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Zbc "RuincD Sanctuary?.
By S. E. Wai.i.ku. fieftrt^lured by permixsvnt of the fierlin I'hutographir Cnmpauy, Tjnmhm, W. copyriyht, ]mi, fry PhoKtgraphitche (ieteUfha/t. Digitized by
THE
Windsor Magazine
AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY
FOR
MEN AND WOMEN
VOL. XIX
DECEMBER 1903 to MAY 1904
LONDON WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED
WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARK, E.G.
'9°4 Digitized by Google
LONDON : PRINTKI) BT WILLIAM CLOWRS AND SONS, LIMITRD, DUKE »TRRRT. STAMFORD STRKKT, S.R., AND QRRAT WINDMILL STREET,
Digitized by
PAOK
A Study A. Popini 509
Adeler, Max. "The Flying Dutchman" 125
Advice to Singers. Illustrated Madanie Patti 176
An American Impresario. Illustrated from photographs Ian Maclaren 76
An Old-World Measure Lucien Davis^ R.I. 483
*'And thb Next Thing, Please?" St. Clair Simmons 673
Anti-Microbe Maniac, The. Illustrated from photographs .... Lewis Perry 505
Argan Forest, The. Illustrated by A. S. Forrest S. L. Bensusan 430
.Argyll, The Duke op. " Highland Games " 31
Arrest op a Seventeenth-Century Champion, The. .... Jean Paul Laurens 332
Art of Mr. G. H. Bouqhton, R.A., The. Illustrated from the Artist's pictures . John Oldcastle 51
At Bay Oscar Wilson 249
Badly Put James Oreig 687
Bailey, H. C. " The Nun of Newstead " 145
Bamng-Gould, S. " The Red-Haired Girl " 197
Barlow, Jane. "The Hins* Housekeeper" 369
Barr, Bobert. "The Countess Decides" 583
Battersby, H. F. Prbvost. " The SomAli Camel " 309
Bennett, Arnold. " His Worship the Goosedriver " 255
"Nocturne at the Majestic" 735
Bensusan, S. L. "A Night with Poachers" 551
" The Argan Forest " 430
"The Snakes of the New Forest" 786
"The Stair Gardens" 667
Best Place, The Val Norton 210
"Black Coffee, Please" Fleming Williams ^ffl
" Bobbing." Illustrated from photographs A Bobber 243
Boughton, Mr. G. H., The Art op John Oldcastle 61
Bowley, a. L. " Now Christmas is Come " 14
Broken Contract, A . 208
Bull, C. Livingston. Illustrations to " The Freedom of the Black-faced Ram "... 531
" The King of the Northern Slope " . .645
By a Mere Accident. Illustrated by Fleming Williams E. Nesbit 250
Cameron, John. Illustrations to " The Career of Joan Carthew " . 115, 316, 436, 540, 626, 791
"Precision of Langua^ge" 181
Cabeeb of Joan Carthew, The. I. — " The Old Lady in the Victoria " Mrs. C. N. Williamson 115
II.—" The Steam- Yacht * Titania * " 316
ni.— " The Tenants of Roseneath Park " 436
IV.— "The Woman who Knew" 640
v.— " The Coup of * The Planet ' " 626
VI.—" Kismet and a V.C." 791
Castle, Aones and Eqerton. " The Heart of Lord Mandeville " 467
" To the Tune of Little Red Heels " 161
Cemetery fob Pet Animals, A. Illustrated from photographs . diaries E. Branch 774
Christmas at Sea 209
Climbers, The A. C. Noble 785
Clouds, The. Illustrated from photographs F. S. Ho^n, Junr. 138
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iv TXDE.W
Concerning Essays. Illustrated by H. Cowham . . By a Boy who Wrote One 622
Conquest of the Kitchen, The. Illustrated from photographs . M. H. Morrison 266
Conscience Money Hon. Lyman Gage 478
Consolation p. Qrandidier 568
CooPEB, E. H. •* Nancy's Reason " 780
Countess Decides, The. Illustrated by Harrison Fisher Robert Barr 583
Crowning op Esther, The. Illustrated by A. Buckland Annis Lennoys 484
CuNEO, Cyrus. Illustrations to "The Nun of Newstead" . 145
Davis, Lucien. "An Old-World Measure" . 483
Dog-Barbers of Paris, The. Illustrated from photographs Itdouard Charles 287
Dog-Stroker, The Herbert West brook 827
Ducal Visit, The H. Etnson 207
Duel in France. Illustrated from photographs ttdoxiord Charles 403
Editor's Scrap-Book, The 205, 327, 447, 567, 687, 800
Evening Red and the Evening Grey, The Harold Percival 636
^Explanation, The Howard Sonicrville 205, 670
Extract from Winifred's Letter Fleming Williams 689
Fact and Fancy Sir Noel Paton 242
Fives. Illustrated from photographs Eustace Miles 694
Flying Dutchman, The. Illustrated by Will Owen Max Adeler 125
For Sociability's Sake Jantes Oreig 688
Forman, Justus Miles. "The Garden of Lies" .... 81, 291, 375, 510, 601, 751
Forrest, A. S. Illustrations to "A Night with Poachers" 561
"The Argan Forest" 480
" The Stair Gardens " 667
Freedom of the Black-faced Ram, The. Illustrated by C. L. Bull. Chat Us G. D. Roberts 531
French Westminster Abbey, The Alder Anderson 453
Frontispieces. " Joan of Arc at the Head of French Troops "... K. Lenepveu 452
"Nancy" F. Russ 572
"The Arrest of a Seventeenth-Century Champion" . . Jean Paul Laurens 332
" The Gallant's Ambush " Hal Hurst 212
" The Ruined Sanctuary " 5.-67. Waller 2
" William the Conqueror Granting a Charter to the Citizens of London "
Seymour Lucas, R.A. 692
FuRNiss, Harry. " Some Great Big Men " 723
" The Superstitions of Some Famous Men " 154
Gallant' Ambush, The Hal Hurst 212
Game of Draughts, A. Illustrated by E. J. Sullivan Fred M. White 67
Garden of Lies, The. Illustrated by Maurice Greiffenhagen . Justus Miles Forman
81, 291, 375, 510, 601, 751
Great Painter's Life-Story, A. Illustrated from Jean Paul Laurens's pictures Alder Anderson 333 Greiffenhagen, Maurice. Illustrations to "The Garden of Lies" . . 81,291,375,510,601,751
Gribble, Francis. " The Secret Society " 557
Heart op a Man, The. Illustrated by E. B. Knipe Ellis Parker Butler 131
Heart op Lord Mandeville. Illustrated by Fred Pegram . Agnes and Egerton Castle 467
Heavy-Weight Juggler, A. Illustrated from photographs £douard Charles 746
Highland Games. Illustrated â– . Duke of Argyll 31
Hill, L. Raven-. Illustrations to " Tommy & Co." ... .38, 277, 345, 492, 661
HiNs' Housekeeper, The. Illustrated by Gunning King Jane Barlow 369
His Worship the Goosedriver. Illustrated by Gunning King . Arnold Bennett 255
Hospitality that Failed, The Louis Wain 449
Hurst, Hal, R.L " The Gallant's Ambush " 212
Illustrations to " To the Tune of Little Red Heels " 161
Inconsistent Gilbert James 447
Jerome, J. K. " Tommy & Co." 38, 277, 345, 492, 651, 709
Joan of Arc at the Head of French Troops F. Lenepveu 452
Joyce and the Young Hooligan. Illustrated from a photograph . . Dorothy Braithwaite 674
Kellett, E. E. " Precision of Language " '. ,; ^^^
King, Gunning. Illustrations to " His Worship the Goosedriver " 255
" The Hins' Housekeeper " 369
King of the Northern Srx)PE, The. Illustrated by C. L. Bull Edwin Carlile Litsey 645
Kipling, Rudyard. " Their Lawful Occasions " ^^ • t ^' ^^
Digitized by
INDEX. V
PACK
Lady Molly Calvtsblby. Illustrated by Penrhyn Stantaws H..B, McurioU Watson 408
Laubeks, Jean Paul, and his Picjtubbs Alder Anderson 333
Leopabd Man's Story, The. Illustrated by A. G. Kilvert Jack London 489
Light on Lamps. Illustrated from photographs Harry Golding 688
Little Mobe, The Spencer Pryse 688
London. Jack. " The Leopard Man's Story " 489
Lych-Qate in Winteb, The Holland Tringham 689
Maclaben, Ian. " An American Impresario " 76
Man whom Nobody Liked, The. Illustrated by R. Pannett E. Phillips Oppenheim 25
MA.KKVITCHKA, IvAN, AND HIS PiCTUBES FredencK MoOTB 673
May Moon, The ' . . . . Harold Perdval llS
Metropolis, The Harold White 206
Might Change his Mind 829
Miles, Eustace. "Fives" 594
^IiLLiNERY OP the Law, The. Illustrated by T. Walter Wilson . . F. Payler 357
MOBE Work for Inventors Nixon Waterman 205
Most Mobtipying Hilda Cowham 569
"Nancy" F. Buss 672
Nancy's Reason. Illustrated by Bertha Newcombe E. H Cooper 780
Nbsbit, E. " By a Mere Accident " 250
Nbw Yeab's Greeting, A Alfred Weatherstone 315
Night with Poachers, A. Illustrated by A. S. Forrest S. L, Bensusan 551
No Bbspitb M. B. Hewerdine 448
Nocturne at the Majestic. Illustrated by F. H. Townsend .... Arnold Bewnett 786
Not Quite What was Meant E. C. Reynolds 829
Novice in Parliament, The. Illustrated by T. Walter Wilson . Sir Gilbert Parker, M.P. 15
"Now Christmas is Comb" A. L. Bowley 14
Nun op Newstead, The. Illustrated by Cyrus Cunc3 H, C. Bailey 145
Op Course Fleming Williams 448
On the Beach at Scheveningen Philip Sadie 491
"Oncb upon a Time" Dorothy Braithwaite 800
One OB Otheb Howard Somerville 690
Oppenheim, E. Phillips. "The Man whom Nobody Liked "' 25
Owen, Will. Illustrations to " The Flying Dutchman " 126
Painteb op Bulgabians, a. Illustrated from Ivan Markvitchka's pictures . Frederick Moore 573
Pabis Pantheon, The Paintings in the . Alder Anderson 458
Parkeb, M.P., Sib Gilbert. " The Novice in Parliament " 13
*' Pabloub Polo " E. Lander 330
Past Tense, The Will Qrefi 327
Patti, Madame. " Advice to Singers " 176
Pbobam, Feed. Illustrations to " The Heart of Lord Mandeville " 467
Pena, Maximo, and his Pictubbs 5. JB. Lewison 213
" Pebhaps— Pbbhaps Not " E. Barrington 800
Pbbsonalities A, T. Smith 802
Pictubbs in the Royal Exchange, The Wilfrid MeyneU 693
PoACHBBS, The • S. E. Waller 237
POETBY. " A Bric-4-Brac Affair " Minna Irving 179
" A Child's Thoughts " Florence Wilkinson 113
"A Confession" Florence Wilkinson 556
"A Cup of Sack" A. J. Wareing 804
"A Day-dream" A. D. Ooltz 504
"A Successful Suitor" Felix Carmen 687
"After" Theodosia Garrison 446
"Beyond" Florence W%lkins(yn 286
"Boys and Girls" Florence Wilkinson 50
"Counsel of Quietness" Ethel M. Hewitt 621
"Dreams" Felix Carmen 13
" Followers " Laurence Housman 750
" Foreknowledge " Ethel M. Hewitt 560
" Illumination " Herbert Morrah 746
"In Surrey Lanes" Rosamund Marriott Watson 196
" John-a-Dreams " Florence Wilkinson 638
" Just Once Again I " L. G. Moberly 784
" None Needed " G, T. Evans 124
" Ports " Charles Hanson Towne 672
"Requiem" May Myrtle French 326
"Rustling Ladies in the Corn" Florence Wilkitison 666
" The Ballade of Brown Minor " Diaitized* ^^^ ^^'^^^ *29
vi INDEX.
POETBY. "The Collapsible Cup" Florence WxOcvnton^^^
" The Daffodils " Agnes Groeier Herberteon 600
"The Great Adventure" Bliss Carman 180
" The Last Prayer " Theodosia Oarrisan 808
" The Old Year " Clarence Urmy 80
" The Procession " Charles Hanson Towne 254
"The Wood After Rain" Emery Pottle 682
" When Beulah Went Out of her Head " Florence Wilkinson 418
" When We Meet Again " L. O, Moberly 477
"Why?" Madeline Bridges 690
Point op View, The a, Finberg 801
Polly. Illustrated by the Author Mrs, Herbert BaiUon 238
Popularity of Algernon Fitz Clarence, The Herbert Westbrook 802
Poser, A Charles Pears 328
Practical Point of View, The VcU Norton 800
Precision of Language. Illustrated by J. Cameron E. E. Kellett 181
Prout, Victor. Illustrations to " Their Lawful Occasions " 8, 226
Quaint Survivals of Ancient Customs. Illustrated from photographs Ernest Protheroe 101
Railton, Mrs. Herbert. " Polly '* 288
Rather a Shock for Mother Charles Pears 206
Raven-Hill, L. Illustrations to " Tommy & Co." 38, 277, 845, 492, 661, 709
Ray of Hope, The Harold WhiU 829
Reclaiming an Ocean Bed. Illustrated from photographs Walter Welltnan 893
Red-Hairbd Girl, The. Illustrated by 0. Wilson S. Baring-Oould 197
Red Petals. Illustrated by W. G. Simmonds Fred M, White 419
Ruined Sanctuary, The s, E. Waller 2
Scheme of Sutcliffe, Swindler, The. Illustrated by W. D. Slavin . . W. H, Osborne 708
Secret Society, The. Illustrated by H. Austin Francis Oribble 567
Snakes of the New Forest, The. Illustrated from photographs . S. L. Bensusan 786
So they Have Q, H, Jalland 668
Soft Answer, The A. Ray 210
Somali Camel, The. Illustrated from photographs . H. F. Prevost Battersby 309
Some Great Bio Men. Illustrated by the Author Harry Fumiss 723
Some Questions Carry their Own Answers Q, H Jalland 450
Soon Explained Arthur Oill 208
Spanish Portrait-Painter, A. Illustrated from paintings . S. B. Lewison 213
Stair Gardens, The. Illustrated by A. S. Forrest S. L. Bensusan 667
Stanlaws, Penrhyn. Illustrations to •' Lady Molly Calverley " 408
Story of the Snake, The. Illustrated A, W. Bolker 187
Superstitions of Some Famous Men, The. Illustrated by the Author . Harry Fumiss 154
Sworn as Dead. Illustrated by J. Barnard Davis William Westall 677
" Their Lawful Occasions." Illustrated by V. Prout .... Rudyard Kipling, 8, 226
To the Tune of Little Red Heels. Illustrated by Hal Hurst, R.I. Agnes and Egerton Castle 161
Tommy & Co. I. — " Tommy Shows Aptitude for Journalism " . Jerome K. Jerome 88
II.—** The Beginnings of William Clodd " 277
in.—** The Education of the Grindleys " 846
IV.—** Mrs. Loveredge Receives " 492
V. — *' * Good Humour * Obtains the Marble Soap Advertisement '* 651
VI.—** Dick Danvors Comes to Life " 709
TowNSEND, F. H. Illustrations to ** Nocturne at the Majestic " 736
Unanswerable, The B, H. Bahilly 802
Uncalled Roll, The Charles Pears 667
Unsaved Situation, The Howard SomerviUe 808
Waller, S. E. **The Poachers" 237
**The Ruined Sanctuary" 2
Watson, H. B. Marriott. ** Lady Molly Calverley " 408
Wheat Hospital, A. Illustrated from photographs .... Frederick A. A, TaXbot 729
White, Fred M. ** A Game of Draughts " 67
**Red Petals" 419
William the Conqueror Granting a Charter to the Citizens of London Seymour Lucas, B,A. 692 Williamson, Mrs. C. N. ** The Career of Joan Carthew " . . 115, 816, 436, 540, 626, 791
Wilson, Oscar. ** At Bay I " 249
•* Won't You Come In?" 24
Wilson, T. Walter. Illustrations to ** The Millinery of the Law " 857
*' The Novice in Parliament " 15
When to Appreoiatb Charles Pears 327
** Won't you Comb In?" O^Qfn' Wilson 24
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"THEIR LAWFUL OCCASIONS."
By RUDYARD KIPLING.*
Part I.
DISREGARDING the inventions of the Marine Captain whose other name is Gubbins, let a plain state- ment suffice.
H.M.S. CaryatUl went to Portland to join ilue Fleet for mancEuvres. I travelled over- md from London by way of Portsmouth, rhere I fell among friends. When I reached Portland, H.M.S. CaryaUdy whose guest [ was to have been, had, with Blue Fleet, already sailed for some secret rendezvous off rhe west coast of Ireland, and Portland breakwater was filled with Red Fleet, my official enemies and joyous acquaintances, who received me with immense hospitality, "^or example, Lieutenant-Commander A. L. "^lignett, in charge of three destroyers, iVraith, Stiletto, and Kohbold, due to depart I is advance guard that same evening, offered I me a berth on his thirty-knot flagship ; but I preferred my comforts, and so accepted sleeping-room in H.M.S. Pedantic (15,000 tons), leader of the second line. After dining aboard her, I took boat to Weymouth to get my kit aboard, as war would be declared at midnight. In tmns- ferring my allegiance, whatever the Marine Captain may say, I did no wrong. I truly intended to return to the Pedantic and assist in driving Blue Fleet oflF the seas. All I needed was a new tooth-brush, which I bought from a chemist in a side street at 9.15 p.m. As I turned to go, one entered seeking alleviation of a gum -boil. He was dressed in a check ulster, a black silk hat three sizes too small, cord breeches, boots, and pure brass spurs. These he managed painfully, stepping like a prisoner fresh from leg-irons. As he adjusted the pepper-plaster to the gum, the light fell on his face, and I recognised Mr. Emanuel Pyecroft, late second-class petty officer of H.M.S. Archi- mandrite, an unforgettable man, met a year before under Tom Wessels' roof in Plymouth. It occurred to me that when a petty officer takes to spurs, he may conceivably meditate d^ertion. For that reason, I, though a
* Copyright, 1903, by Rudy aid Kipling, in the United States of America. All rights reserved. Dkckmber, 1903.
taxpayer, made no sign. Indeed, it was Mr. Pyecroft, following me out of the shop, who said hollowly : ** What might you be doing here ? "
"I'm going on manoeuvres in the Pedantic,''' I replied.
" Ho ! " said Mr. Pyecroft. " An' what manner o' manoeuvres d'you expect to see in a blighted cathedral like the Pedantic ? I know 'er. I knew 'er in Malta, when the Vulcan was 'er permanent tender. Man- oeuvres I You won't see more than * Man an' arm watertight doors ! ' in your little woollen under-vest."
" I'm sorry for that."
" Why ? " He lurched heavily as his spurs caught and twanged like tuning-forks. " War's declared at midnight. Pedantics be sugared ! Buy an 'am an' see life I "
For the moment I fancied Mr. Pyecroft, a fugitive from justice, purposed that we two should embrace a Eobin Hood career amid the uplands of Dorset. The spurs troubled me, and I made bold to say as much. "Them I" he said, coming to a halt. " They're part of the prima facie evidence. But as for me— let me carry your bag — I'm second in command, leadin'-'and, cook, steward, an' lavatory-man, with a few in- cidentals for sixpence a day extra, oii No. 267 torpedo-boat."
" They wear spurs there ? "
"Well," said Mr. Pyecroft, "seein' that Two Six Seven was told off to Blue Fleet, which left the day before yesterday, dis- guises are imperative. It transpired thus. The Right Honourable Admiral Master Frankie Frobisher, K.C.B., commandin' Blue Fleet, can't be bothered with one tin- torpedo-boat more or less ; and what with lying' in the Reserf four years, an' what with the new kind o' tiffy which cleans dynamoes with brick-dust an' oil (Blast the^e spurs! They won't render !), Two Six Seven's steam gadgets was paralytic. Our Mr. Moorshed done 'is painstakin' best — it's 'is first com- mand of a war-canoe, matoor age nineteen (Down that alley - way, please !) ; but be that as it may, 'Is 'Oliuess Frankie is aware of us crabbin' ourselves round the break-
THE WTNDSOR MAGAZINE.
water «at five knots, an' stearin' pari passu, as the French say. (Up this alley-way, please !) If he'd given Mr. Hincbcliffe, our chief engineer, a little time, it would never 'ave transpired, for what Hinch can't drive he can coax ; but the new port bein' a trifle cloudy, an' 'is joints tinglin' after a post- captain dinner, Frankie come on the upper bridge seekin' for a sacrifice. We, offerin' a broadside tar- get, got it. 'E told ns what 'is grand- mamma, 'oo was a lady an' went to sea in stick - and - string bat- teaus, 'ad told Mm about steam. He thro wed in 'is own prayers for the 'ealtli an' safety of all steam- packets an' their officere. Then 'e give ns several dis- tinct orders. The first few — I kept taUy — was all about going to 'Ell ; the next many was about not evolutin' in 'is company, dejul or alive ; an' the last all was simply repeatin' the motions in quick time. K n 0 w i n ' Fran ki e 's groovin' to be badly eroded by age and lack of attention, I didn't much ]>anic ; but our Mr. Moorshed, 'e took it a little to 'eart. Me an' Mr. HinchclifiFe consoled 'im as well as service conditions permits of, an' w^e 'ad a r^swwe-supper at the back o' the Camber — secluded an' lugubrious ! Then one thing lead in' up to another, an' our orders, except about anchorin' in 'Ell, leavin' us a fair clear 'orizon, Number Two Six Seven is now (Mind the edge o' the wharf I) here I "
' War's declared at midnight. J au' sec
By mysterious doublings, he had brought me out on to the edge of a narrow strip of water crowded with ooaatwise shipping that runs far up into Weymouth town. A large foreign timber-brig lay at my feet, and under the round of her stem cowered, close to the wharf -edge, a slate-coloured, unkempt, two-funnelled craft of a type — but I am no expert — between the first-class torpedo- boats and the full-blooded destroyer. From her archaic tor- pedo - tube at the stern, and quick-firers forward and amidships, she m u s t nave dated from the early 'Nineties. Hammerings and clink- i n g s, wit li spurts of steam and fumes of hot oil, arose from her inside, and a figure in a jersey squat- ted on the engine - room gratings.
"She ain't much of a war - canoe, but you'll see more life in 'er than on an ' 0 I e squadron of Pedanticsy
' * W h y ?
She's laid
have gone," I
\ulantics be sugared ! life I ' "
Blue Fleet
up here— and protested.
" Pre-cisely. Only, in 'is comprehensive ordere, Frankie didn't put us out of action. Thus we're a non-neglectable fightin' factor which you mightn't think from this eleva- tion ; an'' m'rover, Red Fleet don't know we're 'ere. Most of us" — he glanced proudly at his boots— "didn't run to spurs, but we're disguised pretty devious, as you might say. Morgan, our signalliser, when
''THEIR LAWFUL OGGASTONSr
last seen, was a Davvlisli bathin'- machine proprietor. Hinchcliffe was naturally a German waiter, and me you be!old as a squire of low degree, while that Levantine dragoman on the 'atch is our Mr. Moorshid. 'E was the second cutter's snotty— my snotty — on the Archimandrite — two years — Cape Station. Likewise on the West Coast, man- grove-swampin', an' gettin' the cutter stove in on small an' unlikely bars, an' manu- facturin' lies to correspond. What I don't know about Mr. Moorshed is precisely the same gauge as what Mr. Moorshed don't know about me — 'alf a UHllimetre, as you might say. 'E comes into awful opulence of 'is own when 'e's of age ; an' judgiu' from what passed between us when Frankie cursed 'im, I don't think 'e cares whether 'e's broke to-morrow or — the day after. Are you beginnin' to follow our tatties ? They'll be worth foUowin'. Or are you goin' back to your nice little cabin on the Pedantic — which I lay they've just dismounted the third engineer out of — to eat four fat meals per diem, an' smoke in the casement ? "
The figure in the jersey lifted its head and mumbled.
"Yes, sir," was Mr. Pyecroft's answer. " I 'ave ascertained that Stilefto, Wraith, and Kohbold left at 6 p.m. with first division o' Red Fleet's cruisers, except Devolution and Cryptic, first-class cruisers, which are delayed by engine-room defects." Then to me : "'Won't you go aboard ? Mr. Moorshed 'ud like someone to talk to. You buy an 'am an' see life."
At this he vanished ; and the Demon of Pure Irresponsibility bade me lower myself from the ^ge of the wharf to the tea-tray plates of No. 267.
" What d'you want ? " said the jersey.
" I want to join Blue Fleet if I can," I replied. "I've been left behind by — an accident."
" WeU ? "
" Mr. Pyecroft told me to buy a ham and see life. How big a ham do you need ? "
" I don't want any ham, thank you. That's tlie way up the wharf. Good night."
"Good night!" I retraced my steps, wandered in the dark till I found a shop, and there purchased of sardines, cann^ tongue, lobster, and salmon, not less than half a hundredweight. A belated sausage- shop supplied me with a partially cut ham of pantomime tonnage. These things I, sweating, bore out to the edge of the wharf and sat down upon in the shadow of a crane. It was a fine, dark summer night, and from
time to time I laughed happily to myself The adventure wtis preordained on the face of it. Pyecroft alone, spurred or barefoot, would have drawn me very far from the paths of circumspection ; his advice to buy a ham and see life clinch^ it. Presently Mr. Pye- croft — I heard spurs clink — passed me. Then the jersey voice said : " What the devil's that ? "
" 'Asn't the visitor come aboard, sir ? 'E told me that 'e'd purposely abandoned the Pedantic for the pleasure of the trip with us. Told me he was official correspondent for the Times, an' I know 'e's litt'ery by the way 'e tries to talk Navy-talk. 'Aven't you seen 'im, sir ? "
Slowly and dispassionately the answer drawled along on the night : " Pye, you are without exception the biggest liar in the service ! "
"Then what am I to do with the bag, sir? It's marked with 'is name." There was a pause till Mr. Moorshed said " Oh ! " in a tone which the listener might construe precisely as he pleased.
" He was the maniac who wanted to buy a ham and see life — was he ? If he goes back to the Pedantic "
" Pre-cisely, sir. 'Gives it all away."
" Then what possessed you to give it away to him, you owl ? "
"I've got 'is bag. If 'e gives anything away, 'e'll 'ave to go naked."
At this point I thought it best to rattle my tins and step out of the shadow of the crane.
" I've bought the ham," I called sweetly. " Have you still any objection to my seeing life, Mr. Moorshed ?""
" All light, if you're insured. Won't you come down ? "
I descended ; Pyecroft, by a swift flank movement, possessing himself of all the provisions, which he bore to some hole forward.
" Have you known Mr. Pyecroft long ? " said my host.
" Met him once, a year ago, at Devonport. What do you think of him ? "
" What do you think of him ? "
" I've left the Pedantic — her boat will be waiting for me at ten o'clock, too— simply because I happened to meet him," I replied.
" That's all right. If you'll come down below, we'll get some grub."
We descended a naked steel ladder to a steel-beamed tunnel perhaps twelve feet square by six high. Leather- topped lockers ran along either side ; a swinging table, with
THE WINDSOR MAGA^fNH,
tray and lamp above, occupied the centime. Other furniture there was none.
" You can't shave here, of course ; we don't wash, and, as a rule, we eat with our finocers when we're at sea. D'you mind ? "
Mr. Moorshed, black-haired, black-browed, sallovv-complexioned, looked me over from heiid to foot and grinned. He was not handsome in any way, but his smile drew the heart. " You didn't happen to hear what Frankie told me from the flao:ship, did you ? His last instructions, aud I've logged 'em here in shorthand, were " — he opened a neat pocket-book : — " Get out of this and conduct your own manxuvres in your own tinker fashion! You're a disgrace to the service^ and your hoaCs offaV^
"Awful?" I said.
" No — ofifal — tripes — swipes — ullage." Mr. Pyecroft entered, in the costume of his calling, with the ham and an assortment of tin dishes, which he dealt out like cards.
*• I shall take these as my orders," said Mr. Moorshed. " I'm chucking the service at the end of the year, so it doesn't matter. Let us chow 1 "
We cut into the ham, washed it down with whisky, and then smoked. From the foreside of the bulkhead came an uninter- rupted hammering and clinking, and now and then a hiss of steam.
"That's Mr. HinchclifiFe," said Pyecroft. " He's what is called a first-class engine- room artificer. If you 'and 'im a drum of oil an' leave 'im alone, 'e can coax a bicycle to do typewritin'."
Very leisurely, at the end of his first pipe, Mr. Mooi-shed drew out a folded map, cut from a newspaper, of the area of manoeuvres, with the rules that regulate these wonderful things, below.
" Well, I suppose I know as much as an average stick-and-string admiral," he said, yawning. " Is our petticoat ready yet, Mr. Pyecroft ? "
As a preparation for naval manoeuvres, these councils seemed inadequate. I fol- lowed up the ladder into the gloom cast by the wharf edge and the big lumber-ship's side. When my eyes had stretched to the darkness, Tsaw that No. 2G7 had mii-aculously sprouted an extra pair of funnels — soft, for they gave as I touched them.
" "More prima facie evidence ! You runs a rope fore an' aft, an' you erects perpendick- u-arly two canvas tubes, which you distends with cane hoops, thus 'avin' four funnels like a destroyer. At the word o' command, up they go like a pair o' concertinas, an'
consec^uently collapses equally 'andy when requisite. Comin' aft, we shall doubtless overtake the Dawlish bathin'-machine pro- prietor fittin' on 'er bustle."
Mr. Pyecroft whispered this in my ear as Moorshed moved towards a group at the stern.
" None of us who ain't built that way can be destroyers, but we can look as near it as we can. Let me explain to you, sir, that the stern of a ThornycroFt boat, which we are not, comes out in a pretty bulge, 'oily different from the Yarrow mark, which again we are not. But, on the other 'and, iJir/r, Stiletto, Ooblin, Ghoul, I^inn, and A-frite — Red Fleet dee-stroyers with 'oom we 'ope to consort later on terms o' perfect equality — are Thornycrof ts, an' carry that Grecian bend which we are now ad Justin' to our arrier- pensive — as the French would put it — by means of painted canvas an' iron rods, bent as requisite. Between you an' me an' Frankie, we are the Gnome, now in the Fleet Reserve at Pompey — Portsmouth, I should say."
" The first sea will carry it all away," said Moorshed, leaning gloomily outboard, " bub it will do for the present."
" We've a lot oi primxt facie evidence about us," Mr. Pyecroft went on. " A first-class torpedo-boat sits lower in the water than a destroyer. 'Ence we artificially raise our sides with a black canvas wash-streak to represent extra freeboard ; at the same time paddin' out the cover of the forward three- pounder like as if it was a twelve-pounder, an' variously fakin' up the bows of 'er. As you might say, we've took thought an' added a cubit to our stature. It's our len'th that sugara us. A 'undred an' forty feet, which is our len'th, into two 'undred and ten, which is about the Gnome's, leaves seventy feet over, which we 'aven't got."
"Is this all your own notion, Mr. Pye- croft ? " I asked.
" In spots, you might say — ^yes ; though we all contributed to make up deficiencies. But Mr. Moorshed, not much carin' for further Navy after what Frankie said, cer- tainly threw 'imself into the part with avidity."
" What the dickens are we going to do ? "
" Speaking as a seaman gunner, I should say we'd wait till the sights came on, an' then fire. Speakin' as a tx^rpedo-coxswain, L.T.O., T.I., M.D., etc., I presume we fall in — Number One in rear ot the tube, etc., etc., secure tube to ball or diaphragm, clear away securin'-bar, release safety-pin from
** * Pye, you are without exception the biggeit liar in the service ! ' '*
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THE WIXDSOR MAGAZIXi:.
lockin'-levers, an' praj 'Eaven to look down on us. As second in command o' 267, I say wait an' see ! "
" We're off ! " I said. The timber-ship had slid away from us.
" We are. Stern first, an' broadside on 1 If we don't 'it anything too 'ard, we'll do."
"Come on the bridge," stiid Mr. Moor- shed. I saw no bridge, but ft^ll over w>nio sort of conning-tower forwrud, near \\\\\A\ was a wheel. For the next few ininiiU'rt I was more occupied with cumiijt^ my u\\\i folly than with the science nf nuvi- gation. Therefore I cannut m,y how we got out of Weyni'Hitli* harbour, nor why it was neuof^- sary to turn sharp to the i(?fr. and wallow in w^hat appeared to be surf.
" Excuse me," said Mr. Pyecroft, behind us, **/ don't mind rammin' a bathin'-machine ; but if only one of them week-end Weymouth blighters 'as thrown his empty baccy -tin into the sea 'ere, we'll rip our plates open on it. She isn't the Archimandrite's old cutter."
" I am hugging the shore," was the answer.
** There's no actual 'arm in 'uggin', but it can come expensive."
" Right 0 ! " said Moor- shed, putting down the w^heel ; and as we left thont scant waters, I felt 267 move more freely.
A thin cough ran up th</ speaking-tube.
" Well, what is it, Mr. Hinch- clifiFe ? "
" I merely wished to report that she is still continuin' to go, sir."
" Right 0 ! Can we whack her up to fifteen, d'you think ? "
** I'll try, sir ; but we'd prefer to have the engine-room hatches open — at first, sir."
Whacked up then she was, and for half an hour we careered largely through the night, turning at last with a suddenness that slung US across the narrow deck.
"This" said Mr. Pyecroft, who received me on his chest as a large rock receives a
shadow, " represents the Onmnp arrivin' cautious from the direction o' Pompey."
He pointed through the darkness ahead, and after much staring, my eyes opened to a dozen destroyers, in two lines, some few hundred yards away.
" Those are the Red Fleet destroyer-
Get
out of this and conduct your own maoGeuvrcs in your own tinker fashion ! ' "
flotilla, which is too frail to panic about among the full-blooded cruisere inside Port- land breakwater, and several millimetres too excited over the approachin' war to keep a look-out insiiore. 'Ence our tatties I "
We wailed through our siren — a long, malignant, liVitMia-like howl— and a voice hailed us as we went astern tumultuonsly.
"The (iHome - Carteret- Jones — from Portsmouth, with orders — mm — mm —
''THEIR LAWFUL OCCASIONS:
StUeltOy' Moorshed answered through the megaphone in a high, whining voice, rather like a chaplain's.
" WJw ? "
" Carter— et— Jones."
' Oh ! "
There was a pause ; a voice cried to some friend : " It's Podgie, adrift on the high seas in charge of a little dee-stroyer ! "
Another voice echoed *' Podgie ! " and fr-om its note I gathered that Mr. Carteret- Jones had a reputation, but not for in- dependent command.
" Who's your sub ? " said the first speaker, a shadow on the bridge of the Dirk,
" A gunner at present, sir. Stiletto — broken down— turns over to us."
" When did Stiletto break down ? "
" Off the Start', sir ; two hours after, after she left here, I believe. My orders are to report to you for the signal-codes, and join Commander Hignetfc's flotilla, in attendance on Stiletto:^
A smothered chuckle greeted this last. Moorshed's voice was high and uneasy. Said Pyecroft with a sigh : " The amount o' trouble me an' my bright spura 'ad, fishin' out that incorrect information from torpedo coxswains and similar blighters in pubs all this afternoon, vou would never believe."
" But has the Stiletto broken down ? " I asked weakly.
"'Ow else are we to get Red Fleet's private signal-code ? Anyway, if she 'asn't now, she will before manoeuvres are ended. It's only executin' in anticipation."
" (ro astern and send your coxswain aboaitl the Dirk for orders, Mr. Jones." Water cames sound well, but I do not know whether we were intended to hear the next sentence : " They must have given him ofie intelligent keeper."
" That's me," said Mr. Pyecroft, as a black and coal-stained dinghy — I did not foresee how well I should cuiue to know her — was flung overside by three men. "'Avin' bought an 'am, we will now see life." He stepped into the boat and was away.
" I say, Podgie ! " — the speaker was in the last of the lint of destroyers, as we thumped astern — " aren't you lonely out there ? "
" Ob, don't rag me ! " said Moorshed. " Do you suppose I'll have to manoeuvre with your flo-tilla?"
"No, Podgie. I'm pretty sure our com- mander will see you sifting cinders in Tophet before you come with our flo-tilla."
" Thank you I She steers rather wild at high speeds."
Two men laughed together.
" By the way, who is Mr. Carteret-Jones when he's at home ? " I asked softly.
** I was with him in the Britannia, I didn't like him much, but I'm grateful to him now. I must tell him so some day."
" They seemed to know him hereabouts."
" He rammed the Caryatid twice with her own steam pinnace."
Presently, moved by long strokes, Mr. Pyecroft returned, skimming across the dark. The dinghy swung up behind him, even as his heel spurned it.
"Commander Fassett's compliments to Mr. L. Carteret-Jones, and the sooner he digs out in pursuance of Admiralty ordera as received at Pompey, the better pleased Commander Fassett will be. But there's a lot more "
" Whack her up, Mr. Hinchcliffe. Come on to the bridge. We can settle it as we go. Well?"
Mr. Pyecroft drew an important breath and slid off his cap.
" Day an' night private signals of Red Fleet c<?m-plete, sir I " He handed a little paper to Moorshed. "You see, sir, the trouble was that Mr. Carteret-Jones, bein', so to say, a little new to 'is duties, 'ad forgot to give 'is gunner 'is Admiralty orders in writin', but, as I told Commander Fassett, Mr. Jones been repeatin' 'em to me, nervous- like, most of the way from Pompey, so I knew 'em by 'eart— an' better. The Com- mander, recognisin' in me a man of agility, cautioned me to be a father an' mother to Mr. Carteret-Jones."
" Didn't he know you ? " I asked, thinking for the moment that there could be no dupli- cates of Emanuel Pyecroft in the Navy.
" What's a torpedo-gunner more or less to a full lootenant commandin' six thirty-knot destroyera for the firat time ? 'E seemed to cherish the 'ope that 'e might use the Gnome for 'is own 'orrible purposes ; but what I told 'ini about Mr. Jones's sad lack o' nerve com in' from Pompey, an' goin' dead slow on account of the dark, short-circuited that connection. * M'rover,' I says to 'im, * our orders is explicit. The Stiletto's reported broke down somewhere off the Start, an' we've been try in' to coil down a new stiff steel hawser all the evenin', so it looks like towin' 'er back, don't it ? ' I says. That more than ever jams 'is turrets, an' makes 'im keen to get rid of us. 'E even 'inted that Mr. Carteret- Jones passiu' 'awsei-s an' assistin' the impotent in a sea-way might come expensive on the taxpayer. I agreed in a
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THE WINDSOR MAGAZINE.
disciplined way. I ain't proud. I ain't proud I But when I'm really diggin' out in the fancy line, I sometimes think that me in a copper punt, single-'anded, 'ud beat a cutter-full of De Rougemongs in a row round the fleet."
At this point I reclined without shame on Mr, Pyecroft's bosom, supported by his quivering arm.
" Well ? " said Moorshed, scowling into the darkness, as 267's bows snapped at the short seas of the broader Channel and we swayed together.
" ' You'd better go on,' says Commander Fassett, * an' do what you're told to do. I don't envy Hignett if he has to dry-nurse the Onome's commander. But what d'you want with signals ? ' 'e says. * It's criminal lunacy to trust Mr. Jones with anything that steams.'
"*May I make an observation, sir?' I says. ' Suppose,' I says, * you was toipedo-gunner on the Onome^ an' Mr. Carteret-Jones was your commandin' officer, an' you 'ad your reputation as a second in command for the first time,' I says, well knowin' it was his first command of a flotilla, *what 'ud you do, sir ? That gouged 'is unprotected ends open — clear back to the citadel."
" What did he say ? " Moorshed jerked over his shoulder.
"If you were Mr. Carteret- Jones, it might be disrespect for me to repeat it, sir."
" Go ahead ! " I heara the boy chuckle.
" * Do ?^' 'e says. * I'd rub the young blighter's ntJs© into it till I made a perishin' man of 'im, or a perspirin' pillow-case,' 'e says, * which,' 'e adds, * is forty per cent, more than he is at present.'^
" Whilst 'e's gettin' the iMvate signals — they're rather particular ones — I went forrard to see the Dirk's gunner about borrowin' a holdin'-down bolt for our twelve-pounder. My open ears, while I was rovin' over 'is packet, got me the followin' authentic particulars." I heard his voice change, and his feet shifted. "There's been a last council o' war of destroyer-captains at the flagship, an' a lot o' things 'as come out. To begin with, Cnjptic and Devolution^ Captain Pinke and Captain Malan "
" CV^^w: and Z>ee;<7Z?//*o/?, first-class cruisers," said Mr. Moorshed dreamily. " Go on, Pye- croft."
" bein' delayed by minor defects in
engine-room, did not^ as we know, accom- pany first division of scouting cruisers, whose rendezvous is unknown, but presumed to be somewhere off the Lizard. Cryptic an'
Devolution left at 10 p.m., still reportin' copious minor defects in engine-room. Admiral's final instructions was they was to put into Torbay, an' mend themselves there. If they can do it in twenty-four hours, they're to come on an' join the battle squadron at the first rendezvous, down Channel somewhere. (I didn't get thaty sir.) If they can't, he'll think about sendin* them some destroyers for escort. But 'is present intention is to go 'ammer an' tongs down Channel, usin' 'is destroyers for all they're worth, an' keepin' Blue Fleet too busy off the Irish coast to sniff into any eshtuaries."
"But if those cruisers are crocks, why does the Admiral let 'em out of Weymouth at all?" I asked.
" The taxpayer," said Mr. Moorshed.
"An' newspapers," added Mr. Pyecroft. " In Torbay they'll look as they was muckin' about for strategical purposes — 'ammerin' like 'ell in the engine-room all the weary day, an' the skipper droppin' questions down the engine-room-'atch every two or three minutes. Fve been there. Now, sir ? " 1 saw the white of his eye turn broad on Mr. Moorshed.
The boy dropped his chin over the speaking-tube.
"Mr. Hinchcliffe, what's her extreme economical radius ? "
" Four hundred and twenty knots, down to swept bunkers."
" Can do," said Moorshed. " By the way, have her revolutions any bearing on her speed, Mr. Hinchcliffe ? "
" None that I can make out yet, sir."
" Then slow to eight knots. We'll jog down to Forty-nine, forty-five, or four about, and three east. That puts us say forty miles from Torbay by nine o'clock to-morrow morning. We'll have to muck about till dusk l^fore we run in and try our luck with the cruisers."
" Yes, sir. Their blighted picket-boats will be panickin' round them all night. It's considered good for the young gentlemen."
"Hallo I War's declared ! They're off ! " said Moorshed, and swung 267's head round to get a better view. A few miles to our right the low horizon was spangled with small balls of fire, while nearer ran a pro- cession of ti y cigar ends.
"Red hot".! Set 'em alight," said Mr. Pyecroft. " That's the destroyer -flotilla diggin' out for Commander Fassett's repu- tation."
The smaller lights disappear ; thcf glare
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" * 'Avin' boaght an 'am, we will now see life.' "
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THH WIXDSOR MAGAZLXE.
of the destroyei's' funnels dwindled even as we watched.
" They're goinj; down Channel with lights out, thus she win' their zeal an' drivin' all watch-officers crazy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll get you your pyjamas, an' you'll turn in."
He piloted me to the steel tunnel, where the ham still swung majestically over the swaying table, and dragged out trousers and a coat with a monk's hood, all hewn from one hairy inch-thick board.
"If \\>\\ fall over in tljot^t*, ycni*ll k* dro\nits.i. Tfiev'n^ liiiiimie^. V L-Uock you off with ti pilliAv ; hut slmiiu* <Hi a torpeili>- )K>iit'8 wmit you mii(Ut. aill an Hxjfiuired
sob of a woman, and dry roaring of wild beasts. A dropped shovel clanging on the stokehold floor was, naturally enough, the unbarring of arena gates ; our sucking uplift across the crest of some little swell, nothing less than the haling forth of new worlds ; our half- turning descent into the hollow of its mate, the abysmal plunge of God- forgotten planeLs. Through all these phe-
''1 cnSifJ iIhwu Mh Jill JTMlli-
I coiled down on an iron-hard horsehair pillow next the quavering steel wall to ac(^uirc that habit. The sea, sliding over 267's skin, worried me witli importunate, half- caught confidences. It drummed tackily to gather my attention, coughed, spat, cleared its throat, and, on the eve of that portentous communicaticm, retired up stage ju* a multitude whispering. Anon, I caught the tramp of armies afoot, the hum of crowded cities awaiting an event, the single
nomena and more— Jiough I ran witli wild horses over illimitable plains of rustling grass : though I crouched belly-flat under appiUling fires of musketry : though I was LivingsKnie. ]>aiulcss and incurious in the grip of his lion— my shut eyes saw the lamp swinging in its gimbals, the irregularly gliding patch of light on the steel ladder, and evciT elastic shadow in the comerc of the frail angle-irons : while my body strove to acconnnodatc it-self to the<4iifernal ^ibra- Digitized by VjOOQIC
''THEIR LAWFUL OGCASIONSr
13
tion of the machine. At the last I rolled limply on the floor, and woke to real life witn a bruised nose and a great call to go on deck at once.
"It's all right," said a voice in my booming ears. " Morgan and Laughton are worse than you ! "
I was gripping a rail. Mr. Pyecroft pointed with his foot to two bundles, beside a torpedo-tube, that at Weymouth had been a signaller and a most able seaman.
"She'd do better in a bigger sea," said Mr. Pyecroft. "The lop is what fetches it up."
The sky behind us whitened as I laboured, and the first dawn drove down the Channel, tipping the wavetops with a chill glare. To me that round wind which runs before the true day has ever been fortunate and of good omen. It cleared the trouble from my body and set my soul dancing to 267'8 heel and toe across the northerly set of the waves— such waves as I had often watched contemptuously from the deck of a ten- thonsand-ton liner. They shouldered our little hull sideways, and passed, scalloped, and splayed out towards tne coast, carrying our wnite wake in loops along their hollow backs. Successively, we looked down a lead- grey cutting of water for half a clear mile, were flung up on its ridge, beheld the Channel traflic — full-sailed to that fair breeze— all about us, and swung slantwise, light as a bladder, elcustic as a basket, into the next furrow. Then the sun found us, struck the wet grey bows to living, leaping opal, the colourless deep to hard sapphire, the many sails to pearl, and the little
steam-plume of our esctipe to an incon- stant rainbow.
" A fair day and a fair wind for all, thank God I " said Emanuel Pyecroft, throwing back the cowl-like hood of bis blanket coat. His face was pitted with coal-dust and grime, pallid for lack of sleep ; but his eyes shone like a gull's.
" I told you you'd see life. Think o' the Pedantic now ! Think o' her Number One chasin' the gobbies round the lower deck flats. Think o' the pore little snotties now bein' washed, fed, an' taught, an' the yeoman o' signals with a pink eye wakin' bright an' brisk to another perishin' day of five-flag 'oists. Whereas we shall caulk an' smoke cigarettes, same as the Spanish destroyers did for three weeks after war was declared," He dropped into the wardroom singing —
*' If you're goin* to marry me. marry me, BiU, It's no use miickin' about ! "
The man at the wheel, uniformed in what had once been a tam-o'-shanter, a pair of very worn R.M.L.I. trousers rolled up to the knee, and a black sweater, was smoking a cigarette. Moorshed, in a grey Balaclava and a brown mackintosh with a flapping cape, hauled at our supplementary funnel- guys, and a thing like a waiter from a Soho restaurant sat at the head of the engine- room ladder exhorting the unseen below. The following wind beat down our smoke and covered all things with an inch-thick layer of stokers, so that eyelids, teeth, and feet gritted in their motions. I began to see that my previous experiences among battleships and cruisers had been altogether beside the mark.
DREAMS.
BIRDLIKE are the dreams that brins: Into youth Its Joy and spring; Love and music and delight Mark their coming and their flis:ht. Ah, if youth but only knew Which were false and which were true !
Birdlike is my dream to-day. Sweet it is, but will not stay; Full of love and song it goes Out into a world of prose.
Ah, if only it finds you
I shall know one dream that's true I
FELIX CARMEN.
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£
rflllE iliffertjiic*^ tit-tweeii TiaHin^r Llu^ Jloume of rommuiiH I us a i^rivaty citizen tmd goiu;- tljL*t^b iuH u iiK-iiib^tr of Pai'liarLient h too grciit lo be easily rcaliattd, \Mjen you approufh 8L 8Lqilieirs aa a private dtizei]» tlie ])olicemeii wbu giiurd its appn>aclieft at tht: i^'riteAvay uf tlie nn^mbcrs' yurd eye yon criticallT, Thes^e |uil icemen are the pick of the police foit.'e tiwl are very iEitelli|i:eDt. They wave the private eitizeii un from the memheii*' gate to the getieriil eii trance with an air of favour^ not U* say authority. At the ^'^eneiul entmijce he is, as mie might say, carefully fwluiitl^d t*} thtt outer eorridur. Here, tuiTiiii^ to' the left huiid, he can look down into the spiCJoim Wefituiiuster ifaK, wliere sn niiiny great event^s in I'jOj^hVh histor}-^ have oocurred. Statues of kings and ijueeus and priueeB range alon*^ thc^ walk Stniight aheud of hinj ire comdoi-s, approachtnl by stefis and lined with fitatue^ of the great men of parliamentaVy fiunc, such ils Burke, Pitt, Falkland » Fux. Patisiug through this long hall of worthier, flauke<] by what are called confcrenee-rooinB, where members may meet deputatiunfi or their secretaries, the visitor comes, aft-er the distance of u few hundred feet, bj the out^^r lobbr
lY/aaW-f^^^u^yi^b
• Copyright, 1903, by Che Perry Mason Cv.y in the United gf^^t^eS^by'^5*@OQlC
15 ^
16
THE WINDSOR 31AGAZTNE.
Anyone entering this lobby for the first time must be greatly impressed. Its majestic proportions and beautiful, lofty dome give it an air of grandeur. From ite doorways and the gloom beyond come slowly members of Parliament, thoughtful and preoccupied. They are making for the inner lobby, called the members' lobby, on the margin of the Chamber itself, or are going out to some of the numerous committee-rooms or refresh- ment-rooms. All is busy quiet. But suddenly you will see these same members hurrying back in answer to the summons of bells sounding simultaneously throughout all the precincts of the vast edifice. A division upon some measure is being called. These legislators pressing towards the Chamber are as much under discipline as a schoolboy in the strictest academy. The members' master is the "Whip" of his party, who sees that he votes properly, and will not let him go out of the House without a "pair" — that is, someone on the opposite side who goes also, thus not weakening the party.
It is a beautiful vista which sweeps from the chair of the Speaker in the House of Commons to the tnrone in the House of Lords. The building was so constructed that the King, looking down the long lane of chambers, corridors, and lobbies, could see, at his duty in his high wooden- canopied chair, the first Commoner of England, the Speaker of the House of Commons. There is a great nobility of architecture in the scarlet-benched Chamber of the Lords ; there is an ecclesiastical and solemn beauty in the Chamber of the Commons — especially of a summer afternoon when the sun shines through the clerestory windows.
I seem to have strayed from my original purpose, but in reality I have not done so. I wished the reader to see, as it were in his mind's eye, what greets the gaze of any private citizen who is admitted to the members' gallery in the House and looks down on the swarming politicians, the majority with their hats on, each playing his own or his party's game. He cannot fail to be struck by the decorum of the House, though it seems sorely tried now and then by some violent or excitable critic of the Government. He certainly does feel how great is the dignity which surrounds the blaok-robed figure of the Speaker, who sits in his great chair, sometimes from three in the afternoon until three in the morning, with the break of an hour for a hasty dinner.
But familiarity might not strengthen his reverence if he chanced to see the great men, leaders of parties and popular figure3 in popular life, engaged upon some humdrum question which, ^parentiy, calls neither for eloquence nor responsibility. Finding an exciting debate under way is all a matter of chance, unless you are shepherded to the occasion by an old member. As for respect for the Chamber, men who have sat in the reporters' gallery of the House for years, looking down upon it with a familiarity almost like contempt, have told me that when they thebiselves were elected to the Chamber, they realised many forms of terror unfelt before-- that terror of responsibility never absent from the mind of a member who takes a real interest in his duties, or who is ambitious to rise. I do not believe that any man ever got influence over the House of Commons who did not fed that to speak in that ancient Chamber, where the famous men of centuries have done service for their country, was one of the hardest trials of their lives.
Let us go back a little. I have written of the way the private citizen was treated by the guardians of the gates. Now suppose you are a new member of the House of Commons. As you come down Whitehall and approach the palace of Westminster, you will naturally suppose that you will have to explain yourself to the policemen on guard. You may be very proud of being elected, but your pride will not justify you in as- suming that you will be recognised off-hand as a member. Yet as you come to the crossing before the gates of the members' entrance, you will find a couple of policemen stopping all traffic for you. You walk through a lane made by omnibuses and carriages with a new and embarrassing sense of importance. You had forgotten, perhaps, or did not know, that a member may have all traffic stopped for him if he is on his way to the House of Commons. At the gate where you expected to be challenged, the taU policeman touches his hat. It is at once Qisconcerting and flattering. How does he know you are a member ? You go down through the yard to the cloisters and meet other policemen who salute you. How do they know ?
Take my own case — if I may be so per- sonal. As I jame to the cloister, a policeman touched his hat : " Good day, sir," he said. " Good day to you," I answered. " Every- thing all ngixi at Gravesend, Mr. Parker ? " Weli^ in the language of the^treets, jrou
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ihiL^lil hhw* kiiiM'k(.'<l iiM' Jon II uitli u fuatlier* 11 \: jiot fnily kiK^w my n:niR% Init aJsn my constiiuencTj I catne oti into tbo ouIlt oorri<^>r of tlie niumlitfi-s* eiUmnce. Anoth<?r ]HjlicL*m:ui rej^fKx'tfiiUy Wflt-oineil me with a s^thite aiifl mj n\mm. Inf^i[]t\ tliu bUiieriiiU^iulmit also kii^Mv mu ! And so on n]i tVa^ stnirnist', Tberu rwilly wuk nothing iriTsteiioiis alMiiit It ail. TliL^se ]Ufktnl i^olirt'iiii'iv hitvt^ csci^k^nb iiietuorieft. TbtT get boM of thr MoLrmpliirEil jm'tiire-lHHikK of tlif House, ari<l stfidy tlii^ hnv^ of all tlif new tih^tiiIxm's, jiossiijlj for a week or ten dj^y^i hefom llie Hoiist} o]U"iis, I'hey wekloni or never make a uiistiike. Tlie fim tinif I ^^oty into a laiDfioni to go lionnj late at iti;j;lit, I told the (joliceiMan 111 y ad (1 ress : lie ii e^xn' f o rgo t- i t — a n tl 1 \mw o n ly ci 1 1 e iff SI VI 'ml linndrt'ds.
That k i ri Unrest in^r, as j^howiii^ the womlerfiil syHti^Tu which p>vcrjiH the Ilotjse. Tin* s^ygti^sii hn^ not iKHm iiiaih% ii hcUi thrown. Everything eonne<?teil with the Cliaml^er is what may l>e railed "'exfiert." T)ie House has the reputation i^f Udng the hest einh in tht* workh and bo 1 think it is. It is tdjio, I til ink, the l)est-diset[iMneil and licRt-or*rjiinsiHl administration in the world- The form is rigid, yta there is plenty of freed onv ; the etiijiiette is severe, yet, within that etiqnett*^^ yon may Ijtr a.s simjde mid iiatiiml lis in u private lionse,
J had seim imd hearil {h:hjttt*s in the House of Commons a^ a private titiJien ; I had dim.d there ; ! knew several of the
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ministei-s and many of the members person- ally, yet I never can forget my first entrance into the Chamber as " the elect of the people." It was at the taking of the oath of allegiance after the last General Election, in 1900. The House was to meet at three o'clock— that is the hour that the Speaker and the Chaplain enter the Chamber and prayers are read. I was there promptly to the moment. In the inner lobby I stayed to see the Speaker and Chaplain enter the Chamber. It was a stately proceeding. You see the Sergeimt-at- Arms in resetted coat, silk stockings, knee- breeches, and sword, coming slowly along the corridors from the Speaker's Voom, the Speaker in his silk stockings, knee-breeches, silk robe, and wig, following with the Chap- lain. Only three people, but we have in them the Throne, the Church, the State centred. Everyone stands still as they pass; there is no hurrying to and fro now. The doorkeepers, erect in their handsome liveries, are motionless and respectful. The trio pass into the Chamber. Tnree times the Speaker and Chaplain bow as they come up the floor, and the members present bow also. They reach the great table, the Mace is put upon it. The Speaker and the Chaplain bow to each other now and stand at the head of the table. The doors are shut ; such members as are in the Chamber take their places. The short service of psalms and prayers are read by the Chaplain. During prayers the members turn their faces to the wall — " and all the air a solemn stillness holds." Pray era over, the Speaker proceeds to the chair, and the Chaplain slowly leaves the Chamber.
Presently the doora are closed ; there comes a mysterious knocking, the Sergeant-at-arms looks out through a small grating and asks who demands admittance. The reply comes : " A message from the King." The doors are again opened, and there comes slowly in a grey-headed, stately figure in a splendid scarlet uniform. He bows to the Chair. Half-way up the Chamber he bows again. Having reached the table, he bows once more. It is Black Rod. He reads the message sum- moning the faithful Commons to the House of Lords, to hear the King's speech read. This done, Black Rod retires slowly from the Chamber backwards, bowing three times as before. The King's speech having been read by the Lord Chancellor in the House of Lords (I cannot describe that interesting ceremony here), the Speaker returns in state with the Sergeant-at-Arms and the Mace to the House of Commons.
The taking of the oath is not a very
formidable nor yet a very solemn proceeding* inasmuch as the only order of precedence observed is that a private member makes way for a minister. The Clerks of the House hand the Bible and the oath, which is printed upon a card, to a half-dozen membere at a time. They aU, standing in a row, repeat the oath and kiss the Book. Then they make their way to the table of the House, where they sign their names in full. After this they are escorted to the Speaker's chair, where they are quietly announced and presented, and the Speaker shakes hands with them, silently welcoming them to the Chamber.
The mode of taking the oath was extremely interesting to myself, because, although a new- member and not at home in the Chamber, I could not help observing the amusing differ- ences between the new membera and the old. The old members were noticeable by their cheerful familiarity with each other, and by the way they lounged, with an air of posses- sion, on the green lynches. The new member alternately sat and stood, not quite at ease, at one moment ready to elbow his way into the throng crowding around the table to take the oath, at another hesitating and stepping back again, nervously stroking his silk hat. He greeted new members like himself with a self-conscious and yet vague and far-away air. I expect I was much like the others. At the same time, I could get a good deal of amusement out of my, and their, inexperience.
But there are many trying moments in the life of the new member. He haa much to learn, and woe betide him if he does not learn quickly I In the House a member may sit with his hat on, but he must not stand with his hat on. He may not pass between another member addressing the House and the Speaker. He may not, however, be aware of the rule, or he may forget himself. It is a bad moment. Nobody has any sympathy. " Order I Order ! "sounds all over the Chamber. Sometimes he turns to go back, but this is difficult, and then perhaps he turns himself into ridicule by crouching down and hurrying shamefacedly and abjectly to his seat. I have to admit that I once came between a member addressing the House and the Speaker, bnt so quickly, and I was placed so advantageously, that I think only one voice snarled " Order ! Order I " But one of the oldest members growled at me as I passed him : " Mustn't do that I Mustn't do that ! " I didn't do that again. Members are extremely tenacious of tradition and custom. A member is never spoken to by his name, but only by his constituency — that is to say, he is called
MK. SPKAKEK.
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*' tlic iiiL-mht'i" f«*r Korthainploa" ^ or AlK.'ak'cn, or wUiitever pliic-e It limy clmnce to l>e.
There Ih mi ejcj^reflsion aiUed gtittin;^ jour aea - legs alxmnJ a sliip, Wrli ^retting your pflrliameiitcirj Ic^^B i^ u far mtm difficult tiling, exct^pt to tliL^ very young aufl, lliercfure, self-posscsspd/ nr to a meiiiljer lifghly cliarged with his mxw im- portance. For myself, I found my legs in a way by asking questions at what is called Question Time. That is to say, I put a couple of questions on the question-paper addressed to a certain Cabinet Minister. I only had to rise up in the House when the Speaker called my name, and say : " Mr. Si)eaker, I desire to ask the Colonial Secretary " (or whoever it might be) ** question 39." It seems a very simple operation, but the sound of your own voice for the first time in that Chamber is em- barrassing and distant. Not that the operation is so trying in itself ; but when you are a new member, and your name is called, nearly every other member looks up from his paper with critical curiosity, to see what you are like, to hear your parliamentary voice. It is, however, a good way to make yourself at ease, and it is well to remember that people who are much at home Ijefore all kinds of audiences outside the House are not always at home there. Great lawyers, professors, historians, admirals, generals, men who have been familiar with public speaking all their lives, have sat for years in the House without opening their mouths more than once, and that was to make their maiden speeches. It must not be forgotten that every man is playing his own game in the House of Com- mons, and that if he is on the Government side, all the Opposition are critically listening — perhaps scornfully listening— while people of his own side will not be favourable until he has shown " the mettle of his pasture."
And that maiden speech ! Well, the moment of marriage is nothing to it. I had been waiting for two days for the oppor-
tunity to speak on the Budget ; but when the instant came, although the House was more than half empty, I would gladly have run away. I have been under fire more than onoe in my life, but I never experienced anything like that ; not because I had nofc something to say — I was deeply anxious to say certain things, but my throat got dry, and my sight got dim, and my senses became confused. I had good matter prepared, I think, so far as facts were concerned, although I had not prepared a word so far as form went. I am bound to say that the House must have listened to me with great patience. I spoke for about twenty- five minutes ; and although some members on the opposite side smiled sarcastically, and although my own side seemed to encourage me very little — I was too embarrassed to know — I managed for about four-fifths of the distance to keep my head. Then some on the opposite side made inter- ruptions, not wholly unfriendly, and that threw me ofif. The remaining fifth of the speech Avas repetition. Next day the newspapers treated me in a friendly way, though I believe one of the most important of the Opposition papers said I was a great disappointment. I do not wonder. I certainly was a greater dis- appointment to myself than I could possibly have been to any other human being. Agitated, over-anxious as I was, my wonder now is that I did not break down.
However, the maiden speech was over. Then came what, to me, was one of the
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most agreeable experiences of my life. With a sense of exhaustion and painful self-criticism upon me, my attention was suddenly arrested by hearing myself referred to by a speaker on the opposite side. It was Mr. Birce, the distinguished member for Aberdeen. He paid me some generous compliments and said some welcoming words, for which I can never be sufficiently grateful. I am a Conservative member, and, independently of that, I have been strongly opposed to some of Mr. Bryce's views, particularly upon the late war in 8outh Africa ; and in that maiden speech I was not, I regret to say, very generous in my remarks about the Liberal party. Mr. Bryce's friendly words were, therefore, the more magnanimous.
The most noticeable feature about my second speech was the fact that I was called to ord:_' by the Chairman of Committees five times, and that I sat down on my hat. I am glad to say that no one noticed the incident of the hat— in any case, no comment waa made and no one rallied me. Being called to order by the Chiummti uf Cuinrnfttees ia tliscotictTtiiijj:, The Chairniau hetd tliat I was not ispcakitig- to the question — thtit is to aay, T was dealinij^ with matter which cuuld nut Ih? consid*?mI on the pjirticulur Vote then uuilcr discusi^ion. At timt the Hi^iisc* Wiui SKUjuwhat imixui^.'iu wiih me, eert4iin yoimt; luciiibers of my own side indiidecl ; but I knew tluit my ([iK-j^tiori hml Ut^w dealt with on this same Vote Wfore, \im\ Uy Hlternately iuhjIu- giwin^ to tlie Honst; and comruittint^^ tlie fault over apiiru 1 uaH able to eall \\\\ thret^ diiuii})i<ins of prof'edure from tla^ Irish, the Kadicjil, and the Conservative side of the Hotine, who held that T was ri*,^[it. It was too late for me to niakc an efTecti\e KjKMeh, luit \ e4irrie<l my pc»tnt— mrriinl it witli u y\i^\i Iwynnd iKuimls of pro- cetiure, in order to mj what I wislieiJ to-fiay. Before I ccuild eiii^ily be ealled'to onler itgairi, I sat domi.
It must not l>e tljonks^lTt tlait yon can s]xmk \\l any time in tlie House of (*onimous on iniy fjutstion. The fact ii. rini niiiy Ijave to wait sis montlis lie fore yonr particular anlijeet eomt^ nfi \\\ the eoin-^e of ^rroewinre. Then, wlien it is j>08sible, yon Iwive to as^ it L^ilk^l — ca t eh 1 1 J e ey e o f th l* S| >ea k e r . N o w , r,he Sj )uake r *^q n e ni I ly answers tirst, quite uamrally* to the eye of the merabei-s of the Miniiitry, and after tliat the most iinpf.jrtaut of tlie private members. Waiting yonr ttn^n or op]iortnnity, the debate may, tlirough no fault of
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joia^ or of the House, come ki un mt timely emi, uiul your fl|>eeeh does not cKxnir. Your lubour ^mi\\\^ tbrov^-n avi'ar. One of the oldest memlK^Ffl of the Hutise, however, told me once that no Bpeeeh he liiid t^vei* piX'[Kired aiul not dt!li^ ert*d wai? vvawtcid. He alwajB put the notes away, l>eiiinse e^erj Biibjeet is recurrent, utul conditions do not ho svvifttj cluuifre that the subject put by will not t)e suitiihie for a future otxiaision, witii propter modificatiooH. One of the thin^ir^ tliat struck me fimt and most in the HoiLse WHS tbf g-ooil^ftiUowshfp arnoo^^ the membei's, no matua* liow strongly opposed politfmllj. I have heard hard things said in the House of Counuou.s. and 1 liavt.^ bet^n a sjicetator, on an oe<.*asion, of violence, Imt thert* is very little, if any, B|keakinir that is ]jenionully uffensive. Members on both sides nux witfi gi-eat good nature in the lobbies of the refa^shment and smoking
and reading roums. I have hfard one or two sjiCL^^hesa wliich were in execnddy luid taste, SLimethinK ttj make yi>u Rjuirni, but on thti wbcsle it certiunly 18 a Charnlter of good maiinerf? and giviit deeormn. It is wonder fnb t*>u, how yon grow to retipt'et ]»Lople with uhost; idea^ you have no sympathy. Tliei-e m\' orje or two ratbiT vindictive hishmen, and certainly one Labuur memlM'r, whom I very nmch disliked beb>re 1 went into the House \ but the Irisli- men are like land^i in the
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tibby, and thu LalKUir uiemiMM- n<iw lunches \\ith me at my i^wn table. This ifc! not to m\ that tin: views of cither uf them nppeal to me. It is tn sjiy that I nnder^itand ibeir |H(int8 uf view.
The thin- f dis- liked most, when I entcrM the Ibiuse mm \m\vj: obliged* when a division upon a measure was callcii, to make tiiicks itUo the lolihy ami p^isii tb rough a turnstile stnvly ^vitb three or four iuuidred others, like a lot uf school- boys^ — this some- times twenty times a day. Tt struck nic as being a wicked waste of time. 1 a«m bound to say also it seemiHl nuher <i>mmon place and stupid. But then^ it was, and you Jiad to take it or leave it* I do not feel the Siune irritJition now mrice
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duty of recoi-ding your vote for or against measures and the clauses of measures which must influence the country either for good or evil. As for its being a waste of time, well, the proper answer would be : " That is what you are there to do." You are one of a number who, in order to be efifective, work as a mass.
I get many agreeable things out of my life in the House of Commons ; but no impression made upon me at all compares with the
impression of delight which I have at being in touch with a large body of men most of whom have done things, most of whom are representative of important interests in the country — great mercnants, great scientists, great lawyers, notable gentlemen of notable families, all devoting their lives to the service of their' country. I frankly say that, except when very tired by a long sitting, I have never had a dull hour in the House of Commons, and there have been some thrilling moments.
AT THE IIAK OK TllK II0178K : A CHAKGK OI" HKKI-KCTING ON THK HONOUR OF IMRLIAMKXr.
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'WON'T YOU COME IN?'* By Ohcar Wii-son.
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THE MAN WHOM NOBODY LIKED.
By E. Phillips Oppenhbim.*
HE came into their midst unexpectedly, apparently unconscious of the sudden silence which seemed designed to act as a barrier between him and them. He only smiled — ^a little malevolently, it is true, but still with some sense of humour. He dragged a chair across the lawn and seated him- self in a cool place within a yard or so of his hostess.
" How very enter-
? rising of you, Mr. jyndham I " she mur- mured, lifting her parasol a little on one side, and in- Avardly rebel- ling against her husband's expressinstnic- tions to be always civil to this man. **Have you walked all the way from Broom Hill in this sun ? "
He assented, but without speech. His gesture was of the slightest. Really his manners were worse than bnis(jue. Mrs. Poynton lan- guidly ordered some fresh tea , '^'
and turned her * y«, j
shoulder upon "'' j,^^
the new-comer.
He had come without invitation upon an afternoon of some importance— he should entertain himself. There were limits to
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her tolerance, obedient wife though she was.
So the conversation ebbed and flowed around him. Everyone followed their ^ hostess's lead and in:ide no attempt to <iniw him into it. Yet never was a casual visitor so little upset by tlie subtle hut unmistakable rudeness of being i;^niored. He drank his tea absently, and notwitlistanding his i^;<>lation, he made no movement to depart. **My dear Eleanor," Lady Marty u Avhispered to her hostess, "what an extraordinary man ! Is he a specimen of your country neighbours ? I thought the people were quite decent round here."
Mrs. Poyn- ton gently elevated her shoulders.
** H eave n only knows who or what he is ! " she murmured. " We none of us like him except my hus- band, and you know how any- thing unusual attracts him." ** But where does he come from ? Is he a neighbour ? "
" His name is Lyndham, and he has taken a cottage a few miles away. No one seems to have an idea who or what he is, and he is
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" Yet it was impossible to deny her beauty."
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most uncomraunieative. He seems to spend most of his time walking in the grounds here and staring up at the house."
" A gentleman — but how uncouth ! " Lady Martyn declared under her breath.
Mrs. Poynton looked sideways at him through the lace which drooped from her parasol. There was disparagement, but a certain amount of curiosity in her stealthy gaze. IVIr. Lyndham wore old clothes, his beard was ill-trimmed, his necktie a subter- fuge. But, after all, perhaps Lady Martyn was right. There Avas a certain air of breed- ing al30ut the man, and his voice had the unmistakable quality which attracts. She lowered her pai-asol jigaiy.
" Why he comes here," she stud softly — "especially Avhilst my huslmnd is away — I cannot imagine. No one is civil to him, and he very seldom speaks to anybody. He asked Arthur for permission to walk in the grounds, and since then he seems to haunt the place. I met him one evening striding along the avenue and muttering to himself. I must have passed within a yard of him, and he took not the slightest notice. I was almost frightened to death."
"Your husband was always so good- natured," Lady Martyn yawned. "By the by, how about the lease ? "
"Arthur has gone up to see the solicitor's," Mre. Poynton answered. "They do not seem to be able to get any reply from Sir Gervase. I don't think they even know where he is, and they have no power of attorney."
Lady Martyn looked across the terraced lawn to the long, ivy-covered front of the house.
"I hope you do not lose it," she said. "There isn't another place like it in the county. Isn't it almost time she came ? "
Mrs. Poynton leaned forward in her chair.
" I believe," she said, " that I can hear the carriage."
From where they sat, the lower of three terraced lawns, cool with the quivering shade of dark cedar trees, one could see the long approach to the Abl)ey, a mile of straight white road leading through a ptirklike ex- panse of meadowland, yellow always at this time of the year with buttercups and clumps of marigolds. Mrs. Poynton rose to her feet, and there was as much excitement in her manner as a well-bred woman permits herself to entertain.
" The Princess is coming," she announced.
Only her unwelcome visitor sat still. Everyone else stood up to catch a glimpse of the victoria, now lainly visible. Mi-s.
Poynton glanced at this man, whom nobody liked, almost with aversion. He represented the one alien note in the little party of im- maculately flannelled men, and women in all the glory of muslin gowns and flower- garlanded hats. He ought to have the good sense to go before the arrival of the Princess. He must understand that his appearance and strange humours were in ill accord with a gathering such as this. But Mr. Lyndham did not move. His arms were folded, his eyes were fixed on vacancy. He seemed to have passed into a world of his own creation --obviously a very rude thing to do. Apparently he was not even contemplating an early departure.
He had mannere enough to rise, however, when the Princess, seeing them all gathered under the cedar-tree, stopped the carriage and came smiling across the lawn to them. A trifle grave-eyed, perhaps, and a little weary, she still justified easily the extrava- gant praises of a too personal Press. In her white lace dress and parasol, without a vestige of colour, her pallor seemed to speak of a fatigue not wholly physical. Yet it was impossible to deny her beauty.
In the midst of a little buzz of introduc- tions, she found herself suddenly face to face with Lyndham, whom Mrs. Poynton had no idea at all of mentioning. In those few seconds of breathless silence which inter- vened before she held out her hand, there flashed backwards and forwards between the two, nameless things. She, if possible, was a little paler, and her admirable self-possession faltered. He, too, seemed to be struggling for self-control.
" I may be permitted to recall myself to your memory. Princess," he said, looking at her steadily. "My name is Lyndham — Richard Lyndham. May 1 hope that I am not quite forgotten ? "
She held out her hand.
" One does not forget one's oldest friends," she said softly. " I am very glad to see you again, Mr. Lyndham."
Her hostess led her away. The Princess of Berlitz was a personage, even if her husband's estates had lain far away in a corner of Austria ; and the suite of rooms into which Mrs. Poynton herself conducted her had once been occupied by royalty. Tea and fruit were ready on a tiny table in the sitting-room. Beyond in the bedroom a couple of maids were already busy unpacking. Mrs. Poynton looked around, and the stream of idle words which had been passing between the two stopped. ^ j
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THE MAN WHOM NOBODY LIKKlK
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" I wonder," she said, " if there is any- thing else I can do for jou ? "
The Princess hesitated.
" Yes," she said, " there is something else. I should be so glad if I could speak for a few minutes with Mr. Lyndham up here."
Mrs. Povnton was taken aback. She stared blankly at her guest.
" With Mr. Lyndham '^ " she repeated vaguely.
The Pririrc'^ buwcd,
'* Yes."
"Mr. Lyndham," she said, and uncon- sciously her voice took a new tone in addressing him, " the Princess desires to speak to you in her room. If you will come this way, I will show you where she is."
Mr. Lyndham rose slowly to his feet. He
'* H*" tiMtk her
lifttiiJ hihI raised
it 1*1 hb lips.**
Mrs. Poynton recovered herself, though she was still steeped in amazement.
" By all means," she said slowly. " I will send him up to you."
Mrs. Poynton returned to the garden. Mr. Lyndham was still there, sitting a little apart from the others. She went up to him.
did not appear surprised, but he showed no signs of eagerness.
" I will follow you," he said.
The door was safely closed. They were face to face. The Princess was in unfamiliar guise. Her eyes were full of tears, her
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THk: WINDSOR MAGAZINE,
voice, aa she stood there with outstretched hand, shook.
" Gervase ! " she exqlaimed, " at last I have found you, then ! ' You cannot escape me now. Come ! "
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. He was almost unrecognisable. All the hardness seemed to have passed from his strong, weather-tanned face. His eyes and voice were as soft as a child's.
" Dear Gabrielle ! " he murmured, " You believe still ? You have not lost your faith ? "
** Never ! Never for one moment ! "
" Thank God ! Even though it be you against the world."
They were silent for several moments. There was so much between them w^hich seemed better expressed unspoken.
" You keep still — your borrowed name ? "
" I have no other," he answered.
" Yet you are back in England — here, of all places in the world."
"And in this room," he added, with a dash of his old cynicism. "Nothing is stranger than that ! "
She started aw^ay and looked around. Her dark eyes were full of the shadows of some reawakened fear.
" It is true ! " she declared. ** The whole place is altered and modernised out of recognition. I did not realise where I was."
He moved to the window.
" It was from here," he said, " that the shot was fired ; and there were a dozen people ready to testify that no one save myself passed out from this room."
She held out her hand.
" Gervajse ! " she exclaimed suddenly, " you are here with an object ! "
" And you ? "
" Also with an object. Tell me, you received a letter ? "
" I did ! It brought me from Alaska."
" And me," she declared, " from Austria. Look ! "
He glanced at it.
"The same as mine," he declared. " Heaven know^s, it seems improbable enough ! but dying men sometimes tell you truth." c He was busy already at the wall. With his knife he gashed recklessly at the new and expensive lincrusta walton. For several minutes he pushed and strained and knocked. At last with a little cry he succeeded. A hidden door swung back a few inches. With the poker for a lever he forced it open. The Princess looked over his shoulder eagerly.
It was a mere closet of an apartment, dark and empty, save for a single shelf.
" After all," he said despondently, " there is nothing here to help us."
"But do you not see," she exclaimed, "one part of the mystery vanishes from this moment ? This is where the man hid who ' fired the shot ! "
He nodded.
" I was an idiot not to have thought of the place before," he said, " but I was told that it had been blocked up whilst I was at school. You are right. One part of the mystery vanishes. But the other remains."
She pointed to something upon the floor.
" What is that ? " she asked. " A book?"
He stooped and picked it up — a dingy, faded volume, with the word " Diary " stamped upon it on the outer cover, the sort of thing which w^as the weakness of the last generation of schoolgirls. It was thick with dust and yellow with age. He opened it carelessly at the last page and bent forward to catch the light. Then he gave a little cry.
" Wliat is it, Gervase ? "
" Heaven only knows ! " he muttered, and the hand which clutched the book shook tis though an ague had seized him. "Read, (rabrielle ! I cannot ! "
She snatched it from him. Followed by him, she carried it out into the light,
« ii! * * *
The man whom nobody liked, the man who was Mrs. Poynton's hete noire, remained alone with the Princess in her sitting-room for nearly an hour. Meanwhile Mrs. Foynton and her guests talked. The more tolerant assumed an old friendship; others smiled. The Princess was of ancient family, but in the days before her fortunate marriage she had been poor. It was rumoured that she hiid been a governess. Who could tell what entanglements she might not have formed at that time ? The Prince, who had been dead for little more than a year, had left her a wealthy w'oman. Her place in Society seemed assured. It w^ixs supposed that she was ambitious. She was indeed a splendid victim for the intelligent blackmailer. Mi*s. Poynton grew weary of explaining how little she knew of Mr. Lyndham. He had come from nobody knew where. Arthur had taken a fancy to him, it was true, but she herself had niistrusted him from the first. Then there was a sudden hush. The Princess and Mr. Lyndham were comin^down the steps and across the lawij^ized bydOOQlC
THE MAN WHOM NOBODY LIKED.
29
** 'This/ ejjc «iiIil|>
*appean* In U* the
diarv o( MfK' .T«Jp*
Letrmijg ' "
" Dear Mrs. Pojnton," the Princess mur- mured, as she joined them, " my rooms are per- fect. But one of them, I think, has a history. Is it tnie that Sir Knowles Philton was shot from the window of my sitting-room ? "
Mrs. Poynton was a little perturbed.
** I am afraid that it is true," she admitted. " It is many years ago, however, and I thought that everyone would have forgotten. I hope you are not afraid of ghosts."
The Princess smiled brilliantly.
" Already," she confessed, " I have seen one."
There was a little murmur of amusement. Then everyone suddenly realised that she Avas in earnest. She had something to say to them.
*• I want you to teU me something about that murder, Mrs. Poynton," the Princess said. " Sir Knowles was shot as he walked upon the terrace, was he not, by some unseen person ? Was the mystery ever cleared up ? "
Mrs. Poynton shook her head.
" Never positively," she answered. " Never in the courts, that is to say. Of course, all the evidence pointed to Gervase Philton, Knowles's brother ; and although they never arrested him, he had to leave the country."
"Was there any quarrel between them, then ? " the Princess asked.
" No open quarrel," Mra. Poynton answered, " but it came out afterwards that there had been a great deal of ill-feeling for some time. Very fortunately for Gervase, no word of this transpired at the inquest."
" Dear me," the Princess murmured. " And the Ciiuse of the ill-feeling — was that ever known ?"
Mrs. Poynton shrugged her shoulders.
"The one eternal cause. She was a governess to Lady Morrey's children — Lady Morrey was their sister, you know, and she was living here whilst her husband completed his term in India. They say that both brothers were in love with her, and Gervase was supposed to be horribly jealous."
There flashed between the Princess and Mr. Lyndham an illuminative glance which was a source of wonder to Mrs. Poynton.
" Anyhow," Mrs. Poynton continued, "one night Sir Knowles was shot as he walked upon the terrace, and the shot was fired from his brother's window. Some workirren were taking down a picture on the landing just outside, and they saw no one but Gervase himself come out of or enter his room. So, you see, as far as the negative evidence went, it was fairly conclusive. Gervase remained in England for several months ; then he
30
THE WINDSOR MAGAZINE.
went abroad, and no one has ever heard of him since. We took the place a few months afterwards, and for my own part I can't help saying tliat I hope 8ir (lervtise never comes back. We could not possibly find another place to suit us so well."
The Princess smiled. Mr. Lyndham, wonderful to relate, followed suit.
" I am afraid that there is a disappoint- ment in store for you, Mrs. Poynton," the Princess said. "Sir Gervase is back in England now. He is sitting by my side."
"Mr. Lyndham!" Mrs. Poynton screamed.
Mr. Lyndham bowed.
"I must apologise for being here under false pretences," he said, " but I had a very particular reason for desiring to pay a visit to this neighbourhood, and you can understand that I did not care to venture here under my own name. Eight years in the Colonies and a beard will do wonders for a man."
" Yet the Princess recognised you," Mrs. Poynton said.
" It is true," he admitted.
" I, too," the Princess remarked, " have an explanation to make. You have heard that I was a governess for two years before I married the Prince of Berlitz ; but you per- haps did not know that I was a governess at this house, that it was on my account even that poor Sir Gervase here was accused of shooting his- brother, who never spoke more than a civil word to me in his life."
A sudden silence fell upon the little group. After all, the evidence had been very strong. Yet they neither of them looked in the least like guilty people.
" Sir Gervase woidd rather, perhaps, that I told you what has happened — what we have discovered," the Princess said. " It is very simple, and the mystery which has baffled everyone so long does not exist any longer. Adjoining my sitting-room, from which the shot was fired, is a small secret closet, which apparently has not been opened for years. Some months ago we both of us received anonymous letters, dated from a hospital in Paris, advising us to explore this place. Hence Sir Gervase, hence my broken vow — for I had sworn never to set foot in England again. The closet appealed to us, as a likely hiding-place for the person who had fired the shot, but we have been fortunate to discover far more important things."
" You found something there ? " one of the guests exclaimed.
"This," the Princess declared, holding up a little volume. " It is a sort of diary, and it is very eloquent. Is it your pleasure
that I read aloud the last two extracts only?"
" This is very extraordinary," Mrs. Poyn- ton murmured. " Yes, please do read any- thing which will elucidate the matter."
The Princess opened the lx)ok."
" This," she said, " appears to be the diary of one Jules Letrange, valet of the late Sir Knowles Philton. The first few pages are merely a highly sentimental and romantic account of his affection for a Mademoiselle de Caliste, which under the circumstances you will not expect me to read. He admits that lie has not dared to betray himself in any way, he pleads guilty all the time to a most becoming doubt as to whether his suit would be in any way acceptable. He works his way through all the stages of frenzy, however, to madness, and he is evidently very near that state when this entry was written. You will observe that it was ou the day of the murder.
"September 11th. — I cannot bear it any longer ! If she is not for me, she is for no one. She favours Monsieur Gervase — a union impossible for her. Me she passes always by. I do not count with her. I am as the dust on which she treads. If she only knew that I have sworn it, perhaps she would not go out then to meet her lover, so blithe, so gay. If she is not for me, she is not for any other man. ... If I see her with Monsieur Gervase again, it is the end. . . .
" Heaven help me I I tremble all the time ! I am afraid I I have shot the wrong man. I have shot Sir Knowles, my master. I heard him cry out I If only I could get away from here ! I hid till it was dark — no one suspects. It is all finished. To-morrow I may go. I leave this book. They speak of Monsieur Gervase. I will hide myself, and send word of this book if they arrest him. I . . ."
The Princess closed the little volume.
" The anonymous letters we both received were in the same handwriting. On my way through Paris I inquired at the hospital. The man is dead. He left no other con- fession. He left only this to tell his story."
Mrs. Poynton shut down her parasol with a snap.
" Really, it has been a most exciting after- noon. Only I am very much afraid now that I shall not get my lease renewed."
Sir Gervase and the Princess exchanged smiles. " That depends," he said, " upon the Princess." Digitized by GoOglc
HIGHLAND GAMES.
By His Grace THE DUKE OF ARGYLL.*
MEN and women, lads and lasses, are wending their way to the field where the sound of the bjigpipes shows that the Highland games have already begun. The bagpipe music begins first and finishes last on such occasions, for there are more pipers contending for victory than there are entries for the wrestling or dancing or hammer-throwing, or for any other of the
a group walking quickly and
competitions, There is
course, the Romans borrowed all they could from the finest language of their day.
You hear another voice joining in and asking about the contestants in English, and the Gaelic-speaking group Avill drop their native tongue for a while to answer cautiously a query as to the probable winners.
'* Well, ril no be saying that Rob is no possible." " He is a good man whateffer," says another. "Cosh me !" says a third, "he's a fine man, liim ; but Jock's a fine man, too."
talking with a strong guttural and nasal twang combined — a language which is not English, or German, or French, though it has some sounds like French ; nor is it Italian or Spanish. What, then, is it ? The oldest language in the world, as you will be told by any enthusiastic Highlander — the most ancient of all tongues, Gaelic.
There are many Latin words in it ; but, of
♦ C'opyrij^ht, 1903, by the Perry Mason Company, in the United States of America.
AT A SCOIT'TSM r.ATUKltlNtr.
** Ayij, u. graiKl man ut the *Clach neurst '" (the atone of strength ), Siiys another. " Ht* has an arm as round n^ n biirrel. Maii^ he's heavy ! "
" I'll no be saying but that he might win," broke in the first ; so each gave his opinion with the utmost caution, speaking only with admiration of the favourite he chose, but without expressing any too confident belief, and never offering any wager. It is enough for them to see a good contest, and to get much excited if their man wins or loses.
" Cosh me ! " they aU say, when they hear of anything they do not expect : but " Cosh me ! " does not mean " Lash me ! " or anything of the kind. It is simply an expression of
81
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THE WINDSOR MAGAZINE.
surprise ; and they could not answer you if you asked them what was to happen to "me" if " me " were " coshed " — for nobody has ever found a meaning for the word. So you need not expect to get any now.
But the strange thing is that neither those who speak good English nor those who speak (iaelic are in the Highland dress. The crowd is just like any other crowd, except that you may see a Glengarry cap here and there. The
TH ROWING THK llAMMKR.
nafional Highland dress is not prohibited, as it was in the days after tlie battle of Culloden. There would be little reiuson for doing this now. At that time the Highlander carried arms openly in his belt, or at his side, or secretly in his plaid. Tliat was one of the main reasons for prohibiting the costume.
But now the commonest coat or jacket and waistcoat and trousers, even the ugly " billy- cock," the round, hard, felt, bhick hat with small brim and dome of ugliness, surmounts
almost every head. Oh, the tyranny of fashion ! and the love of doing as others do I
Few of these men and women now eat by preference the good oatmeal cakes of their ancestors, or even porritch. The Avhite flour from America and the British biscuit have come into most houses instead. Alas for the old, picturesque ways I
But now we see a sight which seems to contradict all this ; for a wail and then a " skirl," and then the sonorous nasal march played on the war-pipes, sound from afar ; and the crowd is thick behind us, and kilted men are marching gmndly along the high- way, with swing of sporran and plaid, and with bonnets on their heads, and bare knees surmounting gartered hose of all colours.
These are the competitors who have not gone to the ground before, as they had not to begin the pipe contests at once. Burly men they look as they swing forward and turn up a byway into the field.
Here a great crowd is lining the ropes. A knoll on one side affords standing-room for many to see, but the majority are content to watch from the barriers.
Before the part reserved for the judges is a platform which has already been taken possession of by the pipers, who are strutting, one by one, upon its boards. Sometimes the judges are placed in a tent with the opening away from the competitors, so that they may hear only, and not see.
THK Hl!NI)RKDTH ANNIVERSARY
THK NORTHERN MEKTIN(3
INVERNESS. ,
KLINOIXO THE HAMMER AT THE BRAEMAR GAMES. TKe metal of the hammer weight 16 lb., and the handle meamret 4 /t.
Digitized by
34
THE WINDSOR MAGAZINE.
It is, indeed, difficult to determiue which man is the best when tirst-rate players compete. It must be largely a matter of taste, but the majority out of three or five judges must decide. Earnestly they listen, or, when the dancing takes place, look on at the graceful movements of the reel and Highland fling, ^ and, with note- ^t^ book in hand, sit in a line, watching each minutest thing in gesture and step that may lead them to be crritical of fault.
The prettiest and most pecu- liar of all the dances is the "sword" dance. It is danced over swords called claymores, with large hilts of steel " basket "-work to cover the hand. It is an awkward thing to have so much hand cover, it may be said by the way, and officera in Highland regiments are fond of cutting away all the steel- work that is at the iwvck of the wrist. The pattern
(iKITIXfi TIIK CAUKK INTO POSITION.
is really an Italian mediaeval one, and the true claymore was a two-handled sword with long blade of double edge, and had guards slanting from the handle forward.
This old sword must have been much more easy to dance over than is the sword
called " Hi*^h- land" now, for the handle, with its steel pro- tection, is a bulky thing, and when' the nim- ble feet cross and recross the blades, spring- ing crosswise at every angle, the feet are too likely to touch the big Handle - guard. When this happens, the dancer stops, for he knows that he has no chance of the prize.
The " ste[)S " or paces with which he begins the dance are made with comparative slowness, but they quicken mpidly. The feet fly back and forward, the weight of the dancer's Imdy l)eing alternately placed on
lIir.IILAND PIPKIIS AT PRACTICK.
Digitized by
TOSSING THE CABER AT THE BKAKMAR GAMKS.
The average length qf a caber, which it unuUly made of larch, i* 21 ft.
Digitized by
36
THE WINDSOR MAGAZINE.
them on each of the quarters of space made by the cross- blades. The quick music allows no pause in the rapidly revolving and springing figure — a pretty piece of activity — recalling the ancient days when personal prowess was all in all in a fight, and the man who could dance round his antagonist longest was the man who had most chance in a single combat.
Now we must look at other parte of the green en- closure, where the games known to all are in progress :
the long and high leaping, the races, one of which is
peculiar to hilly
countries, for the
runners must as- cend steep places
and thus prove the
strength of their
hearte. The ground is
rough and stony,
the heather often
long, and there
may be a stream or
ford, so that the
trial is a severe one.
Few of those who
descend from this
trial are able to shout for victory. The pace
has told too much, and they are well content
to lie down for a rest.
The hammer-throwing with a heavy and
lighter weight are not novelties, nor is the
WTestling, which is more a Saxon than a
Celtic pastime. But the " putting " of the
" Clach nearst " or the " stone of strength,"
is a very old Highland exercise.
The throw is from the back. The stone
is poised on the right arm, as a German
waiter carries a tray. The left foot is
poised a moment from the ground, as the
weight is on the right arm and leg. Then
PIPE -MAJOR
HKNRY FRASKK, NIGHT AT THE
OK THE SCOTS GUARDS, "sivIRLIX(i" ON ST. ANDREW'S liOYAI. SCOTTISH CORPORATION BANQUET.
comes the spring, all the force being from the back of the arm, which, extended upward and forward, sends the stone of strength into the air, to fall at a spot which is immediately carefully marked by the judges. For this stone-throwing the man is stripped to his shirt and kilt, and may wear his foot- gear as he likes.
Novv comes the most characteristic of all sporte— the " tossing of the caber." This may have been practised from the earliest days, when the people of the country were called by the Romans " Caledonians." The name was a corruption of a Gaelic term for
HIGHLAND GAMES.
87
" woodmen." " Koile " is a phonetic spell- ing of the Gaelic for a wood, and " duine " is the Gaelic for men. " Koile-duine " suffers little if any change into Caledonian.
The sport is the sport of a woodland people. A young pine or other long piece of rough tree length is taken. It is grasped at one end — the lower — by both hands, holding it 80 that it rests almost upright against the man^s shoulder. The man then l^ts it and endeavours to throw it forward, so that its upper end shall strike the ground, and that the base which he holds shall pitch over and lie furthest from him.
If he fails, the end he has had in his hand will lie nearest to him, for he has not made it pitch over. It has fallen back towa'rds him, and he retires disconsolate.
But usually all fail to make the big, heavy log describe a somersault, and then comes a sawyer and cuts off a piece, so as to make the next attempt one that is not beyond human strength. A roarof cheering greets the suc- cessful giant
who pitches the pine log right over so that it falls clear and straight away from him.
Of coni-se you have all seen an obstacle race. This is a development of a simple early practice of placing logs low near the px)und, and then others alternately at some heiGjht, the combatants being obliged to go under the low and over the high rails at their utmost speed. This was an ancient sport of the Fenine, the old Irish warriors who followed the banner in days before anyone but Churchmen wrote history.
THE SWORD DANCE.
Most of these sports are held nowadays in the autumn, when tourists are visiting the land of Burns and Scott, of Wallace and Bruce. The prizes are not awarded until far on into the evening, and then all wend their way home by the late sunlight which makes the hills over the sea lochs and firths dark purple against a sky of gold.
The fine weather has tempted the High- land cattle, rough dun and russet, and black beasts to climb far up on the upper pastures.
There is no sound from the sea, and the voices from tavern and the street of the little town by the shore sound clear in the mild, moist air.
There is talk to be heard among the elders who at- tend and watch the sports, of ancient tests of strength which are no longer in vogue. "Trundling the common shot" was one of these— an old three-pound or six - pound shot was hurled as far as possi- ble, one good thrower being accustomed to swing his arm round at a pace that gave great impetus to the ball, a practice which would astonish a batsman if practised by a pitcher at base- bull.
Another test was to lift a heavy stone to the top of a low wall. Another, to lift a great stone from the ground and let it drop when carried over the head, so that a man was obliged to leap forward to prevent it from hurting his back. Again, a peculiar feat was to kick a light stone so that it should be lifted by the foot-and fall behind
the athlete. Digitized by VjOC
TOMMY" SHOWS APTITUDE FOR JOURNALISM. By JEROME K. JEROME.'
'C
jOME in ! " said Peter Hope.
Peter Hope was tall and thin, clean-shaven but for a pair of side whiskers close-cropped and terminating just below the ear, with hair of the kind referred to by sympathetic barbers as "getting a little thin on the top, sir," but arranged with economy, that everywhere is poverty's true helpmate. About Mr. Peter Hope's linen, which was white though somewhat frayed, there was a self-assertiveness that invariably arrested the attention of even the most casual observer. Decidedly there was too much of it— its ostentation aided and abetted by the retiring nature of the cut-away coat, whose aim and object clearly was to slip ofiF and disappear behind its owner's back. " I'm a poor old thing," it seemed to say. " I don't shine— or, rather, I shine too much among these up-to-date young modes. I only hamper you. You would be much more comfortable without me." To persuade it to accompany him, its proprietor had to employ force, keeping fastened the lowest of its three buttons. At every step it struggled for its liberty. Another characteristic of Peter's, linking him to the past, was his black silk cravat, secured by a couple of gold pins chained together. Watching him as he now sat writing, his long legs encased in tightly strapped grey trousering crossed beneath the table, the lamplight falling on his fresh-complexioned face, upon the shapely hand that steadied the half -written sheet, a stranger might have rubbed his eyes, wondering by what hallucination he thus found himself in presence seemingly of some young beau belonging to the early 'forties ; but looking closer, would have seen the many wrinkles.
" Come in ! " rei)eated Mr. Peter Hope, raising his voice, but not his eyes.
The door opened, and a small, white face, out of which gleamed a pair of bright, black eyes, was thrust sideways into the room.
" Come in I " repeated Mr. Peter Hope for the third time. " Who is it ? "
A hand not over clean, grasping a greasy cloth cap, appeared below the face.
* Copyright, 1903, by Jerome K. Jerome, in the United States of America.
38
" Not ready yet," said Mr. Hope. '' Sit down and wait."
The door opened wider, and the whole of the figure slid in and, closing the door behind it, sat itself down upon the extreme edge of the chiiir nearest.
"Which are you — Central ^"etcs or Courier?'" demanded Mr. Peter Hope, but without looking up from his work.
The bright, black eyes, which had just commenced an examination of the room by a careful scrutiny of the smoke-grimed ceiling, descended and fixed themselves upon the one clearly defined bald patch upon his head that, had he been aware of it, would have troubled Mr. Peter Hope. But the full, red lips beneath the tunied-up nose remained motionless.
That he had received no answer to his question appeared to have escaped the atten- tion of Mr. Peter Hope. The thin, white hand moved steadily to and fro across the paper. Three more sheets were added to those upon the floor. Then Mr. Peter Hope pushed back his chair and turned his gaze for the first time upon his visitor.
To Peter Hope, hack journalist, long familiar with the genus Printer's Devil, small white faces, tangled hair, dirty hands, and greasy caps were common objects in the neighbourhood of that buried rivulet, the Fleet. But this was a new species. Peter Hope sought his spectacles, found them after some trouble under a heap of newspiipers, adjusted them upon his high, arched nose,- leant forward, and looked long and up and down.
" Bless my soul ! " said Mr. Peter Hope. "Whatisit>"
The figure rose to its full height of five foot one and came forward slowly.
Over a tight-fitting garibaldi of blue silk, excessively d4coUete, it wore \vhat once had been a boy's pepper-and-salt jacket. A woreted comforter wound round the neck still left a wide expanse of throat showing above the garibaldi. Below the jacket fell a long, black skirt, the train of which had been looped up about the waist and fastened with a cricket-belt.
** Who are you ? What do you want ? " asked Mr. Peter Hope.^.^^^^^QQQgJg
''TOMMY'" SHOWS APTITUDE FOR JOURNALISM,
39
For answer, the figure, passing the greasy cap into its other hand, stooped down and, seizing the front of the long skirt, began to haul it up.
" Don't do that ! " said Mr. Peter Hope. " I say, you know, you "
But by tliis time the skirt had practically disappeared, leaving to view a pair of much-
'* Mr. Peter Hope."
patched trousers, diving into the right-hand pocket of which the dirty hand drew forth a folded paper, which, having opened and smoothed out, it laid upon the desk.
Mr. Peter Hope pushed up his spectacles till they rested on his eyebrows, and read aloud — " * Steak and Kidney Pie, 4cd. ; Do. (large size), 6^?. ; Boiled mutton ' "
" That's where I've been for the last two weeks," said the figure — " Hammond's Eating House ! "
The listener noted with surprise that the voice — though it told him, as plainly as if he had risen and drawn aside the red rep curtains, that outside in Gough Square the yellow fog lay like the ghost of a dead sea — betrayed no Cockney accent, found no difficulty with its aitches.
" You ask for Emma. She'll say a good word for me. She told me so."
" But, my good " Mr. Peter Hope,
checking himself, sought again the assistance of his glasses. The glasses being unable to decide the point, their owner had to put the question bluntly :
" Are you a boy or a girl ? "
" I dunno."
" You don't know ! "
" What's the diflFerence ? "
Mr. Peter Hope stood up, and taking the strange figure by the shoulders, turned it round slowly twice, apparently under the impression that the process might afford to him some clue. But it did not.
** What is your name ? "
" Tommy."
" Tommy what ? "
" Anything you like. I dunno. I've had so many of 'em."
"What do you want? What have you come for ? "
" You're Mr. Hope — ain't you, second floor, 16, Gough Square ? "
" That is my name."
" You want somebody to do for you ? "
" You mean a housekeeper ! "
" Didn't say anything about housekeeper Said you wanted somebody to do for you — cook and clean the place up. Heard 'em talking about it in the shop this afternoon. Old lady in green bonnet was asking Mother Hammond if she knew of anyone."
" Mrs. Postwhistle — yes, I did ask her to look out for someone for me. Why, do you know of anyone ? Have you been sent by anybody ? "
" You don't want anything too 'laborate in the way o' cooking ? You was a simple old chap, so they said ; not much trouble."
" No — no. I don't want much — someone clean and respectable. But why couldn't she come herself ? Who is it ? "
" Well, what's wrong about me ? "
"I bqg your pardon," said Mr. Peter Hope.
" Why won't I do ? I can make beds and clean rooms — all that sort o' thing. As for
40
THE WINDSOR MAGAZINE.
cooking, IVe got a natural aptitude for it. You ask Emraa ; she'll tell you. You don't want nothing 'laborate ? "
" Elizabeth," said Mr. Peter Hope, as he crossed and, taking up the poker, proceeded to stir the fire, " are we awake or asleep ? "
Elizabeth, thus appealed to, raised herself on her hind legs and dug her claws into her master's thigh. Mr. Hope's trousers being thin, it was the most practical answer she could have given him.
" Done a lot of looking after other people for their benefit," continued "Tommy." "Don't see why I shouldn't do it for my own."
" My dear — I do wish I knew whether you were a boy or a girl. Do you seriously suggest that I should engage you as my housekeeper ? " asked Mr. Peter Hope, now upright with his back to the fire.
"Td do for you all right," persisted Tommy. "You give me my grub and a shake-down and, say, sixpence a week, and I'll grumble less than most of 'em."
" Don't be ridiculous," said Mr. Peter Hope.
" You won't try me ? "
" Of course not ; you must be mad."
" All right. No harm done." The dirty hand reached out towards the desk, and pos- sessing itself i^ain of " Hammond's Bill of Fare," commenced the operations necessary for bearing it away in safety.
" Here's a shilling for you," said Mr. Peter Hone.
" Rather not," said Tommy. " Thanks all the same."
" Nonsense ! " said Mr. Peter Hope.
" Rather not," repeated Tommy. "Never know where that sort of thing may lead you to."
" All right," said Mr. Peter Hope, replac- ing the coin in his pocket. " Don't ! "
The figure moved towards the door.
"Wait a minute. Wait a minute," said Mr. Peter Hope irritably.
The figure, with its hand upon the door, stood still.
" Are you going back to Hammond's ? "
" No. I've finished there. Only took me on for a couple o' weeks, while one of the gals was ill. She came back this morning."
" Who are your people ? "
Tommy seemed puzzled. " What d'ye mean ? "
" Well, whom do you live with ? "
" Nobody."
" You've got nobody to look after you — to take care of you ? "
" Take care of me ! D'ye think I*m a bloomin' kid ? " " Then where are you going to now ? " " Going ? Out." Peter Hope's irritation was growing.
' Tommv
" I mean, where are you going to sleep ? Got any money for a lodging ? "
" Yes, I've got some money," answered Tommy. "But I don't think much o' lodgings. Not a particular nice class as you meet there. I shall sleep out to-night. 'Tain't raining."
Elizabeth uttered a piercing cry.
" Serves you right ! " growled Peter savagely. " How can anyone help treading on you when you will get just between one's legs. Told you of it a hundred times."
The truth of the matter was that Peter was becoming very angry with himself. For no reason whatever, as he told himself, his memory would persist in wandering to Ilford Cemetery, in a certain desolate comer of which lay a fragile little woman whose lungs bad been but ill adapted to breadiing
''TOMMY'' SHOWS APTITUDE FOR JOURNALISM,
41
London fogs ; with, on the top of her, a still smaller and still more fragile mite of humanity that, in compliment to its only relative worth, a penny piece, had been christened Thomas— a name common enough in all conscience, as Peter had reminded him- self more than once. In the name of com- mon-sense, what had dead and buried Tonmiy Hope to do with this affair? The whole thing was the veriest sentiment, and senti- ment was Mr. Peter Hope's abomination. Had he not penned articles innumerable pointing out its baneful influence upon the age ? Had he not always condemned it, whenever he had come across it, in play or book .' Now and then the suspicion had crossed Peter's mind that in spite of all this, he w&q somewhat of a sentimentalist him- self— things had suggested this to him. The fear had always made him savage.
"You wait here till I come teck," he growled, seizing the astonished Tommy by the worsted comforter and spinning it into the centre of the room. " Sit down, and don't you dare to move." And Peter went out and slammed the door behind him.
" Bit off his chump, ain't he ? " remarked Tommy to Elizabeth, as the sound of Peter's descending footsteps died away. People had a way of addressing remarks to Elizabeth. Something in her manner in- vited this.
"Oh, well, it's all in the day's work," commented Tommy cheerfully, and sat down as bid.
Five minutes passed, maybe ten. Then Peter returned, accompanied by a large, restful lady, to whom surprise — one felt it instinctively— had always been, and always would remain, an unknown quantity.
Tommy rose.
" That's the — the article," explained Peter.
Mrs. Postwhistle compressed her lips and shghtly tossed her head. It was the atti- tude of not ill-natured contempt from which she regarded most human affairs.
"That's right," said Mrs. Postwhistle; " I remember seeing 'er there — leastways, it was an 'er right enough then. What 'ave you done with your clothes ? "
"They weren't mine," explained Tommy. ' " They were things what Mrs. Hammond had lent me."
" Is that your own ? " asked Mrs. Post- whi3tle, indicating the blue silk garibaldi.
"Yes."
" What went with it ? "
" Tights. They were too far gone."
" What made you give up the tumbling business and go to Mrs. 'Ammond's ? "
" It gave me up. Hurt myself."
" Who were you with last ? "
" Martini troupe."
" And before that ? "
" Oh ! heaps of 'em."
" Nobody ever told you whether you was a boy or a girl ? "
" Nobody as I'd care to believe. Some of them called me the one, some of them the other. It depended upon what was wanted."
" How old are you ? "
" I dunno."
Mrs. Postwhistle turned to Peter, who was jingling keys. "Well, there's the bed upstairs. It's for you to decide."
"What I don't want to do," explained Peter, sinking his voice to a confidential whisper, " is to make a fool of myself."
" That's always a good rule," agreed Mrs. Postwhistle, "for those to whom it's possible."
" Anyhow," said Peter, " one night can't do any harm. To-morrow we can think what's to be done."
" To-morrow " had always been Peter's lucky day. At the mere mention of the magic date his spirits invariably rose. He now turned upon Tommy a countenance from which all hesitation was banished.
"Very well. Tommy," said Mr. Peter Hope, "you can sleep here to-night. Go with Mrs. Postwhistle, and she'll show you your room."
The black eyes shone.
" You're going to give me a trial ? "
" We'll talk about all that to-morrow."
The black eyes clouded.
" Look here. I tell you straight, it ain't no good."
" What do you mean ? What isnl any good ? " demanded Peter.
" You'll want to send me to prison."
" To prison ? "
" Oh, yes. You'll call it a school, I know. You ain't the first that's tried that on. It won't work." The bright, black eyes were flashing passionately. " I ain't done any harm. I'm willing to work. I can keep myself. I always have. What's it got to do with anybody else ? "
Had the bright, black eyes retained their expression of passionate defiance, Peter Hope might have retained his common-sense. Only Fate arranged that instead they should suddenly fiU with wild tears. And at sight of them Peter's common-sense went out of the room disgusted, and there was born the history of many thin^.^ ^yGoOgle
42
THE WINDSOR MAGAZINE.
"Don't be silly," said Peter. "You didn't understand. Of course I'm going to give you a trial. You're going to * do ' for me. I merely meant that we'd leave the details till to-morrow. Come, housekeepers don't cry."
The little wet face looked up.
" You mean it ? Honour bright ? "
"Honour bright. Now go and wash yourself. Then you shall get me my supper."
The odd figure, still heaving from its paroxysm of sobs, stood up.
" And I have my grub, my lodging, and sixpence a week ? "
" Yes, yes ; I think that's a fair arrange- ment," agreed Mr. Peter Hope, considering. " Don't you, Mrs. Postwhistle ? "
"With a frock — or a suit of trousers — thrown in," suggested Mrs. Postwhistle. " It's generaUy done."
" If it's the custom, certainly," agreed Mr. Peter Hope. "Sixpence a week and clothes."
And this time it was Peter that, in com- pany with Ehzabeth, sat waiting the return of Tommy.
" I rather hope," said Peter, " it's a boy. It was the fogs, you know. If I only could have afforded to send him away ! "
Elizabeth looked thoughtful. The door opened.
" Ah ! that's better, much better," said Mr. Peter Hope. " 'Pon my word, you look quite respectable."
By the practical Mrs. Postwhistle a work- ing agreement, benefiting both parties, had been arrived at with the long-trained skirt ; while an ample shawl arranged with judg- ment disguised the nakedness that lay below. Peter, a fastidious gentleman, observed with satisfaction that the hands, now clean, had been well cared for.
" Give me that cap," said Peter. He threw it in the glowing fire. It burned brightly, diffusing strange odours.
" There's a travelling cap of mine hanging up in the passage. You can wear that for the present. Take this half-sovereign and get me some cold meat and beer for supper. You'll find everything else you want in that sideboard or else in the kitehen. Don't ask me a hundred qucrtions, and don't make a noise," and Peter went back to his work.
"Good idea, that half-sovereign," said Peter. " Shan't be bothered with * Master Tommy ' any more, don't expect. Starting a nursery at our time of life. Madness ! "
Peter's pen scratehed and spluttered. Eliza- beth kept an eye upon the door.
" Quarter of an hour," said Peter, looJ^i ng at his wateh. " Told you so." The art.iclc on which Peter was now engaged appeared to be of a worrying nature.
"Then why," said Peter, "why did be refuse that shilling ? Artfulness," concladed Peter, " pure artfulness. Elizabeth, old g"irl, we've got out of this business cheaply- Good idea, that half-sovereign." Peter gave vent to a chuckle that had the effect of alarming Elizal)eth.
But luck evidently was not with Peter that night.
" Pingle's wassold out," explained Tommy, entering with parcels ; " had to go to BowV, in Farringdon Street."
" Oh ! " said Peter, without looking up.
Tommy passed through into the little kitehen behind. Peter wrote on rapidly, making up for lost time.
" Good ! " murmured Peter, smiling to himself, " that's a neat phrase. That ought to irritate them."
Now, as he wrote, while with noiseless footsteps Tommy, unseen behind him, moved to and fro and in and out the little kitehen, there came to Peter Hop this very curious experience : it felt to him as if for a long time he had been ill — so ill as not even to have been aware of it— and that now he was beginning to be himself again ; consciousness of things returning to him. This solidly furnished, long, oak-^mnelled room, with its air of old-world dignity and repose — this sober, kindly room in which for more than half his life he had lived and worked— why had he forgotten it ? It came forward greeting him with an amused smile, as of some old friend long parted from. The faded photos, in stiff, wooden frames upon the chimney-piece, among them that of the fragile little woman with the unadaptable lungs. " Bless my soul ! " said Mr. Peter Hope, pushing back his chair. " It's thirty years ago. How time does fly ! Why, let me see, I must be "
"D'you like it with a head on it?" demanded Tommy, who had been waiting patiently for signs.
Peter shook himself awake and went to his supper.
A bright idea occurred to Peter in the night. " Of course ; why didn't I think of it before ? Settle the question at once," Peter fell into an easy sleep.
"Tommy " said Peter, as he sat him- self down to breakfast the next morning.
''TOMMY'' SHOWS APTITUDE FOR JOURNALISM.
43
"By the by," asked Peter with a puzzled expression, putting down his cup, " what is this ? "
" Cauffee," informed him Tommy. " You said cauffee."
" Oh ! " replied Peter. " For the future, Tommy, if you don't mind, I will take tea of a morning."
*-All the same to me," explained the agreeable Tommy — " it's your breakfast."
" What I was about to say," continued Peter, "was that you're not looking very well, Tommy."
" I'm all right," asserted Tommy ; " never nothing the matter with me."
" Nrjt that you know of, porhaps ; but one can be in a very UwJ wuy, Toimiiy, wtthout being amire of it. I t^imot have anyrmc about me thnt I am not sure is iu thoroughly sound health.'*
"If yon mean yon ve chanjj^tKi your rnind
his round. You go at once, and don't let us have any argument.
" That is the way to talk to that young person — clearly," said Peter to himself, listening to Tommy's footsteps dying down the stairs. Hearing the street-door slam, Peter stole into the kitchen and brewed him- self a cup of coflFee.
"Dr. Smith," who had commenced life as Herr Schmidt, but who in consequence of difference of opinion with his Govern- ment was now an Englishman with strong Tory prejudices, had but one sorrow : it was that stran2:ers would mistake him for a
and want to get rid of me " began Tommy,
with it? chin in the air.
" I don't want any of your uppishness,"
snapped Peter, who had wound himself up
for the occasion to a degree of assertiveness
that surprised even himself. " If you are a
thoroughly strong and healthy person, as I
think you are, I shall be very glad to retain
your services. But upon that point I must
be satisfied. It is the custom," explained
Peter. " It is always done in good families.
Run round to this address " — Peter wrote it
upon a leaf of his notebook — " and ask Dr.
Smith to come and see me before he begins
foreigner. He was short and stout, with
bushy eyebrows and a grey moustache, and
looked so fierce that children cried when
they saw him, until he patted them on the
head and addressed them as "mein leedle
frient " in a voice so soft and tender that
they had to leave off howling just to wonder
where it came from. He and Peter, who
was a vehement Radical, had been cronies for
many years, and had each an indulgent
contempt for the other's understanding,
tempered by a sincere affection for one
another they would have found it difficult
to account for. (^ r\r\n\o
Digitized by VjOOv IC
44
THE WINDSOR MAGAZINE.
" What think you is de matter wid de leedle wench ? " demanded Dr. Smith, Peter having opened the case. Peter glanced round the room. The kitchen door was closed.
" How do you know it's a wench ? "
The eyes beneath the bushy brows grew rounder. " If it is not a wench, why dress it "
" Haven't dressed it," interrupted Peter. " Just what I'm waiting to do— so soon as I know." And Peter recounted the events of the preceding evening.
Tears gathered in the doctors small, round eyes. His absurd sentimentalisDi wm the quality in his friend that most irritated Peter.
" Poor leedle waif ! " mur- mured the soft-hearted old gentleman. " It was the good Providence that guided her — or him, whichever it be."
" Providence be hanged ! " snarled Peter. " What was my Providence doing — landing me with a gutter-brat to look after ? "
"So like you Radicals," sneered the doctor, " to despise a fellow human creature just because it may not have been bom in biirple and fine linen."
" I didn't send for you to argue politics," retorted Peter, controlling his indignation by an eflFort. " I want you to tell me whether it's a boy or a girl, so that I may know what to do with it."
" What mean you to do wid it ? " inquired the doctor.
" I don't know," confessed Peter. " If it's a boy, as I rather think it is, maybe I'll be able to find it a place in one of the offices — after I've taught it a little civilisation."
" And if it be a girl ? "
" How can it be a girl when it weara trousers ? " demanded Peter. " Why antici- pate difficulties ? "
Peter, alone, paced to and fro the room, his hands behind his back, his ear on the alert to catch the slightest sound from above.
" I do hope it is a boy," said Peter, glancing up.
Peter's eyes rested on the photo of the fragile little woman gazing down at him from its stiff frame upon the chimney-piece. Thirty years ago, in this same room, reter had paced to and fro, his hands behind his back, his ear alert to catch the slightest
sound from above, had said to himself the same words.
" It's odd," mused Peter — " very odd indeed."
The door opened. The stout doctor, pre- ceded at a little distance by his wat<;h-chain, entered and closed the door behind him.
Mein leedle frient/"
" A very healthy child," said the doctor ; " as fine a child as anyone could wish to see. A girl."
The two old gentlemen looked at one another. Elizabeth, possibly rebeved in her mind, began to purr.
" What am I to do with it ? " demanded Peter.
"A very awkward position for you," agreed the sympathetic doctor.
" I was a fool ! " declared Peter.
" You haf no one here to look after de leedle wench when you are away," pointed out the thoughtful doctor.
" And from what I've seen of the imp," added Peter, "it will want some looking after."
" I tink — I tink," said the helpful doctor, " I see a way out ! " r^^^^T^
^ Digitized by LjOOgle
" TOMMY'' SHOWS APTITUDE FOR JOURNALISM,
45
« What ? "
The doctor thrust his fierce face forward and tapped knowingly with his right fore- finger the right side of his round nose. "/ will take charge of de leedle wench."
"You?"
** To me the case will not present the same difficulties. I haf a housekeeper."
" Oh, yes— Mrs. Whateley."
** She is a goot woman, when you know her," explain^ the doctor. "She only wants managing."
" Pooh ! " ejaculated Peter.
" Why do you say that ? " inquired the doctor.
'* You 1 bringing up a headstrong girl. The idea ! "
" I should be kind, but firm."
" You don't know her."
" How long haf you known her ? "
"Anyhow, I'm not a soft-hearted senti- mentalist ; that would just ruin the child."
" Girls are not boys," persisted the doctor ; " they want different treatment."
" Well, I'm not a brute ! " snarled Peter. " Besides, suppose she turns out rubbish ? What do you know about her ? "
" I take my chance," agreed the generous doctor.
"It wouldn't be fair," retorted honest Peter.
"Tink it over," said the doctor. "A place is never home without de leedle feet. We Englishmen love the home. You are different. You haf no sentiment."
" I cannot help feeling," explained Peter, " a sense of duty in this matter. The child came to me. It is as if this thing had been laid upon me."
"If you look upon it that way, Peter," sighed the doctor.
" With sentiment," went on Peter, " I have nothing to do ; but duty — duty is quite another thing." Peter, feeling himself an ancient Roman, thanked the doctor and shook hands with him.
Tommy, summoned, appeared.
" The doctor. Tommy," said Peter, with- out looking up from his writing, "gives a very satisfactory account of you. So you can stop."
** Told you so," returned Tommy. " Might have saved your money."
" But we shall have to find you another name." " What for ? "
" If you are to be a housekeeper, you must be a girl." "Don't like girls."
" Can't say I think much of them myself, Tommy. We must make the best of it. To begin with, we must get you proper clothes."
" Hate skirts. They hamper you."
"Tommy," said Peter severely, "don't argue."
" Pointing out facts ain't arguing," argued Tommy. " They do hamper you. You try 'em."
The clothes were quickly made, and after a while they came to fit ; but the name proved more difficult of adjustment. A sweet-faced, laughing lady, known to fame by a title respectable and orthodox, appears an honoured guest to-day at many a literary gathering. But the old fellows, pressing round, still call her "Tommy."
The week's trial came to an end. Peter, whose digestion was delicate, had had a happy thought.
" What I propose. Tommy — I mean Jane," said Peter, "is that we should get in a woman to do just the mere cooking. That wiU give you more time to — to attend to other things, Tommy — Jane, I mean."
" What other things ? " chin in the air.
" The— the keeping of the rooms in order. Tommy. The — the dusting."
" Don't want twenty-four hours a day to dust four rooms."
" Then there are messages, Tommy. It would be a great advantage to me to have someone I could send on a message without feeling I was interfering with the house- work."
" What are you driving at ? " demanded Tommy. " Why, I don't have half enough to do as it is. I can do all "
Peter put his foot down. " When I say a thing, I mean a thing. The sooner you understand that, the better. How dare you argue with me ! Fiddle-de-dee ! " For two pins Peter would have employed an expletive even stronger, so determined was he feeling.
Tommy without another word left the room. Peter looked at Elizabeth and winked.
Poor Peter ! his triumph was short-lived. Five minutes later. Tommy returned, clad in the long, black skirt, supported by the cricket belt, the blue garibaldi cut decollete^ the pepper-and-salt jacket, the worsted comforter, the red lips very tightly pressed, the long lashes over the black eyes moving very rapidly.
" Tommy " (severely), " what is this tom- foolery ? "
" I understand. I ain't no good to you. Thanks for giving me a trial. My fault."
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THE WINDSOR MAGAZINE.
** Tommy " (less severely), " don't be an idiot."
"Ain't an idiot. 'Twas Emma. Told me I was good at cooking. Said I'd got an aptitude for it. She meant well."
" Tommy " (no trace of severity), " sit down. Emma was quite right. Your cooking is — is promising. As Emma puts it, you have aptitude. Your — your perse- verance, your hopefulness proves it."
"Then why d'ye want to get someone else in to do it ? "
If Peter could have answered truthfully ! If Peter could have replied —
" My dear, I am a lonely old gentleman. I did not know it until— until the other day. Now I cannot forget it again. Wife and child died many years ago. I was poor, or I might have saved them. That made me hard. The clock of my life stood still. I hid away the key. I did not want to think. Y'ou crept to me out of the cruel fog, awakened old dreams. Do not go away any more " — perhai)s Tommy, in spite of her fierce independence, would have consented to be useful ; and thus Peter might have gained his end at less cost of indigestion. But the penalty for being an anti-sentimentalist is that you must not talk like this even to yourself. So Peter had to cast about for other methods.
"Why shouldn't I keep two servanta if I like ? " It did seem hard on the old gentleman.
" What's the sense of paying two to do the work of one ? You would only be keeping me on out of charity." The black eyes flashed. " I ain't a beggar."
" And you really think. Tommy — I should say Jane — you can manage the — the whole of it ? You won't mind being sent on a message, perhaps in the very middle of your cooking. It was that I was thinking of, Tommy — some cooks would."
" You go easy," advised him Tommy, " till I complain of having too much to do."
Peter returned to his desk. Elizabeth looked up. It seemed to Peter that Elizabeth winked.
The fortnight that followed was a period of trouble to Peter, for Tommy, her suspicions having been aroused, was sceptical of " busi- ness" demanding that Peter should dine with this man at the club, lunch with this editor at the " Cheshire Cheese." At once the chin would go up into the air, the black eyes cloud threateningly. Peter, an unmarried man for thirty years, lacking experience, would under cross-examiufttioft contradHqi
himself, become confused, break down over essential points.
" Really," grumbled Peter to himself one evening, sawing at a mutton chop, " really, there's no other word for it — I'm henpecked."
Peter that day had looked forward to a little dinner at a favourite restaurant, with his " dear old friend Blenkinsopp, a bit of a gourmet. Tommy — that means a man ^-ho likes what you would call elaborate cooking ! " — forgetful at the moment that he had used up " Blenkinsopp " three days before for a farewell supper, " Blenkinsopp " having to set out the next morning for Egypt. Peter \ras not facile at invention. Names in particular had always been a difficulty to him.
" I like a spirit of independence," con- tinued Peter to himself. " Wish she hadn't quite so much of it. Wonder where she got it from."
The situation was becoming more serious to Peter than he cared to admit. For day by day, in spite of her tyrannies. Tommy was growing more and more indispensable to Peter. Tommy was the first audience that for thirty years had laughed at Peter's jokes ; Tommy was the first public that for thirty years had been convinced that Peter was the most brilliant journalist in Fleet Street ; Tommy was the first anxiety that for thirty years had rendered it needful that Peter each night should mount stealthily the creaking stairs, steal with shaded candle to a bedside. If only Tommy wouldn't " do " for him ! If only she could be persuaded to " do " something else.
Another happy thought occurred to Peter.
" Tommy— I mean Jane," said Peter, " I know what I'll do with you."
" What's the game now ? "
" I'll make a journalist of you."
" Don't talk rot."
" It isn't rot. Besides, I won't have you answer me like that. As a Devil— that means. Tommy, the unseen person in the back- ground that helps a journalist to do his work — ^you would be invaluable to me. It would pay me. Tommy — pay me very hand- somely. I should make money out of you."
This appeared to be an argument that Tommy undei-stood. Peter, with secret delight, noticed that the chin retained its normal level.
" I did help a chap to sell papers, once," remembered Tommy ; " he said I was fly at it."
" I told you so," exclaimed Peter trium- phantly. " The methods are different, but the instinct required is the same. We will
''TOMMY'' SHOWS APTITUDE FOR JOURNALISM.
47
get a woman in to relieve you of the house- work."
The chin shot up into the air. *' I could do it in my spare time." **You see, Tommy, I should want you
" ' Thafs his ehakc-down ain't it?' "
to %o about with me — to be always with me."
"Better try me first. Maybe you're making an error."
Peter was leaniing the wisdom of the serpent.
"Qoite right, Tommy. We will first see what you can do. Perhaps, after all, it may
turn out that you are better as a cook." In his heart Peter doubted this.
But the seed had fallen upon good ground. It was Tommy- herself that manoeuvred her first essay in journalism. A great man had come to London — was staying in apartments especially prepared for him in St. James's Palace. Said every journalist in London to himself : " If I could obtain an interview with this Big Man, what a big thing it would be for me ! " For a week past, Peter had carried everywhere about with him a paper headed : " Inter- view of Our Special Correspondent with Prince Blank," questions down left-hand column, very narrow ; space for answers right- hand side, very wide. But the Big Man was experienced.
"I wonder," said Peter, spreading the neatly folded paper on the desk before him, "I wonder if there can be any way of getting at him — any dodge or trick, any piece of low cunning, any plausible lie that I haven't thought of."
*'01d Man Martin— called himself Martini — was just such another," commented Tommy. " Come pay time, Saturday after- noon, you just couldn't get at him — simply wasn't any way. I was a bit too good for him once, though," remembered Tommy, with a touch of pride in her voice ; " got half a quid out of him that time. It did surprise him."
" No," communed Peter to him- self aloud, " I don't honestly think there can be any method, credit- able or discreditable, that I haven't tried." Peter flung the one-sided interview into the waste-paper basket, and slipping his notebook into his pocket, departed to drink tea with a lady novelist, whose great desire, as stated in a post- script to her invitation, was to avoid publicity, if possible. Tommy, as soon as Peter's back was turned, fished it out again.
An hour later in the fog around St. James's Palace stood an Imp, clad in patehed trousers and a pepper-and-salt jacket turned up about the neck, gazing with admiring eyes upon the sentry. * " Now, then, young seventeen-and-sixpence
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THE WINDSOR MAGAZINE.
the soot," said the sentry, ** what do you want ? "
"Makes you a bit anxious, don't it," suggested the Imp, " having a big pot like him to look after ? "
" Does get a bit on yer mind, if yer thinks about it," agreed the sentry.
" How do you find him to talk to, like ? "
" Well," said the sentry, bringing his right leg into action for the purpose of relieving his left, "ain't 'ad much to do with 'im myself, not person'ly, as yet. Oh, 'e ain't a bad sort when yer know 'im."
" That's his shake-down, ain't it ? " asked the Imp, " where the lights are."
" That's it," admitted the sentry. " You ain't an Anarchist ? Tell me if you are."
"I'll let you know if I feel it coming on," the Imp assured him.
Had the sentry been a man of swift and penetrating observation — which he wasn't — he might have asked the question in more serious a tone. For he would have re- marked that the Imp's black eyes were resting lovingly upon a rainwater-pipe, giving to a skilful climber easy access to the terrace underneath the Prince's windows.
" I would like to see him," said the Imp.
" Friend o' yours ? " asked the sentry.
"Well, not exactly," admitted the Imp. " But there, you know, everybody's talking about him down our street."
" Well, yer'U 'ave to be quick about it," said the sentry. " 'E's off to-night."
Tommy's face fell. " I thought it wasn't till Friday morning."
" Ah ! " said the sentry, " that's what the papers say, is it ? " The sentry's voice took unconsciously the accent of those from whom no secret is hid. " I'U tell yer what yer can do," continued the sentry, enjoying an un- accustomed sense of importance. The sentry glanced left, then right. " 'E's a- slipping off all by 'imself down to Osborne by the 6.40 from Waterloo. Nobody knows it — 'cept, o' course, just a few of us. That's 'is way all over. 'E just 'ates "
A footstep sounded down the corridor. The sentry became statuesque.
At Waterloo, Tommy inspected the 6.40 train. Only one compartment indicated possibilities, an extra large one at the end of the coach next the guard's van. It was labelled " Eeserved," and in place of the usual fittings was furnished with a table and four easy-chairs. Having noticed its position. Tommy took a walk up the plat- form and disappeared into the fog.
Twenty minutes later. Prince Blank stepped
hurriedly across the platform, unnoticed sa \'e by half-a-dozen obsequious officials, and entered the compartment reserved for hiixi. The obsequious officials bowed. Prince Blank, in military fashion, raised his hand. The 6.40 moved slowly forth.
Prince Blank, who was a stout gentleman, though he tried to disguise the fact, seldom found himself alone. When he did, he generally indulged himself in a little healthy relaxation. With two hours' run to South- ampton before him, free from all possibility of intrusion, Prince Blank let loose the buttons of his powerfully built waistcoat, rested his bald head on the top of his chair, stretched his great legs upon another, and closed his terrible, small eyes.
For an instant it seemed to Prince Blank that a draught had entered into the carriage. As, however, the sensation immediately passed away, he did not trouble to w^ake up. Then the Prince dreamed that somebody was in the carriage with him — was sitting opposite to him. This being an annoying sort of dream, the Prince opened his eyes for the purpose of dispelling it. There was some- body sitting opposite to him — a very grimy little person, wiping blood ofiF its face and hands with a dingy handkerchief. Had the Prince been a man capable of surprise, he would have been surprised.
" It's all right," assured him Tommy. " I ain't here to do any harm. I ain't an Anarchist."
The Prince, by a muscular effort, retired some four or five inches and commenced to re button his waistcoat.
** How did you get here ? " asked the Prince.
" 'Twas a bigger job than I'd reckoned on," admitted Tommy, seeking a dry inch in the smeared handkerchief, and finding none. " But that don't matter," added Tommy cheerfully, " now I'm here."
" If you do not wish me to hand you over to the police at Southampton, you had better answer my questions," remarked the Prince drily.
Tommy was not afraid of princes, but in the lexicon of her harassed youth " Police " had always been a word of dread.
" I wanted to get at you."
" I gather that."
" There didn't seem any other way. It's jolly difficult to get at you. You're so jolly artful."
" Tell me how you managed it."
** There's a little bridge for signals just outside Waterloo. I could see that the
''TOMMY'' SHOWS APTITUDE FOE JOURNALISM.
49
train would have to pass under it. So I climbed up and waited. It being a foggy night, you see, nobody twigged me. I say, you are Prince Blank, ain't you ? " " I am Prince Blank." " Should have been mad if I'd landed the wrong man." " Go on."
" I knew which was your carriage — least- ways, I guessed it ; and as it came along, I did a drop." Tommy spread out her arms and 1^ to illustrate the action. "The lamps, you know," explained Tomm>, istill dabbing at her face — ** one of them caught me.
" And from the roof ? " " Oh, well, it \\m e^isy aft<^r that. There's an iron thing at the kick, and steps. You've only got to vvalk downstairs and round the corner, and there you arf^. Bit of luck your other door not being locked. I had n't thought of that. Haven't got such a thing as a handker- chief about you, have you ? "
The Prince drew one from sleeve
his and it to
the top of his chair."
her. " You mean to tell me,
boy "
" Ain't a boy," explained Tommy. " I'm a girl ! "
She said it sadly. Deeming her new friends such as could be trusted, Tommy had accepted the fact and was trying to get used to it. But for many a long year to come the thought of her lost manhooid tinged her voice with bitterness. "A girl!"
Tommy nodded her head. " Umph ! " said the Prince ; " I have heard a good deal about the English girl. I was beginning to think it exaggerated. Stand up."
Tommy obeyed. It was not altogether her way, but with those eyes beneath their shaggy brows bent upon her, it seemed the simplest thing to do.
" So. And now that you are here, what do you want ? "
" To interview you." Tommy drew forth her list of questions. The shaggy brows contracted. " Who put you up to this absurdity ? Who was it ? Tell me at once ? " " Nobody."
" Don't lie to me. His name ? " The terrible, small eyes flashed fire. But Tommy also had a pair of eyes. Before their blaze of indignation the great man positively quailed. This typeof opponentwas newto him. " I'm not lying." " I beg your pardon," said the Prince.
And at this point it occurred to the Prince, who being really a great man, had naturally a sense of humour, that a conference conducted on these lines between the leading states- m a n of an Empire and an impertinent hussy of, say, twelve yeare old at the outside, ~^_ might end '^ ' by becom- ing ridicu- lous. So the Prince took up his chair and put it down again beside Tommy's, and employing skilfully his undoubted diplomatic gifts, drew from her, bit by bit, the whole story.
" I'm inclined, Miss Jane," said the Great Man, the story ended, " to agree with our friend Mr. Hope. I should say your metier was journalism."
" And you'll let me interview you ?" asked Tommy, showing her whi^ teeth.
The Great Man, laying a hand heavier than he guessed on Tommy's shoulder, rose. " I think you are entitled to it."
" What's your views," demanded Tommy, reading, " of the future political and social
relationships "
" Perhaps," suggested the Great Man, " it will be simpler if I write it myself^'alg
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" Well," concurred Tommy, " nij spelling is a bit rocky."
The Great Man drew a chair to the table.
"You won't miss out anything— will you ? " insisted Tommy.
" I shall endeavour. Miss Jane, to give you no cause for complaint," gravely he assured her, and sat down to write.
Not till the train began to slacken speed had the Prince finished. Then, blotting and refolding the paper, he stood up.
" I have added some instructions on the back of the last page," explained the Prince, " to which you will draw^ Mr. Hope's par- ticular attention. I would wish you to promise me, Miss Jane, never again to have recourse to dangerous acrobatic tricks, not even in the sacred cause of journalism."
" Of course, if you hadn't been so jolly difficult to get at "
" My fault, I know," agreed the Prince. " There is not the least doubt as to which sex you belong to. Nevertheless, I want you to promise me. Come," urged the Prince, " I have done a good deal for you — more than you know."
"All right," consented Tommy a little sulkily. Tommy hated making promises, because she always kept them. " I promise."
"There is your Interview." The first Southampton platform lamp shone in upon the Prince and Tommy as they stood facing one another. The Prince, who had acquired the reputation, not altogether unjustly, of an ill-tempered and savage old gentleman, did a strange thing : taking the little, blood -smeared face between his paws, he kissed it. Tommy always remembered the smoky flavour of the bristly grey moustache.
"One thing more,"8aid the Prince sternly — " not a word of all this. Don't open your mouth to speak of it till you are back in Gough Square."
" Do you take me for a mug ? " answered Tommy.
They behaved very oddly to Tommy after the Prince had disappeared.- Every bcnij took a deal of trouble for her, but none of them seemed to know why they were doiiitr it. They looked at her and went away, and came again and looked at her. And the more they thought about it, the more puzzled they became. Some of them asked her questions, but what Tommy really didn't know, added to what she didn't mean to tell, was so prodigious that Curiosity itself paled at contemplation of it.
They washed and brushed her up and gave her an excellent supper ; and putting her into a first-class compartment labelled " Reserved," sent her back to Waterloo, and thence in a cab to Gough Square, where she arrived about midnight, suffering from a sense of self-importance, traces of which to this day are still discernible.
Such and thus was the commencement of Tommy's journalistic career, leading to many histories still famous in the annals of Bohemia which stretches east and west from St. Bride's Street to the confines of Soho, which is bordered on the north by Bloomsbury and reaches south to the great water. Some of them, maybe, are worth telling : How Peter realised the great dream of his life and founded that short-lived but long- remembered periodical Good Humour^ of which Tommy was sub-editor, and "William Clodd, Esq. — but that, of course, was long ago, before he was Sir William Clodd, M.P., " Truthful Billy " as we called him then — the business manager and advertising agent ; how Dandy Danvers danced at Court ; how Mary Ramsbotham, whom we had all thought so sensible, became for quite six months a handsome woman ; how— but I run on.* Some other day — perhaps.
BOYS AND GIRLS-
''|*M awful glad Tm not a girl/* " Tm awful glad I am a boy,** Said John, Said John,
*' To wear a skirt and shake my curls, '* To play football, be sensible, And tie pink ribbons on. And have a gun.**
''Pshaw I I don*t care,** Belinda said, ''Maybe 1*11 wed an earl! Besides, it*s much more ladylike To be a girl.**
FLORENCE WILKINSON.
"a fai.t.kn angrl.'
BY O. ir. BOUCHTOX, R.A.
THE ART OF MR. G. H. BOUGHTON R.A.
By John Oldcastle.
The pirtifres rpj^rodnced only hy special permission^ the copyright in every case
being strictly reserved.
WHEN vou call on Mr. Bough ton (pronounce the name as if it rhymed with " caught-on ") at West House, on the summit of Campden iWllj part farmhouse and part palace—and call on him, too, to give you an account of the things he has done artistically well or ill — he asks you whether, on your threat to drown him in ink, you expect the Past will suddenly flash across' the Present, to be yours in confession.
That verbal fencing betrayed the accom- ])lished user of the foil, and I remembered the days when I used to take in Harper's Magazine, to read the " Rambles in Holland," and other papers contributed to its pt^^es by Mr. Houghton's fugitive but never tripping pen. Mankind is easily divided into the men who cannot express themselves and the men who can ; and among those who can, Mr. Bough ton is a front-ranker. Bom near Norwich, he did not leave
51
England for America until he w;\s two yeai*s old. His father, though an Englishman, was really an American to the manner born, loving the Puritans whose heroes and heroines his son was afterwards to depict, and being as natural a Republican as even that arch-Royalist, Chateaubriand, admitted himself to be in his moments of elation. He took out to the wilds with him agri- cultural implements — other than spades, one supposes — which were of no use. Very early in his life his son began to think of implements of another sort — palette, paint- box, and brushes— and these were of all possible use.
" I can't recollect the time when I did not draw a little," the painter tells you. " I could draw the capital letters of the alphabet before I could spell"— a confession over which Ruskin would have clapped his hands in the glee that so well became him before illness darkened his vision v-ior Ruskin held
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" MILTON'S FIRST LOVE." BY O. H. BOUGHTON, R.A.
that it was more important that a child should learn to draw than that he should learn to rciid or wTJte.
Great thin<?8 come about very simply ; and an accident that befell the boy Boughton made an artist of him. " He may not read, he may not write," said tiie doctor. "But may he draw ? " asked the sister on the spot. " Can he ? " was the doctor's counter-ques- tion. The boy's sketches were produced ; and the doctor was in effect his first friend
and patron. He went to stay with some friends in the country, and there met a lady who, in return for alert serv^ice rendered, became his second patron and put a box at the opera at his disposal. The painter, to whom prosperity has come in full measure, thinks affectionately of those early helpers of his in the days that were still anxious.
Another millionaire friend came alon^. "Don't you think you should 0^0 to Europe ? *' he asked, after seeing some of the young
THE ART OF MR. G. H. BOUGHTON, R.A.
53
*IZAAK WALTON AND THE MILKMAIDS." BY O. H. BOUOHTOX, R.A. Prom, the picture in the postasion of C. Sletoart Smithy Etq.^ New York.
artifit's work. " That is what I have been saviDg for," said the potential Royal Acade- mician ; " but I happen to be about £200 short." " Here's a cheque for the amount ; paint me two pictures for it when you are away," said the millionaire, who was accounted " close " by the world. Mr. Boughton, one perceives, does not join in that absurd hue and cry against the Patron with which Chelsea has resounded ere now ; he is not
to that extreme Whistlerian. These early episodes were the turning-points in Mr. Bough ton's career. Opportunity came to him, as it comes to most of the young, and he closed with it.
That visit to Europe restored Mr. Boughton to England. In London he looked at pictures. The Cumberland lakes and the Scottisli lochs found him subjects for sketching : and in Ireland the peasants sat to an artist
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who had tact enough to introduce himself to the priest. Then, intractable to others, they were model models to Mr. Boughton. The tact which has distinguished his art has distinguished his life— that is to say, he is sincere as artist and as man. And tact has helped him to get near to the peasant — nearer than George Mason or Fred Walker got to him — not here only, but in Holland and in Brittany. You may be sure that if Mr. Boughton had been shown in a temple of the East a light that had been kept burning with pious symbolism for a thousand years, he would not have blown it out. Nor was he one of those two artists of ours who, passing through a Breton district, sat at the foot of a wayside shrine to lunch and to smoke ; and who, seeing a bird settle on an arm of the cross, threw stones at it — missing the bird, but chipping the cross. Children, looking on, reported the deed to their parents, and the sequel was — angry peasants armed with pitchforks, and two British artists in full flight. One can undei-stand why the Bretons wanted to stone those artists ; not why those artists wanted to stone the bird. Mr. Boughton, the friend of man and beast,
'* MISS OLIVE HOOD." BY CJ. H. BOUGHTON, R.A.
Prom the portrait in the potsetsion of Miss Hood.
has been recognised as such by man and beast alike. Each, as by common instinct, recognise his friend, the Dutch peasant, stubborn to others, has yielded to Mr. Boughton ; and the fierce sheep-dog of the
North, that bounds forward with a bark, is seen transformed to a creature offering welcome with a wagging tail.
The ticket of the steamship that was to take the painter back to Amenca was in his
\-MS.J' —
MR. O. H. BOUGHTON, R.A.
From a drnmng by Sir L, Alma Tadema. By permission of Messrs. Harper Brothers.
pocket. Then he walked down Regent Street, and met a friend fresh from New York. " Say, you ought to try your luck here," was the friend's advice, aft^r seeing his work. So Mr. Boughton sold his ticket. He also sold the pictures he had in hand. One of them was hung at the British Institution ; and the Times made it a big bow, from the very head of its column. Next morning the dealers were sitting on his doorstep ; and, as all the world knows, they have meta- phorically sat there ever since. They find it, no doubt, a remarkably profitable position. The crime of being '* literary " in art (if a " crime " it is to be called) has been boldly committed by Mr. Boughton, so that his name stands with the household names of Hawthorne and Longfellow. He is the painter of " The March of Miles Standish," of "Hester Prynne," and of "A Chapter from Pamela," and Literature, nothing loth in gratitude, has made her return by the pen of Henry James. "He has been perceptibly an inventor," says Mr. James, "calling into being certain types of dress, certain tones
THE ART OF MR. G. H. HOUGHTON, R.A.
55
"when the dead leaves fall." by g. h. boughton, k.a. From the piclure in the Municipal Gallery, Rome, bought by the King of Italy.
and aasociations of colour, which people ai*e moves is made up of divers delicate things,
Iinn^ for when they acquire ' a Boughton,' and there would be roughness in attempting
ami which they can obtain on no other to unravel the tapestry. There is old
terms. This pictorial element in which he English, old American, and ^ J^^k Jn it,
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Irving." Then Mr. Ilenry James seems to breathe just the ghost of a sigh over Mr. Bough ton for being distracted f I'om landscape painting by his importunate love of sad -faced, pretty women in close-fitting" coifs and old silver-clfxsped cloaks. " And in- deed," he owns, * * t h o u g h Mr. Bough ton's fi Inures are very tender, Ii is landscape is, to my sense, tenderer still. There is a delightful ambiguity of period and even of clime in him, and he rejoices in that inability to depict the modern, which is the most convinchig sign of the contemporary."
In one of his literary essays, Mr. Boughton descrilx?s the delight of a summer morning, so full of all amity that he could not feel in any humour to '* kill or maim anything or anybody." He would not even "accept the loan of a most lithesome roil and a gaudy lx)ok of flies that looked almost as ' fetching ' as a brand-new box of moist colours to a giddy art-student." But the author of *'The Compleat Angler," who also knew what it was to Ije lifted above earth, found in Mr.
' IlKSTEK PItYNNK, 1\ IIAWTHORNE's *THK SCAKLKT LKTTKU."" BY ii. H. BOUGHTON, K.A.
and a friendly, unexpected new Dutch, too — an ingredient of New Amsterdam, a strahi of Knickerbocker and of AVtushini2:ton
Boughton an illus- trator. His " Izaak AValton and the Milkmaids " shows more consideration to the angler than some of the old woodcuts showed in wliich the second tisheri^^^J^.^^ piece.
»-THE VISION AT THE MAUTYK'S WELL." KY G. IL BOUGHTp!^,^
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romanticallj young and languishing, is faith- fully introduced, a set-ofF to the milkmaid's mother. "'T\vas a handsome milkmaid," says " The Compleat Angler " in a memor- able passage, " that had not yet attained so much age and wisdom as to load her mind with any fears of many things that will never be, as too many men too often do." Maudlin sang "like a nightingale," one
painting of a young and beautiful woman clad in a melancholy robe and veil, and beset by a drift of leaves — " When the Dead Leaves Fall." The flight of the foliage, so well described by Dickens as having a " dead lightness" — a more helpless thing than a dead weight — is admirably rendered in the picture. To the face the painter has given the pathos of ephemeral beauty — beauty that does not
"be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou SHALT NOT ESCAPE CALUMNY." — UamUt,
BY G. H. BOUGHTON, R.A.
remembers, and that the words " suited " the " smooth " song. They were the words^
"Come live with me and be my love,"
which Kit Marlowe had written at least fifty years earlier, and to which her mother sang the reply made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his younger days. '* Old - fashioned poetry," Isaac calls it ; but " much better," he thinks, " than the tiring lines that are now in fashion in this critical age."
Autumn and Winter were wont to be typified by ageing and aged figures, but Mr. Bough ton has a more modern touch in his
need any suggestion of disease to assure us of its transitoriness ; disease hardly makes youth more transient than it is made by health and happiness. Malady may speak the sentence, but youth is anyhow con- demned.
Among many pictures of New England in which the beauty, courage, steadfastness, and virtue of Puritan life are illustrated occurs the darker episode of the young girl "Suspected of Witcncraft" because she has a fancy for walking in the woods and gathering flowers. The presence of a black cat adds the final and damning confirmation
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' SUSPECTED OF WITCHCRAFT.
BY G. H. BOUGHTON, R.A.
of her crime. In one of ber less known (and much better) books, Mrs. Beecher Stowe has a New England countrywoman who is quite unaware of flowers as Nature's decoration of the fields, but recognises them Jis in some cases curative. She calls them •' blow^s," and makes medicinal " tea " of
those that are worthy. Perhaps the sus- pected maid of the picture is guilty of nothing more heinous than a love of flowers. The " Knickeibocker History of New York " phase yielded Mr. Boughton the delightful subject of the reception the
citizens accorded to the /l)rohibitiou of Digitized by V_i
THE ART OF MR. 0, IL BOUOHTON, R.A.
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" A winter's walk by the sea." by o. h. bouohton, r.a.
smoking issued by a too ascetic Governor. The smoke of pipes here settled a dispute with quite as much finality as belongs to the smoke of cannon ; and these pipes, while being pipes of rebellion, did not fail, one is sure from the expression on the faces of some of the smokers, to be also pipes of peace. The contest ended, and most satis- factorily this time, in smoke. From comedy
to tragedy we pass with Mr. Bough ton when we turn to the " Hester Prynne," a harrowing passage in the life of Hawthorne's penitent heroine. The ground is covered with snow — the snow that, according to the conceit of a poet, made the earth innocent for the coming of the Saviour ; pestilence is in the air : and a flourishing mother and child, muffling their breaths against infection.
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huny past a house of fever at the door of which the condemned Hester, with her letter of shame fastened to her breast, stands knocking with the offer of service.
Milt<m, like a great modem poet, had three wives ; but he had at least four love-stories, three concerning the ladies in question, and one concerning the lady with whom he threatened tke wife who long absented herself at her father's house. In having one wife
to whom he could refer as his " late espoused saint," " brought to me like Alcestis from the grave," he had, perhaps, such full measure of matrimonial happiness as is allowed to mortals. But neither the prose of common fact nor the memory that Milton was the advocate, and no disinterested one, for Divorce, must be recalled when we look at the scene of "First Love" depicted by Mr. Boughton, who shows us a beautiful, but
*^THK FIRST WINTER IN NEW ENGLAND: PILGRIMS WATCHING FOR THE RELIEF SHIPS."
BT G. H. BOUGHTON, R.A.
"an EDICT OF WILLIAM THE TESTV." BY O. H. BOUGHTON, R.
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also a bookish, damsel, such as should fairly fall to Milton if poetical justice were done in the world.
Tennyson is taken very much at his word by Mr. Boughton when he peoples the *' Road to Camelot." The poem suggests a silent and lonely country, but describes the groups, wayfarers, and stragglers who broke the silence and the solitude. The slight paradox is inevitable, for a few words express the long solitude, whereas many words de- scribe the rare company. A like accident befalls a play of Ibsen's, in which the seclu- sion of a disappointed man in an upper chamber is described in some brief phrases of dialogue ; but what the audience sees is an upper chamber populous with all kinds of visitors. The eremitic years gone by do not appear. Tennyson, being a much better artist than Ibsen, has kept the just propor- tion in his exquisite lines — some of the most purely poetic, after the Tennysonian magical manner of poetry, that he ever ^vrote. But an illustrator has only his moment to work with ; and Mr. Boughton has made the most
of his moment ; his passers-by, watched bv the enchanted lady in her mirror, make a veritable procession.
The studio of Mr. Boughton is first of all a work -place. There are moralists and censors who have accused dull womeu of seeking to redeem their dulness by tbe magnificence of their dress — a proceeding which, if true, is not incapable of plausible defence. Certain it is that studios seem to follow some law by which their own beauty, and the beauty of the work they turn out, is at an inverse ratio. The great painters have simpler accessories than the petits maitres, the foppish amateurs of the easel. Nor has Mr. Boughton any studio mysteries, any secret methods. He disclaims any dis- coveries, any trickeries of technique. He saw his objects with a single eye, or felt them with a single heart ; he made his record with an answering directness ; and, both in his reticent handling and in the range of his palette, he may lay claim to a title that is to him among the most honourable of appellations— a Puritan of the paint-box.
MR. O. H. BOUGHTOlf'S 8l'UDIO AT HIS
HOUBK OS CAMPDBN HILL.
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A GAME OF DRAUGHTS.
By FRED M. WHITE.*
{LIFFORD STEELE Quietly remarked Uiat the game was over, which patent fact his opponent admitted cheer- fully, with the rider that there was more in the game of draughts than peo- ple imagined. The two were playing comfortably between their cigarettes in the luxurious lounge of the Brema Castle Hotel. A band was playing somewhere in the distance, there was a cres^'endo of chattering voices, the soft swish of draperies. A tall girl, with a white, sad face, passed along as Steele was packing up the draughtsmen. She paused suddenly.
*' Perhaps you would like to play, Miss Denbury?" Steele hazarded. His late
antagonist had strolled away. " If so "
" I loathe the game," Angela said almost passionately. " To my mind, there is some- thing so horridly weird Mr. Steele, are
you a good player ? "
The girl paused, and her manner changed suddenly. The keen-eyed, shrewd young barrister was regarding her intently. Surely mere dislike for an innocent pastime could not have touched her passions so deeply. Angela Denbury was more beautiful than she had been when Steele first met her at Davos Platz some eighteen months before, but then the white sorrow of her face had been the glowing happiness of irresponsible youth. The passing months had made sad history for Angela Denbury lately. She sat down by Steele's side and commenced to fan herself gently.
" Mr. Steele," she said abruptly, " do you remember Raymond Hare ? "
Steele nodded. He was beginning to understand. Raymond Hare had been at Davos Platz at that time . . . Certainly a handsome, healthy young fellow, with every- thing good on his side. There was a flush on Angela's face now.
, * Copyright, 1903, by Fred M. White, in the United states of America.
"If I can help you," Steele suggested, " pray command me."
" Yes, yes. You are very good. When I met you in the corridor yesterday, it occurred to me that you might be disposed . . . Raymond liked you ; indeed, you were very friendly at Davos. Do you know that Hare Park, Raymond's place, is not far from here ? "
"Then I shall certainly ride over and call," said Steele. " I hope he's well. But that class of athlete is never sick or sorry."
"Indeed, you are quite wrong," Miss Denbury replied. " Raymond is dying. He is dying of a broken heart. And it will be merciful if he is taken away before he loses his mind altogether."
Steele was deeply shocked. Something told him that he was to hear more, but he luui too much tact and delicacy to ask questions. With the dreamy murmur of the band and the smiling faces about him, it seemed hard all at once to 'grapple with the tragedy hanging over two lives.
" It seems almost farcical," Angela went on — " at least, in one way. You were surprised a minute or two ago at an outburst of mine over a simple Question about a game of draughts. If tnat game had never been invented, I should ^ a happy girl to-day with-with "
"Raymond Hare," Steele murmured. " Won't you take me into your confidence ? Anything that lies in my power to do I will do gladly."
It was some moments before Angela replied. Her dark eyes were fixed upon space.
" Do you believe in warnings and banshees and occult things ? " she asked suddenly.
"Not in the least," Steele replied. "I have found the air of the police-courts wonderfully efficacious in solving mysteries of that kind."
"Then you would look with suspicious eyes upon a game of draughts played by invisible hands in an old castle at mid- night."
" I should indeed. That is all very well in the pages of Christmas fiction."
" Mr. Steele, I have seen it myself ; I have felt the icy draught ; I have heard the clash of steel ; I have seen the red and white men
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moved. And when the game has been played for the fifty-second consecutive Saturday night, Raymond Hare will die — if he does not go out of his mind first."
The last few words were uttered with the deepest sadness. They were none the less sad because they sounded so strangely out of place there.
" The fulfilment of a legend," Steele mur- mured. "Please tell me the story. You have no idea how deeply I am interested. Those spectral antagonists are playing for the life of a living man. As a champion performer, I should very much like to be present at one of those contests. Does one invariably win ? "
" Oh, no ! Sometimes one player, and sometimes the other. If red is successful in the majority of cases, then Raymond's life is spared. Otherwise — oh, Mr. Steele ! is it possible that such things can really be ? " The man of the world smiled sceptically. • Those family legends were generally very interesting. He intimated that he would much like to hear this one.
" I can tell you in a few words," said Angela. " The Hares and the Monks have ever been bitter rivals ; and when the War of the Roses broke out, the heads of the two houses took difiPerent sides. After the disaster of Bosworth Field, Alyward Monk fled home, and Amyas Hare betrayed him. The former surprised the latter at dead of night over a curious draughteboard in the big hall. Then there was a scene. They were neither of them aniied, but there were plenty of rapiers about. Monk swore that he or Hare should die. Then they played each for the life of the other across the draughtsboard, and Alyward Monk won. Amyas Hare handed a rapier to the victor, who stabbed him to the heart under the very eyes of the unhappy man's wife, who had come down to see why her husband had not gone to bed. And ever since then, for a year before the death of the head of the Hare family, that ghostly game is played every Saturday night. No doubt you have heard many similar legends, but I have seen the working of this one for myself. Sometimes the curae misses a generation, but it is working for Raymond Hare now as it worked for his father. The latter knew his end was coming, and it did. Within a week of the end of his year he broke his neck out hunting."
" It might have been a coincidence," Steele suggested.
" Oh, I grant you Uiat ! " Angela exclaimed.
" More especially as ever since that dreadful discovery by the distracted wife, the Hares have been a highly strung, emofeional, imaginative race. But the thing is gaing on now, and Raymond will never be able to stand the strain. If he is not driven to suicide, his mind must give way. . And we were so happy together; we loved one
another so dearly. And now, and now "
The girl paused, with the tears brimming on her lashes like diamonds. The deep sadness of her face touched Steele to tlie heart.
" Let me ask you one practical question," he said. " In the event of Raymond Hare's death, who comes into the property ? "
Angela Denbury did not quite kno\ir- There was an elderly second cousin, a very nice kind of man who lived with Hare, w^ho she imagined was next-of-kin. Georg-e Minton had once been marked out as a great geologist, or something of that kind, before he gave up his career for the sake of Hare. Steele nodded carelessly, but he made a note of the same.
"Now tell me something about the phenomena," he asked. " When and under what circumstances did vou see it for your- self?"
" WeU, of course I have known all about it for years," Angela rei)lied. "Riiymond told me how the thing had acted in his father's case. But that was some five years ago, and, after all, it rested on the evidence of servants. Moreover, Raymond's father was a very hard-living man, and in any case could not have survived long. Raymond had never seen those metal draughtsmen move till shortly after we were engaged, and then there was a big house-party at Hare Park. I shall never forget his face the next morning. At my urgent request the secret was kept from everybody but Mr. Minton. At the same time I could not quite bring myself to believe in the phenomena. I decided to see for myself the following Siiturday night after the house was quiet.
" A little after midnight I came down into the great flagged hall. It was a warm night and I felt no inconvenience. I reached the place where the queer metal draughtsboard stood with the metal men ranged upon it. I had a queer feeling that somebody was watching me. One or two electric lamps were always left burning in the hall, so that I took courage. Then, with a kind of feeling that it was aU so much nonsense, I hid behind a curtain.
" At the end of ten minutes an icy draught
'''I loathe the game/ Angela taid almoit pasilonately."
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swept along the hall. There were murmurs like the sound of strife, a little pause, then, to my horror, one of the draughtsmen moved I It was only by a great effort that I kept myself from yelling aloud. . . . Well, I watched that clever, weird game played till white won — white, the colour of the House of York, whose cause Alyward Monk had espoused. If the material fingers of two champions had been on the table, it had been no better played. I saw th6 taken pieces rise in the air and fall on the table with a dull clink, then I heard the thud of a body and the clatter of a rapier, as the victor carelessly tossed it on the floor. If you ask me what happened after that, I frankly say that I don't know. ^ When I came to myself again, I was lying on my bedroom floor, and the stable clock was striking three."
The girl paused with a long-drawn sigh ; her dark eyes were full of pain. She half glanced at her companion to see if he were smiling at her. But there was no smile on Steele's keen, clean-shaven face.
"Can you find it possible to believe my story ? " Angela asked.
" Every word of it," Steele said promptly. " I feel sure that your eyes did not deceive you. Also I feel pretty sure that there is some explanation. And now I am going to help you if I possibly can. In the first place, you are not to let anybody know what you have told me — not even Raymond Hare. He must l)e led to understand that the family secret is intact. In the next place you must contrive for me to become a guest at Hare Park for a few days. Does Hare come here at all — to see you, I mean ? "
"Two or three times a week; indeed, I am in this hotel so as to be near him. He has insisted upon our engagement being broken off ; but so long as there is life, there is hope, and I shaU never give Raymond up, never ! "
" Indeed, I hope there will be no reason," Steele said warmly. " Write and ask Hare to come and see you to-morrow. Say I am leaving for Scotland in the morning, and my room is already engaged. Under pretence that I cannot stay here, I am going to ask Mr. Hare to put me up for a day or two."
" He wUl be delighted. The face of an old friend distracts him from "
" Then that is settled," Steele said cheer- fully. " I'm going to my own room now, where I can think the matter out over a quiet cigarette. Also I shall have to write one or two important letters. Good night."
He pressed the girl's hand warmly, leaving
her with a glow and a feeling of happinefss to which she had long been a stranger. He sat down beside his own window till the noise and clatter of the hotel had ceased ; he looked out into the darkness \vith a cigarette glowing between his teeth. Gradually something like a theory began to shape itself in his mind. Then Steele switched on the light and wrote a couple of letters, which he decided to post person- ally. One was addressed to a well-known firm of private detectives. There was. nothing in it besides a single person's name, written across the middle of the page, with a query- after it. Steele smiled grimly as he fastened down the flap and sealed it ; after which he dismissed the subject from his mind and went to bed.
II.
With a post-prandial cigarette well alight, Steele was thoughtfully regarding his host. There was another man present— a slight, tall man, with a pleasant face and open smile, who had been introduced to Steele as Minton. Raymond Hare himself was making pictures on the tablecloth with his breadcrumbs. He was deadly pale, fitfully silent, and feverishly gay. His dark eyes expanded strangely, the lids twitched in a quick, nervous way. Steele knew two men who had been all through the siege of Kimberley, and he recognised the same symptoms — nerves of the worst type.
" You ought to be a happy man here," he said. " I never saw a more perfect specimen of a Tudor house. A man who possesses seven Romneys could not possibly be miser- able. "What do you think, Mr. Minton ? "
Minton smiled in his pleasant manner. Hare . started. He seemed on the verge of an outburst, but checked himself.
" I am never quite happy on a Saturday night," he said, as if speaking more to him- self than anything else. " What nonsense I am saying I "
Steele's air of poUte bewilderment was perfect, Minton's expression was one of annoyance. On the far side of the electric flower-stand Steele could study the features of the other two. Electric lights in old copper fittings were everywhere. The night was a little chilly, so that an electric radiator gleamed in the deep, old-fashioned fireplace. Raymond Hare rose from his seat, muttering that he had forgotten something. His face was ghastly pale, and there were heavy drops on his forehead, though Stei^le affected to see nothing of this. Digitized byGoOglc
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" My uephew is not quite himself lately," Mr. Minton said.
'* Not enough to do," Steele laughed. "It is a favourite axiom of mine that the man who has everything is never really happy. Now, the change from a hotel to a house like this is a great treat to me. How wonderfully well the electric lights blend with these old walls ! Do you run your stoves on the same set of wires ? "
Minton explained that there was practically a second set for the stoves. If the ordinary lights went wrong, then they had always the stoves to fall back upon. The scheme was his own, though he did not profess to know anything of the technical part of the business.
" You have not studied electricity, then ? " Steele asked carelessly.
'^ I am ashamed to say that I know nothing whatever about it," Minton laughed. " Take a cigar^ and come and play a game of billiards. I dare say Raymond will bfe down again presently."
On the whole, it was an exceedingly dull evening, and more than once Steele wished himself at the hotel again. Hare was dis- trait and uneasy, and Minton appeared to be keeping an anxious watch over him. Steele put up his cue after the third game and refused to play any more.
" I am afraid that we are neither of us up to championship form," he said. '^ As it is just eleven o'clock, I dare not play, lest the game should carry us into Sunday, which is one of the drawbacks of Saturday night."
"To-night is Saturday," Hare said sud- denly. " Ugh ! somebody is walking over my grave. I hope I shall be better to-morrow."
Steele murmured something appropriate. Personally he would have liked to have suggested sending for the doctor, and the advisability of having somebody to look after his host, but that was out of the question. Outside the walls of an asylum, he had never seen anything like the face his friend turned to him just for the moment. No mind could stand a strain like that for long.
The house grew quiet presently ; there was a faint light or two in the hall and corridors. For the best part of an hour Steele sat in his room smoking. A few minutes before midnight he put down his cigarette and