Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been correctedwithout note. Dialect spellings, contractions and discrepancies havebeen retained. 

ELIZA

_Says_ ROBERT BARR _in_ THE IDLER:--

". .. And as for Barry Pain's 'Eliza' I question if anything mored e l i c i o u s l y humourous, and of a humour so restrained, hasbeen written since the time of Lamb. "

[Illustration: "_It was true I ran into the horse. _"(_See page_ 24. )]

ELIZA

By

BARRY PAIN

ILLUSTRATED BY

WALLACE GOLDSMITH

BOSTONDANA ESTES & COMPANYPUBLISHERS

_Copyright, 1904_BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY

_COLONIAL PRESS_

_Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston, Mass. , U. S. A. _

CONTENTS

 PAGEELIZA'S HUSBAND 3THE CARDS 13ELIZA'S MOTHER 23MISS SAKERS 33THE ORCHESTROME 41THE TONIC PORT 49THE GENTLEMAN OF TITLE 59THE HAT 67MY FORTUNE 73SHAKESPEARE 81THE UNSOLVED PROBLEM 89THE DAY OFF 97THE MUSHROOM 107THE PLEASANT SURPRISE 115THE MOPWORTHS 123THE PEN-WIPER 135THE 9. 43 143THE CONUNDRUMS 151THE INK 159THE PUBLIC SCANDAL 167THE "CHRISTIAN MARTYR" 175THE PAGRAMS 183PROMOTION 191

ELIZA'S HUSBAND

"Suppose, " I said to one of the junior clerks at our office the otherday, "you were asked to describe yourself in a few words, could you doit?"

His answer that he could describe me in two was no answer at all. Alsothe two words were not a description, and were so offensive that I didnot continue the conversation. 

I believe there are but few people who could give you an accuratedescription of themselves. Often in the train to and from the city, orwhile walking in the street, I think over myself--what I have been, what I am, what I might be if, financially speaking, it would run toit. I imagine how I should act under different circumstances--on thereceipt of a large legacy, or if for some specially clever action Iwere taken into partnership, or if a mad bull came down the street. Imay say that I make a regular study of myself. I have from time to timerecorded on paper some of the more important incidents of our marriedlife, affecting Eliza and myself, and I present them to you, gentlereader, in this little volume. I think they show how with a verylimited income--and but for occasional assistance from Eliza's mother Ido not know how we should have got along--a man may to a great extentpreserve respectability, show taste and judgment, and manage his wifeand home. 

The more I think about myself, the more--I say it in all modesty--thesubject seems to grow. I should call myself many-sided, and in manyrespects unlike ordinary men. Take, for instance, the question oftaste. Some people would hardly think it worth while to mention alittle thing like taste; but I do. I am not rich, but what I have Ilike to have ornamental, though not loud. Only the other day thequestion of glass-cloths for the kitchen turned up, and though thosewith the red border were threepence a dozen dearer than the plain, Iordered them without hesitation. Eliza changed them next day, contraryto my wishes, and we had a few words about it, but that is not thepoint. The real point is that if your taste comes out in a matter ofglass-cloths for the kitchen, it will also come out in antimacassarsfor the drawing-room and higher things. 

Again, ordinary men--men that might possibly call themselves myequals--are not careful enough about respectability. Everywhere aroundme I see betting on horse-races, check trousers on Sunday, the washhung out in the front garden, whiskey and soda, front steps notproperly whitened, and the door-handle not up to the mark. I couldpoint to houses where late hours on Sunday are so much the rule thatthe lady of the house comes down in her dressing-gown to take in themilk--which, I am sure, Eliza would sooner die than do. There arefamilies--in my own neighbourhood, I am sorry to say--where thechimneys are not swept regularly, beer is fetched in broad daylight, and attendance at a place of worship on Sunday is rather the exceptionthan the rule. Then, again, language is an important point; to my mindnothing marks a respectable man more than the use of genteel language. There may have been occasions when excessive provocation has led me tothe use of regrettable expressions, but they have been few. As a rule Iavoid not only what is profane, but also anything that is slangy. Ifail to understand this habit which the present generation has formedof picking up some meaningless phrase and using it in season and out ofseason. For some weeks I have been greatly annoyed by the way some ofthe clerks use the phrase "What, ho, she bumps!" If you ask them whobumps, or how, or why, they have no answer but fits of silly laughter. Probably, before these words appear in print that phrase will have beenforgotten and another equally ridiculous will have taken its place. Itis not sensible; what is worse, it is not to my mind respectable. Donot imagine that I object to humour in conversation. That is a verydifferent thing. I have made humourous remarks myself before now, mostly of rather a cynical and sarcastic kind. 

I am fond of my home, and any little addition to its furniture ordecorations gives me sincere pleasure. Both in the home and in ourmanner of life there are many improvements which I am prevented byfinancial considerations from carrying out. If I were a rich man Iwould have the drawing-room walls a perfect mass of pictures. If I hadmoney I could spend it judiciously and without absurdity. I should havethe address stamped in gold on the note-paper, and use boot-trees, andnever be without a cake in the house in case a friend dropped in totea. Nor should I think twice about putting on an extra clean pair ofcuffs in the week if wanted. We should keep two servants. I aminterested in the drama, if serious, and two or three times every monthI should take Eliza to the dress-circle. Our suburb has a train servicewhich is particularly convenient for the theatres. Eliza would wear adressy blouse, --she shares my objections to anything cut out at theneck, --a mackintosh, and a sailor hat, the two latter to be removedbefore entering. I should carry her evening shoes in a prettycrewel-worked bag. We have often discussed it. Curiously enough, shealready has the bag, though we seldom have an opportunity to use it inthis way. Doubtless there are many other innovations which, withappropriate means, I could suggest. But I have said enough to show thatthey would all be in the direction of refinement and elegance, and themoney would not be spent in foolishness or vice. 

As Eliza's husband, I should perhaps say a word or two about her. Sheis a lady of high principles and great activity. Owing to my absenceevery day in the exercise of my profession, she is called upon tosettle many questions, --as, for instance, the other day the question ofwhat contribution, if any, should be given to the local FireBrigade, --where a word of advice from me would have been useful. If notactually independent, she is certainly not what would be described as aclinging woman. Indeed, she does occasionally take upon herself toenter on a line of action without consulting me, when my advice isperfectly at her disposal, and would perhaps save her from blunders. Last year she filled the coal-cellar (unusually large for the type ofhouse) right up at summer prices. Undoubtedly, she thought that she waspractising an economy. But she was dealing with a coal-merchant whodoes not give credit--a man who requires cash down and sees that hegets it. And--well, I need not go into details here, but it proved tobe excessively inconvenient for me. She has lost the silly playfulnesswhich was rather a mark of her character during the period of ourengagement, and if this is due to the sobering effects of associationwith a steady and thoughtful character, I am not displeased. Sheherself says it's the work, but the women do not always know. Possibly, too, her temper is more easily ruffled now than then when I point outthings to her. I should say that she was less ambitious than myself. Ido not mention these little matters at all by way of finding fault. Onthe contrary, I have a very high opinion of Eliza. 

[Illustration: "_Filled the coal-cellar right up at summer prices. _"]

We have no children living. 

With these few prefatory words, gentle reader, I fling open the frontdoor--to use a metaphorical expression--and invite you to witness a fewscenes of our domestic life that I have from time to time recorded. 

THE CARDS

About a year ago Eliza and myself had a little difference of opinion. Imentioned to her that we had no visiting-cards. 

"Of course not, " she said. "The idea of such a thing!" She spoke ratherhastily. 

"Why do you say 'of course not'?" I replied, quietly. "Visiting-cardsare, I believe, in common use among ladies and gentlemen. "

She said she did not see what that had to do with it. 

"It has just this much to do with it, " I answered: "that I do notintend to go without visiting-cards another day!"

"What's the use?" she asked. "We never call on anybody, and nobody evercalls on us. "

"Is Miss Sakers nobody?"

"Well, she's never left a card here, and she really is a lady by birth, and can prove it. She just asks the girl to say she's been, and it'snothing of importance, when she doesn't find me in. If she can dowithout cards, we can. You'd much better go by her. "

"Thank you, I have my own ideas of propriety, and I do not take themfrom Miss Sakers. I shall order fifty of each sort from Amrod's thismorning. "

"Then that makes a hundred cards wasted. "

"Either you cannot count, " I said, "or you have yet to learn that thereare three sorts of cards used by married people--the husband's cards, the wife's cards, and the card with both names on it. "

"Go it!" said Eliza. "Get a card for the cat as well. She knows a lotmore cats than we know people!"

I could have given a fairly sharp retort to that, but I preferred toremain absolutely silent. I thought it might show Eliza that she wasbecoming rather vulgar. Silence is often the best rebuke. However, Eliza went on:

"Mother would hate it, I know that. To talk about cards, with the lastlot of coals not paid for--I call it wickedness. "

I simply walked out of the house, went straight down to Amrod's, andordered those cards. When the time comes for me to put my foot down, Ican generally put it down as well as most people. No one could beeasier to live with than I am, and I am sure Eliza has found it so; butwhat I say is, if a man is not master in his own house, then where ishe?

 * * * * *

Amrod printed the cards while I waited. I had them done in the OldEnglish character. I suggested some little decoration to give them atone, --an ivy leaf in the corner, or a little flourish under thename, --but Amrod was opposed to this. He seemed to think it was notessential, and it would have been charged extra, and also he hadnothing of the kind in stock. So I let that pass. The cards looked verywell as they were, a little plain and formal, perhaps, but very clean(except in the case of a few where the ink had rubbed), and verygratifying to one's natural self-respect. 

[Illustration: "_He seemed to think it was not essential. _"]

That evening I took a small cardboard box that had contained candles, and packed in it a few carefully selected flowers from the garden, andone of our cards. On the card I wrote "With kindest love from" justabove the names, and posted it to Eliza's mother. 

So far was Eliza's mother from being offended that she sent Eliza apresent of a postal-order for five shillings, three pounds of pressedbeef, and a nicely worked apron. 

On glancing over that sentence, I see that it is, perhaps, a littleambiguous. The postal order was for the shillings alone--not for thebeef or the apron. 

I only mention the incident to show whether, in this case, Eliza or Iwas right. 

 * * * * *

I put a few of my own cards in my letter-case, and the rest were packedaway in a drawer. A few weeks afterward I was annoyed to find Elizausing some of her cards for winding silks. She said that it did notprevent them from being used again, if they were ever wanted. 

"Pardon me, " I said, "but cards for social purposes should not be bentor frayed at the edge, and can hardly be too clean. Oblige me by notdoing that again!"

That evening Eliza told me that No. 14 in the Crescent had been takenby some people called Popworth. 

"That must be young Popworth who used to be in our office, " I said. "Iheard that he was going to be married this year. You must certainlycall and leave cards. "

"Which sort, and how many?"

"Without referring to a book, I can hardly say precisely. These thingsare very much a matter of taste. Leave enough--say one of each sort foreach person in the house. There should be no stint. "

"How am I to know how many persons there are?"

"Ask the butcher with whom they deal. "

On the following day I remarked that Popworth must have come in formoney, to be taking so large a house, and I hoped she had left thecards. 

"I asked the butcher, and he said there was Popworth, his wife, twosisters, a German friend, and eleven children. That was sixteenpersons, and made forty-eight cards altogether. You see, I rememberedyour rule. "

"My dear Eliza, " I said, "I told you as plainly as possible that it wasa matter of taste. You ought not to have left forty-eight at once. "

"Oh, I couldn't keep running backwards and forwards leaving a few at atime. I've got something else to do. There's three pair of your socksin the basket waiting to be darned, as it is. "

"And, good heavens! That Popworth can't be my Popworth. If he's onlymarried this year, he can't, in the nature of things, have got elevenchildren. And a house like this can't call on a house like that withouta something to justify it. "

"That's what I thought. "

"Then what on earth did you call for?"

"I didn't. Who said I did?"

 * * * * *

I gave a sigh of relief. Later in the evening, when Eliza took a card, notched a bit out of each side, and began winding silk on it, I thoughtit wiser to say nothing. It is better sometimes to pretend not to seethings. 

ELIZA'S MOTHER

I generally send Eliza to spend a day with her mother early inDecember, and try to cheer her up a little. I daresay the old lady isvery lonely, and appreciates the kindly thought. The return ticket isfour-and-two, and Eliza generally buys a few flowers to take with her. That does not leave much change out of five shillings when the day isover, but I don't grudge the money. Eliza's mother generally tries tofind out, without precisely asking, what we should like for a Christmaspresent. Eliza does not actually tell her, or even hint it--she wouldnot care to do anything of that sort. But she manages, in a tactfulsort of way, to let her know. 

For instance, the year before last Eliza's mother happened to say, "Iwonder if you know what I am going to give you this Christmas. "

Eliza said, "I can see in your eye, mother, and you sha'n't do it. It'smuch too expensive. If other people can do without silver salt-cellars, I suppose we can. "

Well, we got them; so that was all right. But last year it was moredifficult. 

 * * * * *

You see, early in last December I went over my accounts, and I couldsee that I was short. For one thing, Eliza had had the measles. Then Ihad bought a bicycle, and though I sold it again, it did not, in thatbroken state, bring in enough to pay the compensation to the cabman. Iwas much annoyed about that. It was true I ran into the horse, but itwas not my fault that it bolted and went into the lamp-post. As I said, rather sharply, to the man when I paid him, if his horse had beensteady the thing would never have happened. He did not know what toanswer, and made some silly remark about my not being fit to ride amangle. Both then and at the time of the accident his language wasdisrespectful and profane. 

However, I need not go further into that. It is enough to say that wehad some unusual expenses, and were distinctly short. 

"I don't blame you, Eliza, " I said. "Anything you have had you are verywelcome to. "

"I haven't had anything, except the measles, " she said; "and I don'tsee how you can blame me for that. "

"But, " I said, "I think it's high time you paid a visit to your mother, and showed her that we have not forgotten her. Take some Swissroll--about sixpennyworth. Try to make things seem a little brighter toher. If she says anything about Christmas, and you saw your way togetting a cheque from her this year instead of her usual present, youmight do that. But show her that we are really fond of her--remembershe is your mother, and has few pleasures. A fiver just now would makea good deal of difference to me, and even a couple of sovereigns wouldbe very handy. "

 * * * * *

When Eliza came back, I saw by her face that it was all right. 

"I didn't have to say anything, " she said. "Mother told me of her ownaccord that she knew that you had money troubles, and that she wasgoing to take advantage of the Christmas season to relieve you fromthem in a way which at another time you might be too proud to accept. "

"That, " I said, warmly, "is very thoughtful of her, and very delicate, and it can only mean one thing. It settles me. This year, Eliza, wewill give your mother a present. Quite a trifle, of course--about twoshillings. It will be a token, and she will value it. "

When I returned from the city I found that Eliza had purchased a smallwhite vase for one-and-ten. The man in the shop had told her that itwas alabaster. I had my doubts about that, but it was quite in my owntaste--rather severe and classical. I complimented Eliza on her choice. 

Three days before Christmas I got a letter from Eliza's mother. Shesaid that she had been afraid that I was worrying about my debt to herof £4 13_s. _ 9_d. _ She took advantage of the Christmas season to returnmy I. O. U. 's, and begged me to consider the debt as paid. 

It was not at all what I had expected. 

 * * * * *

"No, " I said to Eliza at breakfast, "I am not in the least like a bearwith a sore head, and I will thank you not to use the expression. Asfor your mother's kindness, I am glad you think it kindness. I wouldn'thave it otherwise. If you weren't a born idiot you wouldn't think so. My debt to your mother would have been discharged by--discharged in duecourse. By reminding me that I owed her money, she has practicallydunned me for it, and forced me to pay her at a most inconvenient time. She comes badgering me for her dirty money at Christmas, and you callit 'kindness!' Kindness! Hah! Oh, hah, hah!"

"Don't make those silly noises, and get on with your breakfast!" saidEliza. 

Afterward she asked me if I still meant to send her mother that littlevase. 

"Oh, yes!" I said. "We can afford it; it's nothing to us. "

Eliza, entirely misunderstanding the word that I next used, got up andsaid that she would not stop in the room to hear her poor mother swornat. 

"The word I used, " I said, calmly, "was alabaster, and not what yousuppose. "

"You pronounced it just like the other thing. "

"I pronounced it in an exclamatory manner, " I replied, "from contempt!You seem to me very ready to think evil. This is not the first time!"

Eliza apologized. As a matter of fact, I really did say alabaster. ButI said it emphatically, and I own that it relieved my feelings. 

We keep the silver salt-cellars in the drawer of Eliza's wardrobe as ageneral rule. I should prefer to use them every day, or at any rateevery Sunday. But Eliza says that they make work. 

"Mother has written to me, " she said on the following day, "to say thatshe will dine with us on Christmas Day. I had better get the silversalt-cellars down. "

"You'd better _put them up_, " I said, meaningly. I know that soundsrather bitter, but I confess that I have always had a weakness for thewit that stings. 

Well, it did not actually come to that. They allowed me to draw acouple of pounds in advance at the office. I suppose they know thatwhen they have got a good man it is worth while to stretch a point tokeep him. Not that I was at all dictatorial--apparently I asked it as afavour. But I fancy our manager saw that I was not a man to be playedwith. 

Eliza's mother dined with us, and brought a couple of ducks. Conscience, I should say. 

At the moment of writing my financial position is absolutely sound, andeven if Eliza's mother forced me to use her present to me to pay mydebt to her (£7 19_s. _ 5_d. _), though I might think it dishonourable onher part, I should not be seriously inconvenienced. However, Eliza isgoing early in December to suggest sauce-boats (plated). That is tosay, she may possibly mention them if any occasion arises. 

MISS SAKERS

On Saturdays I always get back from the office early. This particularSaturday afternoon I looked at our chimneys as I came down the street. I thought it very queer, but, to make certain, as soon as I got intothe house I opened the drawing-room door. It was just as I thought. Icalled up-stairs to Eliza, rather sharply. 

She came down and said, "Well, what's the matter?"

I said, calmly, "The matter? Jane has apparently gone mad, that's all. "(Jane is the name of our servant. )

Eliza said that she did not think so, and asked me what the girl haddone. 

I must say it made me feel rather sarcastic--it would have made any manfeel sarcastic. I said, "Oh, nothing. Merely lit the fire in thedrawing-room; and not only lit it, but piled coals on it. It is notSunday, so far as I am aware. " It is our rule to have the drawing-roomfire lit on Sundays only. We are rather exclusive, and some otherpeople seem to be rather stuck-up, and between the two we do not havemany callers. If any one comes, it is always perfectly easy for Elizato say, "The housemaid has foolishly forgotten to light the fire here. Shall we not step into the dining-room?" I hate to see anything likewaste. 

"At this very moment, " I added, "the drawing-room fire is flaminghalf-way up the chimney. It seems we can afford to burn half a ton ofcoals for nothing. I cannot say that I was aware of it. "

"You _are_ satirical!" said Eliza. "I always know when you are beingsatirical, because you move your eyebrows, and say, 'I am aware, 'instead of 'I know. ' I told Jane to light the fire myself. "

"May I ask why?"

"Miss Sakers is coming in. She sent me a note this morning to say so. "

"That puts a different complexion on the affair. Very tactful of her tohave announced the intention. I do not grudge a handful of firing whenthere is a reason. I only ask that there shall be a reason. " MissSakers is the vicar's daughter. Strictly speaking, I suppose her socialposition is superior to our own. I know for a fact that she has been tocounty balls. She seemed anxious to cultivate an intimacy with us, so Igathered. I was not absurdly pleased about it. One has one's dignity. Besides, at the office we frequently see people far above Miss Sakers. A nobleman who had called to see one of the partners once remarked tome, "Your office is a devilish long way from everywhere!" There was noparticular reason why he should have spoken to me, but he seemed towish it. After that, it was no very great thing that Miss Sakers seemedanxious to know us better. At the same time, I do not pretend that Iwas displeased. I went into the drawing-room and put some more coal on. 

"Is it to be a party?" I asked. 

"Not at all. She is coming quite as a friend. "

I went up-stairs and changed all my clothes, and then purchased a fewflowers, which I placed in vases in the drawing-room. Eliza had got twokinds of cake; I added a plate of mixed biscuits on my ownresponsibility. Beyond this, I did nothing in the way of preparation, wishing to keep the thing as simple and informal as possible. 

 * * * * *

The tea was quite a success. Miss Sakers was to have a stall at thebazaar in aid of the new church. I promised her five shillings atfirst, but afterward made it seven-and-six. Though no longer young, Miss Sakers is very pleasant in her manner. 

After tea Miss Sakers and Eliza both did needlework. Miss Sakers wasdoing a thing in crewels. I could not see what Eliza was doing. Shekept it hidden, almost under the table. 

To prevent the conversation from flagging, I said, "Eliza, dear, whatare you making?"

She frowned hard at me, shook her head slightly, and asked Miss Sakersabout the special preacher for Epiphany Sunday. 

I at once guessed that Eliza was doing something for Miss Sakers' stallat the bazaar, and had intended to keep it secret. 

I smiled. "Miss Sakers, " I said, "I do not know what Eliza is making, but I am quite sure it is for you. "

There was a dead silence. Miss Sakers and Eliza both blushed. Then MissSakers said, without looking at me, "I think you are mistaken. "

I felt so sure that I was mistaken that I blushed, too. 

Eliza hurriedly hid her work in the work-basket, and said, "It is veryclose in here. Let me show you round our little garden. "

They both went out, without taking any notice of me. Not having hadmuch tea, I cut myself another slice of cake. While I was in the middleof it, Miss Sakers and Eliza came back, and Miss Sakers said good-byeto me very coldly. I offered to raise my bazaar donation to tenshillings, but she did not seem to have heard me. 

 * * * * *

"How could you say that?" said Eliza, when Miss Sakers had gone. "Itwas most tactless--and not very nice. "

"I thought you were doing something for the bazaar. What were youmaking, then?"

She did not actually tell me, but she implied it in a delicate way. 

"Well, " I said, "of course I wouldn't have called attention to it if Ihad known, but I don't think you ought to have been doing that workwhen Miss Sakers was here. "

"I've no time to waste, and I always make mine myself. I was mostcareful to keep them hidden. You are very tactless. "

"I don't think much of that Miss Sakers, " I said. "Why should we go tothis expense, " pointing to the cakes, "for a woman of that kind?"

THE ORCHESTROME

The orchestrome was on Lady Sandlingbury's stall at the bazaar. Herladyship came up to Eliza in the friendliest way, and said, "My dearlady, I am convinced that you need an orchestrome. It's the sweetestinstrument in the world, worth at least five pounds, and for oneshilling you have a chance of getting it. It is to be raffled. " Elizaobjects, on principle, to anything like gambling; but as this was forthe Deserving Inebriates, which is a good cause, she paid her shilling. She won the orchestrome, and I carried it home for her. 

 * * * * *

Six tunes were given with the orchestrome; each tune was on a slip ofperforated paper, and all you had to do was to put in a slip and touchthe spring. 

We tried it first with "The Dandy Coloured Coon. " It certainly playedsomething, but it was not right. There was no recognizable tune aboutit. 

"This won't do at all, " I said. 

"Perhaps that tune's got bent or something, " said Eliza. "Put inanother. "

I put in "The Lost Chord" and "The Old Folks at Home, " and both werecomplete failures--a mere jumble of notes, with no tune in them at all. I confess that this exasperated me. 

"You see what you've done?" I said. "You've fooled away a shilling. Nothing is more idiotic than to buy a thing without trying it first. "

"Why didn't you say that before, then?" said Eliza. "I don't believethere's anything really wrong with it--just some little thing that'sgot out of order, and can be put right again. "

"Wrong! Why, it's wrong all through. Not one scrap of any of the tunescomes out right. I shall take it back to Lady Sandlingbury at once. "

"Oh, don't do that!"

But my mind was made up, and I went back to the bazaar, and up to LadySandlingbury's stall. Eliza wouldn't come with me. 

"I beg your ladyship's pardon, " I said, "but your ladyship supplied mewith this orchestrome, and your ladyship will have to take it backagain. "

"Dear me! what's all the trouble?"

I started the instrument, and let her hear for herself. She smiled, andturned to another lady who was helping her. The other lady was young, and very pretty, but with a scornful kind of amused expression, and adrawling way of speaking--both of which I disliked extremely. 

"Edith, " said Lady Sandlingbury, "here's this angry gentleman going toput us both in prison for selling him a bad orchestrome. He says itwon't work. "

"Doesn't matter, does it?" said the other lady. "I mean to say, as longas it will play, you know. " At this rather stupid remark they bothlaughed, without so much as looking at me. 

"I don't want to make myself in any way unpleasant, your ladyship, " Isaid; "but this instrument was offered for raffle as being worth fivepounds, and it's not worth five shillings. "

"Come, now, " said Lady Sandlingbury, "I will give you five shillingsfor it. There you are! Now you can be happy, and go and spend yourmoney. " I thanked her. She took the orchestrome and started it, and itplayed magnificently. Nothing could have been more perfect. "Thesethings do better, " she said, "when you don't put the tunes in wrong endfirst, so that the instrument plays them backwards. "

"I think your ladyship might have told me that before, " I said. 

"Oh! you were so angry, and you didn't ask me. Edith, dear, do go andbe civil to some people, and make them take tickets for anotherraffle. "

"I call this sharp practice, " I said, "if not worse, and----"

Here the other lady interrupted me. 

"Could you, please, go away, unless you want to buy something? Thanks, so much!"

[Illustration: "_Could you, please, go away?_"]

I went. I am rather sorry for it now. I think it would have been moredignified to have stopped and defied them. 

Eliza appeared to think that I had made myself ridiculous. I do notagree with her. I do think, however, that when members of thearistocracy practise a common swindle in support of a charity, they goto show that rank is not everything. If Miss Sakers happens to ask uswhether we are going to the bazaar in support of the DeservingInebriates next year, I have instructed Eliza to reply: "Not if LadySandlingbury and her friend have a stall. " I positively refuse to meetthem, and I do not care twopence if they know it. 

THE TONIC PORT

We do a large export trade (that is, the firm does), and there areoften samples lying about in the office. There was a bottle of Tarret'sTonic Port, which had been there some time, and one of the partnerstold the head clerk that he could have it if he liked. Later in the daythe head clerk said if a bottle of Tarret's Tonic Port was any use tome I might take it home. He said he had just opened it and tasted it, because he did not like to give anything away until he knew if it wasall right. 

I thanked him. "Tastes, " I said, "just like any ordinary port, Isuppose?"

"Well, " he said, "it's more a tonic port than an ordinary port. Butthat's only what you'd expect from the label. "

"Quite so, " I said--"quite so. " I looked at the label, and saw that itsaid that the port was peculiarly rich in phosphates. I put the bottlein my bag that night and took it home. 

 * * * * *

"Eliza, " I said, "I have brought you a little present. It is a bottleof port. " Eliza very rarely takes anything at all, but if she does itis a glass of port. In this respect I admire her taste. Port, as I havesometimes said to her, is the king of wines. We decided that we wouldhave a glass after supper. That is really the best time to takeanything of the kind; the wine soothes the nerves and preventsinsomnia. 

Eliza picked the bottle up and looked at the label. "Why, " she said, "you told me it was port!"

"So it is. "

"It says tonic port on the label. "

"Well, tonic port practically _is_ port. That is to say, it is portwith the addition of--er--phosphates. "

"What are phosphates?"

"Oh, there are so many of them, you know. There is quinine, of course, and magnesium, and--and so on. Let me fill your glass. "

She took one very little sip. "It isn't what I should call a pleasantwine, " she said. "It stings so. "

"Ah!" I said, "that's the phosphates. It would be a little like that. But that's not the way to judge a port. What you should do is to take alarge mouthful and roll it round the tongue, --then you get the aroma. Look: this is the way. "

I took a large mouthful. 

When I had stopped coughing I said that I didn't know that there wasanything absolutely wrong with the wine, but you wanted to be ready forit. It had come on me rather unexpectedly. 

Eliza said that very likely that was it, and she asked me if I wouldcare to finish my glass now that I knew what it was like. 

I said that it was not quite a fair test to try a port just after ithad been shaken about. I would let the bottle stand for a day or two. Ultimately I took what was left in Eliza's glass and my own, andemptied it into the garden. I did this because I did not want ourgeneral servant to try it when she cleared away, and possibly acquire ataste for drink. 

Next morning I found that two of our best geraniums had died during thenight. I said that it was most inexplicable. Eliza said nothing. 

 * * * * *

A few nights afterward, Eliza asked me if I thought that the tonic porthad stood long enough. 

"Yes, " I said; "I will decant it for you, and then if Miss Sakers callsyou might say carelessly that you were just going to have a glass ofport, and would be glad if she would join you. "

"No, thank you, " she said; "I don't want to deceive Miss Sakers. "

"You could mention that it was rich in phosphates. There need be nodeception about it. "

"Well, then, I don't want to lose the few friends we've got. "

"As you please, Eliza. It seems a pity to waste more than half a bottleof good wine. "

"Bottle of what?"

"You heard what I said. "

"Well, drink it yourself, if you like it. "

 * * * * *

Some weeks afterward I found the bottle of Tarret's Tonic Port stillstanding in the sideboard. I gave it to our servant, explaining to herthat it would be best mixed with water. There was still the risk of heracquiring drinking habits, but I could think of no one else to give itto. That night Eliza found the girl crying in the kitchen. When Elizaasked what was the matter, she said that she would rather say nothing, but that she was wishful to leave at the end of her month. 

Of course Eliza blamed me, but I had told the girl as distinctly as Icould speak that it was a wine which required dilution. However, Elizapersuaded her to stay on. The girl took the pledge on the followingday, and seemed changed in many ways. She put the bottle back in thesideboard; there was still more than half of it left. 

 * * * * *

After that nothing happened with reference to the tonic port, until oneday I noticed that our cat (who had recently lost her kittens) seemedin a poor state of health. I gave it a few spoonfuls of the tonic portin a little milk. It drank it with avidity, somewhat to my surprise. Ihad one or two little things to do in the garden after that, and when Icame back Eliza said that the cat had become so very strange in itsmanner that she had thought it best to lock it in the coal-cellar. 

I went to look at it, and found it lying on its back, dead. It had asingularly happy expression on its face. Both Eliza and myself werevery sorry to lose it. 

[Illustration: "_It had a singularly happy expression on its face. _"]

I judged it best to say nothing about the port. But the bottle had gonefrom the sideboard. Eliza said that she had removed it, to preventfurther accidents. 

I told the head clerk about it, but he only laughed in the silliestway. He is a most ill-bred man, in my opinion. 

THE GENTLEMAN OF TITLE

One of our younger clerks, a man of the name of Perkins, is said to bevery well connected. He certainly spends more than his salary, andrarely wears the same trousers on two consecutive days. But I am not asnob, nor one who thinks much of these things, and I had nevercultivated young Perkins. Consequently it rather surprised me when heintroduced me to his friend, the Hon. Eugene Clerrimount. Then Iremembered what had been said about Perkins's connections. 

 * * * * *

The Hon. Eugene Clerrimount was a handsome young man, though apparentlytroubled with pimples. His manner had in it what I should call dash. There was not an ounce of affectation about him; but then high rankdoes not need affectations--I have always noticed that. He appeared totake rather a liking to me, and insisted that we must all three go outand have a drink together. This is a thing which I really never do, buton this occasion I allowed myself to be persuaded. Not liking tomention beer, I said that I would take a glass of sherry wine. Nothingcould have been more friendly and pleasing than his behaviour towardme; there was nothing at all stuck-up about him. It turned out that, after all, the Hon. Eugene Clerrimount had forgotten his purse, andPerkins happened to have no money on him; I therefore paid for thedrinks, and also lent the Hon. Eugene Clerrimount half a crown for hiscab; it was, indeed, quite a pleasure to do so. He thanked me warmly, and said that he should like to know me better. Might he call at myhouse on the following Saturday afternoon? As luck would have it, Ihappened to have a card on me, and presented it to him, saying that itwould indeed be an honour. "Thanks, " he replied, "and then I can repayyou this half-sovereign, or whatever it is. " "Only four shillings, " Ireplied, "and pray do not mention it. "

[Illustration: _The Gentleman of Title. _]

 * * * * *

Eliza was certainly less pleased than myself when she heard that theHon. Eugene Clerrimount was coming. She said that he might be allright, or he might not, and we did not know anything about him. Ireplied: "One does not know anything about anybody in that rank oflife. It is not necessary. "

"Oh!" she said. "Isn't it? Well, I don't happen to be an earl myself. "

And, really, on the Saturday morning I had the greatest difficulty toget Eliza to take a little trouble with the drawing-room, though Iasked for nothing more than a thorough dusting, chrysanthemums, and theblinds up. For the tea I offered to make myself entirely responsible. There was some doubt as to whether the girl should announce him as theHon. Mr. Clerrimount, or the Hon. Eugene Clerrimount, or Mr. Hon. Clerrimount. "She'd better do all three, one after the other, " saidEliza, snappishly. I obviated the difficulty by telling the girl, asshe opened the drawing-room door, merely to say, "A gentleman to seeyou. " I am rather one for thinking of these little ways out ofdifficulties. 

Eliza wanted to know what time he was coming. I replied that he couldnot come before three or after six, because that would be againstetiquette. 

"Suppose he came at five minutes to three by accident, " said Eliza. "Would he sit on our doorsteps until the clock struck, and then ringthe bell?" I was really beginning to lose patience with Eliza. 

However, by three o'clock I had Eliza in the drawing-room, with amagazine and paper-knife by her side, as if she had been reading. Shewas really darning socks, but they could easily be concealed in anempty art flower-pot when the front bell rang. 

 * * * * *

We sat in the drawing-room until six, but, strangely enough, the Hon. Eugene Clerrimount never came. The trifle that I had spent on theMadeira cake and macaroons was nothing, but it did wound my feelingsthat he had not even thought it worth while to explain his inability tokeep his appointment. 

And on the Monday I said to Perkins, rather sharply: "There was thatmatter of four shillings with your friend. I've not received the money, and I should thank you to see about it. "

"What?" said Perkins. "You ask my friend and me to come and drink withyou, and then want me to dun him for the money to pay for it. Well, I_am_ blowed!"

Oh, the whole thing was most unsatisfactory and incomprehensible!

THE HAT

I had long believed that all was not right with my hat. I could provenothing, but I had no doubt in my own mind that the girl took libertieswith it. It is very easy to brush a silk hat the wrong way, forinstance, but silk hats do not brush themselves the wrong way; if it isdone, some one must have done it. Morning after morning I found markson my hat which I could not account for. Well, I said nothing, but Imade up my mind to keep my eyes open. It was not only the injury to thehat--it was the impertinence to myself that affected me. 

One Saturday afternoon, while I was at home, a costermonger came to thedoor with walnuts. The girl answered the bell, and presently I saw thecoster and his cart go past the dining-room window. I don't know why itwas, or how it was, but a suspicion came over me. I stepped sharply tothe door, and looked out into the passage. There was no one there. Thefront door was open, and the kitchen door was open, and in a positionbetween the two, against the umbrella-stand, was--something worse thanever I had expected. 

I picked that hat up just as it was, with the walnuts inside it, andplaced it on the dining-room table. Then I called to Eliza to comedown-stairs. 

"What is it?" she asked, as she entered the dining-room. 

I pointed to the hat. "This kind of thing, " I said, "has been going onfor years!"

"Oh, do talk sense!" she said. "What do you mean?"

"Sense!" I said. "You ask me to talk sense, when I find my own hatstanding on the floor in the hall, and used as a--a receptacle forwalnuts!"

She smiled. "I can explain all that, " she said. 

"I've no doubt you can. I'm sick to death of explanations. I give tenor eleven shillings for a hat, and find it ruined. I know thoseexplanations. You told the girl to buy the walnuts, and she had gotnothing else to put them in, and the hat was handy; but if you think Itake that as an excuse, you make a mistake. "

"I wasn't going to say that at all. "

"Or else you'll tell me that you can paste in a piece of white paper, so that the stains on the lining won't show. Explanations, indeed!"

"And I wasn't going to say that, either. "

"I don't care what you were going to say. I won't hear it. There's noexplanation possible. For once I mean to take a strong line. You seethat hat? I shall never wear it again!"

"I know that. "

"No one shall wear it! I don't care for the expense! If you choose tolet that servant-girl ruin my hat, then that hat shall be ruined, andno mistake about it!"

I picked the hat up, and gave it one sound, savage kick. My foot wentthrough it, and the walnuts flew all over the room. At the same momentI heard from the drawing-room a faint tink-tink-tink on the piano. 

[Illustration: "_I picked the hat up, and gave it one sound, savagekick. _"]

"Yes, " said Eliza. "That's the piano-tuner. He came at the same time asthe walnut-man, and bought those walnuts. And he put them in his hat. _His_ hat, mind you, not _your_ hat. Your hat's hanging up in theusual place. You might have seen it if you'd looked. Only you're----"

"Eliza, " I said, "you need say no more. If that is so, the servant-girlis much less to blame than I had supposed. I have to go out now, butperhaps you'd drop into the drawing-room and explain to the tuner thatthere's been some slight misunderstanding with his hat. And, I say, aglass of beer and two shillings is as much as you need offer. "

MY FORTUNE

The girl had just removed the supper things. We have supper ratherearly, because I like a long evening. "Now, Eliza, " I said, "you takeyour work, --your sewing, or whatever it may be, --and I will take mywork. Yes, I've brought it with me, and it's to be paid as overtime. Idaresay it mayn't seem much to you, --a lot of trouble, and only a fewshillings to show for it, when all's said and done, --but that is theway fortunes are made, by sticking at it, by plugging into it, if I mayuse the term. "

"The table's clear, if you want to start, " said Eliza. 

"Very well, " I replied, and fetched my black bag from the passage toget the accounts on which I was working. I always hang the bag on thepeg in the passage, just under my hat. Then it is there in the morningwhen and where it is wanted. Method in little things has always beenrather a motto of mine. 

"It has sometimes struck me, Eliza, " I said, as I came back into thedining-room, with the bag in my hand, "that you do not read so much asI should like to see you read. "

"Well, you asked me to take my work, and these socks are for you, and Inever know what you do want. "

"I did not mean that I wanted you to read at this moment. But there isone book--I cannot say exactly what the title is, and the name of theauthor has slipped my memory, which I should like to see in your handsoccasionally, because it deals with the making of fortunes. Itpractically shows you how to do it. "

"Did the man who wrote it make one?" asked Eliza. 

"That--not knowing the name of the man--I cannot say for certain. "

"Well, I should want to know that first. And aren't you going tostart?"

"I can hardly start until I have unlocked my bag, and I cannot unlockmy bag until I have the keys, and I cannot have the keys until I havefetched them from the bedroom. Try to be a little more reasonable. "

I could not find the keys in the bedroom. Then Eliza went up, and shecould not find them, either. By a sort of oversight they were in mypocket all the time. I laughingly remarked that I knew I should findthem first. Eliza seemed rather pettish, the joke being againstherself. 

"The reason why I mentioned that book, " I said, as I unlocked the bag, "is because it points out that there are two ways of making a fortune. One is, if I may say so, my own way, --by method in little things, economy of time, doing all the work that one can get to do, and----"

"You won't get much done to-night, if you don't start soon, " saidEliza. 

"I do not like to be interrupted in the middle of a sentence. The otherway by which you may make a fortune--well, it's not making a fortune. It's that the fortune makes you, if you understand me. "

"I don't, " said Eliza. 

"I mean that the fortune may come of itself by luck. Luck is a verycurious thing. We cannot understand it. It's of no use to talk aboutit, because it is quite impossible to understand it. "

"Then don't let's talk about it, especially when you've got somethingelse to do. "

"Temper, temper, Eliza! You must guard against that. I was not going totalk about luck. I was going to give you an instance of luck, whichhappened to come within my own personal experience. It is the case of aman of the name of Chumpleigh, in our office, and would probablyinterest and amuse you. I do not know if I have ever mentionedChumpleigh to you. "

"Yes, you've told me all about him several times. "

I might have mentioned Chumpleigh to Eliza, but I am sure that I havenever told her all about him. However, I was not going to sulk, and soI told her the story again. The story would not have been so long ifshe hadn't interrupted me so frequently. 

When I had finished, she said that it was time to go to bed, and I hadwasted the evening. 

I owned that possibly I had been chatting rather longer than I hadintended, but I would still get those accounts done, and sit up to dothem. 

"And that means extra gas, " she said. "That's the way money getswasted. "

"There are many men in my place, " I said, "who would refuse to sit downto work as late as this. I don't. Why? On principle. Because it'sthrough the cultivation of the sort of thing that I cultivate onearrives at fortune. Think what fortune would mean to us. Big house, large garden, servants, carriages. I should come in from a day with thehounds, and perhaps say I felt rather done up, and would like a glassof champagne. No question of expense--not a word about it--money noobject. You'd just get the bottle out of the sideboard, and I shouldhave my glass, and they'd finish it in the kitchen, and----"

"_Are_ you going to begin, or are you not?" asked Eliza. 

"This minute, " I replied, opening the black bag. I examined thecontents carefully. 

"Well, " I said, "this is a very strange occurrence indeed--mostunaccountable! I don't remember ever to have done anything of the kindbefore, but I seem to have forgotten to bring that work from the city. Dear me! I shall be forgetting my head next. "

Eliza's reply that this would be no great loss did not seem to me to beeither funny, or polite, or even true. "You strangely forget yourself, "I replied, and turned the gas out sharply. 

SHAKESPEARE

I led up to it, saying to Eliza, not at all in a complaining way, "Doesit not seem to you a pity to let these long winter evenings run towaste?"

"Yes, dear, " she replied; "I think you ought to do something. "

"And you, too. Is it not so, darling?"

"There's generally some sewing, or the accounts. "

"Yes; but these things do not exercise the mind. "

"Accounts do. "

"Not in the way I mean. " I had now reached my point. "How would it beif I were to read aloud to you? I don't think you have ever heard meread aloud. You are fond of the theatre, and we cannot often afford togo. This would make up for it. There are many men who would tell youthat they would sooner have a play read aloud to them than see it actedin the finest theatre in the world. "

"Would they? Well--perhaps--if I were only sewing it wouldn't interruptme much. "

I said, "That is not very graciously put, Eliza. There is a certain artin reading aloud. Some have it, and some have not. I do not know if Ihave ever told you, but when I was a boy of twelve I won a prize forrecitation, though several older boys were competing against me. "

She said that I had told her before several times. 

I continued: "And I suppose that I have developed since then. A man inour office once told me that he thought I should have done well on thestage. I don't know whether I ever mentioned it. "

She said that I had mentioned it once or twice. 

"I should have thought that you would have been glad of a littlepleasure--innocent, profitable, and entertaining. However, if you thinkI am not capable of----"

"What do you want to read?"

"What would you like me to read?"

"Miss Sakers lent me this. " She handed me a paper-covered volume, entitled, "The Murglow Mystery; or, The Stain on the Staircase. "

"Trash like this is not literature, " I said. However, to please her, Iglanced at the first page. Half an hour later I said that I should bevery sorry to read a book of that stamp out loud. 

"Then why do you go on reading it to yourself?"

"Strictly speaking, I am not reading it. I am glancing at it. "

When Eliza got up to go to bed, an hour afterward, she asked me if Iwas still glancing. I kept my temper. 

"Try not to be so infernally unreasonable, " I said. "If Miss Sakerslends us a book, it is discourteous not to look at it. "

On the following night Eliza said that she hoped I was not going to situp until three in the morning, wasting the gas and ruining my health, over a book that I myself had said--

"And who pays for the gas?"

"Nobody's paid last quarter's yet. Mother can't do everything, and----"

"Well, we can talk about that some other time. To-night I am going toread aloud to you a play of Shakespeare's. I wonder if you even knowwho Shakespeare was?"

"Of course I do. "

"Could you honestly say that you have ever read one--only one--of histragedies?"

"No. Could you?"

"I am going to read 'Macbeth' to you, trying to indicate by changes inmy voice which character is speaking. " I opened the book. 

Eliza said that she couldn't think who it was took her scissors. 

"I can't begin till you keep quiet, " I said. 

"It's the second pair that's gone this week. "

"Very well, then, " I said, shutting up the book with a bang, "I willnot read aloud to you to-night at all. You may get along as you canwithout it. "

"You're sure you didn't take those scissors for anything?" she replied, meditatively. 

 * * * * *

"Now then, " I said, on the next night, "I am ready to begin. Thetragedy is entitled 'Macbeth. ' This is the first scene. "

"What is the first scene?"

"A blasted heath. "

"Well, I think you might give a civil answer to a civil question. Therewas no occasion to use that word. "

"I didn't. "

"You did. I heard it distinctly. "

"Do let me explain. It's Shakespeare uses the word. I was only quotingit. It merely means----"

"Oh, if it's Shakespeare I suppose it's all right. Nobody seems to mindwhat _he_ says. You can go on. "

I read for some time. Eliza, in reply to my question, owned that shehad enjoyed it, but she went to bed before her usual time. 

 * * * * *

When I was preparing to read aloud on the following evening, I wasunable to find our copy of Shakespeare. This was very annoying, as ithad been a wedding-present. Eliza said that she had found her scissors, and very likely I should find the Shakespeare some other night. 

But I never did. I have half thought of buying another copy, or I daresay Eliza's mother would like to give us it. Eliza thinks not. 

THE UNSOLVED PROBLEM

"Eliza, " I said one evening, "do you think that you are fonder of methan I am of you, or that I am fonder of you than you are of me?"

She answered, "What is thirteen from twenty-eight?" without looking upfrom the account-book. 

"I do think, " I said, "that when I speak to you you might have thecivility to pay some little attention. "

She replied, "One pound fifteen and two, and I hope you know where weare to get it from, for I don't. And don't bang on the table in thatsilly way, or you'll spill the ink. "

"I did not bang. I tapped slightly from a pardonable impatience. I puta plain question to you some time ago, and I should like a plain answerto it. "

"Well, what do you want to talk for when you see I am counting? Now, what is it?"

"What I asked was this. Do I think--I mean, do you think--that I amfonder of me--no, you are fonder of I--well, I'll begin again. Which ofus two would you say was fonder of the other than the other was ofthe--dash it all, you know what I mean!"

"No, I don't, but it's nothing to swear about. "

"I was not swearing. If you don't know what I mean, I'll try to put itmore simply. Are you fonder than I am? There. "

"Fonder of what?"

"Fonder of each other. "

"You mean is each of us fonder of the other than the other is of--ofthe each?"

"I mean nothing of the kind. Until you muddled it the thing wasperfectly clear. Well, we two are two, are we not?"

"Of course I know that, but----"

"Wait a minute. I intend that you shall understand me this time. Whichof those two would you say was fonder of the other than the other wasof the other, or would you say that each was as fond of the other asthe other one was? Now you see it. "

"Almost. Say it again. "

"Would you say that in your opinion neither of us were fonder of theother than both were of each, or that one was fonder of the other thanthe other was of the first, and if so, which?"

"Now you've made it worse than ever. I don't believe you know what youmean yourself. Do come to supper and talk sense. "

 * * * * *

I smiled cynically as I sat down to supper. "This doesn't surprise mein the least, " I remarked. "I never yet knew a woman who could argue, or even understand the first step in an argument, and I don't suppose Iever shall. "

"Well, " said Eliza, "you can't argue until you know what you aretalking about, and I don't know what you're talking about, and youdon't seem to know yourself, or, if you do, you're too muddled to tellanybody. If you want to argue, argue about one pound fifteen and two. It's Griffiths, and been sent in three times already. "

"Don't shirk it, Eliza. Don't try to get away from it. I asked youwhich of us you thought was the fonder of the other, and you couldn'tunderstand it. "

"Why, of course, I understand _that_. Why didn't you say so before?"

"As far as I remember, those were my precise words. "

"But they weren't! What you said was, 'If neither of us was fonder ofboth than each is of either, which of the two would it be?' orsomething of the kind. "

"Now, how could I talk such absolute nonsense?"

"Ah!" she said; "when men lose their temper they never know whatthey're saying!"

I had a very good answer to that, but just at the moment the girlbrought in the last post. There was a letter from Eliza's mother. Therewas also an enclosure in postal orders quite beyond anything I hadexpected, and she expressed a hope that they might enable us "to defraysome of the expenses incidental to the season. " As far as my ownpersonal feeling is concerned, I should have returned them at once. Insome ways I daresay that I am a proud man. I have been told so. But thepoor old lady takes such pleasure in giving, and she has so littleother enjoyment, that I should have been reluctant to check her. Infact, taking the money as evidence of her affection, I was pleased. Sowas Eliza. 

"Pay Griffiths's twopenny-halfpenny account to-morrow, " I said, "andtell him that he has lost our patronage for ever. "

 * * * * *

We did not recur to the original question. Personally, I should saythat in the case of two people it might very well happen that, thoughat one time the affection of one for the other might be greater thanthe affection which the other had for the one which I originallymentioned at the same time, yet at some other time the affection whichthe other one had for the other might be just as much greater than theaffection which the first one had for the second, as the difference wasin the first instance between the two. At least, that is the generaldrift of what I mean. Eliza would never see it, of course. 

THE DAY OFF

On the occasion of the marriage of our junior partner to Ethel Mary, only surviving daughter of William Hubblestead, Esq. , J. P. , ofBanlingbury, by the Canon of Blockminster, assisted by the Rev. EugeneHubblestead, cousin of the bride--on this occasion the office wasclosed for the whole of one day, and the staff had a holiday withoutdeduction of salary. 

The staff had presented six silver (hallmarked) nutcrackers, and ahandsomely bound volume of Cowper's Poetical Works. The latter was myown suggestion; there was a sum of eight shillings over after thepurchase of the nutcrackers, and I have always had a partiality forCowper. The junior partner thanked us personally, and in very warmterms; at the same time he announced that the following Thursday was tobe treated as a holiday. 

 * * * * *

The weather was glorious, and I have never had a more enjoyable day. The girl laid breakfast overnight, and we rose at half-past five. Byhalf-past six Eliza had cut some mutton sandwiches and placed them in abasket with a bottle of milk--the milkman having obliged with aspecially early call by appointment. A brief journey by train, and by aquarter-past seven we were at Danstow for our day off in the country. 

Danstow is a picturesque little village, and looked beautiful in thehot sunlight. I was wearing a fairly new summer suit, with brown boots. As I remarked to Eliza, it would probably have created a feeling ofsurprise among the villagers if they had learned that, as a rule, myprofessional duties took me to the city in the morning. 

Eliza said: "All right. What do we do here?"

"Why, " I said, "there's the old church. We mustn't miss that. "

We went and examined the old church. Then we went twice up and down thevillage street, and examined that. 

"Well, " said Eliza, "what next?"

"Now, " I replied, "we just stroll about and amuse ourselves. I feelparticularly light-hearted. "

"That's breakfasting at six, that is, " said Eliza. "If you could find aquiet place, we might have a sandwich. "

We went a little way along the road, and I espied a field which seemedto me to look likely. I said to a passer-by: "I am a stranger here. Canyou tell me whether there would be any objection to our sitting in thatfield?" He said, in rather an offensive and sarcastic way, that hebelieved the field was open for sitting in about that hour. I did notgive him any reply, but just opened the gate for Eliza. 

We sat down under the hedge, and finished our sandwiches and milk. Thechurch clock struck nine. 

"What train do we go back by?" asked Eliza. 

"Not until half-past nine to-night. There's a day for you!"

"Twelve hours and a half, " said Eliza. "And we've done the sandwiches, and done the milk, and done the church, and there's nothing else todo. "

"Except amuse ourselves, " I added, as I took off my boots, which hadpained me slightly. I then dozed off. 

 * * * * *

Eliza woke me to say that she had read all the newspaper the sandwicheswere wrapped in, and picked some wild flowers, and the flowers haddied, and she wanted to know what the time was. It was just pasteleven. 

She said: "Oh, lor!"

I soon dropped off again. 

When I woke, at half-past twelve, Eliza was not there. She returned ina few minutes, and said that she had been doing the church over again. 

"That was hardly necessary, " I observed. 

"Oh, one must do something, and there's nothing else to do. "

"On the contrary, there's luncheon. We'll have that at once, so as togive us a good long afternoon. "

"The afternoon will be long enough, " she said. If I had not known thatshe was having a day's enjoyment, I should have thought that she seemedrather dejected in her manner. 

 * * * * *

The luncheon at the village inn was not expensive. Eliza said thattheir idea of chops was not her idea; but all the same she seemedinclined to spin the thing out and make it last as long as possible. Ideprecated this, as I felt that I could not very well take my boots offagain until I had returned to the field. 

"Very well, then, " she said. "Only let's go back slowly. "

"As slowly as you like, " I replied. "It's the right boot principally;but I prefer to walk slowly. "

When we had resumed our old position under the hedge, and I had removedmy boots, I said:

"Now, then, I think I've earned a pipe and a short nap. You amuseyourself in any way you like. "

"Do _what_ with myself?" she asked, rather sharply. 

She walked twice round the field, and then I fell off to sleep. Itturned out afterward that she also did the picturesque old church forthe third time, and went over a house which was to let, refusing totake it on the ground that there was no bath-room. This was ratherdishonest, as she would not have taken it if there had been abath-room, or even two bath-rooms. I would not do that kind of thingmyself. I awoke about tea-time. The charge for tea at the inn was verymoderate, though Eliza said that there was tea which was tea, and teawhich was an insult. 

Eliza found that there was a train back at half-past six, and said shewas going by it, whether I did or not, because it was a pity to havetoo much of a good thing, and she hadn't the face to ask for the keysof that church again. I accompanied her. I fancy that the brown leatheris liable to shrink in the sun, and I was not unwilling to get back tomy slippers and stretch myself out on the sofa. 

There is nothing like a long day in the country; quite apart from theenjoyment, you feel that it is doing you so much good. I am sorry thatEliza did not seem to enter into the spirit of the thing more. 

THE MUSHROOM

We were at breakfast one morning in the summer when the girl enteredrather excitedly and said that to the best of her belief there was amushroom coming in the little lawn in front of the house. It seemed amost extraordinary thing, and Eliza and I both went out to look at it. There was certainly something white coming through the turf; the onlyquestion was, whether or not it was a mushroom. The girl seemed certainabout it. "Why, " she said, "in my last place mushrooms was frequent. You see, being wealthy, they had anything they fancied. If I didn'tknow about mushrooms, I ought to!" There is a familiarity in thatgirl's manner which to my mind is highly objectionable. Theestablishment where she was formerly employed was apparently on a scalethat we do not attempt. That does not justify her, however, incontinually drawing comparisons. I shall certainly have something tosay to her about it. 

 * * * * *

However, it was not about Jane that I intended to speak, but about themushroom. 

Eliza said that I ought to put a flowerpot over the mushroom, because, being visible from the road, some one might be tempted to come in andsteal it. But I was too deep for that. "No, " I replied, "if you put aninverted plant-pot there everybody will guess that you are hiding amushroom underneath it. Just put a scrap of newspaper over it. "

"But that might get blown away!"

"Fasten down one corner of it with a hairpin. "

Eliza said that I was certainly one to think of things. I believe thereis truth in that. On my way to the station I happened to meet Mr. Bungwall's gardener (a most obliging and respectful man), and had aword with him about the mushroom. He said that he would come round inthe evening and have a look at it. 

 * * * * *

I was pleased to find (on my return) that the mushroom was still in thegarden under the newspaper, and had increased slightly in size. 

"This, " I said to Eliza, "is very satisfactory. "

"It would make a nice little present to send to mother, " Elizaobserved. 

There I could not entirely agree with her. I pointed out that in aweek's time I should probably be applying to her mother for a smalltemporary loan. I did not think it an honourable thing to attempt toinfluence her mind beforehand by sending a present. I wished her toapproach the question of the loan purely in a business spirit. I addedthat I thought we would leave the mushroom to grow for one more day, and then have it for breakfast. That ultimately was decided upon. 

Then Mr. Bungwall's gardener arrived, and said that he was sorry todisappoint us in any way, and it was not his fault, but the mushroomwas a toadstool. 

"This, " I said to Eliza, "is something of a blow. "

"Perhaps, " she said, "Mr. Bungwall's gardener is mistaken. "

"I fear not. But, however, I happened to mention about that mushroom toour head clerk this morning, and he said that he thoroughly understoodmushrooms, and had made a small profit by growing them. To-morrowmorning I will pick that toadstool or mushroom, as the case may be, take it up to the city, and ask him about it. "

Eliza agreed that this would be the best way. 

 * * * * *

But at breakfast next morning she seemed thoughtful and somewhatdepressed. I asked her what she was thinking about. 

"It's like this, " she said. "If your head clerk says that our toadstoolis a mushroom, while Mr. Bungwall's gardener says that our mushroom isa toadstool, we sha'n't like to eat it because of Mr. Bungwall'sgardener, and we sha'n't like to throw it away because of your headclerk, and I don't see what to do with it. "

"You forget, my dear. We have a third opinion. Jane says the mushroomis a mushroom. "

"Jane will say anything. "

"Well, we might put her to the test. We might ask her if she'd like toeat the mushroom herself, and then if she says yes and seems pleased, why, of course we'd eat it. I'll go and pick it now. "

And when I went to do so I found that the mushroom had gone. 

 * * * * *

Eliza says that Mr. Bungwall's gardener told us it was a toadstool tokeep us from picking it, and then stole it himself, because he knewthat it was a mushroom. 

That may be. I should be sorry to believe it, because I have alwaysfound Mr. Bungwall's gardener such a very respectful man. To my mindthere is an air of mystery over the whole affair. 

THE PLEASANT SURPRISE

I had got the money by work done at home, out of office hours. It cameto four pounds altogether. At first I thought I would use it todischarge a part of our debt to Eliza's mother. But it was verypossible that she would send it back again, in which case the pencespent on the postal orders would be wasted, and I am not a man thatwastes pennies. Also, it was not absolutely certain that she would sendit back. I sent her a long letter instead--my long letters are almosther only intellectual pleasure. As for the four pounds, I reserved twofor myself, for any incidental expenses, and decided to give two toEliza. I did not mean simply to hand them to her, but to get upsomething in the way of a pleasant surprise. 

I had tried something of the kind before. Eliza once asked me for sixshillings for a new tea-tray that she had seen. I went and stood behindher chair, and said, "No, dear, I couldn't think of it, " at the sametime dropping the six shillings down the back of her neck. Eliza saidit was a pity I couldn't give her six shillings for a tea-tray withoutcompelling her to go up-stairs and undress at nine o'clock in themorning. It was not a success. 

However, I had more than one idea in my head. This time I thought Iwould first find out if there was anything she wanted. 

So on Sunday at tea-time I said, not as if I were meaning anything inparticular, "Is there anything you want, Eliza?"

"Yes, " she said; "I want a general who'll go to bed at half-past nineand get up at half-past five. If they'd only do that, that's all Iask. "

"You will pardon me, Eliza, " I said, "but you are not speakingcorrectly. You said that was all that you asked. What you meant----"

"Do you know what I meant?"

"I flatter myself that I know precisely----"

"Then if you know precisely what I meant, I must have spokenaccurately. "

But as we went to church I discovered that she wanted a new jacket. Herown was trimmed rabbit, and had been good, but the fur had gone bald inplaces. 

 * * * * *

Next morning I wrote on a sheet of note-paper, "To buy a new jacket. With your husband's love. " I folded the two sovereigns up in this, anddropped the packet into the pocket of Eliza's old jacket, as it hung inthe wardrobe, not telling her what I had done. My idea was that shewould put on the jacket to go out shopping in the morning, and puttingher hand in the pocket, get a pleasant surprise. As I was leaving fortown, she asked me why I kept on smiling so mysteriously. I replied, "Perhaps you, too, will smile before the day is over. "

On my return I found Eliza at the front door. "Come and look, " shesaid, cheerfully. "I have got a pleasant surprise for you. " She flungopen the drawing-room door, and pointed. In the middle of the tablestood a _spiraea_, a most handsome and graceful plant. It stood in oneof the best saucers, with some coloured paper round the pot, and thegeneral effect was very good. I at once guessed that she had bought itfor me with the change from my present to her, and thought it showedvery good feeling in her. 

"I hope you have not given too much for this, " I said. 

"I didn't give any money for it. "

"I don't understand. "

"Well, you must know I had a present this morning. "

"Of course I know. "

"Did mother tell you? Yes, she has sent me a beautiful new jacket. Thena man came round with a barrow of plants, and he said he didn't wantmoney if I had any clothes to spare. So I gave him my old worn-outjacket for this _spiraea_, and----"

I remembered that I had seen the man with the barrow farther down thestreet. 

"Excuse me for one moment, Eliza, " I said, and dashed out after him. 

 * * * * *

He was a big, red-faced man, and he made no difficulty about it at all. 

"Yes, " he said, "I bought that jacket, gov'ner, and I don't deny it. There it is at the bottom of my bundle, and I ain't even looked at itsince. Nor I ain't goin' to look now. You say there was two suvreignsin the pocket. A gent like you don't want to swindle a common man likeme. If you say the two suvreigns was there, then they're there now, andI can return yer two pound out o' my own, in a suttunty of gettin' 'emback out o' the jacket pocket. Bless yer! I knows an honest man when Isees one. "

With these words he drew the money from his own waistcoat pocket, andhanded it to me. I took it with some reluctance. 

"Hadn't you better make quite certain----"

"Not a bit, " says he. "If them suvreigns were there when the jacketwere 'anded to me, they is there now. I could see as you was a man tobe trusted, otherwise I'd 'ave undone the bundle and searched longafore this. "

 * * * * *

"What have you been doing?" said Eliza, on my return. 

"Never mind. Your mother has given you a new jacket. Let me have thepleasure of giving you a new hat. " I pressed the two coins into herpalm. 

She looked at them, and said, "You can't get a hat for a halfpenny, youknow, dear. What did you rush out for just now? And why did you havethese two farthings gilded? You'll be mistaking them for sovereigns, ifyou're not careful. Were you trying to take me in?"

I did not quite see what to say for the moment, and so I took hersuggestion. I explained that it was a joke. 

"You don't look much as if you were joking. "

"But I was. I suppose I ought to know if any man does. However, Eliza, if you want a new hat, anything up to half a sovereign, you've only tosay it. "

She said it, thanked me, and asked me to come and help her water the_spiraea_. 

"It's such a shapely _spiraea_, " she said. 

"Yes, " I answered sadly, "it's a regular plant. " And so it was, thoughI had not been intending what the French call a _double entendre_ atthe time. 

THE MOPWORTHS

I must say that both Eliza and myself felt a good deal of contempt forthe Mopworths. We had known them for three years, and that gave us aclaim; Peter Mopworth was a connection of Eliza's by marriage, and thatalso gave us a claim; further, our social position gave us a claim. Nevertheless, the Mopworths were to have their annual party on thefollowing Wednesday, and they had not invited us. 

"Upon my soul, " I exclaimed, "I never in my life heard of anything soabsolutely paltry. "

"I can't think why it is, " said Eliza. 

"Oh, we're not good enough for them. We all know who his father was, and we all know what he is--a petty provincial shopkeeper! A gentlemanholding important employment in one of the principal mercantile firmsin the city isn't good enough for him. If I'm permitted to clean hisboots I'm sure I ought to be thankful. Oh, yes! Of course! No doubt!"

"You do get so sarcastic, " observed Eliza. 

"That's nothing--nothing to what I should be if I let myself go. But Idon't choose to let myself go. I don't think he's worth it, and I don'tthink she's worth it either. It's a pity, perhaps, that they don't knowthat they're making themselves ridiculous, but it can't be helped. Personally, I sha'n't give the thing another thought. "

"That's the best thing to do, " said Eliza. 

"Of course it is. Why trouble one's head about people of that class?And, I say, Eliza, if you meet that Mopworth woman in the street, there's no occasion for you to recognize her. "

"That would look as if we were terribly cut up because we hadn't beenasked to their party. "

"Possibly. Whereas, I don't even consider it worth talking about. "

We discussed the Mopworths and their party for another hour and a half, and then went to bed. 

 * * * * *

"Lying awake last night, " I said at breakfast next morning, "I couldn'thelp thinking over the different things we have done for thoseserpents. "

"What serpents?"

"Those contemptible Mopworths. I wonder if they have any feelings ofshame? If they have, they must blush when they think of the way theyhave treated us. "

"I can't think why they've left us out. Perhaps it's a mistake. "

"Not a bit of it. I've been expecting this for some time. Of course hehas made money. I don't say--I would rather _not_ say--how he has madeit. But it seems to have turned his head. However, after this I shallprobably never mention him again. "

Eliza began to talk about the weather. I told her that Mopworth haddone things which, personally, I should have been very sorry to do, andthat I should be reluctant to adopt his loud style of dress. 

"But, of course, " I added, "no gentleman ever does dress like that. "

Eliza said that if I intended to catch my train I had better start. 

I started. 

 * * * * *

On my return I said to Eliza that, though the whole subject wasdistasteful to me, there was one point to which I had given a fewmoments' consideration. Reluctant though I was to sully my lips withthe name of Mopworth, I felt it a duty to myself to say that even ifthe Mopworths had asked us to their annual party I should have refusedpoint-blank. 

"Really?" said Eliza. This annoyed me slightly. She ought to have seen, without being told, that it was impossible for people like us tocontinue to know people like them. 

"I am accustomed, " I replied, "to say just exactly what I mean. As faras I can remember, I have lately more than once asked you to drop theMopworths. If I have not actually done it, it has been in my mind to doso. They are connected to us by marriage, and I am not unduly proud, but still I feel that we must draw the line somewhere. I do not care tohave Mopworth bragging about the place that he is on intimate termswith us. "

"Well, " said Eliza, "there aren't such a lot of people who ever ask usto anything. Miss Sakers is friendly, of course, especially when thereare subscriptions on for the bazaar or the new organ, but she doesn'tcarry it to that point. "

"Quite so, " I said, "and I'm by no means certain about Miss Sakers. Shemay be all right. I hope she is. But I candidly confess that I by nomeans like her manner. "

At this moment the girl brought in a note, delivered by hand, from Mrs. Mopworth. It said that she had sent an invitation to Eliza but had hadno reply. She felt so certain that the invitation must have beendelayed in the post (which was not surprising, considering the season), that she had ventured to write again, though it might be againstetiquette. She hoped that we should both be able to come, and said thaton the previous occasion I had been the life and soul of the party. 

"Well, " I said, "Eliza, what would you like to do?"

"Oh, I'm going!" she replied. 

"Then if you insist, I shall go with you. I've never had a word to sayagainst Mrs. Mopworth. It is true that _he_ is not in every particularwhat--well, what I should care to be myself. Possibly he has not had myadvantages. I do not want to judge him too harshly. My dress clothesare put away with my summer suit in the second drawer in the box-room. Just put them to the fire to get the creases out. And, Eliza, write afriendly note to Mrs. Mopworth, implying that we had never heard of theparty. I saw from the first that the omission was a mistake. "

Eliza went away smiling. Women are so variable. 

THE PEN-WIPER

Eliza always works me some little pretty trifle for my birthday, andalways has done so since the day when I led her to the hymeneal altar. But it is not done at all as a matter of course. During the days beforemy birthday, when she is working at the present, she keeps a cleanhandkerchief by her side, and flings it over the work to hide it when Ienter the room. This makes it more of a surprise when the day comes. Asa rule, I whistle a few bars in a careless way before entering theroom, so as to give her plenty of time to get the work under thehandkerchief. There is no definite arrangement about this. I merely dowhat good taste dictates. Last year, instead of the handkerchief, shekept a large table-napkin by her side when she was working. However, though I did not tell her so, this let the secret out. I knew that shemust be doing me a pair of slippers. 

 * * * * *

This year, on my birthday, when I came down to breakfast, I foundplaced before me the hot-water plate with the tin cover to it--a veryuseful article when there happens to be an invalid in the house. 

Eliza, bending down behind the tea-cosy to hide her smile, told me tobe quick with my breakfast, in rather a censorious voice. I lifted thetin cover, and there on the plate was the pen-wiper which Eliza hadmade for me. 

This rather graceful and amusing way of giving a present is not reallyEliza's own invention. I did it some years ago when I gave her apincushion. As the pincushion was made to imitate a poached egg (andreally very like), perhaps the humour in that instance had rather morepoint. However, I do not say this at all to find fault with Eliza. I amrather one to think of novelties, and if Eliza cares to copy any ofthem, so much the better. 

 * * * * *

The top and bottom of the pen-wiper which Eliza had made for me were ofblack velvet, which always has a handsome look to my mind. On the topwas worked in gold beads, "Kindly clean the pen. " The interior wascomposed of several folds of very pale shades of art muslin. Only theday before Messrs. Howlett & Bast had refused to send any morepatterns, as the last lot sent had not been returned, though twiceapplied for. I understood that now. 

However, it made a very good pen-wiper, in pleasant, simple taste, andI thanked Eliza for it several times most warmly. At my suggestion itwas placed on the centre-table in the drawing-room. One never wrotethere, but it seemed naturally to belong to the drawing-room. 

 * * * * *

So far, my birthday had gone happily enough. In the evening, when Ireturned from the city, I sat down to write a short, sharp note toMessrs. Howlett & Bast. I explained to them that by their impertinencethey were running a grave risk of entirely losing my custom, andsuggested to them that the lot of patterns to which they referred mightvery possibly have been lost in the post. 

When I had finished the letter, I wiped my pen on the inside of mycoat. This is my general custom. Some men wipe their pens on theirhair, --not a very cleanly habit, in my opinion, --besides, unless thecolour of the hair is exceptionally dark, the ink shows. 

I had no sooner wiped my pen on the inside of my coat than I rememberedEliza's present. Determined to show her that I appreciated it, I took afull dip of ink, stepped into the drawing-room, and wiped the pen onthe new pen-wiper. Then I called up-stairs: "Eliza, I have just foundyour present very useful. Would you like to come and look?" Shehappened to be fastening something up the back at the time, but shecame down a minute afterward. 

She picked up the pen-wiper, looked at it, exclaimed "Ruined!" and thenwalked rapidly out of the room. I followed her, and asked what was thematter. 

It appeared that the words, "Kindly clean the pen, " meant that the penwas to be cleaned on a scrap of paper before the pen-wiper was used. Eliza said that I might have known that the pretty muslin was notintended to be a perfect mess of ink. 

"Well, " I said, "I didn't know. That's all there is to say about it. "

But it was not, apparently, all that there was to say about it. Infact, the whole thing cast an unpleasant shade over the evening of mybirthday. Finally I took a strong line, and refused to speak at all. 

THE 9. 43

In the course of conversation on Saturday evening it had transpiredthat Eliza had never been in St. Paul's Cathedral. "Then, " I said, "youshall go there to-morrow morning; I will take you. "

"I'm sure I'm agreeable, " said Eliza. 

On the Sunday morning one or two little things had happened to put meout. At breakfast I had occasion to say that the eggs were stone-cold, and Eliza contradicted me. It was very absurd of her. As I pointed outto her, what earthly motive could I have for saying that an egg wascold if it was not? What should I gain by it? Of course she had noanswer--that is, no reasonable answer. Then after breakfast I broke myboot-lace in two places. No, I was not angry. I hope I can keep mytemper as well as most men. But I was in a state of mind bordering onthe irritable. 

 * * * * *

Eliza came down-stairs, dressed for going out, asked me why I was notready, and said we should miss the 9. 43. 

"Indeed!" said I. "And what, precisely, might you mean by the 9. 43?"

"I mean, precisely, the train which leaves here for the city atseventeen minutes to ten. "

"One of your usual mistakes, " I replied. "The train is 9. 53, and not9. 43. "

"Have you a time-table?" she asked. 

"No. "

"Because if you had a time-table I could show you that you are wrong. Why, I _know_ it's the 9. 43. "

"If I had a time-table I could show you most certainly that it is the9. 53. Not that you'd believe it, even then. You're too obstinate, Eliza--too certain of yourself!"

 * * * * *

"Look here!" I observed, after she had argued that point at somelength, "let us come back to the original subject of discussion. Whichof us travels most to and from London? That is the reasonable way tosettle it. "

"You do, on week-days. But you never go on Sundays, and the Sundaytrains are different. "

"I am fully aware of the difference. Every day I am thrown intoconstant contact with the time-tables. Only last night I was looking atthem at the station. As far as I know, my memory is not going. "

"No more is mine. "

"Really? A week ago I purchased and brought home six new collars. Theyare not marked. Why? Because you forgot them! At this very moment thatI am speaking to you I am wearing an unmarked collar. "

"Yes; but I only forgot them one day. "

"Then why did you not mark them on the other days?"

"Because on the other days you forgot to bring home the marking-ink. "

"'M, yes, " I said. "In a sense that is true. I have my own business toattend to in the city without always thinking about marking-ink. Butwhat has that got to do with it? And why bring it in? We are nottalking about marking-ink; we are talking about trains!"

She said that I began it, and of course I pointed out to her that I haddone nothing of the kind. 

 * * * * *

We argued for some little time as to which of us had begun it, and thenEliza said, in her spiteful way--

"We are not talking about which of us began it; we are talking abouttrains!"

"It's very little use talking to you about trains. I know you're wrong!I would stake my life, cheerfully, that it is 9. 53, and not 9. 43. Butyou'd never own you're wrong; you're too obstinate for that!"

"Of course I don't own I'm wrong, because I'm not wrong! That would besilly!" she added, reflectively. "Even if it was 9. 53, I shouldn't bewrong. All I said was, that we should miss the 9. 43. Well, if there isno 9. 43, we cannot catch it; and what you don't catch, you miss!"

"Absurd nonsense! If you do not catch scarlet fever, you do not saythat you miss it!"

She replied: "We are not talking about scarlet fever; we are talkingabout trains!"

"Bah!" I exclaimed. I should have added more, but at this moment theclock on the dining-room mantelpiece struck ten. 

THE CONUNDRUMS

I had bought the little book at the station stall, and it seemed to bevery well worth the sixpence which I paid for it. It was entitled"Everybody's Book of Bright and Original Conundrums. " Of course I hadan idea in my head in buying the book; I am not the man to throw awaymy money to no purpose. I thought that these conundrums would be notonly a pleasant amusement, but also a valuable intellectual exercise toEliza and myself during the winter evenings. Then we could use them forsocial purposes during the Christmas party season. I do not know how itmay be with others, but I have often found, when introduced to a lady, that I have said "Good evening, " and then had absolutely nothing elseto say. With the help of the conundrum book I would fill in any awkwardpause by asking her who was the most amiable king in history. Thatwould break the ice. Besides, if we kept the book reasonably clean, itmight afterward make a very serviceable and acceptable present toEliza's mother. I generally know pretty well what I am doing, I think. I looked at two or three of the conundrums on the way home. There wasone which I do not remember precisely, but remarkably clever--somethingabout training the shoot and shooting the train. I often wonder who itis who thinks of these things. 

 * * * * *

I was, perhaps, rather unfortunate in the evening when I brought thebook home. Something may have occurred to put Eliza out; she wasinclined to be quite sharp with me. I asked her, gaily, in the passagewhen I came in, "Can you tell me, dearest, the difference between acamel and a corkscrew? If not, here is a little volume which willinform you. "

"Oh, yes! One's used for drawing corks, and the other isn't. Youneedn't have wasted sixpence on a rubbishy book to tell me that. "

"But your answer is not the correct one, " I replied. "The correctanswer contains a joke. Think again. "

"Well, I can't, then. I've got the wash to count. "

I said that the wash could wait, but she would not appear to hear me, and went off up-stairs. 

 * * * * *

At supper I took occasion to say:

"You answered me very tartly when I asked you this afternoon for thedifference between a camel and a corkscrew. Perhaps you would not havedone so had you known that I bought that book with the intention ofsending it as a present to your mother. "

"Do you think ma would care about it?"

"I think it would cheer her lonely hours. There are upwards of athousand conundrums in the book. I have only read twelve, but I foundthem all exceedingly amusing, and, at the same time, perfectlyrefined. "

"Well, I don't see the good of them. "

"They are an intellectual exercise, if you try to guess the rightanswer. "

"I don't believe anybody ever did or ever will guess the right answer. "

"If I had time, " I said, "I believe I could generally think out a wittyanswer myself. I do not want to boast, but I believe so. "

"Very well, then, " said Eliza, snatching up the book and opening it atrandom, "here's one for you. 'If a lady slipped down the steps of St. Paul's Cathedral, what would she say?' Give me the answer to that. "

"I will try to, " I replied. 

Now, just at the moment when Eliza put the question I felt that I hadreally got the answer, and then it seemed to pass away from me. Laterin the evening I was certainly on the right track, when Eliza droppedher scissors, and the noise again put me off. I spent a very poornight; the answer kept sort of coming and going. Just as I was droppingoff to sleep, I seemed to have thought of the answer, and then I wouldwake up to be sure of it, and find it had slipped me again. 

As I was leaving the office, in the evening, after thinking till myhead ached without arriving at any result, I put the question to one ofour clerks. I thought he might possibly know. 

"No, " he said, "I don't know what a lady would say if she slipped downthose steps. I could make a fair guess at what a man would say, ifthat's any good to you. " Of course it was not. 

So, on my return home, I told Eliza that I had not had enough time tospare to think of the answer, and I should be glad to know where shehad put the book. 

"Oh, I sent that to mother!" she said. "I thought you wanted it sent. "

"You might have waited until you knew whether I had finished with it. But, however, what was the answer to that silly riddle?"

"The one about St. Paul's Cathedral? That wasn't in the book at all. Imade up the question out of my own head for fun. "

"Then, " I replied, "all I can say is, that your idea of fun is notmine. It seems to me to be acting a lie. It was not a conundrum atall. "

"It would have been if you could have thought of an answer. "

"Say no more, " I replied, coldly. "I prefer to drop the subject. "

THE INK

The ink-pot contained a shallow sediment, with short hairs, grit, and alittle moisture in it. It came out on the pen in chunks. When I hadspoiled the second postcard, Eliza said I was not to talk like that. 

"Very well, then, " I said, "why don't you have the ink-pot refilled?I'm not made of postcards, and I hate waste. "

She replied that anybody would think I was made of something to hear metalk. I thought I had never heard a poorer retort, and told her so. Idid not stay to argue it further, as I had to be off to the city. On myreturn I found the ink-pot full. "This, " I thought to myself, "is verynice of Eliza. " I had a letter I wanted to write, and sat down to it. 

I wrote one word, and it came out a delicate pale gray. I called Elizaat once. I was never quieter in my manner, and it was absurd of her tosay that I needn't howl the house down. 

"We will not discuss that, " I replied. "Just now I sat down to write aletter----"

"What do you want to write letters for now? You might just as well havedone them at the office. "

I shrugged my shoulders in a Continental manner. "You are probably notaware that I was writing to your own mother. She has so few pleasures. If you do not feel rebuked now----"

"I don't think mamma will lend you any more if you do write. "

"We will not enter into that. Why did you fill the ink-pot with water?"

"I didn't. "

"Then who did?"

"Nobody did. I didn't think of it until tea-time, and then--well, thetea was there. "

I once read a story where a man laughed a low, mirthless laugh. Thelaugh came to me quite naturally on this occasion. "Say no more, " Isaid. "This is contemptible. Now I forbid you to get the ink--I willget it myself. "

 * * * * *

On the following night she asked me if I had bought that ink. Ireplied, "No, Eliza; it has been an exceptionally busy day, and I havenot had the time. "

"I thought you had forgotten it, perhaps. "

"I supposed you would say that, " I said. "In you it does not surpriseme. "

 * * * * *

A week later Eliza said that she wanted to do her accounts. "I am gladof that, " I said. "Now you will know the misery of living without inkin the house. "

"No, I sha'n't, " she said, "because I always do my accounts in pencil. "

"About three months ago I asked you to fill that ink-pot with ink. Whyis it not done?"

"Because you also definitely forbade me to get any ink to fill it with. And you said you'd get it yourself. And it wasn't three months ago. "

"I always knew you could not argue, Eliza, " I replied. "But I am sorryto see that your memory is failing you as well. "

 * * * * *

On the next day I bought a penny bottle of ink and left it behind me inan omnibus. There was another bottle (this must have been a week later)which I bought, but dropped on the pavement, where it broke. I did notmention these things to Eliza, but I asked her how much longer she wasgoing to cast a shade over our married life by neglecting to fill theink-pot. 

"Why, " she said, "that has been done days and days ago! How can you beso unjust?"

 * * * * *

It was as she had said. I made up my mind at once to write to Eliza'smother--who, rightly or wrongly, considers that I have a talent forletter-writing. I felt happier now than I had done for some time, andmade up my mind to tell Eliza that I had forgiven her. I wrote a long, cheerful letter to her mother, and thought I would show it to Elizabefore I posted it. I called up-stairs to her, "Come down, darling, andsee what I've done. "

Then I sat down again, and knocked the ink-pot over. The ink coveredthe letter, the table, my clothes, and the carpet; a black stream of itwandered away looking for something else to spoil. 

Then Eliza came down and saw what I had done. To this day she cannotsee that it was partly her own fault. The bottle, of course, was toofull. 

THE PUBLIC SCANDAL

I am not a landlord. It suits my purpose better, and is in every waymore convenient, to rent a small house on a yearly agreement. But if Iwere a landlord, I would not allow any tenant of mine to do anythingthat tended to undermine and honeycomb the gentility of the district. Ishould take a very short method with such a tenant. I should say to himor her: "Now, then, either this stops, or you go out this instant. "That would settle it. However, I am not a landlord. 

Even as a tenant I take a very natural interest in the district inwhich I live. I chose the district carefully, because it wasresidential, and not commercial. The houses are not very large, andthey might be more solidly built, but they are not shops. They haveelectric bells, and small strips of garden, and a generally genteelappearance. Two of the houses in Arthur Street are occupied bypiano-tuners, and bear brass plates. I do not object to that. Piano-tuning is a profession, and I suppose that, in a way, I should beconsidered a professional man myself. Nor do I object to the letting ofapartments, as long as it is done modestly, and without large, vulgarnotice-boards. But the general tone of the district is good, and I domost strongly object to anything which would tend to lower it. 

 * * * * *

It was, as far as I remember, on the Tuesday evening that Eliza ratherlost her temper about the hairpins, and said that if I kept on takingthem and taking them she did not see how she was to do her hair at all. 

This seemed to me rather unjust. I had not taken the hairpins for myown pleasure. The fact is that the waste-pipe from the kitchen sinkfrequently gets blocked, and a hairpin will often do it when nothingelse will. I replied coldly, but without temper, that in future I wouldhave hairpins of my own. 

She said: "What nonsense!"

At this I rose, and went up-stairs to bed. 

I think that most people who know me know that I am a man of my word. On the following morning, before breakfast, I went into the High Streetto buy a pennyworth of hairpins. The short cut from our road into theHigh Street is down Bloodstone Terrace. 

It was in Bloodstone Terrace that I witnessed a sight which pained andsurprised me very much. It disgusted me. It was a disgrace to thedistrict, and amounted to a public scandal. St. Augustine's--which isthe third house in the terrace--had taken in washing, and not only hadtaken in washing, but were using their front garden as a drying-ground!An offensive thing of that kind makes my blood boil. 

 * * * * *

"Eliza, " I said, as I brushed my hat preparatory to leaving for thecity, "I intend to write to Mr. Hamilton to-day. "

"Have you got the money, then?" Eliza asked, eagerly. 

"If you refer to last quarter's rent, I do not mean to forward itimmediately. A certain amount of credit is usual between landlord andtenant. An established firm of agents like Hamilton & Bland must knowthat. "

"Yesterday was the third time they've written for the money, anyhow, and you can say what you like. What are you writing for, then?"

"I have a complaint to make. "

"Well, I wouldn't make any complaints until I'd paid last quarter, if Iwere you. They'll only turn you out. "

"I think not. I make the complaint in their interest. When a tenant inBloodstone Terrace is acting in a way calculated to bring the wholeneighbourhood into disrepute, and depreciate the value of houseproperty, the agents would probably be glad to hear of it. "

"Well, you're missing your train. You run off, and don't write anyletters until to-night. Then you can talk about it, if you like. "

In the evening, at supper, Eliza said she had been down BloodstoneTerrace, and could not see what I was making all the fuss about. 

"It is simply this, " I said. "St. Augustine's is converted into alaundry, and the front garden used as a drying-ground in a way that, tomy mind, is not decent. "

"Yes, " said Eliza, "that's Mrs. Pedder. The poor woman has to dosomething for her living. She's just started, and only got one job atpresent. It would be cruel----"

"Not at all. Let her wash, if she must wash, but let her wash somewhereelse. I cannot have these offensive rags flapping in my face when Iwalk down the street. "

"They're not offensive rags. I'm most particular about your things. "

"What do you mean?"

"It's your things that she washes. I thought I'd give her a start. "

I dashed off half a glass of beer, put the glass down with a bang, andflung myself back in the chair without a word. 

"Don't behave in that silly way, " said Eliza. "She's a halfpennycheaper on the shirt than the last woman. "

"You need not mention that, " I replied. "In any case I shall notcomplain now. I must bear the burden of any mistakes that you make. Iam well aware of it. "

"I'll tell her to hang them out at the back in future. "

"She can hang them where she pleases. I suppose I can bear it. It'sonly one more trial to bear. One thing goes after another. "

"On the contrary, " said Eliza, "she's never lost as much as a collar. There's a smut on your nose. "

"It can stop there, " I said, moodily, and went out into the garden. 

THE "CHRISTIAN MARTYR"

The "Christian Martyr" was what is called an engraving, and a verytasteful thing, too, besides being the largest picture we had. Itrepresented a young woman, drowned, floating down a river by night, with her hands tied, and a very pleasing expression on her face. Withthe frame (maple, and a gilt border inside) it came to three-and-six. Ibought it in the Edgware Road on my own responsibility, and carried ithome. I thought Eliza would like it, and she did. 

"Poor thing!" she said. "You can see she must have been a lady, too. But frightfully dusty!"

"You can't get everything for three-and-six. If you'd been under thecounter in a dirty little----"

"Well, all right! I wasn't complaining; but I like things clean. " Andshe took the "Christian Martyr" into the kitchen. 

 * * * * *

"Where did you mean to put it?" asked Eliza. 

"The only good place would be between 'The Charge of the Light Brigade'and 'The Stag at Bay. '"

"What! In the dining-room?"

"Certainly. "

"Well, I shouldn't, " said Eliza. "It's a sacred subject, and we use thedrawing-room on Sundays. That's the place. "

"I think I can trust my own taste, " I said. I got a brass-headed nailand a hammer, and began. Eliza said afterward that she had known thechair would break before ever I stood on it. 

"Then you might have mentioned it, " I said, coldly. "However, you shalllearn that when I have made up my mind to do a thing, I do it. " I rangthe bell, and told the girl to fetch the steps. 

I hung the "Christian Martyr, " and was very pleased with the effect. The whole room looked brighter and more cheerful. I asked Eliza whatshe thought, and she answered, as I expected, that the picture ought tohave been in the drawing-room. 

"Eliza, " I said, "there is one little fault which you should try tocorrect. It is pigheadedness. "

 * * * * *

At breakfast next morning the picture was all crooked. I put itstraight. Then the girl brought in the bacon, rubbed against thepicture, and put it crooked again. I put it straight again, and satdown. The girl, in passing out, put it crooked once more. 

"Really, " I said to Eliza, "this is a little too much!"

"Then put some of it back. "

"I was not referring to what I have on my plate, but to that girl'sconduct. I don't buy 'Christian Martyrs' for her to treat them in thatway, and I think you should speak about it. "

"She can't get past without rubbing against it. You've put it so low. Isaid it would be better in the drawing-room. "

As usual, I kept my temper. 

"Eliza, " I said, "have you already forgotten what I told you lastnight? We all of us--even the best of us--have our faults, butsurely----"

"While you're talking you're missing your train, " she said. 

 * * * * *

On my return from the city I went into the dining-room and found thepicture gone. Eliza was sitting there as calmly as if nothing hadhappened. 

"Where is the 'Christian Martyr'?" I asked. 

"On the sofa in the drawing-room. You said yourself that it was only inthe way in here. I thought you might like to hang it there. "

"I am not angry, " I said, "but I am pained. " Then I fetched the"Christian Martyr" and put it in its old place. 

"You are a funny man, " said Eliza; "I never know what you want. "

 * * * * *

As we were going up to bed that night we heard a loud bang in thedining-room. The "Christian Martyr" was lying on the floor with theglass broken. It had also smashed a Japanese teapot. 

"I wish you'd never bought any 'Christian Martyr, '" said Eliza. "Ifwe'd had a mad bull in the place it couldn't have been worse. I'm sureI'm not going to buy a new glass for it. "

So next day I bought a new glass myself in the city, and brought itback with me. But apparently Eliza had changed her mind, for a newglass had already been fitted in, and it was hanging in thedining-room, just where it had been before. 

As a reward to Eliza I took it down and put it up in the drawing-room. She smiled in a curious sort of way that I did not quite like. But Ithought it best to say nothing more about it. 

THE PAGRAMS

Properly speaking, we had quarrelled with the Pagrams. 

We both lived in the same street, and Pagram is in the same office asmyself. For some time we were on terms. Then one night they looked into borrow--well, I forget now precisely what it was, but they looked into borrow something. A month afterward, as they had not returned it, wesent round to ask. Mrs. Pagram replied that it had already beenreturned, and Pagram--this was the damning thing--told me at the officein so many words that they had never borrowed it. Now, I hate anythinglike deception. So does Eliza. For two years or more Eliza and Mrs. Pagram have met in the street without taking the least notice of eachother. I speak to Pagram in the office--being, as you might say, moreor less paid to speak to him. But outside we have nothing to do witheach other. 

 * * * * *

It was on Wednesday morning, I think, at breakfast, that Eliza said:

"I've just heard from Jane, who had it from the milkman--Mrs. Pagramhad a baby born last night. "

"Well, that, " I observed, "is of no earthly interest to us. "

"Of course it isn't. I only just mentioned it. "

"Is it a boy or girl?"

"A girl. I only hope she will bring it up to speak the truth. "

I replied that she might hope what we did not expect. So far Eliza hadtaken just exactly the tone that I wanted. But as I watched her, I sawher expression change and her underlip pulled down on one side, as itwere. 

"Well, " I said rather sharply, "what is it? These people are nothing tous. "

"No. But--it reminded me--our little girl--my baby--that died. And I----"

Here she put down her knife and fork, got up, and walked to the window. There she stood, with her back to me. 

I had a mind to speak to her about the foolishness of recalling whatmust be very upsetting to her. But I said nothing, and began to brushmy silk hat briskly. It was about time that I was starting for thecity. 

I went out. 

Then I came back, kissed Eliza, and went out again. 

 * * * * *

I was a little surprised to find Pagram at the office. 

"I should have thought you'd have taken a day off, " I said. 

"Can't afford that just now, " he replied, in rather a surly way. 

"All well at home?"

"No. "

"By my watch, " I said, "that office clock's five minutes slow. What doyou make it?"

"Don't know. Left my watch at home. "

I had noticed that he was not wearing his watch. Later in the day I hadsome more conversation with him. He is quite my subordinate at theoffice, and I really don't know why I should have taken so much noticeof him. 

 * * * * *

When I came back that night I was in two minds whether to tell Eliza ornot. She hates anything like extravagance, and if I told her I feltsure she would be displeased. At the same time, if I did not tell her, and she found it out afterward, she would be still more displeased. However, I decided to say nothing about it. I was a little nervous onthe point, and I own that my conscience reproached me. 

As I came into the hall, Eliza came down the staircase. She was dressedfor going out, and had a basket in her hand. She said: "I want you tolet me go over to the Pagrams to see if I can do anything. She and thebaby are both very ill, --the nurse has had no sleep, --they've no oneelse to help them. And--and I'm going!"

"Now, do you think this is necessary, Eliza?" I began. "When you cometo consider the position we've taken up with regard to the Pagrams fortwo years, and the scandalous way in which they----"

Here I stopped. The hall door was shut, and Eliza had gone, and it wasnot worth while to continue. 

"Now, " I thought to myself, "it's ten to one that Eliza finds me out, and if she does, she'll probably make herself unpleasant. " However, Idetermined not to trouble myself about it. If it came to that, Iflattered myself that I could make myself as unpleasant as most peoplewhen any occasion arose. 

 * * * * *

It was hours before Eliza returned. She burst into the room and said, "They're both better, and the baby's a beauty, and I'm to go backto-morrow afternoon. "

"Indeed!" I said. "I don't know that you're not going a little too farwith these people. "

"Do you think so? I've found you out. You didn't tell me, but Pagramdid. You lent him three pounds this morning. We can't afford that. "

"Well, well, " I said; "I've managed to get some overtime work, to beginnext week. That--that'll come out all right. You ought to leave thesebusiness matters to me. Anyhow, it's no good finding fault, and----"

"Does Pagram generally return what's lent?"

I lost my temper and said that I didn't care a damn! And then--justthen--I saw that she was not really displeased about it. 

"Why, " she said, "you silly! I'm glad you did it. The poor things wereat their wits' end, and had got--they'd got nothing! You've saved them, and I never have liked anything you've done half as much as this. "

Here Eliza burst into tears--which is really very unusual with her. 

PROMOTION

How true it is, as one of our English poets has remarked, that it isalways darkest before the silver lining!

While this little work was actually in the hands of the printers, anincident occurred of such great and far-reaching importance that Icannot refrain from making it the subject of an additional paper. I cangive it in one word--promotion. 

It came at a time when I was suffering from great depression andconsiderable irritation, as I have already indicated in my openingremark. It was on a Wednesday morning, and those who know me know thatinvariably on Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday I put on a clean shirt. Thenumber may seem excessive, and perhaps out of proportion to my income, but I own without shame that I am careful as to my personal appearance. I must also add that I am very particularly careful--and, I think, rightly--on the question of the airing of linen. 

All I said was that I should put on that shirt, whether Eliza liked itor not, and that it would probably give me my death; but that it didnot matter, and perhaps the sooner it was all over the better. Therewere circumstances under which life was hardly worth living, and whenone's express injunctions were continually disregarded, one began todespair. 

Eliza spoke quite snappishly, and said that my linen was alwaysproperly aired, and that I was too fussy. 

I replied, without losing my temper, that there was airing and airing. Even now I cannot think that Eliza was either just or accurate. 

 * * * * *

At breakfast-time one or two other little circumstances occurred to putme out. A teacup which is filled so full that it overflows into thesaucer is a perfect thorn in the flesh to me. So is bacon which isburnt to a cinder. I hardly did more than mention it, but Eliza seemedput out; she said I did nothing but find fault, and as for the bacon, Ihad better go into the kitchen and find fault with the girl, for it wasthe girl who had cooked it. 

"On the contrary, " I said, "in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred whena servant does wrong it is her mistress who deserves the censure. "

"Go it!" said Eliza, an expression which I do not think to be quiteladylike. "And if a hansom-cab runs over you in Oxford Street, you goand get the damages out of the Shah of Persia. That's the line totake. "

This answer exasperated me by its silliness, and I had quite made up mymind not to say another word of any kind during breakfast. Indeed, butfor the fact that I had not quite finished my bacon and that I hatewaste, I should have got up and walked out of the room there and then. 

A little later I happened to look up, and it struck me from Eliza'sface that she might be going to cry. I therefore made a point of sayingthat the butter was better than we had been having lately, and that itlooked like being a fine day after all. Anything like weakness isrepellent to me, but still, when one sees that one's words have gonehome, one is justified in not pressing the matter further. 

Still, I am prepared to own that I started for the city in but lowspirits, and with no inclination to join in the frivolous conversationthat was going on in the railway carriage. On arriving at the office Iwas surprised to find that Figgis, our head clerk, was not there. Hegave me the tonic port, and was inclined to be dictatorial, but I mustconfess that he was always a most punctual man. I was very muchsurprised. 

 * * * * *

Our senior partner, Mr. Bagshaw, came much earlier than usual, --10. 30, to be precise, --and sent for me at once. He is a big, fat man; hespeaks in short sentences, and breathes hard in between them. At themoment of entering his room I was as certain that I was about to besacked as I have ever been of anything that I did not really know. Iwas wrong. 

He made me sit down, glared at me, and began:

"Yesterday evening we detained Mr. Figgis for a few minutes. At the endof our interview with him he left this office for ever, never toreturn--never!"

I said that I was very much astonished. 

"We weren't. We've known there was a leakage. People knew what we weredoing--people who oughtn't to know. He sold information. We put ondetectives. They proved it. See?"

I said that I saw. 

"So you've got Figgis's place for the future. See?"

At that moment you might have knocked me down with a feather; it was soabsolutely unexpected. Give me time, and I think I can provide a fewwell-chosen words suitable to the occasion as well as any man. But nowI could think of nothing to say but "Thank you. "

He went on to explain that this would mean an immediate rise of £75, and a prospective rise of a further £75 at the end of a year if my workwas satisfactory. He said that I had not Figgis's abilities, of course, but that a very close eye had been kept on me lately, and I had shownmyself to be honest, methodical, and careful in details. It was alsobelieved that I should realize the importance of a responsible andconfidential position, and that I should keep the men under me up tothe mark. 

The rest of our conversation was concerned with my new duties, and atthe close of it he handed me Figgis's keys--my own name and the officeaddress had been already put on the label. 

I should not be fair to myself if I did not make some reference to Mr. Bagshaw's comparison of Figgis's abilities and my own. I will merelystate the fact that on more than one occasion Figgis has gained successor avoided failure from suggestions made to him by myself. That he didnot give me the credit for this with the firm is precisely what Ishould have expected from a man of that character. However, I have myopportunity now, and the firm will see. 

 * * * * *

When I returned to the clerks' office I found one of the juniorsplaying the fool. 

"I wish you'd stop that, please, " I said, "and get on with your work. "

"Who gave you the right to give orders here?" he asked me, rudely. 

Fortunately, that was what I had expected he would say, and therefore Ihad my answer ready:

"Mr. Bagshaw did, three minutes ago, when he made me head of thisdepartment in place of Mr. Figgis. "

And without another word I went calmly to Mr. Figgis's desk andunlocked it. The effect was remarkable, and gave me great pleasure. During the luncheon hour I received several congratulations, and waspressed to partake of liquor. But I had long ago made up my mind thatif the firm ever did place me in a good and responsible position, Iwould give up alcohol during business hours altogether. I carried outthat resolution, and shall continue to do so; Figgis, with all hisso-called abilities, was frequently drowsy in the afternoon. Apart fromthat, I hope I was not wanting in geniality. I snatched a few momentsto telegraph to Eliza: "Meet train to-night. Very good news for you. "

On my way to the station I purchased a small bottle of champagne, --itcost half a crown, but the price for this wine is always pretty stiff. I also took back with me in my bag a tinned tongue and some pears. 

Eliza was waiting for me, and was obviously excited. She had guessedwhat had happened. 

"Got Figgis's berth?" she said. 

"Yes. Let's get off the platform as soon as we can. Everybody's lookingat us. "

We walked home very quickly, Eliza asking questions all the way, andlooking, as I noticed, quite five years younger. After what I have saidas to my purchases, I need not add that supper that night was a perfectbanquet. 

We had a long discussion as to our future, and did not get to bed untilpast eleven. I was at first in favour of taking a rather better house, but Eliza thought we should do more wisely to spread the money overmaking ourselves more comfortable generally. When she came to go intoit in detail, I found that on the whole hers was the preferable course. New curtains for the drawing-room are to be put in hand at once. Thecharwoman is to come regularly once a week. We raised the girl's wagesa pound, and she went into hysterics. Eliza has insisted that I am tohave a first-class season-ticket in future. There is much can be donewith £75. 

On the whole, about the happiest evening of my life. 

THE END.