise still lacked a few trifling details. "Er--I--well, it's like that. "

"I might get you a few ground rents. "

"Don't. I shouldn't know where to put them. "

"But if you really have fifty pounds simply lying idle I wish you'dlend it to me for a bit. I'm confoundedly hard up. "

("GENEROUS TO A FAULT, YOU HAVE A READY SYMPATHY WITH THEDISTRESSED. " Dash it, what could I do?)

"Is it quite etiquette for clients to lend solicitors money?" Iasked. "I thought it was always solicitors who had to lend it toclients. If I must, I'd rather lend it to you--I mean, I'd dislikeit less--as to the old friend of my childhood. "

"Yes, that's how I wanted to pay it back. "

"Bother. Then I'll send you a cheque to-night, " I sighed. 

And that's where we are at the moment. "PEOPLE BORN IN THIS MONTHALWAYS KEEP THEIR PROMISES. " The money has got to go to-night. If Ihadn't been born in January I shouldn't be sending it; I certainlyshouldn't have promised it; I shouldn't even have known that I hadit. Sometimes I almost wish that I had been born in one of thedecent months. March, say. 

A SUMMER COLD

WHEN I am not feeling very well I go to Beatrice for sympathy andadvice. Anyhow I get the advice. 

"I think, " I said carelessly, wishing to break it to her as gentlyas possible, "I think I have hay-fever. "

"Nonsense, " said Beatrice. 

That annoyed me. Why shouldn't I have hay-fever if I wanted to?

"If you're going to begrudge me every little thing, " I began. 

"You haven't even got a cold. "

As luck would have it a sneeze chose that moment for its arrival. 

"There!" I said triumphantly. 

"Why, my dear boy, if you had hay-fever you'd be sneezing all day. "

"That was only a sample. There are lots more where that came from. "

"Don't be so silly. Fancy starting hay-fever in September. "

"I'm not starting it. I am, I earnestly hope, just finishing it. Ifyou want to know, I've had a cold all the summer. "

"Well, I haven't noticed it. "

"That's because I'm such a good actor. I've been playing the part ofa man who hasn't had a cold all the summer. My performance isconsidered to be most life-like. "

Beatrice disdained to answer, and by and by I sneezed again. 

"You certainly have a cold, " she said, putting down her work. 

"Come, this is something. "

"You must be careful. How did you catch it?"

"I didn't catch it. It caught me. "

"Last week-end?"

"No, last May. "

Beatrice picked up her work again impatiently. I sneezed a thirdtime. 

"Is this more the sort of thing you want?" I said. 

"What I say is that you couldn't have had hay-fever all the summerwithout people knowing. "

"But, my dear Beatrice, people do know. In this quiet little suburbyou are rather out of the way of the busy world. Rumours of war, depressions on the Stock Exchange, my hay-fever--these things passyou by. But the clubs are full of it. I assure you that, all overthe country, England's stately homes have been plunged into mourningby the news of my sufferings, historic piles have bowed their headsand wept. "

"I suppose you mean that in every house you've been to this summeryou've told them that you had it, and they've been foolish enough tobelieve you. "

"That's putting it a little crudely. What happens is--"

"Well, all I can say is, you know a very silly lot of people. "

"What happens is that when the mahogany has been cleared of itspolished silver and choice napery, and wine of a rare old vintage iscirculating from hand to hand--"

"If they wanted to take any notice of you at all, they could havegiven you a bread poultice and sent you to bed. "

"Then, as we impatiently bite the ends off our priceless Havanas--"

"They might know that you couldn't possibly have hay-fever. "

I sat up suddenly and spoke to Beatrice. 

"Why on earth SHOULDN'T I have hay-fever?" I demanded. "Have you anyidea what hay-fever is? I suppose you think I ought to be runningabout wildly, trying to eat hay--or yapping and showing anunaccountable aversion from dried grass? I take it that there aregrades of hay-fever, as there are of everything else. I have it atpresent in a mild form. Instead of being thankful that it is noworse, you--"

"My dear boy, hay-fever is a thing people have all their lives, andit comes on every summer. You've never even pretended to have itbefore this year. "

"Yes, but you must start SOME time. I'm a little backward, perhaps. Just because there are a few infant prodigies about, don't despiseme. In a year or two I shall be as regular as the rest of them. " AndI sneezed again. 

Beatrice got up with an air of decision and left the room. For amoment I thought she was angry and had gone for a policeman, but asthe minutes went by and she didn't return I began to fear that shemight have left the house for good. I was wondering how I shouldbreak the news to her husband when, to my relief, she came in again. 

"You may be right, " she said, putting down a small package andunpinning her hat. "Try this. The chemist says it's the besthay-fever cure there is. "

"It's in a lot of languages, " I said as I took the wrapper off. "Isuppose German hay is the same as any other sort of hay? Oh, here itis in English. I say, this is a what-d'-you-call-it cure. "

"So the man said. "

"Homeopathic. It's made from the pollen that causes hay-fever. Yes. Ah, yes. " I coughed slightly and looked at Beatrice out of thecorner of my eye. "I suppose, " I said carelessly, "if anybody tookthis who HADN'T got hay-fever, the results might be rather--I meanthat he might then find that he-in fact, er--HAD got it. "

"Sure to, " said Beatrice. 

"Yes. That makes us a little thoughtful; we don't want to over-dothis thing. " I went on reading the instructions. "You know, it'srather odd about my hay-fever--it's generally worse in town than inthe country. "

"But then you started so late, dear. You haven't really got into theswing of it yet. "

"Yes, but still--you know, I have my doubts about the gentleman whoinvented this. We don't see eye to eye in this matter. Beatrice, youmay be right--perhaps I haven't got hay-fever. "

"Oh, don't give up. "

"But all the same I know I've got something. It's a funny thingabout my being worse in town than in the country. That looks ratheras if--By Jove, I know what it is--I've got just the opposite ofhay-fever. "

"What is the opposite of hay?"

"Why, bricks and things. "

I gave a last sneeze and began to wrap up the cure. 

"Take this pollen stuff back, " I said to Beatrice, "and ask the manif he's got anything homoeopathic made from paving-stones. Because, you know, that's what I really want. "

"You HAVE got a cold, " said Beatrice. 

A MODERN CINDERELLA

ONCE upon a time there was a beautiful girl who lived in a mansionin Park Lane with her mother and her two sisters and a crowd ofservants. Cinderella, for that was her name, would have dearly lovedto have employed herself about the house sometimes; but whenever shedid anything useful, like arranging the flowers or giving the pug abath, her mother used to say, "Cinderella! What DO you think Iengage servants for? Please don't make yourself so common. "

Cinderella's two sisters were much older and plainer than herself, and their mother had almost given up hope about them, but she usedto drag Cinderella to balls and dances night after night, takingcare that only the right sort of person was introduced to her. Therewere many nights when Cinderella would have preferred a book at homein front of the fire, for she soon found that her partners' ideas ofwaltzing were as catholic as their conversation was limited. It was, indeed, this fondness for the inglenook that had earned her the nameof Cinderella. 

One day, when she was in the middle of a delightful story, hermother came in suddenly and cried:

"Cinderella! Why aren't you resting, as I told you? You know we aregoing to the Hogbins' to-night. "

"Oh, mother, " pleaded Cinderella, "NEED I go to the dance?"

"Don't be so absurd! Of course you're going!"

"But I've got nothing to wear. "

"I've told Jennings what you're to wear. Now go and lie down. I wantyou to look your best to-night, because I hear that young Mr Hogbinis back again from Australia. " Young Mr Hogbin was not the King'sson; he was the son of a wealthy gelatine manufacturer. 

"Then may I come away at twelve?" begged Cinderella. 

"You'll come away when I tell you. "

Cinderella made a face and went upstairs. "Oh, dear, " she thought toherself, "I wish I were as old as my two sisters, and could do whatI liked. I'm sure if my godmother were here she would get me offgoing. " But, alas! her godmother lived at Leamington, andCinderella, after a week at Leamington, had left her there onlyyesterday. 

Cinderella indeed looked beautiful as they started for the ball; buther mother, who held a review of her in the drawing-room, was notquite satisfied. 

"Cinderella!" she said. "You know I said you were to wear the silverslippers!"

"Oh, mother, they ARE so tight, " pleaded Cinderella. "Don't youremember I told you at the time they were much too small for me?"

"Nonsense. Go and put them on at once. "

The dance was in full swing when Cinderella arrived. Although herlovely appearance caused several of the guests to look at her, theydid not ask each other eagerly who she was, for most of them knewher already as Miss Partington-Smith. A brewer's son led her off todance. 

The night wore on slowly. One young man after another trod onCinderella's toes, trotted in circles round her, ran her violentlybackwards into some other man, or swooped with her into thefireplace. Cinderella, whose feet seemed mechanically to adaptthemselves to the interpretation of the Boston that was forming inher partner's brain, bore it from each one as long as she could; andthen led the way to a quiet corner, where she confessed frankly thatshe had NOT bought all her Christmas presents yet, and that she WASgoing to Switzerland for the winter. 

The gelatine manufacturer's son took her in to supper. It wasnoticed that Cinderella looked much happier as soon as they had satdown, and indeed throughout the meal she was in the highest spirits. For some reason or other she seemed to find even Mr Hogbinendurable. But just as they were about to return to the ball-room anexpression of absolute dismay came over her face. 

"Anything the matter?" said her partner. 

"N--no, " said Cinderella; but she made no effort to move. 

"Well, shall we come?"

"Y--yes. "

She waited a moment longer, dropped her fan under the table, pickedit up slowly, and followed him out. 

"Let's sit down here, " she said in the hall; "not upstairs. "

They sat in silence; for he had exhausted his stock of questions atthe end of their first dance, and had told her all about Australiaduring supper; while she apparently had no desire for conversationof any kind, being wrapped up in her thoughts. 

"I'll wait here, " she said, as a dance began. "If you see mother, Iwish you'd send her to me. "

Her mother came up eagerly. 

"Well, dear?" she said. 

"Mother, " said Cinderella, "do take me home at once. Somethingextraordinary has happened. "

"It's young Mr Hogbin! I knew it!"

"Who? Oh--er--yes, of course. I'll tell you all about it in thecarriage, mother. "

"Is my little girl going to be happy?"

"I don't know, " said Cinderella anxiously. "There's just a chance. "

The chance must have come off, for, once in the carriage, Cinderellagave a deep sigh of happiness. 

"Well, dear?" said her mother again. 

"You'll NEVER guess, mother, " laughed Cinderella. "Try. "

"I guess that my little daughter thinks of running away from me, "said her mother archly. "Am I right?"

"Oh, how lovely! Why, running away is simply the LAST thing I coulddo. Look!" She stretched out her foot-clothed only in a pale bluestocking. 

"Cinderella!"

"I TOLD you they were too tight, " she explained rapidly, "and I wastrodden on by every man in the place, and I simply HAD to kick themoff at supper, and--and I only got one back. I don't know whathappened to the other; I suppose it got pushed along somewhere, but, anyhow, _I_ wasn't going under the table after it. " She laughedsuddenly and softly to herself. "I wonder what they'll do when theyfind the slipper?" she said. 

. . . . . . . . 

Of course the King's son (or anyhow, Mr Hogbin) ought to have sentit round to all the ladies in Mayfair, taking knightly oath to marryher whom it fitted. But what actually happened was that a footmanfound it, and, being very sentimental and knowing that nobody wouldever dare to claim it, carried it about with him everafterwards--thereby gaining a great reputation with his cronies as anut. 

Oh, and by the way--I ought to put in a good word for the godmother. She did her best. 

"Cinderella!" said her mother at lunch next day, as she looked upfrom her letters. "Why didn't you tell me your godmother was ill?"

"She wasn't very well when I left her, but I didn't think it wasanything much. Is she bad? I AM sorry. "

"She writes that she has obtained measles. I suppose that meansYOU'RE infectious. Really, it's very inconvenient. Well, I'm glad wedidn't know yesterday or you couldn't have gone to the dance. "

"Dear fairy godmother!" said Cinderella to herself. "She was a daytoo late, but how sweet of her to think of it at all!"

A LITERARY LIGHT

ANNESLEY BUPP was born one of the Bupps of Hampshire--the FightingBupps, as they were called. A sudden death in the family left himdestitute at the early age of thirty, and he decided to takeseriously to journalism for a living. That was twelve years ago. Heis now a member of the Authors' Club; a popular after-dinner speakerin reply to the toast of Literature; and one of the best-paidwriters in Fleet Street. Who's Who tells the world that he has aflat at Knightsbridge and a cottage on the river. If you ask him towhat he owes his success he will assure you, with the consciousmodesty of all great men, that he has been lucky; pressed further, that Hard Work and Method have been his watchwords. But to the youngaspirant he adds that of course if you have it in you it is bound tocome out. 

I

When Annesley started journalism he realized at once that it wasnecessary for him to specialize in some subject. Of such subjectstwo occurred to him--"George Herbert" and "Trams. " For a time hehesitated, and it was only the sudden publication of a brief butauthoritative life of the poet which led him finally to the study ofone of the least explored of our transit systems. Meanwhile he hadto support himself. For this purpose he bought a roll-top desk, atypewriter, and an almanac; he placed the almanac on top of thedesk, seated himself at the typewriter, and began. 

It was the month of February; the almanac told him that it wanted aweek to Shrove Tuesday. In four days he had written as manyarticles, entitled respectively Shrovetide Customs, The Pancake, Lenten Observances, and Tuesdays Known to Fame. The Pancake, givingas it did the context of every reference in literature to pancakes, was the most scholarly of the four; the Tuesday article, whichhazarded the opinion that Rome may at least have been begun on aTuesday, the most daring. But all of them were published. 

This early success showed Annesley the possibilities of the topicalarticle; it led him also to construct a revised calendar for his ownuse. In the "Bupp Almanac" the events of the day were put back afortnight; so that, if the Feast of St Simon and St Jude fell uponthe 17th, Annesley's attention was called to it upon the 3rd, andupon the 3rd he surveyed the Famous Partnerships of the epoch. Similarly, The Origin of Lord Mayor's Day was put in hand on October26th. 

He did not, however, only glorify the past; current events claimedtheir meed of copy. In the days of his dependence Annesley hadtravelled, so that he could well provide the local colour for suchsketches as Kimberley as I Knew It (1901) and Birmingham byMoonlight (1903). His Recollections of St Peter's at Rome were hazy, yet sufficient to furnish an article with that title at the time ofthe Coronation. But I must confess that Dashes for the Pole cameentirely from his invaluable Encyclopaedia.... 

II

Annesley Bupp had devoted himself to literature for two years beforehis first article on trams was written. This was called Voltage, washighly technical, and convinced every editor to whom it was sent(and by whom it was returned) that the author knew his subjectthoroughly. So when he followed it up with How to be a TramConductor, he had the satisfaction not only of seeing it in printwithin a week, but of reading an editorial reference to himself as"the noted expert on our overhead system. " Two other articles in thesame paper--Some Curious Tram Accidents and Tram or Bus: Which?--established his position. 

Once recognized as the authority on trams, Bupp was never at a lossfor a subject. In the first place there were certain articles, suchas Tramways in 1904, Progress of Tramway Construction in the PastYear, Tramway Inventions of the Last Twelvemonth, and The Tram: ItsFuture in 1905, which flowed annually from his pen. From time totime there would arise the occasion for the topical article ontrams--Trams as Army Transports and How our Trams fared during theRecent Snow, to give two obvious examples. And always there was amarket for such staple articles as Trams in Fiction.... 

III

You will understand, then, that by the end of 1906 Annesley Bupp hada reputation; to be exact, he had two reputations. In Fleet Streethe was known as a writer upon whom a sub-editor could depend; afurnisher of what got to be called "buppy"--matter which is paid ata slightly higher rate than ordinary copy, because the length andquality of it never vary. Outside Fleet Street he was regardedsimply as a literary light; Annesley Bupp, the fellow whose name yousaw in every paper; an accepted author. 

It was not surprising, therefore, that at the beginning of 1907public opinion forced Annesley into (sic) n wer fields ofliterature. It demanded from him, among other things, a weeklyreview of current fiction entitled Fireside Friends. He wrote thiswith extraordinary fluency; a few words of introduction, followed bya large fragment of the book before him, pasted beneath the line, "Take this, for instance. " An opinion of any kind he rarelyventured; an adverse opinion, like a good friend, never. 

About this time he was commissioned to write three paragraphs eachday for an evening paper. The first of them always began: "MrAsquith's admission in the House of Commons yesterday that he hadnever done so and so is not without parallel. In 1746 the elder Pitt... " The second always began: "Mention of the elder Pitt recalls thefact that ... " The third always began: "It may not be generallyknown ... "

Until he began to write these paragraphs Annesley Bupp had nodefinite political views. 

IV

Annesley Bupp is now at the zenith of his fame. The "buppy" of olddays he still writes occasionally, but he no longer signs it infull. A modest "A. B. " in the corner, supposed by the ignorant tostand for "Arthur Balfour, " is the only evidence of the author. (Isay "the only evidence, " for he has had, like all great men, hiscountless imitators. ) Trams also he deserted with the publication ofhis great work on the subject--Tramiana. But as a writer onLiterature and Old London he has a European reputation, and hisrecent book, In the Track of Shakespeare: A Record of a Visit toStratford-on-Avon, created no little stir. 

He is in great request at public dinners, where his speech in replyto the toast of Literature is eagerly attended. 

He contributes to every symposium in the popular magazines. 

It is all the more to be regretted that his autobiography, The Lastof the Bupps, is to be published posthumously. 

LITTLE PLAYS FOR AMATEURS

"FAIR MISTRESS DOROTHY"

THE SCENE IS AN APARTMENT IN THE MANSION OF Sir Thomas Farthingale. THERE IS NO NEED TO DESCRIBE THE FURNITURE IN IT, AS REHEARSALS WILLGRADUALLY SHOW WHAT IS WANTED. A PICTURE OR TWO OF PREVIOUS SirThomas's MIGHT BE SEEN ON THE WALLS, IF YOU HAVE AN ARTISTIC FRIENDWHO COULD ARRANGE THIS; BUT IT IS A MISTAKE TO HANG UP YOUR OWNANCESTORS AS SOME OF YOUR GUESTS MAY RECOGNIZE THEM, AND THUS PIERCEBENEATH THE VRAISEMBLANCE OF THE SCENE. 

THE PERIOD IS THAT OF CROMWELL--SIXTEEN SOMETHING. 

THE COSTUMES ARE, IF POSSIBLE, OF THE SAME PERIOD. 

Mistress Dorothy Farthingale IS SEATED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STAGE, READING A LETTER AND OCCASIONALLY SIGHING. 

ENTER My Lord Carey. 

CAREY. Mistress Dorothy alone! Truly Fortune smiles upon me. 

DOROTHY (HIDING THE LETTER QUICKLY). An she smiles, my lord, I needsmust frown. 

CAREY (USED TO THIS SORT OF THING AND NO LONGER PUT OFF BY IT). Nay, give me but one smile, sweet mistress. (SHE SIGHS HEAVILY. ) Yousigh! Is't for me?

DOROTHY (FEELING THAT THE SOONER HE AND THE AUDIENCE UNDERSTAND THESITUATION THE BETTER). I sigh for another, my lord, who is absent. 

CAREY (ANNOYED). Zounds, and zounds again!

A pest upon the fellow! (He strides up and down the room, keepingout of the way of his sword as much as possible. ) Would that I mightpink the pesky knave!

DOROTHY (turning upon him a look of hate). Would that you might havethe chance, my lord, so it were in fair fighting. Methinks Roger'ssword-arm will not have lost its cunning in the wars. 

CAREY. A traitor to fight against his King!

DOROTHY. He fights for what he thinks is right. (She takes out hisletter and kisses it. )

CAREY (observing the action). You have a letter from him!

DOROTHY (hastily concealing it, and turning pale). How know youthat?

CAREY. Give it to me! (She shrieks and rises. ) By heavens, madam, Iwill have it! [He struggles with her and seizes it. 

Enter Sir Thomas. 

SIR THOMAS. Odds life, my lord, what means this?

CAREY (straightening himself). It means, Sir Thomas, that youharbour a rebel within your walls. Master Roger Dale, traitor, corresponds secretly with your daughter. [Who, I forgot to say, hasswooned. 

SIR THOMAS (sternly). Give me the letter. Ay, 'tis Roger's hand, Iknow it well. (He reads the letter, which is full of thoughtfulmetaphors about love, aloud to the audience. Suddenly his eyebrowsgo up and down to express surprise. He seizes Lord Carey by thearm. ) Ha! Listen! "To-morrow, when the sun is upon the westernwindow of the gallery, I will be with thee. " The villain!

CAREY (who does not know the house very well). When is that?

SIR THOMAS. Why, 'tis now, for I have but recently passed through thegallery and did mark the sun. 

CAREY (FIERCELY). In the name of the King, Sir Thomas, I call uponyou to arrest this traitor. 

SIR THOMAS (sighing). I loved the boy well, yet--[He shrugs hisshoulders expressively and goes out with Lord Carey to collectsufficient force for the arrest. 

Enter Roger by a secret door, R. 

ROGER. My love!

DOROTHY (opening her eyes). Roger!

ROGER. At last!

[For the moment they talk in short sentences like this. Then DOROTHYputs her hand to her brow as if she is remembering somethinghorrible. 

DOROTHY. Roger! Now I remember! It is not safe for you to stay!

ROGER (very brave). Am I a puling child to be afraid?

DOROTHY. My Lord Carey is here. He has read your letter. 

ROGER. The black-livered dog! Would I had him at my sword's point toteach him manners. 

[He puts his hand to his heart and staggers into a chair. 

DOROTHY. Oh, you are wounded!

ROGER. Faugh, 'tis but a scratch. Am I a puling--

[He faints. She binds up his ankle. 

Enter Lord Carey with two soldiers. 

CAREY. Arrest this traitor! (ROGER is led away by the soldiers. )

Dorothy (stretching out her hands to him). Roger! (She sinks into achair. )

Carey (choosing quite the wrong moment for a proposal). Dorothy, Ilove you! Think no more of this traitor, for he will surely hang. 'Tis your father's wish that you and I should wed. 

Dorothy (refusing him). Go, lest I call in the grooms to whip you. 

Carey. By heaven--(thinking better of it) I go to fetch your father. 

[Exit. 

Enter Roger by secret door, L. 

Dorothy. Roger! You have escaped!

Roger. Knowest not the secret passage from the wine cellar, where weso often played as children? 'Twas in that same cellar thethick-skulled knaves immured me. 

Dorothy. Roger, you must fly! Wilt wear a cloak of mine to elude ourenemies?

Roger (missing the point rather). Nay, if I die, let me die like aman, not like a puling girl. Yet, sweetheart--

Enter Lord Carey by ordinary door. 

Carey (forgetting himself in his confusion). Odds my zounds, dodsink me! What murrain is this?

Roger (seizing Sir Thomas's sword, which had been accidentally leftbehind on the table, as I ought to have said before, and advancingthreateningly). It means, my lord, that a villain's time has come. Wilt say a prayer?

[They fight, and Carey is disarmed before they can hurt each other. 

Carey (dying game). Strike, Master Dale!

Roger. Nay, I cannot kill in cold blood. 

[He throws down his sword. Lord Carey exhibits considerable emotionat this, and decides to turn over an entirely new leaf. 

Enter two soldiers. 

Carey. Arrest that man! (Roger is seized again. ) Mistress Dorothy, it is for you to say what shall be done with the prisoner. 

Dorothy (standing up if she was sitting down, and sitting down ifshe was standing up). Ah, give him to me, my lord!

Carey (joining the hands of Roger and Dorothy). I trust to you, sweet mistress, to see that the prisoner does not escape again. 

[Dorothy and Roger embrace each other, if they can do it withoutcausing a scandal in the neighbourhood, and the curtain goes down. 

"A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING"

The scene is a drawing-room (in which the men are allowed tosmoke--or a smoking-room in which the women are allowed to draw--itdoesn't much matter) in the house of somebody or other in thecountry. George Turnbull and his old College friend, Henry Peterson, are confiding in each other, as old friends will, over theirwhiskies and cigars. It is about three o'clock in the afternoon. 

George (dreamily helping himself to a stiff soda). Henry, do youremember that evening at Christ Church College, Oxford, five yearsago, when we opened our hearts to each other... 

Henry (lighting a cigar and hiding it in a fern-pot). That moonlightevening on the Backs, George, when I had failed in my Matriculationexamination?

George. Yes; and we promised that when either of us fell in love theother should be the first to hear of it? (Rising solemnly. ) Henry, the moment has come. (With shining eyes. ) I am in love. 

Henry (jumping up and grasping him by both hands). George! My dearold George! (In a voice broken with emotion. ) Bless you, George!

[He pats him thoughtfully on the back three times, nods his own headtwice, gives him a final grip of the hand, and returns to his chair. 

George (more moved by this than he cares to show). Thank you, Henry. (Hoarsely. ) You're a good fellow. 

Henry (airily, with a typically British desire to conceal hisemotion). Who is the lucky little lady?

George (taking out a picture postcard of the British Museum andkissing it passionately). Isobel Barley!

[If Henry is not careful he will probably give a start of surprisehere, with the idea of suggesting to the audience that he (1) knowssomething about the lady's past, or (2) is in love with her himself. He is, however, thinking of a different play. We shall come to thatone in a moment. 

Henry (in a slightly dashing manner). Little Isobel? Lucky dog!

George. I wish I could think so. (Sighs. ) But I have yet to approachher, and she may be another's. (Fiercely. ) Heavens, Henry, if sheshould be another's!

Enter Isobel. 

Isobel (brightly). So I've run you to earth at last. Now, what haveyou got to say for yourselves?

Henry (like a man). By Jove! (looking at his watch)--I had noidea--is it really--poor old Joe--waiting--

[Dashes out tactfully in a state of incoherence. 

George (rising and leading Isobel to the front of the stage). MissBarley, now that we are alone, I have something I want to say toyou. 

Isobel (looking at her watch). Well, you must be quick. Because I'mengaged--

[George drops her hand and staggers away from her. 

Isobel. Why, what's the matter?

George (to the audience, in a voice expressing the very deeps ofemotion). Engaged! She is engaged! I am too late!

[He sinks into a chair and covers his face with his hands. 

Isobel (surprised). Mr Turnbull! What has happened?

George (waving her away with one hand). Go! Leave me! I can bearthis best alone. (Exit Isobel. ) Merciful heavens, she is plighted toanother!

Enter Henry. 

Henry (eagerly). Well, old man?

George (raising a face white with misery--that is to say, if he hasremembered to put the French chalk in the palms of his hands). Henry, I am too late! She is another's!

Henry (in surprise). Whose?

George (with dignity). I did not ask her. It is nothing to me. Good-bye, Henry. Be kind to her. 

Henry. Why, where are you going?

George (firmly). To the Rocky Mountains. I shall shoot some bears. Grizzly ones. It may be that thus I shall forget my grief. 

Henry (after a pause). Perhaps you are right, George. What shall Itell--her?

George. Tell her--nothing. But should anything (feeling casually inhis pockets) happen to me--if (going over them again quickly) I donot come back, then (searching them all, including the waistcoatones, in desperate haste), give her--give her--give her(triumphantly bringing his handkerchief out of the last pocket)this, and say that my last thought was of her. Good-bye, my oldfriend. Good-bye. 

[Exit to Rocky Mountains. 

Enter Isobel. 

Isabel. Why, where's Mr Turnbull?

Henry (sadly). He's gone. 

Isabel. Gone? Where?

Henry. To the Rocky Mountains--to shoot bears. (Feeling that somefurther explanation is needed. ) Grizzly ones. 

Isobel. But he was HERE a moment ago. 

Henry. Yes, he's only JUST gone. 

Isobel. Why didn't he say good-bye? (Eagerly. ) But perhaps he left amessage for me? (Henry shakes his head. ) Nothing? (Henry bowssilently and leaves the room. ) Oh! (She gives a cry and throwsherself on the sofa. ) And I loved him! George, George, why didn'tyou speak?

Enter George hurriedly. He is fully dressed for a shootingexpedition in the Rocky Mountains, and carries a rifle under hisarm. 

George (to the audience). I have just come back for mypocket-handkerchief. I must have dropped it in here somewhere. (Hebegins to search for it, and in the ordinary course of things comesupon Isobel on the sofa. He puts his rifle down carefully on atable, with the muzzle pointing at the prompter rather than at theaudience, and staggers back. ) Merciful heavens! Isobel! Dead! (Hefalls on his knees beside the sofa. ) My love, speak to me!

Isobel (softly). George!

George. She is alive! Isobel!

Isobel. Don't go, George!

George. My dear, I love you! But when I heard that you wereanother's, honour compelled me--

Isobel (sitting up quickly). What do you mean by another's?

George. You said you were engaged!

Isobel (suddenly realizing how the dreadful misunderstanding arosewhich nearly wrecked two lives). But I only meant I was engaged toplay tennis with Lady Carbrook!

George. What a fool I have been! (He hurries on before the audiencecan assent. ) Then, Isobel, you WILL be mine?

Isobel. Yes, George. And you won't go and shoot nasty bears, willyou, dear? Not even grizzly ones?

George (taking her in his arms). Never, darling. That was only(turning to the audience with the air of one who is making his bestpoint) A Slight Misunderstanding. 

CURTAIN. 

"MISS PRENDERGAST"

As the curtain goes up two ladies are discovered in the morning-roomof Honeysuckle Lodge engaged in work of a feminine nature. MissAlice Prendergast is doing something delicate with a crochet-hook, but it is obvious that her thoughts are far away. She sighs atintervals, and occasionally lays down her work and presses bothhands to her heart. A sympathetic audience will have no difficultyin guessing that she is in love. On the other hand, her eldersister, Miss Prendergast, is completely wrapped up in a sock for oneof the poorer classes, over which she frowns formidably. The sock, however, has no real bearing upon the plot, and she must not maketoo much of it. 

Alice (hiding her emotions). Did you have a pleasant dinner-partylast night, Jane?

Jane (to herself). Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. (Lookingup. ) Very pleasant indeed, Alice. The Blizzards were there, and thePodbys, and the Slumphs. (These people are not important and shouldnot be over-emphasized. ) Mrs Podby's maid has given notice. 

Alice. Who took you in?

Jane (brightening up). Such an interesting man, my dear. He talkedmost agreeably about Art during dinner, and we renewed theconversation in the drawing-room. We found that we agreed upon allthe main principles of Art, considered as such. 

Alice (with a look in her eyes which shows that she is recalling atender memory). When I was in Shropshire last week--What was yourman's name?

Jane (with a warning glance at the audience). You know how difficultit is to catch names when one is introduced. I am certain he neverheard mine. (As the plot depends partly upon this, she pauses for itto sink in. ) But I inquired about him afterwards, and I find that heis a Mr--

Enter Mary, the Parlour-maid. 

Mary (handing letter). A letter for you, miss. 

Jane (taking it). Thank you, Mary. (Exit Mary to work up her nextline. ) A letter! I wonder who it is from! (Reading the envelope. )"Miss Prendergast, Honeysuckle Lodge. " (She opens it with the air ofone who has often received letters before, but feels that this onemay play an important part in her life. ) "Dear Miss Prendergast, Ihope you will pardon the presumption of what I am about to write toyou, but whether you pardon me or not, I ask you to listen to me. Iknow of no woman for whose talents I have a greater admiration, orfor whose qualities I have a more sincere affection than yourself. Since I have known you, you have been the lodestar of my existence, the fountain of my inspiration. I feel that, were your life joinedto mine, the joint path upon which we trod would be the path tohappiness, such as I have as yet hardly dared to dream of. In short, dear Miss Prendergast, I ask you to marry me, and I will come inperson for my answer. Yours truly--" (In a voice of intensesurprise) "Jas. Bootle!"

[At the word "Bootle, " a wave of warm colour rushes over Alice anddyes her from neck to brow. If she is not an actress of sufficientcalibre to ensure this, she must do the best she can by startingabruptly and putting her hand to her throat. 

Alice (aside, in a choking voice). Mr Bootle! In love with Jane!

Jane. My dear! The man who took me down to dinner! Well!

Alice (picking up her work again and trying to be calm). What willyou say?

Jane (rather pleased with herself). Well, really--I--this is--MrBootle! Fancy!

Alice (starting up). Was that a ring? (She frowns at the prompterand a bell is heard to ring. ) It is Mr Bootle! I know his ring, Imean I know--Dear, I think I will go and lie down. I have aheadache. 

[She looks miserably at the audience, closes her eyes, and goes offwith her handkerchief to her mouth, taking care not to fall over thefurniture. 

Enter Mary, followed by James Bootle. 

Mary. Mr Bootle. (Exit finally. )

Jane. Good-morning, Mr Bootle!

Bootle. I beg--I thought--Why, of course! It's Miss--er-h'm, yes--How do you do? Did you get back safely last night?

Jane. Yes, thank you, (Coyly. ) I got your letter. 

Bootle. My letter? (Sees his letter on the table. Furiously. ) Youopened my letter!

Jane (mistaking his fury for passion). Yes--James. And (lookingdown on the ground) the answer is "Yes. "

Bootle (realizing the situation). By George!

(Aside. ) I have proposed to the wrong lady! Tchck!

Jane. You may kiss me, James. 

Bootle. Have you a sister?

Jane (missing the connection). Yes, I have a younger sister, Alice. (Coldly. ) But I hardly see--

Bootle (beginning to understand how he made the mistake). A youngersister! Then you are Miss Prendergast? And my letter--Ah!

Enter Alice. 

Alice. You are wanted, Jane, a moment. 

Jane. Will you excuse me, Mr Bootle? [Exit. 

Bootle (to Alice, as she follows her sister out). Don't go!

Alice (wanly--if she knows how). Am I to stay and congratulate you?

Bootle. Alice! (They approach the footlights, while Jane, havingfinished her business, comes in unobserved and watches from theback. ) It is all a mistake! I didn't know your Christian name--Ididn't know you had a sister. The letter I addressed to MissPrendergast I meant for Miss Alice Prendergast. 

Alice. James! My love! But what can we do?

Bootle (gloomily). Nothing. As a man of honour I cannot withdraw. Sotwo lives are ruined!

Alice. You are right, James. Jane must never know. Good-bye!

[They give each other a farewell embrace. 

Jane (aside). They love. (Fiercely. ) But he is mine; I will hold himto his promise! (Picking up a photograph of Alice as a small childfrom an occasional table. ) Little Alice! And I promised to take careof her--to protect her from the cruel world Baby Alice! (She putsher handkerchief to her eyes. ) No! I will not spoil two lives!(Aloud. ) Why "Good-bye, " Alice?

[Bootle and Alice, who have been embracing all this time--unlessthey can think of something else to do--break away in surprise. 

Alice. Jane--we--I--

Jane (calmly). Dear Alice! I understand perfectly. Mr Bootle said inhis letter to you that he was coming for his answer, and I see whatanswer you have given him. (To Bootle. ) You remember I told you itwould be "Yes. " I know my little sister, you see. 

Bootle (tactlessly). But--you told me I could kiss you!

Jane (smiling). And I tell you again now. I believe it is usual formen to kiss their sisters-in-law? (She offers her cheek. Bootle, whose day it is, salutes her respectfully. ) And now (gaily) perhapsI had better leave you young people alone!

[Exit, with a backward look at the audience expressive of the factthat she has been wearing the mask. 

Bootle. Alice, then you are mine, after all. 

Alice. James! (They k--No, perhaps better not. There has been quiteenough for one evening. ) And to think that she knew all the time!Now I am quite, quite happy. And James--you WILL remember infuture that I am Miss ALICE Prendergast?

Bootle (gaily). My dear, I shall only be able to remember that youare The Future Mrs Bootle!

CURTAIN. 

"AT DEAD OF NIGHT"

The stage is in semi-darkness as Dick Trayle throws open the windowfrom outside, puts his knee on the sill, and falls carefully intothe drawing-room of Beeste Hall. He is dressed in a knickerbockersuit with arrows on it (such as can always be borrowed from afriend), and, to judge from the noises which he emits, is not in thebest of training. The lights go on suddenly; and, he should seizethis moment to stagger to the door and turn on the switch. Thisdone, he sinks into the nearest chair and closes his eyes. 

If he has been dancing very late the night before he may drop into apeaceful sleep; in which case the play ends here. Otherwise, nosooner are his eyes closed than he opens them with a sudden startand looks round in terror. 

Dick (striking the keynote at once). No, no! Let me out--I aminnocent! (He gives a gasp of relief as he realizes the situation. )Free! It is true, then! I have escaped! I dreamed that I was back inprison again! (He shudders and helps himself to a largewhisky-and-soda, which he swallows at a gulp. ) That's better! Now Ifeel a new man--the man I was three years ago. Three years! It hasbeen a lifetime! (Pathetically to the audience. ) Where is Millicentnow?

[He falls into a reverie, from which he is suddenly wakened by anoise outside. He starts, and then creeps rapidly to the switch, arriving there at the moment when the lights go out. Thence he goesswiftly behind the window curtain. The lights go up again as JasperBeeste comes in with a revolver in one hand and a bull's-eye lanternof apparently enormous candle-power in the other. 

Jasper (in immaculate evening dress). I thought I heard a noise, soI slipped on some old things hurriedly and came down. (Fingering hisperfectly-tied tie. ) But there seems to be nobody here. (Turnsround suddenly to the window. ) Ha, who's there? Hands up, blowyou--(He ought to swear rather badly here, really)--hands up, or Ifire!

[The stage is suddenly plunged into darkness, there is the noise ofa struggle, and the lights go on to reveal Jasper by the doorcovering Dick with his revolver. 

Jasper. Let's have a little light on you. (Brutally. ) Now then, myman, what have you got to say for yourself? Ha! An escaped convict, eh?

Dick (to himself in amazement). Jasper Beeste!

Jasper. So you know my name?

Dick (in the tones of a man whose whole life has been blighted bythe machinations of a false friend). Yes, Jasper Beeste, I know yourname. For two years I have said it to myself every night, when Iprayed Heaven that I should meet you again. 

Jasper. Again? (Uneasily. ) We have met before?

Dick (slowly). We have met before, Jasper Beeste. Since then I havelived a lifetime of misery. You may well fail to recognize me. 

Enter Millicent Wilsdon--in a dressing-gown, with her hair over hershoulders, if the county will stand it. 

Millicent (to Jasper). I couldn't sleep--I heard anoise--I--(suddenly seeing the other) Dick! (She trembles. )

Dick. Millicent! (He trembles too. )

Jasper. Trayle! (So does he. )

Dick (bitterly). You shrink from me, Millicent. (With strong commonsense. ) What is an escaped convict to the beautiful Miss Wilsdon?

Millicent. Dick--I--you--when you were sentenced--

Dick. When I was sentenced--the evidence was black against me, Iadmit--I wrote and released you from your engagement. You aremarried now?

Millicent (throwing herself on the sofa). Oh, Dick!

Jasper (recovering himself). Enough of this. Miss Wilsdon is goingto marry me to-morrow. 

Dick. To marry YOU! (He strides over to the sofa and pulls Millicentto her feet. ) Millicent, look me in the eyes! Do you love him? (Sheturns away. ) Say "Yes, " and I will go back quietly to my prison. (She raises her eyes to his. ) Ha! I thought so! You don't love him!Now then I can speak. 

Jasper (advancing threateningly). Yes, to your friends the warders. Millicent, ring the bell. 

Dick (wresting the revolver from his grasp). Ha, would you? Nowstand over there and listen to me. (He arranges his audience, Millicent on a sofa on the right, Jasper, biting his finger-nails, on the left. ) Three years ago Lady Wilsdon's diamond necklace wasstolen. My flat was searched and the necklace was found in myhatbox. Although I protested my innocence, I was tried, foundguilty, and sentenced to ten years' penal servitude, followed byfifteen years' police supervision. 

Millicent (raising herself on the sofa). Dick, you were innocent--Iknow it. (She falls back again. )

Dick. I was. But how could I prove it? I went to prison. For a yearblack despair gnawed at my heart. And then something happened. Theprisoner in the cell next to mine tried to communicate with me bymeans of taps. We soon arranged a system and held conversationstogether. One day he told me of a robbery in which he and anotherman had been engaged--the robbery of a diamond necklace. 

Jasper (jauntily). Well?

Dick (sternly). A diamond necklace, Jasper Beeste, which the otherman hid in the hatbox of another man in order that he might woo theother man's fiancee! (Millicent shrieks. )

Jasper (blusteringly). Bah!

Dick (quietly). The man in the cell next to mine wants to meet thisgentleman again. It seems that he has some old scores to pay off. 

Jasper (sneeringly). And where is he?

Dick. Ah, where is he? (He goes to the window and gives a lowwhistle. A Stranger in knickerbockers jumps in and advances with acrab-like movement. ) Good! here you are. Allow me to present you toMr Jasper Beeste. 

Jasper (in horror). Two-toed Thomas! I am undone!

Two-toed Thomas (after a series of unintelligible snarls). Say theword, guv'nor, and I'll kill him. (He prowls round Jasperthoughtfully. )

Dick (sternly). Stand back! Now, Jasper Beeste, what have you tosay?

Jasper (hysterically). I confess. I will sign anything. I will go toprison. Only keep that man off me. 

Dick (going up to a bureau and writing aloud at incredible speed). "I, Jasper Beeste, of Beeste Hall, do hereby declare that I stoleLady Wilsdon's diamond necklace and hid it in the hatbox of RichardTrayle; and I further declare that the said Richard Trayle isinnocent of any complicity in the affair. " (Advancing with the paperand a fountain pen. ) Sign, please. 

[Jasper signs. At this moment two warders burst into the room. 

First Warder. There they are!

[He seizes Dick. Two-toed Thomas leaps from the window, pursued bythe second Warder. Millicent picks up the confession and advancesdramatically. 

Millicent. Do not touch that man! Read this!

[She hands him the confession with an air of superb pride. 

First Warder (reading). Jasper Beeste! (Slipping a pair of handcuffson Jasper. ) You come along with me, my man. We've had our suspicionsof you for some time. (To Millicent, with a nod at Dick. ) You'lllook after that gentleman, miss?

Millicent. Of course! Why, he's engaged to me. Aren't you, Dick?

Dick. This time, Millicent, for ever!

CURTAIN. 

"THE LOST HEIRESS"

The scene is laid outside a village inn in that county of curiousdialects, Loamshire. The inn is easily indicated by a round tablebearing two mugs of liquid, while a fallen log emphasizes the ruralnature of the scene. Gaffer Jarge and Gaffer Willyum are seated atthe table, surrounded by a fringe of whisker, Jarge being slightlymore of a gaffer than Willyum. 

Jarge (who missed his dinner through nervousness and has beenordered to sustain himself with soup--as he puts down the steamingmug). Eh, bor, but this be rare beer. So it be. 

Willyum (who had too much dinner and is now draining his sanatogen). You be right, Gaffer Jarge. Her be main rare beer. (He feels up hissleeve, but thinking better of it wipes his mouth with the back ofhis hand. ) Main rare beer, zo her be. (Gagging. ) Zure-lie. 

Jarge. Did I ever tell 'ee, bor, about t' new squoire o' theseparts--him wot cum hum yesterday from furren lands? Gaffer Henry wora-telling me. 

Willyum (privately bored). Thee didst tell 'un, lad, sartain surethee didst. And Gaffer Henry, he didst tell 'un too. But tell 'unagain. It du me good to hear 'un, zo it du. Zure-lie. 

Jarge. A rackun it be a main queer tale, queerer nor any themwriting chaps tell about. It wor like this. (Dropping into English, in his hurry to get his long speech over before he forgets it. ) Theold Squire had a daughter who disappeared when she was three weeksold, eighteen years ago. It was always thought she was stolen bysomebody, and the Squire would have it that she was still alive. When he died a year ago he left the estate and all his money to adistant cousin in Australia, with the condition that if he did notdiscover the missing baby within twelve months everything was to goto the hospitals. (Remembering his smock and whiskers with a start. )And here du be the last day, zo it be, and t' Squoire's daughter, her ain't found. 

Willyum (puffing at a new and empty clay pipe). Zure-lie. (Jarge, atrifle jealous of Willyum's gag, pulls out a similar pipe, butsmokes it with the bowl upside down to show his independence. ) T'Squire's darter (Jarge frowns), her bain't (Jarge wishes he hadthought of "bain't")--her bain't found. (There is a dramatic pause, only broken by the prompter. ) Her ud be little Rachel's age now, bor?

Jarge (reflectively). Ay, ay. A main queer lass little Rachel du be. Her bain't like one of us. 

Willyum. Her do be that fond of zoap and water. (Laughter. )

Jarge (leaving nothing to chance). Happen she might be a real grandlady by birth, bor. 

Enter Rachel, beautifully dressed in the sort of costume in whichone would go to a fancy-dress ball as a village maiden. 

Rachel (in the most expensive accent). Now Uncle George (shaking afinger at him), didn't you promise me you'd go straight home? Itwould serve you right if I never tied your tie for you again. (Shesmiles brightly at him. )

Jarge (slapping his thigh in ecstasy). Eh, lass, yer du keep us old'uns in order. (He bursts into a falsetto chuckle, loses the note, blushes and buries his head in his mug. )

Willyum (rising). Us best be gettin' down along, Jarge, a rackun. 

Jarge. Ay, bor, time us chaps was moving. Don't 'e be long, lass. [Exeunt, limping heavily. 

Rachel (sitting down on the log). Dear old men! How I love them allin this village! I have known it all my life. How strange it is thatI have never had a father or mother. Sometimes I seem to remember alife different to this--a life in fine houses and spacious parks, among beautifully dressed people (which is surprising, seeing thatshe was only three weeks old at the time; but the audience must begiven a hint of the plot), and then it all fades away again. (Shelooks fixedly into space. )

Enter Hugh Fitzhugh, Squire. 

Fitzhugh (standing behind Rachel, but missing her somehow). Did everman come into stranger inheritance? A wanderer in Central Australia, I hear unexpectedly of my cousin's death through an advertisement inan old copy of a Sunday newspaper. I hasten home--too late to soothehis dying hours; too late indeed to enjoy my good fortune for morethan one short day. To-morrow I must give up all to the hospitals, unless by some stroke of Fate this missing girl turns up. (Impatiently. ) Pshaw! She is dead. (Suddenly he notices Rachel. ) Byheaven, a pretty girl in this out-of-the-way village! (He walksround her. ) Gad, she is lovely! Hugh, my boy, you are in luck. (Hetakes off his hat. ) Good-evening, my dear!

Rachel (with a start). Good-evening. 

Fitzhugh (aside). She is adorable. She can be no common villagewench. (Aloud. ) Do you live here, my girl?

Rachel. Yes, I have always lived here. (Aside. ) How handsome he is. Down, fluttering heart. 

Fitzhugh (sitting on the log beside her). And who is the luckyvillage lad who is privileged to woo such beauty?

Rachel. I have no lover, sir. 

Fitzhugh (taking her hand). Can Hodge be so blind?

Rachel (innocently). Are you making love to me?

Fitzhugh. Upon my word I--(He gets up from the log, which is notreally comfortable. ) What is your name?

Rachel. Rachel. (She rises. )

Fitzhugh. It is the most beautiful name in the world. Rachel, willyou be my wife?

Rachel. But we have known each other such a short time!

Fitzhugh (lying bravely). We have known each other for ever. 

Rachel. And you are a rich gentleman, while I--

Fitzhugh. A gentleman, I hope, but rich--no. To-morrow I shall be abeggar. No, not a beggar, if I have your love, Rachel. 

Rachel (making a lucky shot at his name). Hugh! (They embrace. )

Fitzhugh. Let us plight our troth here. See, I give you my ring!

Rachel. And I give you mine. 

[She takes one from the end of a chain which is round her neck, andputs it on his finger. Fitzhugh looks at it and staggers back. 

Fitzhugh. Heavens! They are the same ring! (In great excitement. )Child, child, who are you? How came you by the crest of theFitzhughs?

Rachel. Ah, who am I? I never had any parents. When they found methey found that ring on me, and I have kept it ever since!

Fitzhugh. Let me look at you! It must be! The Squire's missingdaughter!

[Gaffers Jarge and Willyum, having entered unobserved at the backsome time ago, have been putting in a lot of heavy byplay untilwanted. 

Jarge (at last). Lor' bless 'ee, Willyum, if it bain't Squirea-kissin' our Rachel!

Willyum. Zo it du be. Here du be goings-on! What will t' passon say?

Jarge (struck with an idea). Zay, bor, don't 'ee zee a zort o'loikeness atween t' maid and t' Squire?

Willyum. Jarge, if you bain't right, lad. Happen she do have t' samenose!

[Hearing something, Fitzhugh and Rachel turn round. 

Fitzhugh. Ah, my men! I'm your new Squire. Do you know who this is?

Willyum. Why, her du be our Rachel. 

Fitzhugh. On the contrary, allow me to introduce you to MissFitzhugh, daughter of the late Squire!

Jarge. Well, this du be a day! To think of our Rachel now!

Fitzhugh. MY Rachel now. 

Rachel (who, it is to be hoped, has been amusing herself somehowsince her last speech). Your Rachel always!

CURTAIN. 

"WILLIAM SMITH, EDITOR"

The scene is the Editor's room in the office of The Lark. Two wallsof the room are completely hidden from floor to ceiling bymagnificently-bound books: the third wall at the back is hidden byboxes of immensely expensive cigars. The windows, of course, are inthe fourth wall, which, however, need not be described, as it isnever quite practicable on the stage. The floor of this apartment ischastely covered with rugs shot by the Editor in his travels, or inthe Tottenham Court Road; or, in some cases, presented by admiringreaders from abroad. The furniture is both elegant and commodious. 

William Smith, Editor, comes in. He is superbly dressed in a furcoat and an expensive cigar. There is a blue pencil behind his ear, and a sheaf of what we call in the profession "typewrittenmanuscripts" under his arm. He sits down at his desk and pulls thetelephone towards him. 

Smith (at the telephone). Hallo, is that you, Jones? ... Yes, it'sme. Just come up a moment. (Puts down telephone and begins to openhis letters. )

Enter Jones, his favourite sub-editor. He is dressed quite commonly, and is covered with ink. He salutes respectfully as he comes intothe room. 

Jones. Good-afternoon, chief. 

Smith. Good-afternoon. Have a cigar?

Jones. Thank you, chief. 

Smith. Have you anything to tell me?

Jones. The circulation is still going up, chief. It was threemillion and eight last week. 

Smith (testily). How often have I told you not to call me "chief, "except when there are ladies present? Why can't you do what you'retold?

Jones. Sorry, sir, but the fact is there ARE ladies present. 

Smith (fingering his moustache). Show them up. Who are they?

Jones. There is only one. She says she's the lady who has beenwriting our anonymous "Secrets of the Boudoir" series which has madesuch a sensation. 

Smith (in amazement). I thought you told me YOU wrote these. 

Jones (simply). I did. 

Smith. Then why--

Jones. I mean I did tell you. The truth is, they came inanonymously, and I thought they were more likely to be accepted if Isaid I had written them. (With great emotion. ) Forgive me, chief, but it was for the paper's sake. (In matter-of-fact tones. ) Therewere one or two peculiarities of style I had to alter. She had a wayof--

Smith (sternly). How many cheques for them have you accepted for thepaper's sake?

Jones. Eight. For a thousand pounds each. 

Smith (with tears in his eyes). If your mother were to hear ofthis--

Jones (sadly). Ah, chief, I have never had a mother. 

Smith (slightly put out, but recovering himself quickly). What wouldyour father say, if--

Jones. Alas, I have no relations. I was a foundling. 

Smith (nettled). In that case, I shall certainly tell the master ofyour workhouse. To think that there should be a thief in thisoffice!

Jones (with great pathos). Chief, chief, I am not so vile as that. Ihave carefully kept all the cheques in an old stocking, and--

Smith (in surprise). Do you wear stockings?

Jones. When I bicycle. And as soon as the contributor comesforward--

Smith (stretching out his hand and grasping that of Jones). My dearboy, forgive me. You have been hasty, perhaps, but zealous. In anycase, your honesty is above suspicion. Leave me now. I have much tothink of. (Rests his head on his hands. Then, dreamily. ) YOU havenever seen your father; for thirty years _I_ have not seen my wife.... Ah, Arabella!

Jones. Yes, sir. (Rings bell. )

Smith. She WOULD split her infinitives. ... We quarrelled. ... Sheleft me. ... I have never seen her again. 

Jones (excitedly). Did you say she split her infinitives?

Smith. Yes. That was what led to our separation. Why?

Jones. Nothing, only--it's very odd. I wonder--

Enter Boy. 

Boy. Did you ring, sir?

Smith. No. But you can show the lady up. (Exit Boy. ) You'd betterclear out, Jones. I'll explain to her about the money. 

Jones. Right you are, sir. 

[Exit. 

[Smith leans back in his chair and stares in front of him. 

Smith (to himself). Arabella!

Enter Boy, followed by a stylishly-dressed lady of middle age. 

Boy. Mrs Robinson. 

[Exit. 

[Mrs Robinson stops short in the middle of the room and stares atthe Editor; then staggers and drops on to the sofa. 

Smith (in wonder). Arabella!

Mrs Robinson. William!

[They fall into each other's arms. 

Arabella. I had begun to almost despair. (Smith winces. ) "Almost todespair, " I mean, darling. 

Smith (with a great effort). No, no, dear. You were right. 

Arabella. How sweet of you to think so, William. 

Smith. Yes, yes, it's the least I can say. ... I have been verylonely without you, dear. ... And now, what shall we do? Shall weget married again quietly?

Arabella. Wouldn't that be bigamy?

Smith. I think not, but I will ask the printer's reader. He knowseverything. You see, there will be such a lot to explain otherwise. 

Arabella. Dear, can you afford to marry?

Smith. Well, my salary as editor is only twenty thousand a year, butI do a little reviewing for other papers. 

Arabella. And I have--nothing. How can I come to you without even atrousseau?

Smith. Yes, that's true. ... (Suddenly. ) By Jove, though, you havegot something! You have eight thousand pounds! We owe you that foryour articles. (With a return to his professional manner. ) Did Itell you how greatly we all appreciated them? (Goes to telephone. )Is that you, Jones? Just come here a moment. (To Arabella. ) Jones ismy sub-editor; he is keeping your money for you. 

Enter Jones. 

Jones (producing an old stocking). I've just been round to my roomsto get that money--(sees Arabella)--oh, I beg your pardon. 

Smith (waving an introduction). Mrs Smith--my wife. This is oursub-editor, dear--Mr Jones. (Arabella puts her hand to her heart andseems about to faint. ) Why, what's the matter?

Arabella (hoarsely). Where did you get that stocking?

Smith (pleasantly). It's one he wears when he goes bicycling. 

Jones. No; I misled you this afternoon, chief. This stocking was allthe luggage I had when I first entered the Leamington workhouse. 

Arabella (throwing herself into his arms). My son! This is yourfather! William--our boy!

Smith (shaking hands with Jones). How are you. I say, Arabella, thenthat was one of MY stockings?

Arabella (to her boy). When I saw you on the stairs you seemed todimly remind me--

Jones. To remind you dimly, mother. 

Smith. No, my boy. In future, nothing but split infinitives willappear in our paper. Please remember that. 

Jones (with emotion). I will endeavour to always remember it, dad. 

CURTAIN. 

A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

John walked eight miles over the cliffs to the nearest town in orderto buy tobacco. He came back to the farmhouse with no tobacco andthe news that he had met some friends in the town who had invited usto dinner and Bridge the next evening. 

"But that's no reason why you should have forgotten the tobacco, " Isaid. 

"One can't remember everything. I accepted for both of us. Weneedn't dress. Put on that nice blue flannel suit of yours--"

"And that nice pair of climbing boots with the nails--"

"Is that all you've got?"

"All I'm going to walk eight miles in on a muddy path. "

"Then we shall have to take a bag with us. And we can put in pyjamasand stay the night at an hotel; it will save us walking back in thedark. We don't want to lose you over the cliff. "

I took out a cigar. 

"This is the last, " I said. "If, instead of wandering about andcollecting invitations, you had only remembered--Shall we cut it upor smoke half each?"

"Call, " said John, bringing out a penny. "Heads it is. You begin. "

I struck a match and began. 

. . . . . 

Next day, after lunch, John brought out his little brown bag. 

"It won't be very heavy, " he said, "and we can carry it in turns. Anhour each. "

"I don't think that's quite fair, " I said. "After all, it's YOURbag. If you take it for an hour and a half, I don't mind taking theother half. "

"Your shoes are heavier than mine, anyhow. "

"My pyjamas weigh less. Such a light blue as they are. "

"Ah, but my tooth-brush has lost seven bristles. That makes adifference. "

"What I say is, let every man carry his own bag. This is a rottenbusiness, John. I don't wish to be anything but polite, but for asilly ass commend me to the owner of that brown thing. "

John took no notice and went on packing. 

"I shall buy a collar in the town, " he said. 

"Better let me do it for you. You would only go getting aninvitation to a garden-party from the haberdasher. And that wouldmean another eight miles with a portmanteau. "

"There we are, " said John, as he closed the bag, "quite small andlight. Now, who'll take the first hour?"

"We'd better toss, if you're quite sure you won't carry it all theway. Tails. Just my luck. "

John looked out of the window and then at his watch. 

"They say two to three is the hottest hour of the day, " he said. "Itwill be cooler later on. I shall put you in. "

I led the way up the cliffs with that wretched bag. I insisted uponthat condition anyhow--that the man with the bag should lead theway. I wasn't going to have John dashing off at six miles an hour, and leaving himself only two miles at the end. 

"But you can come and talk to me, " I said to him after ten minutesof it. "I only meant that I was going to set the pace. "

"No, no, I like watching you. You do it so gracefully. This is myman, " he explained to some children who were blackberrying. "He isjust carrying my bag over the cliffs for me. No, he is not verystrong. "

"You wait, " I growled. 

John laughed. "Fifty minutes more, " he said. And then after a littlesilence, "I think the bag-carrying profession is overrated. Whatmade you take it up, my lad? The drink? Ah, just so. Dear, dear, what a lesson to all of us. "

"There's a good time coming, " I murmured to myself, and changedhands for the eighth time. 

"I don't care what people say, " said John, argumentatively; "brownand blue DO go together. If you wouldn't mind--"

For the tenth time I rammed the sharp corner of the bag into theback of my knee. 

"There, that's what I mean. You see it perfectly like that--thebrown against the blue of the flannel. Thank you very much. "

I stumbled up a steep little bit of slippery grass, and told myselfthat in three-quarters of an hour I would get some of my own backagain. He little knew how heavy that bag could become. 

"They say, " said John to the heavens, "that if you have weights inyour hands you can jump these little eminences much more easily. Isuppose one hand alone doesn't do. What a pity he didn't tell mebefore--I would have lent him another bag with pleasure. "

"Nobody likes blackberries more than I do, " said John. "But even Iwould hesitate to come out here on a hot afternoon and fill a greatbrown bag with blackberries, and then carry them eight miles home. Besides, it looks rather greedy.... I beg your pardon, my lad, Ididn't understand. You are taking them home to your aged mother? Ofcourse, of course. Very commendable. If I had a penny, I would lendit to you. No, I only have a sixpence on me, and I have to give thatto the little fellow who is carrying my bag over the cliffs forme.... Yes, I picked him up about a couple of miles back. He has mudall up his trousers, I know. "

"Half an hour more, " I told myself, and went on doggedly, my rightshoulder on fire. 

"Dear, dear, " he said solicitously, "how lopsided the youth ofto-day is getting. Too much lawn-tennis, I suppose. How much betterthe simply healthy exercises of our forefathers; the weightliftingafter lunch, the--"

He was silent for ten minutes, and then broke out rapturously oncemore. 

"What a heavenly day! I AM glad we didn't bring a bag--it would havespoilt it altogether. We can easily borrow some slippers, and itwill be jolly walking back by moonlight. Now, if you had had yourway--"

"One minute more, " I said joyfully; "and oh, my boy, how glad I amwe brought a bag. What a splendid idea of yours! By the way, youhaven't said much lately. A little tired by the walk?"

"I make it TWO minutes, " said John. 

"Half a minute now.... There! And may I never carry the confoundedthing another yard. "

I threw the bag down and fell upon the grass. The bag rolled a yardor two away. Then it rolled another yard, slipped over the edge, andstarted bouncing down the cliff. Finally it leapt away from theearth altogether, and dropped two hundred feet into the sea. 

"MY bag, " said John stupidly. 

And that did for me altogether. 

"I don't care a hang about your bag, " I cried. "And I don't care ahang if I've lost my pyjamas and my best shoes and my only razor. And I've been through an hour's torture for nothing, and I don'tmind that. But oh!--to think that you aren't going to have YOURhour--"

"By Jove, neither I am, " said John, and he sat down and roared withlaughter. 

A CROWN OF SORROWS

There is something on my mind, of which I must relieve myself. If Iam ever to face the world again with a smile I must share my troublewith others. I cannot bear my burden alone. 

Friends, I have lost my hat. Will the gentleman who took it bymistake, and forgot to leave his own in its place, kindly return myhat to me at once?

I am very miserable without my hat. It was one of those nice softones with a dent down the middle to collect the rain; one of thosesoft hats which wrap themselves so lovingly round the cranium thatthey ultimately absorb the personality of the wearer underneath, responding to his every emotion. When people said nice things aboutme my hat would swell in sympathy; when they said nasty things, orwhen I had had my hair cut, it would adapt itself automatically tomy lesser requirements. In a word, it fitted--and that is more thancan be said for your hard unyielding bowler. 

My hat and I dropped into a hall of music one night last week. Iplaced it under the seat, put a coat on it to keep it warm, andsettled down to enjoy myself. My hat could see nothing, but it knewthat it would hear all about the entertainment on the way home. Whenthe last moving picture had moved away, my hat and I prepared todepart together. I drew out the coat and felt around for my--Whereon earth ... 

I was calm at first. 

"Excuse me, " I said politely to the man next to me, "but have yougot two hats?"

"Several, " he replied, mistaking my meaning. 

I dived under the seat again, and came up with some more dust. 

"Someone, " I said to a programme girl, "has taken my hat. "

"Have you looked under the seat for it?" she asked. 

It was such a sound suggestion that I went under the seat for thethird time. 

"It may have been kicked further along, " suggested anotherattendant. She walked up and down the row looking for it, and, incase somebody had kicked it into the row above, walked up and downthat one too; and, in case somebody had found touch with it on theother side of the house, many other girls spread themselves inpursuit; and soon we had the whole pack hunting for it. 

Then the fireman came up, suspecting the worst. I told him it waseven worse than that--my hat had been stolen. 

He had a flash of inspiration. 

"Are you sure you brought it with you?" he asked. 

The programme girls seemed to think that it would solve the wholemystery if I hadn't brought it with me. 

"Are you sure you are the fireman?" I said coldly. 

He thought for a moment, and then unburdened himself of anotheridea. 

"Perhaps it's just been kicked under the seat, " he said. 

I left him under the seat and went downstairs with a heavy heart. Atthe door I said to the hall porter, "Have you seen anybody going outwith two hats by mistake?"

"What's the matter?" he said. "Lost your hat?"

"It has been stolen. "

"Have you looked under the seats? It may have been kicked along abit. "

"Perhaps I'd better see the manager, " I said. "Is it any goodlooking under the seats for HIM?"

"I expect it's just been kicked along a bit, " the hall porterrepeated confidently. "I'll come up with you and look for it. "

"If there's any more talk about being kicked along a bit, " I saidbitterly, "somebody WILL be. I want the manager. "

I was led to the manager's room, and there I explained the matter tohim. He was very pleasant about it. 

"I expect you haven't looked for it properly, " he said, with acharming smile. "Just take this gentleman up, " he added to the hallporter, "and find his hat for him. It has probably been kicked underone of the other seats. "

We were smiled irresistibly out, and I was dragged up to the grandcircle again. The seats by this time were laid out in whitedraperies; the house looked very desolate; I knew that my poor hatwas dead. With an air of cheery confidence the hall porter turnedinto the first row of seats.... 

"It may have been kicked on to the stage, " I said, as he began toslow down. "It may have jumped into one of the boxes. It may haveturned into a rabbit. You know, I expect you aren't looking for itproperly. "

The manager was extremely sympathetic when we came back to him. Hesaid, "Oh, I'm sorry. " Just like that--"Oh, I'm sorry. "

"My hat, " I said firmly, "has been stolen. "

"I'm sorry, " he repeated with a bored smile, and turned to look athimself in the glass. 

Then I became angry with him and his attendants and his wholeblessed theatre. 

"My hat, " I said bitingly, "has been stolen from me--while I slept. "

. . . . . . . 

You must have seen me wearing it in the dear old days. Greeny brownit was in colour; but it wasn't the colour that drew your eyes toit--no, nor yet the shape, nor the angle at which it sat. It wasjust the essential rightness of it. If you have ever seen a hatwhich you felt instinctively was a clever hat, an alive hat, aprofound hat, then that was my hat--and that was myself underneathit. 

NAPOLEON AT WORK

When I am in any doubt or difficulty I say to myself, "What wouldNapoleon have done?" The answer generally comes at once: "He wouldhave borrowed from Henry, " or "He would have said his aunt wasill"--the one obviously right and proper thing. Then I weigh in anddo it. 

"What station is this?" said Beatrice, as the train began to slowup. "Baby and I want to get home. "

"Whitecroft, I expect, " said John, who was reading the paper. "Onlyfour more. "

"It's grown since we were here last, " I observed. "Getting quite abig place. "

"Good; then we're at Hillstead. Only three more stations. "

I looked out of the window, and had a sudden suspicion. 

"Where have I heard the name Byres before?" I murmured thoughtfully. 

"You haven't, " said John. "Nobody has. "

"Say 'Byres, ' baby, " urged Beatrice happily. 

"You're quite sure that there isn't anything advertised called'Byres'? You're sure you can't drink Byres or rub yourself down withByres?"

"Quite. "

"Well, then, we must be AT Byres. "

There was a shriek from Beatrice, as she rushed to the window. 

"We're in the wrong train--Quick! Get the bags!--Have you got therug?--Where's the umbrella?--Open the window, stupid!"

I got up and moved her from the door. 

"Leave this to me, " I said calmly. "Porter!--PORTER!!--PORTER!!!--Oh, guard, what station's this?"

"Byres, sir. "

"Byres?"

"Yes, sir. " He blew his whistle and the train went on again. 

"At any rate we know now that it WAS Byres, " I remarked, when thesilence began to get oppressive. 

"It's all very well for you, " Beatrice burst out indignantly, "butyou don't think about Baby. We don't know a bit where we are--"

"That's the one thing we do know, " I said. "We're at this littleByres place. "

"It was the porter's fault at Liverpool Street, " said Johnconsolingly. "He told us it was a through carriage. "

"I don't care whose fault it was; I'm only thinking of Baby. "

"What time do babies go to bed as a rule?" I asked. 

"This one goes at six. "

"Well, then, she's got another hour. Now, what would Napoleon havedone?"

"Napoleon, " said John, after careful thought, "would have turned allyour clothes out of your bag, would have put the baby in itdiagonally, and have bored holes in the top for ventilation. That'sas good as going to bed--you avoid the worst of the evening mists. And people would only think you kept caterpillars. "

Beatrice looked at him coldly. 

"That's a way to talk of your daughter, " she said in scorn. 

"Don't kill him, " I begged, "We may want him. Now I've got anotheridea. If you look out of the window you observe that we are on aSINGLE line. "

"Well, I envy it. And, however single it is, we're going away fromhome in it. "

"True. But the point is that no train can come back on it untilwe've stopped going forward. So, you see, there's no object ingetting out of this train until it has finished for the day. Probably it will go back itself before long, out of sheer boredom. And it's much better waiting here than on a draughty Byresplatform. "

Beatrice, quite seeing the point, changed the subject. 

"There's my trunk will go on to Brookfield, and the wagonette willmeet the train, and as we aren't there it will go away without thetrunk, and all baby's things are in it. "

"She's not complaining, " I said. "She's just mentioning it. "

"Look here, " said John reproachfully, "we're doing all we can. We'reboth thinking like anything. " He picked up his paper again. 

I was beginning to get annoyed. It was, of course, no good to get asanxious and excited as Beatrice; that wouldn't help matters at all. On the other hand, the entire indifference of John and the baby wasequally out of place. It seemed to me that there was a middle andNapoleonic path in between these two extremes which only I wasfollowing. To be convinced that one is the only person doing theright thing is always annoying. 

"I've just made another discovery, " I said in a hurt voice. "There'sa map over John's head, if he'd only had the sense to look therebefore. There we are, " and I pointed with my stick; "there's Byres. The line goes round and round and eventually goes through Dearmer. We get out at Dearmer, and we're only three miles from Brookfield. "

"What they call a loop line, " assisted John, "because it's in theshape of a loop. "

"It's not so bad as it might be, " admitted Beatrice grudgingly, after studying the map, "but it's five miles home from Dearmer; andwhat about my trunk?"

I sighed and pulled out a pencil. 

"It's very simple. We write a telegram:--

'Stationmaster, Brookfield. Send wagonette and trunk to wait for usat Dearmer Station. '"

"Love to mother and the children, " added John. 

Our train stopped again. I summoned a porter and gave him thetelegram. 

"It's so absurdly simple, " I repeated, as the train went on. "Just alittle presence of mind; that's all. "

We got out at Dearmer and gave up our tickets to theporter-station-master-signalman. 

"What's this?" he said. "These are no good to me. "

"Well, they're no good to us. We've finished with them. "

We sat in the waiting-room with him for half an hour and explainedthe situation. We said that, highly as we thought of Dearmer, we hadnot wantonly tried to defraud the Company in order to get a sight ofthe place; and that, so far from owing him three shillings apiece, we were prepared to take a sovereign to say nothing more aboutit.... And still the wagonette didn't come. 

"Is there a post-office here?" I asked the man. "Or a horse?"

"There might be a horse at the 'Lion. ' There's no post-office. "

"Well, I suppose I could wire to Brookfield Station from here?"

"Not to Brookfield. "

"But supposing you want to tell the station-master there that thetrain's off the line, or that you've won the first prize at theFlower Show in the vegetable class, how would you do it?"

"Brookfield's not on this line. That's why you've got to pay threeshill--"

"Yes, yes. You said all that. Then I shall go and explore thevillage. "

I explored, as Napoleon would have done, and I came back with aplan. 

"There is no horse, " I said to my eager audience; "but I have founda bicycle. The landlady of the 'Lion' will be delighted to lookafter Beatrice and the baby, and will give her tea; John will stayhere with the bags in case the wagonette turns up, and I will rideto Brookfield and summon help. "

"That's all right, " said John, "only I would suggest that _I_ go tothe 'Lion' and have tea, and Beatrice and the child--"

We left him in disgust at his selfishness. I established the ladiesat the inn, mounted the bicycle, and rode off. It was a windy day, and I had a long coat and a bowler hat. After an extremelyunpleasant two miles something drove past me. I lifted up my headand looked round. It was the wagonette. 

I rode back behind it in triumph. When it turned up the road to thestation, I hurried straight on to the "Lion" to prepare Beatrice. Iknocked, and peered into rooms, and knocked again, and at last thelandlady came. 

"Er--is the lady--"

"Oh, she's gone, sir, a long time ago. A gentleman she knew drovepast, and she asked him to give her a lift home in his trap. She wasgoing to tell the other gentleman, and he'd wait for you. "

"Oh yes. That's all right. "

I returned my bicycle to its owner, distributed coppers to hischildren, and went up to the station. The porter came out to meetme. He seemed surprised. 

"The gentleman thought you wouldn't be coming back, sir, as youdidn't come with the wagonette. "

"I just went up to the 'Lion'--"

"Yessir. Well, he drove off quarter of an hour ago; said it was nogood waiting for you, as you'd ride straight 'ome when you found atBrookfield that the wagonette 'ad come. "

And now I ask you--What would Napoleon have said?

THE PORTUGUESE CIGAR

EVERYTHING promised well for my week-end with Charles. The weatherwas warm and sunny, I was bringing my golf clubs down with me, and Ihad just discovered (and meant to put into practice) an entirely newstance which made it impossible to miss the object ball. It was thisthat I was explaining to Charles and his wife at dinner on Friday, when the interruption occurred. 

"By the way, " said Charles, as I took out a cigarette, "I've got acigar for you. Don't smoke that thing. "

"You haven't let him go in for cigars?" I said reproachfully to MrsCharles. I can be very firm about other people's extravagances. 

"This is one I picked up in Portugal, " explained Charles. "You canget them absurdly cheap out there. Let's see, dear; where did I putit?"

"I saw it on your dressing-table last week, " said his wife, gettingup to leave us. He followed her out and went in search of it, whileI waited with an interest which I made no effort to conceal. I hadnever heard before of a man going all the way to Portugal to buy onecigar for a friend. 

"Here it is, " said Charles, coming in again. He put down in front ofme an ash-tray, the matches and a--and a--well, as I say, a cigar. Iexamined it slowly. Half of it looked very tired. 

"Well, " said Charles, "what do you think of it?"

"When you say you--er--PICKED IT UP in Portugal, " I began carefully, "I suppose you don't mean--" I stopped and tried to bite the endoff. 

"Have a knife, " said Charles. 

I had another bite, and then I decided to be frank. 

"WHY did you pick it up?" I asked. 

"The fact was, " said Charles, "I found myself one day in Lisbonwithout my pipe, and so I bought that thing; I never smoke them inthe ordinary way. "

"Did you smoke this?" I asked. It was obvious that SOMETHING hadhappened to it. 

"No, you see, I found some cigarettes at the last moment, and so, knowing that you liked cigars, I thought I'd bring it home for you. "

"It's very nice of you, Charles. Of course I can see that it hastravelled. Well, we must do what we can with it. "

I took the knife and started chipping away at the mahogany end. Theother end--the brown-paper end, which had come ungummed--I intendedto reserve for the match. When everything was ready I applied alight, leant back in my chair, and pulled. 

"That's all right, isn't it?" said Charles. "And you'd be surprisedif I told you what I paid for it. "

"No, no, you mustn't think that, " I protested. "Probably things aredearer in Portugal. " I put it down by my plate for a moment's rest. "All I've got against it at present is that its pores don't act asfreely as they should. "

"I've got a cigar-cutter somewhere, if--"

"No, don't bother. I think I can do it with the nut-crackers. There's no doubt it was a good cigar once, but it hasn't winteredwell. "

I squeezed it as hard as I could, lit it again, pressed my feetagainst the table and pulled. 

"Now it's going, " said Charles. 

"I'm afraid it keeps very reticent at my end. The follow-through ispoor. Is your end alight still?"

"Burning beautifully. "

"It's a pity that I should be missing all that. How would it be ifwe were to make a knitting-needle red-hot, and bore a tunnel fromthis end? We might establish a draught that way. Only there's alwaysthe danger, of course, of coming out at the side. "

I took the cigar up and put it to my ear. 

"I can't HEAR anything wrong, " I said. "I expect what it reallywants is massage. "

Charles filled his pipe again and got up. "Let's go for a stroll, "he said. "It's a beautiful night. Bring your cigar with you. "

"It may prefer the open air, " I said. "There's always that. You knowwe mustn't lose sight of the fact that the Portuguese climate isdifferent from ours. The thing's pores may have acted more readilyin the South. On the other hand, the unfastened end may have beenmore adhesive. I gather that though you have never actually metanybody who has smoked a cigar like this, yet you understand thatthe experiment is a practicable one. As far as you know, this had nobrothers. No, no, Charles, I'm going on with it, but I should liketo know all that you can tell me of its parentage. It had aPortuguese father and an American mother, I should say, and therehas been a good deal of trouble in the family. One moment"--and aswe went outside I stopped and cracked it in the door. 

It was an inspiration. At the very next application of the match Ifound that I had established a connection with the lighted end. Nota long and steady connection, but one that came in gusts. After twogusts I decided that it was perhaps safer to blow from my end, andfor a little while we had in this way as much smoke around us as themost fastidious cigar-smoker could want. Then I accidentally droppedit; something in the middle of it shifted, I suppose--and for therest of my stay behind it only one end was at work. 

"Well, " said Charles, when we were back in the smoking-room, and Iwas giving the cigar a short breather, "it's not a bad one, is it?"

"I have enjoyed it, " I said truthfully, for I like trying to get themastery over a thing that defies me. 

"You'll never guess what it cost, " he chuckled. 

"Tell me, " I said. "I daren't guess. "

"Well, in English money it works out at exactly three farthings. "

I looked at him for a long time and then shook my head sadly. 

"Charles, old friend, " I said, "you've been done. "

A COLD WORLD

Herbert is a man who knows all about railway tickets, and packing, and being in time for trains, and things like that. But I fancy Ihave taught him a lesson at last. He won't talk quite so much abouttickets in future. 

I was just thinking about getting up when he came into my room. Helooked at me in horror. 

"My dear fellow!" he said. "And you haven't even packed! You'll belate. Here, get up, and I'll pack for you while you dress. "

"Do, " I said briefly. 

"First of all, what clothes are you going to travel in?"

There was no help for it. I sat up in bed and directed operations. 

"Right, " said Herbert. "Now, what about your return ticket? Youmustn't forget that. "

"You remind me of a little story, " I said. "I'll tell it you whileyou pack--that will be nice for you. Once upon a time I lost myreturn ticket, and I had to pay two pounds for another. And a monthafterwards I met a man--a man like you who knows all abouttickets--and he said, 'You could have got the money back if you hadapplied at once. ' So I said, 'Give me a cigarette now, and I'lltransfer all my rights in the business to you. ' And he gave me acigarette; but unfortunately--"

"It was too late?"

"No. Unfortunately it wasn't. He got the two pounds. The mostexpensive cigarette I've ever smoked. "

"Well, that just shows you, " said Herbert. "Here's your ticket. Putit in your waistcoat pocket now. "

"But I haven't got a waistcoat on, silly. "

"Which one are you going to put on?"

"I don't know yet. This is a matter which requires thought. Give metime, give me air. "

"Well, I shall put the ticket here on the dressing-table, and thenyou can't miss it. " He looked at his watch. "And the trap starts inhalf an hour. "

"Help!" I cried, and I leapt out of bed. 

Half an hour later I was saying good-bye to Herbert. 

"I've had an awfully jolly time, " I said, "and I'll come again. "

"You've got the ticket all right?"

"Rather!" and I drove away amidst cheers. Cheers of sorrow. 

It was half an hour's drive to the station. For the first tenminutes I thought how sickening it was to be leaving the country;then I had a slight shock; and for the next twenty minutes I triedto remember how much a third single to the nearest part of Londoncost. Because I had left my ticket on the dressing-table after all. 

I gave my luggage to a porter and went off to the station-master. 

"I wonder if you can help me, " I said. "I've left my return ticketon the dress--Well, we needn't worry about that, I've left it athome. "

He didn't seem intensely excited. 

"What did you think of doing?" he asked. 

"I had rather hoped that YOU would do something. "

"You can buy another ticket, and get the money back afterwards. "

"Yes, yes; but can I? I've only got about one pound six. "

"The fare to London is one pound five and tenpence ha'penny. "

"Ah; well, that leaves a penny ha'penny to be divided between theporter this end, lunch, tea, the porter the other end, and the cab. I don't believe it's enough. Even if I gave it all to the porterhere, think how reproachfully he would look at you ever afterwards. It would haunt you. "

The station-master was evidently moved. He thought for a moment, andthen asked if I knew anybody who would vouch for me. I mentionedHerbert confidently. He had never even heard of Herbert. 

"I've got a tie-pin, " I said (station-masters have a weakness fortie-pins), "and a watch and a cigarette case. I shall be happy tolend you any of those. "

The idea didn't appeal to him. 

"The best thing you can do, " he said, "is to take a ticket to thenext station and talk to them there. This is only a branch line, andI have no power to give you a pass. "

So that was what I had to do. I began to see myself taking a ticketat every stop and appealing to the station-master at the next. Well, the money would last longer that way, but unless I could overcomequickly the distrust which I seemed to inspire in station-mastersthere would not be much left for lunch. I gave the porter all Icould afford--a ha'penny, mentioned apologetically that I was comingback, and stepped into the train. 

At the junction I jumped out quickly and dived into the sacredoffice. 

"I've left my ticket on the dressing--that is to say I forgot--well, anyhow I haven't got it, " I began, and we plunged into explanationsonce more. This station-master was even more unemotional than thelast. He asked me if I knew anybody who could vouch for me--Imentioned Herbert diffidently. He had never even heard of Herbert. Ishowed him my gold watch, my silver cigarette case, and my emeraldand diamond tie-pin--that was the sort of man I was. 

"The best thing you can do, " he said, walking with me to the door, "is to take a ticket to Plymouth and speak to the station-masterthere--"

"This is a most interesting game, " I said bitterly. "What is 'home'?When you speak to the station-master at London, I suppose? I've agood mind to say 'Snap!'"

Extremely annoyed I strode out, and bumped into--you'll neverguess--Herbert!

"Ah, here you are, " he panted; "I rode after you--the train was justgoing--jumped into it--been looking all over the station for you. "

"It's awfully nice of you, Herbert. Didn't I say good-bye?"

"Your ticket. " He produced it. "Left it on the dressing-table. " Hetook a deep breath. "I told you you would. "

"Bless you, " I said, as I got happily into my train. "You've savedmy life. I've had an awful time. I say, do you know, I've met twostation-masters already this morning who've never even heard of you. You must inquire into it. "

At that moment a porter came up. 

"Did you give up your ticket, sir?" he asked Herbert. 

"I hadn't time to get one, " said Herbert, quite at his ease. "I'llpay now, " and he began to feel in his pockets.... The train movedout of the station. 

A look of horror came over Herbert's face. I knew what it meant. Hehadn't any money on him. "Hi!" he shouted to me, and then we swunground a bend out of sight.... 

Well, well, he'll have to get home somehow. His watch is only nickeland his cigarette case leather, but luckily that sort of thingdoesn't weigh much with station-masters. What they want is a well-known name as a reference. Herbert is better off than I was: he cangive them MY name. It will be idle for them to pretend that theyhave never heard of me. 

THE DOCTOR

"May I look at my watch?" I asked my partner, breaking a silencewhich had lasted from the beginning of the waltz. 

"Oh, HAVE you got a watch?" she drawled. "How exciting!"

"I wasn't going to show it to you, " I said, "But I always think itlooks so bad for a man to remove his arm from a lady's waist inorder to look at his watch--I mean without some sort of apology orexplanation. As though he were wondering if he could possibly stickanother five minutes of it. "

"Let me know when the apology is beginning, " said Miss White. Perhaps, after all, her name wasn't White, but, anyhow, she wasdressed in white, and it's her own fault if wrong impressions arise. 

"It begins at once. I've got to catch a train home. There's one at12. 45, I believe. If I started now I could just miss it. "

"You don't live in these Northern Heights then?"

"No. Do you?"

"Yes. "

I looked at my watch again. 

"I should love to discuss with you the relative advantages of Londonand Greater London, " I said; "the flats and cats of one and the biggardens of the other. But just at the moment the only thing I canthink of is whether I shall like the walk home. Are there anydangerous passes to cross?"

"It's a nice wet night for a walk, " said Miss White reflectively. 

"If only I had brought my bicycle. "

"A watch AND a bicycle! You ARE lucky!"

"Look here, it may be a joke to you, but I don't fancy myself comingdown the mountains at night. "

"The last train goes at one o'clock, if that's any good to you. "

"All the good in the world, " I said joyfully. "Then I needn't walk. "I looked at my watch. "That gives us five minutes more. I couldalmost tell you all about myself in the time. "

"It generally takes longer than that, " said Miss White. "At least itseems to. " She sighed and added, "My partners have been veryautobiographical to-night. "

I looked at her severely. 

"I'm afraid you're a Suffragette, " I said. 

As soon as the next dance began I hurried off to find my hostess. Ihad just caught sight of her, when--

"Our dance, isn't it?" said a voice. 

I turned and recognized a girl in blue. 

"Ah, " I said, coldly cheerful, "I was just looking for you. Comealong. "

We broke into a gay and happy step, suggestive of twin heartsutterly free from care. 

"Why do you look so thoughtful?" asked the girl in blue after tenminutes of it. 

"I've just heard some good news, " I said. 

"Oh, do tell me!"

"I don't know if it would really interest you. "

"I'm sure it would. "

"Well, several miles from here there may be a tram, if one can findit, which goes nobody quite knows where up till one-thirty in themorning probably. It is now, " I added, looking at my watch (I wasgetting quite good at this), "just on one o'clock and raining hard. All is well. "

The dance over, I searched in vain for my hostess. Every minute Itook out my watch and seemed to feel that another tram was juststarting off to some unknown destination. At last I could bear it nolonger and, deciding to write a letter of explanation on the morrow, I dashed off. 

My instructions from Miss White with regard to the habitat of trams(thrown in by her at the last moment in case the train failed me)were vague. Five minutes' walk convinced me that I had completelylost any good that they might ever have been to me. Instinct andcommon sense were the only guides left. I must settle down to someheavy detective work. 

The steady rain had washed out any footprints that might have beenof assistance, and I was unable to follow up the slot of a tramconductor of which I had discovered traces in Two-hundred-and-fifty-first Street. In Three-thousand-eight-hundred-and-ninety-seventh Street I lay with my ear to the ground andlistened intently, for I seemed to hear the ting-ting of theelectric car, but nothing came of it; and in Four-millionth Street Imade a new resolution. I decided to give up looking for trams and tosearch instead for London--the London that I knew. 

I felt pretty certain that I was still in one of the Home Counties, and I did not seem to remember having crossed the Thames, so that ifonly I could find a star which pointed to the south I was in a fairway to get home. I set out to look for a star; with the naturalresult that, having abandoned all hope of finding a man, Iimmediately ran into him. 

"Now then, " he said good-naturedly. 

"Could you tell me the way to--" I tried to think of some place nearmy London--"to Westminster Abbey?"

He looked at me in astonishment. His feeling seemed to be that I wastoo late for the Coronation and too early for the morning service. 

"Or--or anywhere, " I said hurriedly. "Trams, for instance. "

He pointed nervously to the right and disappeared. 

Imagine my joy; there were tram-lines, and, better still, a tramapproaching. I tumbled in, gave the conductor a penny, and got aworkman's ticket in exchange. Ten minutes later we reached theterminus. 

I had wondered where we should arrive, whether Gray's Inn Road orSouthampton Row, but didn't much mind so long as I was again withinreach of a cab. However, as soon as I stepped out of the tram, Iknew at once where I was. 

"Tell me, " I said to the conductor; "do you now go back again?"

"In ten minutes. There's a tram from here every half-hour. "

"When is the last?"

"There's no last. Backwards and forwards all night. "

I should have liked to stop and sympathize, but it was getting late. I walked a hundred yards up the hill and turned to the right.... AsI entered the gates I could hear the sound of music. 

"Isn't this our dance?" I said to Miss White, who was taking abreather at the hall door. "One moment, " I added, and I got out ofmy coat and umbrella. 

"Is it? I thought you'd gone. "

"Oh no, I decided to stay after all. I found out that the trams goall night. "

We walked in together. 

"I won't be more autobiographical than I can help, " I said, "but Imust say it's a hard life, a doctor's. One is called away in themiddle of a dance to a difficult case of--of mumps or something, and--well, there you are. A delightful evening spoilt. If one islucky, one may get back in time for a waltz or two at the end. 

"Indeed, " I said, as we began to dance; "at one time to-night Iquite thought I wasn't going to get back here at all. "

THE THINGS THAT MATTER

RONALD, surveying the world from his taxi--that pleasant corner ofthe world, St James's Park--gave a sigh of happiness. The blue sky, the lawn of daffodils, the mist of green upon the trees were but apromise of the better things which the country held for him. Beautiful as he thought the daffodils, he found for the moment aneven greater beauty in the Gladstone bags at his feet. His eyeswandered from one to the other, and his heart sang to him, "I'mgoing away--I'm going away--I'm going away. "

The train was advertised to go at 2. 22, and at 2. 20 Ronald joinedthe Easter holiday crowd upon the platform. A porter put down hisluggage and was then swallowed up in a sea of perambulators andflustered parents. Ronald never saw him again. At 2. 40, amidst someapplause, the train came in. 

Ronald seized a lost porter. 

"Just put these in for me, " he said. "A first smoker. "

"All this lot yours, sir?"

"The three bags--not the milk-cans, " said Ronald. 

It had been a beautiful day before, but when a family of sixteenwhich joined Ronald in his carriage was ruthlessly hauled out by theguard, the sun seemed to shine with a warmth more caressing thanever. Even when the train moved out of the station, and the childrenwho had been mislaid emerged from their hiding-places and werebundled in anywhere by the married porters, Ronald still remainedsplendidly alone ... And the sky took on yet a deeper shade of blue. 

He lay back in his corner, thinking. For a time his mind wasoccupied with the thoughts common to most of us when we goaway--thoughts of all the things we have forgotten to pack. I don'tthink you could fairly have called Ronald over-anxious aboutclothes. He recognized that it was the inner virtues which counted;that a well-dressed exterior was nothing without some graces of mindor body. But at the same time he did feel strongly that, if you aregoing to stay at a house where you have never visited before, and ifyou are particularly anxious to make a good impression, it IS a pitythat an accident of packing should force you to appear at dinner ingreen knickerbockers and somebody else's velvet smoking-jacket. 

Ronald couldn't help feeling that he had forgotten something. Itwasn't the spare sponge; it wasn't the extra shaving-brush; itwasn't the second pair of bedroom slippers. Just for a moment thesun went behind a cloud as he wondered if he had included thereserve razor-strop; but no, he distinctly remembered packing that. 

The reason for his vague feeling of unrest was this. He had beeninterrupted while getting ready that afternoon; and as he leftwhatever he had been doing in order to speak to his housekeeper hehad said to himself, "If you're not careful, you'll forget aboutthat when you come back. " And now he could not remember what it washe had been doing, nor whether he HAD in the end forgotten to go onwith it. Was he selecting his ties, or brushing his hair, or--

The country was appearing field by field; the train rushed throughcuttings gay with spring flowers; blue was the sky between the babyclouds ... But it all missed Ronald. What COULD he have forgotten?

He went over the days that were coming; he went through all thechanges of toilet that the hours might bring. He had packed this andthis and this and this--he was all right for the evening. Supposingthey played golf? ... He was all right for golf. He might want toride .... He would be able to ride. It was too early forlawn-tennis, but ... Well, anyhow, he had put in flannels. 

As he considered all the possible clothes that he might want, itreally seemed that he had provided for everything. If he liked, hecould go to church on Friday morning; hunt otters from twelve to oneon Saturday; toboggan or dig for badgers on Monday. He had thedifferent suits necessary for those who attend a water-polo meeting, who play chess, or who go out after moths with a pot of treacle. Andeven, in the last resort, he could go to bed. 

Yes, he was all right. He had packed EVERYTHING; moreover, his hairwas brushed and he had no smut upon his face. With a sigh of reliefhe lowered the window and his soul drank in the beautiful afternoon. "We are going away--we are going away--we are going away, " sang thetrain. 

At the prettiest of wayside stations the train stopped and Ronaldgot out. There were horses to meet him. "Better than a car, " thoughtRonald, "on an afternoon like this. " The luggage wascollected--"Nothing left out, " he chuckled to himself, and wasseized with an insane desire to tell the coach-man so; and thenthey drove off through the fresh green hedgerows, Ronald trying hardnot to cheer. 

His host was at the door as they arrived. Ronald, as happy as achild, jumped out and shook him warmly by the hand, and told himwhat a heavenly day it was; receiving with smiles of pleasure thenews in return that it was almost like summer. 

"You're just in time for tea. Really, we might have it in thegarden. "

"By Jove, we might, " said Ronald, beaming. 

However, they had it in the hall, with the doors wide open. Ronald, sitting lazily with his legs stretched out and a cup of tea in hishands, and feeling already on the friendliest terms with everybody, wondered again at the difference which the weather could make toone's happiness. 

"You know, " he said to the girl on his right, "on a day like this, NOTHING seems to matter. "

And then suddenly he knew that he was wrong; for he had discoveredwhat it was which he had told himself not to forget ... What it waswhich he had indeed forgotten. 

And suddenly the birds stopped singing and there was a bitter chillin the air. 

And the sun went violently out. 

. . . . . . . 

He was wearing only half a pair of spats. 

STORIES OF SUCCESSFUL LIVES

THE SOLICITOR

The office was at its busiest, for it was Friday afternoon. JohnBlunt leant back in his comfortable chair and toyed with the key ofthe safe, while he tried to realize his new position. He, JohnBlunt, was junior partner in the great London firm of Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton & Macnaughton!

He closed his eyes, and his thoughts wandered back to the day whenhe had first entered the doors of the firm as one of two hundred andseventy-eight applicants for the post of office-boy. They had beeninterviewed in batches, and old Mr Sanderson, the senior partner, had taken the first batch. 

"I like your face, my boy, " he had said heartily to John. 

"And I like yours, " replied John, not to be outdone in politeness. 

"Now I wonder if you can spell 'mortgage'?"

"One 'm'?" said John tentatively. 

Mr Sanderson was delighted with the lad's knowledge, and engaged himat once. 

For three years John had done his duty faithfully. During this timehe had saved the firm more than once by his readiness--particularlyon one occasion, when he had called old Mr Sanderson's attention tothe fact that he had signed a letter to a firm of stockbrokers, "Your loving husband Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton & Macnaughton. " Mr Sanderson, always a littleabsentminded, corrected the error, and promised the boy hisarticles. Five years later John Blunt was a solicitor. 

And now he was actually junior partner in the firm--the firm ofwhich it was said in the City, "If a man has Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton & Macnaughton behind him, heis all right. " The City is always coining pithy little epigrams likethis. 

There was a knock at the door of the inquiry office and aprosperous-looking gentleman came in. 

"Can I see Mr Macnaughton, " he said politely to the office-boy. 

"There isn't no Mr Macnaughton, " replied the latter. "They all diedyears ago. "

"Well, well, can I see one of the partners?"

"You can't see Mr Sanderson, because he's having his lunch, " saidthe boy. "Mr Thorpe hasn't come back from lunch yet, Mr Peters hasjust gone out to lunch, Mr Williams is expected back from lunchevery minute, Mr Gourlay went out to lunch an hour ago, MrBeamish--"

"Tut, tut, isn't anybody in?"

"Mr Blunt is in, " said the boy, and took up the telephone. "If youwait a moment I'll see if he's awake. "

Half an hour later Mr Masters was shown into John Blunt's room. 

"I'm sorry I was engaged, " said John. "A most important client. Now, what can I do for you, Mr--er--Masters?"

"I wish to make my will. "

"By all means, " said John cordially. 

"I have only one child, to whom I intend to leave all my money. "

"Ha!" said John, with a frown. "This will be a lengthy and difficultbusiness. "

"But you can do it?" asked Mr Masters anxiously. "They told me atthe hairdresser's that Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton & Macnaughton was the cleverest firm in London. "

"We can do it, " said John simply, "but it will require all our care;and I think it would be best if I were to come and stay with you forthe week-end. We could go into it properly then. "

"Thank you, " said Mr Masters, clasping the other's hand. "I was justgoing to suggest it. My motor-car is outside. Let us go at once. "

"I will follow you in a moment, " said John, and pausing only tosnatch a handful of money from the safe for incidental expenses, andto tell the boy that he would be back on Monday, he picked up thewell-filled week-end bag which he always kept ready, and hurriedafter the other. 

Inside the car Mr Masters was confidential. 

"My daughter, " he said, "comes of age to-morrow. "

"Oh, it's a daughter?" said John, in surprise. "Is she pretty?"

"She is considered to be the prettiest girl in the county. "

"Really?" said John. He thought a moment, and added, "Can we stop ata post-office? I must send an important business telegram. " He tookout a form and wrote:

"Macmacmacmacmac, London. Shall not be back till Wednesday. --BLUNT. "

The car stopped and then sped on again. 

"Amy has never been any trouble to me, " said Mr Masters, "but I amgetting old now, and I would give a thousand pounds to see herhappily married. "

"To whom would you give it, " asked John, whipping out hispocket-book. 

"Tut, tut, a mere figure of speech. But I would settle a hundredthousand pounds on her on the wedding-day. "

"Indeed?" said John thoughtfully. "Can we stop at anotherpost-office?" he added, bringing out his fountain-pen again. He tookout a second telegraph form and wrote:

"Macmacmacmacmac, London. Shall not be back till Friday. --BLUNT. "

The car dashed on again, and an hour later arrived it a commodiousmansion standing in its own well-timbered grounds of upwards ofseveral acres. At the front-door a graceful figure was standing. 

"My solicitor, dear, Mr Blunt, " said Mr Masters. 

"It is very good of you to come all this way on my father'sbusiness, " she said shyly. 

"Not at all, " said John. "A week or--or a fortnight--or--" he lookedat her again--"or--three weeks, and the thing is done. "

"Is making a will so very difficult?"

"It's a very tricky and complicated affair indeed. However, I thinkwe shall pull it off. Er--might I send an important businesstelegram?"

"Macmacmacmacmac, London, " wrote John. "Very knotty case. Date ofreturn uncertain. Please send more cash for incidentalexpenses. --BLUNT. "

. . . . . . . 

Yes, you have guessed what happened. It is an everyday experience ina solicitor's life. John Blunt and Amy Masters were married at StGeorge's, Hanover Square, last May. The wedding was a quiet one, owing to mourning in the bride's family--the result of a too suddenperusal of Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton &Macnaughton's bill of costs. As Mr Masters said with his expiringbreath--he didn't mind paying for our Mr Blunt's skill; nor yet forour Mr Blunt's valuable time--even if most of it was spent incourting Amy; nor, again, for our Mr Blunt's tips to the servants;but he did object to being charged the first-class railway fare bothways when our Mr Blunt had come down and gone up again in the car. And perhaps I ought to add that that is the drawback to this fineprofession. One is so often misunderstood. 

THE PAINTER

MR PAUL SAMWAYS was in a mood of deep depression. The artistictemperament is peculiarly subject to these moods, but in Paul's casethere was reason why he should take a gloomy view of things. Hismasterpiece, "The Shot Tower from Battersea Bridge, " together withthe companion picture, "Battersea Bridge from the Shot Tower, " hadbeen purchased by a dealer for seventeen and sixpence. His sepiamonochrome, "Night, " had brought him an I. O. U. For five shillings. These were his sole earnings for the last six weeks, and starvationstared him in the face. 

"If only I had a little capital!" he cried aloud in despair. "Enoughto support me until my Academy picture is finished. " His Academypicture was a masterly study entitled, "Roll on, thou deep and darkblue ocean, roll, " and he had been compelled to stop half-way acrossthe Channel through sheer lack of ultramarine. 

The clock struck two, reminding him that he had not lunched. He rosewearily and went to the little cupboard which served as a larder. There was but little there to make a satisfying meal--half a loaf ofbread, a corner of cheese, and a small tube of Chinese-white. Mechanically he set the things out.... 

He had finished, and was clearing away, when there came a knock atthe door. His charwoman, whose duty it was to clean his brushesevery week, came in with a card. 

"A lady to see you, sir, " she said. 

Paul read the card in astonishment. 

"The Duchess of Winchester, " he exclaimed. "What on earth--Show herin, please. " Hastily picking up a brush and the first tube whichcame to hand, he placed himself in a dramatic position before hiseasel and set to work. 

"How do you do, Mr Samways?" said the

Duchess. 

"G--good-afternoon, " said Paul, embarrassed both by the presence ofa duchess in his studio and by his sudden discovery that he wastouching up a sunset with a tube of carbolic tooth-paste. 

"Our mutual friend, Lord Ernest Topwood, recommended me to come toyou. "

Paul, who had never met Lord Ernest, but had once seen his name in aha'penny paper beneath a photograph of Mr Arnold Bennett, bowedsilently. 

"As you probably guess, I want you to paint my daughter's portrait. "

Paul opened his mouth to say that he was only a landscape painter, and then closed it again. After all, it was hardly fair to botherher Grace with technicalities. 

"I hope you can undertake this commission, " she said pleadingly. 

"I shall be delighted, " said Paul. "I am rather busy just now, but Icould begin at two o'clock on Monday. "

"Excellent, " said the Duchess. "Till Monday, then. " And Paul, stillclutching the tooth-paste, conducted her to her carriage. 

Punctually at 3. 15 on Monday Lady Hermione appeared. Paul drew adeep breath of astonishment when he saw her, for she was lovelybeyond compare. All his skill as a landscape painter would be neededif he were to do justice to her beauty. As quickly as possible heplaced her in position and set to work. 

"May I let my face go for a moment?" said Lady Hermione after threehours of it. 

"Yes, let us stop, " said Paul. He had outlined her in charcoal andburnt cork, and it would be too dark to do any more that evening. 

"Tell me where you first met Lord Ernest?" she asked as she camedown to the fire. 

"At the Savoy, in June, " said Paul boldly. 

Lady Hermione laughed merrily. Paul, who had not regarded his lastremark as one of his best things, looked at her in surprise. 

"But your portrait of him was in the Academy in May!" she smiled. 

Paul made up his mind quickly. 

"Lady Hermione, " he said with gravity, "do not speak to me of LordErnest again. Nor, " he added hurriedly, "to Lord Ernest of me. Whenyour picture is finished I will tell you why. Now it is time youwent. " He woke the Duchess up, and made a few commonplace remarksabout the weather. "Remember, " he whispered to Lady Hermione as hesaw them to their car. She nodded and smiled. 

The sittings went on daily. Sometimes Paul would paint rapidly withgreat sweeps of the brush; sometimes he would spend an hour tryingto get on his palette the exact shade of green bice for the famousWinchester emeralds; sometimes in despair he would take a sponge andwipe the whole picture out, and then start madly again. Andsometimes he would stop work altogether and tell Lady Hermione abouthis home-life in Worcestershire. But always, when he woke theDuchess up at the end of the sitting, he would say, "Remember!" andLady Hermione would nod back at him. 

It was a spring-like day in March when the picture was finished, andnothing remained to do but to paint in the signature. 

"It is beautiful!" said Lady Hermione, with enthusiasm. "Beautiful!Is it at all like me?"

Paul looked from her to the picture, and back to her again. 

"No, " he said, "not a bit. You know, I am really a landscapepainter. "

"What do you mean?" she cried. "You are Peter Samways, A. R. A. , thefamous portrait painter!"

"No, " he said sadly. "That was my secret. I am Paul Samways. Amember of the Amateur Rowing Association, it is true, but only anunknown landscape painter. Peter Samways lives in the next studio, and he is not even a relation. "

"Then you have deceived me! You have brought me here under falsepretences!" She stamped her foot angrily. "My father will not buythat picture, and I forbid you to exhibit it as a portrait ofmyself. "

"My dear Lady Hermione, " said Paul, "you need not be alarmed. Ipropose to exhibit the picture as 'When the Heart is Young. ' Nobodywill recognize a likeness to you in it. And if the Duke does not buyit I have no doubt that some other purchaser will come along. "

Lady Hermione looked at him thoughtfully. "Why did you do it?" sheasked gently. 

"Because I fell in love with you. "

She dropped her eyes, and then raised them gaily to his. "Mother isstill asleep, " she whispered. 

"Hermione!" he cried, dropping his palette and putting his brushbehind his ear. 

She held out her arms to him. 

. . . . . . . 

As everybody remembers, "When the Heart is Young, " by Paul Samways, was the feature of the Exhibition. It was bought for 10, 000 poundsby a retired bottle manufacturer, whom it reminded a little of hislate mother. Paul woke to find himself famous. But the success whichbegan for him from this day did not spoil his simple and generousnature. He never forgot his brother artists, whose feet were not yeton the top of the ladder. Indeed, one of his first acts after he wasmarried was to give a commission to Peter Samways, A. R. A. --nothingless than the painting of his wife's portrait. And Lady Hermione wasdelighted with the result. 

THE BARRISTER

The New Bailey was crowded with a gay and fashionable throng. It wasa remarkable case of shop-lifting. Aurora Delaine, nineteen, wascharged with feloniously stealing and conveying certain articles, the property of the Universal Stores, to wit thirty-five yards ofbock muslin, ten pairs of gloves, a sponge, two gimlets, five jarsof cold cream, a copy of the Clergy List, three hat-guards, amariner's compass, a box of drawing-pins, an egg-breaker, sixblouses, and a cabman's whistle. The theft had been proved by AlbertJobson, a shopwalker, who gave evidence to the effect that hefollowed her through the different departments and saw her take thethings mentioned in the indictment. 

"Just a moment, " interrupted the Judge. "Who is defending theprisoner?"

There was an unexpected silence. Rupert Carleton, who had droppedidly into court, looked round in sudden excitement. The poor girlhad no counsel! What if he--yes, he would seize the chance! He stoodup boldly. "I am, my lord, " he said. 

Rupert Carleton was still in the twenties, but he had been abriefless barrister for some years. Yet, though briefs would notcome, he had been very far from idle. He had stood for Parliament inboth the Conservative and Liberal interests (not to mention hisown), he had written half a dozen unproduced plays, and he wasengaged to be married. But success in his own profession had beendelayed. Now at last was his opportunity. 

He pulled his wig down firmly over his ears, took out a pair ofpince-nez and rose to cross-examine. It was the cross-examinationwhich was to make him famous, the cross-examination which is nowgiven as a model in every legal text-book. 

"Mr Jobson, " he began suavely, "you say that you saw the accusedsteal these various articles, and that they were afterwards foundupon her?"

"Yes. "

"I put it to you, " said Rupert, and waited intently for the answer, "that that is a pure invention on your part?"

"No. "

With a superhuman effort Rupert hid his disappointment. Unexpectedas the answer was, he preserved his impassivity. 

"I suggest, " he tried again, "that you followed her about andconcealed this collection of things in her cloak with a view toadvertising your winter sale?"

"No. I saw her steal them. "

Rupert frowned; the man seemed impervious to the simplestsuggestion. With masterly decision he tapped his pince-nez and fellback upon his third line of defence. "You saw her steal them? Whatyou mean is that you saw her take them from the different countersand put them in her bag?"

"Yes. "

"With the intention of paying for them in the ordinary way?"

"No. "

"Please be very careful. You said in your evidence that theprisoner, when told she would be charged, cried, 'To think that Ishould have come to this! Will no one save me?' I suggest that shewent up to you with her collection of purchases, pulled out herpurse, and said, 'What does all this come to? I can't get any one toserve me. '"

"No. "

The obstinacy of some people! Rupert put back his pince-nez in hispocket and brought out another pair. The historic cross-examinationcontinued. 

"We will let that pass for the moment, " he said. He consulted asheet of paper and then looked sternly at Mr Jobson. "Mr Jobson, howmany times have you been married?"

"Once. "

"Quite so. " He hesitated and then decided to risk it. "I suggestthat your wife left you?"

"Yes. "

It was a long shot, but once again the bold course had paid. Rupertheaved a sigh of relief. 

"Will you tell the gentlemen of the jury, " he said with deadlypoliteness, "WHY she left you?"

"She died. "

A lesser man might have been embarrassed, but Rupert's iron nervedid not fail him. 

"Exactly!" he said. "And was that or was that not on the night whenyou were turned out of the Hampstead Parliament for intoxication?"

"I never was. "

"Indeed? Will you cast your mind back to the night of April 24th, 1897? What were you doing on that night?"

"I have no idea, " said Jobson, after casting his mind back andwaiting in vain for some result. 

"In that case you cannot swear that you were not being turned out ofthe Hampstead Parliament--"

"But I never belonged to it. "

Rupert leaped at the damaging admission. 

"What? You told the Court that you lived at Hampstead, and yet yousay that you never belonged to the Hampstead Parliament? Is THATyour idea of patriotism?"

"I said I lived at Hackney. "

"To the Hackney Parliament, I should say. I am suggesting that youwere turned out of the Hackney Parliament for--"

"I don't belong to that either. "

"Exactly!" said Rupert triumphantly. "Having been turned out forintoxication?"

"And never did belong. "

"Indeed? May I take it then that you prefer to spend your eveningsin the public-house?"

"If you want to know, " said Jobson angrily, "I belong to the HackneyChess Circle, and that takes up most of my evenings. "

Rupert gave a sigh of satisfaction and turned to the jury. 

"At LAST, gentlemen, we have got it. I thought we should arrive atthe truth in the end, in spite of Mr Jobson's prevarications. " Heturned to the witness. "Now, sir, " he said sternly, "you havealready told the Court that you have no idea what you were doing onthe night of April 24th, 1897. I put it to you once more that thisblankness of memory is due to the fact that you were in a state ofintoxication on the premises of the Hackney Chess Circle. Can youswear on your oath that this is not so?"

A murmur of admiration for the relentless way in which the truth hadbeen tracked down ran through the court. Rupert drew himself up andput on both pairs of pince-nez at once. 

"Come, sir!" he said, "the jury is waiting. " But it was not AlbertJobson who answered. It was the counsel for the prosecution. "Mylord, " he said, getting up slowly, "this has come as a completesurprise to me. In the circumstances, I must advise my clients towithdraw from the case. "

"A very proper decision, " said his lordship. "The prisoner isdischarged without a stain on her character. "

. . . . . . . 

Briefs poured in upon Rupert next day, and he was engaged for allthe big Chancery cases. Within a week his six plays were accepted, and within a fortnight he had entered Parliament as the miners'Member for Coalville. His marriage took place at the end of a month. The wedding presents were even more numerous and costly than usual, and included thirty-five yards of book muslin, ten pairs of gloves, a sponge, two gimlets, five jars of cold cream, a copy of the ClergyList, three hat-guards, a mariner's compass, a box of drawing-pins, an egg-breaker, six blouses, and a cabman's whistle. They weremarked quite simply, "From a Grateful Friend. "

THE CIVIL SERVANT

It was three o'clock, and the afternoon sun reddened the westernwindows of one of the busiest of Government offices. In an airy roomon the third floor Richard Dale was batting. Standing in front ofthe coal-box with the fire-shovel in his hands, he was a model ofthe strenuous young Englishman; and as for the third time he turnedthe Government india-rubber neatly in the direction of square-leg, and so completed his fifty, the bowler could hardly repress a sighof envious admiration. Even the reserved Matthews, who was too oldfor cricket, looked up a moment from his putting, and said, "Wellplayed, Dick!"

The fourth occupant of the room was busy at his desk, as if to givethe lie to the thoughtless accusation that the Civil Servicecultivates the body at the expense of the mind. The eager shouts ofthe players seemed to annoy him, for he frowned and bit his pen, orelse passed his fingers restlessly through his hair. 

"How the dickens you expect any one to think in this confoundednoise, " he cried suddenly. 

"What's the matter, Ashby?"

"You're the matter. How am I going to get these verses done for TheEvening Surprise if you make such a row? Why don't you go out totea?"

"Good idea. Come on, Dale. You coming, Matthews?" They went out, leaving the room to Ashby. 

In his youth Harold Ashby had often been told by his relations thathe had a literary bent. His letters home from school were generallypronounced to be good enough for Punch, and some of them, togetherwith a certificate of character from his Vicar, were actually sentto that paper. But as he grew up he realized that his genius wasbetter fitted for work of a more solid character. His post in theCivil Service gave him full leisure for his Adam: A Fragment, hisHistory of the Microscope, and his Studies in Rural Campanology, andyet left him ample time in which to contribute to the journalism ofthe day. 

The poem he was now finishing for The Evening Surprise was his firstcontribution to that paper, but he had little doubt that it would beaccepted. It was called quite simply, "Love and Death, " and it beganlike this:

"Love! O love! (All other things above). --Why, O why, Am I afraidto die?"

There were six more lines which I have forgotten, but I suppose theygave the reason for this absurd diffidence. 

Having written the poem out neatly, Harold put it in an envelope andtook it round to The Evening Surprise. The strain of composition hadleft him rather weak, and he decided to give his brain a rest forthe next few days. So it happened that he was at the wickets on thefollowing Wednesday afternoon when the commissionaire brought him inthe historic letter. He opened it hastily, the shovel under his arm. 

"DEAR SIR, " wrote the editor of The Surprise, "will you come roundand see me as soon as convenient?"

Harold lost no time. Explaining that he would finish his inningslater, he put his coat on, took his hat and stick, and dashed out. 

"How do you do?" said the editor. "I wanted to talk to you aboutyour work. We all liked your little poem very much. It will becoming out to-morrow. "

"Thursday, " said Harold helpfully. 

"I was wondering whether we couldn't get you to join our staff. Doesthe idea of doing 'Aunt Miriam's Cosy Corner' in our afternoonedition appeal to you at all?"

"No, " said Harold, "not a bit. "

"Ah, that's a pity. " He tapped his desk thoughtfully. "Well then, how would you like to be a war correspondent?"

"Very much, " said Harold. "I was considered to write rather goodletters home from school. "

"Splendid! There's this little war in Mexico. When can you start?All expenses and fifty pounds a week. You're not very busy at theoffice, I suppose, just now?"

"I could get sick leave easily enough, " said Harold, "if it wasn'tfor more than eight or nine months. "

"Do; that will be excellent. Here's a blank cheque for your outfit. Can you get off to-morrow? But I suppose you'll have one or twothings to finish up at the office first?"

"Well, " said Harold cautiously, "I WAS in, and I'd made ninety-six. But if I go back and finish my innings now, and then have to-morrowfor buying things, I could get off on Friday. "

"Good, " said the editor. "Well, here's luck. Come back alive if youcan, and if you do we shan't forget you. "

Harold spent the next day buying a war correspondent's outfit:--thecamel, the travelling bath, the putties, the pith helmet, thequinine, the sleeping-bag, and the thousand-and-one othernecessities of active service. On the Friday his colleagues at theoffice came down in a body to Southampton to see him off. Little didthey think that nearly a year would elapse before he again set footupon England. 

I shall not describe all his famous coups in Mexico. Sufficient tosay that experience taught him quickly all that he had need tolearn; and that whereas he was more than a week late with his cabledaccount of the first engagement of the war, he was frequently morethan a week early afterwards. Indeed, the battle of Parson's Nose, so realistically described in his last telegram, is still waiting tobe fought. It is to be hoped that it will be in time for hisaptly-named book, With the Mexicans in Mexico, which is coming outnext month. 

On his return to England Harold found that time had wrought manychanges. To begin with, the editor of The Evening Surprise hadpassed on to The Morning Exclamation. 

"You had better take his place, " said the ducal proprietor toHarold. 

"Right, " said Harold. "I suppose I shall have to resign my post atthe office?"

"Just as you like. I don't see why you should. "

"I should miss the cricket, " said Harold wistfully, "and the salary. I'll go round and see what I can arrange. "

But there were also changes at the office. Harold had been risingsteadily in salary and seniority during his absence, and he found tohis delight that he was now a Principal Clerk. He found, too, thathe had acquired quite a reputation in the office for quickness andefficiency in his new work. 

The first thing to arrange about was his holiday. He had had noholiday for more than a year, and there were some eight weeks owingto him. 

"Hullo, " said the Assistant Secretary as Harold came in, "you'relooking well. I suppose you manage to get away for the week-ends?"

"I've been away on sick leave for some time, " said Haroldpathetically. 

"Have you? You've kept it very secret. Come out and have lunch withme, and we'll do a matinee afterwards. "

Harold went out with him happily. It would be pleasant to accept theeditorship of The Evening Surprise without giving up theGovernmental work which was so dear to him, and the AssistantSecretary's words made this possible for a year or so anyhow. Then, when his absence from the office first began to be noticed, it wouldbe time to think of retiring on an adequate pension. 

THE ACTOR

Mr Levinski, the famous actor-manager, dragged himself from beneaththe car, took the snow out of his mouth, and swore heartily. Mortalmen are liable to motor accidents; even kings' cars have backfired;but it seems strange that actor-managers are not specially exemptfrom these occurrences. Mr Levinski was not only angry; he was alsoa little shocked. When an actor-manager has to walk two miles to thenearest town on a winter evening one may be pardoned a doubt as towhether all is quite right with the world. 

But the completest tragedy has its compensations for some one. Thepitiable arrival of Mr Levinski at "The Duke's Head, " unrecognizedand with his fur coat slightly ruffled, might make a sceptic of themost devout optimist, and yet Eustace Merrowby can never look backupon that evening without a sigh of thankfulness; for to him it wasthe beginning of his career. The story has often been told since--inabout a dozen weekly papers, half a dozen daily papers and threedozen provincial papers--but it will always bear telling again. 

There was no train to London that night, and Mr Levinski had beencompelled to put up at "The Duke's Head. " However, he had dined andwas feeling slightly better. He summoned the manager of the hotel. 

"What does one do in this dam place?" he asked with a yawn. 

The manager, instantly recognizing that he was speaking to a memberof the aristocracy, made haste to reply. Othello was being played atthe town theatre. His daughter, who had already been three times, told him that it was simply sweet. He was sure his lordship ... 

Mr Levinski dismissed him, and considered the point. He had to amusehimself with something that evening, and the choice apparently laybetween Othello and the local Directory. He picked up the Directory. By a lucky chance for Eustace Merrowby it was three years old. MrLevinski put on his fur coat and went to see Othello. 

For some time he was as bored as he had expected to be, but half-waythrough the Third Act he began to wake up. There was something inthe playing of the principal actor which moved him strangely. Helooked at his programme. "Othello--Mr EUSTACE MERROWBY. " Mr Levinskifrowned thoughtfully. "Merrowby?" he said to himself. "I don't knowthe name, but he's the man I want. " He took out the gold pencilpresented to him by the Emperor--(the station-master had had atie-pin)--and wrote a note. 

He was finishing breakfast next morning when Mr Merrowby wasannounced. 

"Ah, good-morning, " said Mr Levinski, "good-morning. You find mevery busy, " and here he began to turn the pages of the Directorybackwards and forwards, "but I can give you a moment. What is it youwant?"

"You asked me to call on you, " said Eustace. 

"Did I, did I?" He passed his hand across his brow with a noblegesture. "I am so busy, I forget. Ah, now I remember. I saw you playOthello last night. You are the man I want. I am producing 'OomBaas, ' the great South African drama, next April at my theatre. Perhaps you know?"

"I have read about it in the papers, " said Eustace. In all thepapers (he might have added) every day, for the last six months. 

"Good. Then you may have heard that one of the scenes is an ostrichfarm. I want you to play 'Tommy. '"

"One of the ostriches?" asked Eustace. 

"I do not offer the part of an ostrich to a man who has playedOthello. Tommy is the Kaffir boy who looks after the farm. It is ablack part, like your present one, but not so long. In London youcannot expect to take the leading parts just yet. "

"This is very kind of you, " cried Eustace gratefully. "I have alwayslonged to get to London. And to start in your theatre!--it's awonderful chance. "

"Good, " said Mr Levinski. "Then that's settled. " He waved Eustaceaway and took up the Directory again with a business-like air. 

And so Eustace Merrowby came to London. It is a great thing for ayoung actor to come to London. As Mr Levinski had warned him, hisnew part was not so big as that of Othello; he had to say "Hofotsetse!"--which was alleged to be Kaffir for "Down, sir!"--to thebig ostrich. But to be at the St George's Theatre at all was anhonour which most men would envy him, and his association with areal ostrich was bound to bring him before the public in the pagesof the illustrated papers. 

Eustace, curiously enough, was not very nervous on the first night. He was fairly certain that he was word-perfect; and if only theostrich didn't kick him in the back of the neck--as it had tried toonce at rehearsal--the evening seemed likely to be a triumph forhim. And so it was with a feeling of pleasurable anticipation that, on the morning after, he gathered the papers round him at breakfast, and prepared to read what the critics had to say. 

He had a remarkable Press. I give a few examples of the notices heobtained from the leading papers:

"Mr Eustace Merrowby was Tommy. "--Daily Telegraph. 

"The cast included Mr Eustace Merrowby. "--Times. 

"... Mr Eustace Merrowby... "--Daily Chronicle. 

"We have no space in which to mention all the otherperformers. "--Morning Leader. 

"This criticism only concerns the two actors we have mentioned, anddoes not apply to the rest of the cast. "--Sportsman. 

"Where all were so good, it would be invidious to single out anybodyfor special praise. "--Daily Mail. 

"The acting deserved a better play. "--Daily News. 

"... Tommy... "--Morning Post. 

As Eustace read the papers, he felt that his future was secure. True, The Era, careful never to miss a single performer, had yet tosay, "Mr Eustace Merrowby was capital as Tommy, " and The Stage, "Tommy was capitally played by Mr Eustace Merrowby"; but evenwithout this he had become one of the Men who Count--one whoseprivate life was of more interest to the public than that of anyscientist, general or diplomat in the country. 

Into Eustace Merrowby's subsequent career I cannot go at fulllength. It is perhaps as a member of the Garrick Club that he hasattained his fullest development. All the good things of the Garrickwhich were not previously said by Sydney Smith may safely be putdown to Eustace; and there is no doubt that he is the ringleader inall the subtler practical jokes which have made the club famous. Itwas he who pinned to the back of an unpopular member of thecommittee a sheet of paper bearing the words

KICK ME

--and the occasion on which he drew the chair from beneath a certaineminent author as the latter was about to sit down is still referredto hilariously by the older members. 

Finally, as a convincing proof of his greatness, let it be said thateverybody has at least heard the name "Eustace Merrowby"--eventhough some may be under the impression that it is the trade-mark ofa sauce; and that half the young ladies of Wandsworth Common andWinchmore Hill are in love with him. If this be not success, whatis?

THE YOUNGER SON

It is a hard thing to be the younger son of an ancient butimpoverished family. The fact that your brother Thomas is takingmost of the dibs restricts your inheritance to a paltry two thousanda year, while pride of blood forbids you to supplement this byfollowing any of the common professions. Impossible for a St Veraxto be a doctor, a policeman or an architect. He must find somenobler means of existence. 

For three years Roger St Verax had lived precariously by betting. Tobe a St Verax was always to be a sportsman. Roger's father hadcreated a record in the sporting world by winning the Derby and theWaterloo Cup with the same animal--though, in each case, it narrowlyescaped disqualification. Roger himself almost created anotherrecord by making betting pay. His book, showing how to do it, wasactually in the press when disaster overtook him. 

He began by dropping (in sporting parlance) a cool thousand on theJack Joel Selling Plate at Newmarket. On the next race he dropped acool five hundred, and later on in the afternoon a cool seventy-five pounds ten. The following day found him at Lingfield, where hedropped a cool monkey (to persevere with the language of the racingstable) on the Solly Joel Cup, picked it up on the next race, dropped a cool pony, dropped another cool monkey, dropped a coolwallaby, picked up a cool hippopotamus, and finally, in the lastrace of the day, dropped a couple of lukewarm ferrets. In short, hewas (as they say at Tattersall's Corner) entirely cleaned out. 

When a younger son is cleaned out there is only one thing for him todo. Roger St Verax knew instinctively what it was. He bought a newsilk hat and a short black coat, and went into the City. 

What a wonderful place, dear reader, is the City! You, madam, whoread this in your daintily upholstered boudoir, can know but littleof the great heart of the City, even though you have driven throughits arteries on your way to Liverpool Street Station, and have notedthe bare and smoothly brushed polls of the younger natives. You, sir, in your country vicarage, are no less innocent, even though onsultry afternoons you have covered your head with the FinancialSupplement of The Times in mistake for the Literary Supplement, andhave thus had thrust upon you the stirring news that Bango-Bangoswere going up. And I, dear friends, am equally ignorant of thesecrets of the Stock Exchange. I know that its members frequentlywalk to Brighton, and still more frequently stay there; that whilefinding a home for all the good stories which have been going therounds for years, they sometimes invent entirely new ones forthemselves about the Chancellor of the Exchequer; and that they singthe National Anthem very sternly in unison when occasion demands it. But there must be something more in it than this, or why areBango-Bangos still going up?

I don't know. And I am sorry to say that even Roger St Verax, aDirector of the Bango-Bango Development Company, is not very clearabout it all. 

It was as a Director of the Bango-Bango Exploration Company that hetook up his life in the City. As its name implies, the Company wasoriginally formed to explore Bango-Bango, an impenetrable districtin North Australia; but when it came to the point it was found muchmore profitable to explore Hampstead, Clapham Common, Blackheath, Ealing and other rich and fashionable suburbs. A number of hopefulladies and gentlemen having been located in these parts, the Companywent ahead rapidly, and in 1907 a new prospector was sent out toreplace the one who was assumed to have been eaten. 

In 1908, Roger first heard the magic word "reconstruction, " and tohis surprise found himself in possession of twenty thousand poundsand a Directorship of the new Bango-Bango Mining Company. 

In 1909 a piece of real gold was identified, and the shares went uplike a rocket. 

In 1910 the Stock Exchange suddenly woke to the fact that rubbertyres were made of rubber, and in a moment the Great Boom was sprungupon an amazed City. The Bango-Bango Development Company wasimmediately formed to take over the Bango-Bango Mining Company(together with its prospector, if alive, its plant, shafts and otherproperty, not forgetting the piece of gold) and more particularly todevelop the vegetable resources of the district with the view ofplanting rubber trees in the immediate future. A neatly compiledprospectus put matters very clearly before the stay-at-homeEnglishman. It explained quite concisely that, supposing the treeswere planted so many feet apart throughout the whole property offive thousand square miles, and allowing a certain period for thegrowth of a tree to maturity, and putting the average yield ofrubber per tree at, in round figures, so much, and assuming for thesake of convenience that rubber would remain at its present price, and estimating the cost of working the plantation at say, roughly, 100, 000 pounds, why, then it was obvious that the profits would beanything you liked up to two billion a year--while (this wasimportant) more land could doubtless be acquired if the share-holders thought fit. And even if you were certain that a rubber-treecouldn't possibly grow in the Bango-Bango district (as in confidenceit couldn't), still it was worth taking shares purely as aninvestment, seeing how rapidly rubber was going up; not to mentionthe fact that Roger St Verax, the well-known financier, was aDirector ... And so on. 

In short the Bango-Bango Development Company was, in the language ofthe City, a safe thing. 

Let me hasten to the end of this story. At the end of 1910 Roger wasa millionaire; and for quite a week afterwards he used to wonderwhere all the money had come from. In the old days, when he won acool thousand by betting, he knew that somebody else had lost a coolthousand by betting, but it did not seem to be so in this case. Hehad met hundreds of men who had made fortunes through rubber; he hadmet hundreds who bitterly regretted that they had missed making afortune; but he had never met any one who had lost a fortune. Thismade him think the City an even more wonderful place than before. 

But before he could be happy there remained one thing for him to do;he must find somebody to share his happiness. He called on his oldfriend, Mary Brown, one Sunday. 

"Mary, " he said, with the brisk confidence of the City man, "I findI'm disengaged next Tuesday. Will you meet me at St George's Churchat two? I should like to show you the curate and the vestry, and oneor two things like that. "

"Why, what's happened?"

"I am a millionaire, " said Roger calmly. "So long as I only had mybeggarly pittance, I could not ask you to marry me. There wasnothing for it but to wait in patience. It has been a long wearywait, dear, but the sun has broken through the clouds at last. I amnow in a position to support a wife. Tuesday at two, " he went on, consulting his pocket diary; "or I could give you half an hour onMonday morning. "

"But why this extraordinary hurry? Why mayn't I be married properly, with presents and things?"

"My dear, " said Roger reproachfully, "you forget. I am a City mannow, and it is imperative that I should be married at once. Only amarried man, with everything in his wife's name, can face withconfidence the give and take of the bustling City. "

A FEW FRIENDS

MARGERY

I. --A TWICE TOLD TALE

"Is that you, uncle?" said a voice from the nursery, as I hung mycoat up in the hall. "I've only got my skin on, but you can comeup. "

However, she was sitting up in bed with her nightgown on when Ifound her. 

"I was having my bath when you came, " she explained. "Have you comeall the way from London?"

"All the way. "

"Then will you tell me a story?"

"I can't; I'm going to have my dinner. I only came up to sayGood-night. "

Margery leant forward and whispered coaxingly, "Will you just tellme about Beauty and 'e Beast?"

"But I've told you that such heaps of times. And it's much too longfor to-night. "

"Tell me HALF of it. As much as THAT. " She held her hands about nineinches apart. 

"That's too much. "

"As much as THAT. " The hands came a little nearer together. 

"Oh! Well, I'll tell you up to where the Beast died. "

"FOUGHT he died, " she corrected eagerly. 

"Yes. Well--"

"How much will that be? As much as I said?"

I nodded. The preliminary business settled, she gave a little sighof happiness, put her arms round her knees, and waited breathlesslyfor the story she had heard twenty times before. 

"Once upon a time there was a man who had three daughters. And oneday--"

"What was the man's name?"

"Margery, " I said reproachfully, annoyed at the interruption, "youknow I NEVER tell you the man's name. "

"Tell me now. "

"Oswald, " I said, after a moment's thought. 

"I told Daddy it was Thomas, " said Margery casually. 

"Well, as a matter of fact, he had two names, Oswald AND Thomas. "

"Why did he have two names?"

"In case he lost one. Well, one day this man, who was very poor, heard that a lot of money was waiting for him in a ship which hadcome over the sea to a town some miles off. So he--"

"Was it waiting at Weymouf?"

"Somewhere like that. "

"I spex it must have been Weymouf, because there's lots of seathere. "

"Yes, I'm sure it was. Well, he thought he'd go to Weymouth and getthe money. "

"How much monies was it?"

"Oh, lots and lots. "

"As much as five pennies?"

"Yes, about that. Well, he said Good-bye to his daughters, and askedthem what they'd like him to bring back for a present. And the firstasked for some lovely jewels and diamonds and--"

"Like mummy's locket--is THAT jewels?"

"That sort of idea. Well, she wanted a lot of things like that. Andthe second wanted some beautiful clothes. "

"What sort of clothes?"

"Oh, frocks and--well, frocks and all sorts of--er--frocks. "

"Did she want any lovely new stockings?"

"Yes, she wanted three pairs of those. "

"And did she want any lovely--"

"Yes, " I said hastily, "she wanted lots of those, too. Lots ofEVERYTHING. "

Margery gave a little sob of happiness. "Go on telling me, " she saidunder her breath. 

"Well, the third daughter was called Beauty. And she thought toherself, 'Poor Father won't have any money left at all, if we all goon like this!' So she didn't ask for anything very expensive, likeher selfish sisters, she only asked for a rose. A simple red rose. "

Margery moved uneasily. 

"I hope, " she said wistfully, "this bit isn't going to be about--YOUknow. It never did before. "

"About what?"

"Good little girls and bad little girls, and fings like that. "

"My darling, no, of course not. I told it wrong. Beauty asked for arose because she loved roses so. And it was a very particular kindof red rose that she wanted--a sort that they simply COULDN'T get togrow in their own garden because of the soil. "

"Go on telling me, " said Margery, with a deep sigh of content. 

"Well, he started off to Weymouth. "

"What day did he start?"

"It was Monday. And when--"

"Oh, well, anyhow, I told daddy it was Tuesday. "

"Tuesday--now let me think. Yes, I believe you're right. Because onMonday he went to a meeting of the Vegetable Gardeners, and proposedthe health of the Chairman. Yes, well he started off on Tuesday, andwhen he got there he found that there was no money for him at all!"

"I spex somebody had taken it, " said Margery breathlessly. 

"Well, it had all gone SOMEHOW. "

"Perhaps somebody had swallowed it, " said Margery, a little carriedaway by the subject. "By mistake. "

"Anyhow, it was gone. And he had to come home again without anymoney. He hadn't gone far--"

"How far?" asked Margery. "As far as THAT?" and she measured nineinches in the air. 

"About forty-four miles--when he came to a beautiful garden. "

"Was it a really lovely big garden? Bigger than ours?"

"Oh, much bigger. "

"Bigger than yours?"

"I haven't got a garden. "

Margery looked at me wonderingly. She opened her mouth to speak, andthen stopped and rested her head upon her hands and thought out thisnew situation. At last, her face flushed with happiness, sheannounced her decision. 

"Go on telling me about Beauty and the Beast now, " she saidbreathlessly, "and THEN tell me why you haven't got a garden. "

My average time for Beauty and the Beast is ten minutes, and, if westop at the place when the Beast thought he was dead, six minutestwenty-five seconds. But, with the aid of seemingly innocentquestions, a determined character can make even the craftiest unclespin the story out to half an hour. 

"Next time, " said Margery, when we had reached the appointed placeand she was being tucked up in bed, "will you tell me ALL thestory?"

Was there the shadow of a smile in her eyes? I don't know. But I'msure it will be wisest next time to promise her the whole thing. Wemust make that point clear at the very start, and then we shall getalong. 

II. --THE LITERARY ART

MARGERY has a passion for writing just now. I can see nothing in itmyself, but if people WILL write, I suppose you can't stop them. 

"Will you just lend me your pencil?" she asked. 

"Remind me to give you a hundred pencils some time, " I said as Itook it out, "and then you'll always have one. You simply eatpencils. "

"Oo, I gave it you back last time. "

"Only just. You inveigle me down here--"

"What do I do?"

"I'm not going to say that again for anybody. "

"Well, may I have the pencil?"

I gave her the pencil and a sheet of paper, and settled her in achair. 

"B-a-b-y, " said Margery to herself, planning out her weekly articlefor the Reviews. "B-a-b-y, baby. " She squared her elbows and beganto write.... 

"There!" she said, after five minutes' composition. 

The manuscript was brought over to the critic, and the author stoodproudly by to point out subtleties that might have been overlookedat a first reading. 

"B-a-b-y, " explained the author. "Baby. "

"Yes, that's very good; very neatly expressed. 'Baby'--I like that. "

"Shall I write some more?" said Margery eagerly. 

"Yes, do write some more. This is good, but it's not long enough. "

The author retired again, and in five minutes produced this:--

B A B Y

"That's 'baby, '" explained Margery. 

"Yes, I like that baby better than the other one. It's more spreadout. And it's bigger--it's one of the biggest babies I've seen. "

"Shall I write some more?"

"Don't you write anything else ever?"

"I like writing 'baby, '" said Margery carelessly. "B-a-b-y. "

"Yes, but you can't do much with just that one word. Suppose youwanted to write to a man at a shop--'Dear Sir, --You never sent me myboots. Please send them at once, as I want to go out this afternoon. I am, yours faithfully, Margery'--it would be no good simply putting'B-a-b-y, ' because he wouldn't know what you meant. "

"Well, what WOULD it be good putting?"

"Ah, that's the whole art of writing--to know what it would be anygood putting. You want to learn lots and lots of new words, so as tobe ready. Now here's a jolly little one that you ought to meet. " Itook the pencil and wrote GOT. "Got. G-o-t, got. "

Margery, her elbows on my knee and her chin resting on her hands, studied the position. 

"Yes, that's old 'got, '" she said. 

"He's always coming in. When you want to say, 'I've got a bad pain, so I can't accept your kind invitation'; or when you want to say, 'Excuse more, as I've got to go to bed now'; or quite simply, 'You've got my pencil. '"

"G-o-t, got, " said Margery. "G-o-t, got. G-o-t, got. "

"With appropriate action it makes a very nice recitation. "

"Is THAT a 'g'?" said Margery, busy with the pencil, which she hadsnatched from me. 

"The gentleman with the tail. You haven't made his tail quite longenough.... That's better. "

Margery retired to her study, charged with an entirely newinspiration, and wrote her second manifesto. It was this:--

G O T

"Got, " she pointed out. 

I inspected it carefully. Coming fresh to the idea Margery hadtreated it more spontaneously than the other. But it was distinctlya "got. " One of the gots. 

"Have you any more words?" she asked, holding tight to the pencil. 

"You've about exhausted me, Margery. "

"What was that one you said just now? The one you said you wouldn'tsay again?"

"Oh, you mean 'inveigle'?" I said, pronouncing it differently thistime. 

"Yes; write that for me. "

"It hardly ever comes in. Only when you are writing to yoursolicitor. "

"What's 'solicitor'?"

"He's the gentleman who takes the money. He's ALWAYS coming in. "

"Then write 'solicitor. '"

I took the pencil (it was my turn for it) and wrote SOLICITOR. ThenI read it out slowly to Margery, spelt it to her three times verycarefully, and wrote SOLICITOR again. Then I said it thoughtfully tomyself half a dozen times--"Solicitor. " Then I looked at itwonderingly. 

"I am not sure now, " I said, "that there is such a word. "

"Why?"

"I thought there was when I began, but now I don't think there canbe. 'Solicitor'--it seems so silly. "

"Let me write it, " said Margery, eagerly taking the paper andpencil, "and see if it looks silly. "

She retired, and--as well as she could for her excitement--copiedthe word down underneath. The combined effort then read asfollows:--

SOLICITOR SOLICITOR SOLCTOR

"Yes, you've done it a lot of good, " I said. "You've taken some ofthe creases out. I like that much better. "

"Do you think there is such a word now?"

"I'm beginning to feel more easy about it. I'm not certain, but Ihope. "

"So do I, " said Margery. With the pencil in one hand and the variousscraps of paper in the other, she climbed on to the writing-desk andgave herself up to literature.... 

And it seems to me that she is well equipped for the task. Forbesides having my pencil still (of which I say nothing for themoment) she has now three separate themes upon which to ring thechanges--a range wide enough for any writer. These are, "Baby gotsolicitor" (supposing that there is such a word), "Solicitor gotbaby, " and "Got baby solicitor. " Indeed, there are really fourthemes here, for the last one can have two interpretations. It mightmean that you had obtained an ordinary solicitor for Baby, or itmight mean that you had got a specially small one for yourself. Itlacks, therefore, the lucidity of the best authors, but in a womanwriter this may be forgiven. 

III. --MY SECRETARY

When, five years ago, I used to write long letters to Margery, forsome reason or other she never wrote back. To save her face I had toanswer the letters myself--a tedious business. Still, I must admitthat the warmth and geniality of the replies gave me a certainstanding with my friends, who had not looked for me to be sopopular. After some months, however, pride stepped in. One cannotpour out letter after letter to a lady without any acknowledgmentsave from oneself. And when even my own acknowledgments began tolose their first warmth--when, for instance, I answered four pagesabout my new pianola with the curt reminder that I was learning towalk and couldn't be bothered with music, why, then at last I sawthat a correspondence so one-sided would have to come to an end. Iwrote a farewell letter and replied to it with tears.... 

But, bless you, that was nearly five years ago. Each morning now, among the usual pile of notes on my plate from duchesses, publishers, money-lenders, actor-managers and what-not, I find, likely enough, an envelope in Margery's own handwriting. Not only ismy address printed upon it legibly, but there are also such extradirections to the postman as "England" and "Important, " for its morespeedy arrival. And inside--well, I give you the last but seven. 

"MY DEAR UNCLE I thot you wher coming to see me to night but youdidn't why didn't you baby has p t o hurt her knee isnt that a pityI have some new toys isnt that jolly we didn't have our five minutesso will you krite to me and tell me all about p t o your work fromyour loving little MARGIE. "

I always think that footnotes to a letter are a mistake, but thereare one or two things I should like to explain. 

(A) Just as some journalists feel that without the word "economic" aleading article lacks tone, so Margery feels, and I agree with her, that a certain cachet is lent to a letter by a p. T. O. At the bottomof each page. 

(B) There are lots of grown-up people who think that "write" isspelt "rite. " Margery knows that this is not so. She knows thatthere is a silent letter in front of the "r, " which doesn't doanything but likes to be there. Obviously, if nobody is going totake any notice of this extra letter, it doesn't much matter what itis. Margery happened to want to make a "k" just then; at a pinch itcould be as silent as a "w. " You will please, therefore, regard the"k" in "krite" as absolutely noiseless. 

(C) Both Margery and Bernard Shaw prefer to leave out the apostrophein writing such words as "isn't" and "don't. "

(D) Years ago I claimed the privilege to monopolise, on theoccasional evenings when I was there, Margery's last ten minutesbefore she goes back to some heaven of her own each night. Thisprivilege was granted; it being felt, no doubt, that she owed mesome compensation for my early secretarial work on her behalf. Weused to spend the ten minutes in listening to my telling a fairystory, always the same one. One day the authorities stepped in andannounced that in future the ten minutes would be reduced to five. The procedure seemed to me absolutely illegal (and I should like tobring a test action against somebody), but it certainly did put thelid on my fairy story, of which I was getting more than a littletired. 

"Tell me about Beauty and the Beast, " said Margery as usual thatevening. 

"There's not time, " I said. "We've only five minutes to-night. "

"Oh! Then tell me all the work you've done to-day. "

(A little unkind, you'll agree, but you know what relations are. )

And so now I have to cram the record of my day's work into fivebreathless minutes. You will understand what bare justice I can doto it in the time. 

I am sorry that these footnotes have grown so big; let us leave themand return to the letter. There are many ways of answering such aletter. One might say, "MY DEAR MARGERY, --It was jolly to get a realletter from you at last--" but the "at last" would seem rathertactless considering what had passed years before. Or one might say, "MY DEAR MARGERY, --Thank you for your jolly letter. I am so sorryabout baby's knee and so glad about your toys. Perhaps if you gaveone of the toys to baby, then her knee--" But I feel sure thatMargery would expect me to do better than that. 

In the particular case of this last letter but seven I wrote:--

"DEAREST MARGERY, --Thank you for your sweet letter. I had a verybusy day at the office or I would have come to see you. P. T. O. --Ihope to be down next week, and then I will tell you all about mywork; but I have a lot more to do now, and so I must say Good-bye. Your loving UNCLE. "

There is perhaps nothing in that which demands an immediate answer, but with business-like promptitude Margery replied:--

"MY DEAR UNCLE thank you for your letter I am glad you are comingnext week baby is quite well now are you p t o coming on Thursdaynext week or not say yes if you are I am p t o sorry you are workingso hard from your loving MARGIE. "

I said "Yes, " and that I was her loving uncle. It seemed to be thentoo late for a "P. T. O. , " but I got one in and put on the back, "Loveto Baby. " The answer came by return of post:--

"MY DEAR UNCLE thank you for your letter come erly on p t o Thursdaycome at half past nothing baby sends her love and so do p t o I myroking horse has a sirrup broken isnt that a pity say yes or nogood-bye from your loving MARGIE. "

Of course I thanked Baby for her love and gave my decision that itWAS a pity about the rocking-horse. I did it in large capitals, which (as I ought to have said before) is the means of communicationbetween Margery and her friends. For some reason or other I findprinting capitals to be more tiring than the ordinary method ofwriting. 

"MY DEAR UNCLE, " wrote Margery--

But we need not go into that. What I want to say is this: I love toget letters, particularly these, but I hate writing them, particularly in capitals. Years ago, I used to answer Margery'sletters for her. It is now her turn to answer mine for me. 

CHUM

IT is Chum's birthday to-morrow, and I am going to buy him a littlewhip for a present, with a whistle at the end of it. When I next gointo the country to see him I shall take it with me and explain itto him. Two days' firmness would make him quite a sensible dog. Ihave often threatened to begin the treatment on my very next visit, but somehow it has been put off; the occasion of his birthday offersa last opportunity. 

It is rather absurd, though, to talk of birthdays in connection withChum, for he has been no more than three months old since we havehad him. He is a black spaniel who has never grown up. He has abeautiful astrakhan coat which gleams when the sun is on it; but hestands so low in the water that the front of it is always gettingdirty, and his ears and the ends of his trousers trail in the mud. Agreat authority has told us that, but for three white hairs on hisshirt (upon so little do class distinctions hang), he would be aCocker of irreproachable birth. A still greater authority has swornthat he is a Sussex. The family is indifferent--it only calls him aSilly Ass. Why he was christened Chum I do not know; and as he neverrecognizes the name it doesn't matter. 

When he first came to stay with us I took him a walk round thevillage. I wanted to show him the lie of the land. He had never seenthe country before and was full of interest. He trotted into acottage garden and came back with something to show me. 

"You'll never guess, " he said. "Look!" and he dropped at my feet achick just out of the egg. 

I smacked his head and took him into the cottage to explain. 

"My dog, " I said, "has eaten one of your chickens. "

Chum nudged me in the ankle and grinned. 

"TWO of your chickens, " I corrected myself, looking at the freshevidence which he had just brought to light. 

"You don't want me any more?" said Chum, as the financialarrangements proceeded. "Then I'll just go and find somewhere forthese two. " And he picked them up and trotted into the sun. 

When I came out I was greeted effusively. 

"This is a wonderful day, " he panted, as he wriggled his body. "Ididn't know the country was like this. What do we do now?"

"We go home, " I said, and we went. 

That was Chum's last day of freedom. He keeps inside the front gatenow. But he is still a happy dog; there is plenty doing in thegarden. There are beds to walk over, there are blackbirds in theapple tree to bark at. The world is still full of wonderful things. "Why, only last Wednesday, " he will tell you, "the fishmonger lefthis basket in the drive. There was a haddock in it, if you'llbelieve me, for master's breakfast, so of course I saved it for him. I put it on the grass just in front of his study window, where he'dbe SURE to notice it. Bless you, there's always SOMETHING to do inthis house. One is never idle. "

And even when there is nothing doing, he is still happy; waitingcheerfully upon events until they arrange themselves for hisamusement. He will sit for twenty minutes opposite the garden bank, watching for a bumble-bee to come out of its hole. "I saw him goin, " he says to himself, "so he's bound to come out. Extraordinarilyinteresting world. " But to his inferiors (such as the gardener) hepretends that it is not pleasure but duty which keeps him. "Don'ttalk to me, fool. Can't you see that I've got a job on here?"

Chum has found, however, that his particular mission in life is topurge his master's garden of all birds. This keeps him busy. As soonas he sees a blackbird on the lawn he is in full cry after it. Whenhe gets to the place and finds the blackbird gone, he pretends thathe was going there anyhow; he gallops round in circles, rolls overonce or twice, and then trots back again. "You didn't REALLY think Iwas such a fool as to try to catch a BLACKBIRD?" he says to us. "No, I was just taking a little run--splendid thing for the figure. "

And it is just Chum's little runs over the beds which call aloud forfirmness--which, in fact, have inspired my birthday present to him. But there is this difficulty to overcome first. When he came to livewith us an arrangement was entered into (so he says) by which onebed was given to him as his own. In that bed he could wander atwill, burying bones and biscuits, hunting birds. This may have beenso, but it is a pity that nobody but Chum knows definitely which isthe bed. 

"Chum, you bounder, " I shout as he is about to wade through theherbaceous border. 

He takes no notice; he struggles through to the other side. But asudden thought strikes him, and he pushes his way back again. 

"Did you call me?" he says. 

"How DARE you walk over the flowers?"

He comes up meekly. 

"I suppose I've done SOMETHING wrong, " he says, "but I can't THINKwhat. "

I smack his head for him. He waits until he is quite sure I havefinished, and then jumps up with a bark, wipes his paws on mytrousers and trots into the herbaceous border again. 

"Chum!" I cry. 

He sits down in it and looks all round him in amazement. 

"My own bed!" he murmurs. "Given to me!"

I don't know what it is in him which so catches hold of you. His wayof sitting, a reproachful statue, motionless outside the window ofwhomever he wants to come out and play with him--until you can bearit no longer, but must either go into the garden or draw down theblinds for the day; his habit, when you ARE out, of sitting up onhis back legs and begging you with his front paws to come and DOsomething--a trick entirely of his own invention, for no one wouldthink of teaching him anything; his funny nautical roll when hewalks, which is nearly a swagger, and gives him always the air ofhaving just come back from some rather dashing adventure; beyond allthis there is still something. And whatever it is, it is somethingwhich every now and then compels you to bend down and catch hold ofhis long silky ears, to look into his honest eyes and say--

"You silly old ass! You DEAR old SILLY old ass!"

BETTY

THE HOTEL CHILD

I WAS in the lounge when I made her acquaintance, enjoying a pipeafter tea, and perhaps--I don't know--closing my eyes now and then. 

"Would you like to see my shells?" she asked suddenly. 

I woke up and looked at her. She was about seven years old, pretty, dark, and very much at ease. 

"I should love it, " I said. 

She produced a large paper bag from somewhere, and poured thecontents in front of me. 

"I've got two hundred and fifty-eight, " she announced. 

"So I see, " I said. I wasn't going to count them. "

"I think they're very pretty. I'll give you one if you like. Whichone will you choose?"

I sat up and examined them carefully. Seeing how short a time we hadknown each other, I didn't feel that I could take one of the goodones. After a little thought I chose quite a plain one, which hadbelonged to a winkle some weeks ago. 

"Thank you very much, " I said. 

"I don't think you choose shells at all well, " she said scornfully. "That's one of the ugly ones. "

"It will grow on me, " I explained. "In a year or two I shall thinkit beautiful. "

"I'll let you have this one too, " said she, picking out the best. "Now, shall we play at something?"

I had been playing at something all day. A little thinking in frontof the fire was my present programme. 

"Let's talk instead, " I suggested. "What's your name?"

"Betty. "

"I knew it was Betty. You look just like Betty. "

"What's yours?"

Somehow I hadn't expected that. After all, though, it was only fair. 

"Orlando, " I said. 

"What a funny name. I don't like it. "

"You should have said so before. It's too late now. What have youbeen doing all day?"

"Playing on the sands. What have you been doing?"

"I've been playing in the sand too. I suppose, Betty, you knownearly everybody in the hotel?"

"Oh, I play with them all sometimes. "

"Yes; then tell me, Betty, do you ever get asked what time you go tobed?"

"They ALL ask me that, " said Betty promptly. 

"I think I should like to ask you too, " I said, "just to be in themovement. When is it?"

"Half-past six. " She looked at the clock. "So we've got half anhour. I'll get my ball. "

Before I had time to do anything about it, the ball came bouncingin, hit me on the side of the head, and hurried off to hide itselfunder an old lady dozing in the corner. Betty followed moresedately. 

"Where's my ball?" she asked. 

"Has it come in?" I said in surprise. "Then it must have gone outagain. It noticed you weren't here. "

"I believe you've got it. "

"I swear I haven't, Betty. I think the lady in the corner knowssomething about it. "

Betty rushed across to her and began to crawl under her chair. Inervously rehearsed a few sentences to myself. 

"It is not my child, madam. I found it here. Surely you can see thatthere is no likeness between us? If we keep quite still perhaps itwill go away. "

"I've got it, " cried Betty, and the old lady woke up with a jerk. 

"What are you doing, child?" she said crossly. 

"Your little girl, madam, " I began--but Betty's ball bit me on thehead again before I could develop my theme. 

"Your little girl, sir, " began the old lady at the same moment. 

"I said it first, " I murmured. "Betty, " I went on aloud, "what isyour name, my child?"

"You've just said it. "

"I mean, " I corrected myself quickly, "where do you live?"

"Kensington. "

I looked triumphantly at the old lady. Surely a father wouldn't needto ask his own child where she lived? However, the old lady wasasleep again. I turned to Betty. 

"We shall have to play this game more quietly, " I said. "In fact, wehad better make some new rules. Instead of hitting me on the headeach time, you can roll the ball gently along the floor to me, and Ishall roll it gently back to you. And the one who misses it firstgoes to bed. "

I gave her an easy one to start with, wishing to work up naturallyto the denouement, and she gave me a very difficult one back, notquite understanding the object of the game. 

"You've got to go to bed, " she cried, clapping her hands. "You'vegot--to go--to bed. You've got--to go--to bed. You've--"

"All right, " I said coldly. "Don't make a song about it. "

It was ten minutes past six. I generally go to bed at eleven-thirty. It would be the longest night I had had for years. I sighed andprepared to go. 

"You needn't go till half-past, " said Betty kindly. 

"No, no, " I said firmly. "Rules are rules. " I had just rememberedthat there was nothing in the rules about not getting up again. 

"Then I'll come with you and see your room. "

"No, you mustn't do that; you'd fall out of the window. It's a verytricky window. I'm always falling out of it myself. "

"Then let's go on playing here, and we won't go to bed if we miss. "

"Very well, " I agreed. Really there was nothing else for it. 

Robbed of its chief interest, the game proved, after ten minutes orso, to be one of the duller ones. Whatever people say, I don't thinkit compares with cricket, for instance. It is certainly not sosubtle as golf. 

"I like playing this game, " said Betty. "Don't you?"

"I think I shall get to love it, " I said, looking at the clock. There were still five minutes, and I rolled down a very fast googlywhich beat her entirely and went straight for the door. Under theold rules she would have gone to bed at once. Alas, that--

"Look out, " I said as she went after it, "there's somebody comingin. "

Somebody came in. She smiled ruefully at us and then took Betty'shand. 

"I'm afraid my little girl has been worrying you, " she saidprettily. 

"I KNEW you'd say that, " said Betty. 

CINDERELLA

(BEING AN EXTRACT FROM HER DIARY--PICKED UP BEHIND THE SCENES)

TUESDAY. --Sometimes I think I am a very lucky girl having two bigsisters to look after me. I expect there are lots of young girls whohave nobody at all, and I think they must be so lonely. There isalways plenty of fun going on in our house. Yesterday I heard SisterFred telling Sister Bert something about her old man coming homevery late one night--I didn't quite understand who the old man was, or what it was all about, but I know Sister Bert thought it was veryfunny, and I seemed to hear a lot of people laughing; perhaps it wasthe fairies. And then whenever Sister Bert sits down she alwayspulls her skirt right up to her knees, so as people can see herstockings. I mean there's always SOMETHING amusing happening. 

Of course I have a good deal of work to do, and all the washing up, but my sisters are so big and strong that one can't expect them tobother themselves with niggling little things like that. Besides, they have so many other things to do. Only this morning, when SisterBert was just going to sit down, Sister Fred pulled away her chair, and she sat on the floor and her legs went up in the air. She saidit was a "grand slam, " which some of us thought very funny. I didn'tlaugh myself, because I never go out anywhere, and so I don'tunderstand topical remarks, but I do think it is nice to live insuch an amusing house. 

(LATER. )--A wonderful thing has happened! Two messengers came fromthe Prince an hour ago to invite us to the ball to-night! I'd neverseen a messenger in my life, so I peeped out of the chimney cornerat them and wondered if they would stay to tea. But instead of thatmy sisters put up what they call a "trapeze" (I never knew we hadone before), and the messengers did some EXTRAORDINARY things on it, I thought they would kill themselves. After it was over, Sister Fredtold them a lot of stories about the old man, and altogether it wasquite different from what I expected. Ours IS a funny house. 

As soon as the messengers had gone, my sisters began to get readyfor the ball. I knew I shouldn't be able to go, because I haven'tgot a frock, and I simply COULDN'T wear anything of theirs, they areso much bigger than I am. They finished dressing DOWNSTAIRS for somereason, where anybody might have seen them--they are so funny aboutthings like that--and we had a lot of laughter about the clothesbeing too tight and so on. I think anything like that is so amusing. Then they went off, and here I am all alone. It is getting dark, andso I am going to cheer myself up by singing a little. 

(LATER). --I AM GOING TO THE BALL! My Fairy Godmother, whom I hadoften heard about, suddenly came to see us. I told her my sisterswere out, and she asked where they had gone, and wouldn't I like togo too, so of course I said I should LOVE it. So I am going, and shehas got a frock for me and everything. She is very kind, but notquite so FAIRY-LIKE as I expected. 

WEDNESDAY. --I have had a LOVELY time, and I think I am in love. Igot to the Ball just as the juggling and the ventriloquism wereover--it must be a delightful Court to live in--and there was SUCH asensation as I appeared. The Prince singled me out at once. He hasthe pinkest cheeks and the reddest lips of any man I know, and hisvoice is soft and gentle, and oh! I love him. One wants a man to bemanly and a woman to be womanly, and I don't think I should love aman if he were at all like Sister Fred or Sister Bert. The Prince isQUITE different. We were alone most of the time, and we sang severalsongs together. My sisters never recognized me; it was mostsurprising. I heard Sister Fred telling a very fine-lookinggentleman a story about a lodger (whatever that is) who had a bit ofa head; it sounded very humorous. Wherever Sister Fred goes there issure to be fun. I am indeed a lucky girl to have two such sistersand to be in love with a Prince. Sister Bert sat down on the floortwice--it was most amusing. 

A terrible thing happened just as the clock struck twelve. All myclothes turned into rags, and I just RAN out of the room, I was sofrightened. Then I remembered what my Fairy Godmother had said aboutleaving before twelve o'clock. I suppose she knew what would happenif I didn't. I'm afraid I left a glass slipper behind--I hope shewon't mind about it. 

Well, I've had a lovely time. Even if I never see the Prince again, I shall always have this to look back to. I don't mind WHAT happensnow. 

THURSDAY. --I AM GOING TO MARRY THE PRINCE! I can't believe it istrue. Perhaps it is only a dream, and I shall wake up soon, but evenif it's a dream it's just as good as if it were real. It was allbecause of the slipper I left behind. The Prince said that he wouldmarry the person whom it fitted, because he had fallen in love withthe lady who wore it at the ball (ME!), and so everybody tried iton. And they came to our house, and Sister Bert tried it on. Shepulled her skirt up to her knees and made everybody laugh, but eventhen she couldn't get into it. And Sister Fred made a lot of faces, but SHE couldn't. So I said, "Let ME try, " and they all laughed, butthe Prince said I should, and of course it fitted at once. Then theyall recognized me, and the Prince kissed me, and a whole lot ofpeople came into the house who had never been invited, and we hadthe trapeze out again, and there was juggling and ventriloquism, andwe all sang songs about somebody called Flanagan (whom I don't thinkI have ever met), and Sister Bert kept sitting down suddenly on thefloor. (But the Prince didn't think this was at all funny, so Iexpect I must have been right all the time when I have onlyPRETENDED to laugh. I used to think that perhaps I hadn't a sense ofhumour. ) And then the Prince kissed me again, and my Fairy Godmothercame in and kissed us both. Of course we do owe it all to herreally, and I shall tell Charming so. 

I do think I am a wonderful person!

FATHER CHRISTMAS

Outside in the street the rain fell pitilessly, but inside theChildren's Shop all was warmth and brightness. Happy young people ofall ages pressed along, and I had no sooner opened the door than Iwas received into the eager stream of shoppers and hurried away toFairyland. A slight block at one corner pitched me into an old, white-bearded gentleman who was standing next to me. Instantly myhat was in my hand. 

"I beg your pardon, " I said with a bow. "I was--Oh, I'm sorry, Ithought you were real. " I straightened him up, looked at his price, and wondered whether I should buy him. 

"What do you mean by real?" he said. 

I started violently and took my hat off again. 

"I am very stupid this morning, " I began. "The fact is I mistook youfor a toy. A foolish error. "

"I AM a toy. "

"In that case, " I said in some annoyance, "I can't stay here arguingwith you. Good-morning. " And I took my hat off for the third time. 

"Don't go. Stop and buy me. You'll never get what you want if youdon't take me with you. I've been in this place for years, and Iknow exactly where everything is. Besides, as I shall have to giveaway all your presents for you, it's only fair that--"

An attendant came up and looked at me inquiringly. 

"How much is this THING?" I said, and jerked a thumb at it. 

"The Father Christmas?"

"Yes. I think I'll have it. I'll take it with me--you needn't wrapit up. "

I handed over some money and we pushed on together. 

"You heard what I called you?" I said to him. "A thing. So don't goputting yourself forward. "

He gazed up innocently from under my arm. 

"What shall we get first?" he asked. 

"I want the engine-room. The locomotive in the home. The boy's ownrailroad track. "

"That's downstairs. But did you really think of an engine? I mean, isn't it rather large and heavy? Why not get a--"

I smacked his head, and we went downstairs. 

It was a delightful room. I was introduced to practically the wholeof the Great Western Railway's rolling stock. 

"Engine, three carriages and a guard's van. That's right. Then Ishall want some rails, of course.... SHUT up, will you?" I saidangrily, when the attendant was out of hearing. 

"It's the extra weight, " he sighed. "The reindeer don't like it. Andthese modern chimneys--you've no idea what a squeeze it is. However--"

"Those are very jolly, " I said when I had examined the rails. "Ishall want about a mile of them. Threepence ha'penny a foot? Then Ishan't want nearly a mile. "

I got about thirty feet, and then turned to switches and signals andlamps and things. I bought a lot of those. You never know whatemergency might not arise on the nursery floor, and if anythinghappened for want of a switch or two I should never forgive myself. 

Just as we were going away I caught sight of the jolliest littleclockwork torpedo boat. I stopped irresolute. 

"Don't be silly, " said the voice under my arm. "You'll never beasked to the house again if you give that. "

"Why not?"

"Wait till the children have fallen into the bath once or twice withall their clothes on, and then ask the mother why not. "

"I see, " I said stiffly, and we went upstairs. 

"The next thing we want is bricks. "

"Bricks, " said Father Christmas uneasily. "Bricks. Yes, there'sbricks. Have you ever thought of one of those nice little woollyrabbits--"

"Where do we get bricks?"

"Bricks. You know, I don't think mothers are as fond as all that ofBRICKS. "

"I got the mother's present yesterday, thanks very much. This is forone of the children. "

They showed me bricks and they showed me pictures of what the brickswould build. Palaces, simply palaces. Gone was the Balbus-wall ofour youth; gone was the fort with its arrow-holes for the archers. Nothing now but temples and Moorish palaces. 

"Jove, I should love that, " I said. " I mean HE would love that. Doyou want much land for a house of that size? I know of a site on thenursery floor, but--well, of course, we could always have an ironbuilding outside in the passage for the billiard table. "

We paid and moved off again. 

"What are you mumbling about now?" I asked. 

"I said you'll only make the boy discontented with his present homeif you teach him to build nothing but castles and ruined abbeys andthings. And you WILL run to bulk. Half of those bricks would havemade a very nice present for anybody. "

"Yes, and when royalty comes on a visit, where would you put them?They'd have to pig it in the box-room. If we're going to have apalace, let's have a good one. "

"Very well. What do your children hang up? Stockings orpillow-cases?"

We went downstairs again. 

"Having provided for the engineer and the architect, " I said, "wenow have to consider the gentleman in the dairy business. I want amilk-cart. "

"You want a milk-cart! You want a milk-cart! You want a--Why nothave a brewer's dray? Why not have something really heavy? Thereindeer wouldn't mind. They've been out every day this week, butthey'd love it. What about a nice skating-rink? What about--"

I put him head downwards in my pocket and approached an official. 

"Do you keep milk-carts?" I said diffidently. 

He screwed up his face and thought. 

"I could get you one, " he said. 

"I don't want you to build one specially for me. If they aren'tmade, I expect it's because mothers don't like them. It was just anidea of mine. "

"Oh yes, they're made. I can show a picture of one in ourcatalogue. "

He showed it to me. It was about the size of a perambulator, andcontained every kind of can. I simply had to let Father Christmassee. 

"Look at that!" I exclaimed in delight. 

"Good lord!" he said, and dived into the pocket again. 

I held him there tightly and finished my business with the official. 

Father Christmas has never spoken since. Sometimes I wonder if heever spoke at all, for one imagines strange things in the Children'sShop. He stands now on my writing-table, and observes me with thefriendly smile which has been so fixed a feature of his since Ibrought him home. 

MISS MIDDLETON

I. --TAKING A CALL

"MAY I come in?" said Miss Middleton. 

I looked up from my book and stared at her in amazement. 

"Hullo, " I said. 

"Hullo, " said Miss Middleton doubtfully. 

"Are you going to have tea with me?"

"That's what I was wondering all the way up. "

"It's all ready; in fact, I've nearly finished. There's a caketo-day, too. "

Miss Middleton hesitated at the door and looked wistfully at me. 

"I suppose--I suppose, " she said timidly, "you think I ought to havebrought somebody, with me?"

"In a way, I'm just as glad you didn't. "

"I've heaps of chaperons outside on the stairs, you know. "

"There's no place like outside for chaperons. "

"And the liftman believes I'm your aunt. At least, perhaps hedoesn't, but I mentioned it to him. "

I looked at her, and then I smiled. And then I laughed. 

"So that's all right, " she said breathlessly. "And I want my tea. "She came in, and began to arrange her hat in front of the glass. 

"Tea, " I said, going to the cupboard. "I suppose you'll want a cupto yourself. There you are--don't lose it. Milk. Sugar. "

Miss Middleton took a large piece of cake. "What were you studyingso earnestly when I came in?" she asked as she munched. 

"A dictionary. "

"But how lucky I came. Because I can spell simply everything. Whatis it you want to know?"

"I don't want to know how to spell anything, thank you; but Ibelieve you can help me all the same. "

Miss Middleton sat down and drank her tea. "I love helping, " shesaid. 

"Well, it's this. I've just been asked to be a godfather. "

Miss Middleton stood up suddenly. "Do I salute, " she asked. 

"You sit down and go on eating. The difficulty is--what to call it?"

"Oh, do godfathers provide the names?"

"I think so. It is what they are there for, I fancy. That is aboutall there is in it, I believe. "

"And can't you find anything in the dictionary?"

"Well, I don't think the dictionary is helping as much as Iexpected. It only muddles me. Did you know that Algernon meant 'withwhiskers'? I'm not thinking of calling it Algernon, but that's thesort of thing they spring on you. "

"But I hate Algernon anyhow. Why not choose quite a simple name? Hadyou thought of 'John, ' for instance?"

"No, I hadn't thought of 'John, ' somehow. "

"Or 'Gerald'?"

"'Gerald' I like very much. "

"What about 'Dick'?" she went on eagerly. 

"Yes, 'Dick' is quite jolly. By the way, did I tell you it was agirl?"

Miss Middleton rose with dignity. 

"For your slice of plum cake and your small cup of tea I thank you, "she said; "and I am now going straight home to mother. "

"Not yet, " I pleaded. 

"I'll just ask you one question before I go. Where do you keep thebiscuits?"

She found the biscuits and sat down again. 

"A girl's name, " I said encouragingly. 

"Yes. Well, is she fair or dark?"

"She's very small at present. What there is of her is dark, Ibelieve. "

"Well, there are millions of names for dark girls. "

"We only want one or two. "

"'Barbara' is a nice dark name. Is she going to be pretty?"

"Her mother says she is. I didn't recognize the symptoms. Verypretty and very clever and very high-spirited, her mother says. Isthere a name for that?"

"_I_ always call them whoppers, " said Miss Middleton. 

"How do you like 'Alison Mary'? That was my first idea. "

"Oh, I thought it was always 'William and Mary. ' Or else 'Victoriaand Albert. '"

"I didn't say 'Alice AND Mary, ' stoopid. I said 'Alison, ' a Scotchname. "

"But how perfectly sweet! Why weren't you MY godfather? Would youhave given me a napkin ring?"

"Probably. I will now, if you like. Then you approve of 'AlisonMary'?"

"I love it. Thank you very much. And will you always call me'Alison' in future?"

"I say, " I began in alarm, "I'm not giving that name to you. It'sfor my godchild. "

"Oh no! 'Alisons' are ALWAYS fair. "

"You've just made that up, " I said suspiciously. "How do you know?"

"Sort of instinct. "

"The worst of it is, I believe you're right. "

"Of course I am. That settles it. Now, what was your next idea?"

"'Angela. '"

"'Angelas, '" said Miss Middleton, "are ALWAYS fair. "

"Why do you want all the names to yourself? You say everything'sfair. "

"Why can you only think of names beginning with 'A'? Try anotherletter. "

"Suppose YOU try now. "

Miss Middleton wrinkled her brow and nibbled a lump of sugar. 

"'Dorothy, '" she said at last, "because you can call them 'Dolly. '"

"There IS only one. "

"Or 'Dodo. '"

"And it isn't a bird. "

"Then there's 'Violet. '"

"My good girl, you don't understand. Any of these common names theparents could have thought of for themselves. The fact that theyhave got me in at great expense--to myself--shows that they wantsomething out of the ordinary. How can I go to them and say, 'Aftergiving a vast amount of time to the question, I have decided to callyour child 'Violet'? It can't be done. "

Miss Middleton absently took another lump of sugar and, catching myeye, put it back again. 

"I don't believe that you've ever been a godfather before, " shesaid, "or that you know anything at all about what it is you'resupposed to be going to do. "

There was a knock at the door, and the liftman came in. MissMiddleton gave a little cough of recognition. 

"A letter, sir, " he said. 

"Thanks.... And as I was saying, Aunt Alison, " I went on in a loudvoice, "you are talking rubbish. "

. . . . . . . 

"Bah!" I said angrily, and I threw the letter down. 

"Would you like to be left alone?" suggested Miss Middleton kindly. 

"It is from the child's so-called parents, and their wretchedoffspring is to be called 'Violet Daisy. '"

"'Violet Daisy, '" said Miss Middleton solemnly, trying not to smile. 

"Why stop there?" I said bitterly. "Why not 'Geranium' and'Artichoke, ' and the whole blessed garden?"

"'Artichoke, '" said Miss Middleton gravely, "is a boy's name. "

"Well, I wash my hands of the whole business now. No napkin ringfrom ME. Here have I been wasting hours and hours in thought, andthen just when the worst of it is over, they calmly step in likethis. I call it--"

"Yes?" said Miss Middleton eagerly. 

"I call it simply--"

"Yes?"

"'Violet Daisy, '" I finished, with a great effort. 

II. --OUT OF THE HURLY-BURLY

"OUR dance, " I said; "and it's no good pretending it isn't. "

"Come on, " said Miss Middleton. "It's my favourite waltz. I expectI've said that to all my partners to-night. "

"It's my favourite too, but you're the first person I've told. "

"The worst of having a dance in your own house, " said MissMiddleton, after we had been once round the room in silence, "isthat you have to dance with EVERYBODY. "

"Have you said that to all your partners too?"

"I expect so. I must have said everything. Don't look soreproachfully at me. You ARE looking reproachful, aren't you?"

I let go with one hand and felt my face. 

"Yes, " I said. "That's how I do it. "

"Well, you needn't bother, because none of them thought I meantTHEM. Men never do. "

"I shall have to think that over by myself, " I said after a pause. "There's a lot in that which the untrained observer might miss. Anyhow, it's not at all the sort of thing that a young girl ought tosay at a dance. "

"I'm older than you think, " said Miss Middleton. "Oh, bother, Iforgot. You know how old I am. "

"Perhaps you've been ageing lately. I have. This last election hasadded years to my life. I came here to get young again. "

"I don't know anything about politics. Father does all the knowingin our family. "

"He's on the right side, isn't he?"

"I think he is. He says he is. "

"Oh, well, he ought to know.... Yes, the truth is I came here to beliked again. People and I have been saying awfully rude things toeach other lately. "

"Oh, why do you want to argue about politics?"

"But I DON'T want to. It's a funny thing, but nobody will believe mewhen I say that. "

"I expect it's because you say it AFTER you've finished arguing, instead of BEFORE, "

"Perhaps that's it. "

"I never argue with mother. I simply tell her to do something, andshe tells me afterwards why she hasn't. "

"Really, I think Mrs Middleton has done wonderfully well, considering. Some parents don't even tell you why they haven't. "

"Oh, I'd recommend her anywhere, " said Miss Middleton confidently. 

We dropped into silence again. Anyhow, it was MY favourite waltz. 

"You did say, didn't you, the first dance we had together, " saidMiss Middleton dreamily, "that you preferred not to talk when youdanced?"

"Didn't I say that I should prefer to do whatever you preferred?That sounds more like me. "

"I don't think it does, a bit. "

"No, perhaps you're right. Besides, I remember now what I did say. Isaid that much as I enjoyed the pleasant give and take of friendlyconversation, dearly as I loved even the irresponsible monologue orthe biting repartee, yet still more was I attached to the silentworship of the valse's mazy rhythm. 'BUT, ' I went on to say, 'but, 'I added, with surprising originality, 'every rule has an exception. YOU are the exception. May I have two dances, and then we'll try oneof each?'"

"What did I say?"

"You said, 'Sir, something tells me that we shall be great friends. I like your face, and I like the way your tie goes under your leftear. I cannot give you ALL the dances on the programme, because Ihave my mother with me to-night, and you know what mothers are. TheyNOTICE. But anything up to half a dozen, distributed at suchintervals that one's guardians will think it's the same dance, youare heartily welcome to. And if you care to take me in to supper, there is--I have the information straight from the stable--a line inunbreakable meringues which would well be worth our attention. 'That's what you said. "

"But what a memory!"

"I can remember more than that. I can rememher the actual struggle. I got my meringue down on the mat, both shoulders touching, in oneminute, forty-three seconds. "

The band died slowly down until no sound could be heard above therustle of frocks ... And suddenly everybody realized that it hadstopped. 

"Bother, " said Miss Middleton. 

"That's just like a band, " I said bitterly. 

"I'll tell it to go on again; it's MY band. "

"It will be your devoted band if you ask it prettily enough. "

Miss Middleton went away, and came back to the sound of music, looking rather pleased with herself. 

"Did you give him the famous smile?" I asked. "Yes, that one. "

"I said, 'WOULD you mind playing that one again, PLEASE?' Andthen--"

"And then you looked as if you were just going to cry, and at thelast moment you smiled and said, 'Hooray. ' And he said, 'Certainly, madam. ' Isn't that right?"

"I believe you're cleverer than some of us think, " said MissMiddleton, a trifle anxiously. 

"I sometimes think so too. However, to get back to what we weresaying--I came here to recover my usual calm, and I shan't be at allcalm if I'm only going to get this one dance from you. As an oldfriend of the family, who has broken most of the windows, I beg foranother. "

"To get back to what I was saying--I've simply GOT to do a lot ofduty dances. Can't you take me to the Zoo or the Post-Impressionistsinstead?"

"I'd rather do both. I mean all three. No, I mean both. "

"Well, perhaps I would, too. "

"You know, I think you'd be doing good. I've had a horribleweek--canvassing, and standing in the streets, and shouting, andreading leaders, and arguing, and saying, 'My point is perfectlysimple, ' and--and--swearing, and all sorts of things. It's awfullyjolly to--to feel that there's always--well, all THIS, " and I lookedround the room, "to come back to. "

"Isn't that beautiful Miss Ellison I introduced you to just now partof 'all this'?"

"Oh yes, it's all part; but--"

Miss Middleton sighed. 

"Then that nice young man with the bald head will have to gowithout. But I only said I'd SEE if I could give him one. And I haveseen, haven't I?"

The band really stopped this time, and we found a comfortablecorner. 

"That's very jolly of you, " I said, as I leant back lazily andhappily. "Now let's talk about Christmas. "

III. --ANOTHER MILESTONE

"You're very thoughtful, " said Miss Middleton. "What's the matter?"

"I am extremely unhappy, " I confessed. 

"Oh, but think of Foster and Hobbs and Woolley. "

I thought of Foster; I let my mind dwell upon Hobbs. It was no good. 

"I am still rather sad, " I said. 

"Why? Doesn't anybody love you?"

"Millions adore me fiercely. It isn't that at all. The fact is I'vejust had a birthday. "

"Oh, I AM sorry. Many happy--"

"Thank you. "

"I thought it was to-morrow, " Miss Middleton went on eagerly. "AndI'd bought a cricketing set for you, but I had to send it back tohave the bails sawn in two. Or would you rather have had a bicycle?"

"I'd rather have had nothing. I want to forget about my birthdayaltogether. "

"Oh, are you as old as that?"

"Yes, " I said sadly, "I am as old as that. I have passed anotherlandmark. I'm what they call getting on. "

We gazed into the fire in silence for some minutes. 

"If it's any comfort to you, " said Miss Middleton timidly, "to knowthat you don't LOOK any older than you did last week--"

"I'm not sure that I feel any older. "

"Then, except for birthdays, how do you know you ARE older?"

I looked at her and saw that I could trust her. 

"May I confess to you?" I asked. 

"But of course!" she cried eagerly. "I love confessions. " Shesettled herself comfortably in her chair. "Make it as horrible asyou can, " she begged. 

I picked a coal out of the fire with the tongs and lit my cigarette. 

"I know that I'm getting old, " I said; "I know that my innocentyouth is leaving me, because of the strange and terrible thingswhich I find myself doing. "

"Oo-o-o-oh, " said Miss Middleton happily to herself. 

"Last Monday, about three o'clock in the afternoon, I--No, I can'ttell you this. It's too awful. "

"Is it very bad?" said Miss Middleton wistfully. 

"Very. I don't think you--Oh, well, if you must have it, here it is. Last Monday I suddenly found myself reading carefully and with everysign of interest a little pamphlet on--LIFE INSURANCE!"

Miss Middleton looked at me quickly, smiled suddenly, and thenbecame very grave. 

"I appeared, " I went on impressively, "to be thinking of insuring mylife. "

"Have you done it?"

"No, certainly not. I drew back in time. But it was a warning--itwas the writing on the wall. "

"Tell me some more, " said Miss Middleton, after she had allowed thisto sink in. 

"Well, that was Monday afternoon. I told myself that in theafternoon one wasn't quite responsible, that sometimes one was onlyhalf awake. But on Tuesday morning I was horrified to discovermyself--before breakfast--DOING DUMB-BELLS!"

"The smelling-salts--quick!" said Miss Middleton, as she closed hereyes. 

"Doing dumb-bells. Ten lunges to the east, ten lunges to the west, ten lunges--"

"Were you reducing your figure?"

"I don't know what I was doing. But there I found myself on the coldoil-cloth, lunging away--lunging and lunging and--" I stopped andgazed into the fire again. 

"Is that all you have to tell me?" said Miss Middleton. 

"That's the worst. But there have been other little symptoms--littlewarning notes which all mean the same thing. Yesterday I went intothe bank, to get some money. As I began to fill in the chequeConscience whispered to me, 'That's the third five pounds you've hadout this week. '"

"Well, of all the impertinence--What did you do?"

"Made it ten pounds, of course. But there you are; you see what'shappening. This morning I answered a letter by return of post. Anddid you notice what occurred only just now at tea?"

"Of course I did, " said Miss Middleton indignantly. "You ate all themuffins. "

"No, I don't mean that at all. What I mean is that I only had threelumps of sugar in each cup. I actually stopped you when you wereputting the fourth lump in. Oh yes, " I said bitterly, "I am gettingon. "

Miss Middleton poked the fire vigorously. 

"About the lunges, " she said. 

"Ten to the east, ten to the west, ten to the nor'-nor'-east, tento-"

"Yes. Well, I should have thought that that was just the thing tokeep you young. "

"It is. That's the tragedy of it. I used to BE young; now I KEEPyoung. And I used to say, 'I'll insure my life SOME day'; but now Ithink about doing it to-day. When once you stop saying 'some day'you're getting old, you know. "

"Some day, " said Miss Middleton, "you must tell me all about theCrimea. Not now, " she went on quickly, "because you're going to dosomething very silly in a moment, if I can think of it--somethingto convince yourself that you are still quite young. "

"Yes, do let me. I really think it would do me good. "

"Well, what can you do?"

"Can I break anything?" I asked, looking round the room. 

"I really don't think you must. Mother's very silly about thingslike that. I'm SO sorry; father and I would love it, of course. "

"Can I go into the kitchen and frighten the cook?"

Miss Middleton sighed mournfully. 

"ISN'T it a shame, " she said, "that mothers object to all the reallynice things?"

"Mrs Middleton is a little difficult to please. I shall give uptrying directly. What about blacking my face and calling on theVicar for a subscription?"

"I should laugh in church on Sunday thinking of it. I always do. "

I lit another cigarette and smoked it thoughtfully. 

"I have a brilliant idea, " I said at last. 

"Something really silly?"

"Something preposterously foolish. It seems to me just now the mostidiotic thing I could possibly do. "

"Tell me!" beseeched Miss Middleton, clasping her hands. 

"I shall, " I said, gurgling with laughter, "insure my life. "

IV. -THE HERALD OF SUMMER

MISS MIDDLETON has a garden of which she is very proud. MissMiddleton's father says it belongs to him, and this idea is fosteredto the extent that he is allowed to pay for the seeds and cuttingsand things. He is also encouraged to order the men about. But Ialways think of it as Miss Middleton's garden, particularly when theafternoons are hot and I see nothing but grimy bricks out of mywindow. She knows all the flowers by name, which seems to me ratherremarkable. 

"I have come, " I announced, feeling that some excuse was necessary, "to see the lobretias; don't say that they are out. I mean, ofcourse, do say that they are out. "

"But I don't think we have any, " she said in surprise. "I've neverheard of them. What are they like?"

"They're just the ordinary sort of flower that people point to andsay, 'That's a nice lobretia. ' Dash it, you've got a garden, youought to know. "

"I am afraid, " smiled Miss Middleton, "that there isn't such aflower--not yet. Perhaps somebody will invent it now they've got thename. "

"Then I suppose I must go back to London, " I said, getting up. "Bother. "

"Stay and inspect the meter, " pleaded Miss Middleton. "Or ask fatherfor a subscription for the band. Surely you can think of SOME excusefor being here. "

"I will stay, " I said, sitting down again, "and talk to you. Betweenourselves, it is one of the reasons why I came. I thought you mightlike to hear all the latest news. Er--we've started strawberries inLondon. "

Miss Middleton sighed and shook her head. 

"But not here, " she said. 

"I was afraid not, but I thought I'd remind you in case. Well, afterall, what ARE strawberries? Let's talk about something else. Do youknow that this is going to be the greatest season of history? I'vegot a free pass to the Earl's Court Exhibition, so I shall be rightin the thick of it. "

"Oh, I thought last season was the great one. "

"It was spoilt by the Coronation, the papers say. You remember howbusy we were at the Abbey; we hadn't time for anything else. "

"What else do the papers say? I seem to have missed them lately. I've had a thousand things to do. "

"Well, the Sardine Defence League has just been formed. I think ofputting up for it. I suppose you have to swear to do one kind actionto a sardine everyday. Let's both join, and then we shall probablyget a lot of invitations. "

"Do they have a tent at the Eton and Harrow match?" asked MissMiddleton anxiously. 

"I will inquire. I wonder if there is a Vice-Presidency vacant. Ishould think a Vice-President of the Sardine Defence League could goanywhere. "

"V. P. S. D. L. , " said Miss Middleton thoughtfully. "It would looksplendid. I must remember to send you a postcard to-morrow. "

Tea came, and I put my deck-chair one rung up to meet it. It isdifficult in a horizontal position to drink without spillinganything, and it looks so bad to go about covered with tea. 

"This is very jolly, " I said. "Do you know that my view duringworking hours consists of two broken windows and fifty square feetof brick? It's not enough. It's not what I call a vista. On finedays I have to go outside to see whether the sun is shining. "

"You oughtn't to want to look out of the window when you're working. You'll never be a Mayor. "

"Well, it all makes me appreciate the country properly. I wish Iknew more about gardens. Tell me all about yours. When are theraspberries ripe?"

"Not till the end of June. "

"I was afraid you'd say that. May I come down and see your garden atthe end of June--one day when I'm not at Earl's Court? You can giveall the gardeners a holiday that day. I hate to be watched when I'mlooking at flowers and things. "

"Are you as fond of raspberries as all that? Why didn't I know?"

"I'm not a bit mad about them, really, but they're a symbol ofSummer. On a sloshy day in November, as I grope my way through thefog, I say to myself, 'Courage, the raspberries will soon be ripe. '"

"But that means that summer is half over. The cuckoo is what I'mlistening for all through November. I heard it in April this year. "

I looked round to see that nobody was within earshot. 

"I haven't heard it yet, " I confessed. "It wasn't really so much tosee the lobretias as to hear the cuckoo that I came to have tea withyou. I feel just the same about it; it's the beginning ofeverything. And I said to myself, 'Miss Middleton may not have afirst-rate show of lobretias, because possibly it is an unfavourablesoil for them, or they may not fit in with the colour scheme; butshe does know what is essential to a proper garden, and she'll havea cuckoo. '"

"Yes, we do ourselves very well, " said Miss Middleton confidently. 

"Well, I didn't like to say anything about it before, because Ithought it might make you nervous, and so I've been talking of otherthings. But now that the secret is out, I may say that I am quiteready. " I stopped and listened intently with my head on one side. 

There was an appalling silence. 

"I don't seem to hear it, " I said at last. 

"But _I_ haven't heard it here yet, " Miss Middleton protested. "Itwas in Hampshire. The cuckoos here are always a bit late. You see, our garden takes a little finding. It isn't so well known in--inAfrica, or wherever they come from--as Hampshire. "

"Yes, but when I've come down specially to hear it--"

"CUCK-OO, " said Miss Middleton suddenly, and looked very innocent. 

"There, that was the nightingale, but it's the cuckoo I really wantto hear. "

"I AM sorry about it. If you like, I'll listen to you while you tellme who you think ought to play for England. I can't make it moresummery for you than that. Unless roses are any good?"

"No, don't bother, " I said in some disappointment; "you've done yourbest. We can't all have cuckoos any more than we can all havelobretias. I must come again in August, when one of the pioneers mayhave struggled here. Of course in Hampshire--"

"CUCK-OO, " said somebody from the apple tree. 

"There!" cried Miss Middleton. 

"That's much better, " I said. "Now make it come from the laburnum, Lieutenant. "

"I'm not doing it, really!" she said. "At least only the firsttime. "

"CUCK-OO, " said somebody from the apple tree again. 

There was no doubt about it. I let my deck-chair down a rung andprepared to welcome the summer. 

"Now, " I said, "we're off. "

EPILOGUE

You may believe this or not as you like. Personally I don't knowwhat to think. It happened on the first day of spring (do youremember it? A wonderful day), and on the first of spring all sortsof enchantments may happen. 

I was writing my weekly story: one of those things with a He and aShe in it. He was Reginald, a fine figure of a man. She was Dorothy, rather a dear. I was beginning in a roundabout sort of way with theweather, and the scenery, and the birds, and how Reginald wasthinking of the spring, and how his young fancy was lightly turningto thoughts of love, when suddenly--

At that moment I was called out of the room to speak to thehousekeeper about something. In three minutes I was back again; andI had just dipped my pen in the ink, when there came a cough fromthe direction of the sofa--and there, as cool as you please, weresitting two persons entirely unknown to me.... 

"I beg your pardon, " I said. "The housekeeper never told me. Whomhave I the--what did you--"

"Thanks, " said the man. "I'm Reginald. "

"Are you really?" I cried. "Jove, I AM glad to see you. I wasjust--just thinking of you. How are you?"

"I'm sick of it, " said Reginald. 

"Sick of what?"

"Of being accepted by Dorothy. "

I turned to the girl. 

"You don't mean to say--"

"Yes; I'm Dorothy. I'm sick of it too. "

"Dorothy!" I cried. "By the way, let me introduce you. Reginald, this is Dorothy. She's sick of it too. "

"Thanks, " said Reginald coldly. "We have met before. "

"Surely not. Just let me look a moment.... No, I thought not. Youdon't meet till the next paragraph. If you wouldn't mind taking aseat, I shan't be a moment. "

Reginald stood up. 

"Look here, " he said. "Do you know who I am?"

"You're just Reginald, " I said; "and there's no need to stand aboutlooking so dignified, because I only thought of you ten minutes ago, and if you're not careful I shall change your name to Harold. You'reReginald, and you're going to meet Dorothy in the next paragraph, and you'll flirt with her mildly for about two columns. And at theend, I expect--no, I am almost sure, that you will propose and beaccepted. "

"Never, " said Reginald angrily. 

"That's what we've come about, " said Dorothy. 

I rubbed my forehead wearily. 

"Would one of you explain?" I asked. "I can't think what's happened. You're at least a paragraph ahead of me. "

Reginald sat down again and lit a cigarette. 

"It's simply this, " he said, trying to keep calm. "You may call mewhat you like, but I am always the same person week after week. "

"Nonsense. Why, it was Richard last week. "

"But the same person. "

"And Gerald the week before. Gerald, yes; he was rather a goodchap. "

"Just the same, only the name was different. And who are we? We areyou as you imagine yourself to be. "

I looked inquiringly at Dorothy. 

"Last week, " he went on, "you called me Richard. And I proposed toPhyllis. "

"And I accepted him, " said Dorothy. 

"You!" I said. "What were YOU doing there, I should like to know?"

"Last week I was Phyllis. "

"The week before, " went on Reginald, "I was Gerald, and I proposedto Millicent. "

"I was Millicent, and I accepted him. "

"The week before that I was--Good Heavens, think of it--I wasGeorge!"

"A beastly name, I agree, " I said. 

"You gave it me. "

"Yes, but I wasn't feeling very well that week. "

"I was Mabel, " put in Dorothy, "and I accepted him. "

"No, no, no--no, don't say that. I mean, one doesn't accept peoplecalled George. "

"You made me. "

"Did I? I'm awfully sorry. Yes, I quite see your point. "

"The week before, " went on Reginald remorselessly, "I was--"

"Don't go back into February, please! February is such a rottenmonth with me. Well now, what's your complaint?"

"Just what I said, " explained Reginald. "You think you have a newhero and heroine every week, but you're mistaken. We are always thesame; and, personally, I am tired of proposing week after week tothe same girl. "

There was just something about Reginald that I seemed to recognize. Just the very slightest something. 

"Then who are you really, " I asked, "if you're always the sameperson?"

"Yourself. Not really yourself, of course, but yourself as youfondly imagine you are. "

I laughed scornfully. "You're nothing of the sort. How ridiculous!The hero of my own stories, indeed! Myself idealized--then I supposeyou think you're rather a fine fellow?" I sneered. 

"I suppose you think I am. "

"No, I don't. I think you are a silly ass. Saying I'm my own hero. I'm nothing of the sort. And I suppose Dorothy is me, too?"

"I'm the girl you're in love with, " said Dorothy. "Idealized. "

"I'm not in love with any one, " I denied indignantly. 

"Then your ideal girl. "

"Ah, you might well be that, " I smiled. 

I looked at her longingly. She was wonderfully beautiful. I went alittle closer to her. 

"And we've come, " said Reginald, putting his oar in again, "to saythat we're sick of getting engaged every week. "

I ignored Reginald altogether. 

"Are you really sick of him?" I asked Dorothy. 

"Yes!"

"As sick of him as I am?"

"I--I daresay. "

"Then let's cross him out, " I said. And I went back to the table andtook up my pen. "Say the word, " I said to Dorothy. 

"Steady on, " began Reginald uneasily. "All I meant was--"

"Personally, as you know, " I said to Dorothy, "I think he's a sillyass. And if you think so too--"

"I say, look here, old chap--"

Dorothy nodded. I dipped the pen in the ink. 

"Then out he goes, " I said, and I drew a line through him. When Ilooked up only Dorothy was there.... 

"Dorothy!" I said. "At last!"

"But my name isn't really Dorothy, you know, " she said with a smile. "It's Dorothy this week, and last week it was Phyllis, and the weekbefore--"

"Then what is it really? Tell me! So that I may know my ideal when Isee her again. "

I got ready to write the name down. I dipped my pen in the inkagain, and I drew a line through Dorothy, and then I looked upquestioningly at her, and... 

Fool, fool! She was gone!

II faut vivre. You'll see the story in one of the papers this week. You'll recognize it, because he is called Harold, and she is calledLucy. At the end of the second column he proposes and she acceptshim. Lucy--of all names! It serves them right.