Paul Kelver..........................................................................................................................................................1

Jerome K. Jerome .....................................................................................................................................1

STORY UPON ANOTHER...................................................................................................................1

BOOK I ....................................................................................................................................................4

GOES TO MEET THE MAN IN GREY. ...............................................................................................4

UGLY MOUTH. ....................................................................................................................................16

PRINCESS OF THE GOLDEN LOCKS..............................................................................................32

WAY. .....................................................................................................................................................40

THE LADY OF THE LOVELIT EYES. ............................................................................................48

CHAPTER VII. OF THE PASSING OF THE SHADOW. ...................................................................57

CHAPTER VIII. HOW THE MAN IN GREY MADE READY FOR HIS GOING. ...........................66

CHAPTER IX. OF THE FASHIONING OF PAUL.............................................................................78

BOOK II. ..............................................................................................................................................101

CHAPTER I. DESCRIBES THE DESERT ISLAND TO WHICH PAUL WAS DRIFTED. ............101

COMPANY. AND BECOMES CAPTIVE TO ONE OF HAUGHTY MIEN.................................113

SETTING OUT, HE WILL GO AVISITING..................................................................................127

CHAPTER IV. LEADS TO A MEETING. .........................................................................................143

MAKING OF LOVE...........................................................................................................................167

CHAPTER VII. HOW PAUL SET FORTH UPON A QUEST. .........................................................177

CHAPTER VIII. AND HOW CAME BACK AGAIN. .......................................................................195

CHAPTER IX. THE PRINCESS OF THE GOLDEN LOCKS SENDS PAUL A RING..................203

CHAPTER X. PAUL FINDS HIS WAY............................................................................................216

At the corner of a long, straight, brickbuilt street in the far East End of Londonone of those lifeless

streets, made of two drab walls upon which the level lines, formed by the precisely even windowsills and

doorsteps, stretch in weary perspective from end to end, suggesting petrified diagrams proving dead

problemsstands a house that ever draws me to it; so that often, when least conscious of my footsteps, I

awake to find myself hurrying through noisy, crowded thoroughfares, where flaring naphtha lamps illumine

fierce, patient, leadencoloured faces; through dimlit, empty streets, where monstrous shadows come and

go upon the closedrawn blinds; through narrow, noisome streets, where the gutters swarm with children, and

each everopen doorway vomits riot; past reeking corners, and across waste places, till at last I reach the

dreary goal of my memorydriven desire, and, coming to a halt beside the broken railings, find rest.

The house, larger than its fellows, built when the street was still a country lane, edging the marshes, strikes a

strange note of individuality amid the surrounding harmony of hideousness. It is encompassed on two sides

by what was once a garden, though now but a barren patch of stones and dust where clothesit is odd any

one should have thought of washinghang in perpetuity; while about the door continue the remnants of a

Occasionally I drift hitherward in the day time, when slatternly women gossip round the area gates, and the

silence is broken by the hoarse, wailing cry of "Coalsany coalsthree and sixpence a

sackcoooals!" chanted in a tone that absence of response has stamped with chronic melancholy; but

then the street knows me not, and my old friend of the corner, ashamed of its shabbiness in the unpitying

Not until the Night, merciful alone of all things to the ugly, draws her veil across its sordid features will it, as

some fond old nurse, sought out in after years, open wide its arms to welcome me. Then the teeming life it

now shelters, hushed for a time within its walls, the flickering flare from the "King of Prussia" opposite

extinguished, will it talk with me of the past, asking me many questions, reminding me of many things I had

forgotten. Then into the silent street come the wellremembered footsteps; in and out the creaking gate pass,

not seeing me, the wellremembered faces; and we talk concerning them; as two cronies, turning the torn

leaves of some old album where the faded portraits in forgotten fashions, speak together in low tones of those

now dead or scattered, with now a smile and now a sigh, and many an "Ah me!" or "Dear, dear!"

This bent, worn man, coming towards us with quick impatient steps, which yet cease every fifty yards or so,

while he pauses, leaning heavily upon his high Malacca cane: "It is a handsome face, is it not?" I ask, as I

"Aye, handsome enough," answers the old House; "and handsomer still it must have been before you and I

"I never could make out," continues the old House, musingly, "whom you took after; for they were a

handsome pair, your father and your mother, though Lord! what a couple of children!"

"Children!" I say in surprise, for my father must have been past five and thirty before the House could have

known him, and my mother's face is very close to mine, in the darkness, so that I see the many grey hairs

"Children," repeats the old House, irritably, so it seems to me, not liking, perhaps, its opinions questioned, a

failing common to old folk; "the most helpless pair of children I ever set eyes upon. Who but a child, I should

like to know, would have conceived the notion of repairing his fortune by becoming a solicitor at

thirtyeight, or, having conceived such a notion, would have selected the outskirts of Poplar as a likely centre

"It was considered to be a rising neighbourhood," I reply, a little resentful. No son cares to hear the family

wisdom criticised, even though at the bottom of his heart he may be in agreement with the critic. "All sorts

and conditions of men, whose affairs were in connection with the sea would, it was thought, come to reside

hereabout, so as to be near to the new docks; and had they, it is not unreasonable to suppose they would have

quarrelled and disputed with one another, much to the advantage of a cute solicitor, convenient to their hand."

"Stuff and nonsense," retorts the old House, shortly; "why, the mere smell of the place would have been

sufficient to keep a sensible man away. And"the grim brick face before me twists itself into a goblin

smile"he, of all men in the world, as 'the cute solicitor,' giving advice to shady clients, eager to get out of

trouble by the shortest way, can you fancy it! he who for two years starved himself, living on five shillings a

weekthat was before you came to London, when he was here alone. Even your mother knew nothing of it

till years afterwardsso that no man should be a penny the poorer for having trusted his good name. Do you

think the crew of chandlers and brokers, dock hustlers and freight wreckers would have found him a useful

"And your mother! would any but a child have taken that softtongued wanton to her bosom, and not have

seen through acting so transparent? Would any but the veriest child that never ought to have been let out into

the world by itself have thought to dree her weird in such folly? Children! poor babies they were, both of

"Tell me," I sayfor at such times all my stock of common sense is not sufficient to convince me that the

old House is but clay. From its walls so full of voices, from its floors so thick with footsteps, surely it has

learned to live; as a violin, long played on, comes to learn at last a music of its own. "Tell me, I was but a

child to whom life speaks in a strange tongue, was there any truth in the story?"

"Truth!" snaps out the old House; "just truth enough to plant a lie upon; and Lord knows not much ground is

needed for that weed. I saw what I saw, and I know what I know. Your mother had a good man, and your

father a true wife, but it was the old story: a man's way is not a woman's way, and a woman's way is not a

"Aye, in the end," answers the House. "That is when you begin to understand, you men and women, when

The grave face of a not too recently washed angel peeps shyly at me through the railings, then, as I turn my

"She? Oh, she is well enough," replies the House. "She lives close here. You must have passed the shop. You

might have seen her had you looked in. She weighs fourteen stone, about; and has nine children living. She

"Thank you," I say, with a laugh that is not wholly a laugh; "I do not think I will call." But I still hear the

The faces thicken round me. A large looming, rubicund visage smiles kindly on me, bringing back into my

heart the old, odd mingling of instinctive liking held in check by conscientious disapproval. I turn from it,

and see a massive, cleanshaven face, with the ugliest mouth and the loveliest eyes I ever have known in a

The wind whisks it aside, leaving to view a little old woman, hobbling nimbly by aid of a stick. Three

corkscrew curls each side of her head bob with each step she takes, and as she draws near to me, making the

most alarming grimaces, I hear her whisper, as though confiding to herself some fascinating secret, "I'd like

It sounds a fiendish sentiment, yet I only laugh, and the little old lady, with a final facial contortion

Then, as though choosing contrasts, follows a fair, laughing face. I saw it in the life only a few hours agoat

least, not it, but the poor daub that Evil has painted over it, hating the sweetness underlying. And as I stand

gazing at it, wishing it were of the dead who change not, there drifts back from the shadows that other face,

the one of the wicked mouth and the tender eyes, so that I stand again helpless between the two I loved so

well, he from whom I learned my first steps in manhood, she from whom I caught my first glimpse of the

beauty and the mystery of woman. And again the cry rises from my heart, "Whose fault was ityours or

hers?" And again I hear his mocking laugh as he answers, "Whose fault? God made us." And thinking of her

and of the love I bore her, which was as the love of a young pilgrim to a saint, it comes into my blood to hate

him. But when I look into his eyes and see the pain that lives there, my pity grows stronger than my misery,

Merry faces and sad, fair faces and foul, they ride upon the wind; but the centre round which they circle

remains always the one: a little lad with golden curls more suitable to a girl than to a boy, with shy, awkward

And, turning from him to my old brick friend, I ask: "Would he know me, could he see me, do you think?"

"How should he," answers the old House, "you are so different to what he would expect. Would you

We both remained silent for awhile; but I know of what the old House is thinking. Soon it speaks as I

"Youwriter of stories, why don't you write a book about him? There is something that you know."

It is the favourite theme of the old House. I never visit it but it suggests to me this idea.

"Aye, but only in London in these prosaic modern times," I persist. "How of such can one make a story that

"'The people!'" it retorts, "what are you all but children in a dimlit room, waiting until one by one you are

called out to sleep. And one mounts upon a stool and tells a tale to the others who have gathered round. Who

Returning home with musing footsteps through the softly breathing streets, I ponder the words of the old

House. Is it but as some foolish mother thinking all the world interested in her child, or may there lie wisdom

in its counsel? Then to my guidance or misguidance comes the thought of a certain small section of the

Public who often of an evening commands of me a story; and who, when I have told her of the dreadful

giants and of the gallant youths who slay them, of the woodcutter's sons who rescue maidens from

Ogreguarded castles; of the Princesses the most beautiful in all the world, of the Princes with magic swords,

still unsatisfied, creeps closer yet, saying: "Now tell me a real story," adding for my comprehending: "You

know: about a little girl who lived in a big house with her father and mother, and who was sometimes

So perhaps among the many there may be some who for a moment will turn aside from tales of haughty

Heroes, ruffling it in Court and Camp, to listen to the story of a very ordinary lad who lived with very

ordinary folk in a modern London street, and who grew up to be a very ordinary sort of man, loving a little

and grieving a little, helping a few and harming a few, struggling and failing and hoping; and if any such

But let not those who come to me grow indignant as they listen, saying: "This rascal tells us but a humdrum

story, where nothing is as it should be;" for I warn all beforehand that I tell but of things that I have seen. My

villains, I fear, are but poor sinners, not altogether bad; and my good men but sorry saints. My princes do not

always slay their dragons; alas, sometimes, the dragon eats the prince. The wicked fairies often prove more

powerful than the good. The magic thread leads sometimes wrong, and even the hero is not always brave and

So let those come round me only who will be content to hear but their own story, told by another, saying as

Fate intended me for a singularly fortunate man. Properly, I ought to have been born in June, which being, as

is well known, the luckiest month in all the year for such events, should, by thoughtful parents, be more

generally selected. How it was I came to be born in May, which is, on the other hand, of all the twelve the

most unlucky, as I have proved, I leave to those more conversant with the subject to explain. An early nurse,

the first human being of whom I have any distinct recollection, unhesitatingly attributed the unfortunate fact

to my natural impatience; which quality she at the same time predicted would lead me into even greater

trouble, a prophecy impressed by future events with the stamp of prescience. It was from this same bony lady

that I likewise learned the manner of my coming. It seems that I arrived, quite unexpectedly, two hours after

news had reached the house of the ruin of my father's mines through inundation; misfortunes, as it was

expounded to me, never coming singly in this world to any one. That all things might be of a piece, my poor

mother, attempting to reach the bell, fell against and broke the chevalglass, thus further saddening herself

with the convictionfor no amount of reasoning ever succeeded in purging her Welsh blood of its natural

superstitionthat whatever might be the result of future battles with my evil star, the first seven years of tiny

"And I must confess," added the knobbly Mrs. Fursey, with a sigh, "it does look as though there must be

"Then ain't I a lucky little boy?" I asked. For hitherto it had been Mrs. Fursey's method to impress upon me

my exceptional good fortune. That I could and did, involuntarily, retire to bed at six, while less happily

placed children were deprived of their natural rest until eight or nine o'clock, had always been held up to me

as an astounding piece of luck. Some little boys had not a bed at all; for the which, in my more riotous

moments, I envied them. Again, that at the first sign of a cold it became my unavoidable privilege to lunch

off linseed gruel and sup off brimstone and treaclea compound named with deliberate intent to deceive the

innocent, the treacle, so far as taste is concerned, being wickedly subordinated to the brimstonewas another

example of Fortune's favouritism: other little boys were so astoundingly unlucky as to be left alone when they

felt ill. If further proof were needed to convince that I had been signalled out by Providence as its especial

protege, there remained always the circumstance that I possessed Mrs. Fursey for my nurse. The suggestion

"Oh, you! You are lucky enough," she replied; "I was thinking of your poor mother."

Mrs. Fursey was one of those wellmeaning persons who are of opinion that the only reasonable attitude of

I can see the picture plainly still. I am sitting on a low chair before the nursery fire, one knee supported in my

locked hands, meanwhile Mrs. Fursey's needle grated with monotonous regularity against her thimble. At that

But even while, with heart full of dignified resentment, I propounded this, as I proudly felt, logically

unanswerable question, I was glad that she had. The vision of my being refused at the bedroom window

presented itself to my imagination. I saw the stork, perplexed and annoyed, looking as I had sometimes seen

Tom Pinfold look when the fish he had been holding out by the tail had been sniffed at by Anna, and the

kitchen door shut in his face. Would the stork also have gone away thoughtfully scratching his head with one

of those long, compasslike legs of his, and muttering to himself. And here, incidentally, I fell awondering

how the stork had carried me. In the garden I had often watched a blackbird carrying a worm, and the worm,

though no doubt really safe enough, had always appeared to me nervous and uncomfortable. Had I wriggled

and squirmed in like fashion? And where would the stork have taken me to then? Possibly to Mrs. Fursey's:

their cottage was the nearest. But I felt sure Mrs. Fursey would not have taken me in; and next to them, at the

first house in the village, lived Mr. Chumdley, the cobbler, who was lame, and who sat all day hammering

boots with very dirty hands, in a little cave half under the ground, his whole appearance suggesting a

poorspirited ogre. I should have hated being his little boy. Possibly nobody would have taken me in. I grew

pensive, thinking of myself as the rejected of all the village. What would the stork have done with me, left on

"Yes, I know. But where did the stork get me from?" Mrs. Fursey paused for quite a long while before

replying. Possibly she was reflecting whether such answer might not make me unduly conceited. Eventually

she must have decided to run that risk; other opportunities could be relied upon for neutralising the effect.

"But I thought Heaven was a place where you went to," I answered; "not where you comed from." I know I

said "comed," for I remember that at this period my irregular verbs were a bewildering anxiety to my poor

mother. "Comed" and "goned," which I had worked out for myself, were particular favourites of mine.

Mrs. Fursey passed over my grammar in dignified silence. She had been pointedly requested not to trouble

herself with that part of my education, my mother holding that diverging opinions upon the same subject only

"You came from Heaven," repeated Mrs. Fursey, "and you'll go to Heavenif you're good."

"So they say." Mrs. Fursey's tone implied that she was stating what might possibly be but a popular fallacy,

"And did you come from Heaven, Mrs. Fursey?" Mrs. Fursey's reply to this was decidedly more emphatic.

At once, I am ashamed to say, Heaven lost its exalted position in my eyes. Even before this, it had puzzled

me that everybody I knew should be going therefor so I was always assured; now, connected as it appeared

But this was not all. Mrs. Fursey's information had suggested to me a fresh grief. I stopped not to console

myself with the reflection that my fate had been but the fate of all little boys and girls. With a child's egoism I

"Didn't they want me in Heaven then, either?" I asked. "Weren't they fond of me up there?"

The misery in my voice must have penetrated even Mrs. Fursey's bosom, for she answered more

"Oh, they liked you well enough, I daresay. I like you, but I like to get rid of you sometimes." There could be

no doubt as to this last. Even at the time, I often doubted whether that six o'clock bedtime was not

The answer comforted me not. It remained clear that I was not wanted either in Heaven nor upon the earth.

God did not want me. He was glad to get rid of me. My mother did not want me. She could have done

And then, as the sudden opening and shutting of the door of a dark room, came into my childish brain the

feeling that Something, somewhere, must have need of me, or I could not be, Something I felt I belonged to

and that belonged to me, Something that was as much a part of me as I of It. The feeling came back to me

more than once during my childhood, though I could never put it into words. Years later the son of the

Portuguese Jew explained to me my thought. But all that I myself could have told was that in that moment I

The next instant all was dark again, and I once more a puzzled little boy, sitting by a nursery fire, asking of a

"What maggot has the child got into its head now?" was her observation; "who hasn't got a husband?"

"You wicked child, you; where's your commandments? Your father is in London working hard to earn money

to keep you in idleness, and you sit there and say 'What's the good of him!' I'd be ashamed to be such an

I had not meant to be ungrateful. My words were but the repetition of a conversation I had overheard the day

Had said my aunt: "There she goes, moping again. Drat me if ever I saw such a thing to mope as a woman."

My aunt was entitled to preach on the subject. She herself grumbled all day about all things, but she did it

My mother was standing with her hands clasped behind hera favourite attitude of hersgazing through

the high French window into the garden beyond. It must have been spring time, for I remember the white and

"I want a husband," had answered my mother, in a tone so ludicrously childish that at sound of it I had looked

up from the fairy story I was reading, half expectant to find her changed into a little girl; "I hate not having a

"Help us and save us," my aunt had retorted; "how many more does a girl want? She's got one."

"What's the good of him all that way off," had pouted my mother; "I want him here where I can get at him."

I had often heard of this father of mine, who lived far away in London, and to whom we owed all the

blessings of life; but my childish endeavours to square information with reflection had resulted in my

assigning to him an entirely spiritual existence. I agreed with my mother that such an one, however to be

revered, was no substitute for the flesh and blood father possessed by luckier folkthe big, strong,

masculine thing that would carry a fellow pigaback round the garden, or take a chap to sail in boats.

"You don't understand me, nurse," I explained; "what I mean is a husband you can get at."

"Well, and you'll 'get at him,' poor gentleman, one of these days," answered Mrs. Fursey. "When he's ready

I felt that still Mrs. Fursey didn't understand. But I foresaw that further explanation would only shock her, so

"I do think," said Mrs. Fursey, in the voice of resigned despair rather than of surprise, "that, without

exception, you are the silliest little boy I ever came across. I've no patience with you."

"Then," interrupted Mrs. Fursey, in the voice of many generations, "you shouldn't think. London," continued

the good dame, her experience no doubt suggesting that the shortest road to peace would be through my

understanding of this matter, "is a big town, and you go there in a train. Some timesoon nowyour father

will write to your mother that everything is ready. Then you and your mother and your aunt will leave this

"And I'll never play in the garden again, never go down to the pebbleridge to tea, or to Jacob's tower?"

"Never again." I think Mrs. Fursey took a pleasure in the phrase. It sounded, as she said it, like something out

"And I'll never see Anna, or Tom Pinfold, or old Yeo, or Pincher, or you, ever any more?" In this moment of

the crumbling from under me of all my footholds I would have clung even to that dry tuft, Mrs. Fursey

"Never any more. You'll go away and begin an entirely new life. And I do hope, Master Paul," added Mrs.

But Mrs. Fursey's wellmeant exhortations, whatever they may have been, fell upon deaf ears. Here was I

face to face with yet another problem. This life into which I had fallen: it was understandable! One went

away, leaving the pleasant places that one knew, never to return to them. One left one's labour and one's play

to enter upon a new existence in a strange land. One parted from the friends one had always known, one saw

them never again. Life was indeed a strange thing; and, would a body comprehend it, then must a body sit

That night, when my mother came to kiss me goodnight, I turned my face to the wall and pretended to be

asleep, for children as well as grownups have their foolish moods; but when I felt the soft curls brush my

cheek, my pride gave way, and clasping my arms about her neck, and drawing her face still closer down to

"I suppose you couldn't send me back now, could you? You see, you've had me so long."

My mother knelt down beside the bed so that her face and mine were on a level, and looking into her eyes,

"Who has been talking foolishly to a foolish little boy?" asked my mother, keeping my arms still clasped

"Oh, nurse and I were discussing things, you know," I answered, "and she said you could have done without

me. Somehow, I did not mind repeating the words now; clearly it could have been but Mrs. Fursey's fun.

"Well, you see," I replied, "I came at a very awkward time, didn't I; when you had a lot of other troubles."

"I did not know you thought about such things," she said; "we must be more together, you and I, Paul, and

you shall tell me all you think, because nurse does not quite understand you. It is true what she said about the

trouble; it came just at that time. But I could not have done without you. I was very unhappy, and you were

"Then it was lucky, your having me?" I said. Again my mother laughed, and again there followed that graver

"Will you remember what I am going to say?" She spoke so earnestly that I, wriggling into a sitting posture,

"Not very," smiled my mother; "but if you think about it a good deal it will not leave you. When you are a

good boy, and later on, when you are a good man, then I am the luckiest little mother in all the world. And

every time you fail, that means bad luck for me. You will remember that after I'm gone, when you are a big

So, both of us quite serious, I promised; and though I smile now when I remember, seeing before me those

two earnest, childish faces, yet I think, however little success it may be I have to boast of, it would perhaps

From that day my mother waxes in my memory; Mrs. Fursey, of the many promontories, waning. There were

sunny mornings in the neglected garden, where the leaves played round us while we worked and read;

twilight evenings in the window seat where, half hidden by the dark red curtains, we would talk in whispers,

why I know not, of good men and noble women, ogres, fairies, saints and demons; they were pleasant days.

Possibly our curriculum lacked method; maybe it was too varied and extensive for my age, in consequence of

which chronology became confused within my brain, and fact and fiction more confounded than has usually

been considered permissible, even in history. I saw Aphrodite, ready armed and risen from the sea, move with

stately grace to meet King Canute, who, throned upon the sand, bade her come no further lest she should wet

his feet. In forest glade I saw King Rufus fall from a poisoned arrow shot by Robin Hood; but thanks to sweet

Queen Eleanor, who sucked the poison from his wound, I knew he lived. Oliver Cromwell, having killed

King Charles, married his widow, and was in turn stabbed by Hamlet. Ulysses, in the Argo, it was fixed upon

my mind, had discovered America. Romulus and Remus had slain the wolf and rescued Little Red Riding

Hood. Good King Arthur, for letting the cakes burn, had been murdered by his uncle in the Tower of London.

Prometheus, bound to the Rock, had been saved by good St. George. Paris had given the apple to William

Tell. What matter! the information was there. It needed rearranging, that was all.

Sometimes, of an afternoon, we would climb the steep winding pathway through the woods, past awful

precipices, spirithaunted, by grassy swards where fairies danced o' nights, by briar and bracken sheltered

Caves where fearsome creatures lurked, till high above the creeping sea we would reach the open plateau

where rose old Jacob's ruined tower. "Jacob's Folly" it was more often called about the country side, and by

some "The Devil's Tower;" for legend had it that there old Jacob and his master, the Devil, had often met in

windy weather to wave false wrecking lights to troubled ships. Who "old Jacob" was, I never, that I can

remember, learned, nor how nor why he built the Tower. Certain only it is his memory was unpopular, and

the fisher folk would swear that still on stormy nights strange lights would gleam and flash from the

But in day time no spot was more inviting, the short mossgrass before its shattered door, the lichen on its

crumbling stones. From its topmost platform one saw the distant mountains, faint like spectres, and the silent

ships that came and vanished; and about one's feet the pleasant farm lands and the grave, sweet river.

Smaller and poorer the world has grown since then. Now, behind those hills lie naught but smoky towns and

dingy villages; but then they screened a land of wonder where princesses dwelt in castles, where the cities

were of gold. Now the ocean is but six days' journey wide, ending at the New York Custom House. Then, had

one set one's sail upon it, one would have travelled far and far, beyond the golden moonlight, beyond the gate

of clouds; to the magic land of the blood red shore, t'other side o' the sun. I never dreamt in those days a

Upon the topmost platform a wooden seat ran round within the parapet, and sitting there hand in hand,

sheltered from the wind which ever blew about the tower, my mother would people for me all the earth and

air with the forms of myth and legendperhaps unwisely, yet I do not know. I took no harm from it, good

rather, I think. They were beautiful fancies, most of them; or so my mother turned them, making for love and

pity, as do all the tales that live, whether poems or old wives fables. But at that time of course they had no

meaning for me other than the literal; so that my mother, looking into my eyes, would often hasten to add:

"But that, you know, is only an old superstition, and of course there are no such things nowadays." Yet,

forgetful sometimes of the time, and overtaken homeward by the shadows, we would hasten swiftly through

Spring had waxed to summer, summer waned to autumn. Then my aunt and I one morning, waiting at the

breakfast table, saw through the open window my mother skipping, dancing, pirouetting up the garden path.

She held a letter open in her hand, which as she drew near she waved about her head, singing:

"Just like 'em all. Goes mad with joy. What for? Because she's going to leave a decent house, to live in a poky

To my aunt the second person ever remained a grammatical superfluity. Invariably she spoke not to but of a

person, throwing out her conversation in the form of commentary. This had the advantage of permitting the

party intended to ignore it as mere impersonal philosophy. Seeing it was generally uncomplimentary, most

people preferred so to regard it; but my mother had never succeeded in schooling herself to indifference.

"It's not a poky hole," she replied; "it's an oldfashioned house, near the river."

"So it is the river," returned my mother; "the river is the other side of the marshes."

"And it's got a garden," continued my mother, ignoring my aunt's last remark; "which is quite an unusual

feature in a London house. And it isn't the East End of London; it is a rising suburb. And you won't make me

"Drat the woman!" said my aunt, "why can't she sit down and give us our tea before it's all cold?"

"Not half milk," said my aunt. My aunt was never in the least disturbed by other people's opinion of her,

For three days my mother packed and sang; and a dozen times a day unpacked and laughed, looking for

things wanted that were always found at the very bottom of the very last box looked into, so that Anna,

waiting for a certain undergarment of my aunt's which shall be nameless, suggested a saving of time:

"If I were you, ma'am," said Anna, "I'd look into the last box you're going to look into first."

But it was found eventually in the first boxthe box, that is, my mother had intended to search first, but

which, acting on Anna's suggestion, she had reserved till the last. This caused my mother to be quite short

with Anna, who she said had wasted her time. But by Tuesday afternoon all stood ready: we were to start

That evening, missing my mother in the house, I sought her in the garden and found her, as I had expected, on

her favourite seat under the great lime tree; but to my surprise there were tears in her eyes.

"So I am," answered my mother, drying her eyes only to make room for fresh tears.

Grownup folks with their contradictory ways were a continual puzzle to me in those days; I am not sure I

We were up and off next day before the dawn. The sun rose as the wagon reached the top of the hill; and

there we paused and took our farewell look at Old Jacob's Tower. My mother cried a little behind her veil;

but my aunt only said, "I never did care for earwigs in my tea;" and as for myself I was too excited and

On the journey I sat next to an exceptionally large and heavy man, who in his sleepand he slept

oftenimagined me to be a piece of stuffing out of place. Then, grunting and wriggling, he would endeavour

to rub me out, until the continued irritation of my head between the window and his back would cause him to

awake, when he would look down upon me reprovingly but not unkindly, observing to the carriage generally:

"It's a funny thing, ain't it, nobody's ever made a boy yet that could keep still for ten seconds." After which he

would pat me heartily on the head, to show he was not vexed with me, and fall to sleep again upon me. He

My mother sat occupied chiefly with her own thoughts, and my aunt had found a congenial companion in a

lady who had had her cap basket sat upon; so I was left mainly to my own resources. When I could get my

head free of the big man's back, I gazed out of the window, and watched the flying fragments as we shed the

world. Now a village would fall from us, now the yellow cornland would cling to us for awhile, or a wood

catch at our rushing feet, and sometimes a strong town would stop us, and hold us, panting for a space. Or,

my eyes weary, I would sit and listen to the hoarse singing of the wheels beneath my feet. It was a

followed by a low, rumbling laugh. Sometimes fortissimo, sometimes pianissimo; now vivace, now largo; but

ever those same two lines, and ever followed by the same low, rumbling laugh; still to this day the iron

Later on I also must have slept, for I dreamt that as the result of my having engaged in single combat with a

dragon, the dragon, ignoring all the rules of Fairyland, had swallowed me. It was hot and stuffy in the

dragon's stomach. He had, so it appeared to me, disgracefully overeaten himself; there were hundreds of us

there, entirely undigested, including Mother Hubbard and a gentleman named Johnson, against whom, at that

period, I entertained a strong prejudice by reason of our divergent views upon the subject of spelling. Even in

this hour of our mutual discomfort Johnson would not leave me alone, but persisted in asking me how I spelt

Jonah. Nobody was looking, so I kicked him. He sprang up and came after me. I tried to run away, but

became wedged between Hopo'myThumb and Julius Caesar. I suppose our tearing about must have hurt

the dragon, for at that moment he gave vent to a most fearful scream, and I awoke to find the fat man rubbing

his left shin, while we struggled slowly, with steps growing ever feebler, against a sea of brick that every

We scrambled out of the carriage into a great echoing cave that might have been the dragon's home, where, to

He put my mother down and came towards us. He was a tall, thin man, with eyes one felt one would never be

afraid of; and instinctively even then I associated him in my mind with windmills and a lank white horse.

"Why, how he's grown," said the grey man, raising me in his arms until my mother beside me appeared to me

My mother whispered something. I think from her face, for I knew the signs, it was praise of me.

"And he's going to be our new fortune," she added aloud, as the grey man lowered me.

"Then," said my aunt, who had this while been sitting rigid upon a flat black box, "don't drop him down a

I wondered at the time why the grey man's pale face should flush so crimson, and why my mother should

"I only said 'don't drop him down a coalmine,'" returned my aunt, apparently much surprised; "you don't

We passed through glittering, joyous streets, piled high each side with all the good things of the earth; toys

and baubles, jewels and gold, things good to eat and good to drink, things good to wear and good to see;

through pleasant ways where fountains splashed and flowers bloomed. The people wore bright clothes, had

happy faces. They rode in beautiful carriages, they strolled about, greeting one another with smiles. The

children ran and laughed. London, thought I to myself, is the city of the fairies.

It passed, and we sank into a grim city of hoarse, roaring streets, wherein the endless throngs swirled and

surged as I had seen the yellow waters curve and fret, contending, where the river pauses, rockbound. Here

were no bright costumes, no bright faces, none stayed to greet another; all was stern, and swift, and voiceless.

London, then, said I to myself, is the city of the giants. They must live in these towering castles side by side,

But this passed also, and we sank lower yet until we reached a third city, where a pale mist filled each sombre

street. None of the beautiful things of the world were to be seen here, but only the things coarse and ugly.

And wearily to and fro its sunless passages trudged with heavy steps a weary people, coarseclad, and with

dull, listless faces. And London, I knew, was the city of the gnomes who labour sadly all their lives,

imprisoned underground; and a terror seized me lest I, too, should remain chained here, deep down below the

We stopped at last in a long, unfinished street. I remember our pushing our way through a group of dirty

urchins, all of whom, my aunt remarked in passing, ought to be skinned. It was my aunt's one prescription for

all to whom she took objection; but really in the present instance I think it would have been of service;

nothing else whatever could have restored them to cleanliness. Then the door closed behind us with an

The man in grey went to the one window and drew back the curtain; it was growing dusk now. My aunt sat

on a straight, hard chair and stared fixedly at the threearmed gaselier. My mother stood in the centre of the

room with one small ungloved hand upon the table, and I noticedfor I was very nearthat the poor little

"Of course it's not what you've been accustomed to, Maggie," said the man in grey; "but it's only for a little

He spoke in a new, angry voice; but I could not see his face, his back being to the light.

"It is the best home in all the world," she said; and thus we stayed for awhile.

"Nonsense," said my aunt, suddenly; and this aroused us; "it's a poky hole, as I told her it would be. Let her

thank the Lord she's got a man clever enough to get her out of it. I know him; he never could rest where he

It sounded to me a very disagreeable speech; but the grey man laughedI had not heard him laugh till

thenand my mother ran to my aunt and kissed her; and somehow the room seemed to become lighter.

For some reason I slept downstairs that night, on the floor, behind a screen improvised out of a clothes horse

and a blanket; and later in the evening the clatter of knives and forks and the sound of subdued voices awoke

me. My aunt had apparently gone to bed; my mother and the man in grey were talking together over their

"We must buy land," said the voice of the grey man; "London is coming this way. The Somebodies" (I forget

the name my father mentioned) "made all their money by buying up land round New York for a mere song.

"Oh, that's merely a matter of business. You grant a mortgage. The property goes up in value. You borrow

"Being on the spot gives one such an advantage," said the grey man. "I shall know just when to buy. It's a

"If you will hold the dish," said the grey man, "I think I can pour it in without spilling."

"It depends," said the grey man, "upon what he is going to be. For the classics, of course, Oxford."

"I'm not so sure," answered my mother, "it's in the blood. I've often thought that you, Luke, ought to have

"I never had the time," said the grey man. "There were one or two little things"

"They were very beautiful," interrupted my mother. The clatter of the knives and forks continued undisturbed

"There would be no harm, provided I made enough. It's the law of nature. One generation earns, the next

The case of my father and mother was not normal. You understand they had been separated for some years,

and though they were not young in ageindeed, before my childish eyes they loomed quite ancient folk, and

in fact my father must have been nearly forty and my mother quit of thirtyyet, as you will come to think

yourself, no doubt, during the course of my story, they were in all the essentials of life little more than boy

and girl. This I came to see later on, but at that time, had I been consulted by enquiring maid or bachelor, I

might unwittingly have given wrong impressions concerning marriage in the general. I should have described

a husband as a man who could never rest quite content unless his wife were by his side; who twenty times a

day would call from his office door: "Maggie, are you doing anything important? I want to talk to you about a

matter of business." ... "Maggie, are you alone? Oh, all right, I'll come down." Of a wife I should have said

she was a woman whose eyes were ever lovelit when resting on her man; who was glad where he was and

Also, I should have had something to say concerning the alarms and excursions attending residence with any

married couple. I should have recommended the holding up of feet under the table lest, mistaken for other

feet, they should be trodden on and pressed. Also, I should have advised against entry into any room

unpreceded by what in Stageland is termed "noise without." It is somewhat disconcerting to the nervous

incomer to be met, the door still in his hand, by a sound as of people springing suddenly into the air, followed

by a weird scuttling of feet, and then to discover the occupants sitting stiffly in opposite corners, deeply

engaged in book or needlework. But, as I have said, with regard to some households, such precautions might

Personally, I fear, I exercised little or no controlling influence upon my parents in this respect, my intrusions

coming soon to be greeted with: "Oh, it's only Spud," in a tone of relief, accompanied generally by the sofa

cushion; but of my aunt they stood more in awe. Not that she ever said anything, and, indeed, to do her

justice, in her efforts to spare their feelings she erred, if at all, on the side of excess. Never did she move a

footstep about the house except to the music of a sustained and penetrating cough. As my father once

remarked, ungratefully, I must confess, the volume of bark produced by my aunt in a single day would have

done credit to the dying efforts of a hospital load of consumptives; to a robust and perfectly healthy lady the

cost in nervous force must have been prodigious. Also, that no fear should live with them that her eyes had

seen aught not intended for them, she would invariably enter backwards any room in which they might be,

closing the door loudly and with difficulty before turning round: and through dark passages she would walk

singing. No woman alive could have done more; yetsuch is human nature!neither my father nor my

Indeed, strange as it may appear, the more sympathetic towards them she showed herself, the more irritated

"I believe, Fanny, you hate seeing Luke and me happy together," said my mother one day, coming up from

the kitchen to find my aunt preparing for entry into the drawingroom by dropping teaspoons at fivesecond

intervals outside the door: "Don't make yourself so ridiculous." My mother spoke really quite unkindly.

"Hate it!" replied my aunt. "Why should I? Why shouldn't a pair of turtle doves bill and coo, when their

united age is only a little over seventy, the pretty dears?" The mildness of my aunt's answers often surprised

As for my father, he grew positively vindictive. I remember the occasion well. It was the first, though not the

last time I knew him lose his temper. What brought up the subject I forget, but my father stopped suddenly;

"Your aunt"my father may not have intended it, but his tone and manner when speaking of my aunt always

conveyed to me the impression that he regarded me as personally responsible for her existence. This used to

weigh upon me. "Your aunt is the most cantankerous, the most" he broke off, and shook his fist towards

the setting sun. "I wish to God," said my father, "your aunt had a comfortable little income of her own, with a

freehold cottage in the country, by God I do!" But the next moment, ashamed, I suppose, of his brutality:

"Not but what sometimes, of course, she can be very nice, you know," he added; "don't tell your mother what

Another who followed with sympathetic interest the domestic comedy was Susan, our maidofallwork, the

first of a long and varied series, extending unto the advent of Amy, to whom the blessing of Heaven. Susan

was a stout and elderly female, liable to sudden fits of sleepiness, the result, we were given to understand, of

trouble; but her heart, it was her own proud boast, was always in the right place. She could never look at my

father and mother sitting anywhere near each other but she must flop down and weep awhile; the sight of

connubial bliss always reminding her, so she would explain, of the past glories of her own married state.

Though an earnest enquirer, I was never able myself to grasp the ins and outs of this past married life of

Susan's. Whether her answers were purposely framed to elude curiosity, or whether they were the result of a

naturally incoherent mind, I cannot say. Their tendency was to convey confusion.

On Monday I have seen Susan shed tears of regret into the Brussels sprouts, that she had been debarred by the

pressure of other duties from lately watering "his" grave, which, I gathered, was at Manor Park. While on

Tuesday I have listened, blood chilled, to the recital of her intentions should she ever again enjoy the luxury

"But, I thought, Susan, he was dead," was my very natural comment upon this outbreak.

"Who says he ain't a good man?" It was Susan's flying leaps from tense to tense that most bewildered me. "If

I hastened to assure Susan that my observation had been intended in the nature of enquiry, not of assertion.

"Brings me a bottle of ginfor my headachesevery time he comes home," continued Susan, showing

And at some such point as this I would retire to the clearer atmosphere of German grammar or mixed

We suffered a good deal from Susan one way and another; for having regard to the admirable position of her

heart, we all felt it our duty to overlook mere failings of the fleshall but my aunt, that is, who never made

"She's a lazy hussy," was the opinion expressed of her one morning by my aunt, who was rinsing; "a gulping,

snorting, lazy hussy, that's what she is." There was some excuse for my aunt's indignation. It was then eleven

o'clock and Susan was still sleeping off an attack of what she called "newralgy."

"And if she was my cook and housemaid," replied my aunt, "she would see more, the slut!"

"She's not a good servant in many respects," admitted my mother, "but I think she's goodhearted."

"Oh, drat her heart," was my aunt's retort. "The right place for that heart of hers is on the doorstep. And that's

The departure of Susan did take place not long afterwards. It occurred one Saturday night. My mother came

"Susan," gasped my mother, "she's lying on the kitchen floor breathing in the strangest fashion and quite

"I'll go for Washburn," said my father; "if I am quick I shall catch him at the dispensary."

Five minutes later my father came back panting, followed by the doctor. This was a big, blackbearded man;

added to which he had the knack of looking bigger than even he really was. He came down the kitchen stairs

two at a time, shaking the whole house. He brushed my mother aside, and bent over the unconscious Susan,

who was on her back with her mouth wide open. Then he rose and looked at my father and mother, who were

watching him with troubled faces; and then he opened his mouth, and there came from it a roar of laughter,

The next moment he had seized a pail half full of water and had flung it over the woman. She opened her

"Feeling better?" said the doctor, with the pail still in his hand; "have another dose?"

Susan began to gather herself together with the evident intention of expressing her feelings; but before she

could find the first word, he had pushed the three of us outside and slammed the door behind us.

From the top of the stairs we could hear Susan's thick, rancorous voice raging fiercer and fiercer, drowned

every now and then by the man's savage roar of laughter. And, when for want of breath she would flag for a

moment, he would yell out encouragement to her, shouting: "Bravo! Go it, my beauty, give it tongue! Bark,

bark! I love to hear you," applauding her, clapping his hands and stamping his feet.

"He is really a most interesting man when you come to know him," explained my father.

Replied my mother, stiffly: "I don't ever mean to know him." But it is only concerning the past that we

The riot from below ceased at length, and was followed by a new voice, speaking quietly and emphatically,

My mother held her purse open in her hand, and as the man entered the room she went forward to meet him.

"How much do we owe you, Doctor?" said my mother. She spoke in a voice trembling with severity.

"A glass of beer and a chop, Mrs. Kelver," he answered, "which I am coming back in an hour to cook for

myself. And as you will be without any servant," he continued, while my mother stood staring at him

incapable of utterance, "you had better let me cook some for you at the same time. I am an expert at grilling

"But, really, Doctor" my mother began. He laid his huge hand upon her shoulder, and my mother sat down

"My dear lady," he said, "she's a person you never ought to have had inside your house. She's promised me to

be gone in half an hour, and I'm coming back to see she keeps her word. Give her a month's wages, and have

a clear fire ready for me." And before my mother could reply, he had slammed the front door.

"He's a character," said my father; "you might not think it, but he's worshipped about here."

"I hardly know what to make of him," said my mother; "I suppose I had better go out and get some chops;"

Susan went, as sober as a judge, on Friday, as the saying is, her great anxiety being to get out of the house

before the doctor returned. The doctor himself arrived true to his time, and I lay awakefor no human being

ever slept or felt he wanted to sleep while Dr. Washburn was anywhere nearand listened to the gusts of

laughter that swept continually through the house. Even my aunt laughed that supper time, and when the

doctor himself laughed it seemed to me that the bed shook under me. Not liking to be out of it, I did what

spoilt little boys and even spoilt little girls sometimes will do under similar stress of feeling, wrapped the

blanket round my legs and pattered down, with my face set to express the sudden desire of a sensitive and

possibly shortlived child for parents' love. My mother pretended to be angry, but that I knew was only her

company manners. Besides, I really had, if not exactly a pain, an extremely uncomfortable sensation (one

common to me about that period) as of having swallowed the dome of St. Paul's. The doctor said it was a

frequent complaint with children, the result of too early hours and too much study; and, taking me on his

knee, wrote then and there a diet chart for me, which included one tablespoonful of golden syrup four times a

day, and one ounce of sherbet to be placed upon the tongue and taken neat ten minutes before each meal.

That evening will always live in my remembrance. My mother was brighter than I had ever seen her. A flush

was on her cheek and a sparkle in her eye, and looking across at her as she sat holding a small painted screen

to shield her face from the fire, the sense of beauty became suddenly born within me, and answering an

impulse I could not have explained, I slipped down, still with my blanket around me, from the doctor's knee,

and squatted on the edge of the fender, from where, when I thought no one was noticing me, I could steal

So also my father seemed to me to have become all at once bigger and more dignified, talking with a vigour

and an enjoyment that sat newly on him. Aunt Fan was quite witty and agreeablefor her; and even I asked

one or two questions, at which, for some reason or another, everybody laughed; which determined me to

That was the great charm of the man, that by the magnetic spell of his magnificent vitality he drew from

everyone their best. In his company clever people waxed intellectual giants, while the dull sat amazed at their

own originality. Conversing with him, Podsnap might have been piquant, Dogberry incisive. But better than

all else, I found it listening to his own talk. Of what he spoke I could tell you no more than could the children

of Hamelin have told the tune the Pied Piper played. I only know that at the tangled music of his strong voice

the walls of the mean room faded away, and that beyond I saw a brave, laughing world that called to me; a

world full of joyous fight, where some won and some lost. But that mattered not a jot, because whatever else

came of it there was a right royal game for all; a world where merry gentlemen feared neither life nor death,

Such was my first introduction to Dr. Washburn, or to give him the name by which he was known in every

slum and alley of that quarter, Dr. Fighting Hal; and in a minor key that evening was an index to the whole

man. Often he would wrinkle his nose as a dog before it bites, and then he was more brute than manbrutish

in his instincts, in his appetites, brutish in his pleasure, brutish in his fun. Or his deep blue eyes would grow

soft as a mother's, and then you might have thought him an angel in a soft felt hat and a coat so loosefitting

as to suggest the possibility of his wings being folded away underneath. Often have I tried to make up my

mind whether it has been better for me or worse that I ever came to know him; but as easy would it be for the

tree to say whether the rushing winds and the wild rains have shaped it or misshaped.

Susan's place remained vacant for some time. My mother would explain to the few friends who occasionally

came from afar to see us, that her "housemaid" she had been compelled to suddenly discharge, and that we

were waiting for the arrival of a new and better specimen. But the months passed and we still waited, and my

father on the rare days when a client would ring the office bell, would, after pausing a decent interval, open

the front door himself, and then call downstairs indignantly and loudly, to know why "Jane" or "Mary" could

not attend to their work. And my mother, that the breadboy or the milkman might not put it about the

neighbourhood that the Kelvers in the big corner house kept no servant, would hide herself behind a thick veil

For this family of whom I am writing were, I confess, weak and human. Their poverty they were ashamed of

as though it were a crime, and in consequence their life was more full of paltry and useless subterfuge than

should be perhaps the life of brave men and women. The larder, I fancy, was very often bare, but the port and

sherry with the sweet biscuits stood always on the sideboard; and the fire had often to be low in the grate that

my father's tall hat might shine resplendent and my mother's black silk rustle on Sundays.

But I would not have you sneer at them, thinking all pretence must spring from snobbishness and never from

mistaken selfrespect. Some fine gentleman writers there bemen whose world is bounded on the east by

Bond Streetwho see in the struggles of poverty to hide its darns only matter for jest. But myself, I cannot

laugh at them. I know the long hopes and fears that centre round the hired waiter; the long cost of the cream

and the ice jelly ordered the week before from the confectioner's. But to me it is pathetic, not ridiculous.

Heroism is not all of one pattern. Dr. Washburn, had the Prince of Wales come to see him, would have put his

bread and cheese and jug of beer upon the table, and helped His Royal Highness to half. But my father and

mother's tea was very weak that Mr. Jones or Mr. Smith might have a glass of wine should they come to

dinner. I remember the one egg for breakfast, my mother arguing that my father should have it because he

had his business to attend to; my father insisting that my mother should eat it, she having to go out shopping,

a compromise being effected by their dividing it between them, each clamouring for the white as the most

nourishing. And I know however little the meal looked upon the table when we started I always rose well

satisfied. These are small things to speak of, but then you must bear in mind this is a story moving in narrow

To me this life came as a good time. That I was encouraged to eat treacle in preference to butter seemed to

me admirable. Personally, I preferred sausages for dinner; and a supper of fried fish and potatoes, brought in

stealthily in a carpet bag, was infinitely more enjoyable than the set meal where nothing was of interest till

one came to the dessert. What fun there was about it all! The cleaning of the doorstep by night, when from

the illlit street a gentleman with a piece of sacking round his legs might very well pass for a somewhat tall

charwoman. I would keep watch at the gate to give warning should any one looking like a possible late caller

turn the corner of the street, coming back now and then in answer to a low whistle to help my father grope

about in the dark for the hearthstone; he was always mislaying the hearthstone. How much better, helping to

clean the knives or running errands than wasting all one's morning dwelling upon the shocking irregularity of

certain classes of French verbs; or making useless calculations as to how long X, walking four and a quarter

miles an hour, would be overtaking Y, whose powers were limited to three and a half, but who had started

two and three quarter hours sooner; the whole argument being reduced to sheer pedantry by reason of no

information being afforded to the student concerning the respective thirstiness of X and Y.

Even my father and mother were able to take it lightly with plenty of laughter and no groaning that I ever

heard. For over all lay the morning light of hope, and what prisoner, escaping from his dungeon, ever stayed

to think of his torn hands and knees when beyond the distant opening he could see the sunlight glinting

"I had no idea," said my mother, "there was so much to do in a house. In future I shall arrange for the servants

to have regular hours, and a little time to themselves, for rest. Don't you think it right, Luke?"

"Quite right," replied my father; "and I'll tell you another thing we'll do. I shall insist on the landlord's putting

a marble doorstep to the next house we take; you pass a sponge over marble and it is always clean."

Only once, can I recall a cloud. That was one Sunday when my mother, speaking across the table in the

middle of dinner, said to my father, "We might save the rest of that stew, Luke; there's an omelette coming."

My father stepped into the back kitchenwe dined in the kitchen, as a rule, it saved much

"I know the other one was leathery," said my mother, "but it was the fault of the oven, you know it was,

I don't think, to be candid, my mother liked much any joke that was against herself. Indeed, when I come to

There had soon grown up a comradeship between my father and myself for he was the youngest thing I had

met with as yet. Sometimes my mother seemed very young, and later I met boys and girls nearer to my own

age in years; but they grew, while my father remained always the same. The hair about his temples was

turning grey, and when you looked close you saw many crow's feet and lines, especially about the mouth. But

his eyes were the eyes of a boy, his laugh the laugh of a boy, and his heart the heart of a boy. So we were

In a narrow strip of ground we called our garden we would play a cricket of our own, encompassed about by

many novel rules, rendered necessary by the locality. For instance, all hitting to leg was forbidden, as tending

to endanger neighbouring windows, while hitting to off was likewise not to be encouraged, as causing a

temporary adjournment of the game, while batter and bowler went through the house and out into the street to

recover the ball from some predatory crowd of urchins to whom it had evidently appeared as a gift direct

from Heaven. Sometimes rising very early we would walk across the marshes to bathe in a small creek that

led down to the river, but this was muddy work, necessitating much washing of legs on the return home. And

on rare days we would, taking the train to Hackney and walking to the bridge, row up the river Lea, perhaps

But these sports being hedged around with difficulties, more commonly for recreation we would take long

walks. There were pleasant nooks even in the neighbourhood of Plaistow marshes in those days. Here and

there a graceful elm still clung to the troubled soil. Surrounded on all sides by hideousness, picturesque inns

still remained hidden within green walls where, if you were careful not to pry too curiously, you might sit and

sip your glass of beer beneath the oak and dream yourself where reeking chimneys and mean streets were not.

During such walks my father would talk to me as he would talk to my mother, telling me all his wild, hopeful

plans, discussing with me how I was to lodge at Oxford, to what particular branches of study and of sport I

was to give my preference, speaking always with such catching confidence that I came to regard my sojourn

One day, talking of this future, and laughing as we walked briskly. through the shrill streets, I told him the

words my mother had saidlong ago, as it seemed to me, for life is as a stone rolling downhill, and moves

but slowly at first; she and I sitting on the moss at the foot of old "Jacob's Folly"that he was our Prince

fighting to deliver us from the grim castle called "Hard Times," guarded by the dragon Poverty.

"And she was right, Paul," he whispered, pressing my small hand in hisit was necessary to whisper, for the

street where we were was very crowded, but I knew that he wanted to shout. "I will fight him and I will slay

him." My father made passes in the air with his walkingstick, and it was evident from the way they drew

aside that the people round about fancied he was mad. "I will batter down the iron gates and she shall be free.

The gallant gentleman! How long and how bravely he fought! But in the end it was the Dragon triumphed,

the Knight that lay upon the ground, his great heart still. I have read how, with the sword of Honest Industry,

one may always conquer this grim Dragon. But such was in foolish books. In truth, only with the sword of

Chicanery and the stout buckler of Unscrupulousness shall you be certain of victory over him. If you care not

"Louisa!" roared my father down the kitchen stairs, "are you all asleep? Here have I had to answer the front

door myself." Then my father strode into his office, and the door slammed. My father could be very angry

Quarter of an hour later his bell rang with a quick, authoritative jangle. My mother, who was peeling potatoes

with difficulty in washleather gloves, looked at my aunt who was shelling peas. The bell rang again louder

"You go, Paul," said my mother; "say that Louisa" but with the words a sudden flush overspread my

mother's face, and before I could lay down my slate she had drawn off her gloves and had passed me. "No,

A few minutes later the kitchen door opened softly, and my mother's hand, appearing through the jar,

"Walk on your toes," whispered my mother, setting the example as she led the way up the stairs; which after

the manner of stairs showed their disapproval of deception by creaking louder and more often than under any

other circumstances; and in this manner we reached my parents' bedroom, where, in the oldfashioned

wardrobe, relic of better days, reposed my best suit of clothes, or, to be strictly grammatical, my better.

Never before had I worn these on a weekday morning, but all conversation not germane to the question of

getting into them quickly my mother swept aside; and when I was complete, down even to the new

shoesBluchers, we called them in those daystook me by the hand, and together we crept down as we

had crept up, silent, stealthy and alert. My mother led me to the street door and opened it.

"Shan't I want my cap?" I whispered. But my mother only shook her head and closed the door with a bang;

and then the explanation of the pantomime came to me, for with such "business"comic, shall I call it, or

tragic?I was becoming familiar; and, my mother's hand upon my shoulder, we entered my father's office.

Whether from the fact that so often of an eveningour drawingroom being reserved always as a

showroom in case of chance visitors; Cowper's poems, open facedownwards on the wobbly loo table; the

halffinished crochet work, suggestive of elegant leisure, thrown carelessly over the arm of the smaller

easychairthis office would become our sittingroom, its books and papers, as things of no account, being

huddled out of sight; or whether from the readiness with which my father would come out of it at all times to

play at something elseat cricket in the back garden on dry days or ninepins in the passage on wet, charging

back into it again whenever a knock sounded at the front door, I cannot say. But I know that as a child it

never occurred to me to regard my father's profession as a serious affair. To me he was merely playing there,

surrounded by big books and bundles of documents, labelled profusely but consisting only of blank papers;

by japanned tin boxes, lettered imposingly, but for the most part empty. "Sutton Hampden, Esq.," I remember

was practically my mother's workbox. The "Drayton Estates" yielded apparently nothing but apples, a fruit

of which my father was fond; while "Mortgages" it was not until later in life I discovered had no connection

Now, as the door opened, he rose and came towards us. His hair stood up from his head, for it was a habit of

his to rumple it as he talked; and this added to his evident efforts to compose his face into an expression of

businesslike gravity, added emphasis, if such were needed, to the suggestion of the over long schoolboy

"This is the youngster," said my father, taking me from my mother, and passing me on. "Tall for his age, isn't

With a twist of his thick lips, he rolled the evilsmelling cigar he was smoking from the left corner of his

mouth to the right; and held out a fat and not too clean hand, which, as it closed round mine, brought to my

mind the picture of the walrus in my natural history book; with the other he flapped me kindly on the head.

"Like 'is mother, wonderfully like 'is mother, ain't 'e?" he observed, still holding my hand. "And that," he

added with a wink of one of his small eyes towards my father, "is about the 'ighest compliment I can pay 'im,

His eyes were remarkably small, but marvellously bright and piercing; so much so that when he turned them

again upon me I tried to think quickly of something nice about him, feeling sure that he could see right into

"We haven't quite made up our minds as yet," replied my father; "at present we are educating him at home."

"You take my tip," said the fat man, "and learn all you can. Look at me! If I'd 'ad the opportunity of being a

schollard I wouldn't be here offering your father an extravagant price for doin' my work; I'd be able to do it

"You seem to have got on very well without it," laughed my father; and in truth his air of prosperity might

have justified greater selfcomplacency. Rings sparkled on his blunt fingers, and upon the swelling billows

"But you look very clever," I said; and though divining with a child's cuteness that it was desired I should

make a favourable impression upon him, I hoped this would please him, the words were yet spontaneous.

"Well, old Noel Hasluck's not exactly a fool," he assented, "but I'd like myself better if I could talk about

something else than business, and didn't drop my aitches. And so would my little gell."

"You have a daughter?" asked my mother, with whom a child, as a bond of sympathy with the stranger took

the place assigned by most women to disrespectful cooks and incompetent housemaids.

"I won't tell you about 'er. But I'll just bring 'er to see you now and then, ma'am, if you don't mind," answered

My mother glanced across at my father, but the man, intercepting her question, replied to it himself.

"You needn't be afraid, ma'am, that she's anything like me," he assured her quite goodtemperedly; "nobody

ever believes she's my daughter, except me and the old woman. She's a little lady, she is. Freak o' nature, I

He pushed halfacrown into my hand, overriding my parents' susceptibilities with the easy goodtemper of

"No squanderin' it on the 'eathen," was his parting injunction as I left the room; "you spend that on a Christian

It was the first money I ever remember having to spend, that halfcrown of old Hasluck's; suggestions of the

delights to be derived from a new pair of gloves for Sunday, from a Latin grammar, which would then be all

my own, and so on, having hitherto displaced all less exalted visions concerning the disposal of chance coins

coming into my small hands. But on this occasion I was left free to decide for myself.

The anxiety it gave me! the long tossing hours in bed! the tramping of the bewildering streets! Even advice

"You must learn to think for yourself," said my father, who spoke eloquently on the necessity of early

"No, dear," said my mother, "Mr. Hasluck wanted you to spend it as you like. If I told you, that would be

spending it as I liked. Your father and I want to see what you will do with it."

The good little boys in the books bought presents or gave away to people in distress. For this I hated them

with the malignity the lower nature ever feels towards the higher. I consulted my aunt Fan.

"If somebody gave you halfacrown," I put it to her, "what would you buy with it?"

"Drat the child!" said my aunt; "how do I know what he wants if he don't know himself. Idiot!"

The shop windows into which I stared, my nose glued to the pane! The things I asked the price of! The things

I made up my mind to buy and then decided that I wouldn't buy! Even my patient mother began to show signs

of irritation. It was rapidly assuming the dimensions of a family curse, was old Hasluck's halfcrown.

Then one day I made up my mind, and so ended the trouble. In the window of a small plumber's shop in a

back street near, stood on view among brass taps, rolls of lead piping and cistern requisites, various squares

of coloured glass, the sort of thing chiefly used, I believe, for lavatory doors and staircase windows. Some

had stars in the centre, and others, more elaborate, were enriched with designs, severe but inoffensive. I

purchased a dozen of these, the plumber, an affable man who appeared glad to see me, throwing in two extra

Why I bought them I did not know at the time, and I do not know now. My mother cried when she saw them.

My father could get no further than: "But what are you going to do with them?" to which I was unable to

"If a person fancies coloured glass," said my aunt, "then he's a fool not to buy coloured glass when he gets the

In the end, I cut myself badly with them and consented to their being thrown into the dustbin. But looking

back, I have come to regard myself rather as the victim of Fate than of Folly. Many folks have I met since,

recipients of Hasluck's halfcrownsmany a man who has slapped his pocket and blessed the day he first

met that "Napoleon of Finance," as later he came to be known among his friendsbut it ever ended so;

coloured glass and cut fingers. Is it fairy gold that he and his kind fling round? It would seem to be.

Next time old Hasluck knocked at our front door a maid in cap and apron opened it to him, and this was but

the beginning of change. New oilcloth glistened in the passage. Lace curtains, such as in that neighbourhood

were the hallmark of the plutocrat, advertised our rising fortunes to the street, and greatest marvel of all, at

least to my awed eyes, my father's Sunday clothes came into weekday wear, new ones taking their place in

the great wardrobe that hitherto had been the stronghold of our gentility; to which we had ever turned for

comfort when rendered despondent by contemplation of the weakness of our outer walls. "Seeing that

everything was all right" is how my mother would explain it. She would lay the lilac silk upon the bed, fondly

soothing down its rustling undulations, lingering lovingly over its deep frosted flounces of rich Honiton.

Maybe she had entered the room weary looking and depressed, but soon there would proceed from her a

gentle humming as from some small winged thing when the sun first touches it and warms it, and sometimes

by the time the Indian shawl, which could go through a wedding ring, but never would when it was wanted

to, had been refolded and fastened again with the great cameo brooch, and the poke bonnet, like some

fractious child, shaken and petted into good condition, she would be singing softly to herself, nodding her

head to the words: which were generally to the effect that somebody was too old and somebody else too bold

and another too cold, "so he wouldn't do for me;" and stepping lightly as though the burden of the years had

One eveningit was before the advent of this HasluckI remember climbing out of bed, for trouble was

within me. Creatures, indescribable but heavy, had sat upon my chest, after which I had fallen downstairs,

slowly and reasonably for the first few hundred flights, then with haste for the next million miles or so, until I

found myself in the street with nothing on but my nightshirt. Personally, I was shocked, but nobody else

seemed to mind, and I hailed a twopenny 'bus and climbed in. But when I tried to pay I found I hadn't any

pockets, so I jumped out and ran away and the conductor came after me. My feet were like lead, and with

every step he gained on me, till with a scream I made one mighty effort and awoke.

Feeling the need of comfort after these unpleasant but by no means unfamiliar experiences, I wrapped some

clothes round me and crept downstairs. The "office" was dark, but to my surprise a light shone from under the

The candles in the silver candlesticks were lighted, and in state, one in each easychair, sat my father and

mother, both in their best clothes; my father in the buckled shoes and the frilled shirt that I had never seen

him wear before, my mother with the Indian shawl about her shoulders, and upon her head the cap of

ceremony that reposed three hundred and sixty days out of the year in its round wickerwork nest lined with

silk. They started guiltily as I pushed open the door, but I congratulate myself that I had sense enoughor

The last time I had seen them, three hours ago, they had been engaged, the lights carefully extinguished,

cleaning the ground floor windows, my father the outside, my mother within, and it astonished me the change

not only in their appearance, but in their manner and bearing, and even in their very voices. My father

brought over from the sideboard the sherry and sweet biscuits and poured out and handed a glass to my

mother, and he and my mother drank to each other, while I between them ate the biscuits, and the

I wonder am I disloyal setting this down? Maybe to others it shows but a foolish man and woman, and that is

far from my intention. I dwell upon such trifles because to me the memory of them is very tender. The virtues

of our loved ones we admire, yet after all 'tis but what we expected of them: how could they do otherwise?

Their failings we would forget; no one of us is perfect. But over their follies we love to linger, smiling.

To me personally, old Hasluck's coming and all that followed thereupon made perhaps more difference than

to any one else. My father now was busy all the day; if not in his office, then away in the grim city of the

giants, as I still thought of it; while to my mother came every day more social and domestic duties; so that for

Rambling"bummelling," as the Germans term itwas my bent. This my mother would have checked, but

"I don't think the smart people are always the nicest," demurred my mother. "I don't call you at all 'smart,'

"Perhaps you are right, dear," replied my mother; "and of course boys are different from girls."

Sometimes I would wander Victoria Park way, which was then surrounded by many small cottages in leafy

gardens; or even reach as far as Clapton, where old red brick Georgian houses still stood behind high palings,

and tall elms gave to the wide road on sunny afternoons an oldworld air of peace. But such excursions were

the exception, for strange though it may read, the narrow, squalid streets had greater hold on me. Not the few

main thoroughfares, filled ever with a dull, deep throbbing as of some tireless iron machine; where the

endless human files, streaming ever up and down, crossing and recrossing, seemed mere rushing chains of

flesh and blood, working upon unseen wheels; but the dim, weary, lifeless streetsthe dark, tortuous roots,

as I fancied them, of that grim forest of entangled brick. Mystery lurked in their gloom. Fear whispered from

behind their silence. Dumb figures flitted swiftly to and fro, never pausing, never glancing right nor left.

Faroff footsteps, rising swiftly into sound, as swiftly fading, echoed round their lonely comers. Dreading,

yet drawn on, I would creep along their pavements as through some city of the dead, thinking of the eyes I

saw not watching from the thousand windows; starting at each muffled sound penetrating the long, dreary

One day there came a cry from behind a curtained window. I stood still for a moment and then ran; but before

I could get far enough away I heard it again, a long, piercing cry, growing fiercer before it ceased; so that I

ran faster still, not heeding where I went, till I found myself in a raw, unfinished street, ending in black waste

land, bordering the river. I stopped, panting, wondering how I should find my way again. To recover myself

and think I sat upon the doorstep of an empty house, and there came dancing down the road with a curious,

halfrunning, halfhopping stepsomething like a water wagtail'sa child, a boy about my own age, who,

We watched each other for a few minutes; and I noticed that his mouth kept opening and shutting, though he

said nothing. Suddenly, edging closer to me, he spoke in a thick whisper. It sounded as though his mouth

The doorstep that we occupied was the last. A yard beyond began the black waste of mud. From the other end

"I 'avestuck a pin into 'im. 'E never felt it. Don't feel anything when yer dead, do yer?"

All the while he kept swaying his body to and fro, twisting his arms and legs, and making faces. Comical

figures made of gingerbread, with quaintly curved limbs and grinning features, were to be bought then in

"Of course not. When you are dead you're not there, you know. Our bodies are but senseless clay." I was glad

I remembered that line. I tried to think of the next one, which was about food for worms; but it evaded me.

"I like you," he said; and making a fist, he gave me a punch in the chest. It was the token of palship among

the youth of that neighbourhood, and gravely I returned it, meaning it, for friendship with children is an affair

I had no notion what I was not to tell, but our compact demanded that I should agree.

The heroes of my favourite fiction bound themselves by such like secret oaths. Here evidently was a comrade

But he turned again, and taking from his pocket an old knife, thrust it into my hand. Then with that

I stood watching him, wondering where he could be going. He stumbled a little further, where the mud began

to get softer and deeper, but struggling up again, went hopping on towards the river.

I shouted to him, but he never looked back. At every few yards he would sink down almost to his knees in the

black mud, but wrenching himself free would flounder forward. Then, still some distance from the river, he

fell upon his face, and did not rise again. I saw his arms beating feebler and feebler as he sank till at last the

oily slime closed over him, and I could detect nothing but a faint heaving underneath the mud. And after a

It was late before I reached home, and fortunately my father and mother were still out. I did not tell any one

what I had seen, having sworn not to; and as time went on the incident haunted me less and less until it

became subservient to my will. But of my fancy for those silent, lifeless streets it cured me for the time. From

behind their still walls I would hear that long cry; down their narrow vistas see that writhing figure, like some

Have you ever noticed a pack of sparrows round some crumbs perchance that you have thrown out from your

window? Suddenly the rest of the flock will set upon one. There is a tremendous Lilliputian hubbub, a tossing

So I have heard goodtempered men and women calling out to one another with a laugh.

"There go those young devils chivvying that poor little beggar again; ought to be ashamed of theirselves."

But, oh! the anguish of the poor little beggar! Can any one who has not been through it imagine it! Reduced

to its actualities, what was it? Gibes and jeers that, after all, break no bones. A few pinches, kicks and slaps;

at worst a few hard knocks. But the dreading of it beforehand! Terror lived in every street, hid, waiting for

me, round each corner. The halfdozen wrangling over their marbleshad they seen me? The boy whistling

as he stood staring into the print shop, would I get past him without his noticing me; or would he, swinging

round upon his heel, raise the shrill whoop that brought them from every doorway to hunt me?

The shame, when caught at last and cornered: the grinning face that would stop to watch; the careless jokes of

passersby, regarding the whole thing but as a sparrows' squabble: worst of all, perhaps, the rare pity! The

after humiliation when, finally released, I would dart away, followed by shouted taunts and laughter; every

eye turned to watch me, shrinking by; my whole small carcass shaking with dry sobs of bitterness and rage!

If only I could have turned and faced them! So far as the mere bearing of pain was concerned, I knew myself

brave. The physical suffering resulting from any number of standup fights would have been trivial

compared with the mental agony I endured. That I, the comrade of a hundred heroesI, who nightly rode

with Richard Coeur de Lion, who against Sir Lancelot himself had couched a lance, and that not altogether

unsuccessful, I to whom all damsels in distress were wont to look for succourthat I should run from varlets

My friend, my bosom friend, good Robin Hood! how would he have behaved under similar circumstances?

how Ivanhoe, my chosen companion in all quests of knightly enterprise? howto come to modern

timesJack Harkaway, mere schoolboy though he might be? Would not one and all have welcomed such

incident with a joyous shout, and in a trice have scattered to the winds the worthless herd?

But, alas! upon my pale lips the joyous shout sank into an unheard whisper, and the thing that became

Sometimes, the blood boiling in my veins, I would turn, thinking to go back and at all risk defying my

tormentors, prove to myself I was no coward. But before I had retraced my steps a dozen paces, I would see

in imagination the whole scene again before me: the laughing crowd, the halting passersby, the spiteful,

mocking little faces every way I turned; and so instead would creep on home, and climbing stealthily up into

Until one blessed day, when a blessed Fairy, in the form of a small kitten, lifted the spell that bound me, and

I have always had a passionate affection for the dumb world, if it be dumb. My first playmate, I remember,

was a water rat. A stream ran at the bottom of our garden; and sometimes, escaping the vigilant eye of Mrs.

Fursey, I would steal out with my supper and join him on the banks. There, hidden behind the osiers, we

would play at banquets, he, it is true, doing most of the banqueting, and I the makebelieve. But it was a

good game; added to which it was the only game I could ever get him to play, though I tried. He was a

Later I came into the possession of a white specimen all my own. He lived chiefly in the outside breast pocket

of my jacket, in company with my handkerchief, so that glancing down I could generally see his little pink

eyes gleaming up at me, except on very cold days, when it would be only his tail that I could see; and when I

felt miserable, somehow he would know it, and, swarming up, push his little cold snout against my ear. He

died just so, clinging round my neck; and from many of my fellowmen and women have I parted with less

pain. It sounds callous to say so; but, after all, our feelings are not under our own control; and I have never

been able to understand the use of pretending to emotions one has not. All this, however, comes later. Let me

I heard its cry of pain from afar, and instinctively hastened my steps. Three or four times I heard it again, and

at each call I ran faster, till, breathless, I arrived upon the scene, the opening of a narrow court, leading out of

a bystreet. At first I saw nothing but the backs of a small mob of urchins. Then from the centre of them

came another wailing appeal for help, and without waiting for any invitation, I pushed my way into the group.

What I saw was Hecuba to megave me the motive and the cue for passion, transformed me from the dull

and muddymettled little Johnadreams I had been into a small, blind Fury. Pale Thought, that mental

emetic, banished from my system, I became the healthy, unreasoning animal, and acted as such.

From my methods, I frankly admit, science was absent. In simple, primitive fashion that would have charmed

a Darwinian disciple to observe, I "went for" the whole crowd. To employ the expressive idiom of the

neighbourhood, I was "all over it and inside." Something clung about my feet. By kicking myself free and

then standing on it I gained the advantage of quite an extra foot in height; I don't know what it was and didn't

care. I fought with my arms and I fought with my legs; where I could get in with my head I did. I fought

whatever came to hand in a spirit of simple thankfulness, grateful for what I could reach and indifferent to

That the "show"if again I may be permitted the local idiomwas not entirely mine I was well aware. That

not alone my person but my property also was being damaged in the rear became dimly conveyed to me

through the sensation of draught. Already the world to the left of me was mere picturesque perspective, while

the growing importance of my nose was threatening the absorption of all my other features. These things did

not trouble me. I merely noted them as phenomena and continued to punch steadily.

Until I found that I was punching something soft and yet unyielding. I looked up to see what this foreign

matter that thus mysteriously had entered into the mixture might be, and discovered it to be a policeman. Still

I did not care. The felon's dock! the prison cell! a fig for such mere bogies. An impudent word, an insulting

look, and I would have gone for the Law itself. Pale Thoughtit must have been a livid green by this

Fortunately for all of us, he was not impertinent, and though he spoke the language of his order, his tone

There was no need for me to answer. A dozen voluble tongues were ready to explain to him; and to explain

wholly in my favour. This time the crowd was with me. Let a man school himself to bear dispraise, for

thereby alone shall he call his soul his own. But let no man lie, saying he is indifferent to popular opinion.

That was my first taste of public applause. The public was not select, and the applause might, by the sticklers

for English pure and undefiled, have been deemed illworded, but to me it was the sweetest music I had ever

heard, or have heard since. I was called a "plucky little devil," a "fair 'ot 'un," not only a "good 'un," but a

"good 'un" preceded by the adjective that in the East bestows upon its principal every admirable quality that

can possibly apply. Under the circumstances it likewise fitted me literally; but I knew it was intended rather

Kind, if dirty, hands wiped my face. A neighbouring butcher presented me with a choice morsel of steak, not

to eat but to wear; and I found it, if I may so express myself without infringing copyright, "grateful and

comforting." My enemies had long since scooted, some of them, I had rejoiced to notice, with lame and

halting steps. The mutilated kitten had been restored to its owner, a lady of ample bosom, who, carried

beyond judgment by emotion, publicly offered to adopt me on the spot. The Law suggested, not for the first

time, that everybody should now move on; and slowly, followed by feminine commendation mingled with

masculine advice as to improved methods for the future, I was allowed to drift away.

My bones ached, my flesh stung me, yet I walked as upon air. Gradually I became conscious that I was not

alone. A light, pattering step was trying to keep pace with me. Graciously I slacked my speed, and the

pattering step settled down beside me. Every now and again she would run ahead and then turn round to look

up into my face, much as your small dog does when he happens not to be misbehaving himself and desires

you to note the fact. Evidently she approved of me. I was not at my best, as far as appearance was concerned,

but women are kittle cattle, and I think she preferred me so. Thus we walked for quite a long distance without

speaking, I drinking in the tribute of her worship and enjoying it. Then gaining confidence, she shyly put her

hand into mine, and finding I did not repel her, promptly assumed possession of me, according to woman's

For her age and station she must have been a person of means, for having tried in vain various methods to

make me more acceptable to followers and such as having passed would turn their heads, she said:

"I know, gelatines;" and disappearing into a sweetstuff shop, returned with quite a quantity. With these, first

sucked till glutinous, we joined my many tatters. I still attracted attention, but felt warmer.

She informed me that her name was Cissy, and that her father's shop was in Three Colt Street. I informed her

that my name was Paul, and that my father was a lawyer. I also pointed out to her that a lawyer is much

superior in social position to a shopkeeper, which she acknowledged cheerfully. We parted at the corner of

the Stainsby Road, and I let her kiss me once. It was understood that in the Stainsby Road we might meet

I left Eliza gaping after me, the front door in her hand, and ran straight up into my own room. Robinson

Crusoe, King Arthur, The Last of the Barons, Rob Roy! I looked them all in the face and was not ashamed. I

My mother was much troubled when she saw me, but my father, hearing the story, approved.

"But he looks so awful," said my mother. "In this world," said my father, "one must occasionally be

The East India Dock Road is nowadays a busy, crowded thoroughfare. The jingle of the trambell and the

rattle of the omnibus and cart mingle continuously with the rain of many feet, beating ceaselessly upon its

pavements. But at the time of which I write it was an empty, voiceless way, bounded on the one side by the

long, echoing wall of the docks and on the other by occasional small houses isolated amid market gardens,

drying grounds and rubbish heaps. Only one thing remainsor did remain last time I passed along it,

connecting it with its former selfand that is the onestoreyed brick cottage at the commencement of the

bridge, and which was formerly the tollhouse. I remember this tollhouse so well because it was there that

I cannot explain it better. I had been that afternoon to Plaistow on a visit to the family dentist. It was an

outoftheway place in which to keep him, but there existed advantages of a counterbalancing nature.

"Have the halfcrown in your hand," my mother would direct me, while making herself sure that the purse

containing it was safe at the bottom of my knickerbocker pocket; "but of course if he won't take it, why, you

I am not sure, but I think he was some distant connection of ours; at all events, I know he was a kind friend. I,

seated in the velvet chair of state, he would unroll his case of instruments before me, and ask me to choose,

But on my opening my mouth to discuss the fearful topic, lo! a pair would shoot from under his coatsleeve,

and almost before I knew what had happened, the trouble would be over. After that we would have tea

together. He was an old bachelor, and his house stood in a great gardenfor Plaistow in those days was a

picturesque villageand out of the plentiful fruit thereof his housekeeper made the most wonderful of jams

and jellies. Oh, they were good, those teas! Generally our conversation was of my mother who, it appeared,

was once a little girl: not at all the sort of little girl I should have imagined her; on the contrary, a prankish,

CHAPTER IV. PAUL, FALLING IN WITH A GOODLY COMPANY OF PILGRIMS, LEARNS OF THEM THE ROAD THAT HE MUST TRAVEL. AND MEETS THE PRINCESS OF THE GOLDEN LOCKS. 32

wilful little girl, though good company, I should say, if all the tales he told of her were true. And I am

inclined to think they were, in spite of the fact that my mother, when I repeated them to her, would laugh,

saying she was sure she had no recollection of anything of the kind, adding severely that it was a pity he and I

could not find something better to gossip about. Yet her next question would be:

"And what else did he say, if you please?" explaining impatiently when my answer was not of the kind

The tea things cleared away, he would bring out his great microscope. To me it was a peephole into a fairy

world where dwelt strange dragons, mighty monsters, so that I came to regard him as a sort of harmless

magician. It was his pet study, and looking back, I cannot help associating his enthusiasm for all things

microscopical with the fact that he was an exceptionally little man himself, but one of the biggest hearted that

On leaving I would formally hand him my halfcrown, "with mamma's compliments," and he would formally

accept it. But on putting my hand into my jacket pocket when outside the gate I would invariably find it there.

The first time I took it back to him, but unblushingly he repudiated all knowledge.

"Must be another halfcrown," he suggested; "such things do happen. One puts change into a pocket and

Returning home on this particular day of days, I paused upon the bridge, and watched for awhile the lazy

barges manoeuvring their way between the piers. It was one of those hushed summer evenings when the air

even of grim cities is full of whispering voices; and as, turning away from the river, I passed through the

white tollgate, I had a sense of leaving myself behind me on the bridge. So vivid was the impression, that I

looked back, half expecting to see myself still leaning over the iron parapet, looking down into the sunlit

It sounds foolish, but I leave it standing, wondering if to others a like experience has ever come. The little

chap never came back to me. He passed away from me as a man's body may possibly pass away from him,

leaving him only remembrance and regret. For a time I tried to play his games, to dream his dreams, but the

It troubled me for quite a spell of time, even to the point of tears, this feeling that my childhood lay behind

me, this sudden realisation that I was travelling swiftly the strange road called growing up. I did not want to

grow up; could nothing be done to stop it? Rather would I be always as I had been, playing, dreaming. The

Then gradually, but very slowly, with the long months and years, came to me the consciousness of a new

being, new pulsations, sensories, throbbings, rooted in but differing widely from the old; and little Paul, the

So likewise must I let him fade with sorrow from this book. But before I part with him entirely, let me recall

what else I can remember of him. Thus we shall be quit of him, and he will interfere with us no more.

Chief among the pictures that I see is that of my aunt Fan, crouching over the kitchen fire; her skirt and

crinoline rolled up round her waist, leaving as sacrifice to custom only her petticoat. Up and down her body

sways in rhythmic motion, her hands stroking affectionately her own knees; the while I, with paper knife for

sword, or horse of broomstick, stand opposite her, flourishing and declaiming. Sometimes I am a knight and

she a wicked ogre. She is slain, growling and swearing, and at once becomes the beautiful princess that I

secure and bear away with me upon the prancing broomstick. So long as the princess is merely holding sweet

CHAPTER IV. PAUL, FALLING IN WITH A GOODLY COMPANY OF PILGRIMS, LEARNS OF THEM THE ROAD THAT HE MUST TRAVEL. AND MEETS THE PRINCESS OF THE GOLDEN LOCKS. 33

converse with me from her highbarred window, the scene is realistic, at least, to sufficiency; but the bearing

away has to be makebelieve; for my aunt cannot be persuaded to leave her chair before the fire, and the

At other times, with the assistance of the meat chopper, I am an Indian brave, and then she is Laughing Water

or Singing Sunshine, and we go out scalping together; or in less bloodthirsty moods I am the Fairy Prince and

she the Sleeping Beauty. But in such parts she is not at her best. Better, when seated in the centre of the

"I shall skin him and hang him in the larder till Sunday week," says my aunt, smacking her lips, "then he'll be

just in right condition; not too tough and not too high." She was always strong in detail, was my aunt Fan.

I do not wish to deprive my aunt of any credit due to her, but the more I exercise my memory for evidence,

the more I am convinced that her compliance on these occasions was not conceived entirely in the spirit of

selfsacrifice. Often would she suggest the game and even the theme; in such case, casting herself invariably

for what, in old theatrical parlance, would have been termed the heavy lead, the dragons and the wicked

uncles, the fussy necromancers and the uninvited fairies. As authoress of a new cookery book for use in

giantland, my aunt, I am sure, would have been successful. Most recipes that one reads are so monotonously

meagre: "Boil him," "Put her on the spit and roast her for supper," "Cook 'em in a piewith plenty of

gravy;" but my aunt into the domestic economy of Ogredom introduced variety and daintiness.

"I think, my dear," my aunt would direct, "we'll have him stuffed with chestnuts and served on toast. And

The things that she would turn people intoking's sons, rightful princesses, such sort of peoplepeople

who after a time, one would think, must have quite forgotten what they started as. To let her have her way

was a lesson to me in natural history both present and prehistoric. The most beautiful damsel that ever lived

she would without a moment's hesitation turn into a Glyptodon or a Hippocrepian. Afterwards, when I could

guess at the spelling, I would look these creatures up in the illustrated dictionary, and feel that under no

circumstances could I have loved the lady ever again. Warriors and kings she would delight in transforming

With gusto would she plan a complicated slaughter, paying heed to every detail: the sharpening of the knives,

the having ready of mops and pails of water for purposes of after cleaning up. As a writer she would have

Her death, with which we invariably wound up the afternoon, was another conscientious effort. Indeed, her

groans and writhings would sometimes frighten me. I always welcomed the last gurgle. That finished, but not

a moment before, my aunt would let down her skirtin this way suggesting the fall of the curtain upon our

Another frequently recurring picture that I see is of myself in glazedpeaked cap explaining many things the

while we walk through dingy streets to yet a smaller figure curly haired and open eyed. Still every now and

then she runs ahead to turn and look admiringly into my face as on the day she first became captive to the

CHAPTER IV. PAUL, FALLING IN WITH A GOODLY COMPANY OF PILGRIMS, LEARNS OF THEM THE ROAD THAT HE MUST TRAVEL. AND MEETS THE PRINCESS OF THE GOLDEN LOCKS. 34

I was glad of her company for more reasons than she knew of. For one, she protected me against my baser

self. With her beside me I should not have dared to flee from sudden foes. Indeed, together we courted

adventure; for once you get used to it this standing hazard of attack adds a charm to outdoor exercise that

older folk in districts better policed enjoy not. So possibly my dog feels when together we take the air. To me

it is a simple walk, maybe a little tiresome, suggested rather by contemplation of my waistband than by desire

for walking for mere walking's sake; to him an expedition full of danger and surprises: "The gentleman asleep

with one eye open on The Chequer's doorstep! will he greet me with a friendly sniff or try to bite my head

off? This crosseyed, lopeared loafer, lurching against the lamppost! shall we pass with a careless wag and

a 'howdo,' or become locked in a life and death struggle? Impossible to say. This coming corner, now,

But the trusting face beside me nerved me. As reward in lonely places I would let her hold my hand.

A second advantage I derived from her company was that of being less trampled on, less walked over, less

swept aside into doorway or gutter than when alone. A pretty, winsome face had this little maid, if Memory

plays me not kindly false; but also she had a vocabulary; and when the blind idiot, male or female, instead of

passing us by walking round us, would, after the custom of the blind idiot, seek to gain the other side of us by

"Now, then, where yer coming to, old glasseye? We ain't sperrits. Can't yer see us?"

And if they attempted reply, her child's treble, so strangely at variance with her dainty appearance, would

"Garn! They'd run out of 'eads when they was making you. That's only a turnip wot you've got stuck on top of

Nor was it of the slightest use attempting personal chastisement, as sometimes an irate lady or gentleman

would be foolish enough to do. As well might an hippopotamus attempt to reprove a terrier. The only result

On these occasions our positions were reversed, I being the admiring spectator of her prowess. Yet to me she

was ever meek, almost irritatingly submissive. She found out where I lived and would often come and wait

for me for hours, her little face pressed tight against the iron railings, until either I came out or shook my head

at her from my bedroom window, when she would run off, the dying away into silence of her pattering feet

I think I cared for her in a way, yet she never entered into my daydreams, which means that she existed for

me only in the outer world of shadows that lay round about me and was not of my real life.

Also, I think she was unwise, introducing me to the shop, for children and dogsone seems unconsciously to

bracket them in one's thoughtsare snobbish little wretches. If only her father had been a dealer in firewood

I could have soothed myself by imagining mistakes. It was a common occurrence, as I well knew, for

children of quite the best families to be brought up by wood choppers. Fairies, the best intentioned in the

world, but born muddlers, were generally responsible for these mishaps, which, however, always became

righted in time for the wedding. Or even had he been a pork butcher, and there were many in the

neighbourhood, I could have thought of him as a swineherd, and so found precedent for hope.

But a fishmongerfrom six in the evening a fried fishmonger! I searched history in vain. Fried fishmongers

CHAPTER IV. PAUL, FALLING IN WITH A GOODLY COMPANY OF PILGRIMS, LEARNS OF THEM THE ROAD THAT HE MUST TRAVEL. AND MEETS THE PRINCESS OF THE GOLDEN LOCKS. 35

So gradually our meetings became less frequent, though I knew that every afternoon she waited in the quiet

Stainsby Road, where dwelt in semidetached, sixroomed villas the aristocracy of Poplar, and that after

awhile, for arriving late at times I have been witness to the sad fact, tears would trace pathetic patterns upon

her dustbesprinkled cheeks; and with the advent of the worldilluminating Barbara, to which event I am

So began and ended my first romance. One of these dayssome quiet summer's afternoon, when even the air

of Pigott Street vibrates with tenderness beneath the whispered sighs of Memory, I shall walk into the little

grocer's shop and boldly ask to see her. So far have I already gone as to trace her, and often have I tried to

catch sight of her through the glass door, but hitherto in vain. I know she is the more or less troubled mother

of a numerous progeny. I am told she has grown stout, and probable enough it is that her tongue has gained

rather than lost in sharpness. Yet under all the unrealities the clumsyhanded world has built about her, I

shall see, I know, the lithesome little maid with fond, admiring eyes. What help they were to me I never knew

till I had lost them. How hard to gain such eyes I have learned since. Were we to write the truth in our

confession books, should we not admit the quality we most admire in others is admiration of ourselves? And

is it not a wise selection? If you would have me admirable, my friend, admire me, and speak your

commendation without stint that in the sunshine of your praises I may wax. For indifference maketh an

indifferent man, and contempt a contemptible man. Come, is it not true? Does not all that is worthy in us

Chief among the remaining figures on my childhood's stage were the many servants of our house, the

"generals," as they were termed. So rapid, as a rule, was their transit through our kitchen that only one or two,

conspicuous by reason of their lingering, remain upon my view. It was a neighbourhood in which domestic

servants were not much required. Those intending to take up the calling seriously went westward. The local

ranks were recruited mainly from the discontented or the disappointed, from those who, unappreciated at

home, hoped from the stranger more discernment; or from the lovelorn, the jilted and the jealous, who took

the cap and apron as in an earlier age their like would have taken the veil. Maybe, to the comparative

seclusion of our basement, as contrasted with the alternative frivolity of shop or factory, they felt in such

mood more attuned. With the advent of the new or the recovery of the old young man they would plunge

again into the vain world, leaving my poor mother to search afresh amid the legions of the cursed.

With these I made such comradeship as I could, for I had no child friends. Kind creatures were most of them,

at least so I found them. They were poor at "making believe," but would always squeeze ten minutes from

their work to romp with me, and that, perhaps, was healthier for me. What, perhaps, was not so good for me

was that, staggered at the amount of "booklearning" implied by my conversation (for the journalistic

instinct, I am inclined to think, was early displayed in me), they would listen openmouthed to all my

information, regarding me as a precocious oracle. Sometimes they would obtain permission to take me home

with them to tea, generously eager that their friends should also profit by me. Then, encouraged by admiring,

grinning faces, I would "hold forth," keenly enjoying the sound of my own proud piping.

"As good as a play," one enthusiastic listener, an old greengrocer, went so far as to say.

One girl, a dear, wholesome creature named Janet, stayed with us for months and might have stayed years,

but for her addiction to strong language. The only and wellbeloved child of the captain of the barge "Nancy

Jane," trading between Purfleet and Ponder's End, her conversation was at once my terror and delight.

CHAPTER IV. PAUL, FALLING IN WITH A GOODLY COMPANY OF PILGRIMS, LEARNS OF THEM THE ROAD THAT HE MUST TRAVEL. AND MEETS THE PRINCESS OF THE GOLDEN LOCKS. 36

"Janet," my mother would exclaim in agony, her hands going up instinctively to guard her ears, "how can you

"Him! Well, did you see what he did, mum? Walked straight into my clean kitchen, without even wiping his

boots, the" And before my mother could stop her, Janet had relieved her feelings by calling him itor

rather themagain, without any idea that she had done aught else than express in fitting phraseology a

We were good friends, Janet and I, and therefore it was that I personally undertook her reformation. It was

not an occasion for mincing one's words. The stake at issue was, I felt, too important. I told her bluntly that if

I gathered from Janet that no one who had enjoyed the privilege of hearing her father could ever again take

"But it's the only way he can talk," interrupted Janet. "He don't mean anything by it."

I sighed, yet set my face against weakness. "You see, Janet, people who swear do go there."

"God send my dear, kind father to hell just because he can't talk like the gentlefolks! Don't you believe it of

I hope I pain no one by quoting Janet's common sense. For that I should be sorry. I remember her words

because so often, when sinking in sloughs of childish despond, they afforded me firm foothold. More often

than I can tell, when compelled to listen to the sententious voice of immeasurable Folly glibly explaining the

eternal mysteries, has it comforted me to whisper to myself: "I don't believe it of Him. He's got more sense."

And about that period I had need of all the comfort I could get. As we descend the road of life, the journey,

demanding so much of our attention, becomes of more importance than the journey's end; but to the child,

standing at the valley's gate, the terminating hills are clearly visible. What lies beyond them is his constant

wonder. I never questioned my parents directly on the subject, shrinking as so strangely we all do, both young

and old, from discussion of the very matters of most moment to us; and they, on their part, not guessing my

need, contented themselves with the vague generalities with which we seek to hide even from ourselves the

poverty of our beliefs. But there were foolish voices about me less reticent; while the literature, illustrated

and otherwise, provided in those days for seriousminded youth, answered all questionings with blunt

brutality. If you did wrong you burnt in a fiery furnace for ever and ever. Were your imagination weak you

could turn to the accompanying illustration, and see at a glance how you yourself would writhe and shrink

and scream, while cheerful devils, well organised, were busy stoking. I had been burnt once, rather badly, in

consequence of live coals, in course of transit on a shovel, being let fall upon me. I imagined these burning

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coals, not confined to a mere part of my body, but pressing upon me everywhere, not snatched swiftly off by

loving hands, the pain assuaged by applications of soft soap and the blue bag, but left there, eating into my

flesh and veins. And this continued for eternity. You suffered for an hour, a day, a thousand years, and were

no nearer to the end; ten thousand, a million years, and yet, as at the very first, it was for ever, and for ever

still it would always be for ever! I suffered also from insomnia about this period.

"Then be good," replied the foolish voices round me; "never do wrong, and so avoid this endless agony."

But it was so easy to do wrong. There were so many wrong things to do, and the doing of them was so

But how did one repent? What was repentance? Did I "hate my sin," as I was instructed I must, or merely

hate the idea of going to hell for it? Because the latter, even my child's sense told me, was no true repentance.

Above all else there haunted me the fear of the "Unforgivable Sin." What this was I was never able to

discover. I dreaded to enquire too closely, lest I should find I had committed it. Day and night the terror of it

"Believe," said the voices; "so only shall you be saved." How believe? How know you did believe? Hours

"I believe, I believe. Oh, I do believe!" and then rise with white knuckles, wondering if I really did believe.

Another question rose to trouble me. In the course of my meanderings I had made the acquaintance of an old

sailor, one of the most disreputable specimens possible to find; and had learned to love him. Our first meeting

had been outside a confectioner's window, in the Commercial Road, where he had discovered me standing,

my nose against the glass, a mere palpitating Appetite on legs. He had seized me by the collar, and hauled me

into the shop. There, dropping me upon a stool, he bade me eat. Pride of race prompted me politely to

decline, but his language became so awful that in fear and trembling I obeyed. So soon as I was finishedit

cost him two and fourpence, I rememberwe walked down to the docks together, and he told me stories of

the sea and land that made my blood run cold. Altogether, in the course of three weeks or a month, we met

about half a dozen times, when much the same programme was gone through. I think I was a fairly frank

child, but I said nothing about him at home, feeling instinctively that if I did there would be an end of our

comradeship, which was dear to me: not merely by reason of the pastry, though I admit that was a

consideration, but also for his wondrous tales. I believed them all implicitly, and so came to regard him as

one of the most interesting criminals as yet unhanged: and what was sad about the case, as I felt myself, was

that his recital of his many iniquities, instead of repelling, attracted me to him. If ever there existed a sinner,

here was one. He chewed tobaccoone of the hundred or so deadly sins, according to my theological

libraryand was generally more or less drunk. Not that a stranger would have noticed this; the only

difference being that when sober he appeared constrainedwas less his natural, genial self. In a burst of

confidence he once admitted to me that he was the biggest blackguard in the merchant service. Unacquainted

One night in a state of intoxication he walked over a gangway and was drowned. Our mutual friend, the

confectioner, seeing me pass the window, came out to tell me so; and having heard, I walked on, heavy of

CHAPTER IV. PAUL, FALLING IN WITH A GOODLY COMPANY OF PILGRIMS, LEARNS OF THEM THE ROAD THAT HE MUST TRAVEL. AND MEETS THE PRINCESS OF THE GOLDEN LOCKS. 38

About his eternal destination there could be no question. The known facts precluded the least ray of hope.

How could I be happy in heaven, supposing I eventually did succeed in slipping in, knowing that he, the

How could Janet, taking it that she reformed and thus escaped damnation, be contented, knowing the father

she loved doomed to torment? The heavenly hosts, so I argued, could be composed only of the callous and

I wondered how people could go about their business, eat, drink and be merry, with tremendous fate hanging

thus ever suspended over their heads. When for a little space I myself forgot it, always it fell back upon me

Nor was the contemplation of heaven itself particularly attractive to me, for it was a foolish paradise these

foolish voices had fashioned out of their folly. You stood about and sang hymnsfor ever! I was assured

that my fear of finding the programme monotonous was due only to my state of original sin, that when I got

there I should discover I liked it. But I would have given much for the hope of avoiding both their heaven and

Fortunately for my sanity I was not left long to brood unoccupied upon such themes. Our worldly affairs,

under the sunshine of old Hasluck's round red face, prosperedfor awhile; and one afternoon my father, who

had been away from home since breakfast time, calling me into his office where also sat my mother,

"The term commences next week," explained my father. "It is not exactly what I had intended, but it will

dofor the present. Later, of course, you will go to one of the big public schools; your mother and I have not

"You will meet other boys there, good and bad," said my mother, who sat clasping and unclasping her hands.

"You will learn to take your own part," said my father. "School is an epitome of the world. One must assert

I knew not what to reply, the vista thus opened out to me was so unexpected. My blood rejoiced, but my heart

"And if you are in any doubt, you know where to go for guidance, don't you?" whispered my mother, who

Yet I went to bed, dreaming of quite other things that night: of Queens of Beauty bending down to crown my

brows with laurel: of wronged Princesses for whose cause I rode to death or victory. For on my return home,

being called into the drawingroom by my father, I stood transfixed, my cap in hand, staring with all my eyes

No such wonder had I ever seen before, at all events, not to my remembrance. The maidens that one meets in

Poplar streets may be fair enough in their way, but their millinery displays them not to advantage; and the

few lady visitors that came to us were of a staid and matronly appearance. Only out of pictures hitherto had

CHAPTER IV. PAUL, FALLING IN WITH A GOODLY COMPANY OF PILGRIMS, LEARNS OF THEM THE ROAD THAT HE MUST TRAVEL. AND MEETS THE PRINCESS OF THE GOLDEN LOCKS. 39

I heard old Hasluck's smoky voice saying, "My little gell, Barbara," and I went nearer to her, moving

"You can kiss 'er," said the smoky voice again; "she won't bite." But I did not kiss her. Nor ever felt I wanted

I suppose she must have been about fourteen, and I a little over ten, though tall for my age. Later I came to

know she had that rare gold hair that holds the light, so that upon her face, which seemed of dainty porcelain,

there ever fell a softened radiance as from some shining aureole; those blue eyes where dwell mysteries,

shadow veiled. At the time I knew nothing, but that it seemed to me as though the fairytales had all come

She smiled, understanding and well pleased with my confusion. Child though I waslittle more than child

Fair and sweet, you had but that one fault. Would it had been another, less cruel to you yourself.

"Correct" is, I think, the adjective by which I can best describe Doctor Florret and all his attributes. He was a

large man, but not too largejust the size one would select for the headmaster of an important

middleclass school; stout, not fat, suggesting comfort, not grossness. His hands were white and well shaped.

On the left he wore a fine diamond ring, but it shone rather than sparkled. He spoke of commonplace things

in a voice that lent dignity even to the weather. His face, which was cleanshaven, radiated benignity

So likewise all about him: his wife, the feminine counterpart of himself. Seeing them side by side one felt

tempted to believe that for his special benefit original methods had been reverted to, and she fashioned, as his

particular helpmeet, out of one of his own ribs. His furniture was solid, meant for use, not decoration. His

pictures, following the rule laid down for dress, graced without drawing attention to his walls. He ever said

the correct thing at the correct time in the correct manner. Doubtful of the correct thing to do, one could

always learn it by waiting till he did it; when one at once felt that nothing else could possibly have been

correct. He held on all matters the correct views. To differ from him was to discover oneself a revolutionary.

In practice, as I learned at the cost of four more or less wasted years, he of course followed the methods

Heaven knows I worked hard. I wanted to learn. Ambitionthe all containing ambition of a boy that "has its

centre everywhere nor cares to fix itself to form" stirred within me. Did I pass a speaker at some corner,

hatless, perspiring, pointing Utopias in the air to restless hungry eyes, at once I saw myself, a Demosthenes

swaying multitudes, a statesman holding the House of Commons spellbound, the Prime Minister of England,

worshipped by the entire country. Even the Opposition papers, had I known of them, I should have imagined

forced to reluctant admiration. Did the echo of a distant drum fall upon my ear, then before me rose

picturesque fields of carnage, one figure ever conspicuous: Myself, well to the front, isolated. Promotion in

the British army of my dream being a matter purely of merit, I returned CommanderinChief. Vast crowds

thronged every flagdecked street. I saw white waving hands from every roof and window. I heard the dull,

deep roar of welcome, as with superb seat upon my snowwhite chargeror should it be coalblack? The

point cost me much consideration, so anxious was I that the day should be without a flawI slowly paced at

the head of my victorious troops, between wild waves of upturned faces: walked into a lamppost or on to the

toes of some irascible old gentleman, and awoke. A drunken sailor stormed from between swing doors and

tacked tumultuously down the street: the factory chimney belching smoke became a swaying mast. The

costers round about me shouted "Ay, ay, sir. 'Ready, ay, ready." I was Christopher Columbus, Drake, Nelson,

rolled into one. Spurning the presumption of modern geographers, I discovered new continents. I defeated the

Frenchthose useful French! I died in the moment of victory. A nation mourned me and I was buried in

Westminster Abbey. Also I lived and was created a Duke. Either alternative had its charm: personally I was

indifferent. Boys who on November the ninth, as explained by letters from their mothers, read by Doctor

Florret with a snort, were suffering from a severe toothache, told me on November the tenth of the glories of

Lord Mayor's Shows. I heard their chatter fainter and fainter as from an everincreasing distance. The bells

of Bow were ringing in my ears. I saw myself a merchant prince, though still young. Nobles crowded my

counting house. I lent them millions and married their daughters. I listened, unobserved in a corner, to

discussion on some new book. Immediately I was a famous author. All men praised me: for of reviewers and

their density I, in those days, knew nothing. Poetry, fiction, history, I wrote them all; and all men read, and

wondered. Only here was a crumpled rose leaf in the pillow on which I laid my swelling head: penmanship

was vexation to me, and spelling puzzled me, so that I wrote with sorrow and many blots and scratchings out.

But along whichever road I might fight my way to the Elysian Fields of fame, education, I dimly but most

certainly comprehended, was a necessary weapon to my hand. And so, with aching heart and aching head, I

pored over my many books. I see myself now in my small bedroom, my elbows planted on the shaky,

onelegged table, startled every now and again by the frizzling of my hair coming in contact with the solitary

candle. On cold nights I wear my overcoat, turned up about the neck, a blanket round my legs, and often I

must sit with my fingers in my ears, the better to shut out the sounds of life, rising importunately from below.

"A song, Of a song, To a song, A song, 0! song!" "I love, Thou lovest, He she or it loves. I should or would

love" over and over again, till my own voice seems some strange buzzing thing about me, while my head

grows smaller and smaller till I put my hands up frightened, wondering if it still be entire upon my shoulders.

Was I more stupid than the average, or is a boy's brain physically incapable of the work our educational

"Latin and Greek" I hear repeating the suave tones of Doctor Florret, echoing as ever the solemn croak of

Correctness, "are useful as mental gymnastics." My dear Doctor Florret and Co., cannot you, out of the vast

storehouse of really necessary knowledge, select apparatus better fitted to strengthen and not overstrain the

mental muscles of tentofourteen? You, gentle reader, with brain fully grown, trained by years of practice

to its subtlest uses, take me from your bookshelf, say, your Browning or even your Shakespeare. Come, you

know this language well. You have not merely learned: it is your mother tongue. Construe for me this short

passage, these few verses: parse, analyse, resolve into component parts! And now, will you maintain that it is

good for Tommy, tearstained, inkbespattered little brat, to be given AEsop's Fables, Ovid's

Metamorphoses to treat in like manner? Would it not be just as sensible to insist upon his practising his

We were the sons of City men, of not welltodo professional men, of minor officials, clerks, shopkeepers,

our roads leading through the workaday world. Yet quite half our time was taken up in studies utterly useless

to us. How I hated them, these youthtormenting Shades. Homer! how I wished the fishermen had asked him

that absurd riddle earlier. Horace! why could not that shipwreck have succeeded: it would have in the case of

Hearken unto me, ye heavy burdened little brethren of mine. Waste not your substance upon tops and

marbles, nor yet upon tuck (Do ye still call it "tuck"?), but scrape and save. For in the neighbourhood of

Paternoster Row there dwells a good magician who for silver will provide you with a "Key" that shall open

By its aid, the Frogs of Aristophanes became my merry friends. With Ulysses I wandered eagerly through

Wonderland. Doctor Florret was charmed with my progress, which was real, for now, at last, I was studying

according to the laws of common sense, understanding first, explaining afterwards. Let Youth, that the folly

But let me not seem to claim credit due to another. Dan it wasDan of the strong arm and the soft smile,

Dan the wise hater of all useless labour, sharpwitted, easygoing Dan, who made this grand discovery.

Dan followed me a term later into the Lower Fourth, but before he had been there a week was handling Latin

verse with an ease and dexterity suggestive of unholy dealings with the Devil. In a lonely corner of Regent's

"Don't tell the others," he commanded; "or it will get out, and then nobody will be any the better."

"Look here, young 'un," said Dan; "what are you here forwhat's your father paying school fees for (it was

the appeal to our conscientiousness most often employed by Dr. Florret himself), for you to play a silly game,

"Because if it's only a gamewe boys against the masters," continued Dan, "then let's play according to rule.

If we're here to learnwell, you've been in the class four months and I've just come, and I bet I know more

So I thanked Dan and shared with him his key; and all the Latin I remember, for whatever good it may be to

And knowledge of yet greater value do I owe to the good fortune that his sound mother wit was ever at my

disposal to correct my dreamy unfeasibility; for from first to last he was my friend; and to have been the

chosen friend of Dan, shrewd judge of man and boy, I deem no unimportant feather in my cap. He "took to"

me, he said, because I was so jolly green""such a rummy little mug." No other reason would he ever give

me, save only a sweet smile and a tumbling of my hair with his great hand; but I think I understood. And I

loved him because he was big and strong and handsome and kind; no one but a little boy knows how brutal or

how kind a big boy can be. I was still somewhat of an effeminate little chap, nervous and shy, with a pink and

white face, and hair that no amount of wetting would make straight. I was growing too fast, which took what

strength I had, and my journey every day, added to school work and home work, maybe was too much for my

years. Every morning I had to be up at six, leaving the house before seven to catch the seven fifteen from

Poplar station; and from Chalk Farm I had to walk yet another couple of miles. But that I did not mind, for at

Chalk Farm station Dan was always waiting for me. In the afternoon we walked back together also; and when

I was tired and my back achedjust as if some one had cut a piece out of it, I felthe would put his arm

round me, for he always knew, and oh, how strong and restful it was to lean against, so that one walked as in

It seems to me, remembering how I would walk thus by his side, looking up shyly into his face, thinking how

strong and good he was, feeling so glad he liked me, I can understand a little how a woman loves. He was so

At first we were in the same class, the Lower Third. He had no business there. He was head and shoulders

taller than any of us and years older. It was a disgrace to him that he was not in the Upper Fourth. The Doctor

would tell him so before us all twenty times a week. Old Waterhouse (I call him "Old Waterhouse" because

"Mister Waterhouse, M.A.," would convey no meaning to me, and I should not know about whom I was

speaking) who cordially liked him, was honestly grieved. We, his friends, though it was pleasant to have him

among us, suffered in our pride of him. The only person quite contented was Dan himself. It was his way in

all things. Others had their opinion of what was good for him. He had his own, and his own was the only

opinion that ever influenced him. The Lower Third suited him. For him personally the Upper Fourth had no

And even in the Lower Third he was always at the bottom. He preferred it. He selected the seat and kept it, in

spite of all allurements, in spite of all reproaches. It was nearest to the door. It enabled him to be first out and

last in. Also it afforded a certain sense of retirement. Its occupant, to an extent screened from observation,

became in the course of time almost forgotten. To Dan's philosophical temperament its practical advantages

Only on one occasion do I remember his losing it. As a rule, tiresome questions, concerning past participles,

square roots, or meridians never reached him, being snapped up in transit by armwaving lovers of such

trifles. The few that by chance trickled so far he took no notice of. They possessed no interest for him, and he

never pretended that they did. But one day, taken off his guard, he gave voice quite unconsciously to a correct

reply, with the immediate result of finding himself in an exposed position on the front bench. I had never seen

Dan out of temper before, but that moment had any of us ventured upon a whispered congratulation we would

Old Waterhouse thought that here at last was reformation. "Come, Brian," he cried, rubbing his long thin

hands together with delight, "after all, you're not such a fool as you pretend."

"Never said I was," muttered Dan to himself, with a backward glance of regret towards his lost seclusion; and

As we were going out together, old Waterhouse passed us on the stairs: "Haven't you any sense of shame, my

"Yes, sir," answered Dan, with his frank smile; "plenty. It isn't yours, that's all."

He was an excellent fighter. In the whole school of over two hundred boys, not half a dozen, and those only

Upper Sixth boysfellows who came in top hats with umbrellas, and who wouldn't out of regard to their

own dignitycould have challenged him with any chance of success. Yet he fought very seldom, and then

always in a bored, lazy fashion, as though he were doing it purely to oblige the other fellow.

One afternoon, just as we were about to enter Regent's Park by the wicket opposite Hanover Gate, a biggish

boy, an errand boy carrying an empty basket, and supported by two smaller boys, barred our way.

Without a word Dan turned away, prepared to walk on to the next opening. The boy with the basket,

evidently encouraged, followed us: "Now, I'm going to give you your coward's blow," he said, stepping in

front of us; "will you take it quietly?" It is a lonely way, the Outer Circle, on a winter's afternoon.

The boy gave him a slight slap on the cheek. It could not have hurt, but the indignity, of course, was great. No

boy of honour, according to our code, could have accepted it without retaliating.

"Glad he didn't insist on fighting," remarked Dan, cheerfully, as we proceeded; "I'm going to a party tonight."

Yet on another occasion, in a street off Lisson Grove, he insisted on fighting a young rough half again his

"I wouldn't have said anything about his knocking it off," explained Dan afterwards, tenderly brushing the

On another occasion I remember, three or four of us, Dan among the number, were on our way one broiling

summer's afternoon to Hadley Woods. As we turned off from the highroad just beyond Barnet and struck into

"From that big greengrocer's opposite Barnet Church," answered Dan. "Have a bit?"

"No more I had," replied Dan, holding out a tempting slice at the end of his pocketknife.

"You must have had some, or you couldn't have bought that pear," argued Dudley, accepting.

"What's the good of talking nonsense. You robbed an orchard only last Wednesday at Mill Hill, and gave

And nothing could make Dan comprehend the difference. "Stealing is stealing," he would have it, "whether

you take it off a tree or out of a basket. You're a thief, Dudley; so am I. Anybody else say a piece?"

The thermometer was at that point where morals become slack. We all had a piece; but we were all of us

To Dan I could speak my inmost thoughts, knowing he would understand me, and sometimes from him I

received assistance and sometimes confusion. The yearly examination was approaching. My father and

mother said nothing, but I knew how anxiously each of them awaited the result; my father, to see how much I

had accomplished; my mother, how much I had endeavoured. I had worked hard, but was doubtful, knowing

that prizes depend less upon what you know than upon what you can make others believe you know; which

"Are you going in for anything, Dan?" I asked him. We were discussing the subject, crossing Primrose Hill,

I knew the question absurd. I asked it of him because I wanted him to ask it of me.

"They're not giving away anything I particularly want," murmured Dan, in his lazy drawl: looked at from that

"I mean to have a shot at the History," I admitted. "Wish I was better at dates."

"It's always twothirds dates," Dan assured me, to my discouragement. "Old Florret thinks you can't eat a

"I've prayed so hard that I may win the History prize," I explained to him. I never felt shy with Dan. He never

"You oughtn't to have done that," he said. I stared. "It isn't fair to the other fellows. That won't be your

"If you all pray for it," answered Dan, "then it will go, not to the fellow that knows most history, but to the

"Beastly mean way of getting 'em," retorted Dan. And no argument that came to me, neither then nor at any

He would judge all matters for himself. In his opinion Achilles was a coward, not a hero.

"He ought to have told the Trojans that they couldn't hurt any part of him except his heel, and let them have a

shot at that," he argued; "King Arthur and all the rest of them with their magic swords, it wasn't playing the

game. There's no pluck in fighting if you know you're bound to win. Beastly cads, I call them all."

I won no prize that year. Oddly enough, Dan did, for arithmetic; the only subject studied in the Lower Fourth

"They asked me all the things I didn't know. They seemed to do it on purpose," I blurted out, and laid my

"Spud!" he saidit was a long time since he had called me by that childish nickname"perhaps you are

"Invariably," answered my father, rumpling his hair. "I don't know why. I try hardI do the right thing, but

"But I thought Mr. Hasluck was bringing us such good fortune," I said, looking up in surprise. "We're getting

"I have thought so before, so often," said my father, "and it has always ended in ain a collapse."

I put my arms round his neck, for I always felt to my father as to another boy; bigger than myself and older,

"You see, when I married your mother," he went on, "I was a rich man. She had everything she wanted."

"I try to think so," he answered. "I do think sogenerally speaking. But there are timesyou would not

"I watch her," he said. "Women suffer more than we do. They live more in the present. I see my hopes, but

sheshe sees only me, and I have always been a failure. She has lost faith in me.

"That is why I want you to be an educated man, Paul," he continued after a silence. "You can't think what a

help education is to a man. I don't mean it helps you to get on in the world; I think for that it rather hampers

you. But it helps you to bear adversity. To a man with a wellstored mind, life is interesting on a piece of

bread and a cup of tea. I know. If it were not for you and your mother I should not trouble."

And yet at that time our fortunes were at their brightest, so far as I remember them; and when they were dark

again he was full of fresh hope, planning, scheming, dreaming again. It was never acting. A worse actor never

trod this stage on which we fret. His occasional attempts at a cheerfulness he did not feel inevitably resulted

in our all three crying in one another's arms. No; it was only when things were going well that experience

came to his injury. Child of misfortune, he ever rose, Antaeuslike, renewed in strength from contact with his

Nor must it be understood that his despondent moods, even in time of prosperity, were oft recurring.

Generally speaking, as he himself said, he was full of confidence. Already had he fixed upon our new house

in Guilford Street, then still a good residential quarter; while at the same time, as he would explain to my

mother, sufficiently central for office purposes, close as it was to Lincoln and Grey's Inn and Bedford Row,

"Poplar," said my father, "has disappointed me. It seemed a good ideaa rapidly rising district, singularly

destitute of solicitors. It ought to have turned out well, and yet somehow it hasn't."

"Of a sort," admitted my father; "a criminal lawyer might gather something of a practice here, I have no

doubt. But for general work, of course, you must he in a central position. Now, in Guilford Street people will

"It should certainly be a pleasanter neighbourhood to live in," agreed my mother.

"Later on," said my father, "in case I want the whole house for offices, we could live ourselves in Regent's

"Of course you have consulted Mr. Hasluck?" asked my mother, who of the two was by far the more

"For Hasluck," replied my father, "it will be much more convenient. He grumbles every time at the distance."

"I have never been quite able to understand," said my mother, "why Mr. Hasluck should have come so far out

"He had heard of me," explained my father. "A curiou[s] old fellowlikes his own way of doing things. It's

not everyone who would care for him as a client. But I seem able to manage him."

Often we would go together, my father and I, to Guilford Street. It was a large corner house that had taken his

fancy, half creeper covered, with a balcony, and pleasantly situated, overlooking the gardens of the Foundling

Hospital. The wizened old caretaker knew us well, and having opened the door, would leave us to wander

through the empty, echoing rooms at our own will. We furnished them handsomely in later Queen Anne

style, of which my father was a connoisseur, sparing no necessary expense; for, as my father observed, good

"This," said my father, on the second floor, stepping from the bedroom into the smaller room adjoining, "I

shall make your mother's boudoir. We will have the walls in lavender and maple greenshe is fond of soft

tonesand the window looks out upon the gardens. There we will put her writingtable."

"You will be quiet here," said my father, "and we can shut out the bed and the washstand with a screen."

Later, I came to occupy it; though its renteight and sixpence a week, including attendancewas somewhat

more than at the time I ought to have afforded. Nevertheless, I adventured it, taking the opportunity of being

an inmate of the house to refurnish it, unknown to my stout landlady, in later Queen Anne style, putting a

neat brass plate with my father's name upon the door. "Luke Kelver, Solicitor. Office hours, 10 till 4." A

medical student thought he occupied my mother's boudoir. He was a dull dog, full of tiresome talk. But I

made acquaintanceship with him; and often of an evening would smoke my pipe there in silence while

The poor thing! he had no idea that he was only a foolish ghost; that his walls, seemingly covered with

coarsecoloured prints of woodenlooking horses, simpering ballet girls and petrified prizefighters, were in

reality a delicate tone of lavender and maple green; that at her writingtable in the sunlit window sat my

"There's nothing missing," said my mother, "so far as I can find out. Depend upon it, that's the explanation:

"But what was there to frighten her?" said my father, pausing with a decanter in one hand and the bottle in the

"It was the idea of the thing," replied my mother. "She has never been used to waiting at table. She was

"But what's to be done?" said my father. "They will be here in less than an hour."

"There will be no dinner for them," said my mother, "unless I put on an apron and bring it up myself."

My mother, sitting down, began to cry. It had been a trying week for my mother. A party to dinnerto a real

dinner, beginning with anchovies and ending with ices from the confectioner's; if only they would remain

ices and not, giving way to unaccustomed influences, present themselves as cold custardwas an

extraordinary departure from the even tenor of our narrow domestic way; indeed, I recollect none previous.

First there had been the house to clean and rearrange almost from top to bottom; endless small purchases to

be made of articles that Need never misses, but which Ostentation, if ever you let her sneering nose inside the

door, at once demands. Then the kitchen rangeit goes without saying: one might imagine them all

members of a stove union, controlled by some agitating old boiler out of workhad taken the opportunity to

strike, refusing to bake another dish except under permanently improved conditions, necessitating weary days

with plumbers. Fat cookery books, long neglected on their shelf, had been consulted, argued with and abused;

experiments made, failures sighed over, successes noted; cost calculated anxiously; means and ways adjusted,

CHAPTER VI. OF THE SHADOW THAT CAME BETWEEN THE MAN IN GREY AND THE LADY OF THE LOVELIT EYES. 48

And now with victory practically won, to have the reward thus dashed from her hand at the last moment!

Downstairs in the kitchen would be the dinner, waiting for the guests; upstairs round the glittering table

would be the assembled guests, waiting for their dinner. But between the two yawned an impassable gulf.

The bridge, without a word of warning, had boltedwas probably by this time well on its way to Ilford.

"Impossible, in the time," said my mother. "I had been training her for the whole week. We had rehearsed it

"Have it in the kitchen," suggested my aunt, who was folding napkins to look like ships, which they didn't in

the least, "and call it a picnic." Really it seemed the only practical solution.

"It can't be anybody yet, surely," exclaimed my father in alarm, making for his coat.

"It's Barbara, I expect," explained my mother. "She promised to come round and help me dress. But now, of

But with the words Barbara ran into the room, for I had taken it upon myself to admit her, knowing that

shadows slipped out through the window when Barbara came in at the doorin those days, I mean.

She kissed them all three, though it seemed but one movement, she was so quick. And at once they saw the

"There's going to be no dinner," laughed my father. "We are going to look surprised and pretend that it was

"There will be a very nice dinner," smiled my mother, "but it will be in the kitchen, and there's no way of

She stood for an instant, her sweet face the gravest in the group. Then a light broke upon it.

"My dear, you don't even know the neighbourhood," began my mother. But Barbara had snatched the

With her disappearance, shadow fell again upon us. "If there were only an hotel in this beastly

"You must entertain them by yourself, Luke," said my mother; "and I must waitthat's all."

"Don't be absurd, Maggie," cried my father, getting angry. "Can't cook bring it in?"

"No one can cook a dinner and serve it, too," answered my mother, impatiently. "Besides, she's not

CHAPTER VI. OF THE SHADOW THAT CAME BETWEEN THE MAN IN GREY AND THE LADY OF THE LOVELIT EYES. 49

"Thank you," retorted my mother. "I don't choose to have my son turned into a footman, if you do."

"I was looking forward to seeing you in that new frock," said my father. In the case of another, one might

have attributed such a speech to tact; in the case of my father, one felt it was a happy accident.

My mother confessedspeaking with a certain indulgence, as one does of one's own follies when pastthat

she herself also had looked forward to seeing herself therein. Threatening discord melted into mutual

"I so wanted everything to be all right, for your sake, Luke," said my mother; "I know you were hoping it

"I was only thinking of you, Maggie, dear," answered my father. "You are my business."

She stood there, framed by the lintel, in the daintiest of aprons, the daintiest of caps upon her golden hair; and

every objection she swept aside with the wind of her merry wilfulness. No one ever had their way with her,

"You shall be footman," she ordered, turning to mebut this time my mother only laughed. "Wait here till I

It was the first time I had seen my mother, or, indeed, any other flesh and blood woman, in evening dress, and

to tell the truth I was a little shocked. Nay, more than a little, and showed it, I suppose; for my mother flushed

and drew her shawl over the gleaming whiteness of her shoulders, pleading coldness. But Barbara cried out

against this, saying it was a sin such beauty should be hid; and my father, filching a shawl with a quick hand,

so dextrously indeed as to suggest some previous practice in the feat, dropped on one kneeas though the

world were some sweet picture bookand raised my mother's hand with grave reverence to his lips; and

Barbara, standing behind my mother's chair, insisted on my following suit, saying the Queen was receiving.

So I knelt also, glancing up shyly as towards the gracious face of some fair lady hitherto unknown, thus

My memory lingers upon this scene by contrast with the sad, changed days that swiftly followed, when my

mother's eyes would flash towards my father angry gleams, and her voice ring cruel and hard; though the

CHAPTER VI. OF THE SHADOW THAT CAME BETWEEN THE MAN IN GREY AND THE LADY OF THE LOVELIT EYES. 50

moment he was gone her lips would tremble and her eyes grow soft again and fill with tears; when my father

would sit with averted face and sullen lips tight pressed, or worse, would open them only to pour forth a rapid

flood of savage speech; and fling out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and I would find him hours

Wretched, I would lie awake, hearing through the flimsy walls their passionate tones, now rising high, now

fiercely forced into cold whispers; and then their words to each other sounded even crueller.

In their estrangement from each other, so new to them, both clung closer to me, though they would tell me

nothing, nor should I have understood if they had. When my mother was sobbing softly, her arms clasping

me tighter and tighter with each quivering throb, then I hated my father, who I felt had inflicted this sorrow

upon her. Yet when my father drew me down upon his knee, and I looked into his kind eyes so full of pain,

It seemed to me as though some cruel, unseen thing had crept into the house to stand ever between them, so

that they might never look into each other's loving eyes but only into the eyes of this evil shadow. The idea

grew upon me until at times I could almost detect its outline in the air, feel a chillness as it passed me. It trod

silently through the pokey rooms, always alert to thrust its grinning face before them. Now beside my mother

it would whisper in her ear; and the next moment, stealing across to my father, answer for him with his voice,

but strangely different. I used to think I could hear it laughing to itself as it stepped back into enfolding space.

To this day I seem to see it, ever following with noiseless footsteps man and woman, waiting patiently its

opportunity to thrust its face between them. So that I can read no love tale, but, glancing round, I see its

mocking eyes behind my shoulder, reading also, with a silent laugh. So that never can I meet with boy and

girl, whispering in the twilight, but I see it lurking amid the half lights, just behind them, creeping after them

Shall any of us escape, or lies the road of all through this dark valley of the shadow of dead love? Is it Love's

ordeal? testing the feeblehearted from the strong in faith, who shall find each other yet again, the darkness

Of the dinner itself, until time of dessert, I can give no consecutive account, for as footman, under the orders

of this enthusiastic parlourmaid, my place was no sinecure, and but few opportunities of observation

through the crack of the door were afforded me. All that was clear to me was that the chief guest was a Mr.

Teidelmannor Tiedelmann, I cannot now remember whicha snuffy, mumbling old frump, with whose

name then, however, I was familiar by reason of seeing it so often in huge letters, though with a Co. added,

on dreary long blank walls, bordering the Limehouse reach. He sat at my mother's right hand; and I

wondered, noticing him so ugly and so foolish seeming, how she could be so interested in him, shouting

much and often to him; for added to his other disattractions he was very deaf, which necessitated his putting

his hand up to his ear at every other observation made to him, crying querulously: "Eh, what? What are you

talking about? Say it again,"smiling upon him and paying close attention to his every want. Even old

Hasluck, opposite to him, and who, though pleasant enough in his careless way, was far from being a slave to

politeness, roared himself purple, praising some new disinfectant of which this same Teidelmann appeared to

"Our drains!" chimed in Mrs. Hasluck, who was a homely soul; "well, you'd hardly know there was any in the

"What are they talking about?" asked Teidelmann, appealing to my mother. "What's he say his wife does?"

CHAPTER VI. OF THE SHADOW THAT CAME BETWEEN THE MAN IN GREY AND THE LADY OF THE LOVELIT EYES. 51

"Nothing like it for a sickroom," persisted Hasluck; "might almost call it a scent."

"Makes one quite anxious to be ill," remarked my aunt, addressing no one in particular.

Its proprietor appeared not to hear, but Hasluck was determined his flattery should not be lost.

"Can't say it does," answered Teidelmann. "As a matter of fact, don't know much about it myself. Never use

Old Teidelmann went on with his dinner, but Hasluck was still full of the subject.

"What's he say? What's he talking about now?" asked Teidelmann, again appealing to my mother.

Whether he intended the remark to be heard and thus to close the topic (which it did), or whether, as deaf

people are apt to, merely misjudged the audibility of an intended sotto vocalism, I cannot say. I only know

that outside in the passage I heard the words distinctly, and therefore assume they reached round the table

A lull in the conversation followed, but Hasluck was not thinskinned, and the next thing I distinguished was

CHAPTER VI. OF THE SHADOW THAT CAME BETWEEN THE MAN IN GREY AND THE LADY OF THE LOVELIT EYES. 52

"He's quite right," was Hasluck's comment; "that's what I am undoubtedly. Because I can't talk about

But he was doing himself an injustice, for on my next arrival in the passage he was again shouting across the

"Well, if you could spare the time, I'd be more obliged than I can tell you," Hasluck was saying. "I know

absolutely nothing about pictures myself, and Pearsall says you are one of the best judges in Europe."

"He ought to know," chuckled old Teidelmann. "He's tried often enough to palm off rubbish onto me."

"That last purchase of yours must have been a good thing for young" Hasluck mentioned the name of a

"I gave him two thousand for the six," replied Teidelmann, "and they'll sell for twenty thousand."

"No," grunted old Teidelmann, "but my widow will." There came a soft, low laugh from a corner of the table

"It's Anderson's great disappointment," followed a languid, caressing voice (the musical laugh translated into

prose, it seemed), "that he has never been able to educate me to a proper appreciation of art. He'll pay

thousands of pounds for a child in rags or a badly dressed Madonna. Such a waste of money, it appears to

"But you would pay thousands for a diamond to hang upon your neck," argued my father's voice.

"An even more absolute waste of money," was my father's answer, spoken low. And I heard again the

"The second Mrs. Teidelmann," whispered Barbara. "She is quite a swell. Married him for his moneyI

"As beautiful as you?" I asked incredulously. We were sitting on the stairs, sharing a jelly.

"Oh, me!" answered Barbara. "I'm only a child. Nobody takes any notice of meexcept other kids, like

you." For some reason she appeared out of conceit with herself, which was not her usual state of mind.

CHAPTER VI. OF THE SHADOW THAT CAME BETWEEN THE MAN IN GREY AND THE LADY OF THE LOVELIT EYES. 53

I could not remember his exact words, but about the sense of them I was positive.

"Ask him what he thinks of me, as if you wanted to know yourself," Barbara instructed me, "and don't forget

what he says this time. I'm curious." And though it seemed to me a foolish commandfor what could he say

Yet if I am right in thinking that jealousy of Mrs. Teidelmann may have clouded for a moment Barbara's

sunny nature, surely there was no reason for this, seeing that no one attracted greater attention throughout the

"Where ever did you get her from?" asked Mrs. Florret, Barbara having just descended the kitchen stairs.

"I'll take good care she never waits at my table," laughed the wife of our minister, the Rev. Cottle, a

"Don't leave me out of it," laughed Hasluck; "can't let the old girl take all the credit."

Later my father absentmindedly addressed her as "My dear," at which Mrs. Cottle shot a swift glance

towards my mother; and before that incident could have been forgotten, Hasluck, when no one was looking,

pinched her elbow, which would not have mattered had not the unexpectedness of it drawn from her an

involuntary "augh," upon which, for the reputation of the house, and the dinner being then towards its end;

my mother deemed it better to take the whole company into her confidence. Naturally the story gained for

Barbara still greater admiration, so that when with the dessert, discarding the apron but still wearing the

dainty cap, which showed wisdom, she and the footman took their places among the guests, she was even

"It was very nice of you," said Mrs. Cottle, thus completing the circle of compliments, "and, as I always tell

"Kind hearts," added Dr. Florret, summing up the case, "are more than coronets." Dr. Florret had ever ready

for the occasion the correct quotation, but from him, somehow, it never irritated; rather it fell upon the ear as

"When I was a girl," said my aunt, breaking suddenly upon the passing silence, "I used to look into the glass

and say to myself: 'Fanny, you've got to be amiable,' and I was amiable," added my aunt, challenging

CHAPTER VI. OF THE SHADOW THAT CAME BETWEEN THE MAN IN GREY AND THE LADY OF THE LOVELIT EYES. 54

Hasluck had changed places with my mother, and having after many experiments learned the correct pitch for

conversation with old Teidelmann, talked with him as much aside as the circumstances of the case would

permit. Hasluck never wasted time on anything else than business. It was in his opera box on the first night of

Verdi's Aida (I am speaking of course of days then to come) that he arranged the details of his celebrated deal

in guano; and even his very religion, so I have been told and can believe, he varied to suit the enterprise of

the moment, once during the protracted preliminaries of a cocoa scheme becoming converted to Quakerism.

But for the most of us interest lay in a discussion between Washburn and Florret concerning the superior

As a rule, incorrect opinion found itself unable to exist in Dr. Florret's presence. As no bird, it is said, can

continue its song once looked at by an owl, so all originality grew silent under the cold stare of his

disapproving eye. But Dr. "Fighting Hal" was no gentle warbler of thought. Vehement, direct, indifferent, he

swept through all polite argument as a strong wind through a murmuring wood, carrying his partisans with

him further than they meant to go, and quite unable to turn back; leaving his opponents clinging

desperatelyupside down, anyhowto their perches, angry, their feathers much ruffled.

"Life!" flung out WashburnDr. Florret had just laid down unimpeachable rules for the conduct of all

mankind on all occasions"what do you respectable folk know of life? You are not men and women, you

are marionettes. You don't move to your natural emotions implanted by God; you dance according to the

latest book of etiquette. You live and love, laugh and weep and sin by rule. Only one moment do you come

face to face with life; that is in the moment when you die, leaving the other puppets to be dressed in black and

It was a favourite subject of denunciation with him, the artificiality of us all.

"That's all you are, little Paul," he had persisted, "a good little hardworking doll, that does what it's made to

do, and thinks what it's made to think. We are all dolls. Your father is a gallanthearted, softheaded little

doll; your mother the sweetest and primmest of dolls. And I'm a silly, dissatisfied doll that longs to be a man,

"He's a triflea trifle whimsical on some subjects," explained my father, on my repeating this conversation.

"There are a certain class of men," explained my mother"you will meet with them more as you grow

upwho talk for talking's sake. They don't know what they mean. And nobody else does either."

"But what would you have?" argued Dr. Florret, "that every man should do that which is right in his own

"Far better than, like the old man in the fable, he should do what every other fool thinks right," retorted

Washburn. "The other day I called to see whether a patient of mine was still alive or not. His wife was

washing clothes in the front room. 'How's your husband?' I asked. 'I think he's dead,' replied the woman.

Then, without leaving off her work, 'Jim,' she shouted, 'are you there?' No answer came from the inner room.

"But surely," said Dr. Florret, "you don't admire a woman for being indifferent to the death of her husband?"

"I don't admire her for that," replied Washburn, "and I don't blame her. I didn't make the world and I'm not

responsible for it. What I do admire her for is not pretending a grief she didn't feel. In Berkeley Square she'd

CHAPTER VI. OF THE SHADOW THAT CAME BETWEEN THE MAN IN GREY AND THE LADY OF THE LOVELIT EYES. 55

"Go on," said Washburn. "How does it run? 'That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, of devil's habit, is

angel yet in this, that to the use of actions fair and good he gives a frock that aptly is put on.' So was the lion's

skin by the ass, but it showed him only the more an ass. Here asses go about as asses, but there are lions also.

I had a woman under my hands only a little while ago. I could have cured her easily. Why she got worse

every day instead of better I could not understand. Then by accident learned the truth: instead of helping me

she was doing all she could to kill herself. 'I must, Doctor,' she cried. 'I must. I have promised. If I get well he

will only leave me, and if I die now he has sworn to be good to the children.' Here, I tell you, they

livethink their thoughts, work their will, kill those they hate, die for those they love; savages if you like,

"I remember," said my father, "the first masked ball I ever went to when I was a student in Paris. It struck me

just as you say, Hal; everybody was so exactly alike. I was glad to get out into the street and see faces."

"But I thought they always unmasked at midnight," said the second Mrs. Teidelmann in her soft, languid

"That was a pity," she replied. "I should have been interested to see what they were like, underneath."

"I might have been disappointed," answered my father. "I agree with Dr. Florret that sometimes the mask is

Barbara was right. She was a beautiful woman, with a face that would have been singularly winning if one

Always she was very kind to me. Moreover, since the disappearance of Cissy she was the first to bestow

again upon me a good opinion of my small self. My mother praised me when I was good, which to her was

the one thing needful; but few of us, I fear, child or grownup, take much pride in our solid virtues, finding

them generally hindrances to our desires: like the oyster's pearl, of more comfort to the world than to

ourselves. If others there were who admired me, very guardedly must they have kept the secret I would so

gladly have shared with them. But this new friend of oursor had I not better at once say enemymade me

feel when in her presence a person of importance. How it was accomplished I cannot explain. No word of

flattery nor even of mere approval ever passed her lips. Her charm to me was not that she admired me, but

And yet in spite of this and many lesser kindnesses she showed to me, I never really liked her; but rather

feared her, dreading always the sudden raising of those ever halfclosed eyelids.

She sat next to my father at the corner of the table, her chin resting on her long white hands, her sweet lips

parted, and as often as his eyes were turned away from her, her soft low voice would draw them back again.

Once she laid her hand on his, laughing the while at some light jest of his, and I saw that he flushed; and

CHAPTER VI. OF THE SHADOW THAT CAME BETWEEN THE MAN IN GREY AND THE LADY OF THE LOVELIT EYES. 56

I have spoken of my father only as he then appeared to me, a childan older chum with many lines about his

mobile mouth, the tumbled hair edged round with grey; but looking back with older eyes, I see him a slightly

stooping, yet still tall and graceful man, with the face of a poetthe face I mean a poet ought to possess but

rarely does, nature apparently abhorring the obviouswith the shy eyes of a boy, and a voice tender as a

woman's. Never the dingiest little drab that entered the kitchen but adored him, speaking always of "the

master" in tones of fond proprietorship, for to the most slatternly his "orders" had ever the air of requests for

favours. Women, I so often read, can care for only masterful men. But may there not be variety in women as

in other species? Or perhapsif the suggestion be not overdaringthe many writers, deeming themselves

authorities upon this subject of woman, may in this one particular have erred? I only know my father spoke to

few women whose eyes did not brighten. Yet hardly should I call him a masterful man.

"I think it's all right," whispered Hasluck to my father in the passagethey were the last to go. "What does

The door closed, but Something had crept into the house. It stood between my father and mother. It followed

Better is little, than treasure and trouble therewith. Better a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox

and hatred therewith. None but a great man would have dared to utter such a glaring commonplace as that.

Not only on Sundays now, but all the week, came the hot joint to table, and on every day there was pudding,

till a body grew indifferent to pudding; thus a joygiving luxury of life being lost and but another item added

to the long list of uninteresting needs. Now we could eat and drink without stint. No need now to organise for

the morrow's hash. No need now to cut one's bread instead of breaking it, thinking of Saturday's bread

pudding. But there the saying fails, for never now were we merry. A silent unseen guest sat with us at the

board, so that no longer we laughed and teased as over the half pound of sausages or the two sweetscented

Easy enough would it have been for us to move to Guilford Street. Occasionally in the spiritless tones in

which they now spoke on all subjects save the one, my mother and father would discuss the project; but

always into the conversation would fall, sooner or later, some loosened thought to stir it to anger, and so the

Then one day the news came that old Teidelmann had died suddenly in his counting house.

My mother laughed bitterly; why, at the time, I could not understand; and my father flung out of the house.

During the many hours that he was away my mother remained locked in her room, and, stealing sometimes to

the door, I was sure I heard her crying; and that she should grieve so at old Teidelmann's death puzzled me.

She came oftener to our house after that. Her mourning added, I think, to her beauty, softeningor seeming

to softenthe hardness of her eyes. Always she was very sweet to my mother, who by contrast beside her

appeared witless and ungracious; and to me, whatever her motive, she was kindness itself; hardly ever

arriving without some trifling gift or plan for affording me some childish treat. By instinct she understood

exactly what I desired and liked, the books that would appeal to me as those my mother gave me never did,

the pleasures that did please me as opposed to the pleasures that should have pleased me. Often my mother,

talking to me, would chill me with the vista of the life that lay before me: a narrow, viewless way between

twin endless walls of "Must" and "Must not." This softvoiced lady set me dreaming of life as of sunny fields

through which one wandered laughing, along the winding path of Will; so that, although as I have said, there

lurked at the bottom of my thoughts a fear of her; yet something within me I seemed unable to control went

"Has he ever seen a pantomime?" she asked of my father one morning, looking at me the while with a

My heart leaped within me. My father raised his eyebrows: "What would your mother say, do you think?" he

"She thinks," I replied, "that theatres are very wicked places." It was the first time that any doubt as to the

Mrs. Teidelmann's smile strengthened my doubt. "Dear me," she said, "I am afraid I must be very wicked. I

have always regarded a pantomime as quite a moral entertainment. All the bad people go down so very

straight towell, to the fit and proper place for them. And we could promise to leave before the Clown stole

My mother was called and came; and I could not help thinking how insignificant she looked with her pale

face and plain dark frock, standing stiffly beside this shining lady in her rustling clothes.

"You will let him come, Mrs. Kelver," she pleaded in her soft caressing tones; "it's Dick Whittington, you

My mother had stood silent, clasping and unclasping her hands, a childish trick she had when troubled; and

her lips were trembling. Important as the matter loomed before my own eyes, I wondered at her agitation.

"I am very sorry," said my mother, "it is very kind of you. But I would rather he did not go."

A ray of sunlight fell into the room, lighting upon her coaxing face, making where my mother stood seem

"I would rather he did not go," repeated my mother, and her voice sounded harsh and grating. "When he is

older others must judge for him, but for the present he must be guided by mealone."

"I really don't think there could be any harm, Maggie," urged my father. "Things have changed since we were

"That may be," answered my mother, still in the same harsh voice; "it is long ago since then."

"I merely meant that I may be wrong," answered my mother. "I seem so old among you allso out of place.

"We will say no more about it," said Mrs. Teidelmann, sweetly. "I merely thought it would give him pleasure;

She laid her hand caressingly on my shoulder, drawing me a little closer to her; and it remained there.

"It was very kind of you," said my mother, "I would do anything to give him pleasure, anythingI could. He

My mother's hand, I knew, was seeking mine, but I was angry and would not see; and without another word

My mother did not allude again to the subject; but the very next afternoon she took me herself to a hall in the

neighbourhood, where we saw a magiclantern, followed by a conjurer. She had dressed herself in a prettier

frock than she had worn for many a long day, and was brighter and gayer in herself than had lately been her

wont, laughing and talking merrily. But I, nursing my wrongs, remained moody and sulky. At any other time

such rare amusement would have overjoyed me; but the wonders of the great theatre that from other boys I

had heard so much of, that from gaudycoloured posters I had built up for myself, were floating vague and

undefined before me in the air; and neither the openmouthed sleeper, swallowing his endless chain of rats;

nor even the live rabbit found in the stout old gentleman's hatthe last sort of person in whose hat one

would have expected to find such a thingcould draw away my mind from the joy I had caught a glimpse of

So we walked home through the muddy, darkening streets, speaking but little; and that night, wakingor

rather half waking, as children doI thought I saw a figure in white crouching at the foot of my bed. I must

have gone to sleep again; and later, though I cannot say whether the intervening time was short or long, I

opened my eyes to see it still there; and frightened, I cried out; and my mother rose from her knees.

She laughed, a curious broken laugh, in answer to my questions. "It was a silly dream I had," she explained "I

must have been thinking of the conjurer we saw. I dreamt that a wicked Magician had spirited you away from

She put her arms around me, so tight as almost to hurt me. And thus we remained until again I must have

It was towards the close of these same holidays that my mother and I called upon Mrs. Teidelmann in her

great stonebuilt house at Clapton. She had sent a note round that morning, saying she was suffering from

terrible headaches that quite took her senses away, so that she was unable to come out. She would be leaving

England in a few days to travel. Would my mother come and see her, she would like to say goodbye to her

"Of course you will go," said my father. "Poor girl, I wonder what the cause can be. She used to be so free

"Do you think it well for me to go?" said my mother. "What can she have to say to me?"

"Oh, just to say goodbye," answered my father. "It would look so pointed not to go."

It was a dull, sombre house without, but one entered through its commonplace door as through the

weedgrown rock into Aladdin's cave. Old Teidelmann had been a great collector all his life, and his

treasures, now scattered through a dozen galleries, were then heaped there in curious confusion. Pictures

filled every inch of wall, stood propped against the wonderful old furniture, were even stretched unframed

across the ceilings. Statues gleamed from every corner (a few of the statues were, I remember, the only things

out of the entire collection that Mrs. Teidelmann kept for herself), carvings, embroideries, priceless china,

miniatures framed in gems, illuminated missals and gorgeously bound books crowded the room. The ugly

little thicklipped man had surrounded himself with the beauty of every age, brought from every land. He

himself must have been the only thing cheap and uninteresting to be found within his own walls; and now he

lay shrivelled up in his coffin, under a monument by means of which an unknown cemetery became quite

Instructions had been given that my mother was to be shown up into Mrs. Teidelmann's boudoir. She was

lying on a sofa near the fire when we entered, asleep, dressed in a loose lace robe that fell away, showing her

thin but snowwhite arms, her rich dark hair falling loose about her. In sleep she looked less beautiful: harder

and with a suggestion of coarseness about the face, of which at other times it showed no trace. My mother

said she would wait, perhaps Mrs. Teidelmann would awake; and the servant, closing the door softly, left us

An old French clock standing on the mantelpiece, a heart supported by Cupids, ticked with a muffled,

soothing sound. My mother, choosing a chair by the window, sat with her eyes fixed on the sleeping woman's

face, and it seemed to methough this may have been but my fancy born of afterthoughtthat a faint

smile relaxed for a moment the sleeping woman's pained, pressed lips. Neither I nor my mother spoke, the

only sound in the room being the hushed ticking of the great gilt clock. Until the other woman after a few

Only confused murmurs escaped her at first, and then I heard her whisper my father's name. Very

lowhardly more than breathedwere the words, but upon the silence each syllable struck clear and

My mother rose swiftly from her chair, but she spoke in quite matteroffact tones.

"Go, Paul," she said, "wait for me downstairs;" and noiselessly opening the door, she pushed me gently out,

It was half an hour or more before she came down, and at once we left the house, letting ourselves out. All

the way home my mother never once spoke, but walked as one in a dream with eyes that saw not. With her

"You must say nothing, Paul, do you understand?" she said. "When people are delirious they use strange

words that have no meaning. Do you understand, Paul; you must never breathe a wordnever."

I promised, and we entered the house; and from that day my mother's whole manner changed. Not another

angry word ever again escaped her lips, never an angry flash lighted up again her eyes. Mrs. Teidelmann

remained away three months. My father, of course, wrote to her often, for he was managing all her affairs.

But my mother wrote to her alsothough this my father, I do not think, knewlong letters that she would

go away by herself to pen, writing them always in the twilight, close to the window.

"Why do you choose this time, just when it's getting dark, to write your letters," my father would expostulate,

when by chance he happened to look into the room. "Let me ring for the lamp, you will strain your eyes." But

my mother would always excuse herself, saying she had only a few lines to finish.

And when Mrs. Teidelmann returned, it was my mother who was the first to call upon her; before even my

father knew that she was back. And from thence onward one might have thought them the closest of friends,

my mother visiting her often, speaking of her to all in terms of praise and liking.

In this way peace returned unto the house, and my father was tender again in all his words and actions

towards my mother, and my mother thoughtful as before of all his wants and whims, her voice soft and low,

the sweet smile ever lurking around her lips as in the old days before this evil thing had come to dwell among

us; and I might have forgotten it had ever cast its blight upon our life but that every day my mother grew

The summer came and wentthat time in towns of panting days and stifling nights, when through the open

window crawls to one's face the hot foul air, heavy with reeking odours drawn from a thousand streets; when

lying awake one seems to hear the fitful breathing of the myriad mass around, as of some overlaboured

beast too tired to even rest; and my mother moved about the house ever more listlessly.

"There's nothing really the matter with her," said Dr. Hal, "only weakness. It is the place. Cannot you get her

"I cannot leave myself," said my father, "just yet; but there is no reason why you and the boy should not take

My mother consented, as she did to all things now, and so it came about that again of afternoons we

climbedthough more slowly and with many pausesthe steep path to the ruined tower old Jacob in his

happy foolishness had built upon the headland, rested once again upon its topmost platform, sheltered from

the wind that ever blew about its crumbling walls, saw once more the distant mountains, faint like spectres,

and the silent ships that came and vanished, and about our feet the pleasant farm lands, and the grave, sweet

We had taken lodgings in the village: smaller now it seemed than previously; but wonderful its sunny calm,

after the turmoil of the fierce dark streets. Mrs. Fursey was there still, but quite another than the Mrs. Fursey

of my remembrance, a still angular but cheery dame, bent no longer on suppressing me, but rather on drawing

me out before admiring neighbours, as one saying: "The material was unpromising, as you know. There were

times when I almost despaired. But with patience, andmay I say, a natural gift that wayyou see what can

be accomplished!" And Anna, now a buxom wife and mother, with an uncontrollable desire to fall upon and

kiss me at most unexpected moments, necessitating a never sleeping watchfulness on my part, and a choosing

of positions affording means of ready retreat. And old Chumbley, still cobbling shoes in his tiny cave. On the

bench before him in a row they sat and watched him while he tapped and tapped and hammered: pert little

shoes piping "Be quick, be quick, we want to be toddling. You seem to have no idea, my good man, how

much toddling there is to be done." Dapper boots, sighing: "Oh, please make haste, we are waiting to dance

and to strut. Jack walks in the lane, Jill waits by the gate. Oh, deary, how slowly he taps." Stout sober boots,

saying: "As soon as you can, old friend. Remember we've work to do." Flatfooted old boots, rusty and limp,

mumbling: "We haven't much time, Mr. Chumbley. Just a patch, that is all, we haven't much further to go."

And old Joe, still peddling his pack, with the help of the same old jokes. And Tom Pinfold, still puzzled and

scratching his head, the rejected fish still hanging by its tail from his expostulating hand; one might almost

have imagined it the same fish. Grownup folks had changed but little. Only the foolish children had been

playing tricks; parties I had left mere sucking babes now swaggering in pinafore or knickerbocker; children I

One afternoonit was towards the close of the last week of our staymy mother and I had climbed, as was

so often our wont, to the upper platform of old Jacob's tower. My mother leant upon the parapet, her eyes

"Oh, only of things that happened over there"she nodded her head towards the distant hills as to some old

"You lived there, long ago, didn't you, when you were young?" I asked. Boys do not always stop to consider

"You're very rude," said my motherit was long since a tone of her old self had rung from her in answer to

Suddenly she raised her head and listened. Perhaps some twenty seconds she remained so with her lips

parted, and then from the woods came a faint, longdrawn "Cooee." We ran to the side of the tower

commanding the pathway from the village, and waited until from among the dark pines my father emerged

Seeing us, he shouted again and waved his stick, and from the light of his eves and his gallant bearing, and

the spring of his step across the heathery turf, we knew instinctively that trouble had come upon him. He

always rose to meet it with that look and air. It was the old Norse blood in his veins, I suppose. So, one

imagines, must those godless old Pirates have sprung to their feet when the North wind, loosed as a hawk

We heard his quick step on the rickety stair, and the next moment he was between us, breathing a little hard,

He stood for awhile beside my mother without speaking, both of them gazing at the distant hills among

which, as my mother had explained, things had happened long ago. And maybe, "over there," their memories

"Do you remember," said my father, "we climbed up hereit was the first walk we took together after

coming here. We discussed our plans for the future, how we would retrieve our fortunes."

"And the future," answered my mother, "has a way of making plans for us instead."

"It would seem so," replied my father, with a laugh. "I am an unlucky beggar, Maggie. I dropped all your

"It was the willit was Fate, or whatever you call it," said my mother. "You could not help that, Luke."

"A worldly woman, I always thought her. She called on me the morning we were leaving; I don't think you

saw her. 'I've been through more worries than you would think, to look at me,' she said to me, laughing. I've

always remembered her words: 'and of all the troubles that come to us in this world, believe me, Mrs. Kelver,

"She rather irritated me at the time," continued my mother. "I thought it one of those commonplaces with

which we console ourselves for other people's misfortunes. But now I know she spoke the truth."

There was silence between them for awhile. Then said my father in a cheery tone:

"Hasluck," exclaimed my father, with sudden vehemence, "is little better than a thief; I told him so."

I wish to do the memory of Noel Hasluck no injustice. Ever was he a kind friend to me; not only then, but in

later years, when, having come to learn that kindness is rarer in the world than I had dreamt, I was glad of it.

Added to which, if only for Barbara's sake, I would prefer to write of him throughout in terms of praise. Yet

even were his goodtempered, thickskinned ghost (and unless it were goodtempered and thickskinned it

would be no true ghost of old Noel Hasluck) to be reading over my shoulder the words as I write them down,

I think it would agree with meI do not think it would be offended with me (for ever in his life he was an

admirer and a lover of the Truth, being one of those good fighters capable of respecting even his foe, his

enemy, against whom from ten to four, occasionally a little later, he fought right valiantly) for saying that of

all the men who go down into the City each day in a cab or 'bus or train, he was perhaps one of the most

unprincipled: and whether that be saying much or little I leave to those with more knowledge to decide.

To do others, as it was his conviction, right or wrong, that they would do him if ever he gave them half a

chance, was his notion of "business;" and in most of his transactions he was successful. "I play a game," he

would argue, "where cheating is the rule. Nine out of every ten men round the table are sharpers like myself,

and the tenth man is a fool who has no business to be there. We prey upon each other, and the cutest of us is

"But the innocent people, lured by your fine promises," I ventured once to suggest to him, "the widows and

"My dear lad," he said, with a laugh, laying his fat hand upon my shoulder, "I remember one of your widows

writing me a pathetic letter about some shares she had taken in a Silver Company of mine. Lord knows where

the mine is nowsomewhere in Spain, I think. It looked as though all her savings were gone. She had an

only son, and it was nearly all they possessed in the world, etc., etc.you know the sort of thing. Well, I did

what I've often been numskull enough to do in similar cases, wrote and offered to buy her out at par. A week

later she answered, thanking me, but saying it did not matter. There had occurred a momentary rise, and she

had sold out at a profitto her own brotherinlaw, as I discovered, happening to come across the transfers.

You can find widows and orphans round the Monte Carlo card tables, if you like to look for them; they are no

more deserving of consideration than the rest of the crowd. Besides, if it comes to that, I'm an orphan

myself;" and he laughed again, one of his deep, hearty, honest laughs. No one ever possessed a laugh more

suggestive in its every cadence of simple, transparent honesty. He used to say himself it was worth thousands

Better from the Moralists' point of view had such a man been an outandout rogue. Then might one have

pointed, crying: "Behold: Dishonesty, as you will observe in the person of our awful example, to be hated,

needs but to be seen." But the duty of the Chronicler is to bear witness to what he knows, leaving Truth with

the whole case before her to sum up and direct the verdict. In the City, old Hasluck had a bad reputation and

deserved it; in StokeNewingtonthen a green suburb, containing many fine old houses, standing in great

wooded gardenshe was loved and respected. In his business, he was a man void of all moral sense, without

bowels of compassion for any living thing; in retirement, a man with a strong sense of duty and a fine regard

for the rights and feelings of others, never happier than when planning to help or give pleasure. In his office,

he would have robbed his own mother. At home, he would have spent his last penny to add to her happiness

or comfort. I make no attempt to explain. I only know that such men do exist, and that Hasluck was one of

them. One avoids difficulties by dismissing them as a product of our curiously complex civilisationa

convenient phrase; let us hope the recording angel may be equally impressed by it.

Casting about for some reason of excuse to myself for my liking of him, I hit upon the expedient of regarding

him as a modern Robin Hood, whom we are taught to admire without shame, a Robin Hood up to date,

adapted to the changed conditions of modern environment; making his living relieving the rich; taking

"I shall have to give up the office," answered my father. "Without him there's not enough to keep it going. He

was quite goodtempered about the matteroffered to divide the work, letting me retain the straightforward

portion for whatever that might be worth. But I declined. Now I know, I feel I would rather have nothing

"What I blame myself for," said my father, "is that I didn't see through him before. Of course he has been

making a mere tool of me from the beginning. I ought to have seen through him. Why didn't I?"

They discussed the future, or, rather, my father discussed, my mother listening in silence, stealing a puzzled

look at him from time to time, as though there were something she could not understand.

He would take a situation in the City. One had been offered him. It might sound poor, but it would be a

steady income on which we must contrive to live. The little money he had saved must be kept for

investmentsnothing speculativejudicious "dealings," by means of which a cool, clearheaded man could

soon accumulate capital. Here the training acquired by working for old Hasluck would serve him well. One

man my father knewquite a dull, commonplace manstarting a few years ago with only a few hundreds,

was now worth tens of thousands. Foresight was the necessary qualification. You watched the "tendency" of

things. So often had my father said to himself: "This is going to be a big thing. That other, it is no good," and

in every instance his prognostications had been verified. He had "felt it;" some men had that gift. Now was

"Here," said my father, breaking off, and casting an approving eye upon the surrounding scenery, "would be a

pleasant place to end one's days. The house you had was very pretty and you liked it. We might enlarge it, the

drawingroom might be thrown outperhaps another wing." I felt that our good fortune as from this day

But my mother had been listening with growing impatience, her puzzled glances giving place gradually to

flashes of anger; and now she turned her face full upon him, her question written plainly thereon, demanding

Some idea of it I had even then, watching her; and since I have come to read it word for word: "But that

womanthat woman that loves you, that you love. Ah, I knowwhy do you play with me? She is rich.

With her your life will be smooth. And the boyit will be better far for him. Cannot you three wait a little

longer? What more can I do? Cannot you see that I am surely dyingdying as quickly as I candying as

that poor creature your friend once told us of; knowing it was the only thing she could do for those she loved.

Be honest with me: I am no longer jealous. All that is past: a man is ever younger than a woman, and a man

changes. I do not blame you. It is for the best. She and I have talked; it is far better so. Only be honest with

My father did not answer, having that to speak of that put my mother's question out of her mind for all time;

so that until the end no word concerning that other woman passed again between them. Twenty years later,

nearly, I myself happened to meet her, and then long physical suffering had chased the wantonness away for

ever from the painworn mouth; but in that hour of waning voices, as some trouble of the fretful day when

evening falls, so she faded from their life; and if even the remembrance of her returned at times to either of

them, I think it must have been in those moments when, for no seeming reason, shyly their hands sought one

So the truth of the sad adohow far my mother's suspicions wronged my father; for the eye of jealousy (and

what loving woman ever lived that was not jealous?) has its optic nerve terminating not in the brain but in the

heart, which was not constructed for the reception of true visionI never knew. Later, long after the curtain

of green earth had been rolled down upon the players, I spoke once on the matter with Doctor Hal, who must

have seen something of the play and with more understanding eyes than mine, and who thereupon delivered

"Flee from temptation and pray that you may be delivered from evil," shouted the Doctor(his was not the

Socratic method)"but remember this: that as sure as the sparks fly upward there will come a time when,

however fast you run, you will be overtakencorneredno one to deliver you but yourselfthe gods

sitting round interested. It is a grim fight, for the Thing, you may be sure, has chosen its right moment. And

every woman in the world will sympathise with you and be just to you, not even despising you should you be

overcome; for however they may talk, every woman in the world knows that male and female cannot be

judged by the same standard. To woman, Nature and the Law speak with one voice: 'Sin not, lest you be

cursed of your sex!' It is no law of man: it is the law of creation. When the woman sins, she sins not only

against her conscience, but against her every instinct. But to the man Nature whispers: 'Yield.' It is the Law

alone that holds him back. Therefore every woman in the world, knowing this, will be just to youevery

woman in the world but onethe woman that loves you. From her, hope for no sympathy, hope for no

"I think," said the Doctor, "that your father loved your mother devotedly; but he was one of those fighters that

for the first halfdozen rounds or so cause their backers much anxiety. It is a dangerous method."

"I think your mother was a good woman, Paul; and the good woman will never be satisfied with man till the

My father had been pacing to and fro the tiny platform. Now he came to a halt opposite my mother, placing

"I want you to help me, Maggiehelp me to be brave. I have only a year or two longer to live, and there's a

"You remember that fall I had when the cage broke," my father went on. "Andrews, as you know, feared from

"Oh, about six months. I felt it at the beginning of the year, but I didn't say anything to Washburn till a month

"Because," replied my father, with a laugh, "I didn't want you to know. If I could have done without you, I

And at this there came a light into my mother's face that never altogether left it until the end.

She drew him down beside her on the seat. I had come nearer; and my father, stretching out his hand, would

have had me with them. But my mother, putting her arms about him, held him close to her, as though in that

The eighteen months that followedfor the end came sooner than we had expectedwere, I think, the

happiest days my father and mother had ever known; or if happy be not altogether the right word, let me say

the most beautiful, and most nearly perfect. To them it was as though God in His sweet thoughtfulness had

sent death to knock lightly at the door, saying: "Not yet. You have still a little longer to be together. In a little

while." In those last days all things false and meaningless they laid aside. Nothing was of real importance to

them but that they should love each other, comforting each other, learning to understand each other. Again

we lived poorly; but there was now no pitiful straining to keep up appearances, no haunting terror of what the

neighbours might think. The petty cares and worries concerning matters not worth a moment's thought, the

mean desires and fears with which we disfigure ourselves, fell from them. There came to them broader

thought, a wider charity, a deeper pity. Their love grew greater even than their needs, overflowing towards at

things. Sometimes, recalling these months, it has seemed to me that we make a mistake seeking to keep

Death, God's gobetween, ever from our thoughts. Is it not closing the door to a friend who would help us

would we let him (for who knows life so well), whispering to us: "In a little while. Only a little longer that

you have to be together. Is it worth taking so much thought for self? Is it worth while being unkind?"

From them a graciousness emanated pervading all around. Even my aunt Fan decided for the second time in

her career to give amiability a trial. This intention she announced publicly to my mother and myself one

"What's the good of saying 'Don't say it' when I've just said it," snapped back my aunt.

"It's your manner," explained my mother; "people sometimes think you disagreeable."

"They'd be daft if they didn't," interrupted my aunt. "Of course you don't really mean it," continued my

"Stuff and nonsense," snorted my aunt; "does she think I'm a fool. I like being disagreeable. I like to see 'em

"Then why not choose?" suggested my mother. "I tried it once," said my aunt, "and it fell flat. Nothing could

"It may not have attracted much attention," replied my mother, with a smile, "but one should not be agreeable

"It wasn't only that," returned my aunt, "it was that it gave no satisfaction to anybody. It didn't suit me. A

"I could do it again," communed my aunt to herself. There was a suggestion of vindictiveness in her tones.

"Let 'em have it," continued my aunt, still to herself; "that's the way to teach 'em sense. Let 'em have it."

And strange though it may seem, my aunt was right and my mother altogether wrong. My father was the first

"Nothing the matter with poor old Fan, is there?" he asked. It was one evening a day or two after my aunt had

My father laughed and then looked wistful. "I almost wish she wouldn't," he remarked; "we were used to it,

But my aunt, being a woman of will, kept her way; and about the same time that occurred tending to confirm

her in her new departure. This was the introduction into our small circle of James Wellington Gadley.

Properly speaking, it should have been Wellington James, that being the order in which he had been

christened in the year 1815. But in course of time, and particularly during his school career, it had been borne

in upon him that Wellington is a burdensome name for a commonplace mortal to bear, and very wisely he

had reversed the arrangement. He was a slightly pompous but simpleminded little old gentleman, very proud

of his position as head clerk to Mr. Stillwood, the solicitor to whom my father was now assistant. Stillwood,

Waterhead and Royal dated back to the Georges, and was a firm bound up with the historyoccasionally

shadyof aristocratic England. True, in these later years its glory was dwindling. Old Mr. Stillwood, its sole

surviving representative, declined to be troubled with new partners, explaining frankly, in answer to all

applications, that the business was a dying one, and that attempting to work it up again would be but putting

new wine into wornout skins. But though its clientele was a yearly diminishing quantity, much business yet

remained to it, and that of a good class, its name being still a synonym for solid respectability; and my father

had deemed himself fortunate indeed in securing such an appointment. James Gadley had entered the firm as

office boy in the days of its pride, and had never awakened to the fact that it was not still the most important

legal firm within the half mile radius from Lombard Street. Nothing delighted him more than to discuss over

and over again the many strange affairs in which Stillwood, Waterhead and Royal had been concerned, all of

which he had at his tongue's tip. Could he find a hearer, these he would reargue interminably, but with

professional reticence, personages becoming Mr. Y. and Lady X.; and places, "the capital of, let us say, a

foreign country," or "a certain town not a thousand miles from where we are now sitting." The majority of his

friends, his methods being somewhat forensic, would seek to discourage him, but my aunt was a never

wearied listener, especially if the case were one involving suspicion of mystery and crime. When, during their

very first conversation, he exclaimed: "Now whywhy, after keeping away from his wife for nearly

eighteen years, never even letting her know whether he was alive or dead, why this sudden resolve to return

to her? That is what I want explained to me!" he paused, as was his wont, for sympathetic comment, my aunt,

instead of answering as others, with a yawn: "Oh, I'm sure I don't know. Felt he wanted to see her, I suppose,"

"The woman he had just met and fallen in love with. Before that it was immaterial to him what had become

of his wife. This woman had said to him: 'Come back to me a free man or never see my face again.'"

"I mean, it's curious because, as a matter of fact, his wife did die a little later, and he did marry again."

In this way every case in the Stillwood annals was reviewed, and light thrown upon it by my aunt's insight

into the hidden springs of human action. Fortunate that the actors remained mere Mr. X. and Lady Y., for into

"We're all of us miserable sinners," my aunt would cheerfully affirm; "only we don't all get the same

An elderly maiden lady, a Miss Z., residing in "a western town once famous as the resort of fashion, but

which we will not name," my aunt was convinced had burnt down a house containing a will, and forged

another under which her childrenshould she ever marry and be blessed with suchwould inherit among

The freshness of her views on this, his favourite topic, always fascinated Mr. Gadley.

"I have to thank you, ma'am," he would remark on rising, "for a most delightful conversation. I may not be

To which my aunt would reply, "I hate talking to any one who agrees with me. It's like taking a walk to see

one's own lookingglass. I'd rather talk to somebody who didn't, even if he were a fool," which for her was

He was a stout little gentleman with a stomach that protruded about a foot in front of him, and of this he

appeared to be quite unaware. Nor would it have mattered had it not been for his desire when talking to

approach as close to his listener as possible. Gradually in the course of conversation, his stomach acting as a

gentle battering ram, he would in this way drive you backwards round the room, sometimes, unless you were

artful, pinning you hopelessly into a corner, when it would surprise him that in spite of all his efforts he never

succeeded in getting any nearer to you. His first evening at our house he was talking to my aunt from the

corner of his chair. As he grew more interested so he drew his chair nearer and nearer, till at length, having

withdrawn inch by inch to avoid his encroachments, my aunt was sitting on the extreme edge of her own. His

next move sent her on to the floor. She said nothing, which surprised me; but on the occasion of his next visit

she was busy darning stockings, an unusual occupation for her. He approached nearer and nearer as before;

but this time she sat her ground, and it was he who in course of time sprang back with an exclamation foreign

Ever afterwards my aunt met him with stockings in her hand, and they talked with a space between their

Nothing further came of it, though his being a widower added to their intercourse that spice of possibility no

woman is ever too old to relish; but that he admired her intellectually was evident. Once he even went so far

as to exclaim: "Miss Davies, you should have been a solicitor's wife!" to his thinking the crown of feminine

ambition. To which my aunt had replied: "Chances are I should have been if one had ever asked me." And

warmed by appreciation, my aunt's amiability took root and flourished, though assuming, as all growth

There came to her the idea, by no means illfounded, that by flattery one can most readily render oneself

agreeable; so conscientiously she set to work to flatter in season and out. I am sure she meant to give

My father would relate to us some trifling story, some incident noticed during the day that had seemed to him

amusing. At once she would break out into enthusiasm, holding up her hands in astonishment.

"What a funny man he is! And to think that it comes to him naturally without an effort. What a gift it is!"

On my mother appearing in a new bonnet, or an old one retrimmed, an event not unfrequent; for in these days

my mother took more thought than ever formerly for her appearance (you will understand, you women who

"Don't tell me it's a married woman with a boy getting on for fourteen. It's a girl. A saucy, tripping girl. That's

Persons have been known, I believe, whose vanity, not checked in time, has grown into a hopeless disease.

But I am inclined to think that a dose of my aunt, about this period, would have cured the most obstinate case.

So also, and solely for our benefit, she assumed a vivacity and spriteliness that ill suited her, that having

regard to her age and tendency towards rheumatism must have cost her no small effort. From these

experiences there remains to me the perhaps immoral opinion that Virtue, in common with all other things, is

Occasionally the old Adamor should one say Evewould assert itself in my aunt, and then, still

thoughtful for others, she would descend into the kitchen and be disagreeable to Amy, our new servitor, who

never minded it. Amy was a philosopher who reconciled herself to all things by the reflection that there were

only twentyfour hours in a day. It sounds a dismal theory, but from it Amy succeeded in extracting

perpetual cheerfulness. My mother would apologise to her for my aunt's interference.

"Lord bless you, mum, it don't matter. If I wasn't listening to her something else worse might be happening.

Amy had come to us merely as a stop gap, explaining to my mother that she was about to be married and

desired only a temporary engagement to bridge over the few weeks between then and the ceremony.

"I can quite understand it, mum," had replied Amy; "I dislike 'em myself. Only I heard you were in a hurry,

So on that understanding she came. A month later my mother asked her when she thought the marriage would

"Don't think I'm wishing you to go," explained my mother, "indeed I'd like you to stop. I only want to know

"But I don't understand," said my mother; "you told me when you came to me that you were going to be

"Oh, that one!" Her tone suggested that an unfair strain was being put upon her memory. "I didn't feel I

"Well, we can't help our feelings, can we, mum?" admitted Amy, frankly, "and what I always say is"she

spoke as one with experience even then"better change your mind before it's too late afterwards."

Amiable, sweetfaced, broadhearted Amy! most faithful of friends, but oh! most faithless of lovers. Age has

not withered nor custom staled her liking for infinite variety. Butchers, bakers, soldiers, sailors, Jacks of all

trades! Does the sighing procession never pass before you, Amy, pointing ghostly fingers of reproach! Still

Amy is engaged. To whom at the particular moment I cannot say, but I fancy to an early one who has lately

become a widower. After more exact knowledge I do not care to enquire; for to confess ignorance on the

subject, implying that one has treated as a triviality and has forgotten the most important detail of a matter

that to her is of vital importance, is to hurt her feelings; while to angle for information is but to entangle

oneself. To speak of Him as "Tom," when Tom has belonged for weeks to the dead and buried past, to hastily

correct oneself to "Dick" when there hasn't been a Dick for years, clearly not to know that he is now Harry,

annoys her even more. In my mother's time we always referred to him as "Dearest." It was the title with

"Well, and how's Dearest?" my mother would enquire, opening the door to Amy on the Sunday evening.

"Oh, very well indeed, mum, thank you, and he sends you his respects," or, "Well, not so nicely as I could

"That's really what he wantssome one to take care of him. It's what they all want, the poor dears."

Amy was nice to all men, and to Amy all men were nice. Could she have married a dozen, she might have

settled down, with only occasional regrets concerning those left without in the cold. But to ask her to select

only one out of so many "poor dears" was to suggest shameful waste of affection.

We had meant to keep our grim secret to ourselves; but to hide one's troubles long from Amy was like

keeping cold hands from the fire. Very soon she knew everything that was to be known, drawing it all from

my mother as from some overburdened child. Then she put my mother down into a chair and stood over her.

"Now you leave the house and everything connected with it to me, mum," commanded Amy; "you've got

And from that day we were in the hands of Amy, and had nothing else to do but praise the Lord for His

Barbara also found out (from Washburn, I expect), though she said nothing, but came often. Old Hasluck

would have come himself, I am sure, had he thought he would be welcome. As it was, he always sent kind

messages and presents of fruit and flowers by Barbara, and always welcomed me most heartily whenever she

She brought, as ever, sunshine with her, making all trouble seem far off and shadowy. My mother tended to

And with the lessening days my father seemed to grow younger, life lying lighter on him.

One summer's night he and I were walking with Barbara to Poplar station, for sometimes, when he was not

looking tired, she would order him to fetch his hat and stick, explaining to him with a caress, "I like them tall

and slight and full grown. The young ones, they don't know how to flirt! We will take the boy with us as

gooseberry;" and he, pretending to be anxious that my mother did not see, would kiss her hand, and slip out

quietly with her arm linked under his. It was admirable the way he would enter into the spirit of the thing.

The last cloud faded from before the moon as we turned the corner, and even the East India Dock Road lay

"I have always regarded myself," said my father, "as a failure in life, and it has troubled me." I felt him pulled

the slightest little bit away from me, as though Barbara, who held his other arm, had drawn him towards her

with a swift pressure. "But do you know the idea that has come to me within the last few months? That on the

whole I have been successful. I am like a man," continued my father, "who in some deep wood has been

frightened, thinking he has lost his way, and suddenly coming to the end of it, finds that by some lucky

chance he has been guided to the right point after all. I cannot tell you what a comfort it is to me.

"Ah, that I cannot tell you," answered my father, with a laugh. "I only know that for me it is here where I am.

All the time I thought I was wandering away from it I was drawing nearer to it. It is very wonderful. I am just

Whether it would have troubled either him or my mother very much even had it been otherwise I cannot say,

for Life, so small a thing when looked at beside Death, seemed to have lost all terror for them; but be that as

it may, I like to remember that Fortune at the last was kind to my father, prospering his adventures, not to the

extent his sanguine nature had dreamt, but sufficiently: so that no fear for our future marred the peaceful

Or should I award thanks not to Fate, but rather to sweet Barbara, and behind her do I not detect shameless

"Now, Uncle Luke, I want your advice. Dad's given me this cheque as a birthday present. I don't want to

"Now, Uncle Luke, dad's a dear, especially after dinner, but you and I know him. Giving me a present is one

thing, doing business for me is another. He'd unload on me. He'd never be able to resist the temptation."

My father would suggest, and Barbara would thank him. But a minute later would murmur: "You don't know

My father did not, but Barbara did; to quite a remarkable extent for a young girl.

"That child has insisted on leaving this cheque with me and I have advised her to buy Argentinos," my father

would observe after she was gone. "I am going to put a few hundreds into them myself. I hope they will turn

out all right, if only for her sake. I have a presentiment somehow that they will."

A month later Barbara would greet him with: "Isn't it lucky we bought Argentinos!"

"Yes; they haven't turned out badly, have they? I had a feeling, you know, for Argentinos."

"You're a genius, Uncle Luke. And now we will sell out and buy Calcuttas, won't we?"

But Barbara had, and before she had done with him, so had he. And the next day Argentinos would be

Could money so gained bring a blessing with it? The question would plague my father.

"It's very much like gambling," he would mutter uneasily to himself at each success, "uncommonly like

"It is for your mother," he would impress upon me. "When she is gone, Paul, put it aside, Keep it for doing

He need not have troubled. It went the road that all luck derived however indirectly from old Hasluck ever

But the most marvellous feat, to my thinking, ever accomplished by Barbara was the bearing off of my father

and mother to witness "A Voice from the Grave, or the Power of Love, New and Original Drama in five acts

They had been bred in a narrow creed, both my father and my mother. That Puritan blood flowed in their

veins that throughout our land has drowned much harmless joyousness; yet those who know of it only from

hearsay do foolishly to speak but ill of it. If ever earnest times should come again, not how to enjoy but how

to live being the question, Fate demanding of us to show not what we have but what we are, we may regret

that they are fewer among us than formerly, those who trained themselves to despise all pleasure, because in

pleasure they saw the subtlest foe to principle and duty. No graceful growth, this Puritanism, for its roots are

in the hard, stern facts of life; but it is strong, and from it has sprung all that is worth preserving in the

AngloSaxon character. Its men feared and its women loved God, and if their words were harsh their hearts

were tender. If they shut out the sunshine from their lives it was that their eyes might see better the glory

lying beyond; and if their view be correct, that earth's threescore years and ten are but as preparation for

eternity, then who shall call them even foolish for turning away their thoughts from its allurements.

"Still, I think I should like to have a look at one, just to see what it is like," argued my father; "one cannot

I imagine it was his first argument rather than his second that convinced my mother.

"That is true," she answered. "I remember how shocked my poor father was when he found me one night at

"What about the boy?" said my father, for I had been included in the invitation.

So an evening or two later the four of us stood at the corner of Pigott Street waiting for the 'bus.

"It is a close evening," said my father; "let's go the whole hog and ride outside."

In those days for a lady to ride outside a 'bus was as in these days for a lady to smoke in public. Surely my

"Will you keep close behind and see to my skirt?" answered my mother, commencing preparations. If you

will remember that these were the days of crinolines, that the "knifeboards" of omnibuses were then

approached by a perpendicular ladder, the rungs two feet apart, you will understand the necessity for such

Which of us was the most excited throughout that long ride it would be difficult to say. Barbara, feeling

keenly her responsibility as prompter and leader of the dread enterprise, sat anxious, as she explained to us

afterwards, hoping there would be nothing shocking in the play, nothing to belie its innocent title; pleased

with her success so far, yet still fearful of failure, doubtful till the last moment lest we should suddenly

repent, and stopping the 'bus, flee from the wrath to come. My father was the youngest of us all. Compared

with him I was sober and contained. He fidgeted: people remarked upon it. He hummed. But for the stern eye

of a thin young man sitting next to him trying to read a paper, I believe he would have broken out into song.

Every minute he would lean across to enquire of my mother: "How are you feelingall right?" To which my

mother would reply with a nod and a smile, She sat very silent herself, clasping and unclasping her hands. As

for myself, I remember feeling so sorry for the crowds that passed us on their way home. It was sad to think

of the long dull evening that lay before them. I wondered how they could face it.

Our seats were in the front row of the upper circle. The lights were low and the house only half full when we

"It seems very orderly andand respectable," whispered my mother. There seemed a touch of

"We are rather early," replied Barbara; "it will be livelier when the band comes in and they turn up the gas."

But even when this happened my mother was not content. "There is so little room for the actors," she

It was explained to her that the green curtain would go up, that the stage lay behind.

So we waited, my mother sitting stiffly on the extreme edge of her seat, holding me tightly by the hand; I

believe with some vague idea of flight, should out of that vaultscented gloom the devil suddenly appear to

claim us for his own. But before the curtain was quite up she had forgotten him.

You poor folk that go to the theatre a dozen times a year, perhaps oftener, what do you know of plays? You

see no drama, you see but middleaged Mr. Brown, churchwarden, payer of taxes, foolishly pretending to be

a brigand; Miss Jones, daughter of old Jones the Chemist, making believe to be a haughty Princess. How can

you, a grown man, waste money on a seat to witness such tomfoolery! What we saw was something very

different. A young and beautiful girltrue, not a lady by birth, being merely the daughter of an honest

yeoman, but one equal in all the essentials of womanhood to the noblest in the landsuffered before our

very eyes an amount of misfortune that, had one not seen it for oneself, one would never have believed Fate

could have accumulated upon the head of any single individual. Beside her woes our own poor troubles sank

into insignificance. We had used to grieve, as my mother in a whisper reminded my father, if now and again

we had not been able to afford meat for dinner. This poor creature, driven even from her wretched attic,

compelled to wander through the snow without so much as an umbrella to protect her, had not even a crust to

eat; and yet never lost her faith in Providence. It was a lesson, as my mother remarked afterwards, that she

should never forget. And virtue had been triumphant, let shallow cynics say what they will. Had we not

proved it with our own senses? The villainI think his Christian name, if one can apply the word "Christian"

in connection with such a fiend, was Jasperhad never really loved the heroine. He was incapable of love.

My mother had felt this before he had been on the stage five minutes, and my fatherin spite of protests

from callous people behind who appeared to be utterly indifferent to what was going on under their very

noseshad agreed with her. What he was in love with was her fortunethe fortune that had been left to her

by her uncle in Australia, but about which nobody but the villain knew anything. Had she swerved a hair's

breadth from the course of almost supernatural rectitude, had her love for the hero ever weakened, her belief

in himin spite of damning evidence to the contraryfor a moment wavered, then wickedness might have

triumphed. How at times, knowing all the facts but helpless to interfere, we trembled, lest deceived by the

cruel lies the villain told her; she should yield to importunity. How we thrilled when, in language eloquent

though rude, she flung his false love back into his teeth. Yet still we feared. We knew well that it was not the

hero who had done the murder. "Poor dear," as Amy would have called him, he was quite incapable of doing

anything requiring onehalf as much smartness. We knew that it was not he, poor innocent lamb! who had

betrayed the lady with the French accent; we had heard her on the subject and had formed a very shrewd

conjecture. But appearances, we could not help admitting, were terribly to his disfavour. The circumstantial

evidence against him would have hanged an Archbishop. Could she in face of it still retain her faith? There

were moments when my mother restrained with difficulty her desire to rise and explain.

Between the acts Barbara would whisper to her that she was not to mind, because it was only a play, and that

"I know, my dear," my mother would answer, laughing, "it is very foolish of me; I forget. Paul, when you see

But of what use was I in such case! I, who only by holding on to the arms of my seat could keep myself from

swarming down on to the stage to fling myself between this noble damsel and her persecutorthis

fairhaired, creamy angel in whose presence for the time being I had forgotten even Barbara.

The end came at last. The uncle from Australia was not dead. The villainbungler as well as knavehad

killed the wrong man, somebody of no importance whatever. As a matter of fact, the comic man himself was

the uncle from Australiahad been so all along. My mother had had a suspicion of this from the very first.

She told us so three times, to make up, I suppose, for not having mentioned it before. How we cheered and

By pure accident it happened to be the first night of the piece, and the author, in response to much shouting

and whistling, came before the curtain. He was fat and looked commonplace; but I deemed him a genius, and

my mother said he had a good face, and waved her handkerchief wildly; while my father shouted "Bravo!"

long after everybody else had finished; and people round about muttered "packed house," which I didn't

And stranger still, it happened to be before that very same curtain that many years later I myself stepped forth

to make my first bow as a playwright. I saw the house but dimly, for on such occasion one's vision is apt to

be clouded. All that I saw clearly was in the front row of the second circlea sweet face laughing though the

tears were in her eyes; and she waved to me a handkerchief. And on one side of her stood a gallant gentleman

with merry eyes who shouted "Bravo!" and on the other a dreamylooking lad; but he appeared disappointed,

having expected better work from me. And the fourth face I could not see, for it was turned away from me.

Barbara, determined on completeness, insisted upon supper. In those days respectability fed at home; but one

resort possible there was, an eatinghouse with some pretence to gaiety behind St. Clement Danes, and to

that she led us. It was a long, narrow room, divided into wooden compartments, after the old coffeehouse

plan, a gangway down the centre. Now we should call it a dismal hole, and closing the door hasten away. But

to Adam, Eve in her Sunday figleaves was a stylishly dressed woman; and to my eyes, with its gilded

Barbara ordered oysters, a fish that familiarity with its empty shell had made me curious concerning. Truly no

spot on the globe is so rich in oyster shells as the East End of London. A stranger might be led to the

impression (erroneous) that the customary lunch of the East End labourer consists of oysters. How they

collect there in such quantities is a mystery, though Washburn, to whom I once presented the problem, found

no difficulty in solving it to his own satisfaction: "To the rich man the oyster; to the poor man the shell; thus

are the Creator's gifts divided among all His creatures; none being sent empty away." For drink the others had

stout and I had ginger beer. The waiter, who called me "Sir," advised against this mixture; but among us all

the dominating sentiment by this time was that nothing really mattered very much. Afterwards my father

called for a cigar and boldly lighted it, though my mother looked anxious; and fortunately perhaps it would

"It might have been a success," said my mother; "you always had a gift for writing."

"I must look it over again," said my father; "I had quite forgotten it. I have an impression it wasn't at all bad."

We put Barbara into a cab and rode home ourselves inside a 'bus. My mother was tired, so my father slipped

his arm round her, telling her to lean against him, and soon she fell asleep with her head upon his shoulder. A

coarselooking wench sat opposite, her man's arm round her likewise, and she also fell asleep, her powdered

"They can do with a bit of nursing, can't they?" said the man with a grin to the conductor.

"Ah, they're just kids," agreed the conductor, sympathetically, "that's what they are, all of 'em, just kids."

So the day ended. But oh, the emptiness of the morrow! Life without a crime, without a single noble

sentiment to brighten it!no comic uncles, no creamy angels! Oh, the barrenness and dreariness of life!

We were much together again, my father and I, about this time. Often, making my way from school into the

City, I would walk home with him, he leaning on each occasion a little heavier upon my arm. To this day I

can always meet and walk with him down the Commercial Road. And on Saturday afternoons, crossing the

river to Greenwich, we would climb the hill and sit there talking, or sometimes merely thinking together,

At first I did not grasp the fact that he was dying. The "year to two" of life that Washburn had allowed to him

had somehow become converted in my mind to vague years, a fate with no immediate meaning; the

meanwhile he himself appeared to grow from day to day in buoyancy. How could I know it was his great

The comprehension came to me suddenly. It was one afternoon in early spring. I was on my way to the City

to meet him. The Holborn Viaduct was then in building, and the traffic round about was in consequence

always much disorganised. The 'bus on which I was riding became entangled in a block at the corner of Snow

Hill, and for ten minutes we had been merely crawling, one joint of a long, sinuous serpent moving by short,

painful jerks. It came to me while I was sitting there with a sharp spasm of physical pain. I jumped from the

'bus and began to run, and the terror and the hurt of it grew with every step. I ran as if I feared he might be

dead before I could reach the office. He was waiting for me with a smile as usual, and I flung myself sobbing

I think he understood, though I could explain nothing, but that I had had a fear something had happened to

him, for from that time forward he dropped all reserve with me, and talked openly of our approaching parting.

"It might have come to us earlier, my dear boy," he would say with his arm round me, "or it might have been

a little later. A year or so one way or the other, what does it matter? And it is only for a little while, Paul. We

But I could not answer him, for clutch them to me as I would, all my beliefsthe beliefs in which I had been

bred, the beliefs that until then I had never doubted, in that hour of their first trial, were falling from me. I

could not even pray. If I could have prayed for anything, it would have been for my father's life. But if prayer

were all powerful, as they said, would our loved ones ever die? Man has not faith enough, they would

explain; if he had there would be no parting. So the Lord jests with His creatures, offering with the one hand

to snatch back with the other. I flung the mockery from me. There was no firm foothold anywhere. What

were all the religions of the word but narcotics with which Humanity seeks to dull its pain, drugs in which it

I do not mean my thoughts took this form. I was little more than a lad, and to the young all thought is dumb,

speaking only with a cry. But they were there, vague, inarticulate. Thoughts do not come to us as we grow

One fair still evening it burst from me. We had lingered in the Park longer than usual, slowly pacing the

broad avenue leading from the Observatory to the Heath. I poured forth all my doubts and fearsthat he was

leaving me for ever, that I should never see him again, I could not believe. What could I do to believe?

"I am glad you have spoken, Paul," he said, "it would have been sad had we parted not understanding each

other. It has been my fault. I did not know you had these doubts. They come to all of us sooner or later. But

"My dear lad," answered my father, "how can it matter what we believe or disbelieve? It will not alter God's

facts. Would you liken Him to some irritable schoolmaster, angry because you cannot understand him?"

"That we are God's children, little brother," he answered, "that what He wills for us is best. It may be life, it

may be sleep; it will be best. I cannot think that He will let us die: that were to think of Him as without

purpose. But His uses may not be our desires. We must trust Him. 'Though He slay me yet will I trust in

"'Now abideth these three, Faith, Hope and Charity'you remember the verseFaith in God's goodness to

us, Hope that our dreams may be fulfiled. But these concern but ourselvesthe greatest of all is Charity."

Out of the nightshrouded human hive beneath our feet shone here and there a point of light.

"Be kind, that is all it means," continued my father. "Often we do what we think right, and evil comes of it,

and out of evil comes good. We cannot understandmaybe the old laws we have misread. But the new Law,

that we love one anotherall creatures He has made; that is so clear. And if it be that we are here together

only for a little while, Paul, the future dark, how much the greater need have we of one another."

I looked up into my father's face, and the peace that shone from it slid into my soul and gave me strength.

Loves of my youth, whither are ye vanished? Tubby of the golden locks; Langley of the dented nose; Shamus

stout of heart but faint of limb, easy enough to "down," but utterly impossible to make to cry: "I give you

best;" Neal the thin; and Dicky, "dicky Dick" the fat; Ballett of the weeping eye; Beau Bunnie lord of many

ties, who always fought in black kid gloves; all ye others, ye whose names I cannot recollect, though I well

remember ye were very dear to me, whither are ye vanished, where haunt your creeping ghosts? Had one told

me then there would come a day I should never see again your merry faces, never hear your wild, shrill

whoop of greeting, never feel again the warm clasp of your inky fingers, never fight again nor quarrel with

you, never hate you, never love you, could I then have borne the thought, I wonder?

Once, methinks, not long ago, I saw you, Tubby, you with whom so often I discovered the North Pole,

probed the problem of the sources of the Nile, (Have you forgotten, Tubby, our secret camping ground beside

the lonely waters of the Regent's Park canal, where discussing our frugal meal of toasted elephant's

tongueby the uninitiated mistakable for jumblesthere would break upon our trained hunters' ear the

hungry lion or tiger's distant roar, mingled with the melancholy, longdrawn growling of the Polar Bear,

growing ever in volume and impatience until halfpast four precisely; and we would snatch our rifles, and

with stealthy tread and every sense alert make our way through the jungleuntil stopped by the spiked

fencing round the Zoological Gardens?) I feel sure it was you, in spite of your side whiskers and the greyness

and the thinness of your once clustering golden locks. You were hurrying down Throgmorton Street chained

to a small black bag. I should have stopped you, but that I had no time to spare, having to catch a train at

Liverpool Street and to get shaved on the way. I wonder if you recognised me: you looked at me a little hard,

I thought. Gallant, kindly hearted Shamus, you who fought once for half an hour to save a frog from being

skinned; they tell me you are now an Income Tax assessor; a man, it is reported, with power of disbelief

unusual among even Inland Revenue circles; of little faith, lacking in the charity that thinketh no evil. May

So Time, Nature's handyman, bustles to and fro about the many rooms, making all things tidy, covers with

sweet earth the burnt volcanoes, turns to use the debris of the ages, smoothes again the ground above the

In the beginning I was far from being a favourite with my schoolmates, and this was the first time trouble

came to dwell with me. Later, we men and women generally succeed in convincing ourselves that whatever

else we may have missed in life, popularity in a greater or less degree we have at all events secured, for

without it altogether few of us, I think, would care to face existence. But where the child suffers keener than

the man is in finding himself exposed to the cold truth without the protecting clothes of selfdeception. My

ostracism was painfully plain to me, and, as was my nature, I brooded upon it in silence.

"Can you run?" asked of me one day a most important personage whose name I have forgotten. He was head

of the Lower Fourth, a tall youth with a nose like a beak, and the manner of one born to authority. He was the

son of a draper in the Edgware Road, and his father failing, he had to be content for a niche in life with a

lower clerkship in the Civil Service. But to us youngsters he always appeared a Duke of Wellington in

"Yes," I answered. As a matter of fact it was my one accomplishment, and rumour of it maybe had reached

"Run round the playground twice at your fastest," he commanded; "let me see you."

I clinched my fists and charged off. How grateful I was to him for having spoken to me, the outcast of the

class, thus publicly, I could only show by my exertions to please him. When I drew up before him I was

If only I could have stepped out of my shyness, spoken my real thoughts! "0 Lord of the Lower Fourth! You

upon whom successthe only success in life worth havinghas fallen as from the laps of the gods! You to

whom all Lower Fourth hearts turn! tell me the secret of this popularity. How may I acquire it? No price can

be too great for me to pay for it. Vain little egoist that I am, it is the sum of my desires, and will be till the

long years have taught me wisdom. The want of it embitters all my days. Why does silence fall upon their

chattering groups when I draw near? Why do they drive me from their games? What is it shuts me out from

them, repels them from me? I creep into the corners and shed scalding tears of shame. I watch with envious

eyes and ears all you to whom the wondrous gift is given. What is your secret? Is it Tommy's swagger? Then

I will swagger, too, with anxious heart, with mingled fear and hope. But whywhy, seeing that in Tommy

they admire it, do they wait for me with imitations of cockadoodledo, strut beside me mimicking a pouter

pigeon? Is it Dicky's playfulness?Dicky, who runs away with their balls, snatches their caps from off their

Why should Dicky's reward be laughter, and mine a bloody nose and a widened, deepened circle of dislike? I

am no heavier than Dicky; if anything a pound or two lighter. Is it Billy's friendliness? I too would fling my

arms about their necks; but from me they angrily wrench themselves free. Is indifference the best plan? I

walk apart with step I try so hard to render careless; but none follows, no little friendly arm is slipped through

mine. Should one seek to win one's way by kind offices? Ah, if one could! How I would fag for them. I could

do their sums for themI am good at sumswrite their impositions for them, gladly take upon myself their

punishments, would they but return my service with a little love andmore important stilla little

But all I could find to say was, sulkily: "They do like me, some of them." I dared not, aloud, acknowledge the

"Don't tell lies," he answered; "you know they don'tnone of them." And I hung my head.

"I'll tell you what I'll do," he continued in his lordly way; "I'll give you a chance. We're starting hare and

hounds next Saturday; you can be a hare. You needn't tell anybody. Just turn up on Saturday and I'll see to it.

He walked away without waiting for my answer, leaving me to meet Joy running towards me with

outstretched hands. The great moment comes to all of us; to the politician, when the Party whip slips from

confabulation with the Front Bench to congratulate him, smiling, on his really admirable little speech; to the

youthful dramatist, reading in his bedsittingroom the managerial note asking him to call that morning at

eleven; to the subaltern, beckoned to the stirrup of his chiefthe moment when the sun breaks through the

Obeying orders, I gave no hint in school of the great fortune that had come to me; but hurrying home, I

"I am to be a hare because I run so fast. Anybody can be a hound, but there's only two hares, and they all

want me. And can I have a jersey? We begin next Saturday. He saw me run. I ran twice round the

playground. He said I was splendid! Of course, it's a great honour to be a hare. We start from Hampstead

The jersey and the shoes my mother and I purchased that very day, for the fear was upon me that unless we

hastened, the last blue and white striped jersey in London might be sold, and the market be empty of running

shoes. That evening, before getting into bed, I dressed myself in full costume to admire myself before the

glass; and from then till the end of the week, to the terror of my mother, I practised leaping over chairs, and

my method of descending stairs was perilous and roundabout. But, as I explained to them, the credit of the

Lower Fourth was at stake, and banisters and legs equally of small account as compared with fame and

honour; and my father, nodding his head, supported me with manly argument; but my mother added to her

Saturday came. The members of the hunt were mostly boys who lived in the neighbourhood; so the

arrangement was that at halfpast two we should meet at the turnpike gate outside the Spaniards. I brought

my lunch with me and ate it in Regent's Park, and then took the 'bus to the Heath. One by one the others came

up. Beyond mere glances, none of them took any notice of me. I was wearing my ordinary clothes over my

jersey. I knew they thought I had come merely to see them start, and I hugged to myself the dream of the

surprise that was in store for them, and of which I should be the hero. He came, one of the last, our leader and

chief, and I sidled up behind him and waited, while he busied himself organising and constructing.

"But we've only got one hare," cried one of them. "We ought to have two, you know, in case one gets blown."

"We've got two," answered the Duke. "Think I don't know what I'm about? Young Kelver's going to be the

"You'll run home in a minute yourself," threatened the Duke, "if I have any of your cheek. Who's captain

I had commenced unbuttoning my jacket, but my hands fell to my side. "I don't want to come," I answered,

"He'll get his feet wet," suggested the boy who had spoken first. "Don't spoil him, he's his mother's pet."

"Are you coming or are you not?" shouted the Duke, seeing me still motionless. But the tears were coming

"All right, stop then," cried the Duke, who, like all authoritative people, was impatient above all things of

hesitation. "Here, Keefe, you take the bag and be off. It'll be dark before we start."

My substitute snatched eagerly at the chance, and away went the hares, while I, still keeping my face hid,

I heard them start off a few minutes later with a whoop. How could I go home, confess my disappointment,

my shame? My father would be expecting me with many questions, my mother waiting for me with hot water

and blankets. What explanation could I give that would not betray my miserable secret?

It was a chill, dismal afternoon, the Heath deserted, a thin rain commencing. I slipped off my shirt and jacket,

and rolling them under my arm, trotted off alone, hare and hounds combined in one small carcass, to chase

I see it still, that pathetically ridiculous little figure, jogging doggedly over the dank fields. Mile after mile it

runs, the little idiot; jumpingsometimes falling into the muddy ditches: it seems anxious rather than

otherwise to get itself into a mess; scrambling through the dripping hedges; swarming over tarry fence and

slimy paling. On, on it pantsthrough Bishop's Wood, by tangled Churchyard Bottom, where now the

railway shrieks; down sloppy lanes, bordering Muswell Hill, where now stand rows of jerrybuilt, prim

villas. At intervals it stops an instant to dab its eyes with its dingy little rag of a handkerchief, to rearrange the

bundle under its arm, its chief anxiety to keep well out of sight of chance wanderers, to dodge farmhouses, to

dart across highroads when nobody is looking. And so tearsmeared and mudbespattered up the long rise of

darkening Crouch End Lane, where tonight the electric light blazes from a hundred shops, and dead beat

into the Seven Sisters Road station, there to tear off its soaked jersey; and then home to Poplar, with

shameless account of the jolly afternoon that it has spent, of the admiration and the praise that it has won.

You poor, pitiful little brat! Popularity? it is a shadow. Turn your eyes towards it, and it shall ever run before

you, escaping you. Turn your back upon it, walk joyously towards the living sun, and it shall follow you. Am

I not right? Why, then, do you look at me, your little face twisted into that quizzical grin?

When one takes service with Deceit, one signs a contract that one may not break but under penalty. Maybe it

was good for my health, those lonely runs; but oh, they were dreary! By a process of argument not

uncommon I persuaded myself that truth was a matter of mere words, that so long as I had actually gone over

the ground I described I was not lying. To further satisfy my conscience, I bought a big satchel and scattered

"Be careful, dear," would advise my mother; "don't overstrain yourself." But I could see that she was proud of

And after awhile imagination came to my help, so that often I could hear behind me the sound of pursuing

feet, catch through gaps in the trees a sight of a merry, host upon my trail, and would redouble my speed.

Thus, but for Dan, my loneliness would have been unbearable. His friendship was always there for me to

creep to, the shadow of a great rock in a weary land. To this day one may always know Dan's politics: they

are those of the Party out of power. Always without question one may know the cause that he will champion,

"You are such an ununderstandable chap," complained a fellow Clubman to him once in my hearing. "I

He never claimed anything from me in return for his affection; he was there for me to hold to when I wanted

him. When, baffled in all my attempts to win the affections of others, I returned to him for comfort, he gave it

me, without even relieving himself of friendly advice. When at length childish success came to me and I

needed him less, he was neither hurt nor surprised. Other peopletheir thoughts, their actions, even when

these concerned himselfnever troubled him. He loved to bestow, but as to response was strangely

indifferent; indeed, if anything, it bored him. His nature appeared to be that of the fountain, which fulfils

My popularity came to me unexpectedly after I had given up hoping for it; surprising me, annoying me.

"Come along, Kelver," would say the spokesman of one group; "we're going part of your way home. You can

Maybe I would go with them, but more often, before we reached the gate, the delight of my society would be

I might have been some Queen of Beauty offered as prize for knightly contest. Indeed, more than once the

argument concluded thus primitively, I being carried off in triumph by the victorious party.

For a period it remained a mystery to me, until I asked explanation of Norvalwe called him "Norval," he

being one George Grampian: it was our wit. From taking joy in teasing me, Norval had suddenly become one

of my greatest admirers. This by itself was difficult enough to understand. He was in the second eleven, and

after Dan the best fighter in the lower school. If I could understand Norval's change of attitude all would be

plain to me; so when next time, bounding upon me in the cloakroom and slipping his arm into mine, he

It struck me like a slap in the face. I had thought to reach popularity upon the ladder of heroic qualities. In all

the school books I had read, Leonard or Marmaduke (we had a Marmaduke in the Lower Fifththey called

him Marmalade: in the school books these disasters are not contemplated), won love and admiration by

reason of integrity of character, nobility of sentiment, goodness of heart, brilliance of intellect; combined

maybe with a certain amount of agility, instinct in the direction of bowling, or aptitude for jumping; but such

only by the way. Not one of them had ever said a funny thing, either consciously or unconsciously.

"Don't be disagreeable, Kelver. Come with us and we will let you into the team as an extra. I'll teach you

So I was to be their FoolI, dreamer of knightly dreams, aspirant to hero's fame! I craved their wonder; I

had won their laughter. I had prayed for popularity; it had been granted to mein this guise. Were the gods

Had my vanity been less I should have flung their gift back in their faces. But my thirst for approbation was

too intense. I had to choose: Cut capers and be followed, or walk in dignity, ignored. I chose to cut the capers.

As time wore on I found myself striving to cut them quicker, quainter, thinking out funny stories, preparing

I had my reward. Before long my company was desired by all the school. But I was never content. I would

rather have been the Captain of their football club, even his deputy Vice; would have given all my meed of

laughter for stuttering Jerry's one round of applause when in our match against Highbury he knocked up his

Till the end I never quite abandoned hope of exchanging my vine leaves for the laurels. I would rise an hour

earlier in the morning to practise throwing at broomsticks set up in waste places. At another time, the sport

coming into temporary fashion, I wearied body and mind for weeks in vain attempts to acquire skill on stilts.

A lad there was, a Sixth Form boy, one Wakeham by name, if I remember rightly, who greatly envied me my

gift of being able to amuse. He was of the age when the other sex begins to be of importance to a fellow, and

the desire had come to him to be regarded as a star of wit among the social circles of Gospel Oak. Need I say

One afternoon I happened to be the centre of a small group in the playground. I had been holding forth and

they had been laughing. Whether I had delivered myself of anything really entertaining or not I cannot say. It

made no difference; they had got into the habit of laughing when I talked. Sometimes I would say quite

serious things on purpose; they would laugh just the same. Wakeham was among them, his eyes fixed on me,

watching me as boys watch a conjurer in the hope of finding out "how he does it." Later in the afternoon he

slipped his arm through mine, and drew me away into an empty corner of the ground.

"I say, Kelver," he broke out, the moment we were beyond hearing, "you really are funny!"

It gave me no pleasure. If he had told me that he admired my bowling I might not have believed him, but

"No, I'm not," he replied. "Wish I was. I say, Kelver"he glanced round to see that no one was within

I was about to reply with conviction in the negative when an idea occurred to me. Wakeham was famous

among us for one thing; he could, inserting two fingers in his mouth, produce a whistle capable of confusing

dogs a quarter of a mile off, and of causing people near at hand to jump from six to eighteen inches into the

This accomplishment of his I envied him as keenly as he envied me mine. I did not admire it; I could not see

the use of it. Generally speaking, it called forth irritation rather than affection. A purplefaced old gentleman,

close to whose ear he once performed, promptly cuffed his head for it; and for so doing was commended by

the whole street as a public benefactor. Drivers of vehicles would respond by flicking at him, occasionally

with success. Even youth, from whom sympathy might have been expected, appeared impelled, if anything

happened to be at all handy, to take it up and throw it at him. My own social circle would, I knew, regard it as

a vulgar accomplishment, and even Wakeham himself dared not perform it in the hearing of his own

classmates. That any human being should have desired to acquire it seems incomprehensible. Yet for weeks

in secret I had wrestled to produce the hideous sound. Why? For three reasons, so far as I can analyse this

Firstly, here was a means of attracting attention; secondly, it was something that somebody else could do and

that he couldn't; thirdly, it was a thing for which he evidently had no natural aptitude whatever, and therefore

a thing to acquire which his soul yearned the more. Had a boy come across his path, clever at walking on his

hands with his heels in the air, Master Paul Kelver would in all probability have broken his neck in attempts

to copy and excel. I make no apologies for the brat: I merely present him as a study for the amusement of a

I struck a bargain with young Wakeham; I undertook to teach him to be funny in return for his teaching me

Each of us strove conscientiously to impart knowledge. Neither of us succeeded. Wakeham tried hard to be

funny; I tried hard to whistle. He did all I told him; I followed his instructions implicitly. The result was the

"Do you think anybody would laugh at that?" Wakeham would pathetically enquire at the termination of his

supremest effort. And honestly I would have to confess I did not think any living being would.

"How far off do you think any one could hear that?" I would demand anxiously, on recovering sufficient

"Well, it would depend upon whether you knew it was coming," Wakeham would reply kindly, not wishing

"I suppose it's something that you've got to have inside you," I suggested to Wakeham in consolation.

"I don't think the roof of your mouth can be quite the right shape for it," concluded Wakeham.

My success as storyteller, commentator, critic, jester, revived my childish ambition towards authorship. My

first stirrings in this direction I cannot rightly place. I remember when very small falling into a sunk

dustbina deep hole, rather, into which the gardener shot his rubbish. The fall twisted my ankle so that I

could not move; and the time being evening and my prison some distance from the house, my predicament

loomed large before me. Yet one consolation remained with me: the incident would be of value to me in the

autobiography upon which I was then engaged. I can distinctly recollect lying on my back among decaying

leaves and broken glass, framing my account. "On this day a strange adventure befell me. Walking in the

garden, all unheeding, I suddenly"I did not want to add the truth"tumbled into a dusthole, six feet

square, that any one but a moon calf might have seen." I puzzled to evolve a more dignified situation. The

dustbin became a cavern, the entrance to which had been artfully concealed; the six or seven feet I had

really fallen, "an endless descent, terminating in a vast and gloomy chamber." I was divided between

opposing desires: One, for rescue followed by sympathy and supper; the other, for the alarming experience of

a night of terror where I lay. Nature conquering Art, I yelled; and the episode terminated prosaically with a

warm bath and arnica. But from it I judge that desire for the woes and perils of authorship was with me

Of my many other dreams I would speak freely, discussing them at length with sympathetic souls, but

concerning this one ambition I was curiously reticent. Only to twomy mother and a greybearded

Strangerdid I ever breathe a word of it. Even from my father I kept it a secret, close comrades in all else

though we were. He would have talked of it much and freely, dragged it into the light of day; and from this I

My talk with the Stranger came about in this wise. One evening I had taken a walk to Victoria Parka

favourite haunt of mine at summer time. It was a fair and peaceful evening, and I fell awandering there in

pleasant reverie, until the waning light hinted to me the question of time. I looked about me. Only one human

being was in sight, a man with his back towards me, seated upon a bench overlooking the ornamental water.

I drew nearer. He took no notice of me, and interestedthough why, I could not sayI seated myself beside

him at the other end of the bench. He was a handsome, distinguishedlooking man, with wonderfully bright,

clear eyes and irongrey hair and beard. I might have thought him a sea captain, of whom many were always

to be met with in that neighbourhood, but for his hands, which were crossed upon his stick, and which were

white and delicate as a woman's. He turned his face and glanced at me. I fancied that his lips beneath the grey

"Twenty minutes to eight," he answered, looking at his watch. And his voice drew me towards him even

more than had his beautiful strong face. I thanked him, and we fell back into silence.

"Oh, only over there," I answered, with a wave of my arm towards the chimneyfringed horizon behind us. "I

needn't be in till halfpast eight. I like this Park so much," I added, "I often come and sit here of an evening.'

I marvelled at myself. With strangers generally I was shy and silent; but the magic of his bright eyes seemed

I told him my name; that we lived in a street always full of ugly sounds, so that a gentleman could not think,

"Mamma does not like the twilight time," I confided to him. "It always makes her cry. But then mamma

isnot very young, you know, and has had a deal of trouble; and that makes a difference, I suppose."

He laid his hand upon mine. We were sitting nearer to each other now. "God made women weak to teach us

"Oh, fancies," I explained to him. "I am going to be an author when I grow up, and write books."

He took my hand in his and shook it gravely, and then returned it to me. "I, too, am a writer of books," he

So for the first time I understood the joy of talking "shop" with a fellow craftsman. I told him my favourite

authorsScott, and Dumas, and Victor Hugo; and to my delight found they were his also; he agreeing with

"I used to read silly stuff once," I confessed, "Indian tales and that sort of thing, you know. But mamma said

"You will find it so all through life, Paul," he replied. "The things that are nice are rarely good for us. And

"I am reading Marlowe's Plays and De Quincey's Confessions just now," I confided to him.

"Fairly well," I answered. "Mamma says I'll like them better as I go on. I want to learn to write very, very

"It means in our case, Paul," he answered, "writing books for the pleasure of writing books, without thinking

He laughed outright this time. It was a delightful laugh. It rang through the quiet Park, awaking echoes; and

"Hush!" he said; and he glanced round with a whimsical expression of fear, lest we might have been

overheard. "Between ourselves, Paul," he continued, drawing me more closely towards him and whispering,

"I don't think any of us do. We talk about it. But I'll tell you this, Paul; it is a trade secret and you must

remember it: No man ever made money or fame but by writing his very best. It may not be as good as

"And you must not think merely of the money and the fame, Paul," he added the next moment, speaking more

seriously. "Money and fame are very good things, and only hypocrites pretend to despise them. But if you

write books thinking only of money, you will be disappointed. It is earned easier in other ways. Tell me, that

I pondered. "Mamma says it is a very noble calling, authorship," I remembered, "and that any one ought to be

very proud and glad to be able to write books, because they give people happiness and make them forget

things; and that one ought to be very good if one is going to be an author, so as to be worthy to help and teach

"Yes," I answered; "but it's very hard to be quite gooduntil of course you're grown up."

He smiled, but more to himself than to me. "Yes," he said, "I suppose it is difficult to be good until you are

grown up. Perhaps we shall all of us be good when we're quite grown up." Which, from a gentleman with a

Again I pondered, and her words came back to me. "That he who can write a great book is greater than a

king; that the gift of being able to write is given to anybody in trust; that an author should never forget he is

He sat for awhile without speaking, his chin resting on his folded hands supported by his goldtopped cane.

Then he turned and laid a hand upon my shoulder, and his clear, bright eyes were close to mine.

"Your mother is a wise lady, Paul," he said. "Remember her words always. In later life let them come back to

"And what modern authors do you read?" he asked after a silence: "any of themThackeray, Bulwer Lytton,

"I have read 'The Last of the Barons,'" I told him; "I like that. And I've been to Barnet and seen the church.

"And what do you think of Mr. Dickens?" he asked. But he did not seem very interested in the subject. He

had picked up a few small stones, and was throwing them carefully into the water.

"Not always?" he asked. He stopped his stonethrowing, and turned sharply towards me.

"Oh, no, not always," I admitted; "but I like the funny bits best. I like so much where Mr. Pickwick"

"Oh, yes, I like him well enough, or used to," he replied; "I'm a bit tired of him, that's all. Does your mamma

It surprised me that he should have guessed her exact words. "I don't think mamma has much sense of

At that he laughed again. "But she likes the other parts?" he enquired, "the parts where Mr. Dickens

"Oh, yes," I answered. "She says he can be so beautiful and tender, when he likes."

"So am I sorry, Paul," he answered. "Perhaps we shall meet again. Goodbye." Then as our hands touched:

"No, Paul," he replied, "and that makes me think of your future with hope. You are an egotist, Paul; and that

And after that he would not tell me his name. "Perhaps next time we meet," he said. "Goodbye, Paul. Good

So I went my way. Where the path winds out of sight I turned. He was still seated upon the bench, but his

face was towards me, and he waved his hand to me. I answered with a wave of mine. And then the

intervening boughs and bushes gradually closed in around me. And across the rising mist there rose the

My father died, curiously enough, on the morning of his birthday. We had not expected the end to arrive for

"I have left him sleeping," said my mother, who had slipped out very quietly in her dressinggown.

So we sat round the breakfast table, speaking in low tones, for the house was small and flimsy, all sound

easily heard through its thin partitions. Afterwards my mother crept upstairs, I following, and cautiously

The blinds were still down, and the room dark. It seemed a long time that my mother stood there listening,

her ear against the jar. The first costermongera girl's voice, it soundedpassed, crying shrilly:

"Watercreases, fine fresh watercreases with your breakfasta'penny a bundle watercreases;" and further off a

Inch by inch my mother opened the door wider and we stole in. He was lying with his eyes still closed, the

lips just slightly parted. I had never seen death before, and could not realise it. All that I could see was that he

looked even younger than I had ever seen him look before. By slow degrees only, it came home to me, the

knowledge that he was gone away from us. For daysfor weeks, I would hear his step behind me in the

street, his voice calling to me, see his face among the crowds, and hastening to meet him, stand bewildered

To my mother it was but a short parting. Into her placid faith had never fallen fear nor doubt. He was waiting

for her. In God's good time they would meet again. What need of sorrow! Without him the days passed

slowly: the house must ever be a little dull when the good man's away. But that was all. So my mother would

speak of him alwaysof his dear, kind ways, of his oddities and follies we loved so to recall, not through

tears, but smiles, thinking of him not as of one belonging to the past, but as of one beckoning to her from the

We lived on still in the old house though ever planning to move, for the great brick monster had crept closer

round about us year by year, devouring in his progress all things fair. Field and garden, tree and cottage,

timemellowed house suggesting story, kind hedgerow hiding hideousness beyondthe few spots yet in that

doomed land lingering to remind one of the sunshine, one by one had he scrunched them between his ugly

teeth. A world apart, this east end of London, this ghetto of the poor for ever growing, dreariness added year

by year to dreariness, hopelessness stretching ever farther its long, shrivelled arms, these endless rows of

reeking cells where London herds her slaves. Often of a misty afternoon when we knew that without this city

of the dead life was stirring in the sunshine, we would fare forth to househunt in pleasant suburbs, now

themselves added to the weary catacomb of narrow streetsto Highgate, then a tiny town connected by a

coach with leafy Holloway; to Hampstead with its rows of ancient redbrick houses, from whose

windblown heath one saw beyond the woods and farms, far London's domes and spires, to Wood Green

among the pastures, where smockcoated labourers discussed their politics and ale beneath widespreading

elms; to Hornsey, then a village consisting of an ivycovered church and one grassbordered way. But

though we often saw "the very thing for us" and would discuss its possibilities from every point of view and

"We must think it over," would say my mother; "there is no hurry; for some reasons I shall be sorry to leave

"Oh, well, no particular reason, Paul. Only we have lived there so long, you know. It will be a wrench leaving

To the making of man go all things, even to the instincts of the clinging vine. We fling our tendrils round

what is the nearest castlekeep or pigstye wall, rain and sunshine fastening them but firmer. Dying Sir

Walter Scottdo you remember?hastening home from Italy, fearful lest he might not be in time to breathe

again the damp mists of the barren hills. An ancient dame I knew, they had carried her from her attic in

slumland that she might be fanned by the sea breezes, and the poor old soul lay pining for what she called her

"home." Wife, mother, widow, she had lived there till the alley's reek smelt good to her nostrils, till its riot

So the old house held us to its dismal bosom; and not until within its homely but unlovely arms, first my aunt,

and later on my mother had died, and I had said goodbye to Amy, crying in the midst of littered emptiness,

"You will be glad to get rid of me, all of you!" she said, dropping for the first and last time I can recollect into

the retort direct; "and I can't say I shall be very sorry to go myself. It hasn't been my idea of life."

Poor old lady! That was only a couple of weeks before the end. I do not suppose she guessed it was so certain

"What's the use of talking like an idiot," retorted my aunt, "I've got to do it some time. Why not now, when

"I am sure we do all we can for you," said my mother. "I know you do," replied my aunt. "I'm a burden to

"What does the woman call it then," snapped back my aunt. "Does she reckon I've been a sunbeam in the

house? I've been a trial to everybody. That's what I was born for; it's my metier."

My mother put her arms about the poor old soul and kissed her. "We should miss you very much," she said.

"I'm sure I hope they all will!" answered my aunt. "It's the only thing I've got to leave 'em, worth having."

"Maybe it's been a good thing for you, Maggie," grumbled my aunt; "if it wasn't for cantankerous,

disagreeable people like me, gentle, patient people like you wouldn't get any practice. Perhaps, after all, I've

I cannot honestly say we ever wished her back; though we certainly did miss hermissed many a joke at her

oddities, many a laugh at her cornery ways. It takes all sorts, as the saying goes, to make a world. Possibly

enough if only we perfect folk were left in it we would find it uncomfortably monotonous.

"You see, mum," explained Amy, "I was one of a large family; and a bit of a row now and again cheers one

up, I always think. I'll be losing the power of my tongue if something doesn't come along soon."

But Amy remained despondent. "They're poor things, the men, at a few words, the best of them," she replied.

"As likely as not just when you're getting interested you turn round to find that they've put on their hat and

My mother and I were very much alone after my aunt's death. Barbara had gone abroad to put the finishing

touches to her educationto learn the tricks of the Nobs' trade, as old Hasluck phrased it; and I had left

school and taken employment with Mr. Stillwood, without salary, the idea being that I should study for the

"You are in luck's way, my boy, in luck's way," old Mr. Gadley had assured me. "To have commenced your

career in the office of Stillwood, Waterhead and Royal will be a passport for you anywhere. It will stamp

Mr. Stillwood himself was an extremely old and feeble gentlemanso old and feeble it seemed strange that

"I am always meaning to," he explained to me one day soon after my advent in his office. "When your poor

father came to me he told me very frankly the sad factthat he had only a few more years to live. 'Mr.

Kelver,' I answered him, 'do not let that trouble you, so far as I am concerned. There are one or two matters in

the office I should like to see cleared up, and in these you can help me. When they are completed I shall

retire! Yet, you see, I linger on. I am like the old hackney coach horse, Mr. Welleror is it Mr. Jingletells

us of; if the shafts were drawn away I should probably collapse. So I jog on, I jog on.'"

He had married late in life a common woman much younger than himself, who had brought to him a horde of

needy and greedy relatives, and no doubt, as a refuge from her noisy neighbourhood, the daily peace of

Lombard Street was welcome to him. We saw her occasionally. She was one of those blustering, "managing"

women who go through life under the impression that making a disturbance is somehow "putting things to

rights." Ridiculously ashamed of her origin, she sought to hide it under what her friends assured her was the

air of a duchess, but which, as a matter of fact, resembled rather the Sunday manners of an elderly barmaid.

Mr. Gadley alone was not afraid of her; but, on the contrary, kept her always very much in fear of him, often

speaking to her with refreshing candour. He had known her in the days it was her desire should be buried in

oblivion, and had always resented as a personal insult her entry into the old established aristocratic firm of

Her history was peculiar. Mr. Stillwood, when a blase man about town, verging on forty, had first seen her,

then a fairhaired, ethereallooking child, in spite of her dirt, playing in the gutter. To his lasting

selfreproach it was young Gadley himself, accompanying his employer home from Westminster, who had

drawn Mr. Stillwood's attention to the girl by boxing her ears for having, as he passed, slapped his face with a

convenient sprat. Stillwood, acting on the impulse of the moment, had taken the child by the hand and

dragged her, unwilling, to her father's place of businessa small coal shed in the Horseferry Road. The

arrangement he there made amounted practically to the purchase of the child. She was sent abroad to school

and the coal shed closed. On her return, ten years later, a big, handsome young woman, he married her, and

learned at leisure the truth of the old saying, "what's bred in the bone will come out in the flesh," scrub it and

Her constant complaint against her husband was that he was only a solicitor, a profession she considered

vulgar; and nothing "riled" old Gadley more than hearing her views upon this point.

"It's not fair to the gals," I once heard her say to him. I was working in the next room, with the door not quite

closed, added to which she talked at the top of her voice on all subjects. "What real gentleman, I should like

to know, is going to marry the daughter of a City attorney? As I told him years ago, he ought to have retired

"The very thing your poor father used to talk of doing whenever things were going a bit queer in the retail

Mrs. Stillwood called him a "low beast" in her most aristocratic tones, and swept out of the room.

"I am not at all sure, Kelver," I remember his saying to me on one occasion, "that you have done wisely in

choosing the law. It makes one regard humanity morally as the medical profession regards it physically:as

universally unsound. You suspect everybody of being a rogue. When people are behaving themselves, we

lawyers hear nothing of them. All we hear of is roguery, trickery and hypocrisy. It deteriorates the character,

Kelver. We live in a perpetual atmosphere of transgression. I sometimes fancy it may be infectious."

"It does not seem to have infected you, sir," I replied; for, as I think I have already mentioned, the firm of

Stillwood, Waterhead and Royal was held in legal circles as the synonym for rectitude of dealing quite

"I hope not, Kelver, I hope not," the old gentleman replied; "and yet, do you know, I sometimes suspect

myselfwonder if I may not perhaps be a scamp without realising it. A rogue, you know, Kelver, can always

explain himself into an honest man to his own satisfaction. A scamp is never a scamp to himself."

His words for the moment alarmed me, for, acting on old Gadley's advice, I had persuaded my mother to put

all her small capital into Mr. Stillwood's hands for reinvestment, a transaction that had resulted in

substantial increase of our small income. But, looking into his smiling eyes, my momentary fear vanished.

Laughing, he laid his hand upon my shoulder. "One person always be suspicious of, Kelveryourself.

Of Washburn we saw more and more. "Hal" we both called him now, for removing with his gentle, masterful

hands my mother's shyness from about her, he had established himself almost as one of the family, my

mother regarding him as she might some absurdly bearded boy entrusted to her care without his knowing it, I

"You rest me, Mrs. Kelver," he would say, lighting his pipe and sinking down into the deep leathern chair

that always waited for him in our parlour. "Your even voice, your soft eyes, your quiet hands, they soothe

"It is good for a man," he would say, looking from one to the other of us through the hanging smoke, "to test

his wisdom by two things: the face of a good woman, and the ear of a childI beg your pardon, Paulof a

young man. A good woman's face is the white sunlight. Under the gaslamps who shall tell diamond from

paste? Bring it into the sunlight: does it stand that test? Then it is good. And the children! they are the waiting

earth on which we fling our store. Is it chaff and dust or living seed? Wait and watch. I shower my thoughts

over our Paul, Mrs. Kelver. They seem to me brilliant, deep, original. The young beggar swallows them,

forgets them. They were rubbish. Then I say something that dwells with him, that grows. Ah, that was alive,

"You should marry, Hal," my mother would say. It was her panacea for all mankind.

"I would, Mrs. Kelver," he answered her on one occasion, "I would tomorrow if I could marry half a dozen

women. I should make an ideal husband for half a dozen wives. One I should neglect for five days, and be a

From any other than Hal my mother would have taken such a remark, made even in jest, as an insult to her

"I am not one man, Mrs. Kelver, I am half a dozen. If I were to marry one wife she would be married to six

"Just the right number, Mrs. Kelver. There is one of me must worship, adore a woman madly, abjectly; grovel

before her like the Troubadour before his Queen of Song, eat her slipper, drink the water she has washed in,

scourge himself before her window, die for a kiss of her glove flung down with a laugh. She must be

scornful, contemptuous, cruel. There is another I would cherish, a tender, yielding creature, one whose face

would light at my coming, cloud at my going; one to whom I should be a god. There is a third I, a child of

Panan ugly little beast, Mrs. Kelver; horns on head and hoofs on feet, leering through the wood, seeking its

fit mate. And a fourth would wed a wholesome, homely wench, deep of bosom, broad of hip; fit mother of a

sturdy brood. A fifth could only be content with a true friend, a comrade wise and witty, a sharer and

understander of all joys and thoughts and feelings. And a last, Mrs. Kelver, yearns for a woman pure and

sweet, clothed in love and crowned with holiness. Shouldn't we be a handful, Mrs. Kelver, for any one

But my mother was not to be discouraged. "You will find the woman one day, Hal, who will be all of them to

youall of them that are worth having, that is. And your eightroomed house will be a kingdom!"

"That is what men say who are too blind to see more than one side of a woman," retorted my mother, a little

sharply; for the honour and credit of her own sex in all things was very dear to my mother. And indeed this I

have learned, that the flag of Womanhood you shall ever find upheld by all true women, flouted only by the

Hal laid aside his pipe and leant forward in his chair. "Now tell us, Mrs. Kelver, for our guidance, we two

Always very serious on this subject of love, my mother answered gravely: "She asks for the whole of a man,

Hal, not merely for a sixth, nor any other part of him. She is a child asking for a lover to whom she can look

up, who will teach her, guide her, protect her. She is a queen demanding homage, and yet he is her king

whom it is her joy to serve. She asks to be his partner, his fellowworker, his playmate, and at the same time

she loves to think of him as her child, her big baby she must take care of. Whatever he has to give she has

also to respond with. You need not marry six wives, Hal; you will find your six in one.

"'As the water to the vessel, woman shapes herself to man;' an old heathen said that three thousand years ago,

"I don't like that way of putting it," answered my mother. "I mean that as you say of man, so in every true

woman is contained all women. But to know her completely you must love her with all love."

Sometimes the talk would be of religion, for my mother's faith was no dead thing that must be kept ever

One evening "Who are we that we should live?" cried Hal. "The spider is less cruel; the very pig less greedy,

gluttonous and foul; the tiger less tigerish; our cousin ape less monkeyish. What are we but savages, clothed

"But Sodom and Gomorrah," reminded him my mother, "would have been spared for the sake of ten just

"Much more sensible to have hurried the ten men out, leaving the remainder to be buried with all their

"Why have made us ill merely to mend us? If the Almighty were so anxious for our company, why not have

made us decent in the beginning?" He had just come away from a meeting of Poor Law Guardians, and was

"It is His way," answered my mother. "The precious stone lies hid in clay. He has His purpose."

"Would He have taken so much pains to fashion it if it were not? You see it all around you, Hal, in your daily

practiceheroism, selfsacrifice, love stronger than death. Can you think He will waste it, He who uses

Often of an evening I would accompany Hal upon his rounds. By the savage tribe he both served and ruled he

had come to be regarded as medicine man and priest combined. He was both their tyrant and their slave,

working for them early and late, yet bullying them unmercifully, enforcing his commands sometimes with

vehement tongue, and where that would not suffice with quick fists; the counsellor, helper, ruler, literally of

thousands. Of income he could have made barely enough to live upon; but few men could have enjoyed more

"Nature laid me by and forgot me for a couple of thousand years," was his own explanation of himself. "Born

in my proper period, I should have climbed to chieftainship upon uplifted shields. I might have been an

Attila, an Alaric. Among the civilised one can only climb by crawling, and I am too impatient to crawl. Here

I am king at once by force of brain and muscle." So in Poplar he remained, poor in fees but rich in honour.

The love of justice was a passion with him. The oppressors of the poor knew and feared him well. Injustice

once proved before him, vengeance followed sure. If the law would not help, he never hesitated to employ

lawlessness, of which he could always command a satisfactory supply. Bumble might have the Board of

Guardians at his back, Shylock legal support for his pound of flesh; but sooner or later the dark night brought

punishment, a ducking in dock basin or canal, "Brutal Assault Upon a Respected Resident" (according to the

local papers), the "miscreants" always making and keeping good their escape, for he was an admirable

One night it seemed to him necessary that a child should go at once into the Infirmary.

"It ain't no use my taking her now," explained the mother, "I'll only get bullyragged for disturbing 'em. My

old man was carried there three months ago when he broke his leg, but they wouldn't take him in till the

"Oho! oho! oho!" sang Hal, taking the child up in his arms and putting on his hat. "You follow me; we'll have

some sport. Tally ho! tally ho!" And away we went, Hal heading our procession through the streets, shouting

"Now ring," cried Hal to the mother on our reaching the Workhouse gate. "Ring modestly, as becomes the

"Ring again!" cried Hal, drawing back into the shadow; and at last the wicket opened.

"Blast your baby!" answered a husky voice, "what d'ye mean by coming here this time of night?"

The man was no sentimentalist, and to do him justice made no hypocritical pretence of being one. He

consigned the baby and its mother and the doctor to Hell, and the wicket would have closed but for the point

"Open the gate!" roared Hal. It was idle pretending not to hear Hal anywhere within half a mile of him when

he filled his lungs for a cry. "Open it quick, you blackguard! You gross vatload of potato spirit, you"

That the Governor should speak a language familiar to the governed was held by the Romans, born rulers of

men, essential to authority. This theory Hal also maintained. His command of idiom understanded by his

people was one of his rods of power. In less time than it took the trembling porter to loosen the bolts, Hal had

presented him with a word picture of himself, as seen by others, that must have lessened his selfesteem.

"No, you thought you had only to deal with some helpless creature you could bully. Stir your fat carcass, you

The House Surgeon was away, but an attendant or two were lounging about, unfortunately for themselves, for

Hal, being there, took it upon himself to go round the ward setting crooked things straight; and a busy and

alarming time they had of it. Not till a couple of hours later did he fling himself forth again, having enjoyed

A gentleman came to reside in the district, a firm believer in the wisdom of the couplet: "A woman, a spaniel

and a walnut tree, The more you beat them the better they be." The spaniel and the walnut tree he did not

possess, so his wife had the benefit of his undivided energies. Whether his treatment had improved her

morally, one cannot say; her evident desire to do her best may have been natural or may have been assisted;

but physically it was injuring her. He used to beat her about the head with his strap, his argument being that

she always seemed half asleep, and that this, for the time being, woke her up. Sympathisers brought

complaint to Hal, for the police in that neighbourhood are to keep the streets respectable. With the life in the

little cells that line them they are no more concerned than are the scavengers of the sewers with the domestic

"He's a big 'un," answered the woman who had come with the tale, "and he's good with his fistsI've seen

him. But there's no getting at him. He's the sort to have the law on you if you interfere with him, and she's the

"Saturdays it's as regular as early closing," answered the woman, "but you might have to wait a bit."

"All right," agreed the woman, "I'll risk it, even if I do get a bloody head for it."

So that week end we sat very still on two rickety chairs listening to a long succession of sharp, cracking

sounds that, had one not known, one might have imagined produced by some child monotonously exploding

percussion caps, each one followed by an answering groan. Hal never moved, but sat smoking his pipe, an

ugly smile about his mouth. Only once he opened his lips, and then it was to murmur to himself: "And God

The horror ceased at last, and later we heard the door unlock and a man's foot upon the landing above. Hal

beckoned to me, and swiftly we slipped out and down the creaking stairs. He opened the front door, and we

waited in the evilsmelling little passage. The man came towards us whistling. He was a powerfully built

fellow, rather goodlooking, I remember. He stopped abruptly upon catching sight of Hal, who stood

"Waiting to pull your nose!" answered Hal, suiting the action to the word. And then laughing he ran down the

The man gave chase, calling to us with a string of imprecations to stop. But Hal only ran the faster, though

So we continued, the distance between us and our pursuer now a little more, now a little less. People turned

and stared at us. A few boys, scenting grim fun, followed shouting for awhile; but these we soon outpaced,

till at last in deserted streets, winding among warehouses bordering the river, we three ran alone, between

long, lifeless walls. I looked into Hal's face from time to time, and he was laughing; but every now and then

he would look over his shoulder at the man behind him still following doggedly, and then his face would be

twisted into a comically terrified grimace. Turning into a narrow culdesac, Hal suddenly ducked behind a

wide brick buttress, and the man, still running, passed us. And then Hal stood up and called to him, and the

He was not a coward. Besides, even a rat when cornered will fight for its life. He made a rush at Hal, and Hal

made no attempt to defend himself. He stood there laughing, and the man struck him full in the face, and the

blood spurted out and flowed down into his mouth. The man came on again, though terror was in every line

of his face, all his desire being to escape. But this time Hal drove him back again. They fought for awhile, if

one can call it fighting, till the man, mad for air, reeled against the wall, stood there quivering convulsively,

his mouth wide open, resembling more than anything else some huge dying fish. And Hal drew away and

I have no desire to see again the sight I saw that quiet, still evening, framed by those high, windowless walls,

from behind which sounded with ceaseless regularity the gentle swish of the incoming tide. All sense of

retribution was drowned in the sight of Hal's evident enjoyment of his sport. The judge had disappeared,

leaving the work to be accomplished by a savage animal loosened for the purpose.

The wretched creature flung itself again towards its only door of escape, fought with the vehemence of

despair, to be flung back again, a hideous, bleeding mass of broken flesh. I tried to cling to Hal's arm, but one

"Keep off, you fool!" he cried. "I won't kill him. I'm keeping my head. I shall know when to stop." And I

Hal joined me a little later, wiping the blood from his face. We made our way to a small publichouse near

the river, and from there Hal sent a couple of men on whom he could rely with instructions how to act. I

never heard any more of the matter. It was a subject on which I did not care to speak to Hal. I can only hope

There was a spotit has been cleared away since to make room for the approach to Greenwich Tunnelit

was then the entrance to a grain depot in connection with the Milwall Docks. A curious brick well it

resembled, in the centre of which a roadway wound downward, corkscrew fashion, disappearing at the

bottom into darkness under a yawning arch. The place possessed the curious property of being ever filled

with a ceaseless murmur, as though it were some aerial maelstrom, drawing into its silent vacuum all

wandering waves of sound from the restless human ocean flowing round it. No single tone could one ever

distinguish: it was a mingling of all voices, heard there like the murmur of a seasoaked shell.

We passed through it on our return. Its work for the day was finished, its strange, weary song uninterrupted

by the mighty waggons thundering up and down its spiral way. Hal paused, leaning against the railings that

"Hark, do you not hear it, Paul?" he asked. "It is the music of Humanity. All human notes are needful to its

making: the faint wail of the newborn, the cry of the dying thief; the beating of the hammers, the merry trip

of dancers; the clatter of the teacups, the roaring of the streets; the crooning of the mother to her babe, the

scream of the tortured child; the meeting kiss of lovers, the sob of those that part. Listen! prayers and curses,

sighs and laughter; the soft breathing of the sleeping, the fretful feet of pain; voices of pity, voices of hate; the

glad song of the strong, the foolish complaining of the weak. Listen to it, Paul! Right and wrong, good and

evil, hope and despair, it is but one voicea single note, drawn by the sweep of the Player's hand across the

quivering strings of man. What is the meaning of it, Paul? Can you read it? Sometimes it seems to me a note

of joy, so full, so endless, so complete, that I cry: 'Blessed be the Lord whose hammers have beaten upon us,

whose fires have shaped us to His ends!' And sometimes it sounds to me a dying note, so that I could curse

Him who in wantonness has wrung it from the anguish of His creaturestill I would that I could fling

myself, Prometheus like, between Him and His victims, calling: "My darkness, but their light; my agony, 0

The faint light from a neighbouring gaslamp fell upon his face that an hour before I had seen the face of a

wild beast. The ugly mouth was quivering, tears stood in his great, tender eyes. Could his prayer in that

moment have been granted, could he have pressed against his bosom all the pain of the world, he would have

He shook himself together with a laugh. "Come, Paul, we have had a busy afternoon, and I'm thirsty. Let us

My mother fell ill that winter. Mountain born and mountain bred, the close streets had never agreed with her,

and scolded by all of us, she promised, "come the fine weather," to put sentiment behind her, and go away

"I'm thinking she will," said Hal, gripping my shoulder with his strong hand, "but it'll be by herself that she'll

go, lad. My wonder is," he continued, "that she has held out so long. If anything, it is you that have kept her

alive. Now that you are off her mind to a certain extent, she is worrying about your father, I expect. These

women, they never will believe a man can take care of himself, even in Heaven. She's never quite trusted the

Lord with him, and never will till she's there to give an eye to things herself."

Hal's prophecy fell true. She left "come the fine weather," as she had promised: I remember it was the first

day primroses were hawked in the street. But another death had occurred just before; which, concerning me

closely as it does, I had better here dispose of; and that was the death of old Mr. Stillwood, who passed away

rich in honour and regret, and was buried with much ostentation and much sincere sorrow; for he had been to

many of his clients, mostly old folk, rather a friend than a mere man of business, and had gained from all with

In conformity with the old legal fashions that in his life he had so fondly clung to, his will was read aloud by

Mr. Gadley after the return from the funeral, and many were the tears its recital called forth. Written years

ago by himself and never altered, its quaint phraseology was full of kindly thought and expression. No one

had been forgotten. Clerks, servants, poor relations, all had been treated with evenhanded justice, while for

those with claim upon him, ample provision had been made. Few wills, I think, could ever have been read

Old Gadley slipped his arm into mine as we left the house. "If you've nothing to do, young 'un," he said, "I'll

get you to come with me to the office. I have got all the keys in my pocket, and we shall be quiet. It will be

sad work for me, and I had rather we were alone. A couple of hours will show us everything."

We lighted the wax candlesold Stillwood could never tolerate gas in his own roomand opening the safe

took out the heavy ledgers one by one, and from them Gadley dictated figures which I wrote down and added

"Thirty years I have kept these books for him," said old Gadley, as we laid by the last of them, "thirty years

come Christmas next, he and I together. No other hands but ours have ever touched them, and now people to

whom they mean nothing but so much business will fling them about, drop greasy crumbs upon themI

know their ways, the brutes!scribble all over them. And he who always would have everything so neat and

We came to the end of them in less than the time old Gadley had thought needful: in such perfect order had

everything been maintained. I was preparing to go, but old Gadley had drawn a couple of small keys from his

"Only one more," he explained in answer to my look, "his own private ledger. It will merely be in the nature

He opened an inner drawer and took from it a small thick volume bound in green leather and closed with two

brass locks. An ancient volume, it appeared, its strong binding faded and stained. Old Gadley sat down with it

at the dead man's own desk, and snuffing the two shaded candles, unlocked and opened it. I was standing

opposite, so that the book to me was upside down, but the date on the first page, "1841," caught my eye, as

"So neat, so orderly he always was," murmured old Gadley again, smoothing the page affectionately with his

But no glib flow of figures fell from him. His eyebrows suddenly contracted, his body stiffened itself. Then

for the next quarter of an hour nothing sounded in the quiet room but his turning of the creakling pages. Once

or twice he glanced round swiftly over his shoulder, as though haunted by the idea of some one behind him;

then back to the neat, closely written folios, his little eyes, now exhibiting a comical look of horror, starting

out of his round red face. First slowly, then quickly with trembling hands he turned the pages, till the

continual ratling of the leaves sounded like strange, mocking laughter through the silent, empty room; almost

The end reached, he sat staring before him, his whole body quivering, great beads of sweat upon his shiny

He handed me the book. It was a cynically truthful record of fraud, extending over thirty years. Every client,

every friend, every relative that had fallen into his net he had robbed: the fortunate ones of a part, the

majority of their all. Its very first entry debited him with the proceeds of his own partner's estate. Its last ran

"Re Kelvervarious sales of stock." To his credit were his payments year after year of imaginary interests

on imaginary securities, the surplus accounted for with simple brevity: "Transferred to own account." No

record could have been more clear, more frank. Beneath each transaction was written its true history; the

actual investments, sometimes necessary, carefully distinguished from the false. In neat red ink would occur

here and there a note for his own guidance: "Eldest child comes of age August, '73. Be prepared for trustees

desiring production." Turning to "August, '73," one found that genuine investment had been made, to be sold

again a few months later on. From beginning to end not a single false step had he committed. Suspicious

clients had been earmarked: the trusting discriminated with gratitude, and milked again and again to meet

As a piece of organisation it was magnificent. No one but a financial genius could have picked a dozen steps

through such a network of chicanery. For half a lifetime he had moved among it, dignified, respected and

Whether even he could have maintained his position for another month was doubtful. Suicide, though hinted

at, was proved to have been impossible. It seemed as though with his amazing audacity he had tricked even

"But it is impossible, Kelver!" cried Gadley, "this must be some dream. Stillwood, Waterhead and Royal!

He took the book into his hands again, then burst into tears. "You never knew him," wailed the poor little

man. "Stillwood, Waterhead and Royal! I came here as office boy fifty years ago. He was more like a friend

I locked the books away and put him into his hat and coat. But I had much difficulty in getting him out of the

"I daren't, young 'un," he cried, drawing back. "Fifty years I have walked out of this office, proud of it, proud

All the way home his only idea was: Could it not be hidden? Honest, kindly little man that he was, he seemed

to have no thought for the unfortunate victims. The good name of his master, of his friend, gone! Stillwood,

Waterhead and Royal, a byword! To have avoided that I believe he would have been willing for yet another

I saw him to his door, then turned homeward; and to my surprise in a dark bystreet heard myself laughing

heartily. I checked myself instantly, feeling ashamed of my callousness, of my seeming indifference to the

trouble even of myself and my mother. Yet as there passed before me the remembrance of that imposing and

expensive funeral with its mournful following of tearful faces; the hushed reading of the will with its

accompaniment of rustling approval; the picture of the admirably sympathetic clergyman consoling with

white hands Mrs. Stillwood, inclined to hysteria, but anxious concerning her two hundred pounds' worth of

crape which by no possibility of means could now be paid forrecurred to me the obituary notice in "The

Chelsea Weekly Chronicle": the humour of the thing swept all else before it, and I laughed againI could

not help itloud and long. It was my first introduction to the comedy of life, which is apt to be more brutal

But nearing home, the serious side of the matter forced itself uppermost. Fortunately, our supposed dividends

had been paid to us by Mr. Stillwood only the month before. Could I keep the thing from troubling my

mother's last days? It would be hard work. I should have to do it alone, for a perhaps foolish pride prevented

my taking Hal into my confidence, even made his friendship a dread to me, lest he should come to learn and

offer help. There is a higher generosity, it is said, that can receive with pleasure as well as bestow favour; but

I have never felt it. Could I be sure of acting my part, of not betraying myself to her sharp eyes, of keeping

newspapers and chance gossip away from her? Good shrewd Amy I cautioned, but I shrank from even

speaking on the subject to Hal, and my fear was lest he should blunder into the subject, which for the usual

nine days occupied much public attention. But fortunately he appeared not even to have heard of the scandal.

Possibly had the need lasted longer I might have failed, but as it was, a few weeks saw the end.

"Don't leave me today, Paul," whispered my mother to me one morning. So I stayed, and in the evening my

mother put her arms around my neck and I lay beside her, my head upon her breast, as I used to when a little

"Room to let for a single gentleman." Sometimes in an idle hour, impelled by foolishness, I will knock at the

door. It is opened after a longer or shorter interval by the "slavey"in the morning, slatternly, her arms

concealed beneath her apron; in the afternoon, smart in dirty cap and apron. How well I know her!

Unchanged, not grown an inchher round bewildered eyes, her open mouth, her touzled hair, her scored red

hands. With an effort I refrain from muttering: "So sorry, forgot my key," from pushing past her and

mounting two at a time the narrow stairs, carpeted to the first floor, but bare beyond. Instead, I say, "Oh, what

rooms have you to let?" when, scuttling to the top of the kitchen stairs, she will call over the banisters: "A

gentleman to see the rooms." There comes up, panting, a harassedlooking, elderly female, but genteel in

black. She crushes past the little "slavey," and approaching, eyes me critically.

"I have a very nice room on the first floor," she informs me, "and one behind on the third."

I agree to see them, explaining that I am seeking them for a young friend of mine. We squeeze past the hat

and umbrella stand: there is just room, but one must keep close to the wall. The first floor is rather an

imposing apartment, with a marbletopped sideboard measuring quite three feet by two, the doors of which

will remain closed if you introduce a wad of paper between them. A green tablecloth, matching the curtains,

covers the lootable. The lamp is perfectly safe so long as it stands in the exact centre of the table, but should

not be shifted. A paper firestove ornament in some mysterious way bestows upon the room an air of

chastity. Above the mantelpiece is a flyblown mirror, between the once gilt frame and glass of which can be

inserted invitation cards; indeed, one or two so remain, proving that the tenants even of "bedsittingrooms"

are not excluded from social delights. The wall opposite is adorned by an oleograph of the kind Cheap Jacks

sell by auction on Saturday nights in the Pimlico Road, and warrant as "handmade." Generally speaking, it

is a Swiss landscape. There appears to be more "body" in a Swiss landscape than in scenes from less favoured

localities. A dilapidated mill, a foaming torrent, a mountain, a maiden and a cow can at the least be relied

upon. An easy chair (I disclaim all responsibility for the adjective), stuffed with many coils of steel wire, each

possessing a "business end" in admirable working order, and covered with horsehair, highly glazed, awaits

the uninitiated. There is one way of sitting upon it, and only one: by using the extreme edge, and planting

your feet firmly on the floor. If you attempt to lean back in it you inevitably slide out of it. When so treated it

seems to say to you: "Excuse me, you are very heavy, and you would really be much more comfortable upon

the floor. Thank you so much." The bed is behind the door, and the washstand behind the bed. If you sit

facing the window you can forget the bed. On the other hand, if more than one friend come to call on you,

you are glad of it. As a matter of fact, experienced visitors prefer itmake straight for it, refusing with

"The lamp, sir, is eighteenpence a week; and the kitchen fire, if the gentleman wishes to dine at home, two

The landlady bridles a little. "The usual size, I think, sir." One presumes there is a special size in

I agree that while I am about it I may as well see the other room, the third floor back. The landlady opens the

door for me, but remains herself on the landing. She is a stout lady, and does not wish to dwarf the apartment

by comparison. The arrangement here does not allow of your ignoring the bed. It is the life and soul of the

room, and it declines to efface itself. Its only possible rival is the washstand, strawcoloured; with staring

white basin and jug, together with other appurtenances. It glares defiantly from its corner. "I know I'm small,"

it seems to say; "but I'm very useful; and I won't be ignored." The remaining furniture consists of a couple of

chairsthere is no hypocrisy about them: they are not easy and they do not pretend to be easy; a small chest

of lightpainted drawers before the window, with white china handles, upon which is a tiny lookingglass;

and, occupying the entire remaining space, after allowing three square feet for the tenant, when he arrives, an

attenuated fourlegged table apparently homemade. The only ornament in the room is, suspended above the

fireplace, a funeral card, framed in beer corks. As the corpse introduced by the ancient Egyptians into their

banquets, it is hung there perhaps to remind the occupant of the apartment that the luxuries and allurements of

life have their end; or maybe it consoles him in despondent moments with the reflection that after all he

The rent of this room is threeandsixpence a week, also including attendance; lamp, as for the first floor,

"But why should kitchen fire for the first floor be two shillings, and for this only one?"

You are quite right, my dear lady, I was forgetting. The gentleman in the third floor back! cooking for him is

not a great tax upon the kitchen fire. His breakfast, it is what, madam, we call plain, I think. His lunch he

takes out. You may see him, walking round the quiet square, up and down the narrow street that, leading to

nowhere in particular, is between twelve and two somewhat deserted. He carries a paper bag, into which at

intervals, when he is sure nobody is looking, his mouth disappears. From studying the neighbourhood one

can guess what it contains. Saveloys hereabouts are plentiful and only twopence each. There are pie shops,

where meat pies are twopence and fruit pies a penny. The lady behind the counter, using deftly a broad, flat

knife, lifts the little dainty with one twist clean from its tiny dish: it is marvellous, having regard to the

thinness of the pastry, that she never breaks one. Roleypoley pudding, sweet and wonderfully satisfying,

more especially when cold, is but a penny a slice. Peas pudding, though this is an awkward thing to eat out of

a bag, is comforting upon cold days. Then with his tea he takes two eggs or a haddock, the fourpenny size;

maybe on rare occasions, a chop or steak; and you fry it for him, madam, though every time he urges on you

how much he would prefer it grilled, for fried in your one fryingpan its flavour becomes somewhat

confused. But maybe this is the better for him, for, shutting his eyes and trusting only to smell and flavour, he

can imagine himself enjoying variety. He can begin with herrings, pass on to liver and bacon, opening his

eyes again for a moment perceive that he has now arrived at the joint, and closing them again, wind up with

distinct suggestion of toasted cheese, thus avoiding monotony. For dinner he goes out again. Maybe he is not

hungry, late meals are a mistake; or, maybe, putting his hand into his pocket and making calculations beneath

a lamppost, appetite may come to him. Then there are places cheerful with the sound of frizzling fat, where

fried plaice brown and odorous may be had for three halfpence, and a handful of sliced potatoes for a penny;

where for fourpence succulent stewed eels may be discussed; vinegar ad lib.; or for sevenpencebut these

are redletter eveningshalf a sheep's head may be indulged in, which is a supper fit for any king, who

I explain that I will discuss the matter with my young friend when he arrives. The landlady says, "Certainly,

sir:" she is used to what she calls the "wandering Christian;" and easing my conscience by slipping a shilling

into the "slavey's" astonished, lukewarm hand, I pass out again into the long, dreary street, now echoing

Or sometimes of an evening, the lamp lighted, the remnants of the meat tea cleared away, the flickering

firelight cosifying the dingy rooms, I go avisiting. There is no need for me to ring the bell, to mount the

stairs. Through the thin transparent walls I can see you plainly, old friends of mine, fashions a little changed,

that is all. We wore bellshaped trousers; eightandsix to measure, sevenandsix if from stock; fastened

our neckties in dashing style with a horseshoe pin. I think in the matter of waistcoats we had the advantage of

you; ours were gayer, braver. Our cuffs and collars were of paper: sixpence halfpenny the dozen,

threehalfpence the pair. On Sunday they were white and glistening; on Monday less aggressively obvious;

on Tuesday morning decidedly dappled. But on Tuesday evening, when with natty cane, or umbrella neatly

rolled in patent leather case, we took our promenade down Oxford Streetfashionable hour nine to ten

p.m.we could shoot our arms and cock our chins with the best. Your indiarubber linen has its advantages.

Storm does not wither it; it braves better the heat and turmoil of the day. The passing of a sponge! and your

"Dicky" is itself again. We had to use breadcrumbs, and so sacrifice the glaze. Yet I cannot help thinking

For the rest I see no change in you, old friends. I wave you greeting from the misty street. God rest you,

gallant gentlemen, lonely and friendless and despised; making the best of joyless lives; keeping yourselves

genteel on twelve, fifteen, or eighteen (ah, but you are plutocrats!) shillings a week; saving something even of

that, maybe, to help the old mother in the country, so proud of her "gentleman" son who has book learning

and who is "something in the City." May nothing you dismay. Bullied, and badgered, and baited from nine to

six though you may be, from then till bedtime you are rorty young dogs. The halfguinea topper, "as worn by

the Prince of Wales" (ah, how many a meal has it not cost!), warmed before the fire, brushed and polished

and coaxed, shines resplendent. The second pair of trousers are drawn from beneath the bed; in the gaslight,

with wellmarked crease from top to toe, they will pass for new. A pleasant evening to you! May your cheap

necktie make all the impression your soul can desire! May your penny cigar be mistaken for Havana! May

the barmaid charm your simple heart by addressing you as "Baby!" May some sweet shopgirl throw a kindly

glance at you, inviting you to walk with her! May she snigger at your humour; may other dogs cast envious

You dreamers of dreams, you who while your companions play and sleep will toil upward in the night! You

have read Mr. Smiles' "SelfHelp," Longfellow's "Psalm of Life," and so strengthened attack with confidence

"French Without a Master," "Bookkeeping in Six Lessons." With a sigh to yourselves you turn aside from the

alluring streets, from the bright, bewitching eyes, into the stuffy air of Birkbeck Institutions, Polytechnic

Schools. May success compensate you for your youth devoid of pleasure! May the partner's chair you seen in

visions be yours before the end! May you live one day in Clapham in a twelveroomed house!

And, after all, we have our moments, have we not? The Saturday night at the play. The hours of waiting, they

are short. We converse with kindred souls of the British Drama, its past and future: we have our views. We

dream of Florence This, Kate That; in a little while we shall see her. Ah, could she but know how we loved

her! Her photo is on our mantelpiece, transforming the dismal little room into a shrine. The poem we have so

often commenced! when it is finished we will post it to her. At least she will acknowledge its receipt; we can

kiss the paper her hand has rested on. The great doors groan, then quiver. Ah, the wild thrill of that moment!

Now push for all you are worth: charge, wriggle, squirm! It is an epitome of life. We are throughcollarless,

panting, pummelled from top to toe: but what of that? Upward, still upward; then downward with leaps at risk

of our neck, from bench to bench through the gloom. We have gained the front row! Would we exchange

sensations with the stallite, strolling languidly to his seat? The extravagant dinner once a week! We banquet

_a la Francais_, in Soho, for oneandsix, including wine. Does Tortoni ever give his customers a repast they

My first lodging was an attic in a square the other side of Blackfriars Bridge. The rent of the room, if I

remember rightly, was three shillings a week with cooking, halfacrown without. I purchased a methylated

Old Hasluck would have helped me willingly, and there were others to whom I might have appealed, but a

boy's pride held me back. I would make my way alone, win my place in the world by myself. To Hal,

"Had your mother lived," he told me, "I should have had something to say on the subject. Of course, I knew

what had happened, but as it iswell, you need not be afraid, I shall not offer you help; indeed, I should

refuse it were you to ask. Put your Carlyle in your pocket: he is not all voices, but he is the best maker of men

"Look me up now and then," he added, "and we'll talk about the stars, the future of Socialism, and the

Woman Questionanything you like except about yourself and your twopennyhalfpenny affairs."

From another it would have sounded brutal, but I understood him. And so we shook hands and parted for

longer than either of us at the time expected. The FrancoGerman War broke out a few weeks later on, and

Hal, the love of adventure always strong within him, volunteered his services, which were accepted. It was

On the doorpost of a house in Farringdon Street, not far from the Circus, stood in those days a small brass

plate, announcing that the "Ludgate News Rooms" occupied the third and fourth floors, and that the

admission to the same was one penny. We were a seedy company that every morning crowded into these

rooms: clerks, shopmen, superior artisans, travellers, warehousemenall of us out of work. Most of us were

young, but with us was mingled a sprinkling of elder men, and these latter were always the saddest and most

silent of this little whispering army of the downatheel. Roughly speaking, we were divided into two

groups: the newcomers, cheery, confident. These would flit from newspaper to newspaper with buzz of

pleasant anticipation, select their advertisement as one choosing some dainty out of a rich and varied menu

"Dear Sir,in reply to your advertisement in today's _Standard_, I shall be pleased to accept the post

vacant in your office. I am of good appearance and address. I am an excellent" It was really marvellous the

quality and number of our attainments. French! we wrote and spoke it fluently, _a la Ahn_. German! of this

we possessed a slighter knowledge, it was true, but sufficient for mere purposes of commerce. Bookkeeping!

arithmetic! geometry! we played with them. The love of work! it was a passion with us. Our moral character!

it would have adorned a Free Kirk Elder. "I could call on you tomorrow or Friday between eleven and one,

or on Saturday any time up till two. Salary required, two guineas a week. An early answer will oblige. Yours

The old stagers did not buzz. Hour after hour they sat writing, steadily, methodically, with day by day less

"Sir,Your advt. in today's _D. T._ I am" of such and such an age. List of qualifications less lengthy, set

forth with more modesty; object desired being air of verisimilitude."If you decide to engage me I will

endeavour to give you every satisfaction. Any time you like to appoint I will call on you. I should not ask a

Dozens of the first letter, hundreds of the second, I wrote with painful care, pen carefully chosen, the

oneinch margin down the left hand side of the paper first portioned off with dots. To three or four I received

a curt reply, instructing me to call. But the shyness that had stood so in my way during the earlier half of my

school days had now, I know not why, returned upon me, hampering me at every turn. A shy child grownup

folks at all events can understand and forgive; but a shy young man is not unnaturally regarded as a fool. I

gave the impression of being awkward, stupid, sulky. The more I strove against my temperament the worse I

became. My attempts to be at my ease, to assert myself, resultedI could see it myselfonly in rudeness.

"Well, I have got to see one or two others. We will write and let you know," was the conclusion of each

My few pounds, guard them how I would, were dwindling rapidly. Looking back, it is easy enough to regard

one's early struggles from a humorous point of view. One knows the story, it all ended happily. But at the

time there is no means of telling whether one's biography is going to be comedy or tragedy. There were

moments when I felt confident it was going to be the latter. Occasionally, when one is feeling well, it is not

unpleasant to contemplate with pathetic sympathy one's own deathbed. One thinks of the friends and

relations who at last will understand and regret one, be sorry they had not behaved themselves better. But

myself, there was no one to regret. I felt very small, very helpless. The world was big. I feared it might walk

over me, trample me down, never seeing me. I seemed unable to attract its attention.

One morning I found waiting for me at the Reading Room another of the usual missives. It ran: "Will Mr. P.

Kelver call at the above address tomorrow morning between tenthirty and eleven. The paper was headed:

"Lott and Co., Indian Commission Agents, Aldersgate Street." Without much hope I returned to my lodgings,

changed my clothes, donned my silk hat, took my one pair of gloves, drew its silk case over my holey

umbrella; and so equipped for fight with Fate made my way to Aldersgate Street. For a quarter of an hour or

so, being too soon, I walked up and down the pavement outside the house, gazing at the secondfloor

windows, behind which, so the doorplate had informed me, were the offices of Lott Co. I could not recall

their advertisement, nor my reply to it. The firm was evidently not in a very flourishing condition. I wondered

idly what salary they would offer. For a moment I dreamt of a Cheeryble Brother asking me kindly if I

thought I could do with thirty shillings a week as a beginning; but the next I recalled my usual fate, and

considered whether it was even worth while to climb the stairs, go through what to me was a painful ordeal,

A fine rain began to fall. I did not wish to unroll my umbrella, yet felt nervous for my hat. It was five minutes

to the half hour. Listlessly I crossed the road and mounted the bare stairs to the second floor. Two doors faced

me, one marked "Private." I tapped lightly at the second. Not hearing any response, after a second or two I

tapped again. A sound reached me, but it was unintelligible. I knocked yet again, still louder. This time I

The tone was one of pathetic entreaty. I turned the handle and entered. It was a small room, dimly lighted by

a dirty window, the bottom half of which was rendered opaque by tissue paper pasted to its panes. The place

suggested a village shop rather than an office. Pots of jam, jars of pickles, bottles of wine, biscuit tins, parcels

of drapery, boxes of candles, bars of soap, boots, packets of stationery, boxes of cigars, tinned provisions,

guns, cartridgesthings sufficient to furnish a desert island littered every available corner. At a small desk

under the window sat a youth with a remarkably small body and a remarkably large head; so disproportionate

were the two I should hardly have been surprised had he put up his hands and taken it off. Half in the room

"No," he answered; "it's a room." One eye was fixed upon me, dull and glassy; it never blinked, it never

"I mean," I explained, coming entirely into the room, "are these the offices of Lott Co.?"

"It's one of them," he replied; "the back one. If you're really anxious for a job, you can shut the door."

I complied with his suggestion, and then announced that I was Mr. KelverMr. Paul Kelver.

"Minikin's my name," he returned, "Sylvanus Minikin. You don't happen by any chance to know what you've

Looking at his body, my inclination was to pick my way among the goods that covered the floor and pull his

ears for him. From his grave and massive face, he might, for all I knew, be the head clerk.

"I have called to see Mr. Lott," I replied, with dignity; "I have an appointment." I produced the letter from my

pocket, and leaning across a sewingmachine, I handed it to him for his inspection. Having read it, he

suddenly took from its socket the eye with which he had been hitherto regarding me, and proceeding to polish

it upon his pocket handkerchief, turned upon me his other. Having satisfied himself, he handed me back my

Replacing his glass eye, he turned again to his work. "If employment is what you want," answered Mr.

Minikin, "you'll get it. Best employer in London. He'll keep you going for twentyfour hours a day, and then

I took the chair; it was the only chair in the room, with the exception of the one Minikin was sitting on.

"Apart from his being a bit of a driver," I asked, "what sort of a man is he? Is he pleasant?"

My spirits continued to sink. Had I been left alone with Minikin much longer, I might have ended by

following his advice, "hooking it" before Mr. Lott arrived. But the next moment I heard the other door open,

and some one entered the private office. Then the bell rang, and Minikin disappeared, leaving the

communicating door ajar behind him. The conversation that I overheard was as follows:

Whatever faults might be laid to Mr. Lott's door, he at least, I concluded, possesssed the virtue of

Minikin reentered with papers in his hand. "In you go," he said. "Heaven help you!" And I passed in and

The room was a replica of the one I had just left. If possible, it was more crowded, more packed with

miscellaneous articles. I picked my way through these and approached the desk. Mr. Lott was a small,

dingylooking man, with very dirty hands, and small, restless eyes. I was glad that he was not imposing, or

my shyness might have descended upon me; as it was, I felt better able to do myself justice. At once he

plunged into the business by seizing and waving in front of my eyes a bulky bundle of letters tied together

"One hundred and seventeen answers to an advertisement," he cried with evident satisfaction, "in one day!

"Poor devils, poor devils!" murmured Mr. Lott "what will become of them? Some of them will starve.

Terrible death, starvation, Kelver; takes such a long timeespecially when you're young."

I told him I had a few pounds still remaining to me, but that after that was gone I should be penniless.

"And to think, Kelver, that there are hundreds, thousands of young fellows precisely in your position! How

"I thought as much. Do you know why I selected your letter out of the whole batch?"

"Because it's the worst written of them all." He pushed it across to me. "Look at it. Awful, isn't it?"

"Nor spelling either," he added, and with truth. "Who do you think will engage you if I don't?"

"Nobody," he continued, without waiting for me to reply. "A month hence you will still be looking for a

berth, and a month after that. Now, I'm going to do you a good turn; save you from destitution; give you a

He waived it aside. "That is my notion of philanthropy: help those that nobody else will help. That young

fellow in the other roomhe isn't a bad worker, he's smart, but he's impertinent."

"Doesn't mean to be, can't help it. Noticed his trick of looking at you with his glass eye, keeping the other

"Always does it. Used to irritate his last employer to madness. Said to him one day: 'Do turn that signal lamp

of yours off, Minikin, and look at me with your real eye.' What do you think he answered? That it was the

only one he'd got, and that he didn't want to expose it to shocks. Wouldn't have mattered so much if it hadn't

"You don't mind work? You're not one of those goodfornothings who sleep all day and wake up when it's

"With some of them," complained Mr. Lott, in a tone of bitterness, "it's nothing but play, girls, gadding about

the streets. Work, businessoh, no. I may go bankrupt; my wife and children may go into the workhouse.

No thought for me, the man that keeps them, feeds them, clothes them. How much salary do you want?"

I hesitated. I gathered this was not a Cheeryble Brother; it would be necessary to be moderate in one's

He repeated the figure in a scream. "Fiveandtwenty shillings for writing like that! And can't spell

commission! Don't know anything about the business. Fiveandtwenty!Tell you what I'll do: I'll give you

"Can't live on twelve! Do you know why? Because you don't know how to live. I know you all. One veal and

"You overload your stomachs, then you can't work. Half the diseases you young fellows suffer from are

"Now, you take my advice," continued Mr. Lott; "try vegetarianism. In the morning, a little oatmeal.

Wonderfully strengthening stuff, oatmeal: look at the Scotch. For dinner, beans. Why, do you know there's

more nourishment in half a pint of lentil beans than in a pound of beefsteakmore gluten. That's what you

want, more gluten; no corpses, no dead bodies. Why, I've known young fellows, vegetarians, who have lived

like fighting cocks on sevenpence a day. Seven times seven are fortynine. How much do you pay for your

"Fourandapenny and twoandsix makes sixandseven. That leaves you five and fivepence for mere

"Well, and I said fifteen," he retorted, somewhat indignant at the quibbling. "That's splitting the difference,

I dared not throw away the one opportunity that had occurred. Anything was better than return to the Reading

Rooms, and the empty days full of despair. I accepted, and it was agreed that I should come the following

"Felt sure somehow that he'd take a liking to you," answered Minikin. "Don't be ungrateful and look thin on

Outside the door I heard Mr. Lott's shrill voice demanding to know where postage stamps were to be found.

The hours were longin fact, we had no office hours; we got away when we could, which was rarely before

seven or eightbut my work was interesting. It consisted of buying for unfortunate clients in India or the

Colonies anything they might happen to want, from a stage coach to a pot of marmalade; packing it and

shipping it across to them. Our "commission" was anything they could be persuaded to pay over and above

the value of the article. I was not much interfered with. There was that to be said for Lott Co., so long as the

work was done he was quite content to leave one to one's own way of doing it. And hastening through the

busy streets, bargaining in shop or warehouse, bustling important in and out the swarming docks, I often

thanked my stars that I was not as some poor twopoundaweek clerk chained to a dreary desk.

The fifteen shillings a week was a tight fit; but that was not my trouble. Reduce your denominatoryou

know the quotation. I found it no philosophical cant, but a practical solution of life. My food cost me on the

average a shilling a day. If more of us limited our commissariat bill to the same figure, there would be less

dyspepsia abroad. Generally I cooked my own meals in my own fryingpan; but occasionally I would

indulge myself with a more orthodox dinner at a cook shop, or tea with hot buttered toast at a coffeeshop;

and but for the greasy tablecloth and the dirtyhanded waiter, such would have been even greater delights.

The shilling a week for amusements afforded me at least one, occasionally two, visits to the theatre, for in

those days there were Paradises where for sixpence one could be a god. Fourpence a week on tobacco gave

me halfadozen cigarettes a day; I have spent more on smoke and derived less satisfaction. Dress was my

greatest difficulty. One anxiety in life the poor man is saved: he knows not the haunting sense of debt. My

tailor never dunned me. His principle was halfacrown down on receipt of order, the balance on the handing

over of the goods. No system is perfect; the method avoided friction, it is true; yet on the other hand it was

annoying to be compelled to promenade, come Sundays, in shiny elbows and frayed trousers, knowing all the

while that finished, waiting, was a suit in which one might have made one's markhad only one shut one's

eyes passing that pastrycook's window on payday. Surely there should be a sumptuary law compelling

Were it because of its mere material hardships that to this day I think of that period of my life with a shudder,

I should not here confess to it. I was alone. I knew not a living soul to whom I dared to speak, who cared to

speak to me. For those first twelve months after my mother's death I lived alone, thought alone, felt alone. In

the morning, during the busy day, it was possible to bear; but in the evenings the sense of desolation gripped

me like a physical pain. The summer evenings came again, bringing with them the long, lingering light so

laden with melancholy. I would walk into the Parks and, sitting there, watch with hungry eyes the men and

women, boys and girls, moving all around me, talking, laughing, interested in one another; feeling myself

some speechless ghost, seeing but not seen, crying to the living with a voice they heard not. Sometimes a

solitary figure would pass by and glance back at me; some lonely creature like myself longing for human

sympathy. In the teeming city must have been thousands suchyoung men and women to whom a friendly

ear, a kindly voice, would have been as the water of life. Each imprisoned in his solitary cell of shyness, we

looked at one another through the grating with condoling eyes; further than that was forbidden to us. Once, in

Kensington Gardens, a woman turned, then slowly retracing her steps, sat down beside me on the bench.

Neither of us spoke; had I done so she would have risen and moved away; yet there was understanding

between us. To each of us it was some comfort to sit thus for a little while beside the other. Had she poured

out her heart to me, she could have told me nothing more than I knew: "I, too, am lonely, friendless; I, too,

long for the sound of a voice, the touch of a hand. It is hard for you, it is harder still for me, a girl; shut out

from the bright world that laughs around me; denied the right of youth to joy and pleasure; denied the right of

The footsteps to and fro grew fewer. She moved to rise. Stirred by an impulse, I stretched out my hand, then

seeing the flush upon her face, drew it back hastily. But the next moment, changing her mind, she held hers

out to me, and I took it. It was the first clasp of a hand I had felt since six months before I had said goodbye

to Hal. She turned and walked quickly away. I stood watching her; she never looked round, and I never saw

I take no credit to myself for keeping straight, as it is termed, during these days. For good or evil, my shyness

prevented my taking part in the flirtations of the streets. Whether inviting eyes were ever thrown to me as to

others, I cannot say. Sometimes, fancying sohoping so, I would follow. Yet never could I summon up

sufficient resolution to face the possible rebuff before some less timid swain would swoop down upon the

quarry. Then I would hurry on, cursing myself for the poorness of my spirit, fancying mocking contempt in

On a Sunday I would rise early and take long solitary walks into the country. One winter's dayI remember

it was on the road between Edgware and Stanmorethere issued from a byroad a little ahead of me a party

of boys and girls, young people about my own age, bound evidently on a skating expedition. I could hear the

musical ring of their blades, clattering as they walked, and the sound of their merry laughter so clear and

belllike through the frosty air. And an aching anguish fell upon me. I felt a mad desire to run after them, to

plead with them to let me walk with them a little way, to let me laugh and talk with them. Every now and

then they would pirouette to cry some jest to one another. I could see their faces: the girls' so sweetly alluring,

framed by their dainty hats and furs, the bright colour in their cheeks, the light in their teasing eyes. A little

further on they turned aside into a bylane, and I stood at the corner listening till the last echo of their joyous

voices died away, and on a stone that still remains standing there I sat down and sobbed.

I would walk about the streets always till very late. I dreaded the echoing clang of the little front door when I

closed it behind me, the climbing of the silent stairs, the solitude that waited for me in my empty room. It

would rise and come towards me like some living thing, kissing me with cold lips. Often, unable to bear the

closeness of its presence, I would creep out into the streets. There, even though it followed me, I was not

alone with it. Sometimes I would pace them the whole night, sharing them with the other outcasts while the

Occasionally, during these nightly wanderings would come to me moments of exaltation when fear fell from

me and my blood would leap with joy at prospect of the fierce struggle opening out before me. Then it was

the ghostly city sighing round me that seemed dead, I the only living thing real among a world of shadows. In

long, echoing streets I would laugh and shout. Misunderstanding policemen would turn their bull'seyes on

me, gruffly give me practical advice: they knew not who I was! I stood the centre of a vast galantyshow: the

phantom houses came and went; from some there shone bright lights; the doors were open, and little figures

flitted in and out, the tiny coaches glided to and fro, manikins grotesque but pitiful crept across the starlit

Then the mood would change. The city, grim and vast, stretched round me endless. I crawled, a mere atom,

within its folds, helpless, insignificant, absurd. The houseless forms that shared my vigil were my fellows.

What were we? Animalcule upon its bosom, that it saw not, heeded not. For company I would mingle with

them: ragged men, frowsy women, ageless youths, gathered round the red glow of some coffee stall.

Rarely would we speak to one another. More like animals we browsed there, sipping the halfpenny cup of hot

water coloured with coffee grounds (at least it was warm), munching the moist slab of coarse cake; looking

with dull, indifferent eyes each upon the wretchedness of the others. Perhaps some two would whisper to

each other in listless, monotonous tone, broken here and there by a short, mirthless laugh; some shivering

creature, not yet casehardened to despair, seek, perhaps, the relief of curses that none heeded. Later, a faint

chill breeze would shake the shadows loose, a thin, wan light streak the dark air with shade, and silently,

All things pass, even the selfinflicted sufferings of shy young men, condemned by temperament to solitude.

Came the winter evenings, I took to work: in it one may drown much sorrow for oneself. With its handful of

fire, its two candles lighted, my "apartment" was more inviting. I bought myself paper, pens and ink. Great or

small, what more can a writer do? He is but the wouldbe medium: will the spirit voices employ him or reject

London, with its million characters, grave and gay; its ten thousand romances, its mysteries, its pathos, and its

humour, lay to my hand. It stretched before me, asking only intelligent observation, more or less truthful

report. But that I could make a story out of the things I really knew never occurred to me. My tales were of

cottage maidens, of bucolic yeomen. My scenes were laid in windmills, among mountains, or in moated

A trail of gentle melancholy lay over them. Sentiment was more popular then than it is now, and, as do all

beginners, I scrupulously followed fashion. Generally speaking, to be a heroine of mine was fatal. However

naturally her hair might curland curly hair, I believe, is the hallmark of vitality; whatever other

indications of vigorous health she might exhibit in the first chapter, such as "dancing eyes," "colour that came

and went," "ringing laughter," "fawnlike agility," she was tolerably certain, poor girl, to end in an untimely

grave. Snowdrops and early primroses (my botany I worked up from a useful little volume, "Our Garden

Favourites, Illustrated") grew there as in a forcing house; and if in the neighbourhood of the coast, the

seabreezes would choose that particular churchyard, somewhat irreverently, for their favourite playground.

Years later a whitehaired man would come there leading little children by the hand, and to them he would

CHAPTER II. PAUL, ESCAPING FROM HIS SOLITUDE, FALLS INTO STRANGE COMPANY. AND BECOMES CAPTIVE TO ONE OF HAUGHTY MIEN. 113

Now and then, by way of change, it would be the gentleman who would fall a victim of the deadly

atmosphere of my literature. It was of no particular consequence, so he himself would conclude in his last

soliloquy; "it was better so." Snowdrops and primroses, for whatever consolation they might have been to

him, it was hopeless for him to expect; his grave, marked by a rude cross, being as a rule situate in an

exceptionally unfrequented portion of the African veldt or amid burning sands. For description of final

scenery on these occasions a visit to the British Museum readingroom would be necessary.

Dismal little fledgelings! And again and again would I drive them from the nest; again and again they

fluttered back to me, soiled, crumpled, physically damaged. Yet one person had admired them, cried over

All methods I tried. Sometimes I would send them forth accompanied by a curt business note of the

takeitorleaveit order. At other times I would attach to it pathetic appeals for its consideration.

Sometimes I would give value to it, stating that the price was five guineas and requesting that the cheque

should be crossed; at other times seek to tickle editorial cupidity by offering this, my first contribution to

their pages, for nothingmy sample packet, so to speak, sent gratis, one trial surely sufficient. Now I would

write sarcastically, enclosing together with the stamped envelope for return a brutally penned note of

rejection. Or I would write frankly, explaining elaborately that I was a beginner, and asking to be told my

Not one found a resting place for its feet. A month, a week, a couple of days, they would remain away from

me, then return. I never lost a single one. I wished I had. It would have varied the monotony.

I hated the poor little slavey who, bursting joyously into the room, would hold them out to me from between

her apronhidden thumb and finger; her chronic sniff I translated into contempt. If flying down the stairs at

the sound of the postman's knock I secured it from his hands, it seemed to me he smiled. Tearing them from

their envelopes, I would curse them, abuse them, fling them into the fire sometimes; but before they were

more than scorched I would snatch them out, smooth them, reread them. The editor himself could never have

seen them; it was impossible; some jealous underling had done this thing. I had sent them to the wrong paper.

They had arrived at the inopportune moment. Their triumph would come. Rewriting the first and last sheets, I

Meanwhile, understanding that the wouldbe happy warrior must shine in camp as well as field, I sought to

fit myself also for the social side of life. Smoking and drinking were the twin sins I found most difficulty in

acquiring. I am not claiming a mental excellence so much as confessing a bodily infirmity. The spirit had

always been willing, but my flesh was weak. Fired by emulation, I had at school occasionally essayed a

cigarette. The result had been distinctly unsatisfactory, and after some two or three attempts, I had

abandoned, for the time being, all further endeavour; excusing my faintheartedness by telling myself with

sanctimonious air that smoking was bad for growing boys; attempting to delude myself by assuming, in

presence of contemporaries of stronger stomach, fine pose of disapproval; yet in my heart knowing myself a

young hypocrite, disguising physical cowardice in the robes of moral courage: a selfdeception to which

So likewise now and again I had tasted the wine that was red, and that stood year in, year out, decanted on

our sideboard. The true inwardness of St. Paul's prescription had been revealed to me; the

attitudesometimes sneered atof those who drink it under doctor's orders, regarding it purely as a

medicine, appeared to me reasonable. I had noticed also that others, some of them grown men even, making

wry faces, when drinking my mother's claret, and had concluded therefrom that taste for strong liquor was an

accomplishment less easily acquired than is generally supposed. The lack of it in a young man could be no

CHAPTER II. PAUL, ESCAPING FROM HIS SOLITUDE, FALLS INTO STRANGE COMPANY. AND BECOMES CAPTIVE TO ONE OF HAUGHTY MIEN. 114

But now, a gentleman at large, my education could no longer be delayed. To the artist in particular was

trainingand severe trainingan absolute necessity. Recently fashion has changed somewhat, but a quarter

of a century ago a genius who did not smoke and drinkand that more than was good for himwould have

been dismissed without further evidence as an impostor. About the genius I was hopeful, but at no time

positively certain. As regarded the smoking and drinking, so much at least I could make sure of. I set to work

methodically, conscientiously. Smoking, experience taught me, was better practised on Saturday nights,

Sunday affording me the opportunity of walking off the effects. Patience and determination were eventually

crowned with success: I learned to smoke a cigarette to all appearance as though I were enjoying it. Young

men of less character might here have rested content, but attainment of the highest has always been with me a

motive force. The cigarette conquered, I next proceeded to attack the cigar. My first one I remember well:

most men do. It was at a smoking concert held in the Islington Drill Hall, to which Minikin had invited me.

Not feeling sure whether my growing dizziness were due solely to the cigar, or in part to the hot,

overcrowded room, I made my excuses and slipped out. I found myself in a small courtyard, divided from a

neighbouring garden by a low wall. The cause of my trouble was clearly the cigar. My inclination was to take

it from my mouth and see how far I could throw it. Conscience, on the other hand, urged me to persevere. It

occurred to me that if climbing on to the wall I could walk along it from end to end, there would be no excuse

for my not heeding the counsels of perfection. If, on the contrary, try as I might, the wall proved not wide

enough for my footsteps, then I should be entitled to lose the beastly thing, and, as best I could, make my way

home to bed. I attained the wall with some difficulty and commenced my selfinflicted ordeal. Two yards

further I found myself lying across the wall, my legs hanging down one side, my head overhanging the other.

The position proving suitable to my requirements, I maintained it. Inclination, again seizing its opportunity,

urged me then and there to take a solemn vow never to smoke again. I am proud to write that through that

hour of temptation I remained firm; strengthening myself by whispering to myself: "Never despair. What

A liking for drink I had found, if possible, even yet more difficult of achievement. Spirits I almost despaired

of. Once, confusing bottles, I drank some hair oil in mistake for whiskey, and found it decidedly less

nauseous. But twice a week I would force myself to swallow a glass of beer, standing over myself insisting

on my draining it to the bitter dregs. As reward afterwards, to take the taste out of my mouth, I would treat

myself to chocolates; at the same time comforting myself by assuring myself that it was for my good, that

there would come a day when I should really like it, and be grateful to myself for having been severe with

In other and more sensible directions I sought also to progress. Gradually I was overcoming my shyness. It

was a slow process. I found the best plan was not to mind being shy, to accept it as part of my temperament,

and with others laugh at it. The coldness of an indifferent world is of service in hardening a too sensitive skin.

The gradual rubbings of existence were rounding off my many corners. I became possible to my fellow

By directing me to this particular house in Nelson Square, Fate had done to me a kindness. I flatter myself we

were an interesting menagerie gathered together under its leaky roof. Mrs. Peedles, our landlady, who slept in

the basement with the slavey, had been an actress in Charles Keane's company at the old Princess's. There, it

is true, she had played only insignificant parts. London, as she would explain to us was even then but a poor

judge of art, with prejudices. Besides an actormanager, hampered by a wifewe understood. But

previously in the Provinces there had been a career of glory: Juliet, Amy Robsart, Mrs. Haller in "The

Stranger"almost the entire roll of the "Legitimates". Showed we any signs of disbelief, proof was

forthcoming: handbills a yard long, rich in notes of exclamation: "On Tuesday Evening! By Special Desire!!!

Blessington's Theatre! In the Meadow, adjoining the Falcon Arms!""On Saturday! Under the Patronage of

Col. Sir William and the Officers of the 74th!!!! In the Corn Exchange!" Maybe it would convince us further

CHAPTER II. PAUL, ESCAPING FROM HIS SOLITUDE, FALLS INTO STRANGE COMPANY. AND BECOMES CAPTIVE TO ONE OF HAUGHTY MIEN. 115

were she to run through a passage here and there, say Lady Macbeth's sleepwalking scene, or from Ophelia's

entrance in the fourth act? It would be no trouble; her memory was excellent. We would hasten to assure her

Listening to her, it was difficult, as she herself would frankly admit, to imagine her the once "arch Miss

Lucretia Barry;" looking at her, to remember there had been an evening when she had been "the cynosure of

every eye." One found it necessary to fortify oneself with perusal of underlined extracts from ancient

journals, much thumbed and creased, thoughtfully lent to one for the purpose. Since those days Fate had

woven round her a mantle of depression. She was now a faded, wateryeyed little woman, prone on the

slightest provocation to sit down suddenly On the nearest chair and at once commence a history of her

troubles. Quite unconscious of this failing, it was an idea of hers that she was an exceptionally cheerful

"But there, fretting's no good. We must grin and bear things in this world," she would conclude, wiping her

eyes upon her apron. "It's better to laugh than to cry, I always say." And to prove that this was no mere idle

Much stairclimbing had bestowed upon her a shortness of breath, which no amount of panting in her resting

"You don't know 'ow to breathe," explained our second floor front to her on one occasion, a kindly young

man; "you don't swallow it, you only gargle with it. Take a good draught and shut your mouth; don't be

frightened of it; don't let it out again till it's done something: that's what it's 'ere for."

He stood over her with his handkerchief pressed against her mouth to assist her; but it was of no use.

Bells had become to her the business of life; she lived listening for them. Converse to her was a filling in of

A bottle of whiskey fell into my hands that Christmas time, a present from a commercial traveller in the way

of business. Not liking whiskey myself, it was no sacrifice for me to reserve it for the occasional comfort of

Mrs. Peedles, when, breathless, with her hands to her side, she would sink upon the chair nearest to my door.

"Ah, well," she would reply, "I don't mind if I do. It's a poor heart that never rejoices."

And then, her tongue unloosened, she would sit there and tell me stories of my predecessors, young men

lodgers who like myself had taken her bedsittingrooms, and of the woes and misfortunes that had

overtaken them. I gathered that a more unlucky house I could not have selected. A former tenant of my own

room, of whom I strangely reminded her, had written poetry on my very table. He was now in Portland doing

five years for forgery. Mrs. Peedles appeared to regard the two accomplishments as merely different

expressions of the same art. Another of her young men, as she affectionately called us, had been of studious

ambition. His career up to a point appeared to have been brilliant. "What he mightn't have been," according to

Mrs. Peedles, there was practically no saying; what he happened to be at the moment of conversation was an

"I've always noticed it," Mrs. Peedles would explain; "it's always the most deserving, those that try hardest, to

CHAPTER II. PAUL, ESCAPING FROM HIS SOLITUDE, FALLS INTO STRANGE COMPANY. AND BECOMES CAPTIVE TO ONE OF HAUGHTY MIEN. 116

I was glad on the whole when that bottle of whiskey was finished. A second might have driven me to suicide.

There was no Mr. Peedlesat least, not for Mrs. Peedles, though as an individual he continued to exist. He

had been "general utility" at the Princess'sthe old terms were still in vogue at that timea fine figure of a

man in his day, so I was given to understand, but one easily led away, especially by minxes. Mrs. Peedles

For working days Mrs. Peedles had one dress and one cap, both black and void of ostentation; but on

Sundays and holidays she would appear metamorphosed. She had carefully preserved the bulk of her stage

wardrobe, even to the pastedecked shoes and tinsel jewelry. Shapeless in classic garb as Hermia, or bulgy in

brocade and velvet as Lady Teazle, she would receive her few visitors on Sunday evenings, discarded

puppets like herself, with whom the conversation was of gayer nights before their wires had been cut; or, her

glory hid from the ribald street beneath a mackintosh, pay her few calls. Maybe it was the unusual excitement

that then brought colour into her furrowed cheeks, that straightened and darkened her eyebrows, at other

times so singularly unobtrusive. Be this how it may, the change was remarkable, only the thin grey hair and

the workworn hands remaining for purposes of identification. Nor was the transformation merely one of

surface. Mrs. Peedles hung on her hook behind the kitchen door, dingy, limp, discarded; out of the wardrobe

with the silks and satins was lifted down to be put on as an undergarment Miss Lucretia Barry, like her

In the room next to me lived a lawwriter and his wife. They were very old and miserably poor. The fault

was none of theirs. Despite copybooks maxims, there is in this world such a thing as illluckpersistent,

monotonous, that gradually wears away all power of resistance. I learned from them their history: it was

hopelessly simple, hopelessly uninstructive. He had been a schoolmaster, she a pupil teacher; they had

married young, and for a while the world had smiled upon them. Then came illness, attacking them both:

nothing out of which any moral could be deduced, a mere case of bad drains resulting in typhoid fever. They

had started again, saddled by debt, and after years of effort had succeeded in clearing themselves, only to fall

again, this time in helping a friend. Nor was it even a case of folly: a poor man who had helped them in their

trouble, hardly could they have done otherwise without proving themselves ungrateful. And so on, a tedious

tale, commonplace, trivial. Now listless, patient, hard working, they had arrived at an animallike

indifference to their fate, content so long as they could obtain the bare necessities of existence, passive when

these were not forthcoming, their interest in life limited to the one luxury of the pooran occasional glass of

beer or spirits. Often days would go by without his obtaining any work, and then they would more or less

starve. Law documents are generally given out to such men in the evening, to be returned finished the next

morning. Waking in the night, I would hear through the thin wooden partition that divided our rooms the

Thus cheek by jowl we worked, I my side of the screen, he his: youth and age, hope and realisation.

Out of him my fears fashioned a vision of the future. Past his door I would slink on tiptoe, dread meeting him

upon the stairs. Once had not he said to himself: "The world's mine oyster?" May not the voices of the night

have proclaimed him also king? Might I not be but an idle dreamer, mistaking desire for power? Would not

the world prove stronger than I? At such times I would see my life before me: the clerkship at thirty shillings

a week rising by slow instalments, it may be, to one hundred and fifty a year; the fourroomed house at

Brixton; the girl wife, pretty, perhaps, but sinking so soon into the slatternly woman; the squalling children.

How could I, unaided, expect to raise myself from the ruck? Was not this the more likely picture?

Our second floor front was a young fellow in the commercial line. Jarman was Young London

personifiedblatant yet kindhearted; aggressively selfassertive, generous to a fault; cunning, yet at the

same time frank; shrewd, cheery, and full of pluck. "Never say die" was his motto, and anything less dead it

would be difficult to imagine. All day long he was noisy, and all night long he snored. He woke with a start,

CHAPTER II. PAUL, ESCAPING FROM HIS SOLITUDE, FALLS INTO STRANGE COMPANY. AND BECOMES CAPTIVE TO ONE OF HAUGHTY MIEN. 117

bathed like a porpoise, sang while dressing, roared for his boots, and whistled during his breakfast. His

entrance and exit were always to an orchestration of banging doors, directions concerning his meals shouted

at the top of his voice as he plunged up or down the stairs, the clattering and rattling of brooms and pails

flying before his feet. His departure always left behind it the suggestion that the house was now to let; it came

almost as a shock to meet a human being on the landing. He would have conveyed an atmosphere of bustle to

Sometimes carrying his own suppertray, arranged for two, he would march into my room. At first, resenting

his familiarity, I would hint at my desire to be alone, would explain that I was busy.

"You fire away, Shakespeare Redivivus," he would reply. "Don't delay the tragedy. Why should London

But his notion of keeping quiet was to retire into a corner and there amuse himself by enacting a tragedy of

"Ah, ah!" I would hear him muttering to himself, "I 'ave killed 'er good old father; I 'ave falsely accused 'er

young man of all the crimes that I 'ave myself committed; I 'ave robbed 'er of 'er ancestral estates. Yet she

loves me not! It is streeange!" Then changing his bass to a shrill falsetto: "It is a cold and dismal night: the

snow falls fast. I will leave me 'at and umbrella be'ind the door and go out for a walk with the cheeild. Aha!

who is this? 'E also 'as forgotten 'is umbrella. Ah, now I know 'im in the pitch dark by 'is cigarette! Villain,

murderer, silly josser! it is you!" Then with lightning change of voice and gesture: "Mary, I love yer!" "Sir

Jasper Murgatroyd, let me avail myself of this opportunity to tell you what I think of you" "No, no; the

'ouses close in 'alf an hour; there is not teeime. Fly with me instead!" "Never! Un'and me!" "'Ear me! Ah,

what 'ave I done? I 'ave slipped upon a piece of orange peel and broke me 'ead! If you will kindly ask them to

Finding it (much to Jarman's surprise) impossible to renew the thread of my work, I would abandon my

attempts at literature, and instead listen to his talk, which was always interesting. His conversation was, it is

true, generally about himself, but it was none the less attractive on that account. His love affairs, which

appeared to be numerous, formed his chief topic. There was no reserve about Jarman: his life contained no

secret chambers. What he "told her straight," what she "up and said to him" in reply was for all the world that

"Girls," he would say, "they're all alike, till you know 'em. So long as they're trying to palm themselves off on

yer, they'll persuade you there isn't such another article in all the market. When they've got yer orderah,

then yer find out what they're really made of. And you take it from me, 'Omer Junior, most of 'em are put

together cheap. Bah! it sickens me sometimes to read the way you paperstainers talk about 'emangels,

goddesses, fairies! They've just been getting at yer. You're giving 'em just the price they're asking without

examining the article. Girls ain't a special make, like what you seem to think 'em. We're all turned out of the

"Not that I say, mind yer," he would continue, "that there are none of the right sort. They're to be 'adreal

good 'uns. All I say is, taking 'em at their own valuation ain't the way to do business with 'em."

What he was on the look out forto quote his own descriptionwas a really first class article, not

"They're to be found," he would cheerfully affirm, "but you've got to look for 'em. They're not the sort that

CHAPTER II. PAUL, ESCAPING FROM HIS SOLITUDE, FALLS INTO STRANGE COMPANY. AND BECOMES CAPTIVE TO ONE OF HAUGHTY MIEN. 118

Behind Jarman in the second floor back resided one whom Jarman had nicknamed "The Lady 'Ortensia." I

believe before my arrival there had been love passages between the two; but neither of them, so I gathered,

had upon closer inspection satisfied the other's standard. Their present attitude towards each other was that of

insult thinly veiled under exaggerated politeness. Miss Rosina Sellars was, in her own language, a "lady

assistant," in common parlance, a barmaid at the Ludgate Hill Station refreshment room. She was a large,

flabby young woman. With less powder, her complexion might by admirers have been termed creamy; as it

was, it presented the appearance rather of underdone pastry. To be on all occasions "quite the lady" was her

pride. There were those who held the angle of her dignity to be exaggerated. Jarman would beg her for her

own sake to be more careful lest one day she should fall down backwards and hurt herself. On the other hand,

her bearing was certainly calculated to check familiarity. Even stockbrokers' clerksyoung men as a class

with the bump of reverence but poorly developedwould in her presence falter and grow hesitating. She had

cultivated the art of not noticing to something approaching perfection. She could draw the noisiest customer a

glass of beer, which he had never ordered; exchange it for three of whiskey, which he had; take his money

and return him his change without ever seeing him, hearing him, or knowing he was there. It shattered the

selfassertion of the youngest of commercial travellers. Her tone and manner, outside rare moments of

excitement, were suggestive of an offended but forgiving iceberg. Jarman invariably passed her with his coat

collar turned up to his ears, and even thus protected might have been observed to shiver. Her stare, in

conjunction with her "I beg your pardon!" was a moral douche that would have rendered apologetic and

To me she was always gracious, which by contrast to her general attitude towards my sex of studied disdain, I

confess flattered me. She was good enough to observe to Mrs. Peedles, who repeated it to me, that I was the

The entire first floor was occupied by an Irishman andthey never minced the matter themselves, so hardly

is there need for me to do so. She was a charming little darkeyed woman, an extightrope dancer, and

always greatly offended Mrs. Peedles by claiming Miss Lucretia Barry as a sister artiste.

"Of course I don't know how it may be now," would reply Mrs. Peedles, with some slight asperity; "but in my

time we ladies of the legitimate stage used to look down upon dancers and such sort. Of course, no offence to

"Sure, Mrs. Peedles, ye could never have looked down upon the Signora," the O'Kelly would answer

laughing. "Ye had to lie back and look up to her. Why, I've got the crick in me neck to this day!"

"Ah! my dear, and you don't know how nervous I was when glancing down I'd see his handsome face just

underneath me, thinking that with one false step I might spoil it for ever," would reply the Signora.

"Me darling! I'd have died happy, just smothered in loveliness!" would return the O'Kelly; and he and the

Signora would rush into each other's arms, and the sound of their kisses would quite excite the little slavey

He was a barrister attached in theory to the Western Circuit; in practice, somewhat indifferent to it, much

more attached to the lower strata of Bohemia and the Signora. At the present he was earning all sufficient for

the simple needs of himself and the Signora as a teacher of music and singing. His method was simple and

suited admirably the locality. Unless specially requested, he never troubled his pupils with such tiresome

things as scales and exercises. His plan was to discover the song the young man fancied himself singing, the

particular jingle the young lady yearned to knock out of the piano, and to teach it to them. Was it "Tom

Bowling?" Well and good. Come on; follow your leader. The O'Kelly would sing the first line.

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"Now then, try that. Don't be afraid. Just open yer mouth and gave it tongue. That's all right. Everything has a

beginning. Sure, later on, we'll get the time and tune, maybe a little expression."

Whether the system had any merit in it, I cannot answer. Certain it was that as often as not it achieved

success. Graduallysay, by the end of twelve eighteenpenny lessonsout of storm and chaos "Tom

Bowling" would emerge, recognisable for all men to hear. Had the pupil any voice to start with, the O'Kelly

"Take it easy, now; take it easy," the O'Kelly would counsel. "Sure, it's a delicate organ, yer voice. Don't ye

So also with the blushing pianiste. At the end of a month a tune was distinctly discernible; she could hear it

Twice already had he eloped with the Signora (and twice again was he to repeat the operation, before I finally

lost sight of him: to break oneself of habit is always difficult) and once by wellmeaning friends had he been

induced to return to home, if not to beauty. His wife, who was considerably older than himself, possessed, so

he would inform me with tears in his eyes, every moral excellence that should attract mankind. Upon her

goodness and virtue, her piety and conscientiousness he would descant to me by the half hour. His sincerity it

was impossible to question. It was beyond doubt that he respected her, admired her, honoured her. She was a

saint, an angela wretch, a villain such as he, was not fit to breathe the same pure air. To do him justice, it

must be admitted he showed no particular desire to do so. As an aunt or grandmother, I believe he would

have suffered her gladly. He had nothing to say against her, except that he found himself unable to live with

That she must have been a lady of exceptional merit one felt convinced. The Signora, who had met her only

once, and then under somewhat trying conditions, spoke her praises with equal enthusiasm. Had she, the

Signora, enjoyed the advantage of meeting such a model earlier, she, the Signora, might have been a better

woman. It seemed a pity the introduction could not have taken place sooner and under different

circumstances. Could they both have adopted her as a sort of mutual motherinlaw, it would have given

them, I am positive, the greatest satisfaction. On her occasional visits they would have vied with each other in

showing her affectionate attention. For the deserted lady I tried to feel sorry, but could not avoid the

reflection that it would have been better for all parties had she been less patient and forgiving. Her husband

Indeed, the relationship between these two was more a true marriage than one generally meets with. No pair

of lovebirds could have been more snug together. In their virtues and failings alike they fitted each other.

When sober the immorality of their behaviour never troubled them; in fact, when sober nothing ever troubled

them. They laughed, joked, played through life, two happy children. To be shocked at them was impossible. I

But now and again there came an evening when they were not sober. It happened when funds were high. On

such occasion the O'Kelly would return laden with bottles of a certain sweet champagne, of which they were

both extremely fond; and a friend or two would be invited to share in the festivity. Whether any exceptional

quality resided in this particular brand of champagne I am not prepared to argue; my own personal experience

of it has prompted me to avoid it for the rest of my life. Its effect upon them was certainly unique. Instead of

intoxicating them, it sobered them: there is no other way of explaining it. With the third or fourth glass they

began to take serious views of life. Before the end of the second bottle they would be staring at each other,

appalled at contemplation of their own transgression. The Signora, the tears streaming down her pretty face,

would declare herself a wicked, wicked woman; she had dragged down into shame the most blameless, the

most virtuous of men. Emptying her glass, she would bury her face in her hands, and with her elbows on her

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knees, in an agony of remorse, sit rocking to and fro. The O'Kelly, throwing himself at her feet, would

passionately abjure her to "look up." She had, it appeared, got hold of the thing at the wrong end; it was he

At this point metaphor would become confused. Each had been dragged down by the other one and ruined;

also each one was the other one's good angel. All that was commendable in the Signora, she owed to the

O'Kelly. Whatever was not discreditable about the O'Kelly was in the nature of a loan from the Signora. With

the help of more champagne the right course would grow plain to them. She would go back brokenhearted

but repentant to the tightrope; he would return a better but a blighted man to Mrs. O'Kelly and the Western

Circuit. This would be their last evening together on earth. A fresh bottle would be broached, and the guest or

guests called upon to assist in the ceremony of renunciation; glasses full to the brim this time.

So much tragedy did they continue to instil into the scene that on the first occasion of my witnessing it I was

unable to refrain from mingling my tears with theirs. As, however, the next morning they had forgotten all

about it, and as nothing came of it, nor of several subsequent repetitions, I should have believed a separation

between them impossible but that even while I was an inmate of the house the thing actually happened.

It came about in this wise. His friends, having discovered him, had pointed out to him again his duty. The

Signoraa really excellent little woman so far as intention was concernedhad seconded their endeavours,

with the result that on a certain evening in autumn we of the house assembled all of us on the first floor to

support them on the occasion of their finalso we all deemed it thenleavetaking. For eleven o'clock two

fourwheeled cabs had been ordered, one to transport the O'Kelly with his belongings to Hampstead and

respectability; in the other the Signora would journey sorrowfully to the Tower Basin, there to join a circus

I knocked at the door some quarter of an hour before the appointed hour of the party. I fancy the idea had

"Dear Willie has something to say to you," she had informed me that morning on the stairs. "He has taken a

They were sitting one each side the fireplace, looking very serious; a bottle of the sobering champagne stood

upon the table. The Signora rose and kissed me gravely on the brow; the O'Kelly laid both hands upon my

I hintedit was one of those rare occasions upon which gallantry can be combined with truththat I found

"Age," said the O'Kelly, "is a matter of feeling. Kelver, may ye never be as old as I am feeling now."

"As _we_ are feeling," corrected the Signora. "Kelver," said the O'Kelly, pouring out a third glass of

"That ye will take warning," continued the O'Kelly, "by our wretched example. Paul, in this world there is

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"Of strict propriety," agreed the O'Kelly. "Deviate from it," continued the O'Kelly, impressively, "and what is

"We tried to appear so," explained the Signora; "it was merely on the outside. In reality all the time we hated

"It is impossible," said the O'Kelly, finishing and putting down his glass, "to give ye any idea, Kelver, how

"How we have quarrelled!" said the Signora. "Tell him, dear, how we have quarrelled."

"Fought," added the Signora. "You see, Mr. Kelver, people inin our position always do. If it had been

otherwise, ifif everything had been proper, then of course we should have loved each other. As it is, it has

"It's been just hell upon earth," murmured the O'Kelly, with his eyes fixed gloomily upon the firestove

ornament. Deadly in earnest though they both were, I could not repress a laugh, their excellent intention was

"Me dear," replied the O'Kelly, throwing up his part with promptness and satisfaction, "how could ye expect

"It's all my fault," cried the little woman; "I am such a wicked creature. I cannot even be miserable when I am

doing wrong. A decent woman in my place would have been wretched and unhappy, and made everybody

about her wretched and unhappy, and so have set a good example and have been a warning. I don't seem to

have any conscience, and I do try." The poor little lady was sobbing her heart out.

When not shy I could be sensible, and of the O'Kelly and the Signora one could be no more shy than of a pair

of robin redbreasts. Besides, I was really fond of them; they had been very good to me.

She pressed my hand. "Oh, do, please do," she murmured. "We really have been miserablenow and then."

"I am never going to be content," I assured her, "until I find a lady as charming and as amiable as you, and if

It sounded well and pleased us all. The O'Kelly shook me warmly by the hand, and this time spoke his real

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"Me boy," he said, "all women are goodfor somebody. But the woman that is good for yerself is better for

At eight o'clock precisely Mrs. Peedles arrivedas Flora MacDonald, in green velvet jacket and twelve to

fifteen inches of plaid stocking. As a topic fitting the occasion we discussed the absent Mr. Peedles and the

The Signora agreed that unfortunately there did exist such men: 'twas pitiful but true.

The Signora expressed astonishment at the deterioration in Mr. Peedles' taste thus implied.

"I won't go so far as to say we never had a difference," continued Mrs. Peedles, whose object appeared to be

an impartial statement of the whole case. "There may have been incompatability of temperament, as they say.

Myself, I have always been of a playful dispositionfrivolous, some might call me."

The Signora protested; the O'Kelly declined to listen to such aspersion on her character even from Mrs.

Mrs. Peedles, thus corrected, allowed that maybe frivolous was too sweeping an accusation: say sportive.

"But a good wife to him I always was," asserted Mrs. Peedles, with a fine sense of justice; "never flighty, like

Mrs. Peedles, drawing her chair closer to the Signora, assumed a confidential attitude. "If they want to go, let

'em go, I always say," she whispered loudly into the Signora's ear. "Ten to one they'll find they've only

jumped out of the fryingpan into the fire. One can always comfort oneself with that."

There seemed to be confusion in the mind of Mrs. Peedles. Her virtuous sympathies, I gathered, were with

the Signora. Mr. O'Kelly's return to Mrs. O'Kelly evidently manifested itself in the light of a shameful

desertion. Having regard to the fact, patent to all who knew him, that the poor fellow was sacrificing every

inclination to stern sense of duty, such view of the matter was rough on him. But philosophers from all ages

have agreed that our good deeds are the whips with which Fate punishes us for our bad.

"My dear," continued Mrs. Peedles, "when Mr. Peedles left me I thought that I should never smile again. Yet

here you see me laughing away through life, just as ever. You'll get over it all right." And Mrs. Peedles wiped

away her tears and smiled upon the Signora; upon which the Signora commenced to cry again.

Happily, timely diversion was made at this point by the bursting into the room of Jarman, who upon

perceiving Mrs. Peedles, at once gave vent to a hoot, supposed to be expressive of Scottish joy, and without a

My neighbours of the first floor knocked at the door a little while afterwards; and genteelly late arrived Miss

Rosina Sellars, coldly gleaming in a decollete but aweinspiring costume of mingled black and scarlet, out of

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We did not go into supper; instead, supper came into us from the restaurant at the corner of the Blackfriars

Road. I cannot say that at first it was a festive meal. The O'Kelly and the Signora made effort, as in duty

bound, to be cheerful, but for awhile were somewhat unsuccessful. The third floor front wasted no time in

speech, but ate and drank copiously. Miss Sellars, retaining her gloveswhich was perhaps wise, her hands

being her weak pointsignalled me out, much to my embarrassment, as the recipient of her most polite

conversation. Mrs. Peedles became reminiscent of parties generally. Seeing that most of Mrs. Peedles' former

friends and acquaintances were either dead or in more or less trouble, her efforts did not tend to enliven the

table. One gathering, of which the present strangely reminded her, was a funeral, chiefly remarkable from

discovery of the romantic fact, late in the proceedings, that the gentleman in whose honour the whole affair

had been organised was not dead at all; but instead, having taken advantage of an error arising out of a

railway accident, was at the moment eloping with the wife of his own chief mourner. As Mrs. Peedles

explained, and as one could well credit, it had been an awkward position for all present. Nobody had quite

known whether to feel glad or sorrywith the exception of the chief mourner, upon whose personal

undertaking that the company might regard the ceremony as merely postponed, festivities came to an end.

Our prop and stay from a convivial point of view was Jarman. As a delicate attention to Mrs. Peedles and her

costume he sunk his nationality and became for the evening, according to his own declaration, "a braw

laddie." With herhis "sonsie lassie," so he termed herhe flirted in the broadest, if not purest, Scotch. The

O'Kelly for him became "the Laird;" the third floor "Jamie o' the Ilk;" Miss Sellars, "the bonnie wee rose;"

myself, "the chiel." Periods of silence were dispersed by suggestions that we should "hoot awa'," Jarman

With the clearance away of the eatables, making room for the production of a more varied supply of bottles,

matters began to mend. Mrs. Peedles became more arch, Jarman's Scotch more striking and extensive, the

Lady 'Ortensia's remarks less depressingly genteel, her aitches less accentuated.

Jarman rose to propose the health of the O'Kelly, coupled with that of the Signora. To the O'Kelly, in a burst

of generosity, Jarman promised our united patronage. To Jarman it appeared that by employing the O'Kelly to

defend us whenever we got into trouble with the police, and by recommending him to our friends, a steady

The O'Kelly replied feelingly to the effect that Nelson Square, Blackfriars, would ever remain engraved upon

his memory as the fairest and brightest spot on earth. Personally, nothing would have given him greater

pleasure than to die among the dear friends who now surrounded him. But there was such a thing as duty, and

he and the Signora had come to the conclusion that true happiness could only be obtained by acting according

Jarman, warming to his work, then proposed the health of Mrs. Peedles, as truehearted and hardbreathing a

lady as ever it had been his privilege to know. Her talent for cheery conversation was familiar to us all, upon

it he need not enlarge; all he would say was that personally never did she go out of his room without leaving

After thatI forget in whatwe drank the health of the Lady 'Ortensia. Persons there wereJarman would

not attempt to disguise the factwho complained that the Lady 'Ortensia was too distant, "too standoffish."

With such complaint he himself had no sympathy; but tastes differed. If the Lady 'Ortensia were inclined to

be exclusive, who should blame her? Everybody knew their own business best. For use in a second floor front

he could not honestly recommend the Lady 'Ortensia; it would not be giving her a fair chance, and it would

not be giving the second floor a fair chance. But for any gentleman fitting up marble halls, for any one on the

lookout for a really "toney article," Jarman would say: Inquire for Miss Rosina Sellars, and see that you get

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There followed my turn. There had been literary chaps in the past, Jarman admitted so much. Against them he

had nothing to say. They had no doubt done their best. But the gentleman whose health Jarman wished the

company now to drink had this advantage over them: that they were dead, and he wasn't. Some of this

gentleman's work Jarman had readin manuscript; but that was a distinction purely temporary. He, Jarman,

claimed to be no judge of literature, but this he could and would say, it took a good deal to make him

Mrs. Peedles, speaking without rising, from personal observation in the daytimewhich she hoped would

not be deemed a liberty; literature, even in manuscript, being, so to speak, public propertyfound herself in

a position to confirm all that Mr. Jarman had remarked. Speaking as one not entirely without authority on the

subject of literature and the drama, Mrs. Peedles could say that passages she had read had struck her as

distinctly not half bad. Some of the lovescenes, in particular, had made her to feel quite a girl again. How he

had acquired such knowledge was not for her to say. Cries of "Naughty!" from Jarman, and "Oh, Mr. Kelver,

The O'Kelly, who, having abandoned his favourite champagne for less sobering liquor, had since

suppertime become rapidly more cheerful, felt sure there was a future before me. That he had not seen any

of my work, so he assured me, in no way lessened his opinion of it. One thing only would he impress upon

me: that the best work was the result of strict attention to virtue. His advice to me was to marry young and be

My persevering efforts of the last few months towards the acquisition of convivial habits appeared this

evening to be receiving their reward. The O'Kelly's sweet champagne I had drunk with less dislike than

hitherto; a white, syrupy sort of stuff, out of a fat and artisticlooking bottle, I had found distinctly grateful to

the palate. Dimly the quotation about taking things at the flood, and so getting on quickly, floated through my

brain, coupled with another one about fortune favouring the bold. It had seemed to me a good occasion to try

for the second time in my life a full flavoured cigar. I had selected with the caution of a connoisseur one of

mottled green complexion from the O'Kelly's largest box. And so far all had gone well. An easy

selfconfidence, delightful by reason of its novelty, had replaced my customary shyness; a sense of

lightnessof positive airiness, emanating from myself, pervaded all things. Tossing off another glass of the

Modesty in my present mood would have been affectation. To such dear and wellbeloved friends I had no

hesitation in admitting the truth, that I was a clever fellowa damned clever fellow. I knew it, they knew it,

in a short time everybody would know it. But they need not fear that in the hour of my pride, when it arrived,

I should prove ungrateful. Never should I forget their kindness to me, a lonely young man, alone in a

lonely Here the pathos of my own situation overcame me; words seemed weak. "Jarman" I meant,

putting my hand upon his head, to have blessed him for his goodness to me; but he being not exactly where

he looked to be, I just missed him, and sat down on the edge of my chair, which was a hard one. I had not

intended this to be the end of my speech, by a long one; but Jarman, whispering to me: "Ended at exactly the

right moment; shows the born orator," strong inclination to remain seated, now that I was down seconding his

counsel, and the company being clearly satisfied, I decided to leave things where they were.

A delightful dreaminess was stealing over me. Everything and everybody appeared to be a long way off, but,

whether because of this or in spite of it, exceedingly attractive. Never had I noticed the Signora so

bewitching; in a motherly sort of way even the third floor front was good to look upon; Mrs. Peedles I could

almost have believed to be the real Flora MacDonald sitting in front of me. But the vision of Miss Rosina

Sellars made literally my head to swim. Never before had I dared to cast upon female loveliness the satisfying

gaze with which I now boldly regarded her every movement. Evidently she noticed it, for she turned away

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her eyes. I had heard that exceptionally strongminded people merely by concentrating their will could make

other, ordinary people, do just whatever they, the exceptionally strongminded people, wished. I willed that

Miss Rosina Sellars should turn her eyes again towards me. Victory crowned my efforts. Evidently I was one

of these exceptionally strongminded persons. Slowly her eyes came round and met mine with a smilea

helpless, pathetic smile that said, so I read it: "You know no woman can resist you: be merciful!"

Inflamed by the brutal lust of conquest, I suppose I must have willed still further, for the next thing I

remember is sitting with Miss Sellars on the sofa, holding her hand, the while the O'Kelly sang a sentimental

ballad, only one line of which comes back to me: "For the angels must have told him, and he knows I love

him now," much stress upon the "now." The others had their backs towards us. Miss Sellars, with a look that

pierced my heart, dropped her somewhat large head upon my shoulder, leaving, as I observed the next day, a

Miss Sellars observed that one of the saddest things in the world was unrequited love.

The O'Kelly had passed on to Sullivan's "Sweethearts," then in its first popularity.

Miss Sellars' languishing eyes were fixed upon me; Miss Sellars' red lips pouted and twitched; Miss Sellars'

white bosom rose and fell. Never, so it seemed to me, had so large an amount of beauty been concentrated in

I stooped to kiss the red lips, but something was in my way. It turned out to be a cold cigar. Miss Sellars

thoughtfully removed it, and threw it away. Our lips met. Her large arms closed about my neck and held me

"Well, I'm sure!" came the voice of Mrs. Peedles, as from afar. "Nice goings on!"

I have vague remembrance of a somewhat heated discussion, in which everybody but myself appeared to be

taking extreme interestof Miss Sellars in her most ladylike and chilling tones defending me against the

charge of "being no gentleman," which Mrs. Peedles was explaining nobody had said I wasn't. The argument

seemed to be of the circular order. No gentleman had ever kissed Miss Sellars who had not every right to do

so, nor ever would. To kiss Miss Sellars without such right was to declare oneself no gentleman. Miss Sellars

appealed to me to clear my character from the aspersion of being no gentleman. I was trying to understand

the situation, when Jarman, seizing me somewhat roughly by the arm, suggested my going to bed. Miss

Sellars, seizing my other arm, suggested my refusing to go to bed. So far I was with Miss Sellars. I didn't

want to go to bed, and said so. My desire to sit up longer was proof positive to Miss Sellars that I was a

gentleman, but to no one else. The argument shifted, the question being now as to whether Miss Sellars were

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a lady. To prove the point it was, according to Miss Sellars, necessary that I should repeat I loved her. I did

repeat it, adding, with faint remembrance of my own fiction, that if a life's devotion was likely to be of the

slightest further proof, my heart's blood was at her service. This cleared the air, Mrs. Peedles observing that

under such circumstances it only remained for her to withdraw everything she had said; to which Miss Sellars

replied graciously that she had always known Mrs. Peedles to be a good sort at the bottom.

Nevertheless, gaiety was gone from among us, and for this, in some way I could not understand, I appeared to

be responsible. Jarman was distinctly sulky. The O'Kelly, suddenly thinking of the time, went to the door and

discovered that the two cabs were waiting. The third floor recollected that work had to be finished. I myself

Our host and hostess departed; Jarman again suggested bed, and this time I agreed with him. After a slight

misunderstanding with the door, I found myself upon the stairs. I had never noticed before that they were

quite perpendicular. Adapting myself to the changed conditions, I climbed them with the help of my hands. I

accomplished the last flight somewhat quickly, and feeling tired, sat down the moment I was within my own

room. Jarman knocked at the door. I told him to come in; but he didn't. It occurred to me that the reason was I

was sitting on the floor with my back against the door. The discovery amused me exceedingly and I laughed;

and Jarman, baffled, descended to his own floor. I found getting into bed a difficulty, owing to the strange

behaviour of the room. It spun round and round. Now the bed was just in front of me, now it was behind me. I

managed at last to catch it before it could get past me, and holding on by the ironwork, frustrated its efforts to

But it was some time before I went to sleep, and over my intervening experiences I draw a veil.

The sun was streaming into my window when I woke in the morning. I sat up and listened. The roar of the

streets told me plainly that the day had begun without me. I reached out my hand for my watch; it was not in

its usual place upon the rickety dressingtable. I raised myself still higher and looked about me. My clothes

lay scattered on the floor. One boot, in solitary state, occupied the chair by the fireplace; the other I could not

During the night my head appeared to have grown considerably. I wondered idly for the moment whether I

had not made a mistake and put on Minikin's; if so, I should be glad to exchange back for my own. This thing

Suddenly the recollection of the previous night rushed at me and shook me awake. From a neighbouring

steeple rang chimes: I counted with care. Eleven o'clock. I sprang out of bed, and at once sat down upon the

I remembered how, holding on to the bed, I had felt the room waltzing wildly round and round. It had not

quite steadied itself even yet. It was still rotating, not whirling now, but staggering feebly, as though worn out

by its allnight orgie. Creeping to the washstand, I succeeded, after one or two false plunges, in getting my

head inside the basin. Then, drawing on my trousers with difficulty and reaching the easychair, I sat down

and reviewed matters so far as I was able, commencing from the present and working back towards the past.

CHAPTER III. GOOD FRIENDS SHOW PAUL THE ROAD TO FREEDOM. BUT BEFORE SETTING OUT, HE WILL GO AVISITING. 127

"That strong cigar," I whispered feebly to myself; "I ought never to have ventured upon it. And then the little

room with all those people in it. Besides, I have been working very hard. I must really take more exercise.

It gave me some satisfaction to observe that, shuffling and cowardly though I might be, I was not a person

"Not drunk," I pleaded; "don't say drunk; it is such a coarse expression. Some people cannot stand sweet

champagne, so I have heard. It affected my liver. Do please make it a question of liver."

"Drunk," I persisted unrelentingly, "hopelessly, vulgarly drunkdrunk as any 'Arry after a Bank Holiday."

"So you have not even the excuse of youth. How do you know that it will not grow upon you; that, having

thus commenced a downward career, you will not sink lower and lower, and so end by becoming a confirmed

My heavy head dropped into my hands, and I groaned. Many a temperance tale perused on Sunday afternoons

came back to me. Imaginative in all directions, I watched myself hastening toward a drunkard's grave, now

heroically struggling against temptation, now weakly yielding, the craving growing upon me. In the misty air

about me I saw my father's white face, my mother's sad eyes. I thought of Barbara, of the scorn that could

quiver round that bewitching mouth; of Hal, with his tremendous contempt for all forms of weakness. Shame

"It shall be never again!" I cried aloud. "By God, it shall!" (At nineteen one is apt to be vehement.) "I will

leave this house at once," I continued to myself aloud; "I will get away from its unwholesome atmosphere. I

will wipe it out of my mind, and all connected with it. I will make a fresh start. I will"

Something I had been dimly conscious of at the back of my brain came forward and stood before me: the

flabby figure of Miss Rosina Sellars. What was she doing here? What right had she to step between me and

"The right of your affianced bride," my other half explained, with a grim smile to myself.

"We will not go into details," I replied; "I do not wish to dwell upon them. That was the result."

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"As a rule, we don't when we do foolish things; but we have to abide by the consequences, all the same.

Unfortunately, it happened to be in the presence of witnesses, and she is not the sort of lady to be easily got

rid of. You will marry her and settle down with her in two small rooms. Her people will be your people. You

will come to know them better before many days are passed. Among them she is regarded as 'the lady,' from

which you can judge of them. A nice commencement of your career, is it not, my ambitious young friend? A

I passed a wretched day. Ashamed to face Mrs. Peedles or even the slavey, I kept to my room, with the door

locked. At dusk, feeling a little betteror, rather, less bad, I stole out and indulged in a simple meal,

consisting of tea without sugar and a kippered herring, at a neighbouring coffeehouse. Another gentleman,

At eight o'clock in the evening Minikin called round from the office to know what had happened. Seeking

"Thought as much," he answered. "Seems to have been an A1 from the look of you."

"I am glad it has happened, now it is over," I said to him. "It will be a lesson I shall never forget."

"I know," said Minikin. "Nothing like a fair and square drunk for making you feel real good; better than a

In my trouble I felt the need of advice; and Minikin, though my junior, was, I knew, far more experienced in

"No one like you quiet fellows for going it when you do begin," commented Minikin. "Nice girl?"

"I don't know," I answered. "I only know I don't want her. How can I get out of it?"

Minikin removed his left eye and commenced to polish it upon his handkerchief, a habit he had when in

CHAPTER III. GOOD FRIENDS SHOW PAUL THE ROAD TO FREEDOM. BUT BEFORE SETTING OUT, HE WILL GO AVISITING. 129

"Well, I should let her wait," replied Minikin, replacing his eye. "There's plenty of time before you."

"But she's a barmaid, and she'll expect me to walk with her, to take her out on Sundays, to go and see her

friends. I can't do it. Besides, she's right: I mean to get on. Then she'll stick to me. It's awful!"

The door opened, and Jarman entered; he never troubled to knock anywhere. In place of his usual noisy

"Glad to hear it," said Minikin. "Don't look as if you'd got much else to be stuck up about."

"Wonderful gift" replied Jarman. "D'ye know what I should do if I 'ad it?" He did not wait for Minikin's

reply. "'Ire myself out to break up evening parties. Ever thought of it seriously?"

"Make your fortune going round the suburbs," assured him Jarman. "Pity you weren't 'ere last night," he

continued; "might 'ave saved our young friend 'ere a deal of trouble. Has 'e told you the news?"

"Now you've got a good, steady eye," said Jarman, upon whom Minikin, according to his manner, had fixed

"As well as can be expected under the circumstances, don't you think?" answered Minikin.

I replied he had not as yet enjoyed that privilege. "Then 'e don't know the worst," said Jarman. "A hundred

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"Some of 'em do have luck," was Minikin's rejoinder. Jarman leant forward and took further stock for a few

"That's a fine 'ead of yours," he remarked; "all your own? No offence," continued Jarman, without giving

Minikin time for repartee. "I was merely thinking there must be room for a lot of sense in it. Now, what do

you, as a practical man, advise 'im: dose of poison, or Waterloo Bridge and a brick?"

"Not a blooming shadow," assured me Jarman, cheerfully, "so far as she's concerned."

"And 'ow are you going to convince 'er of it?" asked Jarman. "You think your telling 'er you loved 'er proves

it. So it would to anybody else, but not to 'er. You can't expect it. Besides, if every girl is going to give up 'er

catch just because the fellow 'adn't all 'is wits about 'im at the timewell, what do you think?" He appealed

To Minikin it appeared that if such contention were allowed girls might as well shut up shop.

Jarman, who now that he had "got even" with Minikin, was more friendly disposed towards that young man,

drew his chair closer to him and entered upon a private and confidential argument, from which I appeared to

"You see," explained Jarman, "this ain't an ordinary case. This chap's going to be the future Poet Laureate.

Now, when the Prince of Wales invites him to dine at Marlborough 'ouse, 'e don't want to go there tacked on

to a girl that carries aitches with her in a bag, and don't know which end of the spoon out of which to drink 'er

"What we've got to do," said Jarman, "is to get 'im out of it. And upon my sivvy, blessed if I see 'ow to do it!"

"What she fancies," explained Jarman, "is that nature intended 'er to be a lady. And it's no good pointing out

"No good talking straight to her," suggested Minikin, "telling her that it can never be?"

"That's our difficulty," replied Jarman; "it can be. This chap"I listened as might a prisoner in the dock to

the argument of counsel, interested but impotent"don't know enough to come in out of the rain, as the

"Yes, to you and me," answered Jarman; "and of course 'e don't. I'm not saying 'e's a natural born idiot. But

let 'er come along and do a sniveltell 'im that 'e's breaking 'er 'eart, and appeal to 'im to be'ave as a

gentleman, and all that sort of thing, and what do you think will be the result?"

CHAPTER III. GOOD FRIENDS SHOW PAUL THE ROAD TO FREEDOM. BUT BEFORE SETTING OUT, HE WILL GO AVISITING. 131

"Of course, if 'twas you or me, we should just tell 'er to put 'erself away somewhere where the moth couldn't

get at 'er and wait till we sent round for 'er; and there'd be an end of the matter. But with 'im it's different."

"'Tain't 'is fault," explained Jarman; "'twas the way 'e was brought up. 'E fancies girls are the sort of things

one sees in plays, going about saying 'Un'and me!' 'Let me pass!' Maybe some of 'em are, but this ain't one of

"'Ow does it 'appen nine times out of ten?" returned Jarman. "'E was a bit misty, and she was wide awake. 'E

"Can't blame 'em," returned Jarman, with generosity; "it's their business. Got to dispose of themselves

somehow. Oughtn't to be binding without a written order dated the next morning; that'd make it all right."

"She'd want to see the girl first before she'd believe itonly natural," returned Jarman.

"Who could you trust?" asked the cautious Jarman. "Besides, there ain't time. She's letting 'im rest today;

"She'd find 'im out and follow 'im," said Jarman. "She can look after herself, mind you. Don't you go doing 'er

"Can do anything," retorted my supporter, "that don't want too much sense. That's 'is sanctuary, the stage. No

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"Depends upon where you want to get," replied Jarman. For the first time since the commencement of the

"Sing something now," demanded Jarman; "let's 'ear you. Wait a minute!" he cried.

He slipped out of the room. I heard him pause upon the landing below and knock at the door of the fair

"It's all right," he explained; "she's not in yet. Now, sing for all you're worth. Remember, it's for life and

I sang "Sally in Our Alley," not with much spirit, I am inclined to think. With every mention of the lady's

name there rose before me the abundant form and features of my _fiancee_, which checked the feeling that

should have trembled through my voice. But Jarman, though not enthusiastic, was content.

"It isn't what I call a grand opera voice," he commented, "but it ought to do all right for a chorus where

economy is the chief point to be considered. Now, I'll tell you what to do. You go tomorrow straight to the

O'Kelly, and put the whole thing before 'im. 'E's a good sort; 'e'll touch you up a bit, and maybe give you a

few introductions. Lucky for you, this is just the right time. There's one or two things comin' on, and if Fate

ain't dead against you, you'll lose your amorita, or whatever it's called, and not find 'er again till it's too late."

I was not in the mood that evening to feel hopeful about anything; but I thanked both of them for their kind

intentions and promised to think the suggestion over on the morrow, when, as it was generally agreed, I

should be in a more fitting state to bring cool judgment to bear upon the subject; and they rose to take their

Leaving Minikin to descend alone, Jarman returned the next minute. "Consols are down a bit this week," he

whispered, with the door in his hand. "If you want a little of the ready to carry you through, don't go sellin'

out. I can manage a few pounds. Suck a couple of lemons and you'll be all right in the morning. So long."

I followed his advice regarding the lemons, and finding it correct, went to the office next morning as usual.

Lott Co., in consideration of my agreeing to a deduction of two shillings on the week's salary, allowed

himself to overlook the matter. I had intended acting on Jarman' S advice, to call upon the O'Kelly at his

address of respectability in Hampstead that evening, and had posted him a note saying I was coming. Before

leaving the office, however, I received a reply to the effect that he would be out that evening, and asking me

to make it the following Friday instead. Disappointed, I returned to my lodgings in a depressed state of mind.

Jarman 's scheme, which had appeared hopeful and even attractive during the daytime, now loomed shadowy

and impossible before me. The emptiness of the first floor parlour as I passed its open door struck a chill

upon me, reminding me of the disappearance of a friend to whom, in spite of moral disapproval, I had during

these last few months become attached. Unable to work, the old pain of loneliness returned upon me. I sat for

awhile in the darkness, listening to the scratching of the pen of my neighbour, the old lawwriter, and the

sense of despair that its sound always communicated to me encompassed me about this evening with heavier

After all, was not the sympathy of the Lady 'Ortensia, stimulated for personal purposes though it might be,

better than nothing? At least, here was some living creature to whom I belonged, to whom my existence or

nonexistence was of interest, who, if only for her own sake, was bound to share my hopes, my fears.

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It was in this mood that I heard a slight tap at the door. In the dim passage stood the small slavey, holding out

a note. I took it, and returning, lighted my candle. The envelope was pink and scented. It was addressed, in

handwriting not so bad as I had expected, to "Paul Kelver, Esquire." I opened it and read:

In spite of the spelling, a curious, tingling sensation stole over me as I read this my first loveletter. A faint

mist swam before my eyes. Through it, glorified and softened, I saw the face of my betrothed, pasty yet

alluring, her large white fleshy arms stretched out invitingly toward me. Moved by a sudden hot haste that

seized me, I dressed myself with trembling hands; I appeared to be anxious to act without giving myself time

for thought. Complete, with a colour in my cheeks unusual to them, and a burning in my eyes, I descended

"Oh, wait a minute, dear." The tone was sweeter. There followed the sound of scurried footsteps, a rustling of

I entered. It was a small, untidy room, smelling of smoky lamp; but all I saw distinctly at the moment was

Miss Sellars with her arms above her head, pinning her hat upon her strawcoloured hair.

With the sight of her before me in the flesh, my feelings underwent a sudden revulsion. During the few

minutes she had kept me waiting outside the door I had suffered from an almost uncontrollable desire to turn

the handle and rush in. Now, had I acted on impulse, I should have run out. Not that she was an

unpleasantlooking girl by any means; it was the atmosphere of coarseness, of commonness, around her that

repelled me. The fastidiousnessfinikinness; if you willthat would so often spoil my rare chop, put before

me by a waitress with dirty fingernails, forced me to disregard the ample charms she no doubt did possess,

to fasten my eyes exclusively upon her red, rough hands and the one or two warts that grew thereon.

"You're a very naughty boy," told me Miss Sellars, finishing the fastening of her hat. "Why didn't you come

The powder she had evidently dabbed on hastily was plainly visible upon her face; the round, soft arms were

hidden beneath illfitting sleeves of some crapey material, the thought of which put my teeth on edge. I

wished her intention had been stronger. Instead, relenting, she offered me her flowery cheek, which I saluted

gingerly, the taste of it reminding me of certain pale, thin doughcakes manufactured by the wife of our

school porter and sold to us in playtime at four a penny, and which, having regard to their satisfying quality,

At the top of the kitchen stairs Miss Sellars paused and called down shrilly to Mrs. Peedles, who in course of

"Oh, me and Mr. Kelver are going out for a short walk, Mrs. Peedles. I shan't want any supper. Good night."

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"Oh, good night, my dear," replied Mrs. Peedles. "Hope you'll enjoy yourselves. Is Mr. Kelver there?"

"He's round the corner," I heard Miss Sellars explain in a lower voice; and there followed a snigger.

"Ah, well; it's the shy ones that come out the strongest after a bitleastways, that's been my experience."

"I suppose you've never had a sweetheart before?" asked Miss Sellars, as we turned into the Blackfriars Road.

"I can't abear a flirty man," explained Miss Sellars. "That's why I took to you from the beginning. You was

"Anybody could see you was a gentleman," continued Miss Sellars. "Heaps and heaps of hoffers I've

had_h_undreds you might almost say. But what I've always told 'em is, 'I like you very much indeed as a

friend, but I'm not going to marry any one but a gentleman.' Don't you think I was right?"

"You may take my harm, if you like," suggested Miss Sellars, as we crossed St. George's Circus; and linked,

Fortunately, there was not much need for me to talk. Miss Sellars was content to supply most of the

I learned that her instincts since childhood had been toward gentility. Nor was this to be wondered at, seeing

that her familyon her mother's side, at all events,were connected distinctly with "the _h_ighest in the

land." _Mesalliances_, however, are common in all communities, and one of them, a particularly flagrant

specimenher "Mar" had, alas! contracted, having marriedwhat did I think? I should never guessa

waiter! Miss Sellars, stopping in the act of crossing Newington Butts to shudder at the recollection of her

Mr. and Mrs. Sellars did not appear to have "hit it off" together. Could one wonder: Mrs. Sellars with an

uncle on the Stock Exchange, and Mr. Sellars with one on Peckham Rye? I gathered his calling to have been,

chiefly, "three shies a penny." Mrs. Sellars was now, however, happily dead; and if no other good thing had

come out of the catastrophe, it had determined Miss Sellars to take warning by her mother's error and avoid

connection with the lowly born. She it was who, with my help, would lift the family back again to its proper

"It used to be a joke against me," explained Miss Sellars, "heven when I was quite a child. I never could

tolerate anything low. Why, one day when I was only seven years old, what do you think happened?"

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"Well, I'll tell you," said Miss Sellars; "it'll just show you. Uncle Josephthat was father's uncle, you

"Well, one day when he came to see us he takes a cocoanut out of his pocket and offers it to me. 'Thank you,'

I says; 'I don't heat cocoanuts that have been shied at by just anybody and missed!' It made him so wild. After

that," explained Miss Sellars, "they used to call me at home the Princess of Wales."

"Some people," replied Miss Sellars, with a giggle, "says it fits me; but, of course, that's only their nonsense."

Not knowing what to reply, I remained silent, which appeared to somewhat disappoint Miss Sellars.

"You'll come in and have a bit of supper?" suggested Miss Sellars. "Mar's quite hanxious to see you."

I found sufficient courage to say I was not feeling well, and would much rather return home.

"Oh, but you must just come in for five minutes, dear. It'll look so funny if you don't. I told 'em we was

"I would really rather not," I urged; "some other evening." I felt a presentiment, I confided to her, that on this

"Oh, you mustn't be so shy," said Miss Sellars. "I don't like shy fellowsnot too shy. That's silly." And Miss

Sellars took my arm with a decided grip, making it clear to me that escape could be obtained only by an

unseemly struggle in the street; not being prepared for which, I meekly yielded.

We knocked at the door of one of the small houses, Miss Sellars retaining her hold upon me until it had been

"Don't gentlemen wear coats of a hevening nowadays?" asked Miss Sellars, tartly, of the lank young man.

"I don't know what gentlemen wear in the evening or what they don't," retorted the lank young man, who

appeared to be in an aggressive mood. "If I can find one in this street, I'll ast him and let you know."

"They're all of 'em in the parlour, if that's what you mean," returned the lank young man, "the whole

blooming shoot. If you stand up against the wall and don't breathe, there'll just be room for you."

Sweeping by the lank young man, Miss Sellars opened the parlour door, and towing me in behind her, shut it.

"Well, Mar, here we are," announced Miss Sellars. An enormously stout lady, ornamented with a cap that

appeared to have been made out of a bandanna handkerchief, rose to greet us, thus revealing the fact that she

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had been sitting upon an extremely small horsehaircovered easychair, the disproportion between the lady

"Kelver, to make your acquaintance," recited Mrs. Sellars in the tone of one repeating a lesson.

Mrs. Sellars herself set the example by suddenly giving way and dropping down into her chair, which thus

Indeed, the insistence with which this article of furniture throughout the evening cal1ed attention to its

sufferings was really quite distracting. With every breath that Mrs. Sellars took it moaned wearily. There

were moments when it literally shrieked. I could not have accepted Mrs. Sellars' offer had I wished, there

being no chair vacant and no room for another. A young man with watery eyes, sitting just behind me

between a fat young lady and a lean one, rose and suggested my taking his place. Miss Sellars introduced me

The wateryeyed Joseph remarked that it had been a fine day between the showers, and hoped that the

morrow would be either wet or dry; upon which the lean young lady, having slapped him, asked admiringly

of the fat young lady if he wasn't a "silly fool;" to which the fat young lady replied, with somewhat

unnecessary severity, I thought, that no one could help being what they were born. To this the lean young

lady retorted that it was with precisely similar reflection that she herself controlled her own feelings when

The threatened quarrel was nipped in the bud by the discretion of Miss Sellars, who took the opportunity of

the fat young lady's momentary speechlessness to introduce me promptly to both of them. They also, I

learned, were cousins. The lean girl said she had "erd on me," and immediately fell into an uncontrollable fit

of giggles; of which the wateryeyed Joseph requested me to take no notice, explaining that she always went

off like that at exactly threequarters to the halfhour every evening, Sundays and holidays excepted; that

she had taken everything possible for it without effect, and that what he himself advised was that she should

The fat girl, seizing the chance afforded her, remarked genteelly that she too had "heard hof me," with

emphasis upon the "hof." She also remarked it was a long walk from Blackfriars Bridge.

This came from a loudvoiced, redfaced man sitting on the sofa beside a somewhat melancholylooking

female dressed in bright green. These twain I discovered to be Uncle and Aunt Gutton. From an observation

dropped later in the evening concerning government restrictions on the sale of methylated spirit, and hastily

Mr. Gutton's forte appeared to be badinage. He it was who, on my explaining my heightened colour as due to

the closeness of the evening, congratulated his niece on having secured so warm a partner.

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"Will be jolly handy," shouted Uncle Gutton, "for Rosina, seeing she's always complaining of her cold feet."

Here the lank young man attempted to squeeze himself into the room, but found his entrance barred by the

"Well, why don't yer get out of the way," growled the lank young man, now coated, but still aggressive.

"Where am I to get to?" asked the wateryeyed young man, with some reason. "Say the word and I'll 'ang

"In my courting days," roared Uncle Gutton, "the girls used to be able to find seats, even if there wasn't

The sentiment was received with varying degrees of approbation. The wateryeyed young man, sitting down,

put the lean young lady on his knee, and in spite of her struggles and sounding slaps, heroically retained her

"Now, then, Rosie," shouted Uncle Gutton, who appeared to have constituted himself master of the

Left to herself, I am inclined to think my _fiancee_ would have spared me; but Uncle Gutton, having been

invited to a love comedy, was not to be cheated of any part of the performance, and the audience clearly

being with him, there was nothing for it but compliance. I seated myself, and amid plaudits accommodated

"Goodbye," called out to me the wateryeyed young man, as behind the fair Rosina I disappeared from his

"I used to be a plump girl myself before I married," observed Aunt Gutton. "Plump as butter I was at one

"It isn't what one eats," said the maternal Sellars. "I myself don't eat enough to keep a fly, and my legs"

"We all know what you was going to say, Mar," retorted Miss Sellars. "We've heard it before, and it isn't

"'Ard work and plenty of it keeps you thin enough, I notice," remarked the lank young man, with bitterness.

To him I was now introduced, he being Mr. George Sellars. "Seen 'im before," was his curt greeting.

At supperreferred to by Mrs. Sellars again in the tone of one remembering a lesson, as a cold collation,

with the accent on the "tion"I sat between Miss Sellars and the lean young lady, with Aunt and Uncle

Gutton opposite to us. It was remarked with approval that I did not appear to be hungry.

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"Had too many kisses afore he started," suggested Uncle Gutton, with his mouth full of cold roast pork and

pickles. "Wonderfully nourishing thing, kisses, eh? Look at mother and me. That's all we live on."

The wateryeyed young man, observing he had never tasted them himselfat which sally there was much

laughtersaid he would not mind trying a sample if the lean young lady would kindly pass him one.

The lean young lady opined that, not being used to high living, it might disagree with him.

"Just one," pleaded the wateryeyed young man, "to go with this bit of cracklin'."

The lean young lady, amid renewed applause, first thoughtfully wiping her mouth, acceded to his request.

"Not bad," was his verdict. "Reminds me of onions." At this there was another burst of laughter.

"Now then, ain't Paul goin' to have one?" shouted Uncle Gutton, when the laughter had subsided.

Amid silence, feeling as wretched as perhaps I have ever felt in my life before or since, I received one from

"Looks better for it already," commented the delighted Uncle Gutton. "He'll soon get fat on 'em."

"Not too many at first," advised the wateryeyed young man. "Looks to me as if he's got a weak stomach."

I think, had the meal lasted much longer, I should have made a dash for the street; the contemplation of such

step was forming in my mind. But Miss Sellars, looking at her watch, declared we must be getting home at

once, for the which I could have kissed her voluntarily; and, being a young lady of decision, at once rose and

commenced leavetaking. Polite protests were attempted, but these, with enthusiastic assistance from myself,

"Don't want any one to walk home with you?" suggested Uncle Gutton. "Sure you won't feel lonely by

"P'raps you're right," agreed Uncle Gutton. "There don't seem to be much of the fiery and untamed about him,

"'Slow waters run deep,'" reminded us Aunt Gutton, with a waggish shake of her head.

"No question about the slow," assented Uncle Gutton. "If you don't like him" observed Miss Sellars,

"To be quite candid with you, my girl, I don't," answered Uncle Gutton, whose temper, maybe as the result of

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"I'm sorry to hear a niece of mine say so," interrupted Uncle Gutton. "If you want my opinion of him"

"If ever I do I'll call round some time when you're sober and ast you for it," returned Miss Sellars. "And as for

being your niece, you was here when I came, and I don't see very well as how I could have got out of it. You

The gust was dispersed by the practical remark of brother George to the effect that the last tram for Walworth

left the Oval at eleventhirty; to which he further added the suggestion that the Clapham Road was wide and

"There ain't going to be no rows," replied Uncle Gutton, returning to amiability as suddenly as he had

"That's all right, uncle. I know what you mean," returned Miss Sellars, with equal handsomeness.

"Bring him round again when he's feeling better," added Uncle Gutton, "and we'll have another look at him."

"What you want," advised the wateryeyed young man on shaking hands with me, "is complete rest and a

The maternal Sellars waddled after us into the passage, which she completely blocked. She told me she was

I said I would remember it, and thanked her warmly for a pleasant evening, at Miss Sellars' request calling

Outside, Miss Sellars agreed that my presentiment had proved correctthat I had not shone to advantage.

Our journey home on a tramcar was a somewhat silent proceeding. At the door of her room she forgave me,

and kissed me good night. Had I been frank with her, I should have thanked her for that evening's experience.

The next day, which was Thursday, I wandered about the streets till two o'clock in the morning, when I

After Mr. Lott's departure on Friday, which, fortunately, was payday, I set my desk in order and confided to

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"If you do get on to the stage," he said, "and it's anything worth seeing, and you send me an order, and I can

The O'Kelly's address was in Belsize Square. I was about to ring and knock, as requested by a

highlypolished brass plate, when I became aware of pieces of small coal falling about me on the doorstep.

Looking up, I perceived the O'Kelly leaning out of an attic window. From signs I gathered I was to retire

from the doorstep and wait. In a few minutes the door opened and his hand beckoned me to enter.

"Walk quietly," he whispered; and on tiptoe we climbed up to the attic from where had fallen the coal. "I've

been waiting for ye," explained the O'Kelly, speaking low. "Me wifea good woman, Paul; sure, a better

woman never lived; ye'll like her when ye know her, later onshe might not care about ye're calling. She'd

want to know where I met ye, andye understand? Besides," added the O'Kelly, "we can smoke up here;"

and seating himself where he could keep an eye upon the door, near to a small cupboard out of which he

"It was my fault, Paul," he was good enough to say; "my fault entirely. Between ourselves, it was a damned

"Most unfortunate for me," continued the O'Kelly; "I know that. Me cabman took me to Hammersmith

instead of Hampstead; said I told him Hammersmith. Didn't get home here till three o'clock in the morning.

"But I'm glad ye've come," said the O'Kelly. "I had a notion ye did something foolish that evening, but I

"It's been worrying me also, I can assure you," I told him; and I gave him an account of my Wednesday

"I'll go round tomorrow morning," he said, "and see one or two people. It's not a bad idea, that of Jarman's. I

He fixed a time for me to call again upon him the next day, when Mrs. O'Kelly would be away from home.

He instructed me to walk quietly up and down on the opposite side of the road with my eye on the attic

Rising to go, I thanked him for his kindness. "Don't put it that way, me dear Paul," he answered. "If I don't

get ye out of this scrape I shall never forgive meself. If we damned silly fools don't help one another," he

CHAPTER III. GOOD FRIENDS SHOW PAUL THE ROAD TO FREEDOM. BUT BEFORE SETTING OUT, HE WILL GO AVISITING. 141

We crept downstairs as we had crept up. As we reached the first floor, the drawingroom door suddenly

"Me dear," answered the O'Kelly, snatching his pipe from his mouth and thrusting it, still alight, into his

trousers pocket. I made the rest of the descent by myself, and slipping out, closed the door behind me as

Again I did not return to Nelson Square until the early hours, and the next morning did not venture out until I

had heard Miss Sellars, who appeared to be in a bad temper, leave the house. Then running to the top of the

kitchen stairs, I called for Mrs. Peedles. I told her I was going to leave her, and, judging the truth to be the

"My dear," said Mrs. Peedles, "I am only too glad to hear it. It wasn't for me to interfere, but I couldn't help

seeing you were making a fool of yourself. I only hope you'll get clear off, and you may depend upon me to

"My dear," replied Mrs. Peedles, "it's a difficult world to live inleastways, that's been my experience of it."

I had just completed my packingit had not taken me longwhen I heard upon the stairs the heavy panting

that always announced to me the upcoming of Mrs. Peedles. She entered with a bundle of old manuscripts

under her arm, torn and tumbled booklets of various shapes and sizes. These she plumped down upon the

"Put them in your box, my dear," said Mrs. Peedles. "They'll come in useful to you later on."

I glanced at the bundle. I saw it was a collection of old plays in manuscriptprompt copies, scored, cut and

interlined. The top one I noticed was "The Bloodspot: Or the Maiden, the Miser and the Murderer;" the

"Everybody's forgotten 'em," explained Mrs. Peedles, "but there's some good stuff in all of them."

"Just whatever you like, my dear," explained Mrs. Peedles. "It's quite safe. They're all of 'em dead, the

authors of 'em. I've picked 'em out most carefully. You just take a scene from one and a scene from the other.

With judgment and your talent you'll make a dozen good plays out of that little lot when your time comes."

"They will if I give them to you," answered Mrs. Peedles. "You put 'em in your box. And never mind the bit

I kissed the kind old soul goodbye and took her gift with me to my new lodgings in Camden Town. Many a

time have I been hard put to it for plot or scene, and more than once in weak mood have I turned with guilty

intent the torn and crumpled pages of Mrs. Peedles's donation to my literary equipment. It is pleasant to be

CHAPTER III. GOOD FRIENDS SHOW PAUL THE ROAD TO FREEDOM. BUT BEFORE SETTING OUT, HE WILL GO AVISITING. 142

able to put my hand upon my heart and reflect that never yet have I yielded to the temptation. Always have I

"No, no, Paul. Stand or fall by your own merits. Never plagiarisein any case, not from this 'little lot.'"

"Don't be nervous," said the O'Kelly, "and don't try to do too much. You have a very fair voice, but it's not

It was eleven o'clock in the morning. We were standing at the entrance of the narrow court leading to the

stage door. For a fortnight past the O'Kelly had been coaching me. It had been nervous work for both of us,

but especially for the O'Kelly. Mrs. O'Kelly, a thin, acidlooking lady, of whom I once or twice had caught a

glimpse while promenading Belsize Square awaiting the O'Kelly's signal, was a seriousminded lady, with a

conscientious objection to all music not of a sacred character. With the hope of winning the O'Kelly from one

at least of his sinful tendencies, the piano had been got rid of, and its place in the drawingroom filled by an

American organ of exceptionally lugubrious tone. With this we had had to make shift, and though the

O'Kellya veritable musical geniushad succeeded in evolving from it an accompaniment to "Sally in Our

Alley" less misleading and confusing than might otherwise have been the case, the result had not been to

lighten our labours. My rendering of the famous ballad had, in consequence, acquired a dolefulness not

intended by the composer. Sung as I sang it, the theme became, to employ a definition since grown

hackneyed as applied to Art, a problem ballad. Involuntarily one wondered whether the marriage would turn

out as satisfactorily as the young man appeared to anticipate. Was there not, when one came to think of it, a

melancholy, a pessimism ingrained within the temperament of the complainful hero that would ill assort with

those instincts toward frivolity the careful observer could not avoid discerning in the charming yet

"Lighter, lighter. Not so soulful," would demand the O'Kelly, as the solemn notes rolled jerkily from the

Once we were nearly caught, Mrs. O'Kelly returning from a district visitors' committee meeting earlier than

was expected. Hastily I was hidden in a small conservatory adjutting from the first floor landing, where,

crouching behind flowerpots, I listened in fear and trembling to the severe crossexamination of the

"Me dear, so much depends upon the time. Let me give ye an example of what I mean."

"William, pray in my presence not to play tricks with sacred melodies. If you have no respect for religion,

please remember that I have. Besides, why should you be playing hymns in any time at ten o'clock in the

morning? It is not like you, William, and I do not credit your explanation. And you were singing. I distinctly

"Your voice did not sound hoarse. Perhaps it will be better if we do not pursue the subject further."

"A lady a little difficult to get on with when ye're feeling well and strong," so the O'Kelly would explain her;

"but if ye happen to be ill, one of the kindest, most devoted of women. When I was down with typhoid three

years ago, a tenderer nurse no man could have had. I shall never forget it. And so she would be again

"Mrs. O'Kelly to a T," concurred the O'Kelly. "I sometimes wonder if Lady Scott may not have been the same

"The unfortunate part of it is," continued the O'Kelly, "that I'm such a healthy beggar; it don't give her a

chance. If I were only a chronic invalid, now, there's nothing that woman would not do to make me happy. As

"Meet me at the Cheshire Cheese at one o'clock," said the O'Kelly, shaking hands. "If ye don't get on here,

we'll try something else; but I've spoken to Hodgson, and I think ye will. Good luck to ye!"

He went his way and I mine. In a glass box just behind the door a curvednose, roundeyed little man,

looking like an angry bird in a cage, demanded of me my business. I showed him my letter of appointment.

"Up the passage, across the stage, along the corridor, first floor, second door on the right," he instructed me in

I proceeded up the passage. It somewhat surprised me to discover that I was not in the least excited at the

I recall my father's asking a young soldier on his return from the Crimea what had been his sensations at the

"Well," replied the young fellow, "I was worrying all the time, remembering I had rushed out leaving the beer

So far as the stage I found my way in safety. Pausing for a moment and glancing round, my impression was

not so much disillusionment concerning all things theatrical as realisation of my worst forebodings. In that

one moment all glamour connected with the stage fell from me, nor has it since ever returned to me. From the

tawdry decorations of the auditorium to the childish makebelief littered around on the stage, I saw the

Theatre a painted thing of shreds and patchesthe grown child's doll'shouse. The Drama may improve us,

elevate us, interest and teach us. I am sure it does; long may it flourish! But so likewise does the dressing and

undressing of dolls, the opening of the front of the house, and the tenderly putting of them away to bed in

rooms they completely fill, train our little dears to the duties and the joys of motherhood. Toys! what wise

child despises them? Art, fiction, the musical glasses: are they not preparing us for the time, however distant,

In a maze of ways beyond the stage I lost myself, but eventually, guided by voices, came to a large room

furnished barely with many chairs and worn settees, and here I found some twenty to thirty ladies and

gentlemen already seated. They were of varying ages, sizes and appearance, but all of them alike in having

about them that impossibletodefine but impossibletomistake suggestion of theatricality. The men were

chiefly remarkable for having no hair on their faces, but a good deal upon their heads; the ladies, one and all,

were blessed with remarkably pink and white complexions and exceptionally bright eyes. The conversation,

carried on in subdued but penetrating voices, was chiefly of "him" and "her." Everybody appeared to be on an

affectionate footing with everybody else, the terms of address being "My dear," "My love," "Old girl," "Old

chappie," Christian nameswhen name of any sort was needfulalone being employed. I hesitated for a

minute with the door in my hand, fearing I had stumbled upon a family gathering. As, however, nobody

seemed disconcerted at my entry, I ventured to take a vacant seat next to an extremely small and

boyishlooking gentleman and to ask him if this was the room in which I, an applicant for a place in the

He had large, fishy eyes, with which he looked me up and down. For such a length of time he remained thus

regarding me in silence that a massive gentleman sitting near, who had overheard, took it upon himself to

reply in the affirmative, adding that from what he knew of Butterworth we would all of us be waiting here a

damned sight longer than any gentleman should keep other ladies and gentlemen waiting for no reason at all.

"I think it exceedingly bad form," observed the fishyeyed gentleman, in deep contralto tones, "for any

gentleman to take it upon himself to reply to a remark addressed to quite another gentleman."

"I think it very ill manners," remarked the small gentlemen in the same slow and impressive tones, "for any

gentleman to tell another gentleman, who happens to be wide awake, that he thought he was asleep."

"Sir," returned the massive gentleman, assuming with the help of a large umbrella a quite Johnsonian attitude,

"If you are satisfied with them," replied the small gentleman, "I cannot help it. But I think you are making a

"Does anybody know what the opera is about?" asked a bright little woman at the other end of the room.

"Does anybody ever know what a comic opera is about?" asked another lady, whose appearance suggested

"I once asked the author," observed a wearylooking gentleman, speaking from a corner. "His reply was:

'Well, if you had asked me at the beginning of the rehearsals I might have been able to tell you, but damned if

"It wouldn't surprise me," observed a goodlooking gentleman in a velvet coat, "if there occurred somewhere

"Possibly, if we are good," added a thin lady with golden hair, "the heroine will confide to us her love

The door at the further end of the room opened and a name was cal[l]ed. An elderly lady rose and went out.

"Poor old Gertie!" remarked sympathetically the thin lady with the golden hair. "I'm told that she really had a

"When poor young Bond first came to London," said the massive gentleman who was sitting on my left, "I

remember his telling me he applied to Lord Barrymore's 'tiger,' Alexander Lee, I mean, of course, who was

then running the Strand Theatre, for a place in the chorus. Lee heard him sing two lines, and then jumped up.

'Thanks, that'll do; good morning,' says Lee. Bond knew he had got a good voice, so he asked Lee what was

wrong. 'What's wrong?' shouts Lee. 'Do you think I hire a chorus to show up my principals?'"

"Having regard to the company present," commented the fishyeyed gentleman, "I consider that anecdote as

For the next half hour the door at the further end of the room continued to open and close, devouring,

ogrefashion, each time some dainty human morsel, now chorus gentleman, now chorus lady. Conversation

among our thinning ranks became more fitful, a growing anxiety making for silence.

At length, "Mr. Horace Moncrieff" called the voice of the unseen Charon. In common with the rest, I glanced

round languidly to see what sort of man "Mr. Horace Moncrieff" might be. The door was pushed open

further. Charon, now revealed as a palefaced young man with a drooping moustache, put his head into the

room and repeated impatiently his invitation to the apparently coy Moncrieff. It suddenly occurred to me that

"So glad you've found yourself," said the palefaced young man, as I joined him at the door. "Please don't

I crossed with him through a deserted refreshment barone of the saddest of sightsinto a room beyond. A

melancholylooking gentleman was seated at the piano. Beside him stood a tall, handsome man, who was

opening and reading rapidly from a bundle of letters he held in his hand. A big, burly, boredlooking

gentleman was making desperate efforts to be amused at the staccato conversation of a sharpfaced,

restlesseyed gentleman, whose peculiarity was that he never by any chance looked at the person to whom he

"Moncrieff?" enquired the tall, handsome manwhom I later discovered to be Mr. Hodgson, the

"What are you?" interrupted Mr. Hodgson. He had never once looked at me, and did not now.

"A tenor," I replied. "Not a full tenor," I added, remembering the O'Kelly's instructions.

"Utterly impossible to fill a tenor," remarked the restlesseyed gentleman, looking at me and speaking to the

Everybody laughed, with the exception of the melancholy gentleman at the piano, Mr. Hodgson throwing in

his contribution without raising his eyes from his letters. Throughout the proceedings the restlesseyed

gentleman continued to make humorous observations of this nature, at which everybody laughed, excepting

always the melancholy pianista short, sharp, mechanical laugh, devoid of the least suggestion of

amusement. The restlesseyed gentleman, it appeared, was the leading low comedian of the theatre.

"Tell me when he's going to begin," remarked Mr. Hodgson at the conclusion of the first verse.

"There is a prejudice throughout theatrical audiences," observed Mr. Hodgson, "in favour of a voice they can

The second verse, so I imagined, I sang in the voice of a trumpet. The burly gentlemanthe translator of the

French libretto, as he turned out to be; the author of the English version, as he preferred to be

calledacknowledged to having distinctly detected a sound. The restlesseyed comedian suggested an

announcement from the stage requesting strict silence during my part of the performance.

The sickness of fear was stealing over me. My voice, so it seemed to me, disappointed at the effect it had

"Your voice is all rightvery good," whispered the musical conductor. "They want to hear the best you can

At this my voice ran up my legs and out of my mouth. "Thirty shillings a week, half salary for rehearsals. If

that's all right, Mr. Catchpole will give you your agreement. If not, very much obliged. Good morning," said

With the palefaced young man I retired to a desk in the corner, where a few seconds sufficed for the

completion of the business. Leaving, I sought to catch the eye of my melancholy friend, but he appeared too

sunk in dejection to notice anything. The restlesseyed comedian, looking at the author of the English version

and addressing me as Boanerges, wished me good morning, at which the everybody laughed; and, informed

The first "call" was for the following Monday at two o'clock. I found the theatre full of life and bustle. The

principals, who had just finished their own rehearsal, were talking together in a group. We ladies and

gentlemen of the chorus filled the centre of the stage. I noticed the lady I had heard referred to as Gertie; as

also the thin lady with the golden hair. The massive gentleman and the fishyeyed young man were again in

close proximity; so long as I knew them they always were together, possessed, apparently, of a sympathetic

antipathy for each other. The fishyeyed young gentleman was explaining the age at which he thought

decayed chorus singers ought, in justice to themselves and the public, to retire from the profession; the

massive gentleman, the age and size at which he thought parcels of boys ought to be learning manners across

Mr. Hodgson, still reading letters exactly as I had left him four days ago, stood close to the footlights. My

friend, the musical director, armed with a violin and supported by about a dozen other musicians, occupied

the orchestra. The adapter and the stage managera Frenchman whom I found it good policy to mistake for

a born Englishmansat deep in confabulation at a small table underneath a temporary gas jet. Quarter of an

hour or so passed by, and then the stage manager, becoming suddenly in a hurry, rang a small bell furiously.

"Clear, please; all clear," shouted a small boy, with important air suggestive of a fox terrier; and, following

The comedian and the leading ladywhom I knew well from the front, but whom I should never have

recognisedsevered themselves from their companions and joined Mr. Hodgson by the footlights. As a

"Ah," said the stage manager, casting an admiring gaze upon the fishyeyed young man, whose height might

have been a little over five feet two, "I have the very girl for youa beauty!" Darting into the group of

ladies, he returned with quite the biggest specimen, a lady of magnificent proportions, whom, with the air of

the virtuous uncle of melodrama, he bestowed upon the fishyeyed young man. To the massive gentleman

was given a sharpfaced little lady, who at a distance appeared quite girlish. Myself I found mated to the thin

At last complete, we took our places in the then approved semicircle, and the attenuated orchestra struck up

the opening chorus. My music, which had been sent me by post, I had gone over with the O'Kelly, and about

"I am afraid," said the thin lady, "I must ask you to put your arm round my waist. It's very shocking, I know,

I glanced into her face. A whimsical expression of fun replied to me and drove away my shyness. I carried

The indefatigable stage manager ran in and out among us while we sang, driving this couple back a foot or

so, this other forward, herding this group closer together, throughout another making space, suggesting the

"Very good, very good indeed," commented Mr. Hodgson at the conclusion. "We will go over it once more,

"And we will make love," added the stage manager; "not like marionettes, but like ladies and gentlemen all

alive." Seizing the lady nearest to him, he explained to us by object lesson how the real peasant invariably

behaves when under influence of the grand passion, standing gracefully with hands clasped upon heart, head

inclined at an angle of fortyfive, his whole countenance eloquent with tender adoration.

"If he expects" remarked the massive gentleman _sotto voce_ to an experiencedlooking young lady, "a

performance of Romeo thrown in, I, for one, shall want an extra ten shillings a week."

Casting the lady aside and seizing upon a gentleman, our stage manager then proceeded to show the ladies

how a village maiden should receive affectionate advances: one shoulder a trifle higher than the other, body

"Ah, he's a bit new to it," replied the experienced young lady. "He'll get over all that."

Again we started. Whether others attempted to follow the stage manager's directions I cannot say, my whole

attention being centred upon the fishyeyed young man, who did, implicitly. Soon it became apparent that

the whole of us were watching the fishyeyed young man to the utter neglect of our own business. Mr.

Hodgson even looked up from his letters; the orchestra was playing out of time; the author of the English

version and the leading lady exchanged glances. Three people only appeared not to be enjoying themselves:

the chief comedian, the stage manager and the fishyeyed young gentleman himself, who pursued his labours

methodically and conscientiously. There was a whispered confabulation between the leading low comedian,

Mr. Hodgson and the stage manager. As a result, the music ceased and the fishyeyed young gentleman was

"That is a very unkind remark," replied the fishyeyed young gentleman, evidently hurt, "to make to a

Mr. Hodgson behind his letters was laughing. "Poor fellow," he murmured; "I suppose he can't help it. Go

"I want to give him a chance, poor devil," explained Mr. Hodgson in a lower voice. "Only support of a

Our comedian appeared inclined to argue; but at this point Mr. Hodgson's correspondence became absorbing.

For the chorus the second act was a busy one. We opened as soldiers and vivandieres, every warrior in this

way possessing his own private travelling bar. Our stage manager again explained to us by example how a

soldier behaves, first under stress of patriotic emotion, and secondly under stress of cheap cognac, the

difference being somewhat subtle: patriotism displaying itself by slaps upon the chest, and cheap cognac by

slaps upon the forehead. A little later we were conspirators; our stage manager, with the help of a tablecloth,

showed us how to conspire. Next we were a mob, led by the sentimental baritone; our stage manager, ruffling

his hair, expounded to us how a mob led by a sentimental baritone would naturally behave itself. The act

wound up with a fight. Our stage manager, minus his coat, demonstrated to us how to fight and die, the dying

being a painful and dusty performance, necessitating, as it did, much rolling about on the stage. The

fishyeyed young gentleman throughout the whole of it was again the centre of attraction. Whether he were

solemnly slapping his chest and singing about glory, or solemnly patting his head and singing about grapes,

was immaterial: he was the soldier for us. What the plot was about did not matter, so long as he was in it.

Who led the mob one did not care; one's desire was to see him lead. How others fought and died was matter

of no moment; to see him slaughtered was sufficient. Whether his unconsciousness was assumed or natural I

cannot say; in either case it was admirable. An earnest young man, overanxious, if anything, to do his duty

by his employers, was the extent of the charge that could be brought against him. Our chief comedian

frowned and fumed; our stage manager was in despair. Mr. Hodgson and the author of the English version, on

the contrary, appeared kindly disposed towards the gentleman. In addition to the widowed mother, Mr.

Hodgson had invented for him five younger brothers and sisters utterly destitute but for his earnings. To

deprive so exemplary a son and brother of the means of earning a livelihood for dear ones dependent upon

him was not in Mr. Hodgson's heart. Our chief comedian dissociated himself from all uncharitable

feelingswould subscribe towards the subsistence of the young man out of his own pocket, his only concern

being the success of the opera. The author of the English version was convinced the young man would not

The rehearsal proceeded. In the last act it became necessary for me to kiss the thin lady.

Again I followed directions. The thin lady was good enough to congratulate me on my performance.

The last three or four rehearsals we performed in company with the principals. Divided counsels rendered

them decidedly harassing. Our chief comedian had his views, and they were decided; the leading lady had

hers, and was generous with them. The author of the English version possessed his also, but of these nobody

took much notice. Once every twenty minutes the stage manager washed his hands of the whole affair and

left the theatre in despair, and anybody's hat that happened to be handy, to return a few minutes later full of

renewed hope. The sentimental baritone was sarcastic, the tenor distinctly rude to everybody. Mr. Hodgson's

method was to agree with all and listen to none. The smaller fry of the company, together with the more

pushing of the chorus, supported each in turn, when the others were not looking. Up to the dress rehearsal it

About one thing, and about one thing, only, had the principals fallen into perfect agreement, and that was that

the fishyeyed young gentleman was out of place in a romantic opera. The tenor would be making

impassioned love to the leading lady. Perception would come to both of them that, though they might be

occupying geographically the centre of the stage, dramatically they were not. Without a shred of evidence,

yet with perfect justice, they would unhesitatingly blame for this the fishyeyed young man.

"I wasn't doing anything," he would explain meekly. "I was only looking." It was perfectly true; that was all

The fishyeyed young gentleman obediently would turn his face away from them; and in some mysterious

manner the situation would thereupon become even yet more hopelessly ridiculous.

"I am only doing what I was told to do," answered the fishyeyed young gentleman; and nobody could say

"I am afraid he would never be any good as a sideshow," replied Mr. Hodgson, who was reading letters.

On the first night, passing the gallery entrance on my way to the stage door, the sight of the huge crowd

assembled there waiting gave me my first taste of artistic joy. I was a part of what they had come to see, to

praise or to condemn, to listen to, to watch. Within the theatre there was an atmosphere of suppressed

excitement, amounting almost to hysteria. The birdlike gentleman in his glass cage was fluttering, agitated.

The hands of the stage carpenters putting the finishing touches to the scenery were trembling, their voices

passionate with anxiety; the foxterrierlike callboy was pale with sense of responsibility.

I made my way to the dressingrooma long, low, wooden corridor, furnished from end to end with a wide

shelf that served as common dressingtable, lighted by a dozen flaring gasjets, wireshielded. Here awaited

us gentlemen of the chorus the wigmaker's assistant, whose duty it was to make us up. From one to another

he ran, armed with his hare's foot, his box of paints and his bundle of crepe hair. My turn arriving, he seized

me by the head, jabbed a wig upon me, and in less than a couple of minutes I left his hands the orthodox

peasant of the stage, white of forehead and pink of cheek, with curly moustache and lips of coral. Glancing

into the glass, I could not help feeling pleased with myself; a moustache, without doubt, suited me.

The chorus ladies, when I met them on the stage, were a revelation to me. Paint and powder though I knew

their appearance to consist of chiefly, yet in that hot atmosphere of the theatre, under that artificial glare, it

seemed fit and fascinating. The close approximation to so much bare flesh, its curious, subtle odour was

almost intoxicating. Dr. Johnson's excuse to Garrick for the rarity of his visits to the theatre recurred to me

"I think you" We were standing apart behind a piece of projecting scenery. She laid her hand upon my

"Mine," she replied, "entitles me to talk to you as I should to a boy of my ownI had one once. Get out of

this life if you can. It's bad for a woman; it's worse still for a man. To you especially it will be harmful."

"Because you are an exceedingly foolish little boy," she answered, with another laugh, "and are rather nice."

She slipped away and joined the others. The chorus was now entirely assembled on the stage. The sound of

the rapidlyfilling house reached us, softened through the thick baize curtain, a dull, continuous droning, as

of water pouring into some huge cistern. Suddenly there fell upon our ears a startling crash; the overture had

commenced. The stage managermore suggestive of a sheepdog than ever, but lacking the calm dignity,

the selfpossession born of conscious capability distinctive of his prototype; a fussy, argumentative

sheepdogrushed into the midst of us and worried us into our positions, where the more experienced

continued to converse in whispers, the rest of us waiting nervously, trying to remember our words. The

chorus master, taking his stand with his back to the proscenium, held his whitegloved hand in readiness. The

curtain rushed up, the house, a nightmare of white faces, appearing to run towards us. The chorusmaster's

whitegloved hand flung upward. A roar of voices struck upon my ear, but whether my own were of them I

could not say; if I were singing at all it was unconsciously, mechanically. Later, I found myself standing in

the wings beside the thin lady; the stage was in the occupation of the principals. On my next entrance my

senses were more with me; I was able to look about me. Here and there a stronglymarked face among the

audience stood out, but the majority were as indistinguishable as so many blades of grass. Looked at from the

stage, the house seemed no more real than from the front do the painted faces upon a black cloth.

The curtain fell amid the usual applause, sounding to us behind it like the rattle of tiny stones against a

windowpane. Three times it rose and fell, like the opening and shutting of a door; and then followed a

scamper for the dressingrooms, the long corridors being filled with the rustling of skirts and the scurrying of

It was in the second act that the fishyeyed young gentleman came into his own. The chorus had lingered till

it was quite apparent that the tenor and the leading lady were in love with each other; then, with the exquisite

delicacy so characteristic of a chorus, foreseeing that its further presence might be embarrassing, it turned to

go, half to the east, the other half to the west. The fishyeyed young man, starting from the centre, was the

last to leave the stage. In another moment he would have disappeared from view. There came a voice from

The request was instantly seconded by a roar of applause from every part of the house, followed by laughter.

From that point onward the house was chiefly concerned with the fortunes of the fishyeyed young

gentleman. At his next entrance, disguised as a conspirator, he was welcomed with enthusiasm, his passing

away regretted loudly. At the fall of the curtain, the tenor, furious, rushed up to him, and, shaking a fist in his

"Well, you told me not to look at you," explained meekly the fishyeyed young gentleman. "I must go off

At the final fall of the curtain the house appeared divided as regarded the merits of the opera; but for

"Goggles" there was a unanimous and enthusiastic call, and the while we were dressing a message came for

"He can make a funny face, no doubt about it," commented one gentleman, as "Goggles" left the room.

"I defy him to make a funnier one than God Almighty's made for him," responded the massive gentleman.

"There's a deal in luck," observed, with a sigh, another, a tall, handsome young gentleman possessed of a rich

Leaving the stage door, I encountered a group of gentlemen waiting upon the pavement outside. Not

interested in them myself, I was hurrying past, when one laid a hand upon my shoulder. I turned. He was a

"I thought it was you, young 'un, in the first act," he answered. "In the second, when you came on without a

"No," he replied; "we don't go to press till Thursday, so I can write my notice tomorrow. Come and have

Over our supper Dan and I exchanged histories. They revealed points of similarity. Leaving school some

considerable time earlier than myself, Dan had gone to Cambridge; but two years later, in consequence of the

death of his father, of a wound contracted in the Indian Mutiny and never cured, had been compelled to bring

"You might not have expected that to grieve me," said Dan, with a smile, "but, as a matter of fact, it was a

severe blow to me. At Cambridge I discovered that I was by temperament a scholar. The reason why at

school I took no interest in learning was because learning was, of set purpose, made as uninteresting as

possible. Like a Cook's tourist party through a picture gallery, we were rushed through education; the object

being not that we should see and understand, but that we should be able to say that we had done it. At college

I chose my own subjects, studied them in my own way. I fed on knowledge, was not stuffed with it like a

Returning to London, he had taken a situation in a bank, the chairman of which had been an old friend of his

father. The advantage was that while earning a small income he had time to continue his studies; but the

deadly monotony of the work had appalled him, and upon the death of his mother he had shaken the cloying

dust of the City from his brain and joined a small "fitup" theatrical company. On the stage he had remained

for another eighteen months; had played all roles, from "Romeo" to "Paul Pry," had helped to paint the

scenery, had assisted in the billposting. The latter, so he told me, he had found one of the most difficult of

accomplishments, the pasteladen poster having an innate tendency to recoil upon the amateur's own head,

and to stick there. Wearying of the stage proper, he had joined a circus company, had been "Signor Ricardo,

the daring bareback rider," also one of the "Brothers Roscius in their marvellous trapeze act;" inclining

again towards respectability, had been a waiter for three months at Ostend; from that, a footman.

"One never knows," remarked Dan. "I may come to be a society novelist; if so, inside knowledge of the

aristocracy will give me decided advantage over the majority of my competitors."

Other callings he had sampled: had tramped through Ireland with a fiddle; through Scotland with a lecture on

Palestine, assisted by dissolving views; had been a billiardmarker; next a schoolmaster. For the last three

months he had been a journalist, dramatic and musical critic to a Sunday newspaper. Often had I dreamt of

"The idea occurred to me," replied Dan, "late one afternoon, sauntering down the Strand, wondering what I

should do next. I was on my beam ends, with only a few shillings in my pocket; but luck has always been

with me. I entered the first newspaper office I came to, walked upstairs to the first floor, and opening the first

door without knocking, passed through a small, empty room into a larger one, littered with books and papers.

It was growing dark. A gentleman of extremely youthful figure was running round and round, cursing to

himself because of three things: he had upset the ink, could not find the matches, and had broken the

bellpull. In the gloom, assuming him to be the office boy, I thought it would be fun to mistake him for the

editor. As a matter of fact, he turned out to be the editor. I lit the gas for him, and found him another inkpot.

He was a slim young man with the voice and manner of a schoolboy. I don't suppose he is any more than five

or sixandtwenty. He owes his position to the fact of his aunt's being the proprietress. He asked me if he

knew me. Before I could tell him that he didn't, he went on talking. He appeared to be labouring under a

"'People come into this office,' he said; 'they seem to look upon it as a shelter from the rainpeople I don't

know from Adam. And that damned fool downstairs lets them march straight upanybody, men with

articles on safety valves, people who have merely come to kick up a row about something or another. Half

"I recommended to him that he should insist upon strangers writing their business upon a slip of paper. He

"'For the last threequarters of an hour,' he said, 'have I been trying to finish this one column, and four times

"'I won't see him!' he cried. 'I don't care who he is; I won't see him. Send him away! Send everybody away!'

"I went to the door. He was an elderly gentleman. He made to sweep by me; but I barred his way, and closed

the editorial door behind me. He seemed surprised; but I told him it was impossible for him to see the editor

that afternoon, and suggested his writing his business on a sheet of paper, which I handed to him for the

purpose. I remained in that anteroom for half an hour, and during that time I suppose I must have sent away

about ten or a dozen people. I don't think their business could have been important, or I should have heard

about it afterwards. The last to come was a tiredlooking gentleman, smoking a cigarette. I asked him his

"'It's a bit awkward,' he retorted. 'Don't you think you could make an exception in favour of the subeditor on

"'Oh, all right,' he answered. 'I'd like to know who's going to the Royalty tonight, that's all. It's seven o'clock

"An idea occurred to me. If the subeditor of a paper doesn't know whom to send to a theatre, it must mean

that the post of dramatic critic on that paper is for some reason or another vacant.

"He appeared neither pleased nor displeased. 'Have you arranged with the Guv'nor?' he asked me.

"'I'm just waiting to see him again for a few minutes,' I returned. 'It'll be all right. Have you got the ticket?'

"The moment he was gone, I slipped downstairs and met a printer's boy coming up.

"'What's the name of your sub?' I asked him. 'Tall man with a black moustache, looks tired.'

"I walked straight into the editor; he was still irritable. 'What is it? What is it now?' he snapped out.

"'I only want the ticket for the Royalty Theatre,' I answered. 'Penton says you've got it.'

"They have never discovered to this day that I appointed myself. Penton thinks I am some relation of the

proprietress, and in consequence everybody treats me with marked respect. Mrs. Wallace herself, the

proprietress, thinks I am the discovery of Penton, in whose judgment she has great faith; and with her I get on

admirably. The paper I don't think is doing too well, and the salary is small, but sufficient. Journalism suits

He laughed. "From the stone's point of view," he answered, "I never could see the advantage of being

smothered in moss. I should always prefer remaining the stone, unhidden, able to move and see about me.

But now, to speak of other matters, what are your plans for the immediate future? Your opera, thanks to the

gentlemen, the gods have dubbed 'Goggles,' will, I fancy, run through the winter. Are you getting any

"Say two pounds," he replied. "With my three we could set up an establishment of our own. I have an idea

"There are four delightful rooms in Queen's Square," he continued. "They are charmingly furnished: a fine

sittingroom in the front, with two bedrooms and a kitchen behind. Their last tenant was a Polish

Revolutionary, who, three months ago, poor fellow, was foolish enough to venture back to Russia, and who is

now living rent free. The landlord of the house is an original old fellow, Deleglise the engraver. He occupies

the rest of the house himself. He has told me I can have the rooms for anything I like to offer, and I should

suggest thirty shillings a week, though under ordinary circumstances they would be worth three or four

pounds. But he will only let us have them on the understanding that we 'do for' ourselves. He is quite an

oddity. He hates petticoats, especially elderly petticoats. He has one servant, an old Frenchwoman, who, I

believe, was housekeeper to his mother, and he and she do the housework together, most of their time

quarrelling over it. Nothing else of the genus domestic female will he allow inside the door; not even an

occasional charwoman would be permitted to us. On the other hand, it is a beautiful old Georgian house, with

Adams mantelpieces, a stone staircase, and oakpanelled rooms; and our portion would be the entire second

floor: no pianos and no landlady. He is a widower with one child, a girl of about fourteen or maybe a little

older. Now, what do you say? I am a very fair cook; will you be houseandparlourmaid?"

I needed no pressing. A week later we were installed there, and for nearly two years we lived there. At the

risk of offending an adorable but somewhat touchy sex, convinced that man, left to himself, is capable of

little more than putting himself to bed, and that only in a roughandready fashion, truth compels me to

record the fact that without female assistance or supervision of any kind we passed through those two years,

and yet exist to tell the tale. Dan had not idly boasted. Better plain cooking I never want to taste; so good a

cup of coffee, omelette, or devilled kidney I rarely have tasted. Had he always confined his efforts within the

boundaries of his abilities, there would be little to record beyond continuous and monotonous success. But

stirred into dangerous ambition at the call of an occasional tea or supper party, lured out of his depths by the

example of old Deleglise, our landlorda man who for twenty years had made cooking his hobbyDan

would at intervals venture upon experiment. Pastry, it became evident, was a thing he should never have

touched: his hand was heavy and his temperament too serious. There was a thing called lemon sponge,

necessitating much beating of eggs. In the cookerybooka remarkably fat volume, luscious with

illustrations of highlycoloured foodit appeared an airy and graceful structure of dazzling whiteness.

Served as Dan sent it to table, it suggested rather in form and colour a miniature earthquake. Spongy it

undoubtedly was. One forced it apart with the assistance of one's spoon and fork; it yielded with a gentle

tearing sound. Another favourite dainty of his was mannacake. Concerning it I would merely remark that if

it in any way resembled anything the Children of Israel were compelled to eat, then there is explanation for

that fretfulness and discontent for which they have been, perhaps, unjustly blamedsome excuse even for

their backwardflung desires in the direction of the Egyptian fleshpots. Moses himself may have been

blessed with exceptional digestion. It was substantial, one must say that for it. One slice of itsolid, firm,

crusty on the outside, towards the centre marshysatisfied most people to a sense of repletion. For supper

parties Dan would essay triflesby no means open to the criticism of being light as airsouffle's that

guests, in spite of my admonishing kicks, would persist in alluding to as pudding; and in wintertime,

pancakes. Later, as regards these latter, he acquired some skill; but at first the difficulty was the tossing. I

think myself a safer plan would have been to turn them by the aid of a knife and fork; it is less showy, but

more sure. At least, you avoid all danger of catching the halfbaked thing upon your head instead of in the

pan, of dropping it into the fire, or among the cinders. But "Thorough" was always Dan's motto; and after all,

small particles of coal or a few hairs can always be detected by the careful feeder, and removed.

A more eventempered man than Dan for twentythree hours out of every twentyfour surely never

breathed. It was a revelation to me to discover that for the other he could be uncertain, irritable, even

ungrateful. At first, in a spirit of pure good nature, I would offer him counsel and advice; explain to him why,

as it seemed to me, the custard was pimply, the mayonnaise sauce suggestive of hair oil. What was my

return? Sneers, insult and abuse, followed, if I did not clear out quickly, by spoilt tomatoes, cold coffee

groundsanything that happened to be handy. Pained, saddened, I would withdraw, he would kick the door

to after me. His greatest enemy appeared to be the oven. The oven it was that set itself to thwart his best

wrought schemes. Always it was the oven's fault that the snowy bun appeared to have been made of red

sandstone, the macaroni cheese of Cambrian clay. One might have sympathised with him more had his

language been more restrained. As it was, the virulence of his reproaches almost inclined one to take the part

Concerning our housemaid, I can speak in terms of unqualified praise. There are, alas, fussy

housemaidswho has not known and suffered them?who overdo the thing, have no repose, no instinct

telling them when to ease up and let the place alone. I have always held the perpetual stirring up of dust a

scientific error; left to itself, it is harmless, may even be regarded as a delicate domestic bloom, bestowing a

touch of homeliness upon objects that without it gleam cold and unsympathetic. Let sleeping dogs lie. Why

be continually waking up the stuff, filling the air with all manner of unhealthy germs? Nature in her infinite

wisdom has ordained that upon table, floor, or picture frame it shall sink and settle. There it remains, quiet

and inoffensive; there it will continue to remain so long as nobody interferes with it: why worry it? So also

with crumbs, odd bits of string, particles of eggshell, stumps of matches, ends of cigarettes: what fitter place

for such than under the nearest mat? To sweep them up is tiresome work. They cling to the carpet, you get

cross with them, curse them for their obstinacy, and feel ashamed of yourself for your childishness. For every

one you do persuade into the dustpan, two jump out again. You lose your temper, feel bitter towards the

man that dropped them. Your whole character becomes deteriorated. Under the mat they are always willing to

go. Compromise is true statesmanship. There will come a day when you will be glad of an excuse for not

doing something else that you ought to be doing. Then you can take up the mats and feel quite industrious,

To differentiate between the essential and the nonessential, that is where woman fails. In the name of

common sense, what is the use of washing a cup that half an hour later is going to be made dirty again? If the

cat be willing and able to so clean a plate that not one speck of grease remain upon it, why deprive her of

pleasure to inflict toil upon yourself? If a bed looks made and feels made, then for all practical purposes it is

made; why upset it merely to put it straight again? It would surprise most women the amount of labour that

For needlework, I confess, I never acquired skill. Dan had learnt to handle a thimble, but my own second

finger was ever reluctant to come forward when wanted. It had to be found, all other fingers removed out of

its way. Then, feebly, nervously, it would push, slip, get itself pricked badly with the head of the needle, and,

thoroughly frightened, remain incapable of further action. More practical I found it to push the needle

The opera, as Dan had predicted, ran far into the following year. When it was done with, anotherin which

"Goggles" appeared as one of the principalstook its place, and was even more successful. After the

experience of Nelson Square, my present salary of thirtyfive shillings, occasionally forty shillings, a week

seemed to me princely. There floated before my eyes the possibility of my becoming a great opera singer. On

six hundred pounds a week, I felt I could be content. But the O'Kelly set himself to dispel this dream.

"Ye'd be making a mistake, me boy," explained the O'Kelly. "Ye'd be just wasting ye're time. I wouldn't tell

"It might be good enough for comic opera," I argued. "People appear to succeed in comic opera without much

"Sure, there ye're right," agreed the O'Kelly, with a sigh. "An' of course if ye had an exceptionally fine

The O'Kelly shook his head. "It's never quite the same thing. It would depend upon your acting."

I dreamt of becoming a second Kean, of taking Macready's place. It need not interfere with my literary

ambition. I could combine the two: fill Drury Lane in the evening, turn out epochmaking novels in the

Every day I studied in the readingroom of the British Museum. Wearying of success in Art, I might

eventually go into Parliament: a Prime Minister with a thorough knowledge of history: why not? With

Ollendorf for guide, I continued French and German. It might be the diplomatic service that would appeal to

me in my old age. An ambassadorship! It would be a pleasant termination to a brilliant career.

There was excuse for my optimistic mood about this period. All things were going well with me. A story of

mine had been accepted. I forget for the moment the name of the journal: it is dead now. Most of the papers

in which my early efforts appeared are dead. My contributions might be likened to their swan songs. Proofs

had been sent me, which I had corrected and returned. But proofs are not facts. This had happened to me once

before, and I had been lifted to the skies only to fall the more heavily. The paper had collapsed before my

story had appeared. (Ah, why had they delayed? It might have saved them!) This time I remembered the

proverb, and kept my own counsel, slipping out early each morning on the day of publication to buy the

paper, to scan eagerly its columns. For weeks I suffered hope deferred. But at last, one bright winter's day in

January, walking down the Harrow Road, I found myself standing still, suddenly stunned, before a bill

outside a small newsvendor's shop. It was the first time I had seen my real name in print: "The Witch of

Moel Sarbod: a legend of Mona, by Paul Kelver." (For this I had even risked discovery by the Lady

'Ortensia.) My legs trembling under me, I entered the shop. A ruffianlylooking man in dirty shirtsleeves,

who appeared astonished that any one should want a copy, found one at length on the floor underneath the

counter. With it in my pocket, I retraced my footsteps as in a dream. On a seat in Paddington Green I sat

down and read it. The hundred best books! I have waded through them all; they have never charmed me as

charmed me that one short story in that now forgotten journal. Need I add it was a sad and sentimental

composition. Once upon a time there lived a mighty King; onebut with the names I will not bore you; they

are somewhat unpronounceable. Their selection had cost me many hours of study in the British Museum

readingrooms, surrounded by lexicons of the Welsh language, gazetteers, translations from the early Celtic

poetswith footnotes. He loved and was beloved by a beautiful Princess, whose name, being translated, was

Purity. One day the King, hunting, lost his way, and being weary, lay down and fell asleep. And by chance

the spot whereon he lay was near to a place which by infinite pains, with the aid of a magnifying glass, I had

discovered upon the map, and which means in English the Cave of the Waters, where dwelt a wicked

Sorceress, who, while he slept, cast her spells upon him, so that he awoke to forget his kingly honour and the

Now, there lived in this Kingdom by the sea a great Magician; and Purity, who loved the King far better than

herself, bethought her of him, and of all she had heard concerning his power and wisdom; and went to him

and besought his aid that she might save the King. There was but one way to accomplish this: with bare feet

Purity must climb the rocky path leading to the Witch's dwelling, go boldly up to her, not fearing her sharp

claws nor her strong teeth, and kiss her upon the mouth. In this way the spirit of Purity would pass into the

Witch's soul, and she would become a woman. But the form and spirit of the Witch would pass into Purity,

transforming her, and in the Cave of the Waters she must forever abide. Thus Purity gave herself that the

King might live. With bleeding feet she climbed the rocky path, clasped the Witch's form within her arms,

kissed her on the mouth. And the Witch became a woman and reigned with the King over his people, wisely

and helpfully. But Purity became a hideous witch, and to this day abides on Moel Sarbod, where is the Cave

of the Waters. And they who climb the mountain's side still hear above the roaring of the cataract the sobbing

of Purity, the King's betrothed. But many liken it rather to a joyous song of love triumphant.

No writer worth his salt was ever satisfied with anything he ever wrote, so I have been told, and so I try to

believe. Evidently I am not worth my salt. Candid friends, and others, to whom in my salad days I used to

show my work, asking for a frank opinion, meaning, of course, though never would they understand me, their

unadulterated praise, would assure me for my good, that this, my first to whom the gods gave life, was but a

feeble, illshaped child: its attempted early English a cross between "The Pilgrim's Progress" and "Old

Moore's Almanac;" its scenerywhich had cost me weeks of researchan apparent attempt to sum up in the

language of a local guide book the leading characteristics of the Garden of Eden combined with Dante's

Inferno; its pathos of the pennyplain and twopennycoloured order. Maybe they were right. Much have I

written since that at the time appeared to me good, that I have read later with regret, with burning cheek, with

frowning brow. But of this, my firstborn, the harbinger of all my hopes, I am no judge. Touching the

yellowing, badlyprinted pages, I feel again the deep thrill of joy with which I first unfolded them and read.

Again I am a youngster, and life opens out before meinmeasurable, no goal too high. This child of my

brain, my work: it shall spread my name throughout the world. It shall be a household world in lands that I

shall never see. Friends whose voices I shall never hear will speak of me. I shall die, but it shall live, yield

fresh seed, bear fruit I know not of. Generations yet unborn shall read it and remember me. My thoughts, my

The long, long thoughts of boyhood! We elders smile at them. The little world spins round; the little voices of

an hour sink hushed. The crawling generations come and go. The solar system drops from space. The eternal

mechanism reforms and shapes itself anew. Time, turning, ploughs another furrow. So, growing sleepy, we

murmur with a yawn. Is it that we see clearer, or that our eyes are growing dim? Let the young men see their

visions, dream their dreams, hug to themselves their hopes of enduring fame; so shall they serve the world

I brushed the tears from my eyes and looked up. Halfadozen urchins, male and female, were gaping at me

openmouthed. They scattered shouting, whether compliment or insult I know not: probably the latter. I flung

them a handful of coppers, which for the moment silenced them; and went upon my way. How bright, how

fair the bustling streets, golden in the winter sunshine, thronged with life, with effort! Laughter rang around

me. Sweet music rolled from barrelorgans. The strenuous voices of the costermongers called invitation to

the fruitful earth. Errand boys passed me whistling shrilly joyous melodies. Perspiring tradesmen shouted

generous offers to the needy. Men and women hurried by with smiling faces. Sleek cats purred in sheltered

nooks, till merry dogs invited them to sport. The sparrows, feasting in the roadway, chirped their hymn of

At the Marble Arch I jumped upon a 'bus. I mentioned to the conductor in mounting that it was a fine day. He

replied that he had noticed it himself. The retort struck me as a brilliant repartee. Our coachman, all but run

into by a hansom cab driven by a surly old fellow of patriarchal appearance, remarked upon the danger of

allowing horses out in charge of bits of boys. How full the world of wit and humour!

Almost without knowing it, I found myself in earnest conversation with a young man sitting next to me. We

conversed of life, of love. Not until afterwards, reflecting upon the matter, did it surprise me that to a mere

chance acquaintance of the moment he had spoken of the one thing dearest to his heart: a sweet but clearly

wayward maiden, the Hebe of a small, oldfashioned coffeeshop the 'bus was at that moment passing.

Hitherto I had not been the recipient of confidences. It occurred to me that as a rule not even my friends

spoke much to me concerning their own affairs; generally it was I who spoke to them of mine. I sympathised

with him, advised himhow, I do not recollect. He said, however, he thought that I was right; and at Regent

Street he left me, expressing his determination to follow my counsel, whatever it may have been.

Between Berners Street and the Circus I lent a shilling to a couple of young ladies who had just discovered

with amusement, quickly swallowed by despair, that they neither of them had any money with them. (They

returned it next day in postage stamps, with a charming note.) The assurance with which I tendered the slight

service astonished me myself. At any other time I should have hesitated, argued with my fears, offered it with

an appearance of sulky constraint, and been declined. For a moment they were doubtful, then, looking at me,

accepted with a delightful smile. They consulted me as to the way to Paternoster Row. I instructed them,

adding a literary anecdote, which seemed to interest them. I even ventured on a compliment, neatly phrased, I

am inclined to think. Evidently it pleaseda result hitherto unusual in the case of my compliments. At the

corner of Southampton Row I parted from them with regret. Why had I never noticed before how full of

At the corner of Queen's Square a decentlooking woman stopped me to ask the way to the Children's

Hospital at Chelsea, explaining she had made a mistake, thinking it was the one in Great Ormond Street

where her child lay. I directed her, then glancing into her face, noticed how tired she looked, and a vista of

the weary pavements she would have to tramp flashed before me. I slipped some money into her hand and

told her to take a 'bus. She flushed, then thanked me. I turned a few yards further on; she was starting after

me, amazement on her face. I laughed and waved my hand to her. She smiled back in return, and went her

A rain began to fall. I paused upon the doorstep for a minute, enjoying the cool drops upon by upturned face,

the tonic sharpness of the keen east wind; then slipped my key into the lock and entered.

The door of old Deleglise's studio on the first floor happened to he open. Hitherto, beyond the usual formal

salutations, when by chance we met upon the stairs, I had exchanged but few words with my eccentric

landlord; but remembering his kindly face, the desire came upon me to tell him my good fortune. I felt sure

his eyes would lighten with delight. By instinct I knew him for a young man's man.

I tapped lightly; no answer came. Someone was talking; it sounded like a girl's voice. I pushed the door

further open and walked in; such was the custom of the house. It was a large room, built over the yard,

lighted by one high window, before which was the engraving desk, shaded under a screen of tissue paper. At

the further end of the room stood a large chevalglass, and in front of this, its back towards me, was a figure

that excited my curiosity; so that remaining where I was, partly hidden behind a large easel, I watched it for

awhile in silence. Above a heavily flounced blue skirt, which fell in creases on the floor and trailed a couple

of yards or so behind, it wore a black lowcut sleeveless bodicemuch too big for itof the fashion early

Victorian. A good deal of darkbrown hair, fastened up by hairpins that stuck out in all directions like quills

upon a porcupine, suggesting collapse with every movement, was ornamented by three enormous green

feathers, one of which hung limply over the lady's left ear. Three times, while I watched, unnoticed, the lady

propped it into a more befitting attitude, and three times, limp and intoxicatedlooking, it fell back into its

former foolish position. Her long, thin arms, displaying a pair of brilliantly red elbows, pointed to quite a

dangerous degree, terminated in hands so very sunburnt as to convey the impression of a pair of remarkably

wellfitting gloves. Her right hand grasped and waved with determination a large lace fan, her left clutched

fiercely the front of her skirt. With a sweeping curtsey to herself in the glass, which would have been more

effective could she have avoided tying her legs together with her skirta _contretemps_ necessitating the

use of both hands and a succession of jumps before she could disentangle herselfshe remarked so soon as

The excuse, I gathered, was accepted, for with a gracious smile and a vigorous bow, by help of which every

hairpin made distinct further advance towards freedom, she turned, and with much dignity and head over the

right shoulder took a short walk to the left. At the end of six short steps she stopped and began kicking. For

what reason, I, at first, could not comprehend. It dawned upon me after awhile that her object was the

adjustment of her train. Finding the manoeuvre too difficult of accomplishment by feet alone, she stooped,

and, taking the stuff up in her hands, threw it behind her. Then, facing north, she retraced her steps to the

glass, talking to herself, as she walked, in the highpitched drawl, distinctive, as my stage knowledge told

"Oh, do you think soreally? Ah, yes; you say that. Certainly not! I shouldn't think of it." There followed

what I am inclined to believe was intended for a laugh, musical but tantalising. If so, want of practice marred

the effort. The performance failed to satisfy even herself. She tried again; it was still only a giggle.

Before the glass she paused, and with a haughty inclination of her head succeeded for the third time in

"Oh, bother the silly thing!" she said in a voice so natural as to be, by contrast with her previous tone, quite

She fixed it again with difficulty, muttering something inarticulate. Then, her left hand resting on an

imaginary coatsleeve, her right holding her skirt sufficiently high to enable her to move, she commenced to

Whether, hampered as she was by excess of skirt, handicapped by the natural clumsiness of her age,

catastrophe in any case would not sooner or later have overtaken her, I have my doubts. I have since learnt

her own view to be that but for catching sight, in turning, of my face, staring at her through the bars of the

easel, all would have gone well and gracefully. Avoiding controversy on this point, the facts to be recorded

are, that, seeing me, she uttered a sudden exclamation of surprise, dropped her skirt, trod on her train, felt her

hair coming down, tried to do two things at once, and sat upon the floor. I ran to her assistance. With flaming

face and flashing eyes she sprang to her feet. There was a sound as of the rushing down of avalanches. The

blue flounced skirt lay round her on the floor. She stood above its billowy folds, reminiscent of Venus rising

from the wavesa gawky, angular Venus in a short serge frock, reaching a little below her knees, black

stockings and a pair of prunella boots of a size suggesting she had yet some inches to grow before reaching

The next moment I didn't care whether she had or whether she hadn't. She did not reply to my kindly meant

enquiry. Instead, her hand swept through the air in the form of an ample semicircle. It terminated on my ear.

It was not a small hand; it was not a soft hand; it was not that sort of hand. The sound of the contact rang

through the room like a pistol shot; I beard it with my other ear. I sprang at her, and catching her before she

had recovered her equilibrium, kissed her. I did not kiss her because I wanted to. I kissed her because I could

not box her ears back in return, which I should have preferred doing. I kissed her, hoping it would make her

mad. It did. If a look could have killed me, such would have been the tragic ending of this story. It did not kill

There, I admit, she scored. I did not in the least object to her thinking me horrid, but at nineteen one does

"If you do it again," I warned hera sudden movement on her part hinting to me the possibility"I'll kiss

"Leave the room!" she commanded, pointing with her angular arm towards the door.

I did not wish to remain. I was about to retire with as much dignity as circumstances permitted.

"I came to see Mr. Deleglise," I answered. "I suppose you are Miss Deleglise. It doesn't seem to me that you

"Mr. Horace Moncrieff," I replied. I was using at the period both my names indiscriminately, but for this

She snorted. "I know. You're the housemaid. You sweep all the crumbs under the mats."

Now this was a subject about which at the time I was feeling somewhat sore. "Needs must when the Devil

drives;" but as matters were, Dan and I could well have afforded domestic assistance. It rankled in my mind

that to fit in with the foolish fad of old Deleglise, I the future Dickens, Thackeray and George Eliot, Kean,

Macready and Phelps rolled into one, should be compelled to the performance of menial duties. On this

morning of all others, my brilliant literary career just commenced, the anomaly of the thing appeared

Besides, how came she to know I swept the crumbs under the matthat it was my method? Had she and Dan

been discussing me, ridiculing me behind my back? What right had Dan to reveal the secrets of our menage

to this chit of a schoolgirl? Had he done so? or had she been prying, poking her tilted nose into matters that

did not concern her? Pity it was she had no mother to occasionally spank her, teach her proper behaviour.

"Where I sweep our crumbs is nothing to do with you," I replied with some spirit. "That I have to sweep them

Turning her back on me, she commenced to gather up her hairpinsthere must have been about a hundred of

them. I assisted her to the extent of picking up about twenty, which I handed to her with a bow: it may have

been a little stiff, but that was only to be expected. I wished to show her that her bad example had not

"I am sorry my presence should have annoyed you," I said. "It was quite an accident. I entered the room

"When you saw he wasn't, you might have gone out again," she replied, "instead of hiding yourself behind a

She looked round and our eyes met. They were frank, grey eyes. An expression of merriment shot into them.

Then she laughed: it was a delightful laugh, the laugh one would have expected from her.

"I suppose it was," she agreed, and held out her hand. "Did I hurt you?" she asked.

"I am going to a ball next week," she explained, "a grownup ball, and I've got to wear a skirt. I wanted to

We readjusted the torn skirt, accommodating it better to her figure by the help of hairpins. I showed her how

"I shouldn't count my steps," I suggested to her. "It takes your mind away from the music."

"I don't waltz well," she admitted meekly. "I know I don't do anything wellexcept play hockey."

"I'll get Tom to give me half an hour every evening," she said. "He dances beautifully."

"Oh, he likes it; and it suits him so much better than father. Besides, he isn't like a real father. He does

"No; it's very bad for meeverybody says so. When you come to think of it, of course it isn't the way to

bring up a girl. I tell him, but he merely laughssays it's the only way he knows. I do hope I turn out all

"Well, there's no need to grip it as if you were afraid it would run away. It will follow all right. Hold it

"Oh, he takes you back to your chaperon, or suggests refreshment, or you sit and talk."

"Oh, that's his duty. He'll try and amuse you, then you must laugh. You have a nice laugh."

"But I never know when to laugh. If I laugh when I want to it always offends people. What do you do if

"Couldn't I say I don't dance well, and that I'm sure they'd get on better with somebody else?"

"You shall see me, then you'll be polite. It is because you are a boy you are rude. Men are much nicer."

"Tom!" cried Miss Deleglise; and collecting her skirt in both hands, bolted down the corkscrew staircase

The door opened and old Deleglise entered, accompanied by a small, slight man with red hair and beard and

Deleglise himself was a handsome old fellow, then a man of about fiftyfive. His massive, mobile face,

illuminated by bright, restless eyes, was crowned with a lionlike mane of irongrey hair. Till a few years

ago he had been a painter of considerable note. But in questions of art his temper was short. PreRaphaelism

had gone out of fashion for the time being; the tendency of the new age was towards impressionism, and in

disgust old Deleglise had broken his palette across his knee, and swore never to paint again. Artistic work of

some sort being necessary to his temperament, he contented himself now with engraving. At the moment he

was engaged upon the reproduction of Memlinc's Shrine of St. Ursula, with photographs of which he had just

At sight of me his face lighted with a smile, and he advanced with outstretched hand.

"Ah; my lad, so you have got over your shyness and come to visit the old bear in his den. Good boy. I like

He had a clear, musical voice, ever with the suggestion of a laugh behind it. He laid his hand upon my

"Why, you are looking as if you had come into a fortune," he added, "and didn't know what a piece of bad

"Takes all the sauce out of life, young man," answered Deleglise. "What interest is there in running a race

"It is not that kind of fortune," I answered, "it is another. I have had my first story accepted. It is in print.

"Ah, that's better," he said, "that's better. Charlie," he turned to the redheaded man, who had seated himself

The redheaded man rose and wandered towards us. "Let me introduce you to Mr. Paul Kelver, our new

fellow servant. Our lady has accepted him. He has just been elected; his first story is in print."

The redhaired man stretched out his long thin hand. "I have thirty years of fame," said the redhaired

"You would be a fool if you did," he went on. "One's first success, one's first victory! It is the lover's first

kiss. Fortune grows old and wrinkled, frowns more often than she smiles. We become indifferent to her,

quarrel with her, make it up again. But the joy of her first kiss after the long wooing! Burn it into your

"Ah, yes; one's first success, Paul! Laugh, my boy, cry! Shut yourself up in your room, shout, dance! Throw

your hat into the air and cry hurrah! Make the most of it, Paul. Hug it to your heart, think of it, dream of it.

This is the finest hour of your life, my boy. There will never come another like itnever!"

He crossed the studio, and taking from its nail a small oil painting, brought it over and laid it on the board

beside my paper. It was a fascinating little picture, painted with that exquisite minutiae and development of

detail that a newer school was then ridiculing: as though Art had but one note to her voice. The dead figure of

an old man lay upon a bed. A child had crept into the darkened room, and supporting itself by clutching

tightly at the sheet, was gazing with solemn curiosity upon the white, still face.

"That was mine," said old Deleglise. "It was hung in the Academy thirtysix years ago, and bought for ten

guineas by a dentist at Bury St. Edmunds. He went mad a few years later and died in a lunatic asylum. I had

never lost sight of it, and the executors were quite agreeable to my having it back again for the same ten

guineas. I used to go every morning to the Academy to look at it. I thought it the cleverest bit of work in the

whole gallery, and I'm not at all sure that it wasn't. I saw myself a second Teniers, another Millet. Look how

that light coming through the open door is treated; isn't it good? Somebody will pay a thousand guineas for it

before I have been dead a dozen years, and it is worth it. But I wouldn't sell it myself now for five thousand.

"All?" queried the redhaired man from his easychair. We looked round. The lady of the skirt had entered,

now her own proper self: a young girl of about fifteen, angular, awkwardlooking, but bringing into the room

with her that atmosphere of life, of hope, that is the eternal message of youth. She was not beautiful, not

thenplain one might almost have called her but for her frank, grey eyes, her mass of darkbrown hair now

She came forward shyly. I found it difficult to recognise in her the flaming Fury that a few minutes before

had sprung at me from the billows of her torn blue skirt. She shook hands with the redhaired man and kissed

"My daughter," said old Deleglise, introducing me to her. "Mr. Paul Kelver, a literary gent."

"Mr. Kelver and I have met already," she explained. "He has been waiting for you here in the studio."

"And have you been entertaining him?" asked Deleglise. "Oh, yes, I entertained him," she replied. Her voice

was singularly like her father's, with just the same suggestion of ever a laugh behind it.

"That's all right," said old Deleglise. "Stop and lunch with us. We will make ourselves a curry."

During my time of struggle I had avoided all communication with old Hasluck. He was not a man to

sympathise with feelings he did not understand. With boisterous good humour he would have insisted upon

helping me. Why I preferred half starving with Lott and Co. to selling my labour for a fair wage to

goodnatured old Hasluck, merely because I knew him, I cannot explain. Though the profits may not have

been so large, Lott and Co.'s dealings were not one whit more honest: I do not believe it was that which

decided me. Nor do I think it was because he was Barbara's father. I never connected him, nor that good old

soul, his vulgar, homely wife, in any way with Barbara. To me she was a being apart from all the world. Her

true Parents! I should have sought them rather amid the sacred groves of vanished lands, within the

skydomed shrines of banished gods. There are instincts in us not easily analysed, not to be explained by

reason. I have always preferred the findingsometimes the losingof my way according to the map, to the

surer and simpler method of vocal enquiry; working out a complicated journey, and running the risk of never

arriving at my destination, by aid of a Continental Bradshaw, to putting myself into the hands of courteous

officials maintained and paid to assist the perplexed traveller. Possibly a faroff progenitor of mine may have

been some morose "rogue" savage with untribal inclinations, living in his cave apart, fashioning his own

stone hammer, shaping his own flint arrowheads, shunning the merry wardance, preferring to caper by

But now, having gained my own foothold, I could stretch out my hand without fear of the movement being

mistaken for appeal. I wrote to old Hasluck; and almost by the next post received from him the friendliest of

notes. He told me Barbara had just returned from abroad, took it upon himself to add that she also would be

Of my boyish passion for Barbara never had I spoken to a living soul, nor do I think, excepting Barbara

herself, had any ever guessed it. To my mother, though she was very fond of her, Barbara was only a girl,

with charms but also with faults, concerning which my mother would speak freely; hurting me, as one

unwittingly might hurt a neophyte by philosophical discussion of his newly embraced religion. Often,

choosing by preference late evening or the night, I would wander round and round the huge redbrick house

standing in its ancient garden on the top of Stamford Hill; descending again into the noisome streets as one

returning to the world from praying at a shrine, purified, filled with peace, all noble endeavour, all unselfish

During Barbara's four years' absence my adoration had grown and strengthened. Out of my memory of her

my desire had evolved its ideal; a being of my imagination, but by reason of that, to me the more real, the

more present. I looked forward to seeing her again, but with no impatience, revelling rather in the anticipation

than eager for the realisation. As a creature of flesh and blood, the child I had played with, talked with,

touched, she had faded further and further into the distance; as the vision of my dreams she stood out clearer

day by day. I knew that when next I saw her there would be a gulf between us I had no wish to bridge. To

worship her from afar was a sweeter thought to me than would have been the hope of a passionate embrace.

To live with her, sit opposite to her while she ate and drank, see her, perhaps, with her hair in curlpapers,

know possibly that she had a corn upon her foot, hear her speak maybe of a decayed tooth, or of a chilblain,

would have been torture to me. Into such abyss of the commonplace there was no fear of my dragging her,

and for this I was glad. In the future she would be yet more removed from me. She was older than I was; she

must be now a woman. Instinctively I felt that in spite of years I was not yet a man. She would marry. The

CHAPTER VI. OF THE GLORY AND GOODNESS AND THE EVIL THAT GO TO THE MAKING OF LOVE. 167

thought gave me no pain, my feeling for her was utterly devoid of appetite. No one but myself could close the

temple I had built about her, none deny to me the right of entry there. No jealous priest could hide her from

my eyes, her altar I had reared too high. Since I have come to know myself better, I perceive that she stood to

me not as a living woman, but as a symbol; not a fellow human being to be walked with through life, helping

and to be helped, but that impalpable religion of sex to which we raise up idols of poor human clay, alas, not

always to our satisfaction, so that foolishly we fall into anger against them, forgetting they were but the work

I allowed a week to elapse after receiving old Hasluck's letter before presenting myself at Stamford Hill. It

was late one afternoon in early summer. Hasluck had not returned from the City, Mrs. Hasluck was out

visiting, Miss Hasluck was in the garden. I told the supercilious footman not to trouble, I would seek her

there myself. I guessed where she would be; her favourite spot had always been a sunny corner, bright with

flowers, surrounded by a thick yew hedge, cut, after the Dutch fashion, into quaint shapes of animals and

birds. She was walking there, as I had expected, reading a book. And again, as I saw her, came back to me the

feeling that had swept across me as a boy, when first outlined against the dusty books and papers of my

father's office she had flashed upon my eyes: that all the fairy tales had suddenly come true, only now,

instead of the Princess, she was the Queen. Taller she was, with a dignity that formerly had been the only

charm she lacked. She did not hear my coming, my way being across the soft, short grass, and for a little

while I stood there in the shadow of the yews, drinking in the beauty of her clearcut profile, bent down

towards her book, the curving lines of her long neck, the wonder of the exquisite white hand against the lilac

I did not speak; rather would I have remained so watching; but turning at the end of the path, she saw me, and

as she came towards me held out her hand. I knelt upon the path, and raised it to my lips. The action was

spontaneous, till afterwards I was not aware of having done it. Her lips were smiling as I raised my eyes to

them, the faintest suggestion of contempt mingling with amusement. Yet she seemed pleased, and her

"You were not the usual type of boy. You are not going to be the usual type of man."

She seated herself on a stone bench facing a sundial, and leaning hack, her hands clasped behind her head,

"I shall always love you," I answered, "but it is with a curious sort of love. I do not understand it myself."

"Tell me," she commanded, still with a smile about her lips, "describe it to me."

I was standing over against her, my arm resting upon the dial's stone column. The sun was sinking, casting

long shadows on the velvety grass, illuminating with a golden light her upturned face.

CHAPTER VI. OF THE GLORY AND GOODNESS AND THE EVIL THAT GO TO THE MAKING OF LOVE. 168

"I would you were some great queen of olden days, and that I might be always near you, serving you, doing

your bidding. Your love in return would spoil all; I shall never ask it, never desire it. That I might look upon

you, touch now and then at rare intervals with my lips your hand, kiss in secret the glove you had let fall, the

shoe you had flung off, know that you knew of my love, that I was yours to do with as you would, to live or

die according to your wish. Or that you were priestess in some temple of forgotten gods, where I might steal

at daybreak and at dusk to gaze upon your beauty; kneel with clasped hands, watching your sandalled feet

coming and going about the altar steps; lie with pressed lips upon the stones your trailing robes had touched."

She laughed a light mocking laugh. "I should prefer to be the queen. The role of priestess would not suit me.

Temples are so cold." A slight shiver passed through her. She made a movement with her hand, beckoning

me to her feet. "That is how you shall love me, Paul," she said, "adoring me, worshipping meblindly. I will

be your queen and treat youas it chooses me. All I think, all I do, I will tell you, and you shall tell me it is

She took my face between her hands, and bending over me, looked long and steadfastly into my eyes. "You

understand, Paul, the queen can do no wrongnever, never." There had crept into her voice a note of

"My queen can do no wrong," I repeated. And she laughed and let her hands fall back upon her lap.

"Now you may sit beside me. So much honour, Paul, shall you have today, but it will have to last you long.

And you may tell me all you have been doing, maybe it will amuse me; and afterwards you shall hear what I

I obeyed, sketching my story briefly, yet leaving nothing untold, not even the transit of the Lady 'Ortensia,

"You must do nothing again, Paul," she commanded, "to make me feel ashamed of you, or I shall dismiss you

from my presence for ever. I must be proud of you, or you shall not serve me. In dishonouring yourself you

are dishonouring me. I am angry with you, Paul. Do not let me be angry with you again.

And so that passed; and although my love for heras I know well she wished and sought it shouldfailed

to save me at all times from the apish voices whispering ever to the beast within us, I know the desire to be

worthy of her, to honour her with all my being, helped my life as only love can. The glory of the morning

fades, the magic veil is rent; we see all things with cold, clear eyes. My love was a woman. She lies dead.

They have mocked her white sweet limbs with rags and tatters, but they cannot cheat love's eyes. God knows

I loved her in all purity! Only with false love we love the false. Beneath the unclean clinging garments she

My tale finished, "Now I will tell you mine," she said. "I am going to be married soon. I shall be a Countess,

Paul, the Countess HuescarI will teach you how to pronounce itand I shall have a real castle in Spain.

You need not look so frightened, Paul; we shall not live there. It is a halfruined, gloomy place, among the

mountains, and he loves it even less than I do. Paris and London will be my courts, so you will see me often.

You shall know the great world, Paul, the world I mean to conquer, where I mean to rule."

"As poor," she laughed, "as poor as a Spanish nobleman. The money I shall have to provide, or, rather, poor

dear Dad will. He gives me title, position. Of course I do not love him, handsome though he is. Don't look so

solemn, Paul. We shall get on together well enough. Queens, Paul, do not make love matches, they contract

alliances. I have done well, Paul; congratulate me. Do you hear, Paul? Say that I have acted rightly."

CHAPTER VI. OF THE GLORY AND GOODNESS AND THE EVIL THAT GO TO THE MAKING OF LOVE. 169

"He tells me so," she answered, with a laugh. "How uncourtierlike you are, Paul! Do you suggest that any

She sprang to her feet. "I do not want his love," she cried; "it would bore me. Women hate love they cannot

return. I don't mean love like yours, devout little Paul," she added, with a laugh. "That is sweet incense

wafted round us that we like to scent with our noses in the air. Give me that, Paul; I want it, I ask for it. But

the love of a hand, the love of a husband that one does not care forit would be horrible!"

I felt myself growing older. For the moment my goddess became a child needing help.

"Yes, yes," she interrupted me quickly, "I have thought and thought till I can think no more. There must be

some sacrifice; it must be as little as need be, that is all. He does not love me; he is marrying me for my

moneyI know that, and I am glad of it. You do not know me, Paul. I must have rank, position. What am I?

The daughter of rich old Hasluck, who began life as a butcher in the Mile End Road. As the Princess Huescar,

society will forget, as Mrs."it seemed to me she checked herself abruptly"Jones or Brown it would

remember, however rich I might be. I am vain, Paul, caring for powerambition. I have my father's blood in

me. All his nights and days he has spent in gaining wealth; he can do no more. We upstarts have our pride of

"But you need not be mere Mrs. anybody commonplace," I argued. "Why not wait? You will meet someone

who can give you position and whom at the same time you can love. Would that not be better?"

"He will never come, the man I could love," she answered. "Because, my little Paul, he has come already.

"Yes, Paul," she answered, "you shall know; I want you to know, then you shall tell me that I have acted

rightly. Do you hear me, Paul?quite rightlythat you still respect me and honour me. He could not help

me. As his wife, I should be less even than I am, a mere rich nobody, giving long dinnerparties to other rich

nobodies, living amongst City men, retired tradespeople; envied only by their fat, vulgarly dressed wives,

courted by seedy Bohemians for the sake of my cook; with perhaps an opera singer or an impecunious

nobleman or two out of Dad's City list for my showguests. Is that the court, Paul, where you would have

"Is he so commonplace a man," I answered, "the man you love? I cannot believe it."

"He is not commonplace," she answered. "It is I who am commonplace. The things I desire, they are beneath

"I would not have him do so even were he willing. He is great, with a greatness I cannot even understand. He

is not the man for these times. In old days, I should have married him, knowing he would climb to greatness

by sheer strength of manhood. But now men do not climb; they crawl to greatness. He could not do that. I

CHAPTER VI. OF THE GLORY AND GOODNESS AND THE EVIL THAT GO TO THE MAKING OF LOVE. 170

"Shall I tell you?" She laughed a little bitterly. "I can give you his exact words, 'You are half a woman and

half a fool, so womanlike you will follow your folly. But let your folly see to it that your woman makes no

The words were what I could imagine his saying. I heard the strong ring of his voice through her mocking

"So you never guessed even that, Paul. I thought at times it would be sweet to cry it out aloud, that it could

have made no difference, that everyone who knew me must have read it in my eyes."

She laughed. "You needn't be so unkind, Paul. What did I ever do for you much more than snub you? We

boys and girls; there is not so much difference between us: we love our masters. Yet you must not think so

poorly of me. I was only a child to him then, but we were locked up in Paris together during the entire siege.

Have not you heard? He did take a little notice of me there, Paul, I assure you."

Would it have been better, I wonder, had she followed the woman and not the fool? It sounds an easy

question to answer; but I am thinking of years later, one winter's night at Tiefenkasten in the Julier Pass. I

was on my way from San Moritz to Chur. The sole passenger, I had just climbed, half frozen, from the

sledge, and was thawing myself before the stove in the common room of the hotel when the waiter put a

"Come up and see me. I am a prisoner in this damned hole till the weather breaks. Hal."

I hardly recognised him at first. Only the poor ghost he seemed of the Hal I had known as a boy. His long

privations endured during the Paris siege, added to the superhuman work he had there put upon himself, had

commenced the ruin of even his magnificent physiquea ruin the wild, loose life he was now leading was

soon to complete. It was a gloomy, vaulted room that once had been a chapel, lighted dimly by a cheap,

evilsmelling lamp, heated to suffocation by one of those great greentiled German ovens now only to be

met with in rare outoftheway world corners. He was sitting propped up by pillows on the bed, placed

close to one of the high windows, his deep eyes flaring like two gleaming caverns out of his drawn, haggard

"I saw you from the window," he explained. "It is the only excitement I get, twice a day when the sledges

come in. I broke down coming across the Pass a fortnight ago, on my way from Davos. We were stuck in a

drift for eighteen hours; it nearly finished my last lung. And I haven't even a book to read. By God! lad, I was

He grasped me with his long bony hand. "Sit down, and let me hear my voice using again its mother

tongueyou were always a good listenerfor the last eight years I have hardly spoken it. Can you stand the

room? The windows ought to be open, but what does it matter? I may as well get accustomed to the heat

I drew my chair close to the bed, and for awhile, between his fits of coughing, we talked of things that were

outside our thoughts, or, rather, Hal talked, continuously, boisterously, meeting my remonstrances with

shouts of laughter, ending in wild struggles for breath, so that I deemed it better to let him work his mad

CHAPTER VI. OF THE GLORY AND GOODNESS AND THE EVIL THAT GO TO THE MAKING OF LOVE. 171

"She is playing in" I mentioned the name of a comic opera then running in Paris. "No; I have not seen her

He laid his white, wasted hand on mine. "What a pity you and I could not have rolled ourselves into one,

Paulyou, the saint, and I, the satyr. Together we should have made her perfect lover."

There came back to me the memory of those long nights when I had lain awake listening to the angry voices

of my father and mother soaking through the flimsy wall. It seemed my fate to stand thus helpless between

"Tell me," I asked"I loved her, knowing her: I was not blind. Whose fault was it? Yours or hers?"

Thinking of her fair, sweet face, I hated him for his mocking laugh. But the next moment, looking into his

deep eyes, seeing the pain that dwelt there, my pity was for him. A smile came to his ugly mouth.

"You have been on the stage, Paul; you must have heard the saying often: 'Ah, well, the curtain must come

down, however badly things are going.' It is only a play, Paul. We do not choose our parts. I did not even

know I was the villain, till I heard the booing of the gallery. I even thought I was the hero, full of noble

sentiment, sacrificing myself for the happiness of the heroine. She would have married me in the beginning

I made to speak, but he interrupted me, continuing: "Ah, yes, it might have been better. That is easy to say,

not knowing. So, too, it might have been worsein all probability much the same. All roads lead to the end.

You know I was always a fatalist, Paul. We tried both ways. She loved me well enough, but she loved the

world also. I thought she loved it better, so I kissed her on her brow, mumbled a prayer for her happiness and

made my exit to a choking sob. So ended the first act. Wasn't I the hero throughout that, Paul? I thought so;

slapped myself upon the back, told myself what a fine fellow I had been. Thenyou know what followed.

She was finer clay than she had fancied. Love is woman's kingdom, not the world. Even then I thought more

of her than of myself. I could have borne my share of the burden had I not seen her fainting under hers,

shamed, degraded. So we dared to think for ourselves, injuring nobody but ourselves, played the man and

woman, lost the world for love. Wasn't it brave, Paul? Were we not hero and heroine? They had printed the

playbill wrong, Paul, that was all. I was really the hero, but the printing devil had made a slip, so instead of

"But that was not the end," I reminded him. "If the curtain had fallen then, I could have forgiven you."

He grinned. "That fatal last act. Even yours don't always come right, so the critics tell me."

The grin faded from his face. "We may never see each other again, Paul," he went on; "don't think too badly

of me. I found I had made a second mistakeor thought I had. She was no happier with me after a time than

she had been with him. If all our longings were one, life would be easy; but they are not. What is to be done

but toss for it? And if it come down head we wish it had been tail, and if tail we think of what we have lost

through its not coming down head. Love is no more the whole of a woman's life than it is of a man's. He did

not apply for a divorce: that was smart of him. We were shunned, ignored. To some women it might not have

mattered; but she had been used to being sought, courted, feted. She made no complaintdid worse: made

CHAPTER VI. OF THE GLORY AND GOODNESS AND THE EVIL THAT GO TO THE MAKING OF LOVE. 172

desperate effort to appear cheerful, to pretend that our humdrum life was not boring her to death. I watched

her growing more listless, more depressed; grew angry with her, angrier with myself. There was no bond

between us except our passion; that was real enough'grand,' I believe, is the approved literary adjective. It

is good enough for what nature intended it, a summer season in a cave. It makes but a poor marriage

settlement in these more complicated days. We fell to mutual recriminations, vulgar scenes. Ah, most of us

look better at a little distance from one another. The sordid, contemptible side of life became important to us.

I was never rich; by contrast with all that she had known, miserably poor. The mere sight of the food our

twelvepoundayear cook put upon the table would take away her appetite. Love does not change the

palate, give you a taste for cheap claret when you have been accustomed to dry champagne. We have bodies

to think of as well as souls; we are apt to forget that in moments of excitement.

"She fell ill, and it seemed to me that I had dragged her from the soil where she had grown only to watch her

die. And then he came, precisely at the right moment. I cannot help admiring him. Most men take their

revenge clumsily, hurting themselves; he was so neat, had been so patient. I am not even ashamed of having

fallen into his trap; it was admirably baited. Maybe I had despised him for having seemed to submit meekly

to the blow. What cared he for me and my opinion? It was she was all he cared for. He knew her better than I,

knew that sooner or later she would tire, not of love but of the cottage; look back with longing eyes towards

all that she had lost. Fool! Cuckold! What was it to him that the world would laugh at him, despise him?

"By God! It was fine acting; half into the night we talked, I leaving him every now and again to creep to the

top of the stairs and listen to her breathing. He asked me my advice, I being the hardheaded partner of cool

judgment. What would be the best way of approaching her after I was gone? Where should he take her? How

should they live till the nine days' talk had died away? And I sat opposite to himhow he must have longed

to laugh in my silly faceadvising him! We could not quite agree as to details of a possible yachting cruise,

and I remember hunting up an atlas, and we pored over it, our heads close together. By God! I envy him that

He sank back on his pillows and laughed and coughed, and laughed and coughed again, till I feared that wild,

long, broken laugh would be his last. But it ceased at length, and for awhile, exhausted, he lay silent before

"Then came the question: how was I to go? She loved me still. He was sure of it, and, for the matter of that,

so was I. So long as she thought that I loved her, she would never leave me. Only from her despair could

fresh hope arise for her. Would I not make some sacrifice for her sake, persuade her that I had tired of her?

Only by one means could she be convinced. My going off alone would not suffice; my reason for that she

might suspectshe might follow. It would be for her sake. Again it was the hero that I played, the dear old

chuckleheaded hero, Paul, that you ought to have cheered, not hooted. I loved her as much as I ever loved

her in my life, that night I left her. I took my boots off in the passage and crept up in my stockinged feet. I

told him I was merely going to change my coat and put a few things into a bag. He gripped my hand, and

tears were standing in his eyes. It is odd that suppressed laughter and expressed grief should both display the

same token, is it not? I stole into her room. I dared not kiss her for fear of waking her; but a stray lock of her

hairyou remember how long it wasfell over the pillow, nearly reaching to the floor. I pressed my lips

against it, where it trailed over the bedstead, till they bled. I have it still upon my lips, the mingling of the

cold iron and the warm, soft silken hair. He told me, when I came down again, that I had been gone

threequarters of an hour. And we went out of the house together, he and I. That is the last time I ever saw

I leant across and put my arms around him; I suppose it was unEnglish; there are times when one forgets

CHAPTER VI. OF THE GLORY AND GOODNESS AND THE EVIL THAT GO TO THE MAKING OF LOVE. 173

He pressed me to him with his feeble arms. "What a cad you must have thought me, Paul," he said. "But you

might have given me credit for better taste. I was always rather a gourmet than a gourmand where women

"No," he answered; "I swore to kill him when I learnt the trick he had played me. He commenced the divorce

proceedings against her the very morning after I had left her. Possibly, had I succeeded in finding him within

the next six months, I should have done so. A few newspaper proprietors would have been the only people

really benefited. Time is the cheapest Bravo; a little patience is all he charges. All roads lead to the end,

But I tell my tale badly, marring effects of sunlight with the memory of shadows. At the time all promised

fair. He was a handsome, distinguishedlooking man. Not every aristocrat, if without disrespect to one's

betters a humble observer may say so, suggests his title; this man would have suggested his title, had he not

possessed it. I suppose he must have been about fifty at the time; but most men of thirty would have been

glad to exchange with him both figure and complexion. His behaviour to his _fiancee_ was the essence of

good taste, affectionate devotion, carried to the exact point beyond which, having regard to the disparity of

their years, it would have appeared ridiculous. That he sincerely admired her, was fully content with her,

there could be no doubt. I am even inclined to think he was fonder of her than, divining her feelings towards

himself, he cared to show. Knowledge of the world must have told him that men of fifty find it easier to be

the lovers of women young enough to be their daughters, than girls find it to desire the affection of men old

enough to be their fathers; and he was not the man to allow impulse to lead him into absurdity.

From my own peculiar point of view he appeared the ideal prince consort. It was difficult for me to imagine

my queen in love with any mere man. This was one beside whom she could live, losing in my eyes nothing of

her dignity. My feelings for her he guessed at our first interview. Most men in his position would have been

amused, and many would have shown it. For what reason I cannot say, but with a tact and courtesy that left

me only complimented, he drew from me, before I had met him halfadozen times, more frank confession

than a month previously I should have dreamt of my yielding to anything than my own pillow. He laid his

"I wonder if you know, my friend, how wise you are," he said. "We all of us at your age love an image of our

own carving. Ah, if only we could be content to worship the white, changeless statute! But we are fools. We

pray the gods to give her life, and under our hot kisses she becomes a woman. I also loved when I was your

age, Paul. Your countrymen, they are so practical, they know only one kind of love. It is businesslike,

richhow puts it your poet? 'rich in saving common sense.' But there are many kinds, you understand that,

my friend. You are wise, do not confuse them. She was a child of the mountains. I used to walk three leagues

to Mass each day to worship her. Had I been wisehad I so left it, the memory of her would have coloured

all my life with glory. But I was a fool, my friend; I turned her into a woman. Ah!"he made a gesture of

disgust"such a fat, ugly woman, Paul, I turned her into. I had much difficulty in getting rid of her. We

should never touch things in life that are beautiful; we have such clumsy hands, we spoil whatever we touch."

Hal did not return to England till the end of the year, by which time the Count and Countess

Huescarthough I had her permission still to call her Barbara, I never availed myself of it; the "Countess"

fitted my mood betterhad taken up residence in the grand Paris house old Hasluck had bought for them.

It was the highwater mark of old Hasluck's career, and, if anything, he was a little disappointed that with the

CHAPTER VI. OF THE GLORY AND GOODNESS AND THE EVIL THAT GO TO THE MAKING OF LOVE. 174

"Foreign Counts," he grumbled to me laughingly, one day, "well, I hope they're worth more in Society than

they are in the City. A hundred guineas is their price there, and they're not worth that. Who was that

American girl that married a Russian Prince only last week? A million dollars was all she gave for him, and

she a wholesale boot maker's daughter into the bargain! Our girls are not half as smart."

But that was before he had seen his future soninlaw. After, he was content enough, and up to the day of the

wedding, childishly elated. Under the Count's tuition he studied with reverential awe the Huescar history.

Princes, statesmen, warriors, glittered, golden apples, from the spreading branches of its genealogical tree.

Why not again! its attenuated blue sap strengthened with the rich, red blood, brewed by toil and effort in the

grim laboratories of the under world. In imagination, old Hasluck saw himself the grandfather of Chancellors,

"I have laid the foundation, you shall raise the edifice," so he told her one evening I was spending with them,

caressing her golden hair with his blunt, fat fingers. "I am glad you were not a boy. A boy, in all probability,

would have squandered the money, let the name sink back again into the gutter. And even had he been the

other sort, he could only have been another business man, keeping where I had left him. You will call your

first boy Hasluck, won't you? It must always be the firstborn's name. It shall be famous in the world yet, and

I began to understand the influences that had gone towards the makingor marringof Barbara's character.

I had never guessed he had cared for anything beyond money and the making of money.

It was, of course, a wedding as ostentatious as possible. Old Hasluck knew how to advertise, and spared

neither expense nor labour, with the result that it was the event of the season, at least according to the Society

papers. Mrs. Hasluck was the type of woman to have escaped observation, even had the wedding been her

own; that she was present at her daughter's, "becomingly dressed in grey veiling spotted white, with an

encrustation of mousseline de soie," I learnt the next day from the _Morning Post_. Old Hasluck himself had

to be fetched every time he was wanted. At the conclusion of the ceremony, seeking him, I found him sitting

"Is it over?" he asked. He was mopping his face on a huge handkerchief, and had a small lookingglass in his

"I always perspire so when I'm excited," he explained. "Keep me out of it as much as possible."

But the next time I saw him, which was two or three days later, the reaction had set in. He was sitting in his

great library, surrounded by books he would no more have thought of disturbing than he would of strumming

on the gorgeous grand piano inlaid with silver that ornamented his drawingroom. A change had passed over

him. His swelling rotundity, suggestive generally of a bladder inflated to its extremest limits by excess of

selfimportance, appeared to be shrinking. I put the idea aside as mere fancy at the time, but it was fact; he

became a mere bag of bones before he died. He was wearing an old pair of carpet slippers and smoking a

"Everybody's gone off all right, so far," he grunted. He was crouching over the fire, though the weather was

still warm, one hand spread out towards the blaze. "Now I've got to go off, that's the only thing they're

CHAPTER VI. OF THE GLORY AND GOODNESS AND THE EVIL THAT GO TO THE MAKING OF LOVE. 175

"You mean," he answered, "I'm the goose that lays the golden eggs. Ah, but you see, so many of the eggs

"Some of them hatch all right," I replied. The simile was becoming somewhat confused: in conversation

"If I were to die this week," he saidhe paused, completing mental calculations, "I should be worth, roughly

I sat down opposite to him. "Why run risks?" I suggested. "Surely you have enough. Why not give it

He laughed. "Do you think I haven't said that to myself, ladsworn I would a dozen times a year? I can't do

it; I'm a gambler. It's the earliest thing I can recollect doing, gambling with brace buttons. There are men,

Paul, now dying in the workhousemen I once knew well; I think of them sometimes, and wish I

didn'twho any time during half their life might have retired on twenty thousand a year. If I were to go to

any one of them, and settle an annuity of a hundred a year upon him, the moment my back was turned he'd

sell it out and totter up to Threadneedle Street with the proceeds. It's in our blood. I shall gamble on my

"But that won't be just yet awhile," he laughed, "and before it does, I'll be the richest man in Europe. I keep

my head coolthat's the great secret." Leaning over towards me, he sunk his voice to a whisper, "Drink,

Paulso many of them drink. They get worried; fifty things dancing round and round at the same time in

their heads. Fifty questions to be answered in five minutes. Tick, tick, tick, taps the little devil at their elbow.

This going down, that going up. Rumor of this, report of that. A fortune to be lost here, a fortune to be

snatched there. Everything in a whirl! Tick, tick, tick, like nails into a coffin. God! for five minutes' peace to

think. Shut the door, turn the key. Out comes the bottle. That's the end. All right so long as you keep away

"It means power, Paul." He slapped his trousers pocket, making the handful of gold and silver he always

carried there jingle musically. "It is this that rules the world. My children shall be big pots, hobnob with kings

and princes, slap them on the back and call them by their Christian names, be kings themselveswhy not?

It's happened before. My children, the children of old Noel Hasluck, son of a Whitechapel butcher! Here's my

pedigree!" Again be slapped his tuneful pocket. "It's an older one than theirs! It's coming into its own at last!

It's moneywe men of moneythat are the true kings now. It's our family that rules the worldthe great

The blaze died out, leaving the room almost in darkness, and for awhile we sat in silence.

"Guess we'll always be like this, now," continued old Hasluck. "Old woman goes to bed, you see,

immediately after dinner. It used to be different when _she_ was about. Somehow, the house and the lackeys

CHAPTER VI. OF THE GLORY AND GOODNESS AND THE EVIL THAT GO TO THE MAKING OF LOVE. 176

and all the rest of it seemed to be a more natural sort of thing when _she_ was the centre of it. It frightens the

old woman now she's gone. She likes to get away from it. Poor old Susan! A little country inn with herself as

landlady and me fussing about behind the bar; that was always her ambition, poor old girl!"

"You will he visiting them," I suggested, "and they will be coming to stop with you."

He shook his head. "They won't want me, and it isn't my game to hamper them. I never mix out of my class.

I laughed, wishing to cheer him, though I knew he was right. "Surely your daughter belongs to your own

"Do you think so?" he asked, with a grin. "That's not a pretty compliment to her. She was my child when she

used to cling round my neck, while I made the sausages, calling me her dear old pig. It didn't trouble her then

that I dropped my aitches and had a greasy skin. I was a Whitechapel butcher, and she was a Whitechapel

brat. I could have kept her if I'd liked, but I was set upon making a lady of her, and I did it. But I lost my

child. Every time she came back from school I could see she despised me a little more. I'm not blaming her;

how could she help it? I was making a lady of her, teaching her to do it; though there were moments when I

almost hated her, felt tempted to snatch her back to me, drag her down again to my level, make her my child

again, before it was too late. Oh, it wasn't all unselfishness; I could have done it. She would have remained

my class then, would have married my class, and her children would have been my class. I didn't want that.

Everything's got to be paid for. I got what I asked for; I'm not grumbling at the price. But it ain't cheap."

He rose and knocked the ashes from his pipe. "Ring the bell, Paul, will you?" be said. "Let's have some light

and something to drink. Don't take any notice of me. I've got the hump tonight."

It was a minute or two before the lamp came. He put his arm upon my shoulder, leaning upon me somewhat

"I used to fancy sometimes, Paul," he said, "that you and she might have made a match of it. I should have

been disappointed for some things. But you'd have been a bit nearer to me, you two. It never occurred to you,

Of old Deleglise's Sunday suppers, which, costumed from head to foot in spotless linen, he cooked himself in

his great kitchen, moving with flushed, earnest face about the gleaming stove, while behind him his guests

waited, ranged round the massive oaken table glittering with cut glass and silver, among which fluttered the

deft hands of Madeline, his ancient whitecapped Bonne, much has been already recorded, and by those

possessed of greater knowledge. They who sat there talking in whispers until such time as old Deleglise

turned towards them again, radiant with consciousness of success, the savoury triumph steaming between his

hands, when, like the sudden swell of the Moonlight Sonata, the talk would rush once more into a roar, were

men whose names were thenand some are stillmore or less household words throughout the

Englishspeaking world. Artists, musicians, actors, writers, scholars, droles, their wit and wisdom, their

sayings and their doings must be tolerably familiar to readers of memoir and biography; and if to such their

epigrams appear less brilliant, their jests less laughable than to us who heard them spoken, that is merely

You, gentle reader of my book, I shall not trouble with secondhand record of that which you can read

elsewhere. For me it will be but to write briefly of my own brief glimpse into that charmed circle. Concerning

this story more are the afternoon At Homes held by Dan and myself upon the second floor of the old

Georgian house in pleasant, quiet Queen Square. For cook and housemaid on these days it would be a busy

morning. Failing other supervision, Dan and I agreed that to secure success on these important occasions each

of us should criticise the work of the other. I passed judgment on Dan's cooking, he upon my housework.

"I know that. It isn't meant to taste of nothing but soda. There wants to be some cake about it also. This thing,

so far as flavour is concerned, is nothing but a Seidlitz powder. You can't give people solidified Seidlitz

Dan would fume, but I would remain firm. The soda cake would be laid aside, and something else attempted.

His cookery was the one thing Dan was obstinate about. He would never admit that anything could possibly

be wrong with it. His most ghastly failures he would devour himself later on with pretended enjoyment. I

have known him finish a sponge cake, the centre of which had to be eaten with a teaspoon, declaring it was

delicious; that eating a dry sponge cake was like eating dust; that a sponge cake ought to be a trifle syrupy

towards the centre. Afterwards he would be strangely silent and drink brandy out of a wineglass.

"Not if you go fingering them. Why don't you leave them alone and go on with your own work?"

"Besides, it ruins knives, overcleaning themtakes all the edge off. We shall want them pretty sharp to cut

"Makes one lazy, your cooking. How can a man work when he is suffering all day long from indigestion?"

But Dan would not be content until I had found the board and cleaned the knives to his complete satisfaction.

Perhaps it was as well that in this way all things once a week were set in order. After lunch housemaid and

cook would vanish, two carefully dressed gentlemen being left alone to receive their guests.

These would be gathered generally from among Dan's journalistic acquaintances and my companions of the

theatre. Occasionally, Minikin and Jarman would be of the number, Mrs. Peedles even once or twice arriving

breathless on our landing. Left to myself, I perhaps should not have invited them, deeming them hardly fitting

company to mingle with our other visitors; but Dan, having once been introduced to them, overrode such

"My dear Lord Chamberlain," Dan would reply, "an ounce of originality is worth a ton of convention. Little

tin ladies and gentlemen all made to pattern! One can find them everywhere. Your friends would be an

"I'll tell you what we will do," replied Dan. "We'll forget that Mrs. Peedles keeps a lodginghouse in

Blackfriars. We will speak of her as our friend, 'that dear, quaint old creature, Lady P.' A title that is an

oddity, whose costume always suggests the wardrobe of a provincial actress! My dear Paul, your society

novelist would make a fortune out of such a character. The personages of her amusing anecdotes, instead of

being thirdrate theatrical folk, shall be Earl Blank and the Baroness de Dash. The editors of society journals

shall pay me a shilling a line for them. Jarmanyes, Jarman shall be the son of a South American

millionaire. Vulgar? Nonsense! you mean racy. Minikinhe looks much more like forty than twentyhe

shall be an eminent scientist. His head will then appear the natural size; his glass eye, the result of a chemical

experiment, a touch of distinction; his uncompromising rudeness, a lovable characteristic. We will make him

buy a yard of red ribbon and wear it across his shirtfront, and address him as Herr Professor. It will explain

slight errors of English grammar and all peculiarities of accent. They shall be our lions. You leave it to me.

And this, to my terror and alarm, Dan persisted in doing. Jarman entered into the spirit of the joke with gusto.

So far as he was concerned, our guests, from the beginning to the end, were one and all, I am confident,

deceived. The more he swaggered, the more he boasted, the more he talked about himselfand it was a

failing he was prone tothe greater was his success. At the persistent endeavours of Dan's journalistic

acquaintances to excite his cupidity by visions of new journals, to be started with a mere couple of thousand

pounds and by the inherent merit of their ideas to command at once a circulation of hundreds of thousands, I

could afford to laugh. But watching the tremendous efforts of my actress friends to fascinate himluring

him into corners, gazing at him with languishing eyes, trotting out all their little tricks for his exclusive

benefit, quarrelling about him among themselvesmy conscience would prick me, lest our jest should end in

a contretemps. Fortunately, Jarman himself, was a gentleman of uncommon sense, or my fears might have

been realised. I should have been sorry myself to have been asked to remain stone under the blandishments of

girls young and old, of women handsome and once, no doubt, good looking, showered upon him during that

winter. But Jarman, as I think I have explained, was no slave to female charms. He enjoyed his good time

while it lasted, and eventually married the eldest daughter of a small blacking factory. She was a plain girl,

but pleasant, and later brought to Jarman possession of the factory. When I meet himhe is now stout and

With Minikin we had more trouble. People turned up possessed of scientific smattering. We had to explain

that the Professor never talked shop. Others were owners of unexpected knowledge of German, which they

insisted upon airing. We had to explain that the Herr Professor was in London to learn English, and had taken

a vow during his residence neither to speak nor listen to his native tongue. It was remarked that his

acquaintance with colloquial English slang, for a foreigner, was quite unusual. Occasionally he was too rude,

even for a scientist, informing ladies, clamouring to know how he liked English women, that he didn't like

them silly; telling one gentleman, a friend of Dan, a rather important man who once asked him, referring to

his yard of ribbon, what he got it for, that he got it for fourpence. We had to explain him as a gentleman who

had been soured by a love disappointment. The ladies forgave him; the gentlemen said it was a damned lucky

Lady Peedles, our guests decided among themselves, must be the widow of some one in the City who had

been knighted in a crowd. They made fun of her behind her back, but to her face were most effusive. "My

dear Lady Peedles" was the phrase most often heard in our rooms whenever she was present. At the theatre

"my friend Lady Peedles" became a person much spoken ofgenerally in loud tones. My own social

position I found decidedly improved by reason of her ladyship's evident liking for myself. It went abroad that

The fishyeyed young man became one of our regular guests. Dan won his heart by never laughing at him.

"I like talking to you," said the fishyeyed young man one afternoon to Dan. "You don't go into fits of

laughter when I remark that it has been a fine day; most people do. Of course, on the stage I don't mind. I

know I am a funny little devil. I get my living by being a funny little devil. There is a photograph of me

hanging in the theatre lobby. I saw a workman stop and look at it the other day as he passed; I was just behind

him. He burst into a roar of laughter. 'Little! He makes me laugh to look at him!' he cluttered to himself.

Well, that's all right; I want the man in the gallery to think me funny, but it annoys me when people laugh at

me off the stage. If I am out to dinner anywhere and ask somebody to pass the mustard, I never get it; instead,

they burst out laughing. I don't want people to laugh at me when I am having my dinner. I want my dinner. It

"I know," agreed Dan, sympathetically. "The world never grasps the fact that man is a collection, not a single

exhibit. I remember being at a house once where the chief guest happened to be a great Hebrew scholar. One

tea time, a Miss Henman, passing the butter to some one in a hurry, let it slip out of her hand. 'Why is Miss

Henman like a caterpillar?' asked our learned guest in a sepulchral voice. Nobody appeared to know. 'Because

she makes the butter fly.' It never occurred to any one of us that the Doctor could possibly joke. There was

dead silence for about a minute. Then our hostess, looking grave, remarked: 'Oh, do you really think so?'"

"If I were to enter a room full of people," said the fishyeyed young man, "and tell them that my mother had

been run over by an omnibus, they would think it the funniest story they had heard in years."

He was playing a principal part now in the opera, and it was he undoubtedly who was drawing the house. But

"I am not a comic actor, really," he explained. "I could play Romeo, so far as feeling is concerned, and play it

damned well. There is a fine vein of poetry in me. But of course it's no good to me with this face of mine."

"But are you not sinning your mercies, you fellows?" Dan replied. "There is young Kelver here. At school it

was always his trouble that he could give us a good time and make us laugh, which nobody else in the whole

school could do. His ambition was to kick a ball as well as a hundred other fellows could kick it. He could

tell us a good story now if he would only write what the Almighty intended him to write, instead of gloomy

rigmaroles about suffering Princesses in Welsh caves. I don't say it's bad, but a hundred others could write the

"Can't you understand," answered the little man; "the poorest tragedian that ever lived never wished himself

the best of low comedians. The court fool had an excellent salary, no doubt; and, likely enough, had got

twothirds of all the brain there was in the palace. But not a woodenheaded manatarms but looked down

upon him. Every gallery boy who pays a shilling to laugh at me regards himself as my intellectual superior;

"Does it so very much matter," suggested Dan, "how the woodenheaded manatarms or the shilling gallery

"Yes, it does," retorted Goggles, "because we happen to agree with them. If I could earn five pounds a week

"There I cannot follow you," returned Dan. "I can understand the artist who would rather be the man of

action, the poet who would rather be the statesman or the warrior; though personally my sympathies are

precisely the other waywith Wolfe who thought it a more glorious work, the writing of a great poem, than

the burning of so many cities and the killing of so many men. We all serve the community. It is difficult,

looking at the matter from the inside, to say who serves it best. Some feed it, some clothe it. The churchman

and the policeman between them look after its morals, keep it in order. The doctor mends it when it injures

itself; the lawyer helps it to quarrel, the soldier teaches it to fight. We Bohemians amuse it, instruct it. We can

argue that we are the most important. The others cater for its body, we for its mind. But their work is more

showy than ours and attracts more attention; and to attract attention is the aim and object of most of us. But

for Bohemians to worry among themselves which is the greatest, is utterly without reason. The storyteller,

the musician, the artist, the clown, we are members of a sharing troupe; one, with the ambition of the fat boy

in Pickwick, makes the people's flesh creep; another makes them hold their sides with laughter. The

tragedian, soliloquising on his crimes, shows us how wicked we are; you, looking at a pair of lovers from

under a scratch wig, show us how ridiculous we are. Both lessons are necessary: who shall say which is the

"Ah," returned Dan, with another, "and I am not a comic actor on my way to a salary of a hundred a week.

The O'Kelly was another frequent visitor of ours. The attic in Belsize Square had been closed. In vain had the

O'Kelly wafted incense, burned pastilles and sprinkled eaudeCologne. In vain had he talked of rats, hinted

"A wonderful woman," groaned the O'Kelly in tones of sorrowful admiration. "There's no deceiving her."

"But why submit?" was our natural argument. "Why not say you are going to smoke, and do it?"

"It's her theory, me boy," explained the O'Kelly, "that the home should be kept purea sort of a temple, ye

know. She's convinced that in time it is bound to exercise an influence upon me. It's a beautiful idea, when ye

Meanwhile, in the rooms of halfadozen sinful men the O'Kelly kept his own particular pipe, together with

his own particular smoking mixture; and one such pipe and one such tobacco jar stood always on our

In the spring the forces of temptation raged round that feeble but most excellently intentioned citadel, the

O'Kelly's conscience. The Signora had returned to England, was performing then at Ashley's Theatre. The

O'Kelly would remain under long spells of silence, puffing vigorously at his pipe. Or would fortify himself

"If anything could ever make a model man of me"he spoke in the tones of one whose doubts are stronger

"I don't believe," continued the O'Kelly, "I don't really believe she has ever done one single thing she oughtn't

to, or left undone one single thing she ought, in the whole course of her life."

"Maybe she has, and you don't know of it," I suggested, perceiving the idea might comfort him.

"I wish I could think so," returned the O'Kelly. "I don't mean anything really wrong," he corrected himself

quickly, "but something just a little wrong. I feelI really feel I should like her better if she had."

"Not that I mean I don't like her as it is, ye understand," corrected himself the O'Kelly a second time. "I

respect that womanI cannot tell ye, me boy, how much I respect her. Ye don't know her. There was one

morning, about a month ago. That woman�she's down at six every morning, summer and winter; we have

prayers at halfpast. I was a trifle late meself: it was never me strong point, as ye know, early rising. Seven

o'clock struck; she didn't appear, and I thought she had overslept herself. I won't say I didn't feel pleased for

the moment; it was an unworthy sentiment, but I almost wished she had. I ran up to her room. The door was

open, the bedclothes folded down as she always leaves them. She came in five minutes later. She had got up

at four that morning to welcome a troupe of native missionaries from East Africa on their arrival at Waterloo

"I don't for a moment say you are," I returned; "but I shouldn't harp upon the idea. I don't think it good for

Evidently he was started on a dangerous train of reflection. With the idea of luring him away from it, I led the

"Most people like it dry," admitted the O'Kelly. "Meself, I have always preferred it with just a suggestion of

"There was a champagne," I said, "you used to be rather fond of when weyears ago."

"I think I know the one ye mean," said the O'Kelly. "It wasn't at all bad, considering the price."

"It was in Bridge Street," remembered the O'Kelly, "not so very far from the Circus."

"Just the same," commented the O'Kelly as we pushed open the door and entered. "Not altered a bit."

As in all probability barely twelve months had elapsed since his last visit, the fact in itself was not surprising.

Clearly the O'Kelly had been calculating time rather by sensation. I ordered a bottle; and we sat down.

Myself, being prejudiced against the brand, I called for a glass of claret. The O'Kelly finished the bottle. I

was glad to notice my ruse had been successful. The virtue of that wine had not departed from it. With every

glass the O'Kelly became morally more elevated. He left the place, determined that he would be worthy of

Mrs. O'Kelly. Walking down the Embankment, he asserted his determination of buying an alarmclock that

very evening. At the corner of Westminster Bridge he became suddenly absorbed in his own thoughts.

Looking to discover the cause of his silence, I saw that his eyes were resting on a poster representing a

charming lady standing on one leg upon a wire; below herat some distanceappeared the peaks of

mountains; the artist had even caught the likeness. I cursed the luck that had directed our footsteps, but the

"Me dear Paul," said the O'Kellyhe laid a fatherly hand upon my shoulder"there are fairfaced, laughing

womensweet creatures, that ye want to put yer arm around and dance with." He shook his head

disapprovingly. "There are the sainted women, who lead us up, Paulup, always up."

A look, such as the young man with the banner might have borne with him to the fields of snow and ice,

suffused the O'Kelly's handsome face. Without another word he crossed the road and entered an American

store, where for sixandelevenpence he purchased an alarm clock the man assured us would awake an

Egyptian mummy. With this in his hand he waved me a goodbye, and jumped upon a Hampstead 'bus, and

Hal returned a little after Christmas and started himself in chambers in the City. It was the nearest he dared

"I'd be no good in the West End," he explained. "For a season I might attract as an eccentricity, but your

swells would never stand me for longerno more would any respectable folk, anywhere: we don't get on

together. I commenced at Richmond. It was a fashionable suburb then, and I thought I was going to do

wonders. I had everything in my favour, except myself. I do know my work, nobody can deny that of me. My

father spent every penny he had, poor gentleman, in buying me an oldestablished practice: fine house,

carriage and pair, whitehaired butlereverything correct, except myself. It was of no use. I can hold myself

in for a month or two; then I break out, the old original savage that I am under my frock coat. I feel I must run

amuck, stabbing, hacking at the prim, smiling Lies mincing round about me. I can fool a silly woman for

halfadozen visits; bow and rub my hands, purr round her sympathetically. All the while I am longing to tell

"'Go home. Wash your face; don't block up the pores of your skin with paint. Let out your corsets. You are

thirtythree round the abdomen if you are an inch: how can you expect your digestion to do its work when

you're squeezing it into twentyone? Give up gadding about half your day and most of your night; you are

old enough to have done with that sort of thing. Let the children come, and suckle them yourself. You'll be all

the better for them. Don't loll in bed all the morning. Get up like a decent animal and do something for your

living. Use your brain, what there is of it, and your body. At that price you can have health tomorrow, and at

"And sooner or later I blurt it out." He laughed his great roar. "Lord! you should see the real face coming out

"Pompous old fools, strutting into me like turkeycocks! By Jove, it was worth it! They would dribble out,

looking half their proper size after I had done telling them what was the matter with them.

"'Do you want to know what you are really suffering from?' I would shout at them, when I could contain

myself no longer. 'Gluttony, my dear sir; gluttony and drunkenness, and overindulgence in other vices that

shall be nameless. Live like a man; get a little selfrespect from somewhere; give up being an ape. Treat your

body properly and it will treat you properly. That's the only prescription that will do you any good.'"

He laughed again. "'Tell the truth, you shame the Devil.' But the Devil replies by starving you. It's a fairly

effective retort. I am not the stuff successful family physicians are made of. In the City I may manage to rub

along. One doesn't see so much of one's patients; they come and go. Clerks and warehousemen my practice

will be among chiefly. The poor man does not so much mind being told the truth about himself; it is a

We spoke but once of Barbara. A photograph of her in her bride's dress stood upon my desk. Occasionally,

first fitting the room for the ceremony, sweeping away all impurity even from under the mats, and dressing

myself with care, I would centre it amid flowers, and kneeling, kiss her hand where it rested on the back of

"The forehead denotes intellectuality; the eyes tenderness and courage. The lower part of the face, on the

other hand, suggests a good deal of animalism: the finely cut nostrils show egotismanother word for

selfishness; the nose itself, vanity; the lips, sensuousness and love of luxury. I wonder what sort of woman

"Only when he agrees with what I know," he answered. "Have I not described her rightly?"

"I do not care to discuss her in that vein," I replied, feeling the blood mounting to my cheeks.

"Too sacred a subject?" he laughed. "It is the one ingredient of manhood I lack, idealityan unfortunate

deficiency for me. I must probe, analyse, dissect, see the thing as it really is, know it for what it is."

"Well, she is the Countess Huescar now," I said. "For God's sake, leave her alone."

He turned to me with the snarl of a beast. "How do you know she is the Countess Huescar? Is it a special

breed of woman made on purpose? How do you know she isn't my wifebrain and heart, flesh and blood,

mine? If she was, do you think I should give her up because some fool has stuck his label on her?"

I felt the anger burning in my eyes. "Yours, his! She is no man's property. She is herself," I cried.

The wrinkles round his nose and mouth smoothed themselves out. "You need not be afraid," he sneered. "As

you say, she is the Countess Huescar. Can you imagine her as Mrs. Doctor Washburn? I can't." He took her

photograph in his hand again. "The lower part of the face is the true index to the character. It shows the

animal, and it is the animal that rules. The soul, the intellect, it comes and goes; the animal remains always.

Sensuousness, love of luxury, vanity, those are the strings to which she dances. To be a Countess is of more

"You do not know her," I answered; "you never have. You listen to what she says. She does not know

He looked at me queerly. "What do you think her to be?" he asked me. "A true woman, not the shallow thing

"You little fool!" he muttered, with the same queer look"you little fool. But let us hope you are wrong,

It was at one of Deleglise's Sunday suppers that I first met Urban Vane. The position, nor even the character,

I fear it must be confessed, of his guests was never enquired into by old Deleglise. A simpleminded, kindly

old fellow himself, it was his fate to be occasionally surprised and grieved at the discovery that even the most

entertaining of supper companions could fall short of the highest standard of conventional morality.

"Dear, dear me!" he would complain, pacing up and down his studio with puzzled visage. "The last man in

the world of whom I should have expected to hear it. So original in all his ideas. Are you quite sure?"

"I can't believe it! I really can't believe it! One of the most amusing men I ever met!"

I remember a wellknown artist one evening telling us with much sense of humour how he had just

completed the sale of an old Spanish cabinet to two distinct and separate purchasers.

"I sold it first," recounted the little gentleman with glee, "to old Jong, the dealer. He has been worrying me

about it for the last three months, and on Saturday afternoon, hearing that I was clearing out and going

abroad, he came round again. 'Well, I am not sure I am in a position to sell it,' I told him. 'Who'll know?' he

asked. 'They are not in, are they?' 'Not yet,' I answered, 'but I expect they will be some time on Monday.' 'Tell

your man to open the door to me at eight o'clock on Monday morning,' he replied, 'we'll have it away without

any fuss. There needn't he any receipt. I'm lending you a hundred pounds, in cash.' I worked him up to a

hundred and twenty, and he paid me. Upon my word, I should never have thought of it, if he hadn't put the

idea into my head. But turning round at the door: 'You won't go and sell it to some one else,' he suggested,

'between now and Monday?' It serves him right for his damned impertinence. 'Send and take it away today if

you are at all nervous,' I told him. He looked at the thing, it is about twelve feet high altogether. 'I would if I

could get a cart,' he muttered. Then an idea struck him. 'Does the top come off?' 'See for yourself,' I

answered; 'it's your cabinet, not mine.' I was feeling rather annoyed with him. He examined it. 'That's all

right,' he said; 'merely a couple of screws. I'll take the top with me now on my cab.' He got a man in, and they

took the upper cupboard away, leaving me the bottom. Two hours later old Sir George called to see me about

his wife's portrait. The first thing he set eyes on was the remains of the cabinet: he had always admired it.

'Hallo,' he asked, 'are you breaking up the studio literally? What have you done with the other half?' 'I've sent

it round to Jong's' He didn't give me time to finish. 'Save Jong's commission and sell it to me direct,' he

"Well, if Providence comes forward and insists on taking charge of a man, it is hardly good manners to flout

her. Besides, his wife's portrait is worth twice as much as he is paying for it. He handed me over the money in

notes. 'Things not going quite smoothly with you just at the moment?' he asked me. 'Oh, about the same as

usual,' I told him. 'You won't be offended at my taking it away with me this evening?' he asked. 'Not in the

least,' I answered; 'you'll get it on the top of a fourwheeled cab.' We called in a couple of men, and I helped

them down with it, and confoundedly heavy it was. 'I shall send round to Jong's for the other half on Monday

morning,' he said, speaking with his head through the cab window, 'and explain it to him.' 'Do,' I answered;

"I'm sorry I'm going away so early in the morning," concluded the little gentleman. "I'd give back Jong ten

Everybody laughed; but after the little gentleman was gone, the subject cropped up again.

"If I wake sufficiently early," remarked one, "I shall find an excuse to look in myself at eight o'clock. Jong's

"Oh, he hasn't really done anything of the kind," chimed in old Deleglise in his rich, sweet voice. "He made

"I am inclined to think that would be his idea of a joke," asserted the first speaker.

Old Deleglise would not hear of it; but a week or two later I noticed an addition to old Deleglise's studio

"He really had done it," explained old Deleglise, speaking in a whisper, though only he and I were present.

"Of course, it was only his fun; but it might have been misunderstood. I thought it better to put the thing

straight. I shall get the money back from him when he returns. A most amusing little man!"

Old Deleglise possessed a house in Gower Street which fell vacant. One of his guests, a writer of poetical

drama, was a man who three months after he had earned a thousand pounds never had a penny with which to

bless himself. They are dying out, these careless, goodnatured, conscienceless Bohemians; but quarter of a

century ago they still lingered in Alsatian London. Turned out of his lodgings by a Philistine landlord, his

sole possession in the wide world, two acts of a drama, for which he had already been paid, the problem of

his future, though it troubled him but little, became acute to his friends. Old Deleglise, treating the matter as a

joke, pretending not to know who was the landlord, suggested he should apply to the agents for position as

caretaker. Some furniture was found for him, and the empty house in Gower Street became his shelter. The

immediate present thus provided for, kindly old Deleglise worried himself a good deal concerning what

would become of his friend when the house was let. There appeared to be no need for worry. Weeks, months

went by. Applications were received by the agents in fair number, view cards signed by the dozen; but

prospective tenants were never seen again. One Sunday evening our poet, warmed by old Deleglise's

Burgundy, forgetful whose recommendation had secured him the lowly but timely appointment, himself

"Most convenient place I've got," so he told old Deleglise. "Whole house to myself. I wander about; it just

"Come and see me, and I'll cook you a chop," continued the other. "I've had the kitchen range brought up into

"The devil you have!" growled old Deleglise. "What do you think the owner of the house will say?"

"Haven't the least idea who the poor old duffer is myself. They've put me in as caretakeran excellent

"Afraid it will soon come to an end, that excellent arrangement;" remarked old Deleglise, drily.

"You might tell me," asked old Deleglise, with a grim smile; "how do you manage it? What happens when

"I tried that at first," explained the poet, "but they would go on knocking, and boys and policemen passing

would stop and help them. It got to be a nuisance; so now I have them in, and get the thing over. I show them

the room where the murder was committed. If it's a nervouslooking party, I let them off with a brief

summary. If that doesn't do, I go into details and show them the bloodspots on the floor. It's an interesting

story of the gruesome order. Come round one morning and I'll tell it to you. I'm rather proud of it. With the

Yet this was a man who, were the merest acquaintance to call upon him and ask for his assistance, would at

once take him by the arm and lead him upstairs. All notes and cheques that came into his hands he changed at

once into gold. Into some attic half filled with lumber he would fling it by the handful; then, locking the door,

leave it there. On their hands and knees he and his friends, when they wanted any, would grovel for it, poking

into corners, hunting under boxes, groping among broken furniture, feeling between cracks and crevices.

Nothing gave him greater delight than an expedition of this nature to what he termed his goldfield; it had for

him, as he would explain, all the excitements of mining without the inconvenience and the distance. He never

knew how much was there. For a certain period a pocketful could be picked up in five minutes. Then he

would entertain a dozen men at one of the best restaurants in London, tip cabmen and waiters with

halfsovereigns, shower halfcrowns as he walked through the streets, lend or give to anybody for the

asking. Later, halfanhour's dusty search would be rewarded with a single coin. It made no difference to

The redhaired man, to whom Deleglise had introduced me on the day of my first meeting with the Lady of

the train, was another of his most constant visitors. It flattered my vanity that the redhaired man, whose

name was famous throughout Europe and America, should condescend to confide to meas he did and at

some lengththe deepest secrets of his bosom. Awedat all events at firstI would sit and listen while by

the hour he would talk to me in corners, telling me of the women he had loved. They formed a somewhat

large collection. Julias, Marias, Janets, even Janeshe had madly worshipped, deliriously adored so many it

grew bewildering. With a faraway look in his eyes, pain trembling through each note of his musical, soft

voice, he would with bitter jest, with passionate outburst, recount how he had sobbed beneath the stars for

love of Isabel, bitten his own flesh in frenzied yearning for Lenore. He appeared from his own accountif in

connection with a theme so poetical I may be allowed a commonplace expressionto have had no luck with

any of them. Of the remainder, an appreciable percentage had been mere passing visions, seen at a distance in

the dawn, at twilightgenerally speaking, when the light must have been uncertain. Never again, though he

had wandered in the neighbourhood for months, had he succeeded in meeting them. It would occur to me that

enquiries among the neighbours, applications to the local police, might possibly have been efficacious; but to

have broken in upon his exalted mood with such suggestions would have demanded more nerve than at the

"My God, boy!" he would conclude, "may you never love as I loved that woman Miriam"or Henrietta, or

For my sympathetic attitude towards the redhaired man I received one evening commendation from old

"Good boy," said old Deleglise, laying his hand on my shoulder. We were standing in the passage. We had

just shaken hands with the redhaired man, who, as usual, had been the last to leave. "None of the others will

listen to him. He used to stop and confide it all to me after everybody else had gone. Sometimes I have

dropped asleep, to wake an hour later and find him still talking. He gets it over early now. Good boy!"

Soon I learnt it was characteristic of the artist to be willingnay, anxious, to confide his private affairs to

any one and every one who would only listen. Another characteristic appeared to be determination not to

listen to anybody else's. As attentive recipient of other people's troubles and emotions I was subjected to

practically no competition whatever. One gentleman, a leading actor of that day, I remember, immediately

took me aside on my being introduced to him, and consulted me as to his best course of procedure under the

extremely painful conditions that had lately arisen between himself and his wife. We discussed the

unfortunate position at some length, and I did my best to counsel fairly and impartially.

"I wish you would lunch with me at White's tomorrow," he said. "We can talk it over quietly. Say halfpast

I spelt it to him: he wrote the appointment down on his shirtcuff. I went to White's the next day and waited

an hour, but he did not turn up. I met him three weeks later at a gardenparty with his wife. But he appeared

Observing old Deleglise's guests, comparing them with their names, it surprised me the disconnection

between the worker and the work. Writers of noble sentiment, of elevated ideality, I found contained in men

of commonplace appearance, of gross appetites, of conventional ideas. It seemed doubtful whether they fully

comprehended their own work; certainly it had no effect upon their own lives. On the other hand, an

innocent, boyish young man, who lived the most correct of lives with a girlishlooking wife in an

ivycovered cottage near Barnes Common, I discovered to be the writer of decadent stories at which the

Empress Theodora might have blushed. The men whose names were widest known were not the men who

shone the brightest in Deleglise's kitchen; more often they appeared the dull dogs, listening enviously, or

failing pathetically when they tried to compete with others who to the public were comparatively unknown.

After a time I ceased to confound the artist with the man, thought no more of judging the one by the other

than of evolving a tenant from the house to which circumstances or carelessness might have directed him.

Clearly they were two creations originally independent of each other, settling down into a working

partnership for purposes merely of mutual accommodation; the spirit evidently indifferent as to the particular

body into which he crept, anxious only for a place to work in, easily contented.

Varied were these guests that gathered round old Deleglise's oak. Cabinet Ministers reported to be in

Homburg; Russian Nihilists escaped from Siberia; Italian revolutionaries; high church dignitaries disguised in

grey suitings; exerrand boys, who had discovered that with six strokes of the pen they could set half London

laughing at whom they would; raw laddies with the burr yet clinging to their tongues, but who we knew

would one day have the people dancing to the music of their words. Neither wealth, nor birth, nor age, nor

position counted. Was a man interesting, amusing; had he ideas and thoughts of his own? Then he was

welcome. Men who had come, men who were coming, met there on equal footing. Among them, as years ago

among my schoolmates, I found my placesomewhat to my dissatisfaction. I amused. Much rather would I

have shocked them by the originality of my views, impressed them with the depth of my judgments. They

declined to be startled, refused to be impressed; instead, they laughed. Nor from these men could I obtain

"What do you mean, you villain!" roared Deleglise's caretaker at me one evening on entering the kitchen.

He had a copy of the paper containing my "Witch of Moel Sarbod" in his handthen some months old. He

screwed it up into a ball and flung it in my face. "I've only just read it. What did you get for it?"

"Nothing!" he screamed. "You got off for nothing? You ought to have been whipped at the cart's tail!"

"Why not, you swindler? What were you sent into the world to do? To make it laugh."

"Make it think! Hasn't it got enough to think about? Aren't there ten thousand pennyaliners, poets,

tragedians, tubthumpers, longeared philosophers, boring it to death? Who are you to turn up your nose at

your work and tell the Almighty His own business? You are here to make us laugh. Get on with your work,

Urban Vane was the only one among them who understood me, who agreed with me that I was fitted for

higher things than merely to minister to the world's need of laughter. He alone it was who would listen with

approval to my dreams of becoming a famous tragedian, a writer of soulsearching books, of

passionanalysing plays. I never saw him laugh himself, certainly not at anything funny. "Humour!" he

would explain in his languid drawl, "personally it doesn't amuse me." One felt its introduction into the

scheme of life had been an error. He was a large, fleshy man, with a dreamy, caressing voice and strangely

impassive face. Where he came from, who he was, nobody knew. Without ever passing a remark himself that

was worth listening to, he, nevertheless, by some mysterious trick of manner I am unable to explain, soon

established himself, even throughout that company, where as a rule men found their proper level, as a silent

authority in all contests of wit or argument. Stories at which he listened, bored, fell flat. The _bon mot_ at

which some faint suggestion of a smile quivered round his cleanshaven lips was felt to be the crown of the

discussion. I can only conclude his secret to have been his magnificent assumption of superiority, added to a

sphinxlike impenetrability behind which he could always retire from any danger of exposure. Subjects about

which he knew nothingand I have come to the conclusion they were more numerous than was

suspectedbecame in his presence topics outside the radius of cultivated consideration: one felt ashamed of

having introduced them. His own subjectsthey were few but exclusivehe had the knack of elevating into

intellectual tests: one felt ashamed, reflecting how little one knew about them. Whether he really did possess

a charm of manner, or whether the sense of his superiority with which he had imbued me it was that made

any condescension he paid me a thing to grasp at, I am unable to say. Certain it is that when he suggested I

should throw up chorus singing and accompany him into the provinces as manager of a theatrical company he

was then engaging to run a wonderful drama that was going to revolutionise the English stage and educate the

English public, I allowed myself not a moment for consideration, but accepted his proposal with grateful

"Who is he?" asked Dan. Somehow he had never impressed Dan; but then Dan was a fellow to impress whom

was slow work. As he himself confessed, he had no instinct for character. "I judge," he would explain,

"Take care you don't find out that there's more to know than you think. What is this wonderful play of his?"

"I haven't seen it yet; I don't think it's finished. It's something from the Spanish or the Russian, I'm not sure.

I'm to put it into shape when he's done the translation. He wants me to put my name to it as the adaptor."

"I should have thought your ambition to be to act, not to manage. Managers are to be had cheap enough. Why

"He'll do the management really himself; I shall simply advise him. But he doesn't want his own name to

Dan shrugged his shoulders. "You are not an actor, you never will be; you are not a business man. You've

"I can't get on with it. That one thing was accepted, and never paid for; everything else comes back regularly,

"Well, clever nonsense is worth writing. It's better than stodgy sense: literature is blocked up with that. Why

"Because I don't believe they are right. I'm not a clown; I don't mean to be. Because a man has a sense of

humour it doesn't follow he has nothing else. That is only one of my gifts, and by no means the highest. I

have knowledge of human nature, poetry, dramatic instinct. I mean to prove it to you all. Vane's the only man

"Of course I have. It's an opportunity that doesn't occur twice. 'There's a tide in the affairs�"

"Thanks," interrupted Dan; "I've heard it before. Well, if you've made up your mind, there's an end of the

matter. Good luck to you! You are young, and it's easier to learn things then than later."

He smiled and laid both hands upon my shoulders. "So I am," he said, "quite old enough, little boy Paul.

Don't be angry; you'll always be little Paul to me." He put his hands in his pockets and strolled to the window.

"No," he replied. "I shall accept an offer that has been made to me to take the subeditorship of a big

"You'll never be happy mewed up in a provincial town," I told him. "I shall want a London address, and I can

So there came a morning when we said goodbye. Before Dan returned from the office I should be gone.

They had been pleasant months that we had spent together in these pretty rooms. Though my life was calling

to me full of hope, I felt the pain of leaving them. Two years is a long period in a young man's life, when the

sap is running swiftly. My affections had already taken root there. The green leaves in summer, in winter the

bare branches of the square, the sparrows that chirped about the windowsills, the quiet peace of the great

house, Dan, kindly old Deleglise: around them my fibres clung, closer than I had known. The Lady of the

train: she managed it now less clumsily. Her hands and feet had grown smaller, her elbows rounder. I found

myself smiling as I thought of herone always did smile when one thought of Norah, everybody did;of

her tomboy ways, her ringing laughthere were those who termed it noisy; her irrepressible

franknessthere were times when it was inconvenient. Would she ever become ladylike, sedate, proper?

One doubted it. I tried to picture her a wife, the mistress of a house. I found the smile deepening round my

mouth. What a jolly wife she would make! I could see her bustling, full of importance; flying into tempers,

lasting possibly for thirty seconds; then calling herself names, saving all argument by undertaking her own

scolding, and doing it well. I followed her to motherhood. What a joke it would be! What would she do with

them? She would just let them do what they liked with her. She and they would be a parcel of children

together, she the most excited of them all. No; on second thoughts I could detect in her a strong vein of

common sense. They would have to mind their p's and q's. I could see her romping with them, helping them

to tear their clothes; but likewise I could see her flying after them, bringing back an armful struggling,

bathing it, physicking it. Perhaps she would grow stout, grow grey; but she would still laugh more often than

sigh, speak her mind, be quick, goodtempered Norah to the end. Her character precluded all hope of

surprise. That, as I told myself, was its defect. About her were none of those glorious possibilities that make

of some girls charming mysteries. A woman, said I to myself, should be a wondrous jewel, hiding unknown

lights and shadows. You, my dear NorahI spoke my thoughts aloud, as had become a habit with me: those

who live much alone fall into this wayyou are merely a crystal, not shallowno, I should not call you

What would he be, her lover? Some plain, matteroffact, businesslike young fellow, a good player of

cricket and football, fond of his dinner. What a very uninteresting affair the lovemaking would be! If she

liked himwell, she would probably tell him so; if she didn't, he would know it in five minutes.

As for inducing her to change her mind, wooing her, cajoling herI heard myself laughing at the idea.

"I came to say goodbye to you," she explained. "I'm just going out. What were you laughing at?"

It did offend her; I thought it would. But she looked really interesting when she was cross. Her grey eyes

would flash, and her whole body quiver. There was a charming spice of danger always about making her

"On the contrary, I think you will have a good many." I had not thought so before then. I formed the idea for

the first time in that moment, while looking straight into her angry face. It was still a childish face.

The anger died out of it as it always did within the minute, and she laughed. "It would be fun, wouldn't it. I

wonder what I should do with him? It makes you feel very serious being in love, doesn't it?"

I hesitated for a moment. Then the delight of talking about it overcame my fear of being chaffed. Besides,

when she felt it, nobody could be more delightfully sympathetic. I determined to adventure it.

"Yes," I answered, "ever since I was a boy. If you are going to be foolish," I added, for I saw the laugh before

"I'm notI won't, really," she pleaded, making her face serious again. "What is she like?"

I took from my breast pocket Barbara's photograph, and handed it to her in silence.

"Is she really as beautiful as that?" she asked, gazing at it evidently fascinated.

"More so," I assured her. "Her expression is the most beautiful part of her. Those are only her features."

"You are at an awkward age," I told her. "It is impossible to say what you are going to be like."

"Mamma was a lovely woman, everybody says so; and Tom I call awfully handsome. Perhaps I'll be better

when I'm filled out a bit more." A small Venetian mirror hung between the two windows; she glanced up into

it. "It's my nose that irritates me," she said. She rubbed it viciously, as if she would rub it out.

"How nice of him! Do you think he meant my sort?" She rubbed it again, but in a kinder fashion; then looked

"She was Miss Hasluck," I answered; "she is the Countess Huescar now. She was married last summer."

"Oh, yes, I remember; you told us about her. You were children together. But what's the good of your being

"I don't understand that sort of love," she said. "If I loved anybody I should want to have them with me

"She is with me always," I answered, "in my thoughts." She looked at me with her clear grey eyes. I found

myself blinking. Something seemed to be slipping from me, something I did not want to lose. I remember a

similar sensation once at the moment of waking from a strange, delicious dream to find the sunlight pouring

"That isn't being in love," she said. "That's being in love with the idea of being in love. That's the way I used

to go to balls"she laughed"in front of the glass. You caught me once, do you remember?"

"And was it not sweeter," I argued, "the imagination? You were the belle of the evening; you danced divinely

every dance, were taken in to supper by the Lion. In reality you trod upon your partner's toes, bumped and

were bumped, were left a wallflower more than half the time, had a headache the next day. Were not the

"No, they weren't," she answered without the slightest hesitation. "One real dance, when at last it came, was

worth the whole of them. Oh, I know, I've heard you talking, all of youof the faces that you see in dreams

and that are ever so much more beautiful than the faces that you see when you're awake; of the wonderful

songs that nobody ever sings, the wonderful pictures that nobody ever paints, and all the rest of it. I don't

"No, I don't. Cant is something that you don't believe in yourself. It's tommyrot: there isn't any other word.

I was feeling angry with her. "I know just what he will be like. He will be a goodnatured, commonplace"

"Whatever he is," she interrupted, "he'll be alive, and he'll want me and I shall want him. Dreams are silly. I

prefer being up." She clapped her hands. "That's it." Then, silent, she looked at me with an expression of new

interest. "I've been wondering and wondering what it was: you are not really awake yet. You've never got

I laughed at her whimsical way of putting it; but at the back of my brain was a troubled idea that perhaps she

was revealing to me the truth. And if so, what would "waking up," as she termed it, be like? A flash of

memory recalled to me that summer evening upon Barking Bridge, when, as it had seemed to me, the little

childish Paul had slipped away from me, leaving me lonely and bewildered to find another Self. Was my

boyhood in like manner now falling from me? I found myself clinging to it with vague terror. Its thoughts, its

feelingsdreams: they had grown sweet to me; must I lose them? This cold, unknown, new Self, waiting to

Her words recalled me to myself. "Perhaps I never shall wake up," I said. "I don't want to wake up."

"Oh, but one can't go on dreaming all one's life," she laughed. "You'll wake up, and fall in love with

somebody real." She came across to me, and taking the lapels of my coat in both her hands, gave me a

"You seem to think me a fool!" I was still angry with her, without quite knowing why.

She shook me again. "You know I don't. But it isn't the nice people that take best care of themselves. Tom

"I do, really. You should hear me scold him. I like taking care of people. Goodbye."

She held out her hand. It was white now and shapely, but one could not have called it small. Strong it felt and

I left London, the drums beating in my heart, the flags waving in my brain. Somewhat more than a year later,

one foggy wet December evening, I sneaked back to it defeatedah, that is a small thing, capable of

redressdisgraced. I returned to it as to a hidingplace where, lost in the crowd, I might waste my days

unnoticed until such time as I could summon up sufficient resolution to put an end to my dead life. I had been

ambitiousdwelling again amid the bitterness of the months that followed my return, I write in the past

tense. I had been eager to make a name, a position for myself. But were I to claim no higher aim, I should be

doing injustice to my bloodto the greatsouled gentleman whose whole life had been an ode to honour, to

her of simple faith who had known no other prayer to teach me than the childish cry, "God help me to be

good!" I had wished to be a great man, but it was to have been a great good man. The world was to have

admired me, but to have respected me also. I was to have been the knight without fear, but, rarer yet, without

reproachGalahad, not Launcelot. I had learnt myself to be a feeble, backboneless fighter, conquered by the

first serious assault of evil, a creature of mean fears, slave to every crack of the devil's whip, a feeder with

Urban Vane I had discovered to be a common swindler. His play he had stolen from the desk of a

wellknown dramatist whose acquaintance he had made in Deleglise's kitchen. The man had fallen ill, and

Vane had been constant in his visits. Partly recovering, the man had gone abroad to Italy. Had he died there,

as at the time was expected, the robbery might never have come to light. News reached us in a small northern

town that he had taken a fresh lease of life and was on his way back to England. Then it was that Vane with

calm indifference, smoking his cigar over a bottle of wine to which he had invited me, told me the bald truth,

adorning it with some touches of wit. Had the recital come upon me sooner, I might have acted differently;

but six months' companionship with Urban Vane, if it had not, by grace of the Lord, destroyed the roots of

whatever flower of manhood might have been implanted in me, had most certainly withered its leaves.

The man was clever. That he was not clever enough to perceive from the beginning what he has learnt since:

that honesty is the best policyat least, for men with brainsremains somewhat of a mystery to me. Where

once he made his hundreds among shady ways, he now, I suppose, makes his thousands in the broad daylight

of legitimate enterprise. Chicanery in the blood, one might imagine, has to be worked out. Urban Vanes are to

be found in all callings. They commence as scamps; years later, to one's astonishment, one finds them

ornaments to their profession. Wild oats are of various quality, according to the soil from which they are

"Your language, my dear Kelver," he replied, my vocabulary exhausted, "might wound me were I able to

accept you as an authority upon this vexed question of morals. With the rest of the world you preach one

thing and practise another. I have noticed it so often. It is perhaps sad, but the preaching has ceased to interest

me. You profess to be very indignant with me for making use of another man's ideas. It is done every day.

You yourself were quite ready to take credit not due to you. For months we have been travelling with this

play: 'Drama, in five acts, by Mr. Horace Moncrieff.' Not more than two hundred lines of it are your

This aspect of the affair had not occurred to me. "But you asked me to put my name to it," I stammered. "You

said you did not want your own to appearfor private reasons. You made a point of it."

He waved away the smoke from his cigar. "The man you are posing as would never have put his name to

work not his own. You never hesitated; on the contrary, you jumped at the chance of so easy an opening to

"But you said it was from the French," I argued; "you had merely translated it, I adapted it. I don't defend the

custom, but it is the custom: the man who adapts a play calls himself the author. They all do it."

"I know," he answered. "It has always amused me. Our sick friend himself, whom I am sure we are both

delighted to welcome back to life, has done it more than once, and made a very fair profit on the transaction.

Indeed, from internal evidence, I am strongly of opinion that this present play is a case in point. Well,

"Simply this," he continued, pouring himself out another glass of wine, "that whereas, owing to the

anomalous state of the copyright laws, stealing from the foreign author is legal and commendable, against

"And the consequences, I am afraid, you will find somewhat unpleasant," I suggested.

He laughed: it was not a frivolity to which he was prone. "You mean, my dear Kelver that you will."

"Don't look so dumbfounded " he went on. "You cannot be so stupid as you are pretending to be. The original

manuscript at the Lord Chamberlain's office is in your handwriting. You knew our friend as well as I did, and

visited him. Why, the whole tour has been under your management. You have arranged everythingmost

My anger came later. For the moment, the sudden light blinded me to everything but fear.

"But you told me," I cried, "it was only a matter of form, that you wanted to keep your name out of it

He was looking at me with an expression of genuine astonishment. My words began to appear humorous

even to myself. I found it difficult to believe I had been the fool I was now seeing myself to have been.

"I am sorry," he said, "I am really sorry. I took you for a man of the world. I thought you merely did not wish

Still, to my shame, fear was the thing uppermost in my heart. "You are not going to put it all on to me?" I

He had risen. He laid his hand upon my shoulder. Instead of flinging it off, I was glad of its kindly pressure.

"Don't take it so seriously," he said. "He will merely think the manuscript has been lost. As likely as not, he

will be unable to remember whether he wrote it or merely thought of writing it. No one in the company will

say anything: it isn't their business. We must set to work. I had altered it a good deal before you saw it, and

changed all the names of the characters. We will retain the third act: it is the only thing of real value in the

play. The situation is not original; you have as much right to dish it up as he had. In a fortnight we will have

the whole thing so different that if he saw it himself he would only imagine we had got hold of the idea and

There were moments during the next few weeks when I listened to the voice of my good angel, when I saw

clearly that even from the lowest point of view he was giving me sound advice. I would go to the man, tell

But Vane never left my elbow. Suspecting, I suppose, he gave me clearly to understand that if I did so, I must

expect no mercy from him. My story, denounced by him as an outrageous lie, would be regarded as the

funkinspired subterfuge of a young rogue. At the best I should handicap myself with suspicion that would

last me throughout my career. On the other hand, what harm had we done? Presented in some twenty or so

small towns, where it would soon be forgotten, a play something like. Most plays were something like. Our

friend would produce his version and reap a rich harvest; ours would disappear. If by any unlikely chance

discussion should arise, the advertisement would he to his advantage. So soon as possible we would replace it

by a new piece altogether. A young man of my genius could surely write something better than hotchpotch

such as this; experience was all that I had lacked. As regarded one's own conscience, was not the world's

honesty a mere question of convention? Had he been a young man, and had we diddled him out of his play

for a tenpound note, we should have been applauded as sharp men of business. The one commandment of

the world was: Don't get found out. The whole trouble, left alone, would sink and fade. Later, we should tell

So I fell from mine own esteem. Vane helping meand he had brainsI set feverishly to work. I am glad to

remember that every line I wrote was born in misery. I tried to persuade Vane to let me make a new play

altogether, which I offered to give him for nothing. He expressed himself as grateful, but his frequently

"Later on, my dear Kelver," was his reply. "For the present this is doing very well. Going on as we are, we

shall soon improve it out of all recognition, while at the same time losing nothing that is essential. All your

By the end of about three weeks we had got together a concoction that, so far as dialogue and characters were

concerned, might be said to be our own. There was good work in it, here and there. Under other conditions I

might have been proud of much that I had written. As it was, I experienced only the terror of the thief

dodging the constable: my cleverness might save me; it afforded me no further satisfaction. My humour,

when I heard the people laughing at it, I remembered I had forged listening in vague fear to every creak upon

the stairs, wondering in what form discovery might come upon me. There was one speech, addressed by the

hero to the villain: "Yes, I admit it; I do love her. But there is that which I love bettermy selfrespect!"

Stepping down to the footlights and slapping his chest (which according to stage convention would appear to

be a sort of moral jewelbox bursting with assorted virtues), our juvenile lead�a gentleman who led a

somewhat rabbitlike existence, perpetually diving down openings to avoid service of writs, at the instance

of his wife, for alimonywould invariably bring down the house upon this sentiment. Every night, listening

to the applause, I would shudder, recalling how I had written it with burning cheeks.

There was a character in the piece, a vicious old man, that from the beginning Vane had wanted me to play. I

had disliked the part and had refused, choosing instead to act a highsouled countryman, in the portrayal of

whose irreproachable emotions I had taken pleasure. Vane now renewed his arguments, and my power of

resistance seeming to have departed from me, I accepted the exchange. Certainly the old gentleman's scenes

went with more snap, but at a cost of further degradation to myself. Upon an older actor the effect might have

been harmless, but the growing tree springs back less surely; I found myself taking pleasure in the coarse

laughter that rewarded my suggestive leers, calling up all the evil in my nature to help me in the development

of fresh "business." Vane was enthusiastic in his praises, generous with his assistance. Under his tuition I

succeeded in making the part as unpleasant as we dared. I had genius, so Vane told me; I understood so much

of human nature. One proof of the moral deterioration creeping over me was that I was beginning to like

Looking back at the man as I see him plainly now, a very ordinary scamp, his pretension not even amusing, I

find it difficult to present him as he appeared to my boyish eyes. He was well educated and well read. He

gave himself the airs of a superior being by freak of fate compelled to abide in a world of inferior creatures.

To live among them in comfort it was necessary for him to outwardly conform to their conventions but to

respect their reasoning would have been beneath him. To accept their laws as binding on one's own

conscience was, using the common expression, to give oneself away, to confess oneself commonplace. Every

decent instinct a man might own to was proof in Vane's eyes of his being "suburban,"

"bourgeois"everything that was unintellectual. It was the first time I had heard this sort of talk. Vane was

one of the pioneers of the movement, which has since become somewhat tiresome. To laugh at it is easy to a

man of the world; boys are impressed by it. From him I first heard the now familiar advocacy of pure

My lower nature rose within me to proclaim the foolish chatterer as a prophet. So life was not as I had been

taughta painful struggle between good and evil. There was no such thing as evil; the senseless epithet was

a libel upon Nature. Not through wearisome repression, but rather through joyous expression of the animal

Villainsworkers in wrong for aesthetic pleasure of the artare useful characters in fiction; in real life they

do not exist. I am convinced the man believed most of the rubbish he talked. Since the time of which I write

he has done some service to the world. I understand he is an excellent husband and father, a considerate

master, a delightful host. He intended, I have no doubt, to improve me, to enlarge my understanding, to free

me from soulstifling bondage of convention. Not to credit him with this wellmeaning intention would be to

assume him something quite inhuman, to bestow upon him a dignity beyond his deserts. I find it easier to

Our leading lady was a handsome but coarse woman, somewhat overdeveloped. Starting life as a

musichall singer, she had married a small tradesman in the south of London. Some three or four years

previous, her Junolike charms had turned the head of a youthful novelista refined, sensitive man, of

whom great things in literature had been expected, and, judging from his earlier work, not unreasonably. He

had run away with her, and eventually married her; the scandal was still fresh. Already she had repented of

her bargain. These women regard their infatuated lovers merely as steps in the social ladder, and he had failed

to appreciably advance her. Under her demoralising spell his ambition had died in him. He no longer wrote,

no longer took interest in anything beyond his own debasement. He was with us in the company, playing

small parts, and playing them badly; he would have remained with us as billposter rather than have been

Vane planned to bring this woman and myself together. To her he pictured me a young gentleman of means, a

coming author, who would soon be earning an income sufficient to keep her in every luxury. To me he hinted

that she had fallen in love with me. I was never attracted to her by any feeling stronger than the admiration

with which one views a handsome animal. It was my vanity upon which he worked. He envied me; any man

would envy me; experience of life was what I needed to complete my genius. The great intellects of this earth

As years before I had laboured to acquire a liking for cigars and whiskey, deeming it an accomplishment

necessary to a literary career, so painstakingly I now applied myself to the cultivation of a pretty taste in

passion. According to the literature, fictional and historical, Vane was kind enough to supply me with, men of

note were invariably sad dogs. That my temperament was not that of the sad dog, that I lacked instinct and

inclination for the part, appeared to this young idiot of whom I am writing in the light of a defect. That her

languishing glances irritated rather than maddened me, that the occasional covert pressure of her hot, thick

hand left me cold, I felt a reproach to my manhood. I would fall in love with her. Surely my blood was red

like other men's. Besides, was I not an artist, and was not profligacy the hallmark of the artist?

But one grows tired of the confessional. Fate saved me from playing the part Vane had assigned me in this

vulgar comedy, dragged me from my entanglement, flung me on my feet again. She was a little brusque in

the process; but I do not feel inclined to blame the kind lady for that. The mud was creeping upward fast, and

Our dramatic friend produced his play sooner than we had expected. It crept out that something very like it

had been seen in the Provinces. Argument followed, enquiries were set on foot. "It will blow over," said

The salaries, as a rule, were paid by me on Friday night. Vane, in the course of the evening, would bring me

the money for me to distribute after the performance. We were playing in the north of Ireland. I had not seen

Vane all that day. So soon as I had changed my clothes I left my dressingroom to seek him. The boxoffice

keeper, meeting me, put a note into my hand. It was short and to the point. Vane had pocketed the evening's

takings, and had left by the sevenfifty train! He regretted causing inconvenience, but life was replete with

small comedies; the wise man attached no seriousness to them. We should probably meet again and enjoy a

Some rumour had got about. I looked up from the letter to find myself surrounded by suspicious faces. With

dry lips I told them the truth. Only they happened not to regard it as the truth. Vane throughout had contrived

cleverly to them I was the manager, the sole person responsible. My wearily spoken explanations were to

them incomprehensible lies. The quarter of an hour might have been worse for me had I been sufficiently

alive to understand or care what they were saying. A dull, listless apathy had come over me. I felt the scene

only stupid, ridiculous, tiresome. There was some talk of giving me "a damned good hiding." I doubt whether

I should have known till the next morning whether the suggestion had been carried out or not. I gathered that

the true history of the play, the reason for the sudden alterations, had been known to them all along. They

appeared to have reserved their virtuous indignation till this evening. As explanation of my apparent

sleepiness, somebody, whether in kindness to me or not I cannot say, suggested I was drunk. Fortunately, it

carried conviction. No further trains left the town that night; I was allowed to depart. A deputation promised

Our leading lady had left the theatre immediately on the fall of the curtain; it was not necessary for her to

wait, her husband acting as her business man. On reaching my rooms, I found her sitting by the fire. It

reminded me that our agent in advance having fallen ill, her husband had, at her suggestion, been appointed

in his place, and had left us on the Wednesday to make the necessary preparations in the next town on our

list. I thought that perhaps she had come round for her money, and the idea amused me.

"Well?" she said, with her one smile. I had been doing my best for some months to regard it as

"You don't seem overjoyed to see me. What's the matter with you? What's happened?"

"The beast!" she said. "I knew he was that sort. What ever made you take up with him? Will it make much

"It makes a difference all round," I replied. "There's no money to pay any of you. There's nothing to pay your

She had risen. "Here, let me understand this," she said. "Are you the rich mug Vane's been representing you

"The mug and the accomplice both," I answered, "without the rich. It's his tour. He put my name to it because

She interrupted me with a whistle. "I thought it looked a bit fishy, all those alterations. But such funny things

"The whole thing in manuscript. I put my name to it for the same reasonhe didn't want his own to appear."

She dropped into her chair and laugheda goodtempered laugh, loud and long. "Well, I'm damned!" she

said. "The first man who has ever taken me in. I should never have signed if I had thought it was his show. I

could see the sort he was with half an eye." She jumped up from the chair. "Here, let me get out of this," she

said. "I just looked in to know what time tomorrow; I'd forgotten. You needn't say I came."

Her hand upon the door, laughter seized her again, so that for support she had to lean against the wall.

"Do you know why I really did come?" she said. "You'll guess when you come to think it over, so I may as

well tell you. It's a bit of a joke. I came to say 'yes' to what you asked me last night. Have you forgotten?"

I stared at her. Last night! It seemed a long while agoso very unimportant what I might have said.

She laughed again. "So help me! if you haven't. Well, you asked me to run away with youthat's all, to let

"Goodnight," I answered, without moving. I was gripping a chair to prevent myself from rushing at her,

I heard her turn the handle. "Got a pound or two to carry you over?" It was a woman's voice.

I put my hand into my pocket. "One pound seventeen," I answered, counting it. "It will pay my fare to

Londonor buy me a dinner and a secondhand revolver. I haven't quite decided yet."

"Oh, you get back and pull yourself together," she said. "You're only a kid. Goodnight."

I put a few things into a small bag and walked thirty miles that night into Belfast. Arrived in London, I took a

lodging in Deptford, where I was least likely to come in contact with any face I had ever seen before. I

maintained myself by giving singing lessons at sixpence the halfhour, evening lessons in French and

German (the Lord forgive me!) to ambitious shopboys at eighteen pence a week, making up tradesmen's

books. A few articles of jewellery I had retained enabled me to tide over bad periods. For some four months I

existed there, never going outside the neighbourhood. Occasionally, wandering listlessly about the streets,

some object, some vista, would strike me by reason of its familiarity. Then I would turn and hasten back into

Of thoughts, emotions, during these dead days I was unconscious. Somewhere in my brain they may have

been stirring, contending; but myself I lived as in a long, dull dream. I ate, and drank, and woke, and slept,

and walked and walked, and lounged by corners; staring by the hour together, seeing nothing.

It has suprised me since to find the scenes I must then have witnessed photographed so clearly on my mind.

Tragedies, dramas, farces, played before me in that teeming underworldthe scenes present themselves to

I fell ill. It must have been some time in April, but I kept no count of days. Nobody came near me, nobody

knew of me. I occupied a room at the top of a huge block of workmen's dwellings. A woman who kept a

secondhand store had lent me for a shilling a week a few articles of furniture. Lying upon my

chairbedstead, I listened to the shrill sounds around me, that through the light and darkness never ceased. A

pint of milk, left each morning on the stone landing, kept me alive. I would wait for the man's descending

footsteps, then crawl to the door. I hoped I was going to die, regretting my returning strength, the desire for

One night, a week or two after my partial recovery, I had wandered on and on for hour after hour. The

breaking dawn recalled me to myself. I was outside the palings of a park. In the faint shadowy light it looked

strange and unfamiliar. I was too tired to walk further. I scrambled over the low wooden fencing, and

I was sitting in a sunny avenue; birds were singing joyously, bright flowers were all around me. Norah was

beside me, her frank, sweet eyes were looking into mine; they were full of tenderness, mingled with wonder.

I was in the broad walk, Regent's Park, where, I remembered, Norah often walked before breakfast. A

parkkeeper, the only other human creature within sight, was eyeing me suspiciously. I saw myselfwithout

a lookingglassunkempt, ragged. My intention was to run, but Norah was holding me by the arm.

Savagely I tried to shake her off. I was weak from my recent illness, and, I suppose, half starved; it angered

me to learn she was the stronger of the two. In spite of my efforts, she dragged me back.

Ashamed of my weakness, ashamed of everything about me, I burst into tears; and that of course made me

still more ashamed. To add to my discomfort, I had no handkerchief. Holding me with one handit was

quite sufficientNorah produced her own, and wiped my eyes. The parkkeeper, satisfied, I suppose, that at

"Where have you been, and what have you been doing?" asked Norah. She still retained her grip upon me,

So, with my face turned away from her, I told her the whole miserable story, taking strange satisfaction in

exaggerating, if anything, my own share of the disgrace. My recital ended, I sat staring down the long,

shadowfreckled way, and for awhile there was no sound but the chirping of the sparrows.

Then behind me I beard a smothered laugh. It was impossible to imagine it could come from Norah. I turned

quickly to see who had stolen upon us. It was Norah who was laughing; though to do her justice she was

trying to suppress it, holding her handkerchief to her face. It was of no use, it would out; she abandoned the

struggle, and gave way to it. It astonished the sparrows into silence; they stood in a row upon the low iron

"But it is funny," she persisted. "Don't say you have lost your sense of humour, Paul; it was the one real thing

you possessed. You were so cockyyou don't know how cocky you were! Everybody was a fool but Vane;

nobody else but he appreciated you at your true worth. You and he between you were going to reform the

stage, to educate the public, to put everything and everybody to rights. I am awfully sorry for all you've gone

Faintly, dimly, this aspect of the case, for the very first time, began to present itself to me; but I should have

I was glad to notice that sobered her somewhat. "Nearly? Why not quite?" she asked more seriously.

"She thought I was some young idiot with money," I replied bitterly, pleased with the effect I had produced.

"Vane had told her a pack of lies. When she found out I was only a poor devil, ruined, disgraced, without a

sixpence�" I made a gesture expressive of eloquent contempt for female nature generally.

"I am sorry," said Norah; "I told you you would fall in love with something real."

Her words irritated me, unreasonably, I confess. "In love!" I replied; "good God, I was never in love with

I was wishing now I had not mentioned the matter; it promised to be difficult of explanation. "I don't know," I

replied irritably. "I thought she was in love with me. She was very beautifulat least, other people seemed to

think she was. Artists are not like ordinary men. You must liveunderstand life, before you can teach it to

others. When a beautiful woman is in love with youor pretends to be, youyou must say something. You

Again her laughter interrupted me; this time she made no attempt to hide it. The sparrows chirped angrily,

and flew off to continue their conversation somewhere where there would be less noise.

"You are the biggest baby, Paul," she said, so soon as she could speak, "I ever heard of." She seized me by

the shoulders, and turned me round. "If you weren't looking so ill and miserable, I would shake you, Paul, till

"How much money do you owe?" she asked"to the people in the company and anybody else, I

"Then if you rest day or night, Paul, till you have paid that hundred and fiftyevery penny of itI'll think

Her grey eyes were flashing quite alarmingly. I felt almost afraid of her. She could be so vehement at times.

"Go straight home," she commanded, "and write something funny: an article, storyanything you like; only

mind that it is funny. Post it to me tomorrow, at the latest. Dan is in London, editing a new weekly. I'll have

it copied out and sent to him. I shan't say who it is from. I shall merely ask him to read it and reply, at once. If

you've a grain of grit left in you, you'll write something that he will be glad to have and to pay for. Pawn that

ring on your finger and get yourself a good breakfast"it was my mother's weddingring, the only piece of

dispensable property I had not parted with"_she_ won't mind helping you. But nobody else is going

She looked at her watch. "I must be off." She turned again. "There is something I was forgetting. B"she

mentioned the name of the dramatist whose play Vane had stolen"has been looking for you for the last

three months. If you hadn't been an idiot you might have saved yourself a good deal of trouble. He is quite

certain it was Vane stole the manuscript. He asked the nurse to bring it to him an hour after Vane had left the

house, and it couldn't be found. Besides, the man's character is well known. And so is yours. I won't tell it

She made a step towards me, then changed her mind. "No," she said, "I shan't shake hands with you till you

She did not look back. I watched her, till the sunlight, streaming in my eyes, raised a golden mist between us.

It took me three years to win that handshake. For the first six months I remained in Deptford. There was

excellent material to be found there for humorous articles, essays, stories; likewise for stories tragic and

pathetic. But I owed a hundred and fifty poundsa little over two hundred it reached to, I found, when I

came to add up the actual figures. So I paid strict attention to business, left the tears to be garnered by

othersbetter fitted maybe for the task; kept to my own patch, reaped and took to market only the laughter.

At the beginning I sent each manuscript to Norah; she had it copied out, debited me with the cost received

payment, and sent me the balance. At first my earnings were small; but Norah was an excellent agent; rapidly

they increased. Dan grew quite cross with her, wrote in pained surprise at her greed. The "matter" was fair,

but in no way remarkable. Any friend of hers, of course, he was anxious to assist; but business was business.

In justice to his proprietors, he could not and would not pay more than the market value. Miss Deleglise,

replying curtly in the third person, found herself in perfect accord with Mr. Brian as to business being

business. If Mr. Brian could not afford to pay her price for material so excellent, other editors with whom

Miss Deleglise was equally well acquainted could and would. Answer by return would greatly oblige,

pending which the manuscript then in her hands she retained. Mr. Brian, understanding he had found his

match, grumbled but paid. Whether he had any suspicion who "Jack Homer" might be, he never confessed;

but he would have played the game, pulled his end of the rope, in either case. Nor was he allowed to decide

the question for himself. Competition was introduced into the argument. Of purpose a certain proportion of

my work my agent sent elsewhere. "Jack Homer" grew to be a commodity in demand. For, seated at my

rickety table, I laughed as I wrote, the fourth wall of the dismal room fading before my eyes revealing vistas

Still, it was slow work. Humour is not an industrious maid; declines to be bustled, will work only when she

feels inclineddoes not often feel inclined; gives herself a good many unnecessary airs; if worried, packs up

and goes off, Heaven knows where! comes back when she thinks she will: a somewhat unreliable young

person. To my literary labours I found it necessary to add journalism. I lacked Dan's magnificent assurance.

Fate never befriends the nervous. Had I burst into the editorial sanctum, the editor most surely would have

been out if in, would have been a man of short ways, would have seen to it that I went out quickly. But the

idea was not to be thought of; Robert Macaire himself in my one coat would have been diffident, apologetic. I

joined the ranks of the pennyalinersto be literally exact, three halfpence a liners. In company with half a

dozen other shabby outsiderssome of them young men like myself seeking to climb; others, older men who

had sunkI attended inquests, police courts; flew after fire engines; rejoiced in street accidents; yearned for

murders. Somewhat vulturelike we lived precariously upon the misfortunes of others. We made occasional

half crowns by providing the public with scandal, occasional crowns by keeping our information to ourselves.

"I think, gentlemen," would explain our spokesman in a hoarse whisper, on returning to the table, "I think the

corpse's brotherinlaw is anxious that the affair, if possible, should be kept out of the papers."

The closeness and attention with which we would follow that particular case, the fulness and completeness of

our notes, would be quite remarkable. Our spokesman would rise, drift carelessly away, to return five minutes

"Not a very interesting case, gentlemen, I don't think. Shall we say five shillings apiece?" Sometimes a sense

And here also my sense of humour came to my aid; gave me perhaps an undue advantage over my

competitors. Twelve good men and true had been asked to say how a Lascar sailor had met his death. It was

perfectly clear how he had met his death. A plumber, working on the roof of a small twostoreyed house, had

slipped and fallen on him. The plumber had escaped with a few bruises; the unfortunate sailor had been

picked up dead. Some blame attached to the plumber. His mate, an excellent witness, told us the whole story.

"I was fixing a gaspipe on the first floor," said the man. "The prisoner was on the roof."

"We won't call him 'the prisoner,'" interrupted the coroner, "at least, not yet. Refer to him, if you please, as

"The last witness," corrected himself the man. "He shouts down the chimney to know if I was ready for him."

"Well, before I knew what had happened, I hears him go, smack! I rushes to the window and looks out: I see

"'I think I'm all right,' he says, 'as far as I can tell. But I wish you'd come down. This bloke I've fallen on

The others headed their flimsy "Sad Accident," a title truthful but not alluring. I altered mine to "Plumber in a

HurryFatal Result." Saying as little as possible about the unfortunate sailor, I called the attention of

plumbers generally to the coroner's very just remarks upon the folly of undue haste; pointed out to them, as a

body, the trouble that would arise if somehow they could not cure themselves of this tendency to rush

It established for me a useful reputation. The subeditor of one evening paper condescended so far as to

"That's the sort of thing we want," he told me; "a light touch, a bit of humour."

I snatched fun from fires (I sincerely trust the insurance premiums were not overdue); culled quaintness from

street rows; extracted merriment from catastrophes the most painful, and prospered.

Though often within a stone's throw of the street, I unremittingly avoided the old house at Poplar. I was

suffering inconvenience at this period by reason of finding myself two distinct individuals, contending with

each other. My object was to encourage the new Paulthe sensible, practical, pushful Paul, whose career

began to look promising; to drive away from interfering with me his strangely unlike twinthe old childish

Paul of the sad, farseeing eyes. Sometimes out of the cracked lookingglass his wistful, yearning face

would plead to me; but I would sternly shake my head. I knew well his cunning. Had I let him have his way,

he would have led me through the maze of streets he knew so well, past the broken railings (outside which be

would have left my body standing), along the weedy pathway, through the cracked and dented door, up the

creaking staircase to the dismal little chamber where we oncehe and I togetherhad sat dreaming foolish

"Come," he would whisper; "it is so near. Let us push aside the chest of drawers very quietly, softly raise the

broken sash, prop it open with the Latin dictionary, lean our elbows on the sill, listen to the voices of the

But I was too wary to be caught. "Later on," I would reply to him; "when I have made my way, when I am

stronger to withstand your wheedling. Then I will go with you, if you are still in existence, my sentimental

little friend. We will dream again the old impractical, foolish dreamsand laugh at them."

So he would fade away, and in his place would nod to me approvingly a businesslikelooking, wideawake

But to one sentimental temptation I succumbed. My position was by now assured; there was no longer any

reason for my hiding myself. I determined to move westward. I had not intended to soar so high, but passing

through Guildford Street one day, the creepercovered corner house that my father had once thought of

taking recalled itself to me. A card was in the fanlight. I knocked and made enquiries. A bedsittingroom

upon the third floor was vacant. I remembered it well the moment the loquacious landlady opened its door.

"This shall be your room, Paul," said my father. So clearly his voice sounded behind me that I turned,

forgetting for the moment it was but a memory. "You will be quiet here, and we can shut out the bed and

So my father had his way. It was a pleasant, sunny little room, overlooking the gardens of the hospital. I

followed my father's suggestion, shut out the bed and washstand with a screen. And sometimes of an evening

Often there came back to me the words he had once used. "You must be the practical man, Paul, and get on.

Myself, I have always been somewhat of a dreamer. I meant to do such great things in the world, and

My father had fidgeted in his chair. "It is very difficult to say. It is all soso very ununderstandable. You

aim high and you don't hit anythingat least, it seems as if you didn't. Perhaps, after all, it is better to aim at

something low, andand hit it. Yet it seems a pityone's ideals, all the best part of oneI don't know why

For some months I had been writing over my own name. One day a letter was forwarded to me by an editor to

whose care it had been addressed. It was a short, formal note from the maternal Sellars, inviting me to the

wedding of her daughter with a Mr. Reginald Clapper. I had almost forgotten the incident of the Lady

'Ortensia, but it was not unsatisfactory to learn that it had terminated pleasantly. Also, I judged from an

invitation having been sent me, that the lady wished me to be witness of the fact that my desertion had not

left her disconsolate. So much gratification I felt I owed her, and accordingly, purchasing a present as

expensive as my means would permit, I made my way on the following Thursday, clad in frock coat and light

The ceremony was already in progress. Creeping on tiptoe up the aisle, I was about to slip into an empty pew,

Squeezing his hand as I passed, I sat down between the Signora and Mrs. Peedles. Both ladies were weeping;

the Signora silently, one tear at a time clinging fondly to her pretty face as though loath to fall from it; Mrs.

"It is such a beautiful service," murmured the Signora, pressing my hand as I settled myself down. "I should

"Me darling," whispered the O'Kelly, seizing her other hand and kissing it covertly behind his open Prayer

Mrs. Peedles, clad, so far as the dim November light enabled me to judge, in the costume of Queen

Elizabethnothing regal; the sort of thing one might assume to have been Her Majesty's second best, say

third best, frockexplained that weddings always reminded her how fleeting a thing was love.

"The poor dears!" she sobbed. "But there, there's no telling. Perhaps they'll be happy. I'm sure I hope they

Jarman, stretching out a hand to me from the other side of Mrs. Peedles, urged me to cheer up. "Don't wear

In the vestry I met old friends. The maternal Sellars, stouter than ever, had been accommodated with a

chairat least, I assumed so, she being in a sitting posture; the chair itself was not in evidence. She greeted

me with more graciousness than I had expected, enquiring after my health with pointedness and an amount of

tender solicitude that, until the explanation broke upon me, somewhat puzzled me.

Mr. Reginald Clapper was a small but energetic gentleman, much impressed, I was glad to notice, with a

conviction of his own good fortune. He expressed the greatest delight at being introduced to me, shook me

"Won't be my fault if we're not," he added. "Come and see us whenever you like." He repeated this three

times. I gathered the general sentiment to be that he was acting, if anything, with excess of generosity.

Mrs. Reginald Clapper, as I was relieved to know she now was, received my salute to a subdued murmur of

applause. She looked to my eyes handsomer than when I had last seen her, or maybe my taste was growing

less exacting. She also trusted she might always regard me as a friend. I replied that it would be my hope to

deserve the honour; whereupon she kissed me of her own accord, and embracing her mother, shed some tears,

Brother George, less lank than formerly, hampered by a pair of enormous white kid gloves, superintended my

signing of the register, whispering to me sympathetically: "Better luck next time, old cock."

The fat young ladyor, maybe, the lean young lady, grown stouter, I cannot say for certainwho feared I

had forgotten her, a thing I assured her utterly impossible, was good enough to say that, in her opinion, I was

"And so I told her," added the fat young ladyor the lean one grown stouter, "a dozen times if I told her

Cousin Joseph, 'whom I found no difficulty in recognising by reason of his watery eyes, appeared not so

"You take my tip," advised Cousin Joseph, drawing me aside, "and keep out of it."

"I'm as fond of a joke," said the wateryeyed Joseph, "as any man. But when it comes to buckets of water"

A reminder from the maternal Sellars that breakfast had been ordered for eleven o'clock caused a general

What Mrs. Sellars, I suppose, would have alluded to as a cold collashon had been arranged for at a

restaurant near by. I walked there in company with Uncle and Aunt Gutton; not because I particularly desired

their companionship, but because Uncle Gutton, seizing me by the arm, left me no alternative.

"Now then, young man," commenced Uncle Gutton kindly, but boisterously so soon as we were in the street,

at some little distance behind the others, "if you want to pitch into me, you pitch away. I shan't mind, and

"Oh, all right," returned Uncle Gutton, seemingly disappointed. "If you're willing to forgive and forget, so am

I. I never liked you, as I daresay you saw, and so I told Rosie. 'He may be cleverer than he looks,' I says, 'or

be may be a bigger fool than I think him, though that's hardly likely. You take my advice and get a

"I'm glad you think so," he returned, somewhat puzzled; "though if you wanted to call me names I shouldn't

have blamed you. Anyhow, you've took it like a sensible chap. You've got over it, as I always told her you

would. Young men out of storybooks don't die of broken hearts, even if for a month or two they do feel like

"Why, I was in love myself three times," explained Uncle Gutton, "before I married the old woman."

Aunt Gutton sighed and said she was afraid gentlemen didn't feel these things as much as they ought to.

"As for the rest," admitted Uncle Gutton, handsomely, "I was wrong. You've turned out better than I expected

I thanked him for his improved opinion, and as we entered the restaurant we shook hands.

Minikin we found there waiting for us. He explained that having been able to obtain only limited leave of

absence from business, he had concluded the time would be better employed at the restaurant than at the

church. Others were there also with whom I was unacquainted, young sparks, admirers, I presume, of the

Lady 'Ortensia in her professional capacity, fellowclerks of Mr. Clapper, who was something in the City.

Breakfast was laid in a large room on the first floor. The wedding presents stood displayed upon a sidetable.

My own, with my card attached, had not been seen by Mrs. Clapper till that moment. She and her mother

"Real silver!" I heard the maternal Sellars whisper, "Must have paid a ten pound note for it."

The maternal Sellars, drifting away, joined the others gathered together at the opposite end of the room.

"I suppose you think I set my cap at you merely because you were a gentleman," said the Lady 'Ortensia.

"I don't want you to think it was merely that," continued the Lady 'Ortensia. "I did like you. And I wouldn't

have disgraced youat least, I'd have tried not to. We women are quick to learn. You never gave me time."

"I suppose so," she answered. "I was a fool." She glanced round; we still had the corner to ourselves. "I told a

rare pack of lies," she said; "I didn't seem able to help it; I was feeling sore all over. But I have always been

I thought I saw a way of making her mind easy. "My dear girl," I said, "you have taken the blame upon

"The truth," I answered, "would shift all the shame on to me. It was I who broke my word, acted shabbily

"I hadn't looked at it in that light," she replied. "Very well, I'll hold my tongue."

My place at breakfast was to the left of the maternal Sellars, the Signora next to me, and the O'Kelly

opposite. Uncle Gutton faced the bride and bridegroom. The disillusioned Joseph was hidden from me by

flowers, so that his voice, raised from time to time, fell upon my ears, embellished with the mysterious

For the first quarter of an hour or so the meal proceeded almost in silence. The maternal Sellars when not

engaged in whispered argument with the perspiring waiter, was furtively occupied in working sums upon the

tablecloth by aid of a blunt pencil. The Signora, strangely unlike her usual self, was not in talkative mood.

"It was so kind of them to invite me," said the Signora, speaking low. "But I feel I ought not to have come.

"I'm not fit to be here," murmured the Signora in a broken voice. "What right have I at wedding breakfasts?

The O'Kelly, who never when the Signora was present seemed to care much for conversation in which she

was unable to participate, took advantage of his neighbour's being somewhat deaf to lapse into abstraction.

Jarman essayed a few witticisms of a general character, of which nobody took any notice. The professional

admirers of the Lady 'Ortensia, seated together at a corner of the table, appeared to be enjoying a small joke

among themselves. Occasionally, one or another of them would laugh nervously. But for the most part the

only sounds to be heard were the clatter of the knives and forks, the energetic shuffling of the waiter, and a

curious hissing noise as of escaping gas, caused by Uncle Gutton drinking champagne.

With the cutting, or, rather, the smashing into a hundred fragments, of the wedding cakea work that taxed

the united strength of bride and bridegroom to the utmostthe atmosphere lost something of its sombreness.

The company, warmed by food, displaying indications of being nearly done, commenced to simmer. The

maternal Sellars, putting away with her blunt pencil considerations of material nature, embraced the table

"But it is a sad thing," sighed the maternal Sellars the next moment, with a shake of her huge head, "when

"Damned sight sadder," commented Uncle Gutton, "when she don't go off, but hangs on at home year after

I credit Uncle Gutton with intending this as an aside for the exclusive benefit of the maternal Sellars; but his

voice was not of the timbre that lends itself to secrecy. One of the bridesmaids, a plain, elderly girl, bending

"It doesn't seem to me," said Aunt Gutton from the other end of the table, "that gentlemen are as keen on

"Got to know a bit about it, I expect," sounded the small, shrill voice of the unseen Joseph.

"To my thinking," exclaimed a hatchetfaced gentleman, "one of the evils crying most loudly for redress at

the present moment is the utterly needless and monstrous expense of legal proceedings." He spoke rapidly

Conversation appeared to be drifting in a direction unsuitable to the occasion; but Jarman was fortunately

"The plain fact of the matter is," said Jarman, "girls have gone up in value. Time was, so I've heard, when

they used to be given away with a useful bit of household linen, maybe a chair or two. Nowadayswell, it's

only chaps wallowing in wealth like Clapper there as can afford a really firstclass article."

Mr. Clapper, not a gentleman in other respects of exceptional brilliancy, possessed one quality that

popularityseekers might have envied him: the ability to explode on the slightest provocation into a laugh

"Give and take," observed the maternal Sellars, so soon as Mr. Clapper's roar had died away; "that's what

"Give a deal more than you bargained for and take what you don't wantthat sums it up," came the bitter

"Oh, do be quiet, Joe," advised the stout young lady, from which I concluded she had once been the lean

"We'll show them how to get on," observed the Lady 'Ortensia to her bridegroom, with a smile.

"When me and the old girl there fixed things up," said Uncle Gutton, "we didn't talk no nonsense, and we

Mr. Clapper commented, not tactfully, but with appreciative laugh. I feared for a moment lest Uncle Gutton's

"Not being a naturalborn, oneeyed fool," replied Uncle Gutton, glaring at the unabashed Minikin, "she did

not. 'I'm not a duke,' I says, and _she_ had sense enough to know as I was talking sarcastic like. 'I'm not

offering you a life of luxury and ease. I'm offering you myself, just what you see, and nothing more.'

"She accepted me, sir," returned Uncle Gutton, in a voice that would have awed any one but Minikin. "Can

"No need to get mad with me," explained Minikin. "I'm not blaming the poor woman. We all have our

The unfortunate Clapper again exploded. Uncle Gutton rose to his feet. The ready Jarman saved the situation.

"'Ear! 'ear!" cried Jarman, banging the table with the handles of two knives. "Silence for Uncle Gutton! 'E's

"Good old Uncle Gutton!" persisted the determined Jarman. "Bride and bridegroomlong life to 'em!"

Uncle Sutton, evidently pleased, allowed his indignation against Minikin to evaporate.

The response was unmistakable. In our enthusiasm we broke two glasses and upset a cruet; a small, thin lady

was unfortunate enough to shed her chignon. Thus encouraged, Uncle Sutton launched himself upon his task.

Personally, I should have been better pleased had Fate not interposed to assign to him the duty.

Starting with a somewhat uninstructive history of his own career, he suddenly, and for no reason at all

obvious, branched off into fierce censure of the Adulteration Act. Reminded of the time by the maternal

Sellars, he got in his first sensible remark by observing that with such questions, he took it, the present

company was not particularly interested, and directed himself to the main argument. To his, Uncle Gutton's,

foresight, wisdom and instinctive understanding of humanity, Mr. Clapper, it appeared, owed his present

happiness. Uncle Gutton it was who had divined from the outset the sort of husband the fair Rosina would

come eventually to desirea plain, simple, hardworking, levelheaded sort of chap, with no hitytity

nonsense about him: such an one, in short, as Mr. Clapper himself(at this Mr. Clapper expressed approval

by a lengthy laugh)a gentleman who, so far as Uncle Gutton's knowledge went, had but one fault: a silly

habit of laughing when there was nothing whatever to laugh at; of which, it was to be hoped, the cares and

responsibilities of married life would cure him. (To the rest of the discourse Mr. Clapper listened with a

gravity painfully maintained.) There had been moments, Uncle Gutton was compelled to admit, when the fair

Rosina had shown inclination to make a fool of herselfto desire in place of honest worth mere painted

baubles. He used the term in no offensive sense. Speaking for himself, what a man wanted beyond his weekly

newspaper, he, Uncle Gutton, was unable to understand; but if there were fools in the world who wanted to

read rubbish written by other fools, then the other fools would of course write it; Uncle Gutton did not blame

them. He mentioned no names, but what he would say was: a plain man for a sensible girl, and no painted

The waiter here entering with a message from the cabman to the effect that if he was to catch the

twelvefortyfive from Charing Cross, it was about full time he started, Uncle Gutton was compelled to

bring his speech to a premature conclusion. The bride and bridegroom were hustled into their clothes. There

followed much female embracing and male handshaking. The rice having been forgotten, the waiter was

almost thrown downstairs, with directions to at once procure some. There appearing danger of his not

returning in time, the resourceful Jarman suggested cold semolina pudding as a substitute. But the idea was

discouraged by the bride. A slipper of remarkable antiquity, discovered on the floor and regarded as a gift

from Providence, was flung from the window by brother George, with admirable aim, and alighted on the

roof of the cab. The waiter, on his return, not being able to find it, seemed surprised.

I walked back as far as the Obelisk with the O'Kelly and the Signora, who were then living together in

Lambeth. Till that morning I had not seen the O'Kelly since my departure from London, nearly two years

before, so that we had much to tell each other. For the third time now had the O'Kelly proved his utter

unworthiness to be the husband of the lady to whom he still referred as his "dear good wife."

"But, under the circumstances, would it not be better," I suggested, "for her to obtain a divorce? Then you and

"From a strictly worldly point of view," replied the O'Kelly, "it certainly would be; but Mrs. O'Kelly"his

voice took to itself unconsciously a tone of reverenceis not an ordinary woman. You can have no

conception, my dear Kelver, of her goodness. I had a letter from her only two months ago, a few weeks after

thethe last occurrence. Not one word of reproach, only that if I trespassed against her even unto seven

times seven she would still consider it her duty to forgive me; that the 'home' would always be there for me to

A tear stood in the O'Kelly's eye. "A beautiful nature," he commented. "There are not many women like her."

The O'Kelly spoke quite angrily. "Don't ye say a word against her! I won't listen to it. Ye don't understand

"You see, Mr. Kelver," explained the Signora, "the whole difficulty arises from my unfortunate profession. It

is impossible for me to keep out of dear Willie's way. If I could earn my living by any other means, I would;

but I can't. And when he sees my name upon the posters, it's all over with him."

"I do wish, Willie, dear," added the Signora in tones of gentle reproof, "that you were not quite so weak."

"Me dear," replied the O'Kelly, "ye don't know how attractive ye are or ye wouldn't blame me."

I laughed. "Why don't you be firm," I suggested to the Signora, "send him packing about his business?"

"I ought to," admitted the Signora. "I always mean to, until I see him. Then I don't seem able to say

"Ye do say it," contradicted the O'Kelly. "Ye're an angel, only I won't listen to ye."

"I don't say it as if I meant it," persisted the Signora. "It's evident I don't."

"I still think it a pity," I said, "someone does not explain to Mrs. O'Kelly that a divorce would be the truer

"It is difficult to decide," argued the Signora. "If ever you should want to leave me"

"But you may," insisted the Signora. "Something may happen to help you, to show you how wicked it all is. I

shall be glad then to think that you will go back to her. Because she is a good woman, Willie, you know she

At the Obelisk I shook hands with them, and alone pursued my way towards Fleet Street.

The next friend whose acquaintance I renewed was Dan. He occupied chambers in the Temple, and one

evening a week or two after the 'Ortensia marriage, I called upon him. Nothing in his manner of greeting me

suggested the necessity of explanation. Dan never demanded anything of his friends beyond their need of

him. Shaking hands with me, he pushed me down into the easychair, and standing with his back to the fire,

"I left you alone," he said. "You had to go through it, your slough of despond. It lies across every paththat

"You are on the high road," he continued. "You have only to walk steadily. Sure you have left nothing behind

"Yes, here," answered Dan. "This is not his world. He is of no use to you here; won't help you to bread and

cheeseno, nor kisses either. But keep him near you. Later, you will find, perhaps, that all along he has been

the real Paulthe living, growing Paul; the otherthe active, worldly, pushful Paul, only the stuff that

Dan shook his head gravely. "It is not his world," he repeated. "We must eat, drinkbe husbands, fathers. He

We sat in silence for a little whilefor longer, perhaps, than it seemed to usDan in the chair opposite to

"You have an excellent agent," said Dan; "retain her services as long as you can. She possesses the great

advantage of having no conscience, as regards your affairs. Women never have where they"

"You like her?" I asked. The words sounded feeble. It is only the writer who fits the language to the emotion;

"She is my ideal woman," returned Dan; "true and strong and tender; clear as crystal, pure as dawn. Like

He knocked the ashes from his pipe. "We do not marry our ideals," he went on. "We love with our hearts, not

with our souls. The woman I shall marry"he sat gazing into the fire, a smile upon his face"she will be

some sweet, clinging, childish woman, David Copperfield's Dora. Only I am not Doady, who always seems

to me to have been somewhat of a He reminds me of you, Paul, a little. Dickens was right; her

helplessness, as time went on, would have bored him more and more instead of appealing to him."

"The difference between men and women," he continued, "is very slight; we exaggerate it for purposes of art.

What sort of man do you suppose he is, Norah's ideal? Can't you imagine him?But I can tell you the type

"A nice enough fellowclever, perhaps, but someonewell, someone who will want looking after, taking

care of, managing; someone who will appeal to the mother side of hernot her ideal man, but the man for

It was Norah herself who broke to me the news of Barbara's elopment with Hal. I had seen neither of them

since my return to London. Old Hasluck a month or so before I had met in the City one day by chance, and he

had insisted on my lunching with him. I had found him greatly changed. His buoyant selfassurance had

deserted him; in its place a fretful eagerness had become his motive force. At first he had talked boastingly:

Had I seen the _Post_ for last Monday, the _Court Circular_ for the week before? Had I read that Barbara had

danced with the Crown Prince, that the Count and Countess Huescar had been entertaining a Grand Duke?

What [duplicated line of text] I think of that! and such like. Was not money master of the world? Ay, and the

"No children," he had whispered to me across the table; "that's what I can't understand. Nearly four years and

no children! What'll be the good of it all? Where do I come in? What do I get? Damn these rotten popinjays!

It was in the studio on a Monday morning that Norah told me. It was the talk of the town for the next

dayand the following eight. She had heard it the evening before at supper, and had written to me to come

"I thought you would rather hear it quietly," said Norah, "than learn it from a newspaper paragraph. Besides, I

wanted to tell you this. She did wrong when she married, putting aside love for position. Now she has done

right. She has put aside her shame with all the advantages she derived from it. She has proved herself a

Norah would not have said that to please me had she not really thought it. I could see it from that light; but it

brought me no comfort. My goddess had a heart, passions, was a mere human creature like myself. From her

cold throne she had stepped down to mingle with the world. So some youthful page of Arthur's court may

I never spoke with her again but once. That was an evening three years later in Brussels. Strolling idly after

dinner the bright lights of a theatre invited me to enter. It was somewhat late; the second act had commenced.

I slipped quietly into my seat, the only one vacant at the extreme end of the front row of the first range; then,

looking down upon the stage, met her eyes. A little later an attendant whispered to me that Madame G

would like to see me; so at the fall of the curtain I went round. Two men were in the dressingroom smoking,

and on the table were some bottles of champagne. She was standing before her glass, a loose shawl about her

"Excuse my shaking hands," she said. "This damned hole is like a furnace; I have to make up fresh after each

The Baron rose. He was a redfaced, potbellied little man. "Delighted to meet Mr. Kelver," he said,

speaking in excellent English. "Any friend of my wife's is always a friend of mine."

He held out his fat, perspiring hand. I was not in the mood to attach much importance to ceremony. I bowed

"I am glad I saw you," she continued. "Do you remember a girl called Barbara? You and she were rather

"Well, she died, poor girl, three years ago." She was rubbing paint into her cheeks as she spoke. "She asked

me if ever I saw you to give you this. I have been carrying it about with me ever since."

She took a ring from her finger. It was the one ring Barbara had worn as a girl, a chrysolite set plainly in a

band of gold. I had noticed it upon her hand the first time I had seen her, sitting in my father's office framed

From under her painted lashes she flashed a glance at me. I hope never to see again that look upon a woman's

"Thank you," I said. "Yes, I understand. It was very kind of you. I shall always wear it."

Slowly, surely, steadily I climbed, putting aside all dreams, paying strict attention to business. Often my other

self, little Paul of the sad eyes, would seek to lure me from my work. But for my vehement determination

never to rest for a moment till I had purchased back my honesty, my desiregrowing day by day, till it

became almost a physical hungerto feel again the pressure of Norah's strong white hand in mine, he might

possibly have succeeded. Heaven only knows what then he might have made of me: politician, minor poet,

more or less able editor, hampered by convictionssomething most surely of but little service to myself.

Now and again, with a week to sparemy humour making holiday, nothing to be done but await patiently its

returnI would write stories for my own pleasure. They made no mark; but success in purposeful work is of

slower growth. Had I persistedbut there was money to be earned. And by the time my debts were paid, I

"Madness!" argued practical friends. "You would be throwing away a certain fortune for, at the best, a

doubtful competence. The one you know you can do, the otherit would be beginning your career all over

"You would find it almost impossible now," explained those who spoke, I knew, words of wisdom, of

experience. "The world would never listen to you. Once a humourist always a humourist. As well might a

comic actor insist upon playing Hamlet. It might be the best Hamlet ever seen upon the stage; the audience

Drawn by our mutual need of sympathy, "Goggles" and I, seeking some quiet corner in the Club, would pour

out our souls to each other. He would lay before me, at some length, his conception of Romeoan excellent

conception, I have no doubt, though I confess it failed to interest me. Somehow I could not picture him to

myself as Romeo. But I listened with every sign of encouragement. It was the price I paid him for, in turn,

listening to me while I unfolded to him my ideas how monumental literature, helpful to mankind, should be

"Perhaps in a future existence," laughed Goggles, one evening, rising as the clock struck seven, "I shall be a

great tragedian, and you a famous poet. Meanwhile, I suppose, as your friend Brian puts it, we are both

I had strolled with him so far as the cloakroom and was helping him to get into his coat.

"Take my advice"tapping me on the chest, he fixed his funny, fishy eyes upon me. Had I not known his

intention to be serious, I should have laughed, his expression was so comical. "Marry some dear little woman

(he was married himself to a placid lady of about twice his own weight); "one never understands life properly

I returned to my easychair before the fire. Wife, children, home! After all, was not that the true work of

manof the live man, not the dreamer? I saw them round me, giving to my life dignity, responsibility. The

fair, sweet woman, helper, comrade, comforter, the little faces fashioned in our image, their questioning

voices teaching us the answers to life's riddles. All other hopes, ambitions, dreams, what were they?

Hodgson came to me one evening. "I want you to write me a comic opera," he said. He had an open letter in

his hand which he was reading. "The public seem to be getting tired of these eternal translations from the

"The English is easy enough," I replied; "but I shouldn't clamour for anything new and original if I were

He laughed. "Well, you know what I meansomething we could refer to as 'new and original' on the

programme. What do you say? It will be a big chance for you, and I'm willing to risk it. I'm sure you can do

I had written a few farces, comediettas, and they had been successful. But the chief piece of the evening is a

serious responsibility. A young man may be excused for hesitating. It can make, but also it can mar him. A

comic opera above all other forms of artif I may be forgiven for using the sacred word in connection with

I explained my fears. I did not explain that in my desk lay a fouract drama throbbing with humanity, with

life, with which it had been my hopegrowing each day fainterto take the theatrical public by storm, to

"It's very simple," urged Hodgson. "Provide Atherton plenty of comic business; you ought to be able to do

that all right. Give Gleeson something pretty in waltz time, and Duncan a part in which she can change her

"I'll tell you what," continued Hodgson, "I'll take the whole crowd down to Richmond on Sunday. We'll have

a coach, and leave the theatre at halfpast ten. It will be an opportunity for you to study them. You'll be able

to have a talk with them and get to know just what they can do. Atherton has ideas in his head; he'll explain

It was too good an opportunity to let slip, though I knew that if successful I should find myself pinned down

firmer than ever to my role of jester. But it is remunerative, the writing of comic opera.

"Nothing wrong, is there?" enquired the leading lady, in a tone of some anxiety, alighting a quarter of an hour

"Merely assembled to see you," explained Mr. Hodgson, without raising his eyes from his letters.

The leading lady, accepting the proffered assistance of myself and three other gentlemen, mounted the ladder

with charming hesitation. Some delay in getting off was caused by our low comedian, who twice, making

believe to miss his footing, slid down again into the arms of the stolid doorkeeper. The crowd, composed for

the most part of small boys approving the endeavour to amuse them, laughed and applauded. Our low

comedian thus encouraged, made a third attempt upon his hands and knees, and, gaining the roof, sat down

The first dozen or so 'busses we passed our low comedian greeted by rising to his feet and bowing

profoundly. afterwards falling back upon either the tenor or myself. Except by the tenor and myself his

performance appeared to be much appreciated. Charing Cross passed, and nobody seeming to be interested in

"People sometimes ask me," said the low comedian, brushing the dust off his knees, "why I do this sort of

"I was coming up to London the other day from Birmingham," he continued. "At Willesden, when the ticket

collector opened the door, I sprang out of the carriage and ran off down the platform. Of course, he ran after

me, shouting to all the others to stop me. I dodged them for about a minute. You wouldn't believe the

excitement there was. Quite fifty people left their seats to see what it was all about. I explained to them when

they caught me that I had been travelling second with a firstclass ticket, which was the fact. People think I

"Exactly what my wife says," he replied; "she can never understand the desire that comes over us all, I

suppose, at times, to play the fool. As a rule, when she is with me I don't do it."

During the drive to Richmond this irrepressible desire to amuse himself got the better of him more than once

or twice. Through Kensington he attracted a certain amount of attention by balancing the horn upon his nose.

At Kew he stopped the coach to request of a young ladies' boarding school change for sixpence. At the foot

of Richmond Hill he caused a crowd to assemble while trying to persuade a deaf old gentleman in a

At these antics and such like our party laughed uproariously, with the exception of Hodgson, who had his

correspondence to attend to, and an elegant young lady of some social standing who had lately emerged from

the Divorce Court with a reputation worth to her in cash a hundred pounds a week.

Arriving at the hotel quarter of an hour or so before lunch time, we strolled into the garden. Our low

comedian, observing an elderly gentleman of dignified appearance sipping a glass of Vermouth at a small

table, stood for a moment rooted to the earth with astonishment, then, making a beeline for the stranger,

seized and shook him warmly by the hand. We exchanged admiring glances with one another.

"Charlie is in good form today," we told one another, and followed at his heels.

The elderly gentleman had risen; he looked puzzled. "And how's Aunt Martha?" asked him our low

comedian. "Dear old Aunt Martha! Well, I am glad! You do look bonny! How is she?"

"I'm afraid" commenced the elderly gentleman. Our low comedian started back. Other visitors had

He seized the bewildered gentleman by the shoulders and presented to him a face distorted by terror.

"I really have not the faintest notion what you are talking about," returned the gentleman, who seemed

"Not know me? Do you mean to tell me you've forgotten? Isn't your name Steggles?"

"My mistake," replied our low comedian. He tossed off at one gulp what remained of the stranger's Vermouth

The elderly gentleman, not seeing the humour of the joke, one of our party to soothe him explained to him

"Oh, is it," growled the elderly gentleman. "Then will you tell him from me that when I want his damned

"What a disagreeable man," we said, as, following our low comedian, we made our way into the hotel.

During lunch he continued in excellent spirits; kissed the bald back of the waiter's head, pretending to

mistake it for a face, called for hot mustard and water, made believe to steal the silver, and when the

fingerbowls arrived, took off his coat and requested the ladies to look the other way.

After lunch he became suddenly serious, and slipping his arm through mine, led me by unfrequented paths.

"Now, about this new opera," he said; "we don't want any of the old stale business. Give us something new."

"Not at all," he answered. "Now, my idea is this. I am a young fellow, and I'm in love with a girl."

"Her father, apopletic old idiotmake him comic: 'Damme, sir! By gad!' all that sort of thing."

"He won't have anything to say to methinks I'm an ass. I'm a simple sort of fellowon the outside. But

"Very well. Then, in the second act I disguise myself. I'll come on as an organgrinder, sing a song in broken

English, then as a policeman, or a young swell about town. Give me plenty of opportunity, that's the great

thingopportunity to be really funny, I mean. We don't want any of the old stale tricks."

"Put a little pathos in it," he added, "give me a scene where I can show them I've something else in me

besides merely humour. We don't want to make them howl, but just to feel a little. Let's send them out of the

theatre saying: 'Well, Charlie's often made me laugh, but I'm damned if I knew he could make me cry before!'

The leading lady, meeting us on our return, requested, with pretty tone of authority, everybody else to go

away and leave us. There were cries of 'Naughty!" The leading lady, laughing girlishly, took me by the hand

"I want to talk to you," said the leading lady, as soon as we had reached a secluded seat overlooking the river,

"about my part in the new opera. Now, can't you give me something original? Do."

"I am so tired of being the simple village maiden," said the leading lady; "what I want is a part with some

opportunity in ita coquettish part. I can flirt," assured me the leading lady, archly. "Try me."

"You might," said the leading lady, "see your way to making the plot depend upon me. It always seems to me

that the woman's part is never made enough of in comic opera. I am sure a comic opera built round a woman

would be a really great success. Don't you agree with me, Mr. Kelver," pouted the leading lady, laying her

"About this new opera," said the tenor; "doesn't it seem to you the time has come to make more of the

storythat the public might prefer a little more human interest and a little less clowning?"

"It seems to me," said the tenor, "that if you could write an opera round an interesting love story, you would

score a success. Of course, let there be plenty of humour, but reduce it to its proper place. As a support, it is

excellent; when it is made the entire structure, it is apt to be tiresomeat least, that is my view."

"Of course, so far as I am personally concerned," went on the tenor, "it is immaterial. I draw the same salary

whether I'm on the stage five minutes or an hour. But when you have a man of my position in the cast, and

"The lover," whispered the tenor, noticing the careless approach towards us of the low comedian, "that's the

character they are thinking about all the timemen and women both. It's human nature. Make your lover

Waiting for the horses to be put to, I became aware of the fact that I was standing some distance from the

others in company with a tall, thin, somewhat oldishlooking man. He spoke in low, hurried tones, fearful

"You'll forgive me, Mr. Kelver," he said"Trevor, Marmaduke Trevor. I play the Duke of Bayswater in the

I was unable to recall him for the moment; there were quite a number of small parts in the second act. But

He flushed with pleasure. "I made a great success some years ago," he said, "in America with a sodawater

syphon, and it occurred to me that if you could, Mr. Kelver, in a natural sort of way, drop in a small part

leading up to a little business with a sodawater syphon, it might help the piece."

I wrote him his sodawater scene, I am glad to remember, and insisted upon it, in spite of a good deal of

opposition. Some of the critics found fault with the incident, as lacking in originality. But Marmaduke Trevor

Our return journey was an exaggerated repetition of our morning drive. Our low comedian produced hideous

noises from the horn, and entered into contests of running wit with 'bus driversa decided mistake from his

point of view, the score generally remaining with the 'bus driver. At Hammersmith, seizing the opportunity of

a block in the traffic, he assumed the role of Cheap Jack, and, standing up on the back seat, offered all our

"Got any ideas out of them?" asked Hodgson, when the time came for us to say goodnight.

"I'm thinking, if you don't mind," I answered, "of going down into the country and writing the piece quietly,

"Perhaps you are right," agreed Hodgson. "Too many cooks Be sure and have it ready for the autumn."

I wrote it with some pleasure to myself amid the Yorkshire Wolds, and was able to read it to the whole

company assembled before the close of the season. My turning of the last page was followed by a dead

silence. The leading lady was the first to speak. She asked if the clock upon the mantelpiece could be relied

upon; because, if so, by leaving at once, she could just catch her train. Hodgson, consulting his watch,

thought, if anything, it was a little fast. The leading lady said she hoped it was, and went. The only

comforting words were spoken by the tenor. He recalled to our mind a successful comic opera produced some

years before at the Philharmonic. He distinctly remembered that up to five minutes before the raising of the

curtain everybody had regarded it as rubbish. He also had a train to catch. Marmaduke Trevor, with a covert

shake of the hand, urged me not to despair. The low comedian, the last to go, told Hodgson he thought he

might be able to do something with parts of it, if given a free hand. Hodgson and I left alone, looked at each

"How do you know it is no good from a boxoffice point of view?" I ventured to enquire.

"Cheer up," he added kindly, "this is only your first attempt. We must try and knock it into shape at

"I'll tell you what we'll do," would say the low comedian; "we'll cut that scene out altogether." Joyously he

"But it is. It is the scene in which Roderick escapes from prison and falls in love with the gipsy."

"My dear boy, halfadozen words will do all that. I meet Roderick at the ball. 'Hallo, what are you doing

here?' 'Oh, I have escaped from prison.' 'Good business. And how's Miriam?' 'Well and happyshe is going

"I have been speaking to Mr. Hodgson," would observe the leading lady, "and he agrees with me, that if

The tenor would lead me into a corner. "I want you to write in a little scene for myself and Miss Duncan at

the beginning of the first act. I'll talk to her about it. I think it will be rather pretty. I want herthe second

time I see herto have come out of her room on to a balcony, and to be standing there bathed in moonlight."

"But the opera opens with a hunting scene. People don't go hunting by moonlight."

"It will be a novelty. That's what's wanted for comic opera. The ordinary hunting scene! My dear boy, it has

I stood this sort of thing for a week. "They are people of experience," I argued to myself; "they must know

more about it than I do." By the end of the week I had arrived at the conclusion that anyhow they didn't.

Added to which I lost my temper. It is a thing I should advise any lady or gentleman thinking of entering the

ranks or dramatic authorship to lose as soon as possible. I took both manuscripts with me, and, entering Mr.

Hodgson's private room, closed the door behind me. One parcel was the opera as I had originally written it, a

neat, intelligible manuscript, whatever its other merits. The second, scored, interlined, altered, cut,

interleaved, rewritten, reversed, turned inside out and topsyturvyone long, hopeless confusion from

beginning to endwas the opera, as, everybody helping, we had "knocked it into shape."

"That's your opera," I said, pushing across to him the bulkier bundle. "If you can understand it, if you can

make head or tail of it, if you care to produce it, it is yours, and you are welcome to it. This is mine!" I laid it

on the table beside the other. "It may be good, it may be bad. If it is played at all it is played as it is written.

He argued with force, and he argued with eloquence. He appealed to my selfinterest, he appealed to my

better nature. It occupied him forty minutes by the clock. Then he called me an obstinate young fool, flung

the opera as "knocked into shape" into the wastepaper basketwhich was the only proper place for it, and,

striding into the middle of the company, gave curt directions that the damned opera was to be played as it was

The company shrugged its shoulders, and for the next month kept them shrugged. For awhile Hodgson

remained away from the rehearsals, then returning, developed by degrees a melancholy interest in the

So far I had won, but my difficulty was to maintain the position. The low comedian, reciting his lines with

meaningless monotony, would pause occasionally to ask of me politely, whether this or that passage was

"You think," the leading lady would enquire, more in sorrow than in anger, "that any girl would behave in

"Perhaps the audience will understand it," would console himself hopefully the tenor. "Myself, I confess I

With a sinking heart concealed beneath an aggressively disagreeable manner, I remained firm in my

"pigheaded conceit," as it was regarded, Hodgson generously supporting me against his own judgment.

"It's bound to be a failure," he told me. "I am spending some twelve to fifteen hundred pounds to teach you a

lesson. When you have learnt it we'll square accounts by your writing me an opera that will pay."

From all which a dramatic author of more experience would have gathered cheerfulness and hope, knowing

that the time to be depressed is when the manager and company unanimously and unhesitatingly predict a six

months' run. But new to the business, I regarded my literary career as already at an end. Belief in oneself is

merely the match with which one lights oneself. The oil is supplied by the belief in one of others; if that be

not forthcoming, one goes out. Later on I might try to light myself again, but for the present I felt myself dark

and dismal. My desire was to get away from my own smoke and smell. The final dress rehearsal over, I took

my leave of all concerned. The next morning I would pack a knapsack and start upon a walking tour through

Holland. The English papers would not reach me. No human being should know my address. In a month or so

I would return, the piece would have disappearedwould be forgotten. With courage, I might be able to

"I shall run it for three weeks," said Hodgson, "then we'll withdraw it quietly, 'owing to previous

arrangements'; or Duncan can suddenly fall illshe's done it often enough to suit herself; she can do it this

once to suit me. Don't be upset. There's nothing to be ashamed of in the piece; indeed, there is a good deal

that will be praised. The idea is distinctly original. As a matter of fact, that's the fault with it," added

He laughed. "Yes, but original for the stage, I meantthe old dolls in new frocks."

For two months I wandered, avoiding beaten tracks, my only comrades a few books, belonging to no age, no

country. My worries fell from me, the personal affairs of Paul Kelver ceasing to appear the be all and the end

all of the universe. But for a chance meeting with Wellbourne, Deleglise's amateur caretaker of Gower Street

fame, I should have delayed yet longer my return. It was in one of the dead cities of the Zuyder Zee. I was

sitting under the lindens on the grassgrown quay, awaiting a slow, crawling boat that, four miles off, I

watched a moving speck across the level pastures. I heard his footsteps in the empty marketplace behind

me, and turned my head. I did not rise, felt even no astonishment; anything might come to pass in that still

land of dreams. He seated himself beside me with a nod, and for awhile we smoked in silence.

"I'm not Wellbourne himself," he went on, in answer to my look; "I am only his spirit. Have you ever tested

that belief the Hindoos hold: that a man may leave his body, wander at will for a certain period, remembering

only to return ere the thread connecting him with flesh and blood be stretched to breaking point? It is quite

correct. I often lock the door of my lodging, leave myself behind, wander a free Spirit."

He pulled from his pocket a handful of loose coins and looked at them. "The thread that connects us, I am

sorrow to say, is wearing somewhat thin," he sighed; "I shall have to be getting back to him before

longconcern myself again with his troubles, follies. It is somewhat vexing. Life is really beautiful, when

"Haven't you heard?" he replied. "Tom died five weeks ago, quite suddenly, of syncope. We had none of us

So Norah was alone in the world. I rose to my feet. The slowly moving speck had grown into a thin, dark

"By the way, I have to congratulate you," said Wellbourne. "Your opera looked like being a big thing when I

I reached London the next evening. Passing the theatre on my way to Queen's Square, it occurred to me to

I met the low comedian on his way to his dressingroom. He shook me warmly by the hand.

"Well," he said, "we're pulling them in. I was right, you see, Give me plenty of opportunity.' That's what I

told you, didn't I? Come and see the piece. I think you will agree with me that I have done you justice."

"Not at all," he returned; "it's a pleasure to work, when you've got something good to work on."

"I am so grateful to you," said the leading lady. "It is so delightful to play a real live woman, for a change."

"It is what I have been telling Hodgson for years," he said, "give them a simple human story."

He sank his voice to a whisper. "I want to talk to you on business, when you have the time. I am thinking of

taking a theatre myselfnot just now, but later on. Of course, I don't want it to get about."

"If it comes off, I want you to write for me. You understand the public. We will talk it over."

"Two stalls not sold and six seats in the upper circle," he informed me; "not bad for a Thursday night."

"I knew you could do it," said Hodgson, "I felt sure of it merely from seeing that comedietta of yours at the

Correction under the circumstances would have been unkind. Promising to see him again in the morning, I

left him with his customary good conceit of himself unimpaired, and went on to the Square. I rang twice, but

there was no response. I was about to sound a third and final summons, when Norah joined me on the step.

"We must wait to shake hands," she laughed, as she opened the door. "I hope you have not been kept long.

"No one. You know it was a whim of his. I used to get quite cross with him at times. But I should not like to

"No," she answered; "if there had been I could have argued him out of it." She paused at the door of the

A wood fire was burning on the open hearth, flashing alternate beams of light and shadow down the long bare

room. The high oak stool stood in its usual place beside the engraving desk, upon which lay old Deleglise's

last unfinished plate, emitting a dull red glow. I paced the creaking boards with halting steps, as through

some ghostly gallery hung with dim portraits of the dead and living. In a little while Norah entered and came

She had seated herself upon the broad stone kerb. With her hand she stirred the logs; they shot into a clear

white flame. Thus, the light upon her face, she raised it gravely towards mine. It spoke to me with fuller

voice. The clear grey eyes were frank and steadfast as ever, but shadow had passed into them, deepening

"Tom left something to you," said Norah, rising, "not in his will, that was only a few lines. He told me to give

She brought it to me. It was the picture he had always treasured, his first success; a child looking on death;

We spoke of him, of his work, which since had come to be appraised at truer value, for it was out of fashion

"But he dreamt of becoming a second Millet. He confessed it to me once. And he died an engraver."

"I remember a favourite saying of his," continued Norah, after a pause; "I do not know whether it was

"It is necessary always to allow for deflection," laughed Norah. "Apparently it takes a wouldbe poet to write

"Ah, you do not understand!" I cried. "It was not mere ambition; cap and bells or laurel wreath! that is small

matter. I wanted to help. The world's cry of pain, I used to hear it as a boy. I hear it yet. I meant to help. They

that are heavy laden. I hear their cry. They cry from dawn to dawn and none heed them: we pass upon the

other side. Man and woman, child and beast. I hear their dumb cry in the night. The child's sob in the silence,

the man's fierce curse of wrong. The dog beneath the vivisector's knife, the overdriven brute, the creature

tortured for an hour that a gourmet may enjoy an instant's pleasure; they cried to me. The wrong and the

sorrow and the pain, the long, low, endless moan God's ears are weary of; I hear it day and night. I thought to

"What do we know? We see but a corner of the scheme. This fortress of laughter that a few of you have been

set apart to guardthis rallyingpoint for all the forces of joy and gladness! how do you know it may not be

the key to the whole battle! It is far removed from the grand charges and you think yourself forgotten. Trust

4. PROLOGUE. IN WHICH THE AUTHOR SEEKS TO CAST THE RESPONSIBILITY OF THIS STORY UPON ANOTHER., page = 4

6. CHAPTER I. PAUL, ARRIVED IN A STRANGE LAND, LEARNS MANY THINGS, AND GOES TO MEET THE MAN IN GREY., page = 7

7. CHAPTER II. IN WHICH PAUL MAKES ACQUAINTANCE OF THE MAN WITH THE UGLY MOUTH., page = 19

8. CHAPTER III. HOW GOOD LUCK KNOCKED AT THE DOOR OF THE MAN IN GREY., page = 26

9. CHAPTER IV. PAUL, FALLING IN WITH A GOODLY COMPANY OF PILGRIMS, LEARNS OF THEM THE ROAD THAT HE MUST TRAVEL. AND MEETS THE PRINCESS OF THE GOLDEN LOCKS., page = 35

10. CHAPTER V. IN WHICH THERE COMES BY ONE BENT UPON PURSUING HIS OWN WAY., page = 43

11. CHAPTER VI. OF THE SHADOW THAT CAME BETWEEN THE MAN IN GREY AND THE LADY OF THE LOVE-LIT EYES., page = 51

15. CHAPTER X. IN WHICH PAUL IS SHIPWRECKED, AND CAST INTO DEEP WATERS., page = 92

17. CHAPTER I. DESCRIBES THE DESERT ISLAND TO WHICH PAUL WAS DRIFTED., page = 104

18. CHAPTER II. PAUL, ESCAPING FROM HIS SOLITUDE, FALLS INTO STRANGE COMPANY. AND BECOMES CAPTIVE TO ONE OF HAUGHTY MIEN., page = 116

19. CHAPTER III. GOOD FRIENDS SHOW PAUL THE ROAD TO FREEDOM. BUT BEFORE SETTING OUT, HE WILL GO A-VISITING., page = 130

22. CHAPTER VI. OF THE GLORY AND GOODNESS AND THE EVIL THAT GO TO THE MAKING OF LOVE., page = 170