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 (5arnpll Itttucrotty ffitbrarg 
 
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 BOU'GHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE 
 
 SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 HENRY W. SAGE 
 
 1891 
 
kg 2 7 ''# ^ATE DUE 
 
 SEP^ 
 
 t>i944 
 
 Cornell University Library 
 
 PR6015.A614G6 
 
 Good conduct, 
 
 3 1924 013 624 006 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013624006 
 
GOOD CONDUCT 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 THE RED HAND OF ULSTER. 
 
 zs. net and js. net. 
 
 THE MAJOR'S NIECE. 7j.net. 
 THE LOST TRIBES. 7s. net. 
 
GOOD CONDUCT 
 
 BY GEORGE A. BIRMINGHAM^. 
 
 LONDON 
 JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W. 
 
 1920 
 
PsS-A Q>%^^ 
 
 First Edition . . . /4/n/, 1920 
 Reprinted .... May, 1920 
 
 AU rights reaerud 
 

 CONTENTS 
 
 
 I. 
 
 For Good Conduct . 
 
 PAQK 
 
 1 
 
 II. 
 
 The Futurist .... 
 
 . 26 
 
 III. 
 
 The Advertisement . 
 
 . 51 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Will op the People 
 
 . 73 
 
 V. 
 
 Perseus and Andromeda . 
 
 . 97 
 
 VI. 
 
 Sir Baokwood Ghallenobr 
 
 119 
 
 VII. 
 
 The Bishop .... 
 
 . 139 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Bear 
 
 . .164 
 
 IX. 
 
 Life-Saving .... 
 
 . 185 
 
 X. 
 
 Oakum 
 
 . 204 
 
 XL 
 
 The Pauifist LeagCe 
 
 . 223 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Wedding Present 
 
 . 241 
 
FOR GOOD CONDUCT 
 
 Sir Isaac Wool is a dear old man. There is 
 no other way of describing him. He has a 
 rosy, smiling face, and the kindest possible 
 eyes. He is always trying to do good in some 
 way or other, and he struck me, when I first 
 came to know him, as one of the most foolish 
 men I ever met. I stiU regard him as extra- 
 ordinarily foolish in most ways ; but I admit 
 that he must have in him some kind of 
 ability. 
 
 He started life as a salesman in a very 
 small draper's shop. When he was five-and- 
 twenty he had a very small draper's shop of 
 his own in which he sold cheap stockings, 
 cheap gloves, and cheap stays. He now owns 
 the immense emporium — that is what he calls 
 it himself, and no name would suit the place 
 better — which occupies half of one side of the 
 main street of Middleton. 
 
2 FOE GOOD CONDUCT 
 
 Sir Isaac Wool also owns the Daily Gazette^ 
 whicli is the chief morning paper in Middleton. 
 He bought it a year ago, and made me editor. 
 I cannot complain about the way he treats 
 me. I have a comfortable office, and am 
 given a fairly free hand. The dear old gentle- 
 man is mildly Liberal in his politics ; and the 
 paper supports his party. I have no objection 
 to supporting the Liberal Party. I should 
 have no objection to supporting the Conser- 
 vative Party if Sir Isaac changed his politics ; 
 but I have a liking for doing my politics thor- 
 oughly, whichever side I am on. Sir Isaac, 
 owing to the extraordinary kindness of his 
 heart, does not like thoroughness in politics. 
 
 The fact is that Sir Isaac does not under- 
 stand either politics or journalism. I should 
 have said myself that he did not understand 
 anything in the world, if it were not perfectly 
 plain that he does understand stockings. He 
 bought in the Daily Gazette with a vague idea 
 of doing good with it. This is, I know, almost 
 incredible; but he told me so himself when 
 he made me editor. 
 
 *' The Press," he said, " is an immense 
 power ; don't you think so ? " 
 
 I do not think so ; but I wanted to be an 
 editor, so I said I did. 
 
 My experience of doing good to people is 
 
FOB GOOD CONDUCT 3 
 
 that you eannot help doing an equal amount 
 of harm to other people at the same time. It 
 is like tipping up one side of a pair of scales ; 
 the other side is bound to go ^down. This 
 was brought home to me when Sir Isaac made 
 his first use of the Daily Gazette as an instru- 
 ment for good. He insisted on my taking 
 on Adolphus Jennings as assistant editor. 
 Thereby he certainly did good to Adolphus. 
 The young man Hved with a widowed mother 
 and wrote poetry. It was such poor poetry 
 that no one ever paid him anything for it. As 
 assistant editor of the Daily. Gasettehe earned 
 a comfortable salary. That was good for 
 him and good for his widowed mother. It 
 was not good for me. A more incompetent 
 young man than Adolphus never existed. He 
 is no more fitted to be a journalist than I am 
 to be a bishop — much less fitted. With a few 
 years' training I might be turned into an ex- 
 cellent bishop. No training wUl ever produce 
 any effect on Adolphus. 
 
 He is not a good fend-o£f, because deter- 
 mined visitors, especially women, are some- 
 times able to push past him and get at me. 
 But he has certaia points. He never offends 
 any one, and is never rude, even to the worst 
 faddist. He is so humble that when a bad 
 blunder is made the blame for it can always 
 
4 FOE GOOD CONDUCT 
 
 be put on him without his resenting it in the 
 least. In fact, he seems actually to believe 
 that he is to blame. In this way Adolphus 
 is of some help to me, and I always have a 
 pleasant sense that by keeping him I am 
 living up to Sir Isaac's ideal of using the 
 Daily Gazette as a means of doing good. 
 Indeed, as it turned out, Adolphus is not the 
 only person to whom we have done good. 
 But for the Daily Gazette, Miss Pink would 
 not now be the happy mother of a smiling 
 babe. We did good to her, though more or 
 less accidentally. The way it happened was 
 this. 
 
 I was at my desk one evening in the 
 middle of December. A telegram had just 
 come in announcing the murder of the Presi- 
 dent of one of the South American EepubKcs. 
 I felt that the event demanded a vigorous 
 leading article, but I was rather puzzled about 
 how to write it. The murder of a President 
 may be a dastardly and abominable outrage at 
 which the whole civilised world stands aghast, 
 or it may be an act of irregular justice, slightly 
 deplorable on account of its irregularity, but 
 essentially praiseworthy. A good leading 
 article can be written from either point of 
 view. What troubled me was that I did not 
 know which way our party was going to look 
 
FOE GOOD CONDUCT 6 
 
 at it. I had never heard of the wretched 
 President before, and the encyclopaedia gave 
 only the most meagre account of the republic. 
 I had nothing to guide me, and my temper 
 was a little ragged. 
 
 The telephone bell at my elbow rang. I 
 took up the receiver, and was told that Miss 
 Merridew wanted to speak to me. I did not 
 want to speak to Miss Merridew. She is the 
 head of a large girls' school, an excellent and 
 very able woman, who reminds me of a syphon 
 of soda-water when she talks. She fizzes, 
 splashes, and froths. Also, it is very difficult 
 to get her to stop. 
 
 " Switch her on to Mr. Jennings," I said. 
 
 I made up my mind to take the abomin- 
 able-outrage line about the dead President, 
 and had just begun my article when Adolphus 
 knocked at the door. I knew it was Adolphus 
 because he always begins by turning the door- 
 handle, and then remembers that he ought to 
 knock. 
 
 "Miss Merridew," he said, "insists on 
 speaking to you." 
 
 " Did you tell her that I am in a nursing- 
 home undergoing an operation for appen- 
 dicitis?" 
 
 " No," said Adolphus, " I didn't. Ought I 
 to have told her that ? " 
 
6 FOR GOOD CONDUCT 
 
 "Of course you ought. What do you 
 suppose you are here for ? Go and tell her at 
 
 once." 
 
 Adolphus hesitated. 
 
 " I'm very sorry," he said, " but I've just 
 told her that you're in the office." 
 
 " Well," I said, " there's nothing for it now 
 but to tell her that I'll do it." 
 
 " Do what ? " 
 
 "Don't be stupid, Adolphus. Whatever 
 it is she wants. How the deuce do I know 
 what it is ? It's you she's been talking to, not 
 
 me." 
 
 " But suppose," said Adolphus, " she wants 
 you to " 
 
 "I won't suppose anything. Go and find 
 out what she wants me to do, and then say 
 I'll do it with the greatest pleasure. When 
 she has rung off write her a letter to say you're 
 extremely sorry for the mistake you made ; 
 that you now find I can't possibly do it, much 
 as I should like to, and that the misunder- 
 standing is entirely your fault. She won't 
 get the letter till the morning, so we'U have 
 to-night in peace, anyhow." 
 
 Adolphus went away. That is one of 
 Adolphus' good points. He does go, away 
 without arguing. I sat down to my article 
 again. On the whole, it seemed to me safest 
 
FOE GOOD CONDUCT 7 
 
 to hedge a little over the murdered President. 
 I could say that in some circumstances the 
 murdering of Presidents was a horrible busi- 
 ness, but in other circumstances, though still 
 horrible, not quite so horrible as it would be 
 in the first circumstances. In the present 
 case — this would form the closing paragraph 
 of the article — the public is in no uncertainty 
 about the judgment it ought to pass about 
 the unfortunate event. This is a difficult 
 kind of article to write really well ; but I was 
 getting on with it, when the telephone bell 
 rang again. 
 
 " A lady to see you, sir." 
 
 " Turn her on to Mr. Jennings," I said. 
 
 " She says," said the girl at our exchange, 
 " that she must see the editor. Her business 
 is private and very important." 
 
 "Turn her on to Mr. Jennings." 
 
 I know these ladies with private and very 
 important business. They always want us 
 to publish highly libellous letters, and it 
 takes hours to persuade them that we will 
 not. They are extremely persistent people, 
 more persistent than men ever are. 
 
 " TeU her," I added, " that Mr. Jennings 
 is the editor, and tell him to say so when he 
 sees her." 
 
 I congratulated myself that I should hear 
 
8 FOR GOOD CONDUCT 
 
 no more of that lady, and might devote 
 myseK to the task of balancing my article 
 on the fence which separates the two possible 
 views of the murder of that President. I 
 congratulated myseK too soon. I had not 
 been writing for more than five minutes when 
 Adolphus burst into my room without making 
 any attempt to knock at the door. His hair, 
 wMoh is usually sleek and shiny, was ruffled. 
 He had drops of perspiration on his forehead. 
 
 " She's coming," he said breathlessly. " I 
 can't keep her out." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you've allowed 
 that woman " 
 
 " I didn't allow her," said Adolphus. 
 " She insisted on seeing the editor." 
 
 " I told you to say that you are the editor. 
 Why didn't you stick to that ? " 
 
 "I did; but she simply didn't believe 
 me." 
 
 It would, perhaps, have been surprising 
 if she had believed that Adolphus was an 
 editor. The woman, whoever she was, evi- 
 dently had some little intelligence. 
 
 " I am afraid she's following me upstairs," 
 said Adolphus. " Here she is ! " 
 
 A young woman walked into my room as 
 he spoke. She was very nicely dressed, and 
 had a pretty, girUsh figure. I could not see 
 
FOE GOOD CONDUCT 9 
 
 her face, because she wore a veil — rather a 
 thick veil. I rose from my chair and drew 
 myself up stiffly. 
 
 "Madam," I said, "whatever business 
 you have ought to be transacted with — — " 
 
 "Would you mind sending that boy 
 away ? " she said, pointing to Adolphus. 
 
 Her voice was uncommonly pleasant, and 
 I liked the contemptuous way she treated 
 Adolphus. I nodded to him, and he went 
 out. 
 
 "Silly of him," she said, "pretending to 
 be an editor ! I knew he couldn't be, really. 
 No editor would look such a fool, would he ? 
 Now, you are quite different." 
 
 I could see that she was looking at me 
 carefully. I began to have a high opinion of 
 her intelligence. 
 
 " ' There are a kind of men whose visages 
 Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,' " 
 
 she said. " Now, yours doesn't." 
 
 The phrase puzzled me a little. She very 
 kindly explained that it was a quotation. 
 
 ' ' Shakespeare, you know, ' ' she said. "But 
 perhaps you haven't read The Merchant of 
 Venice f You ought to, you know, really. 
 All editors should be good at English Lit." 
 
 " Madam," I said— but I admit that I 
 
10 FOE GOOD CONDUCT 
 
 spoke more gently than I had at first — " if 
 you have any business with me — — " 
 
 "Of course I have," she said. "I 
 wouldn't have come here if I hadn't some 
 business." 
 
 " I'm rather hurried this evening. "Would 
 you mind telling me what your business 
 is?" 
 
 " Too bad interrupting you, especially as 
 I see you're doing an English composition. 
 There's nothing I hate more than being inter- 
 rupted at an English comp. — I mean to say, 
 I used to hate it when I was at school. I'm 
 rather good at English comp. Are you ? " 
 
 "Well," I said, "Enghsh comp. is my 
 business, so I get a lot of practice at it. I 
 ought to be good. But about your busi- 
 ness " 
 
 "The fact is," she said, "I've just got 
 married." 
 
 " ReaUy ! " 
 
 It was a foolish and meaningless thing to 
 say, but her announcement startled me. 
 
 " Jolly, isn't it ? It happened to-day. 
 That's what brings me here, you know." 
 
 I did not know. I could imagiue no con- 
 nection between her marriage and a visit at 
 half-past nine o'clock at night to my office. 
 
 "My 'dear madam," I said, "if you were 
 
FOE GOOP CONDUCT 11 
 
 married to-day, where's your husband? He 
 can't have deserted you yet, surely ! " 
 
 '* Oh, dear, no ! Quite the contrary. 
 He's outside." She nodded towards the 
 door which Adolphus had closed when he 
 left the room. " He's waiting for me. He 
 was too shy to come in. Silly of him, wasn't 
 it ? But you know what men are, and he's 
 particularly sUly." 
 
 She raised her veU and smiled at me in 
 a very fascinating way. She was uncommonly 
 pretty, and quite young — certainly not more 
 than twenty years of age. It seemed a pity 
 that she should have married a very silly man. 
 
 "What I want you to do," she said, "is 
 to publish an account of the wedding — 
 bridesmaids' dresses, especially Hilda's (she's 
 a tremendous friend of mine, and looked 
 simply sweet), wedding presents, and every- 
 thing. I want a bit in the paper about the 
 wedding that long." 
 
 She held her hands apart and indicated 
 a space of more than half a column. She 
 smiled again, and I at once promised to do 
 what she asked me. 
 
 " Just give me the details," I said, taking 
 a sheet of paper and a pen, " and you can 
 rely on its appearing to-morrow morning." 
 
 "You needn't bother taking notes," she 
 
 B 
 
12 FOE GOOD. CONDUCT 
 
 answered. ** I have the whole account ready 
 written out for you. I told you I was pretty 
 good at EngKsh comp., didn't I ? Well, I've 
 taken a lot of trouble about this. I don't 
 think you need read it over. The spelling is 
 all right, and I was particularly careful about 
 the stops — commas and things, you know. 
 They're frightfully important;" 
 
 She opened a little bag she carried on 
 her arm and handed me an envelope. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said, " and thanks 
 awfully. By the way, don't let that office- 
 boy of yours — you know whom I mean ? " 
 
 " Adolphus ? " I said — " whose visage is 
 like a pond?" 
 
 •' Yes. Don't let him see it. Just send it 
 straight down to your printer. I don't like 
 to think of any one reading it. After all, you 
 know, it is rathfer — well, rather, isn't it? — 
 rather shy work, getting married ? You know 
 how a girl feels about getting married, don't 
 you ? Especially the first time," 
 
 I do not actually know, but I can make 
 some sort of guess at how an ordinary girl 
 feels about getting married. This young 
 woman's feelings were beyond me. 
 
 " But," I said, " if I print it, every one 
 will read it to-morrow." 
 
 "I shan't mind a bit to-morrow," she 
 
FOR GOOD CONDUCT 13 
 
 said. '«In fact, I'll be pleased thm. But I 
 don't want it read by any one till to-morrow. 
 Good night — and thanks awfully." 
 
 She swept out of my office. I should not 
 like to say that she actually slammed the 
 door behind her. She certainly shut it 
 vigorously and decisively. Adolphus, who 
 must have seen her go, came in immediately, 
 
 " I thought you'd like to know," he said, 
 " that Sir Isaac has been here for the last ten 
 minutes. He's in the reporters' room now." 
 
 Sir Isaac has a way of dropping in to the 
 Daily Gazette office whenever he has nothing 
 particular to do in the evening. He likes, so 
 he says, to see that all the members of the 
 staff are comfortable. 
 
 He was on me almost as soon as Adolphus 
 had given me his warning. 
 
 " How are you, my dear fellow ? " he said. 
 " I do hope that you are thoroughly comfort- 
 able. If there's any little thing — what about 
 a thick wool mat under your desk ? A doctor 
 was explaining to me the other day that brain- 
 work — severe brain-work — tends to withdraw 
 the blood from the extremities and to leave 
 the feet cold. You ought to wear thick socks, 
 my dear fellow, drawn on over your boots, 
 when you are writing. But that's not exactly 
 what I came to see you about this evening. 
 
14 FOE GOOD CONDUCT 
 
 Let me see, now ; what was it I wanted to 
 say to you ? " 
 
 I could give him no help on this point. I 
 felt firmly convinced that it was something 
 foolish, but there was no use saying that. 
 Sir Isaac stroked his chest gently with his 
 right hand, a peculiar gesture which he uses 
 when thinking deeply. Most men, when they 
 suppose themselves to be thinking, scratch 
 their heads. Sir Isaac strokes his chest, 
 which is proper enough in his case, for his 
 thoughts — if they can be called thoughts — 
 come from his heart, not his head. 
 
 "Ah! I remember. I remember. How 
 fortunate ! Miss Merridew — an excellent 
 woman Miss Merridew, and engaged in what 
 is perhaps the most important work of all, the 
 education of our young women, the future 
 mothers of our race. When you and I are 
 gone, my dear fellow — though of course, you 
 are still young and have, I hope, many years 
 of life before you. But, of course, that's not 
 exactly what I came to say to you. Let me 
 see, now " 
 
 "Something about Miss Merridew," I 
 suggested. I really wanted to get on with 
 the South American President. 
 
 "Ah, yes," said Sir Isaac. "She asked 
 me to use my influence with you, my dear 
 
FOE GOOD CONDUCT 15 
 
 fellow. To-morrow is the prize -giving day in 
 her school, a most important day both for her 
 and her young people. Dear girls, all of them ! 
 I have promised to preside, and Miss Merridew 
 is very anxious that you should make a little 
 speech to the girls." 
 
 So that is what Miss Merridew wanted 
 when she rang me up on the telephone ! 
 
 "You'll do it excellently, I am sure," said 
 Sir Isaac. " I took it upon myself to promise, 
 unless you had some previous engagement of 
 great importance " 
 
 " I've just promised to do as she asked," 
 I said. " I told Adolphus to telephone to her 
 to say I should do it with pleasure." 
 
 " Thank you so much. It's very kind of 
 you. I'm sure you'll never regret it, my dear 
 fellow. "We never regret doing good, and I 
 feel that this is a great opportunity for 
 usefulness. You remember what the poet 
 says : 
 
 ' That best portion of a good man's life, 
 His little, nameless, unremembered acts 
 Of kindness and of love — ' 
 
 You remember the lines, don't you ? " 
 
 Considering that Sir Isaac quotes them to 
 me once a week at least, I ought to be pretty 
 farailiar with them. 
 
16 FOR GOOD CONDUCT 
 
 " And now," said Sir Isaac, " I'll say good 
 night." 
 
 He seized my hand and shook it warmly. 
 
 " I know you're busy. It isn't fair to take 
 up your time in this way. We meet again 
 to-morrow afternoon at the prize-giving. So 
 delightful, you know, to see the swefet, inno- 
 cent faces of the young girls ! G-ood night, 
 my dear fellow, good night. Don't sit up too 
 late, and think over what I said about wearing 
 a pair of socks over your boots, or order a 
 woolly rug. Good night. Good night." 
 
 He backed towards the door as he talked, 
 holding my hand and shaking it affectionately. 
 When he had really got himself away, I 
 realised that I was in for Migs Merridew's 
 prize-giving, and that I must prevent Adolphus 
 from posting the letter containing whatever 
 reason he had hit upon for my not going. I 
 telephoned to the girl downstairs and asked 
 to have Adolphus sent to me. 
 
 While waiting for him I took up the 
 envelope left by my very self-possessed lady 
 visitor, opened it, and glanced at the account 
 of her wedding. I could not, of course, send 
 it down to the compositors' room without 
 looking at it. The very first lines of it filled 
 me with astonishment. It was an account of 
 the marriage of Adolphus Jennings, B.A., 
 
FOE GOOD CONDUCT 17 
 
 assistant editor of the Daily Gazette, to a Miss 
 Eosanna Pink. The ceremony had taken place 
 at St. Grabriel's Church, and the officiating 
 clergy were — Adolphus entered the room in 
 answer to my summons. I turned on him. 
 
 "Adolphus," I said, "what the deuce do 
 you mean by getting married in this way, 
 without telling me a word about it ? " 
 
 The boy's jaw dropped. I never in my 
 life saw any one so astonished. 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me yourself," I said, 
 " instead of sending your wife in here with 
 this account of the wedding ? I regard it as 
 a mean and cowardly act to send her to do 
 what you ought to have done yourself, while 
 you sneaked outside the door and pretended 
 not to know who she was." 
 
 " I didn't ! " gasped Adolphus. 
 
 "You did," I said. "What on earth is 
 the good of denying it? I talked to the 
 young woman myself." 
 
 " I mean to say," said Adolphus, " that I 
 didn't get married." 
 
 " Don't lie, Adolphus I I have the account 
 of the wedding here in my hand, given me by 
 the bride." I 
 
 " What bride ? " 
 
 "Yours. And a great deal better bride 
 than you deserve, I can't imagine how a gili 
 
18 FOE GOOD CONDUCT 
 
 like that, an exceedingly nice girl, ever came 
 to marry you." 
 
 " But I'm not married ! " 
 
 "Don't keep on saying that," I said. 
 " Here's a list of the bridesmaids and their 
 dresses, and the wedding presents. Sir Isaac, 
 I see, gave you a cheque, and — Hullo ! "What 
 on earth do you mean by saying that I gave 
 you a silver teapot ? Here it is : ' John 
 Godfrey, Esq., Editor of the Daily Gazette, 
 silver teapot.' How could I possibly give you 
 a silver teapot when I didn't know you were 
 going to be married ? " 
 
 "I'm not married." 
 
 Adolphus looked as if he were going to 
 burst into tears. I could scarcely fail to 
 believe that he was speaking the truth. ' I 
 looked at the account of his wedding, the very 
 detailed and circumstantial account which I 
 held in my hand, and felt puzzled. Suddenly 
 I seemed to see the meaning of it all. 
 
 "Adolphus," I said, "if you haven't 
 married that girl, you ought to, at once. 
 She evidently wants to marry you. I expect 
 you've been philandering with her, and she 
 has taken this way of bringing you up to the 
 scratch. It seems to me an extraordinary 
 thing that she can want to marry you, but 
 she certainly does. There's no other way 
 
FOE GOOD CONDUCT 19 
 
 of explaining what she's done. You'd better 
 go and propose to her to-morrow." 
 
 "I can't," said Adolphus helplessly. "I 
 can't, really ! " 
 
 "Yon can if you like. She's a most 
 charming girl — one of the most charming 
 girls I've ever met ; far too good for yoy. 
 If you play fast and loose with her affections 
 any more, I'U thrash you myself. I'U thrash 
 you till you can't either stand or sit." 
 
 I remembered the lady's delightful smile, 
 and felt most righteously indignant with 
 Adolphus. His next words damped my fury. 
 
 "I can't propose to her," he said. "I 
 never saw her in my life till this evening. I 
 don't even know her name." 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me," I said, refer- 
 ring to the account of the wedding, "that 
 you don't knbw Miss Pink — Miss Eosanna 
 Pink?" 
 
 Adolphus blushed. 
 
 " Oh yes," he said, " I know Miss Pink. 
 She's a teacher in Miss Merridew's school. 
 She teaches English Literature." 
 
 "Then go and marry her. You must 
 marry some one, Adolphus. It's quite plain 
 to me that you've been flirting disgracefully 
 with some poor girl, and that she's been 
 driven to extremities to get you to behave 
 
20 FOR GOOD CONDUCT 
 
 decently to her. I don't care whom you 
 marry, though I'd have been sorry to see the 
 girl who was here this evening thrown away 
 on you. You must either be engaged to 
 Miss Pink or to somebody else before to- 
 morrow night. If you aren't, there'll be a 
 row you won't like. I can't have this office 
 used as a court of appeal by every love-sick 
 damsel you choose to philander with. You 
 can go now ; and, by the way, Adolphus, you 
 needn't post your letter to Miss Merridew. 
 I'm going to her show to-morrow." 
 
 I went to Miss Merridew' s prize-giving, 
 and was rather surprised to meet Adolphus 
 there. He was radiant with smiles and 
 blushes. He told me, in a whisper, that he 
 had ventured to propose to Miss Pink, and 
 had been accepted at once. 
 
 " I always loved her," he said, " but I was 
 afraid she didn't care for me." 
 
 "It's quite plain she did," I said. "If 
 she hadn't she wouldn't have set that 
 girl " 
 
 " Oh 1 " said Adolphus, deeply pained. 
 " She had nothing to do with that — ^nothing 
 at all. She's not that kind of girl. Let me 
 introduce you to her, and you'll see for 
 yourself she's not that kind of girl." 
 
 Addlphus was plainly right about his 
 
FOE GOOD CONDUCT 21 
 
 fiancee. She was a pale creature with sandy 
 hair and feeble, light-blue eyes— just the sort 
 of girl Adolphus ought to marry, the very 
 last girl in the world to resort to an audacious 
 stratagem to secure a slippery lover. 
 
 Miss Merridew's show was like others of 
 the same kind. Sir Isaac made the sort of 
 idiotic speech men do make on these occasions, 
 the sort of sj)eech Sir Isaac makes uncom- 
 monly weU. The choir, eighteen young 
 women, all in their best frocks, sang a glee. 
 A very nervous damsel, with a short skirt and 
 enormous feet, recited Portia's speech about 
 mercy. Another girl hammered out the 
 " Moonlight Sonata " on the piano, and looked 
 uncommonly hot when she had finished. 
 There was a duet and another glee. Then 
 Sir Isaac gave out the prizes. Demure 
 maidens were handed handsomely bound 
 editions of Wordsworth and Tennyson for 
 proficiency in French, German, History, and 
 various other kinds of learning. 
 
 The last prize was for " General Good 
 Conduct," and the name of the fortunate 
 winner was read out by Miss Merridew : 
 
 "Virginia Tempest." 
 
 A girl of about seventeen came up from 
 the end of the hall. Her face seemed oddly 
 familiar to me. When Sir Isaac handed her 
 
22 FOR GOOD CONDUCT 
 
 prize to her she smiled, and it struck me 
 that I had seen her smile before, in my office, 
 when she gave me the account of Adolphus' 
 marriage. I was left in no uncertainty. After 
 bowing to Sir Isaac, she turned and deliber- 
 ately winked at me. 
 
 After the distribution of prizes we had 
 tea. Cakes were handed round by a picked 
 band of Miss Merridew's pupils, and I was 
 fortunate enough to get into touch with Miss 
 Tempest, She displayed no embarrassment 
 whatever. 
 
 * ' You didn't publish it, ' ' she said . ' * Eather 
 mean of you, I call that, after promising. But 
 it's all right. He did it this morning. I 
 didn't actually hear it done " 
 
 "I hope not," I said. 
 
 "But she told us all afterwards, and 
 blushed frightfully. Fancy Pinkie blush- 
 ing I" 
 
 "Would you mind telling me," I said, 
 " why you played that trick on me ? Did 
 Miss Pink ask you to ? " 
 
 "Gracious, no! Pinkie would die in a 
 fit if she knew about it, Hilda and I made 
 it up between us. Hilda's my great friend. 
 But she's a mean cat all the same. When 
 it came to the point of going into your oflBce, 
 she simply funked it. She was all right up till 
 
FOR GOOD CONDUCT 23 
 
 then. She stole the clothes for my disguise 
 from her elder sister, who's grown up, and 
 has a proper dress allowance. They fitted me 
 splendidly, as it happened," 
 
 "You looked charming," I said; "but 
 you haven't told me yet why you did it." 
 
 "Oh, well," she said, "we all like poor 
 Pinkie. She's a rotter at games, of course, 
 and in most ways too silly for words; but 
 she's not a bad sort. We could see, of course, 
 that her young affections were engaged. 
 That's the right way to put it, isn't it ? " 
 
 "Quite. It's the only delicate way of 
 putting it." 
 
 "And we knew he was the kind of 
 footerer " 
 
 " Kind of what ? " 
 
 "Footerer. A footerer is a person who 
 never quite does anything — just stands on 
 the brink until some one goes behind and 
 pushes him in." 
 
 "I understand," I said. "That's just 
 what poor Adolphus is." 
 
 " So we went behind and pushed. That's 
 all." 
 
 " It was a daring scheme," I said. 
 
 "Not at all. Nothing could have bedn 
 simpler. It was the only thing to do. We 
 couldn't have poor Pinkie pining away and 
 
24 FOR GOOD CONDUCT 
 
 going off into a lingering consumption owing 
 to a broken heart. And she would, you 
 know. That sort does. Silly, I call it; but 
 I suppose they can't help it. Shall I get you 
 some more tea ? " 
 
 "No, dianks," I said. "But don't go 
 away. There's one thing more I want to ask 
 you. Do ydu. think you were quite justified 
 in taking that prize to-day ? " 
 
 " Of course I was. I don't see why not." 
 
 " It was a good conduct prize. If it had 
 been for English composition, now, or French 
 — French is a gay, irresponsible kind of 
 language — ^you would have deserved a prize 
 for it. But good conduct — general good 
 conduct ! Come, now." 
 
 "What I call good conduct," she said, 
 "is making other people happy. You re- 
 member what that old idiot said to-day 
 in his speech about little unremembered 
 What-you-call-'ems of kindness and of love ? " 
 
 ^* Yes, I am familiar with the quotation. 
 It's from Wordsworth." 
 
 " Rather piffle, I think," said Miss 
 Tempest ; " but it's what we did. And so we 
 may be said to have gone in heavily for good 
 conduct," 
 
 There was no mistake about it. Miss 
 Tempest's conduct did have the result of 
 
FOR GOOD CONDUCT 25 
 
 making two people very happy. The wedding 
 took place at Easter, and Sir Isaac, radiating 
 benevolence, gave the young couple the 
 cheque that Miss Tempest promised before- 
 hand in his name. I felt myself tied to a 
 silver teapot, and made it a large one. Miss 
 Tempest and Hilda — who were, as they told 
 me, stony broke at the time — gave a pin- 
 cushion. ; 
 
 There were two hearts on it, pierced with 
 a single arrow, the design being worked in 
 gold thread. 
 
 " Sickening, I call that sort of thing," 
 said Miss Tempest, when she pointed out 
 the pincushion to me at the wedding 
 reception. " But poor Pinkie likes it. It 
 appeals to what she calls her deeper self. 
 The result of too much English Lit., I expect, 
 when you have that kind of deeper seli 
 JoUy glad I haven't. Anyhow, it was the 
 only thing we could afford to give her, and 
 we had to borrow the gold thread from Hilda's 
 Bister, who luckily had some." 
 
II 
 
 THE FUTURIST 
 
 Adolphus Jennings, my assistant editor, came 
 into my room one evening some six weeks 
 or so after his marriage. He had a par- 
 ticularly sheepish and furtive air, so I knew 
 he meant to ask a favour of some kind. 
 Adolphus, to do him justice, seldom wants 
 a holiday. Most of his requests are inno- 
 cent and easily granted. He often asks 
 for some particular book to review or for a 
 ticket for a concert. I never refuse him 
 anything of the sort, so there is no real 
 reason why he should trenmle when he 
 comes to ask his favour. But he always does. 
 
 " Would you very much mind," he said, 
 " speaking to my wife ? " 
 
 "I'll do it with pleasure," I said. "I'll 
 go round to-morrow. If she's been bullying 
 you-" 
 
 " Oh, dear, no," said Adolphus ; " nothing 
 
THEPUTUEIST 27 
 
 of that sort ! And I don'fc want you to go 
 round to our house. She's here in my room. 
 May I bring her in ? " 
 
 I do not think that Adolphus should 
 encourage his wife to come to the office. 
 He certainly ought to make it clear to her 
 that she cannot have interviews with me. 
 However, the lady was there. I felt jbhat I 
 could not refuse to see her without rudeness. 
 
 Five minutes later Adolphus opened the 
 door of my room again. Mrs. Jennings and 
 a man whom I had never seen before walked 
 in. Adolphus himself retired. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings had some colour in her 
 face. At first I thought marriage had 
 improved her, but I came to the conclusion 
 later on that she was only flushed with excite- 
 ment. The man she had with her would 
 have excited any one. He was unusually 
 tall, lanky, and very loosely put together. 
 It seemed quite possible that an arm or a 
 leg might drop off him. They hung on his 
 body as if they were very insecurely attached 
 to it. He suffered froni some sort of disease 
 which made it impossible for him to stay 
 still. All the time he was in my room he 
 pranced up and down. He closed and un- 
 closed his hands continually. His head kept 
 moving from side to side, and his jaws 
 
 c 
 
28 THE FUTUEIST 
 
 worked as if he were chewing some sticky 
 
 kind of toflfee. Mrs. Jennings introduced 
 
 him. 
 
 "Mr. Tortoni — Mr. Caesar Tortoni." 
 
 Then she added in a whisper : " The artist, 
 
 you know." 
 
 I had never heard of Mr. Caesar Tortoni, 
 
 but I did not say so. For all I knew to the 
 
 contrary he might be a very famous artist. 
 
 And it does not do for an editor to admit that 
 
 there is anything in the world — even the fame 
 
 of artists — ^whioh he does not know all about. 
 " Of course," I said, gently rebuking Mrs. 
 
 Jennings for telling me that this Tortoni man 
 
 was an artist. 
 
 " He's having an exhibition of his pictures 
 
 under the auspices of the Literary Club. I'm 
 secretary this year, you know." 
 
 This made the object of the visit clear to 
 me. Tortoni evidently wanted to have his 
 pictures written up in the Daily Gazette. He 
 and Mrs. Jennings had come to persuade me 
 to give him a column or a column and a half. 
 There was no real diflSculty about thie matter. 
 We always do pictures thoroughly. Sir Isaao 
 makes a point of our art criticism being on 
 a generous scale. His theory, which he has 
 often explained to me, is that art is very 
 educative to the masses, and therefore ought 
 
THE FUTUEIST 29 
 
 to be encouraged by the Press. I do not 
 suppose that any provincial paper devotes as 
 much space to the encouragement of art as 
 we do. 
 
 "We thought perhaps " said Miu 
 
 Jennings. 
 
 " Certainly," I said, " I'll send our head 
 reporter round to-morrow. Did you say it is 
 to-morrow the show opens ? " 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Jennings, "not the head 
 reporter I " 
 
 Tortoni was marching up and down my 
 office, chewing furiously. He did not seem to 
 be paying the smallest attention to anything 
 we said. I expected him to upset the waste - 
 paper basket every time he passed my desk. 
 His perpetual motion began to get on my 
 nerves. I thought it better to cut the inter- 
 view short. 
 
 " The head reporter," I said, " always does 
 our art criticism. We can't afford to keep a 
 special man for the purpose." 
 
 "But I want you to hear what Mr. Tortoni 
 has to say," said Mrs. Jennings. " He has 
 such wonderful ideas, so new and so in- 
 spiring." 
 
 "Tell them to the head reporter to- 
 morrow," I said. " That's the way the thing's 
 always done. The reporter turns up with his 
 
30 THE FUTUEIST 
 
 note-book. The artist trots out his theory. 
 Thompson — that's the reporter's name — takes 
 down all that's said and makes a note about 
 any picture which the artist wants specially 
 noticed. It's a capital plan, Mrs. Jennings — 
 most satisfactory to the artist, and the public 
 doesn't mind." 
 
 " But " said Mrs. Jennings. 
 
 Tortoni waved one of his loose arms at her 
 and she stopped at once. He began to speak. 
 This rather surprised me, for I had somehow 
 come to the conclusion that he knew no 
 EngUsh. In reality, he knew more English 
 than any man I have ever met. For more 
 than a quarter of an hour he talked without 
 a pause and terrifically fast. He used words 
 which I had never heard before and had very 
 seldom seen except in dictionaries. He 
 walked up and down while he talked, and 
 never once glanced at either Mrs. Jennings 
 or me. He addressed my " Encyclopasdia 
 Britannica" when he was walking one way, 
 and threw his words at a large photograph 
 of Sir Isaac Wool when he was walking the 
 other. 
 
 For the first three or four minutes I was 
 puzzled. The words he used were unusual, 
 but I felt that I ought to know the meanings 
 of them. They seemed to hang together in 
 
THE FUTUEIST 31 
 
 sentences as Tortoni spoke them, but the 
 sentences conveyed no sense of any sort to my 
 mind. I found myself growing curiously 
 giddy. I looked at Mrs. Jennings to see how 
 the speech was affecting her. I saw her, as 
 if through a thick mist, sitting with her head 
 poked forward and a look of rapt attention in 
 her eyes. She evidently understood Tortoni. 
 My giddiness increased, and I found myself 
 holding my head tightly with both hands. I 
 had some idea that it might come off and be 
 whirled away, I made a determined effort to 
 drag myself back from a kind of hypnotic 
 trance. Tortoni talked on faster and faster. 
 I gradually regained self-control, and for the 
 last five minutes of his speech I tried to take 
 notes of what he said. 
 
 I am a fairly good shorthand writer. No 
 politician whom I have ever reported — and 
 I did a good deal of reporting at one time — 
 could get far ahead of me. But Tortoni de- 
 feated me utterly. When I deciphered my 
 notes afterwards I found that I had only 
 succeeded in getting a few phrases. I am, 
 however, prepared to stake my reputation on 
 it that I took down what he said correctly. 
 
 " Multicoloured and polyphonic surf of 
 revolutions, . . . The box on the ear, the 
 fisticuff of glorified thoughtful immobility 
 
32 THE FUTUEIST 
 
 . . . The splendour and lavishness of enthusi- 
 astic fervour in primordial elements. . . . 
 Come the good incendiaries with the charred 
 fingers of crucified dreams." 
 
 These are some of the things Tortoni said. 
 When he stopped at last I turned to Mrs. 
 Jennings. 
 
 " There's no use his telling all this to me. 
 I'm out of practice with my shorthand. Tell 
 it to Thompson to-morrow. He'll get it 
 down." 
 
 "We cannot allow you," said Tortoni, 
 " to deposit flowers even once a year at the 
 feet of the Giaconda." 
 
 "We don't want to," I said. "As a 
 matter of fact Thompson never ■ deposits 
 flowers anywhere." 
 
 I began to feel irritated with the man. 
 I can put up with fools of any ordinary kind 
 without losing my temper much. I often, for 
 instance, speak quite patiently to Adolphus. 
 But I am liable to get angry when I am 
 persistently harried by raving lunatics. I hit 
 upon a plan which might get rid of Tortoni at 
 once, and which would certainly in the end 
 annoy him even more than he had been able 
 to annoy me. 
 
 " If you don't like Thompson," I said, " I'll 
 send Adolphus to do your show." 
 
THE FUTUEIST 33 
 
 This was evidently what Mrs. Jennings 
 wanted. She shook my hand warmly, and 
 thanked me with tears in her eyes. Then she 
 seized Tortoni by one of his waving arms and 
 dragged him to the door. Tortoni shook her 
 off at the last moment and turned to the 
 picture of Sir Isaac. 
 
 "Painting," he said, "is a violent on- 
 slaught upon the unknown forces and the 
 diabolical cutlery of the sun." 
 
 This struck me as being a kind of threat, 
 and I was not going to be cowed by it. I 
 seized my ruler, a long, heavy weapon, and 
 stood up to Tortoni. He did not take the 
 slightest notice of me. After glaring at poor 
 Sir Isaac's picture for about half a minute he 
 pranced out of the room. I congratulated 
 myself that I should have a full and ample 
 revenge on Tortoni. If Thompson had done 
 his pictures we should have had a column or 
 so of laudatory art talk of the usual kind. 
 Thompson has all the phraseology of the 
 business at his fingers' ends. He can write 
 about colour values, architectonic qualities, 
 masses, light, and things of that sort as well 
 as any one. Adolphus, would, I felt sure, 
 write something so siUy that Tortoni would 
 be seriously annoyed. 
 
 I sent for Adolphus and told him of the 
 
34 THE FUTUEIST 
 
 treat which was in store for him. Instead of 
 thanking me effusively and being pleased, the 
 unfortunate boy looked troubled and em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 " I'd much rather not," he said. " Isn't 
 there any one else ? Couldn't Thompson ' ' 
 
 "Your wife won't have Thompson," I 
 said ; " and her lunatic artist nearly talked 
 the head off me when I suggested him. 
 You've got to do it." 
 
 " But this artist is so very — so very 
 peculiar." 
 
 "He is," I said, "very. That's the 
 reason you're being sent to write up his 
 pictures. If he'd been an artist of any 
 ordinary kind he'd have been satisfied with 
 Thompson." 
 
 " And I don't know anything about 
 pictures," said Adolphus ; "any pictures, 
 much less his." 
 
 It annoyed me to hear Adolphus saying 
 this. For two years I have been trying to 
 make a journalist of him, and it is painful to 
 me to find that my labour is wasted. 
 
 "Adolphus," I said, "last week I told 
 you to write an article on Poor Law Keform, 
 and you said you knew nothing about it. 
 Yesterday I said you were to do a short para- 
 graph on the new giraffe which Sir Isaac has 
 
THE FUTURIST 35 
 
 presented to the Zoo. You said you couldn't 
 because you knew nothing about giraffes." 
 
 "I don't know anything about them," 
 said Adolphus. " I really don't." 
 
 " I'm not complaining about that," I said 
 " You're not expected to know things. As a 
 matter of fact I don't suppose that there are 
 ten newspaper men in England who have even 
 a fair working knowledge of Poor Law, giraffes 
 and pictures. My own mind is a mere blank 
 about all of them, but — and this is the point, 
 Adolphus — I can turn out an article on any 
 one of them in half an hour. Give me an 
 hour and I will work the whole three into one 
 article. It isn't a journalist's business to 
 know things. What he has to do is to 
 instruct other people." 
 
 " But how can I when ? " 
 
 "If you can't," I said, "you'll never be a 
 journalist. Go away now and bring me a 
 column about those pictures to-morrow 
 night." 
 
 It was late when I arrived at the office 
 next day. I found the usual pile of letters 
 waiting for me, and was opening them when 
 Adolphus came in with several sheets of MS. 
 in his hand, 
 
 " Good ! " I said. " Your account of 
 Tortoni, I suppose ? I knew you could do it 
 
36 THE FUTUEIST 
 
 if you tried. Put it down on the table and 
 go away." 
 
 " But I haven't done it," said Adolphus. 
 
 "You have," I said, glancing at his MS. 
 " I can see ' The New Art ' at the top of the 
 first sheet." 
 
 " The fact is," said Adolphus, " I didn't 
 do it myself, I mean," 
 
 "I don't care who did it so long as it's done." 
 
 " Oh, well," said Adolphus, "as long as 
 you understand that ! But I felt it wouldn't 
 be honest to let you think I'd written this 
 when " 
 
 "Good heavens, Adolphus, what has 
 honesty got to do with journalism ? Haven't 
 I told you again and again that the thing is 
 to fill your column with some sort of stuff? 
 If you find another fool to do it for you, all 
 the better for you. I don't care. The result, 
 your daily tale of bricks, is what matters. 
 We all steal the clay we make them of, and 
 steal the straw. If you can succeed in steal- 
 ing the complete brick you're that much 
 luckier than the rest of us. Who did write 
 the article ? " 
 
 " My wife," said Adolphus. 
 
 " Very well. She appeared to understand 
 Tortoni, so I suppose it's all right. You can 
 go now." 
 
THE FUTURIST 37 
 
 Adolphus, however, lingered, fiddling 
 nervously with some letters which lay on the 
 edge of my desk. 
 
 " I wish you'd look at it," he said at last. 
 "I'm afraid it may not do." 
 
 " Hang it all ! you ought to have more 
 confidence in your wife, Adolphus. She is a 
 professor of English Literature. She must 
 be able to write a simple account of a few 
 pictures. Give me the thing." 
 
 The first two sentences fully justified 
 Adolphus' fears. The article most certainly 
 would not do. 
 
 " In several of the pictures presented in 
 this exhibition," Mrs. Jennings wrote, " vibra- 
 tion and motion endlessly multiply each 
 object." 
 
 This was plainly nonsense, but I had no 
 particular objection to it. Most art critics 
 write a certain amount of stuff which has no 
 meaning. Thompson always does, and I print 
 it without the smallest misgiving. It was the 
 next sentence which brought me up short. 
 
 "Thus we have justified the famous 
 statement regarding the running horse, which 
 has not four legs but twenty." 
 
 I read this over five times slowly, and 
 then turned to Adolphus. 
 
 " How many legs has a horse, Adolphus ? " 
 
38 THE FUTUEIST 
 
 " Four. I know that, but my wife and 
 Tortoni " 
 
 " It has four when it stands still," I said. 
 " How many has it wljen it runs ? " 
 
 " I always thought that it only had four 
 even then. But my wife " 
 
 " Your wife," I said, " seems to think that 
 sixteen extra legs sprout out of its stomach 
 the minute you say * Gee up ' to it. I'm 
 sorry for you, Adolphus — very sorry. This 
 will mean the break-up of a home which 
 might have been a happy one; but you'd 
 better put her under medical care' at 
 once." 
 
 " I don't think she really believes it," said 
 Adolphus ; "at least not literally. It's all 
 that wretched Tortoni man. He talks to her, 
 and you know she has a very highly cultivated 
 mind. The newest movements in art and 
 literature appeal to her strongly. I don't 
 understand that about the horse myself ; but 
 there may be something in it — ^from an artistic 
 point of view, I mean." 
 
 " If you feel that there's something in it, 
 Adolphus, from any point of view, the best 
 thing for you to do is to buy a horse. You'll 
 get an old, worn-out one quite cheap. Keep 
 it in your back yard and count its legs three 
 times a day before meals. Make your wife 
 
THE FUTUEIST 39 
 
 count them, too. I'd suggest getting Tortoni 
 to count them if I thought he could count, 
 but he's evidently too far gone for that. 
 Don't be content with simply looking at its 
 legs. Hold them firmly in your hands — first 
 the fore legs, then the hind legs. Say ' one, 
 two,' and give each leg a squeeze as you do. 
 Then say ' three, four,' and squeeze the other 
 two legs. That may bring the facts home to 
 you and your wife gradually. But for good- 
 ness' sake get a quiet horse. Incipient lunacy 
 is bad enough, but it's much worse to have 
 your brains scattered about the yard. You 
 can't expect a horse with any spirit to like 
 being called a centipede. You wouldn't like 
 it yourself if anybody said you had twenty 
 legs. Your wife wouldn't like to have her 
 legs counted every day by some one who kept 
 on insisting that she had seven or eight. In 
 the meanwhile you'U have to write something 
 sensible yourself about this maniac's pictures. 
 I can't print this stuff, you know." 
 
 "But I can't, I really can't. If you'd 
 seen the pictures yourself you'd know that it 
 is impossible. They're not pictures. They're 
 not like anything. They're just blobs of red 
 and blue and circles and numbers stuck in 
 here and there. I wish you'd go and look at 
 them." 
 
40 THE FUTUEIST 
 
 " No, thank you. Freak horses aren't in 
 my line. Was there anybody else at the 
 show ? Anybody who could possibly do us an 
 article ? " 
 
 My own inclination would have been to 
 leave Torfconi unnoticed, but Sir Isaac is 
 president of the Literary Club which was 
 running the exhibition in Middleton, and I 
 knew he would expect a good long article 
 about it. Also Tortoni, or some one on his 
 behalf, had inserted an unusually large 
 advertisement of the show, a three-inch 
 displayed advertisement, on our front page. 
 Our business manager sent me round a note 
 saying that he had promised that I would 
 "splash" the pictures. I could not possibly 
 get out of it with less than a full-column 
 article. 
 
 " There was nobody there," said Adolphus ; 
 " nobody at all except six of the senior girls 
 from Miss Merridew's school. My wife 
 brought them." 
 
 «' Good heavens ! What for ? " 
 
 " Well, pictures are supposed to be 
 educative, you know. The girls are to write 
 compositions on them to-night." 
 
 " Was Miss Tempest — Virginia Tempest 
 —one of the girls ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Adolphus ; " she and her 
 
THE FUTURIST 41 
 
 friend Hilda. They were giggling most of the 
 time. My wife was very angry with them." 
 
 " Adolphus," I said, " I see a glimmer 
 of hope for us. Miss Tempest's composition 
 on the centipede horse ought to be worth 
 printing. Eing up Miss Merridew, will you, 
 and say I want to speak to her. Or, hold 
 on a minute. I'll never get a thing like 
 this settled over the 'phone. I'll run round 
 and see her." 
 
 Miss Merridew was, I found, a little sur- 
 prised when I asked to see Virginia Tempest. 
 If I had been anything less respectable than 
 the editor of the principal paper in Middleton 
 she would probably have sent me away at 
 once. Even with my position to rely on I 
 found it a little difficult to arrange for the 
 interview. I could not possibly explain what 
 I wanted ; but I said something about urgent 
 news. I think I left Miss Merridew under 
 the impression that a telegram had come to 
 my office announcing that a near relative of 
 Virginia's had suddenly been offered a peerage, 
 and that I wanted to break the news to her. 
 
 I was conducted to a pleasantly furnished 
 room, where I found Virginia sitting in a 
 wicker armchair with her feet on the chimney- 
 piece. Five other girls were seated at the 
 table, writing hard. 
 
42 THE FUTUEIST 
 
 " Virginia," I said, " you told me once 
 that you were good at English composition," 
 
 " A nailer," she said. " Amn't I, Hilda ? " 
 
 One of the girls at the table looked up. 
 She had a troubled face and an ink-smear on 
 her chin. She had evidently been working 
 hard. 
 
 "You're the only one who has got a 
 comp. done on those beastly pictures," she 
 said. 
 
 " That," I said, "is just what I wanted 
 to know. You really have it written, 
 Virginia ? " 
 
 "Eather!" said Virginia. "A rotten 
 subject I call it, but quite easy to write on." 
 
 " Would you mind my printing it ? I 
 want an article on those pictures badly for 
 to-morrow's paper." 
 
 " I don't know whether I can. Pinkie — 
 Adolphus' wife, you know — will expect it in 
 the morning, and how am I to get it back ? 
 I can't turn to now and swot over another." 
 
 " Do let me have it. I'U give you a 
 guinea for it." 
 
 "Done!" said Virginia. "Hilda, fetch 
 it. It's in my desk. I have iive others 
 in the same exercise-book — one on ' How 
 I spent my Easter Holidays'; one on 
 ' Heroes ' ; and three more of the same 
 
THE FUTURIST 43 
 
 piffling kind. You can have them all for 
 ten bob extra." 
 
 "Thanks," I said; "some other time. 
 To-night I only want the one on Tortoni's 
 pictures." 
 
 Hilda brought over the composition. The 
 other four girls gathered round us in a group. 
 Virginia put up her feet on the chimney- 
 piece again and began to read aloud. 
 
 " * Sweet Memories of Sunny Days.' 
 That's the title of the comp. Rather good, 
 I call it, and original, or almost. I got the 
 idea from the cover of the little book in 
 which Hilda sticks her photos. It's called 
 ' Sunny Memories.' Mine's an improvement 
 on that, isn't it ? " 
 
 " An immense improvement," I said, 
 " aiad calculated to enrage Tortoni." 
 
 " Please him, you mean," said Virginia. 
 " Of course," I said. "Did I say 'enrage' ? 
 I meant 'please.' Go on reading." 
 
 " ' There are two kinds of things in the 
 world — the things that are nice and the 
 things that are good for you. Rice-puddings, 
 for instance, are good for you, but not nice. 
 Whipped cream is nice, but considered un- 
 wholesome for the young. It is ' the same 
 with pictures. Some are pretty and quite 
 like the things they are supposed to be of. 
 
 D 
 
44 THE FUTURIST 
 
 Others are ugly and not much like anything. 
 These are the best pictures, and are used for 
 developing the taste of the young. Mr. 
 Tortoni's pictures are of the latter kind, 
 more so than most, and therefore higher art 
 and more educative.' I call that a pretty 
 good beginning." 
 
 " Masterly," I said. " You have formu- 
 lated in a few words the great principle which 
 underlies all criticism of art or literature, and 
 all morality, and every known system of 
 education. Go on." 
 
 " The next bit is quite good, too," said 
 Virginia. " ' There should not be mistakes 
 in catalogues of pictures, for these mislead 
 the observer. Thus, No. 19 is called "A 
 Dancer," but is really a wrecked steamer 
 near a lighthouse.' " 
 
 "You're sure of that;?" I said. "It 
 couldn't possibly have been a horse — a 
 running horse ? " 
 
 " It might," said Virginia. " It looked 
 to me more Hke a wrecked steamer, but it 
 might have been a horse. I'll change it if 
 you like, only if I do I'll have to scratch out 
 the next bit, which would be a pity, for the 
 comp. is only just long enough as it is." 
 
 "We won't scratch out anything," I said. 
 " Read the next bit." 
 
THE FUTUEIST 45 
 
 " ' Often when sitting on the sea-shore 
 and gazing on the bleaching skeletons of what 
 once were noble ships, which is a thing we 
 ought to do when at the sea, though not so 
 pleasant as bathing, we are reminded of " The 
 Vanity of Human Wishes " by the poet, Dr. 
 Johnson, especially if the ship is wrecked near 
 a lighthouse, as in this picture, for then it 
 is sadder still. It is on account of this, as 
 well as for other reasons, that we may call 
 Mr. Tortoni's pictures " Sweet Memories of 
 Sunny Days." ' There's a lot more of that 
 sort of thing. Pinkie likes it, you know, so 
 I always put it in. But I don't think I need 
 read it all." 
 
 " I've heard enough," I said, " to decide me 
 that your composition is just what I want. I'll 
 print it as it stands without altering a word." 
 
 " There's a bit at the end," said Vii'ginia, 
 " that I'd rather like you to hear. It's not 
 exactly about the pictures, though all the 
 rest is. It's something I heard him say to 
 her — Tortoni, that is, to Pinkie. It comes ^ 
 in rather well, I think. * The New Art wUl 
 deliver us from the canker of professors and 
 cicerones.' That's what he said. I'm not 
 quite sure what cicerones are. I expect he 
 meant chaperons, and didn't like to say so 
 straight out, on account of Pinkie being one 
 
46 THE FUTURIST 
 
 at the moment, having we six with her. 
 Anyhow, whether a cicerone is a chaperon 
 or not. Pinkie is a professor-^English Lit., 
 you know — so it applied to her. Here's what 
 I wrote about that : ' This, though very noble, 
 is not right. There ought to be professors, 
 especially of English Lit., which is a difficult 
 subject, and if there were no chaperons girls 
 might do things which are wrong for them, 
 though not wrong when grown up — such as 
 smoking. In this respect I do not agree with 
 the New Art, though in every other way it 
 is good and ought to be encouraged, par- 
 ticularly in the young, because of what the 
 poet says : " The child is father to the man, 
 etc., etc." ' I don't see much point in the 
 poetry myself, but it's always well to end off 
 a comp. .with a c[uotation, even if it doesn't 
 quite fit in. Of course, if you can think of a 
 better one I don't mind changing it." 
 
 I printed Virginia's essay on Futurist Art, 
 and the next day there was a row. Adolphus 
 brought me the first news of it. 
 
 " There's been a special meeting of the 
 committee of the Literary Club, and they've 
 passed a lot of resolutions condemning you. 
 You're to be asked to print an apology to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " AH right," I said; " I'll print what your 
 
THE FUTUKIST 47 
 
 wife said about the horse. But Tortoni will 
 simply look more of a fOol if I do." 
 
 The next thing which happened was a 
 letter from a solicitor claiming a thousand 
 pounds damages for Tortoni for defamation of 
 his character. I got the solicitor on the 
 telephone and discovered that what Tortoni 
 really objected to was our saying that he had 
 painted a picture of a wrecked ship. His 
 point was that Futurist Art is concerned with 
 speed, frenzy, motor-cars and aeroplanes, and 
 that it was contrary to his principles to paint 
 quiet things like wrecks. I do not believe 
 that any jury would have decided in his 
 favour ; but legal actions of this kind are 
 very bad for newspapers, and I like to keep 
 the Daily Gazette clear of them if I can. 
 
 Sir Isaac came into the office about six 
 o'clock, greatly upset. He said that he had 
 read the article and thought it very beautiful, 
 quite what art criticism ought to be. 
 
 " But, of course," he said, " that's not 
 what I want to say. This poor fellow — 
 Tortoni — has taken it up in quite another 
 way. So has the committee of the Literary 
 Club. We must make allowances, my dear 
 fellow; we must make allowances for the 
 artistic temperament. After all, you know, 
 artists and literary men are different from the 
 
48 THE FUTUEIST 
 
 rest of us. I can't help feeKng that we ought 
 to consider them more than we do. They are 
 our prophets. You know what I mean. They 
 are leading us on to a higher life, opening the 
 gates of greater worlds. But that's not quite 
 what I want to say. The real question is, 
 what are we to do now ? " 
 
 " They're threatening a libel action," I 
 said. " I don't believe they can possibly win, 
 but " 
 
 "We must avoid that at any cost," said 
 Sir Isaac — " at any cost. Our reputation 
 must be considered. The Daily Gazette has 
 always been on the side of progress, and every 
 new movement has had our warm approval. 
 It is my particular wish that we should stand 
 distinguished as pioneers of every cause, 
 whether social, artistic, or even dramatic 
 — even dramatic, you know — though the 
 
 stage But I mustn't wander from the 
 
 point. What are we to do now ? " 
 
 "You can pay up," I said. "I dare say 
 Tortoni'll be glad enough to take a ten-pound 
 note." 
 
 " How would it do," said Sir Isaac, "if I 
 bought his pictures? That would show, 
 wouldn't it, that we really have a high appre- 
 ciation of art? " 
 
 Sir Isaac is, as I have always said, the 
 
THE FUTUEIST 49 
 
 most foolish man I ever met in most ways ; 
 but he has glimmerings of sense when it 
 comes to a matter of buying and selling. 1 
 realised at once that he had hit on a way out 
 of the Tortoni difficulty. 
 
 " Just you leave it to me," I said. 
 " That's a capital idea of yours. Leave it to 
 me, and I'll get you off with buying one 
 picture." 
 
 I rang up Tortoni's solicitor again, and 
 had the whole matter settled in ten minutes. 
 I fancy that Tortoni had never sold a picture 
 befgre. He jumped at my offer of five pounds 
 for the one which Virginia had described, and 
 did not even mind my calling it a shipwreck. 
 Sir Isaac presented it to the Literary Club, 
 which pacified the committee of that institu- 
 tion. 
 
 Next morning I had a letter from Virginia. 
 
 She wrote : 
 
 " There has been the worst row here 
 known in the memory of the oldest inhab., 
 and I was dragged before the tribunal of Miss 
 Merridew to plead for my life. Fortunately, 
 Miss Merridew is quite sensible in some ways, 
 and I caught her grinning, though she put up 
 her handkerchief to hide the truth. Then I 
 knew I was safe, though Pinkie was stiff with 
 passion. Can't think why. Can you? It 
 
50 THE FUTUEIST 
 
 was quite a good comp. ; and I'm sure you 
 corrected the wrong spelling, if any, which I 
 doubt. There's a story going about that you 
 wouldn't print a comp. of Pinkie's own, and 
 did print mine. This, if true, would account 
 for her rage, but it hardly can be. Answer 
 this by return, for I want to know. No one 
 here wiU sleep a wink to-night on account of 
 the electric state of the atmosphere created 
 by Pinkie's fury, which is a nuisance, for the 
 tennis singles (handicap) begin to-morrow, 
 and we naturally want to be in good form. 
 Don't forget to send the guinea. — Your 
 affectionate, 
 
 ViEGiNiA Tempest." 
 
Ill 
 
 THE ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 I HAVE often admired a certain originality of 
 mind in Sir Isaac Wool. Most very kind- 
 hearted people who want to benefit their 
 neighbours follow each other, like ducks 
 waddling in a row, along the well-beaten 
 tracks of philanthropic effort. Sir Isaac has 
 a way of hitting on ingeniously novel schemes 
 for doing good. I do not wish to dwell un- 
 necessarily on the fact that he purchased the 
 Daily Gazette, and runs it in such a way that 
 there is not the smallest hope of his making 
 money out of it. Plenty of men and societies 
 run papers, though seldom daily papers, to 
 help causes in which they believe, and run 
 them at a loss. Sir Isaac's pet cause, the 
 general good of humanity, is rather larger, 
 though scarcely vaguer, than most other 
 causes ; but his expenditure on the Daily 
 Gazette takes rank with that of the various 
 societies whose " organs " are a regular drain 
 upon their funds. There is nothing reaUy 
 original about running a newspaper. But 
 
62 THE ADVEETISEMENT 
 
 there was a startling freslmess about Sir 
 Isaac's scheme for supplying poor women 
 with clothes at cost price. 
 
 He laid it before me one evening in the 
 office. His statement was, as usual, ex- 
 tremely rambling and discursive, but its 
 central idea was quite simple. He began by 
 explaining to me at great length that the 
 wives of poor men have considerable difficulty 
 in buying clothes for themselves. 1 agreed 
 with him, and he said that that was not 
 exactly what he came to talk to me about. 
 He got started next on the proposition that 
 the possession of new clothes gives a great 
 deal of pleasure to all women, apart from the 
 fact that new clothes are generally warmer 
 than old and tattered garments. 
 
 " Of course," he said, "it's different with 
 you and me, my dear fellow. As long as our 
 clothes are warm and decent — I think we 
 must add decent — it does not matter to us 
 how old they are; it's no pleasure to us to 
 buy a new suit, just for the sake of appearing 
 in a new suit. We rather dislike it." 
 
 Sir Isaac certainly does. I know no man 
 who wears baggier trousers than he does. 
 
 "But with women it is difierent. We 
 ruay say, whether they are rich or poor, that 
 the fondness for new clothes and the pleasure 
 
THE ADVEETISEMENT 53 
 
 derived from buying them is a secondary 
 sexual characteristic." 
 
 I do not know where Sir Isaac picks up 
 these phrases. I never heard of his reading 
 a book, but he is always ready to produce 
 semi-scientific terms and quotations from the 
 poets in the course of conversation. I was 
 not prepared to argue with him about women's 
 fondness for new clothes. He has made an 
 enormous fortune by selling new clothes, so 
 he must know more about the demand for 
 them than I do. 
 
 " But that," he went on, " is a little beside 
 the question. What I wanted to say to you 
 is this. The better-off women can gratify 
 their taste. I can't help feeling that we 
 ought to make some effort to enable their 
 poorer sisters to share this perfectly innocent 
 pleasure, to satisfy their instinct for finery, 
 especially when we shall at the same time 
 increase their bodily comfort and perhaps 
 improve their health.", 
 
 Sir Isaac said "we," but I knew that he 
 did not expect me to subscribe to a fund for 
 providing labourers' wives with silk blouses. 
 He is a philanthropist of rather a rare kind. 
 He always pays for his own charities. 
 
 "Don't you think," I said, "that if you 
 take to giving away dresses " 
 
54 THE ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 "Not giving away," said Sir Isaac. 
 "There is nothing I dread more than the 
 effect of pauperisation by indiscriminate alms- 
 giving. Such charity " 
 
 He talked for nearly ten minutes about 
 the evil effects of giving things away. Sir 
 Isaac calls himself a Liberal, but he is not 
 one really. His ideas are utterly out of 
 date. When he had explained to me very 
 fully the theories of the older hard-hearted 
 school of economists, he said in his usual 
 blandly fussy way that that was not what 
 he wanted to talk to me about. His idea, 
 when he got to it at last, was that he 
 should start shops — I rather think he said 
 establishments — in the poorer districts of 
 several large towns, and there sell clothes 
 of all kinds worn by women strictly at 
 cost price. He meant to pay out of his 
 own pocket the wages of the shop assistants, 
 all rents, and the expenses of management. 
 His customers were to get the clothes for 
 what the material and the making actually 
 cost. 
 
 It was not my business to explain to the 
 old gentleman that he would immediately 
 ruin a number of worthy men who lived by 
 clothing poor women at a profit to themselves, 
 nor that his plan was a violation of the 
 
THE ADVEETISEMENT 55 
 
 economic principles he had just explained to 
 me. Principles are silly things any way, and 
 I would rather ruin a large number of drapers 
 whom I do not know than give acute pain to 
 Sir Isaac, for whom I have a strong affection. 
 When he is worked up to a pitch of enthusi- 
 astic benevolence, any suggestion that he 
 may be doing as much harm as good causes 
 him great sujGfering. 
 
 " My idea," said Sir Isaac — and kindliness 
 actually seemed to ooze out of him as he 
 spoke — "is that all the clothes sold at my 
 new establishments should be fashionable. 
 The latest models of gowns from Paris will 
 be actually copied, though of course in cheap 
 materials. In that way I feel sure we shall 
 give the maximum possible pleasure. You 
 catch my idea, don't you ? " 
 
 I caught it all right, but it seemed to me 
 rather more foolish than most other ideas. 
 
 "I have consulted several of our ablest 
 forewomen," he said, " the heads of our de- 
 partments, and they suggest a slight improve- 
 ment on my original plan." 
 
 They could hardly, I thought, have made 
 any suggestion which would not have been 
 an improvement. However, I was wrong 
 there. These ladies had actually added a 
 grotesqueness to the plan. 
 
56 THE ADVEETISEMENT 
 
 "It appears," said Sir Isaac—" I am now 
 speaking on the authority of our forewoman — 
 that a woman derives more pleasure from a 
 fashionable dress if the clothes she wears 
 underneath it are also — are, in fact, in keeping 
 with it." 
 
 " I have always heard," I said, " that good 
 stays are almost " 
 
 " Corsets, my dear fellow," said Sir Isaac ; 
 " but perhaps we ought not to go into details. 
 My idea — my idea as improved by the ladies 
 whom I have consulted — is that we should 
 supply not only the outer garments, but the — 
 er — er " 
 
 " The entire trousseau," I said. 
 
 I felt confident that trousseau was not an 
 objectionable word, being originally Erench. 
 
 "Exactly," said Sir Isaac. "After all, 
 the trait of character indicated by this desire 
 for completeness — a trait wholly unsuspected 
 by me — is evidence of a certain very admir- 
 able kind of self-respect. The older we get, 
 my dear fellow, the oftener we are surprised 
 by the wonderfully fine qualities of human 
 nature. I'm sure you must have noticed that. 
 But I ought not to take up any more of your 
 valuable time. I can count on your assistance, 
 I am sure. It is so important that we should 
 all work together, and the power of the Press, 
 
THE ADVEBTISEMENT 57 
 
 you know — besides I always feel that we can 
 do nothing, we practical people, without the 
 co-operation of men of intellect. Good-bye, 
 my dear Godfrey, good-bye. Don't overdo it. 
 We can't afford to have you breaking down. 
 So many of our best men break down nowa- 
 days from overwork ; and we can't spare you, 
 we really can't." 
 
 It is nice of Sir Isaac to regard me as a 
 man of intellect. I am nothing of the sort, of 
 course. Perhaps if I were I should not like to 
 be told it. Being merely an ordinary stupid 
 man — though not so stupid as Adolphus 
 Jennings — I rather enjoy being called intel- 
 lectual. I also like being warned against 
 over-working, a crime I am not in the least 
 likely to commit. These are the little traits 
 in my character which Sir Isaac has not yet 
 discovered. When he does, they will not, I 
 fear, improve his general opinion of human 
 nature. 
 
 I did not know exactly what sort of co- 
 operation he expected from me. When the 
 time came, and his new shops were actually 
 established in their various slums, I pubhshed 
 two articles which I hoped would be helpful, 
 I could not, of course, lay bare to the public 
 the full absurdity of his scheme ; but I wrote 
 a lot of silly stuff one day about the loveliness 
 
58 THE ADVEBTISBMENT 
 
 of women's clothes, and gave it as my opinion 
 that it was the duty of every woman to buy 
 the nicest frocks she could possibly afford. I 
 said, I remember, that a woman who culti- 
 vated her figure and complexion deserved 
 better of the community than one who only 
 improved her mind. I got one hundred and 
 sixty-seven angry letters after that article was 
 published, and poor Adolphus told me that 
 his wife was in a bad temper for three days. 
 I was sorry for Adolphus, but it is just as 
 much his duty as mine to share in the burden 
 of Sir Isaac's charitable efforts. 
 
 In the other article I laid it down that 
 poor women ought to be as well dressed as 
 rich women, and that the latest devices in 
 clothes belonged by right to all classes. It 
 was, I said, a monstrous injustice that the 
 wife of an artisan, or a housemaid, should be 
 unable to obtain gowns of the newest shapes 
 until the wives of rich men had given up 
 wearing them. This article brought me nearly 
 as many letters as the other, but from a 
 different set of women. One lady complained 
 that as an immediate consequence of my 
 article a parlourmaid had borrowed her hat 
 and a pair of silk stockings, and had looked 
 perfectly ridiculous in them. I published that 
 letter because I tliought it would be good for 
 
THE ADVERTISEMENT 59 
 
 the lady. Sooner or later, if she had the 
 thing in print before her eyes, it might occur 
 to her that if the parlour-maid looked ridicu- 
 lous in the hat, the mistress probably looked 
 ridiculous in it, too. I do not know whether 
 she ever saw the point herself, but I expect 
 her husband did. 
 
 These articles were the only help I was 
 able to give Sir Isaac. I am not sure that he 
 appreciated them. He did not actually com- 
 plain about them, but he did go so far as to 
 say that he thought they might be taken up in 
 a wrong way by people who did not understand 
 my real nature. 
 
 After that I wrote no more articles in 
 support of the scheme ; but I remember that 
 our business manager was in high glee because 
 he got a full-page advertisement twice a week 
 from Sir Isaac's publicity agent. That pub- 
 licity agent deserves his salary, whatever it is. 
 He is a man of dash, and has a real flair for 
 the business of catching the public eye. I 
 did not read his advertisements when they 
 were iirst published, but I did later on, and 
 was obliged to admit that they were master- 
 pieces. 
 
 I was in my office one afternoon about 
 three months after the new scheme came into 
 full working order. I had just, I remember, 
 
60 THE ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 told the boy to go to the shop next door and 
 get me some tea and buttered muffins. The 
 door of my room opened, and I looked round, 
 rather surprised that the tea should have 
 arrived so soon, and inclined to curse the boy 
 for coming into the room without knocking. 
 Instead of the boy I saw Virginia Tempest 
 and another girl, who looked frightened. Vir- 
 ginia, of course, did not. 
 
 " This," said Virginia, "is Hilda, who is 
 my chief friend. She has a regular infat. for 
 me." 
 
 I suppose I looked puzzled. Virginia 
 explained. 
 
 "Short for 'infatuation,'" she said. 
 " Same as 'hols.' is shorb for 'holidays,' It 
 means that she follows me about and thinks 
 she's frightfully fond of me. * It may last for 
 years." 
 
 " Sure to," I said. "Any one who has 
 once submitted to your influence would find 
 the greatest difficulty in escaping." 
 
 Virginia took no notice of this. She had 
 a small parcel under her arm, Hilda was 
 carrying a much larger one. Virginia opened 
 hers and took out five copies of the Daily 
 Gazette. She unfolded one and laid it before 
 me, pointing to the leading article with her 
 finger. 
 
THE ADVEETISEMENT 61 
 
 " It's no use your denying that you wrote 
 that," she said. " Hilda and I are sure you 
 did. There's nobody else to write it except 
 Pinkie's husband, and he couldn't." 
 
 It was the first of my articles on Women's 
 
 ^Clothes, the one in which I said that every 
 
 woman ought to spend her last penny on a 
 
 new dress. I was not prepared to deny the 
 
 authorship. 
 
 " There now, Hilda," said Virginia, " I 
 told you so from the start. It was because 
 you wrote it," she added to me, " that Hilda 
 and I went and did it. Misplaced confidence, 
 I call that." 
 
 She unfolded another paper and pointed an 
 accusing finger at the second of my articles, 
 that in which I said that even the poorest 
 women ought to be fashionably dressed. 
 
 " When you see things like that in a news- 
 paper," she said, "you naturally believe them, 
 not thinking that you'll find yourself in a 
 hole afterwardSj'though that is what happens, 
 as I know now, but didn't then." 
 
 "I'm so sorry," I said, "and if the hole 
 isn't a very deep one I may perhaps be 
 able " 
 
 "It's debt," said Virginia, "a thing no 
 one ought to be incurred in. Is * incurred in ' 
 right, Hilda? " 
 
62 THE ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 " It doesn't sound quite," said Hilda, 
 
 "The meaning is clear," I said, "though 
 one usually says either 'ought not to be 
 involved in ' or ' ought not to incur.' ' ' 
 
 "Anyhow," said Virginia, "we never 
 were before, either of us, except when I 
 bought a new tennis racket, and then I only 
 borrowed from Hilda, which scarcely counts." 
 
 " How much is it ? " I said. 
 
 Virginia spread three more copies of the 
 Daily Gazette before me. They were aU open 
 at the pages which were occupied by the 
 advertisements of Sir Isaac's new shops. 
 
 "Read that," she said, "and that, and 
 that." 
 
 The advertisements were all the same. I 
 read the large print headline of one of them. 
 It ran : 
 
 "Fbom Nakedness to Full Deess fob 
 Thiety-one and Sixpence." 
 
 " Hilda and I," said Virginia, " wanted 
 some new clothes badly, and after we had 
 read your article we knew that it was our 
 duty to have them. But we only had twenty- 
 six and eightpence between us. We had to 
 keep twopence for stamps, so that left us 
 five bob short. We borrowed it, ' stretchi:pg 
 
THE ADVERTISEMENT 63 
 
 our credit to the uttermost.' That may not 
 be quite the right words, but it's in ' The 
 Merchant of Venice,' by Shakespeare, and 
 you know what very nearly happened to him." 
 
 "If any one," I said, "is asking for a 
 pound of your flesh, Virginia " 
 
 " As a matter of fact," said Virginia, " we 
 borrowed it from nine different girls, and 
 they all want to be paid. Now what we 
 think is that you ought to take the things 
 back. They're perfectly beastly, to start 
 with, and we can't either of us wear them, 
 though we're not particular as a rule, and 
 accustomed to frightful hardship, as every- 
 body must be who goes to school. If you 
 give us half-price we think it will be abbut 
 fair. The things are as good as new, but 
 HUda tried on some of them, and that, of 
 course, makes them more or less second-hand, 
 though not much." 
 
 "I'll pay the whole sum," I said, 
 " willingly." 
 
 "I call that generous," said Virginia. 
 " Hilda, open the parcel." 
 
 " What's in it ? " I asked. 
 
 " The clothes, of course," said Virginia. 
 " They're yours now." 
 
 "That'll be all right," I said. "You 
 needn't spread them out." 
 
64 THE ADVEETISEMBNT 
 
 " Business," said Virginia, " ought to be 
 done in a business-like way. You read out 
 the list. It's all in that advertisement, and 
 Hilda will hand over each thing as you tick 
 it off. We can't have you saying afterwards 
 that we kept some, though you did rather 
 try to swindle us. " 
 
 I glanced at the advertisement again. 
 The bold announcement, "From Nakedness 
 to Full Dress for Thirty-One and Sixpence," 
 was followed by a statement : — " For this 
 trifling sum we are prepared to supply every- 
 thing that a lady's wardrobe requires, in- 
 cluding " Then came a list of garments, 
 
 beginning with one or two of the most inti- 
 mate kinds, and working gradually outwards 
 to a pair of gloves and a pearl necMace. 
 
 "Virginia," I said, "I absolutely decline 
 to go through this list with you and Hilda." 
 
 " You must," said Virginia. " For one 
 thing, I want you to see how rotten they 
 all are." 
 
 I glanced at Hilda. She was fumbling 
 with the string of the parcel, and I am glad 
 to say she looked embarrassed, though not 
 nearly so deeply embarrassed as I was. 
 Virginia remained strictly business-like. 
 
 "If you can't untie the knot, Hilda, cut 
 the string." 
 
THE ADVERTISEMENT 65 
 
 " Virginia," I said, " don't let us go into 
 all the details. Show me the pearl necklace 
 and the gloves. I'll take your word for all 
 the rest." 
 
 " The necklace and gloves are rotten, of 
 course," said Virginia, "but lots of the other 
 things are worse." 
 
 Hilda had untied the knot and was open- 
 ing the parcel, though evidently with great 
 reluctance. I began to feel desperate. I 
 fumbled in my pocket and got out all the 
 loose money that I had. I laid it on my desk 
 and stood up. 
 
 " rU send Adolphus to you," I said. " You 
 can go over the list with him. You can 
 make him try the things on, if you like." 
 
 " Sign of a guilty conscience," said Vir- 
 ginia. "Funk always is. But we're not 
 going to have Pinkie's husband dragged in 
 while we're here. He'd tell Pinkie, and then 
 there'd be a row. Properly speaking, we 
 ought not to be here. I've been in two rows 
 already this term, and simply can't afford 
 another." 
 
 I saw the point of the objection to 
 Adolphus, and very generously refrained from 
 replying that mine was not the only guilty 
 conscience. But I was not going to read out 
 a list of underclothes to Virginia, especially 
 
66 THE ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 when I was expected to examine the defects 
 of each garment minutely. 
 
 " If you object to Adolphus," I said, " I'll 
 send Miss Bembridge to you. I know nothing 
 about clothes. I shouldn't recognise half the 
 things on that list if I saw them. Miss 
 Bembridge is an expert. She does our fashion- 
 able intelligence for us — describes the frocks 
 at all the parties, you know. Do let me send 
 for her." 
 
 "Do let him," said Hilda. 
 
 "Very well," said Virginia. "Trot out 
 Miss Bembridge." 
 
 "Thanks," I said— "thanks awfully, Vir- 
 ginia. I can't tell you what a relief this is 
 to me. The money is on the table. I don't 
 know how much there is, but if there's any 
 change, please keep it." 
 
 I fled. On the way downstairs I ran into 
 the boy with the tea and muffins. I told him 
 to take them up into my room, and then to 
 get some more at once. I found Miss Bem- 
 bridge at her typewriter, an instrument on 
 which she plays contentedly every day. She 
 was a little surprised when I told her what I 
 wanted her to do, and at first seemed inclined 
 to treat the matter as a joke. But I was not 
 going to be trifled with by two young women 
 in the course of the same afternoon. I spoke 
 
THE ADVERTISEMENT 67 
 
 sharply to Miss Bembridge, and she went 
 upstairs. I retired into the compositors' 
 room, which I considered a safe refuge, and 
 made myself objectionable to everybody there 
 for an hour and a half. Then I thought I 
 might safely go back to my work. 
 
 The scene, when I opened the door of my 
 room, amazed me. The floor was strewn 
 with garments, chiefly pink flannelette gar- 
 ments. Virginia was sitting in my chair with 
 the tea-tray and a large dish of sugary cakes 
 in front of her. Hilda was perched on a 
 corner of my writing-table. Miss Bembridge 
 sat uncomfortably on the extreme edge of the 
 sofa, with a cup of tea in her hand and two 
 cakes on her lap. At the other end of the 
 sofa, beaming with amiability, was Sir Isaac 
 Wool. The office-boy, a young ruffian who 
 ought to be whipped once a week, was stand- 
 ing beside the bookcase eating a Bath bun. 
 When he saw me he grinned in the most 
 insolent way. Sir Isaac was the first to 
 speak. 
 
 "I dropped in," he said, "about a little 
 matter on which I wished to ask your advice 
 — a rather unpleasant little matter, a dis- 
 appointment to me, my dear Godfrey— some- 
 thing of a disappointment. But, of course, I 
 don't want to speak about that now. I found 
 
68 THE ADVEETISEMENT 
 
 these young people, blithe spirits, I think we 
 may say — you remember the words of the 
 poet, my dear fellow : ' Hail to thee, blithe 
 spirit ! ' " 
 
 '"Bird thou never wert,' " said Virginia, 
 " or ' never art ' — rhymes with ' heart,' I know. 
 Shelley, I think, or else Burns. Though it 
 might be Tennyson." 
 
 Sir Isaac beamed at her. 
 
 " Instead of a serious editor I find — er — 
 the spirit of joie de vivre, my dear Godfrey, 
 bubbling over this arid desert. You'll forgive 
 my saying arid desert, I know, though it's not 
 very complimentary to you." 
 
 " Have a cake ? " said Virginia. " There 
 are lots left." 
 
 " Thanks," I said. " But not a very sticky 
 one. Not the stickiest." 
 
 "We found," said Virginia, "when we 
 counted the money you left that there was 
 three shillings too much, so we spent it on 
 cakes. Lucky we did, as it happened, for Sir 
 Isaac came in when we were half-way through, 
 and if we hadn't been able to give him a cake 
 with whipped cream in it, he might not have 
 offered us each a new dress, which is what 
 he has done. Good business for us, I call 
 that." 
 
 "A small return for the disappointment you 
 
THE ADVEETISEMENT 69 
 
 suflfered," said Sir Isaac, "a disappointment 
 which I deeply regret, which it was never my 
 intention — in fact, which arose out of a 
 misunderstanding. But that's exactly what I 
 came to speak to you about, my dear Godfrey. 
 Later on, a little later on. At present I do 
 not wish to say anything which might mar 
 the merriment of this delightful party." 
 
 " We're to be allowed to choose the dresses 
 ourselves," said Virginia. 
 
 " And, of course," said Sir Isaac, his eyes 
 wandering over the garments which strewed 
 the floor — "of course, if there is anything 
 else. I understand that the misleading ad- 
 vertisement undertook to supply not only 
 
 dresses but In short, if there is anything 
 
 else I hope you wiD. order it." 
 
 " Thanks awfuUy," said Virginia. " Hilda's 
 stays are as good as gone. The last two bones 
 broke this morning, which was annoying* for 
 her in some ways, but in other ways not bad, 
 for one of them had been bent for nearly a 
 fortnight, and was sticking into her in the 
 most frightful way. What time is it ? " 
 
 I glanced at my watch. It was half-past 
 five. 
 
 " Gracious ! " said Virginia. " We must 
 absolutely run, Hilda. The shop wUl be shut 
 at six, and if we're to choose new dresses we 
 
70 THE ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 haven't a minute to lose. Did you eay stocJt- 
 ings, too, Sir Isaac ? " 
 
 " Certainly — certainly ! " said Sir Isaac. 
 " Get several pairs." 
 
 " Thanks awfully ! " said Virginia, " Just 
 look here ! " 
 
 She turned half round and slightly raised 
 the end of her skirt. About a quarter of an 
 inch of pink heel was showing between the 
 top of her shoe and the place where the 
 stocking began again. 
 
 " The toes are worse," she said, " and I 
 simply loathe darning. Good-bye, everybody. 
 We've had a gorgeous time." 
 
 Miss Bembridge, prim and, I think, a little 
 frightened, followed Virginia. The boy, his 
 pockets stuffed with cakes, sneaked out without 
 a word. 
 
 "Charming girls," said Sir Isaac; "full 
 of vitahty. I can't tell you, my dear fellow, 
 what a refreshment it is to me to come into 
 contact with — dear me, who's this ? " 
 
 The door was half opene^while he spoke. 
 Virginia's head and shoulders were thrust into 
 the room. 
 
 " Hilda and I were just thinking," she said, 
 *• that if you really don't want those things 
 yourself — the thirty-one and sixpenny lot, I 
 mean — ^you might give them to Pinkie. She 
 
THE ADVERTISEMENT 71 
 
 always went in for having„a soul above decent 
 clothes, so I daresay she might like them. 
 Good-bye again ! " 
 
 Sir Isaac looked sadly at the garments on 
 the floor. 
 
 " There has been a most unfortunate mis- 
 understanding," he said. " I thought I had 
 made my meaning quite plain, but — and this 
 is really what I came to speak to you about this 
 afternoon — my manager somehow gathered an 
 impression that I wished to increase the 
 profits of my business — that, in fact, I 
 intended to go in for a new line, cheap, you 
 know, and I fear, bad ; yes, yes, unquestion- 
 ably of poor quality. He did not realise that 
 it was my intention — but you know what my 
 intentions were, my dear feUow. To-day I 
 looked into the accounts of these new branch 
 establishments, and I found that we had made 
 a profit — a very handsome profit — quite the 
 reverse of what I wished. Now what am I to 
 do ? That's where I want your advice. "What 
 am I to do ? " 
 
 " I should sack the manager at once," I 
 said. "No one ought to misunderstand 
 instructions to that extent." - 
 
 "But we must consider, my dear Godfrey. 
 Before acting in that way we must consider — 
 he was trying to do his best for me. His 
 
72 THE ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 devotion to my interests seems to me very 
 touching. His mistake has caused me great 
 sorrow, but I cannot help feeling that good 
 has come out of what seemed at first only to 
 be evil. It always does, you know. The 
 older I grow the more convinced I am that 
 good always comes out of evil. I see now 
 how loyal my manager and my whole staff are 
 to me . It is deeply touching. I could scarcely 
 have believed it beforehand. So you see I 
 have a great deal to compensate me for the 
 failure of my httle plan. But what I really 
 
 wanted to consult you about; " 
 
 What he really wanted to consult me about 
 was how he could best make up to the women 
 of the working classes for selling them worth- 
 less clothes. I saw no better way of doing 
 this than handing all the profits of the new 
 venture over to a hospital. In the end Sir 
 Isaac agreed to do so. 
 
IV 
 
 THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 Theee are two days in the year which I dread 
 exceedingly. One is the first Tuesday after 
 Christmas. On it Sir Isaac gives an enter- 
 tainment in the Town Hall to some hundreds 
 of the poorest children in the town. There is 
 sometimes a Christmas-tree, sometimes a 
 conjurer, always tea and buns. I am one of 
 those who help to distribute the food. The 
 tea makes me and every one else very hot. 
 The buns make us sticky. Sir Isaac and the 
 children like being hot and sticky. I do not. 
 But the Christmas entertainment only lasts 
 for about three hours. The other party, which 
 Sir Isaac gives to the same children in June, 
 is much more terrible. It takes place at Eose 
 Park, Sir Isaac's country house, and goes on 
 from eleven a.m. till six p.m. The guests, 
 five or six hundred children and some fifty 
 practical philanthropists, go out to Eose Park 
 in buses and wagonettes, carrying flags and 
 
74 THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 preceded by a band. They dine in the open 
 air, play games, dance, and finally have tea. 
 Sir Isaac's gardeners, the whole seven of 
 them, always threaten to leave the next day 
 on account of the damage done to the grounds. 
 Sir Isaac bribes them, and they agree to stay 
 with him, sulkily. This happens every year. 
 I am of opinion that I ought to be bribed, 
 too— about ten times as heavily as the head 
 gardener. But Sir Isaac thinks I enjoy my- 
 self, and has never offered me even a diamond 
 tie-pin as a reward for the most terrific 
 exertions. 
 
 There is a dreadful sameness about these 
 summer entertainments. The day is almost 
 invariably hot. Lemonade — the fizzy kind in 
 bottles — is even stickier than the Christmas 
 buns, and I detest merry-go-rounds with 
 steam-worked barrel organs attached to them. 
 This year, however, Sir Isaac hit upon a new 
 idea. 
 
 He came into my office bubbling over with 
 it about three weeks before the fatal day. 
 
 "Has it ever struck you, my dear fellow, 
 that we ought to share our pleasures, we who 
 are more fortunately situated — ought to share 
 our pleasures, not only our simpler and more 
 obvious pleasures, but those of a subtler, 
 spiritual kind, with others ? You remember 
 
THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 75 
 
 what the poet says : ' Kindness is twice 
 blessed ; it blesses those that give and those 
 that receive.' " 
 
 I remembered that Shakespeare said some- 
 thing like that about mercy ; but Sir Isaac's 
 version of the passage is at least as true as 
 the original, I do not beKeve either. 
 
 "It is a great pleasure to me to see all 
 those dear children, the citizens of the future, 
 you know, Godfrey, who will be taking our 
 places very soon. It is such a pleasure to me 
 to see them enjoying themselves, and to feel 
 that, as you said in your admirable leading 
 article yesterday — • — But, of course, that's 
 not exactly what I wanted to say to you." 
 
 I cannot imagine how Sir Isaac succeeded 
 in mixing up my leading article with his 
 children's party. What I wrote was a string 
 of platitudes supposed to justify the existence 
 of a Liberal G-overnment. I headed it, I 
 remember, " The Will of the People must 
 Prevail." I should not have supposed that 
 even Sir Isaac's muddle-headed ingenuity 
 could have worked out a connection between 
 my wretched stuff and his own hobby-horses 
 and lemonade. But Sir Isaac, who must, as 
 I have always admitted, have brains of a kind, 
 had read some sort of general benevolence 
 into what I wrote. 
 
76 THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 " My idea is," he said, " that I should 
 give young people of the upper classes — 
 children, if I may call them so, of better-off 
 parents — ^that I should give them an oppor^- 
 tunity of sharing the great pleasure I feel in 
 entertaining their less fortunate brothers and 
 sisters. As far as possible, my dear fellow, as 
 far as possible— not further." 
 
 It was not likely that Sir Isaac would be 
 able to share his pleasure with other people 
 any farther than was possible. What he 
 meant was that he would do the paying and 
 some one else the actual entertaining. I com- 
 mended the idea warmly. It seemed just 
 possible that I should get off. I was quite 
 willing to make a present of my share of the 
 pleasure to any wealthy child who would 
 take it. 
 
 " My idea," said Sir Isaac, "to put the 
 matter in a nutshell-^my idea is to invite the 
 elder girls of Miss Merridew's school — such 
 dear girls — and their education, using the 
 word in its widest sense, is so important for 
 the future of the community, you know. They 
 are — I may have said this to you before, but 
 it is impossible to say it too often — they are 
 the future mothers of the race ; and anything 
 we can do, however small, to bring home 
 to them a sense of the responsibilities of 
 
THE WILL OF THEl PEOPLE 77 
 
 citizenship — but that, of course, is not what 
 I wanted to say. My idea is rather that of 
 allowing them, Miss Merridew's dear girls, to 
 share in the great pleasure which you and 
 I find " 
 
 Sir Isaac's idea, when I succeeded in dis- 
 entangling it, appeared to be that Miss 
 Merridew's girls, partly for the good of their 
 own characters, partly in order to enjoy 
 themselves, should undertake the manage- 
 ment of the annual party for the five hundred 
 slum children. Sir Isaac evidently expected 
 me to work out the details. I suggested that 
 we should hand over the organisation of the 
 whole affair to Mrs. Jennings, and that 
 Adolphus should act as her secretary. She 
 still held her position as teacher of English 
 Literature in Miss Merridew's school, and, from 
 what I knew of her, would be likely to throw 
 herself into the plan with delight. When Sir 
 Isaac left I sent for Adolphus. 
 
 " It has been decided," I said, *' that you 
 and your wife are to entertain Sir Isaac's five 
 hundred ragamuffins on their day out at Eose 
 Park next Tuesday fortnight. Sir Isaac does 
 the paying, but nothing more. You and your 
 wife will be held responsible if it turns out 
 to be a wet day or if any child gets killed, 
 maimed, or lost. You can have as many of 
 
78 THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 Miss Merridew's girls as you like to help you, 
 but nobody else." 
 
 "But—" said Adolpbus, "but It's 
 
 very kind of Sir Isaac, and I feel — we shall 
 both feel — highly honoured. But " 
 
 " How often am I to tell you, Adolphus, 
 that if you say ' but ' every time you are given 
 a chance of distinguishing yourself you'll 
 never get on in the world ? Go away now 
 and organise the festivities." 
 
 "I don't know whether we can. I'll 
 Consult my wife, and if — — " 
 
 " Just remind her " I said. " By the 
 
 way, how's the baby ? " 
 
 Adolphus' baby was at this time about 
 six weeks old. He brightened up when I 
 mentioned ifc, and began to tell me a long 
 story about a kind of rash that had broken 
 out on its head. 
 
 "Good heavens, Adolphus!" I said. 
 "You don't suppose I really want to know 
 anything about the creature. I merely ipeant 
 to remind you that yoar wife has a baby. 
 She's what Sir Isaac calls one of the mothers 
 of the future race, and that's the reason why 
 she, and you as father, are to boss this show 
 of Sir Isaac's. It's for your own good." 
 
 " I don't quite see that," said Adolphus 
 
 " Nor do I ; but Sir Isaac says it will be 
 
THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 79 
 
 good for you and your wife and the baby and 
 for all the girls you brjng with you. Besides, 
 he thinks it will be a pleasure to you. So 
 there's no getting out of it." 
 
 I do not think Adolphus got any real 
 pleasure out of the business ; but it may have 
 done him good internally. There was no visible 
 improvement in him afterwards. His wife 
 certainly enjoyed herself. She threw herself 
 into the work of organisation with vigour and 
 delight, so far neglecting her baby that the 
 rash disappeared from its head. This, I think, 
 would not have happened if she had devoted 
 her whole attention to doctoring it, for Mrs. 
 Jennings is far too intelligent to believe that 
 the only way of curing anything is to let it 
 alone. 
 
 She decided at once that the entertainment 
 must be of an educative and elevating kind. 
 There were to be no merry-go-rounds, no 
 miniature rifle ranges, no donkeys to ride, 
 and no fishing for minnows in Sir Isaac's 
 artificial lake. Instead, she arranged to 
 provide model engines of various kinds which 
 would work by steam and otherwise, in- 
 cluding model boats and submarines. These 
 were for the delectation of the boys. For the 
 girls she intended to have small gas stoves 
 on which they could cook, model washing 
 
80 THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 maohines, and babies — model, of course ; she 
 was not willing to sacrifice her own — which 
 could be undressed and bathed. Both boys 
 and girls were to be allowed to work model 
 telephones and telegraphs. She called at my 
 office and submitted her plan to me. Each 
 machine, she said, would be in charge of a 
 girl, one of Miss Merridew's, who would give 
 short lectures on its nature, and practical 
 demonstrations of its working. 
 
 The plan, as she explained, had two obvious 
 advantages. Her assistants would each have 
 to master beforehand the working of an 
 intricate machine. Every slum child would 
 go home educated in a way it never had been 
 before. 
 
 " I read," she said, " with very great 
 interest your article on 'The Will o{ the 
 People,' and I was profoundly impressed by 
 what you said about the necessity of assisting 
 in every way the intellectual development of 
 the future democracy. You said, as you will 
 recoUect " 
 
 There is one thing worse than writing silly 
 platitudes, and that is hearing them quoted 
 afterwards. I cut Mrs. Jennings short. 
 
 •' Do you think," I said, " that the children 
 wiU like it ? I mean as well as they liked 
 merry-go-rounds and bands ? " 
 
THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 81 
 
 Mrs. Jennings stared at me for a moment, 
 and then snubbed me severely. 
 
 *' Does that matter ? " she said. 
 
 I saw nothing of Mrs. Jennings for the 
 next fortnight, but Adolphus told me how 
 things were going on. The oooking-stoTes, 
 model babies, and most of the commoner 
 machines were obtained quite easily. The 
 submarine had to be given up. The telegraph 
 apparatus and the motor-boat turned out to 
 be very expensive. That, however, did not 
 matter. Sir Isaac was so dehghted with the 
 scheme that he would have spent thousands 
 on it cheerfully. Three days before the party 
 we had what Mrs. Jennings called a " muster " 
 in Miss Merridew's large examination hall. 
 All the girls were there in bright yellow 
 dresses. Adolphus explained to me that this 
 was his wife's idea. 
 
 "Yellow," he said, " is the colour always 
 worn by Charity in stained glass windows. 
 At least, that's what my wife says, so I suppose 
 it must be so. You see the connection of 
 thought, don't you ? " / 
 
 " It's a pity not to dress Sir Isaac in yellow, 
 too," I said. 
 
 " Oh, but we have ! " said Adolphus. " To 
 some extent, at least. He was qmte pleased." 
 
 When Sir Isaac appeared a few minutes 
 
82 THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 later he was wearing a canary-coloured waist- 
 coat. That, I suppose, was as far as it was 
 found possible to go in his case. But Sir 
 Issac's waistcoat, owing to the shape of his 
 stomach, shows a good deal, so the yellow did 
 not escape notice. 
 
 I found Virginia in a corner of the hall 
 with a large coil of wire beside her. 
 
 " I'm a telegrapher," she said. " I've been 
 working like steam for the last fortnight at 
 a thing called the Morse code ; jolly rptten 
 idea, I call it. But, of course, I had to learn 
 it, more or less. I don't suppose it really, 
 matters if I don't get it right, do you ? " 
 
 "Not a bit," I said. 
 
 " I'm to be stuck in a clump of laurel 
 bushes," said Virginia, " far away behind the 
 garden, and people are to telegraph to me, 
 while I explain what's happening to a lot of 
 boys given over to me for that purpose. Poor 
 beasts ! They won't like it. HUda has a 
 motor-boat. Luck for her, isn't it ? " 
 
 HUda was at my elbow with a large motor- 
 boat in her arms. She smiled dubiously. 
 
 " Sometimes," said Virginia, "the machinery 
 doesn't seem quite to work — the engine of the 
 boat, I mean — and then, of course, Hilda's 
 rather had ; but otherwise a motor-boat is a 
 better thing than a telegraph. However, I 
 
THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 83 
 
 might be worse off. I thought at one time 
 that Pinkie was going to make me do a washing 
 machine. I should have hated that. By the 
 way, we've all been rather fed up lately with 
 an English comp. you wrote on ' The Will of the 
 People must Prevail.' Pinkie keeps trotting 
 it out and making us all tead it. Can't see 
 myself what it has to do with making me learn 
 about telegraphs." 
 
 " Nor can I," I said. 
 
 " Though, of course, it is a good thing in 
 itself, if more acted on, which it seldom is. 
 As far as I can make out, it's the wUls of 
 governesses like Pinkie which prevail, not 
 ours. I'm frightfully democratic, you know, 
 and so is Hilda, and we both quite agree with 
 you, though we are a bit sick of that subject." 
 
 Sir Isaac's speech — he made one, of course 
 — interrupted my conversation with Virginia. 
 He touched, rather lightly, on Mrs. Jennings' 
 plan of educating the slum children, and 
 devoted most of his half-hour to his own idea 
 of giving pleasure to every one concerned. 
 He had the quotation about mercy very nearly 
 right, though he still attributed its power of 
 reaction to kindness. He told the girls that 
 what he wanted them to do was to make the 
 other children really happy. Virginia com- 
 mented on this afterwards. 
 
84 THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 " If lie meant that," she said, " he oughtn't 
 to have made Pinkie boss of the show. Her 
 great delight is in making people miserable 
 with a view to doing them good. That's what 
 she's aiming at now ; and if Sir Isaac really 
 
 wants every one to be happy But I 
 
 daresay he just feels that he ought to say 
 that, and doesn't really mean it." 
 
 " He does," I said. " He maybe mistaken 
 in the way he's going about it ; but- " 
 
 " He is — frightfully mistaken. How could 
 anybody be happy with the Morse code ? " 
 
 " Still he does mean it." 
 
 "Eeally and truly?" 
 
 " I'm certain of it," I said. 
 
 "In that case," said Virginia, "will you 
 lend me two bob?" 
 
 I handed her the money. 
 
 " Sorry to have to borrow," she said, 
 " but if I'm to make people happy I must get 
 the money somewhere. I say, Hilda, look 
 here ! " 
 
 She led Hilda away from me, and I could 
 not hear what they were planning. I was 
 not, indeed, particularly interested. If Virginia 
 settles down in her clump of laurels with 
 two shillingsworth of chocolate creams beside 
 her she will give a considerable amount of 
 happiness to several boys. 
 
THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 85 
 
 Sir Isaac's plan of making Mrs, Jennings 
 responsible for the entertainment at Eose 
 Park by no means set me free to play golf 
 that afternoon. I felt justified, however, in 
 staying at home until late in the day. I did 
 not, as I had on other occasions, take my seat 
 beside the banner bearer in one of the 
 wagonettes which bore the revellers to the 
 scene. Nor did I hand round lemonade at 
 dinner-time. Indeed, as I heard afterwards, 
 there was no lemonade at dinner. Mrs, 
 Jennings had a theory that aerated drinks are 
 unwholesome. She gave Sir Isaac's guests 
 a choice between milk and barley water. This, 
 I believe, was unpopular; so, after the first 
 novelty wore off, was the rest of the entertain- 
 ment, I arrived about three o'clock, and found 
 that things were not going well. A large 
 number of boys — a hundred perhaps — were 
 sitting in a state of profound dejection on the 
 gravel outside the door of the house. Adolphus 
 was making desperate efforts to stir them to 
 some kind of interest in a model steam crane, 
 which he had dragged out of its tent and set 
 up on the haU door-steps. The boys treated 
 the crane with ribald laughter, and replied 
 to Adolphus' exhortations with blasphemies 
 horrible to listen to, 
 
 I hurried away from them and found a 
 
86 THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 tent labelled " The Nursery." Inside were 
 two of Miss Merridew's girls, fourteen wash- 
 able dolls, fourteen baths, cakes of soap and 
 towels. There was only one pupil, and she 
 was arguing hotly that she ought to be given 
 a couple of dolls as a reward for having 
 washed one according to the directions given 
 her. A little farther on, in a corner of the 
 tennis court, I came upon Mrs. Jennings her- 
 self. She was hot and angry. She held two 
 young girls by their wrists, and was dragging 
 them towards the tent in which the model 
 washing machines were on view. She told 
 me that she had caught her victims in a 
 cherry tree. They had broken into Sir Isaac's 
 garden, a forbidden region, and after gorging 
 themselves with strawberries had climbed the 
 tree in which Mrs. Jennings found them. 
 Whether she climbed the tree herself to drag 
 them down I do not know. They looked to 
 me as if they had resisted desperately. Mrs. 
 Jennings proposed to force them to wash 
 clothes — their own clothes certainly wanted 
 washing — until tea-time. 
 
 I crossed the lower part of the lawn and 
 took the path which leads to the artificial 
 lake. I met Hilda. She was running towards 
 the house, and was apparently on the verge 
 of tears. 
 
THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 87 
 
 " I hope," I said, " that your boys are 
 enjoying themselves." 
 
 Hilda sobbed convulsively, and then sud- 
 denly giggled. 
 
 " They are," she gasped. 
 
 " Good ! " I said, " It's a comfort to find 
 that some of the children are happy. Most 
 of them seem rather flat. But the model 
 motor-boat was sure to be a draw. The 
 machinery worked all right, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Sometimes," said Hilda, " not always. 
 But the boys threw stones at it." 
 
 "Young ruffians! I hope they didn't hit it." 
 
 "In the end they did, and sank it. I 
 don't know what to do." 
 
 " Never mind. If it's sunk, it's their own 
 loss." 
 
 "And then some of them took off their 
 shoes and stockings and waded in to fetch it 
 out. I do wish " 
 
 " The lake's too shallow," I said. " I quite 
 agree that it would be splendid if a few of 
 them were drowned, but that's not likely." 
 
 " That put it into the heads of all the rest 
 to bathe," said Hilda, "and I — I didn't like 
 to stop." 
 
 "You rather missed your chance. You 
 ought to have stood on the bank and thrown 
 stones at them." 
 
88 THE WILL OF THE PEOPLES 
 
 " But," said Hilda, " I couldn't. They— 
 they — ^hadn't any bathing dresses. What shall 
 I do ? They ought to he got out somehow. 
 Would you minci, going down there and chasing 
 them?" 
 
 I did not feel inclined to go splashing 
 round an artificial lake in pursuit of twenty 
 active boys, and I did not think it would be 
 much use to shout at them from the bank. 
 
 " Let's go and find Virginia," I said. " If 
 any one can deal with the situation it wiU be 
 Virginia." 
 
 We found Virginia by following the tele- 
 graph wire from its source. A girl, who would 
 have been quite nice-looking if she had not 
 been very hot, was in control of what we may 
 call the home end of the telegraph in a tent 
 near the house. She complained that some- 
 thing must have gone wrong. She had been 
 tapping out messages to Virginia all the after- 
 noon, but for more than half an hour had 
 received no response- She was very grateful 
 to us when we said we would go and find out 
 what was the matter. 
 
 The telegraph had been set up in the most 
 thorough way, regardless of expense. I am 
 sure that Hilda 'and I must have walked a 
 mile before we saw the last post towering 
 above a thicket of laurel bushes. Outside the 
 
THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 89 
 
 thicket sat Yirginia with, a small boy beside 
 her. The small boy was smoking a clay pipe. 
 
 "Disgusting beasts boys are," said Virginia. 
 
 Hilda agreed with her at once. So did I. 
 
 " That one," I said, pointing to the young 
 scoundrel with the pipe, "looks tome like the 
 worst kind of gutter snipe." 
 
 " Oh, he's aU right ! " said Virginia. "He's 
 
 the only one who is. The others But 
 
 you can go in among the bushes and see, 
 if you like. I'm just waiting till this one 
 is finished off, and then I'm going away 
 altogether." 
 
 Moved by a morbid curiosity, I followed 
 the path into the laurel bushes. I came 
 almost at once upon a bOy who had been 
 horribly sick. A little further on was another 
 boy in the same condition. Bound the tele- 
 graph post were eight others. The sight was 
 a most disgusting one. I went back to 
 Virginia. The boy beside her had laid down 
 his pipe and was looking pale. 
 
 "I think he's done for," said Virginia. 
 " Let's go before anything else happens." 
 
 "Virginia," I said, "what have you been 
 doing to these boys ? Where did they get 
 the pipes and tobacco ? " 
 
 "I gave them to them, of course," said 
 Virginia. " I bought half a dozen clay pipes 
 
90 THE WILL OP THE PEOPLE 
 
 and four ounces of tobacco with the two 
 shillings you lent me." 
 
 "Oh, Virginia!" said Hilda. "Did you 
 really do it? You said you would, but I 
 never believed it." 
 
 " Of course I did," said Virginia. 
 
 " Do you hate all boys ? " I asked. " Or 
 have you a special grudge against these in 
 particular ? " 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by that," 
 said Virginia. "I came out to-day to give 
 pleasure to the boys committed to my care. 
 That's what Sir Isaac said I was to do. He 
 isn't a bad sort of old thing, but in some ways 
 silly. He said that being kind was twice 
 blessed ; it blessed those who gave and those 
 who took — which is quite wrong. It didn't 
 bless me. In fact, at one time I thought I 
 should be sick myself." 
 
 " Your kindness," I said, "doesn't appear 
 to have blessed the boys much either." 
 
 " It did at first. They simply chortled 
 with joy when I suggested smoking. They 
 didn't want to play with that old telegraph 
 any more than I did ; but when I said I had 
 some pipes and tobacco they cheered. I 
 always heard that boys are not allowed to 
 smoke." 
 
 " Now you know why," I said. 
 
THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 91 
 
 " I knew why before," said Virginia. " It's 
 because they want to. Nobody is ever allowed 
 to do what they want. At least, not until 
 they're grown up, if then. Now my idea of 
 giving pleasure is to let the people you're 
 giving pleasure to do what they want. Pinkie 
 thinks that pleasure is given most by making 
 people do what they don't want ; but that's 
 not true. I knew that it wouldn't be kind to 
 make those boys do the Morse code and all 
 that rot when they hated it, which they did. 
 Whereas it was kind to let them smoke when 
 they wanted to. Anyhow, that's my idea of 
 kindness." 
 
 " Well," I said, " they'll recover in time. 
 Have you any more tobacco ? " 
 
 Virginia drew a small lump of black, evil- 
 looking tobacco from the pocket of her 
 yellow skirt — about half an ounce of it. 
 
 "I've that much," she said, "but I've no 
 pipes left. I gave the last one to that boy 
 you saw with me. However, I dare say you 
 have a pipe of your own." 
 
 " Thanks," I said, " but I wasn't thinking 
 of myself. My idea was to give a little 
 pleasure to some boys of Hilda's who are 
 bathing in the lake. You'd like to be kind to 
 those boys, wouldn't you, Hilda ? " 
 
 Hilda shuddered. 
 
 a 
 
92 THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 "No, thanks," she said. "They're bad 
 enough without that." 
 
 " It would be a graceful act on your part," 
 I said, " after their stoning your motor-boat. 
 Eeturning good for evil, you know." 
 
 " Hilda," said Virginia, " go back to that 
 boy and get the pipe he dropped." 
 
 The habit of implicit obedience was strong 
 in Hilda, She turned and walked back a 
 little way. Then she stopped. 
 
 " Virginia," she said, " don't ask me to. 
 I daren't. I can't bear people when they're 
 sick." 
 
 " Very well," said Virginia. "But don't 
 blame me afterwards when your conscience 
 gnaws at you for not allowing your boys to do 
 what they want. You're supposed to be 
 giving them pleasure." 
 
 " By the way," said Virginia a few 
 minutes later, " I don't think we need tell 
 Pinkie about the smoking. She mightn't 
 quite understand." 
 
 She looked at me as she spoke. 
 
 "I shan't tell her," I said. "I don't 
 expect to see her for some time. I happen 
 to know of a back gate out of Sir Isaac's place, 
 and I'm going home that way." 
 
 I was on my way down to my office two 
 days later, and was walking along the side of 
 
THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 93 
 
 a canal. This is not the shortest way from 
 my rooms to the office, hut is much pleasanter 
 in hot weather than going through the streets. 
 The water, though stagnant and not very 
 clean, looks cool. There are trees along the 
 path, and very few people walk there. On 
 that particular afternoon there was no one 
 in sight at all, except two girls some distance 
 ahead of me who were sitting under a tree. 
 When I got nearer I recognised that one of 
 them was Virginia and the other Hilda. 
 They stood up and greeted me. 
 
 "Did you hear about the row?" said 
 Virginia. 
 
 "No," I said, "but I'm quite sure there 
 was one. Was it very bad ? " 
 
 " Terrific. No thunderstorm could have 
 be,en worse. Pinkie had somehow found out 
 about the smoking, and blamed me" 
 
 " Unjust," I said, " but perhaps natural." 
 
 " She jawed me for nearly an hour, being 
 in the sort of temper that I call wicked, 
 and wanting to visit the whole blame for her 
 own misdoings upon me." 
 
 " I'm in full sympathy with you," I said ; 
 " but still I think we ought to be just to Mrs. 
 Jennings, After all, she didn't give those 
 boys the tobacco." 
 
 " The smoking," said Virginia, " was only 
 
94 THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 what's called in Latin the casus belli — that is 
 to say, the excuse for a jaw. What really 
 had Pinkie in a temper was that the kids 
 wouldn't look at her silly old machines. I 
 knew that ; but, of course, it was no use trying 
 to bring it home to Pinkie. I behaved with 
 the utmost nobility, imitating the example 
 of the father of the girl in the schooner 
 Hesperus." 
 
 I thought over Longfellew's poem. My 
 recollection was that the father blew a whiff 
 from his pipe and laughed scornfully. I could 
 hardly beheve that Virginia had ventured to 
 make that reply to Mrs. Jennings. 
 
 " ' Her father answered never a word,' " 
 quoted Hilda kindly. 
 
 "Exactly," said Virginia. "I reserved 
 my defence, knowing that silence in the face 
 of undeserved opprobrium is very heroic, 
 besides being most aggravating to the person 
 who is casting the opprobrium — that is to say, 
 Pinkie. In the end she had me up before 
 Miss Merridew. I knew she would. Then I 
 simply wiped the floor with the accusation." 
 
 " How ? " I asked. " It seems to me you 
 were in a tight corner. I can't imagine what 
 defence you put up." 
 
 " Oh, that was easy enough ! " said 
 Virginia. " I simply handed Miss Merridew a 
 
THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 96 
 
 copy of your article on the will of the people 
 prevailing. I had it ready in my pocket." 
 
 That was a most unfortunate article. It 
 meant nothing — ^literally nothing. But Sir 
 Isaac found it a stimulus to his philanthropy. 
 Mrs. Jennings appears to have taken it as an 
 excuse for her absurd model machines. 
 Virginia used it as a justification for teaching 
 small boys to smoke. 
 
 " Miss Merridew seemed a little surprised 
 at first, and even more when she read the 
 article through ; but I soon explained to her." 
 
 " I wish you'd explain to me." 
 
 "Well," said Virginia, "those boys were 
 people, I suppose ; you'U hardly deny that. 
 Anyhow, Miss Merridew didn't when I pointed 
 it out. Nor did Pinkie. She couldn't, though 
 she would have if she could. Now you see, 
 don't you ? " 
 
 " No, I don't." 
 
 " They wanted to smoke," said Virginia, 
 "therefore, according to your article, they 
 ought to smoke, because the will of the 
 people must prevail, and they are people. 
 That's all." 
 
 " Did Miss Merridew see it ? " 
 
 " Quite. Miss Merridew is very sensible. 
 What she said was that the will of the people 
 ought not to prevail; which, of course, may 
 
96 THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 be right, and if it is, I was wrong, and I give 
 in. But both Pinkie and you said it ought 
 to prevail, that being a sacred principle, and 
 anybody saying the contrary being what you 
 call a — re — re — reacting Tory; which I'm 
 not, Hilda and I having agreed years ago to 
 be democratic to the last degree — anyhow, 
 till we're grown up. Suppose we go some- 
 where and have ices. Properly speaking, we 
 ought not, having been told not to go further 
 than the canal walk. But it's frightfully 
 hot." 
 
 "And the will of the people," I said, 
 " must prevail." 
 
 " Exactly," said Virginia. " That's where 
 the good of being democratic comes in. But 
 you'll have to pay for the ices. We've no 
 money." 
 
 There again — I have been a careful 
 student of politics for years — the good of 
 being democratic comes in. I paid for the 
 ices without grumbling. A " reacting Tory" 
 — Miss Merridew for instance — might have* 
 objected to being taxed in this way. 
 
V 
 
 PEKSEUS AND ANDROMEDA 
 
 I AM under no delasions about The Daily 
 Gazette. It is not one of the great organs of 
 British, opinion. Governments are not affected 
 by our articles, and the public remains obsti- 
 nately calm when I assure it that a crisis is at 
 hand. No one, outside of Middleton, is much 
 influenced by what I write or regards the 
 opinions which I tell Adolphus to express as 
 of any particular importance. But in one 
 particular. The Daily Gazette holds a very 
 distinguished position. Except The Times 
 itself no paper has a finer "Agony Column" 
 than ours ; and even The Times hardly sur- 
 passes us. It was The Daily Gazette which 
 published some weeks ago the advertisement 
 of the gentleman who, having failed to make 
 a living in New Zealand, wanted literary work 
 in England of such a kind that a motor bicycle 
 would be useful to him in doing it. 
 
 These advertisements, though not a very 
 profitable source of revenue, make interesting 
 reading, and, as I have said, give The Daily 
 
98 PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA 
 
 Gazette a place of its own among provincial 
 papers. Most of our contemporaries, as we 
 call them, have to be content with one or two 
 of these advertisements in the course of a 
 year. We get a dozen or so every day. I 
 claim no credit for our success. It is entirely 
 due to Sir Isaac Wool. Years ago, before I 
 knew him, he used to answer advertisements 
 of this kind when they appeared in The Times. 
 He must have spent hundreds of pounds in 
 relieving cases of thoroughly well-deserved 
 distress. This weakness of his became known 
 and he was marked down. The most acute 
 and original advertisers took to publishing 
 their appeals in duplicate, once in The Times 
 in order to catch unknown philanthropists, 
 and once in The Daily Gazette in order to get 
 straight at Sir Isaac. 
 
 Having a real affection for Sir Isaac I did 
 my best to prevent his being vietimised, and 
 I have no doubt that I saved him a great deal 
 of money. But every now and then some 
 daringly original scoundrel caught the old 
 gentleman in spite of me. I was beaten two 
 months ago by a man who began his advertise- 
 ihent " Slavery rather than Starvation." He 
 offered himself and his three children as slaves, 
 literally, in the old Roman Imperial sense of 
 the word, to anyone who would feed and clothe 
 
PEESEUS AND ANDEOMEDA 99 
 
 them, making no conditions except that he 
 should be allowed one d^y off in the year to 
 visit his wife's grave. It was this last touch 
 which finished poor Sir Isaac. Nothing I 
 could say was of any use. He sent that 
 swindler fifty pounds, after making what he 
 called exhaustive enquiries into the case. 
 
 I generally read through these "Agony 
 Column" advertisements, and one afternoon 
 at the end of last July I came upon one which 
 striick me as novel. 
 
 " Eescue Wanted. A young girl, beauti- 
 ful and delicately nurtured, seeks rescuer. 
 Threatened with torture worse than death. 
 Delay is dangerous. Eemember the noble 
 Perseus and act at once. Eeply Andromeda, 
 B463, Office of this paper." 
 
 It scarcely surprised me when Sir Isaac 
 paid me a visit that afternoon. He was in a 
 condition of nervous distress. 
 
 " My dear Godfrey," he said, "have you 
 seen this advertisement ? ' Eescue Wanted.' 
 I know what you wiU say, and of course I 
 admit that you are generally right. But 
 there are cases — now look at this : ' A 
 young girl, beautiful and delicately nur- 
 tured ' " 
 
 " Most likely a hoary-headed old drunkard," 
 I said. 
 
100 PEKSEUS AND ANDEOMEDA 
 
 " But torfeure, my dear fellow. I can't 
 bear to think — I should never sleep quietly 
 again if I failed to satisfy myself. We do hear 
 of such horrible things from time to time. It 
 was only last week that a story appeared in 
 our columns — A well-dressed lady in a motor- 
 car — an unfortunate girl — drugged — the police 
 quite at fault — a cross-channel steamer at 
 midnight. You remember the case." 
 
 I remembered the case perfectly well. 
 England was at that time just recovering from 
 a fit of acute panic which had stirred to their 
 depths the hearts of aU our sentimentalists. 
 The newspapers, The Daily Gazette amongst 
 them, had been publishing wild romances of 
 the most harrowing kind, and Parliament, with 
 its unfailing instinct for idiotic legislation, had 
 been passing Bills which could not possibly be 
 any use. 
 
 " I can't help feeling," said Sir Isaac, 
 "that the Bill which Peddlebury has intro- 
 duced to the House of Commons ought to be 
 supported by the Government. Flogging is 
 too good for those ruffians ; although of course 
 I regard corporal punishment as degrading — 
 on principle, you know — degrading and utterly 
 useless as a remedial measure, and feel strongly 
 that penal legislation should proceed on the 
 lines of enlightened But I mustn't waste 
 
PEESEUS AND ANDEOMEDA 101 
 
 time discussing that. "What I really came to 
 speak to you about is the case of this poor 
 girl." 
 
 I saw that I should have to give in. 
 
 "Very well," I said, "I'll ring up our 
 business manager and ask him for the address 
 to which replies to that advertisement are to 
 be forwarded. You'll find that any letters 
 which come to us are to be sent to some small 
 tobacconist's to be called for. That's the way 
 these things are always managed." 
 
 I took up the telephone. Sir Isaac con- 
 tinued to babble in my ear. 
 
 *' With all respect to your superior judg- 
 ment, my dear fellow ; and it is superior to 
 mine. I admit that. I have always admitted 
 that. But this case. It seems to me that 
 this case is a little different from the others. 
 She doesn't ask for money, you see, and"Bhe is 
 evidently highly educated, a student of the 
 classics, my dear Godfrey, of the Greek 
 dramatists, I think. She mentions Perseus 
 and Andromeda. We mustn't forget — you 
 won't mind my saying so — that although you 
 and I may not have read the Greek dramatists 
 they are after all the hall-mark of a liberal 
 education." 
 
 As a matter of fact I have read four Greek 
 plays. I was forced to read them at school. 
 
102 PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA 
 
 and none of them was based on the story of 
 Perseus and Andromeda. Sir Isaac, however, 
 understood the allusion even if he did not 
 know the origin of the myth. 
 
 "I recollect," he said, " a picture exhibited 
 some time ago, a picture of Perseus in the act 
 of rescuing — I felt at the time that the artist 
 might have represented Andromeda as — well — '■ 
 ex — slightly clothed. But this is a delicate 
 subject, and of course allowances must be made 
 for the artistic temperament. The general 
 effect of the picture was most moving. But 
 with regard to the present case I feel that 
 I " 
 
 I tried to picture Sir Isaac, clad in a suit 
 of shiny armour, with a long sword in his hand, 
 hacking the chains from the wrist of a nude 
 Andromeda. I was roused from my vision and 
 greatly startled by the voice of our business 
 manager when he shouted the information I 
 had asked for through the telephone. 
 
 "Letters for 'Andromeda, B463,' to be 
 forwarded to Miss V. Tempest, care of Miss 
 Merridew, The High School, Middleton." 
 
 "My dear Godfrey ! " said Sir Isaac. " I 
 remember the girl perfectly. We must act at 
 once. Act decisively." 
 
 "There's not the slightest necessity for act- 
 ing at all." I said. " That young minx " 
 
PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA 103 
 
 " Don't say minx. Please don't say minx. 
 She may be in some terrible trouble, and she's 
 such a sweet girl " 
 
 " Very well," I said, " I'll call her anything 
 you like. That sweet girl is capable of playing 
 any conceivable or inconceivable trick on any 
 one. As long as her address is care of Miss 
 Merridew, The High School, she's perfectly 
 safe. Nobody can possibly be torturing her." 
 
 " I'm very glad to hear you say that, very 
 glad indeed — and of course I feel the most 
 perfect confidence in your judgment ; but I 
 wish — I very much wish that I felt quite easy 
 in my mind. Of course, as you say, so long 
 as she is under Miss Merridew's care — Miss 
 Merridew is such an excellent woman. I 
 don't know anyone with a more sterling 
 character, combined with great ability and 
 remarkable, quite remarkable administrative 
 powers. But I must not occupy all your time 
 now that I know where that advertisement 
 comes from. Good-bye, Godfrey — Good-bye, 
 my dear fellow. Don't let anything I have 
 said cause you any uneasiness. I'm sure, 
 quite sure " 
 
 Sir Isaac's voice faded gradually as he 
 backed his way from the door of my room to 
 the staircase. I knew that he was not in the 
 least satisfied about Virginia's safety, and was 
 
104 PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA 
 
 certain that he would go straight to the school 
 to find out who was torturing her. I felt a 
 good deal of curiosity about her myself. What 
 I wanted to know was why she had spent five 
 shillings on inserting her advertisement in 
 The Daily Gazette. Never, since I have known 
 her, has Miss Virginia had any money to spare. 
 I sent for Adolphus. 
 
 " Adolphus," I said, " is your wife torturing 
 Virginia Tempest?" 
 
 " My wife ! " said Adolphus. " Torturing ! 
 Of course not." 
 
 " Is she planning to torture her ? Tell the 
 truth now, Adolphus." 
 
 " No, she isn't. At least, if she is I never 
 heard anything about it." 
 
 " Ah," I said. " But things often happen 
 without your hearing anything about them. 
 What is going on in Miss Merridew's school at 
 present ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Adolphus. " Nothing 
 can be going on. The school has broken up 
 for the hoKdays. The girls have gone home." 
 
 ** Be careful what you are saying, Adolphus. 
 A letter has come to this office from Virginia 
 Tempest in which she gives the High School 
 as her address. She evidently hasn't gone 
 home." 
 
 "I remember now," said Adolphus, "at 
 
PBESEUS AND ANDEOMEDA 105 
 
 least I think I remember my wife saying — but 
 I wasn't paying much attention at the time." 
 
 " You'd better pay attention now. This is 
 a serious business. What did your wife say ? " 
 
 " I think," said Adolphus, " she mentioned 
 that three of the girls had got sore throats or 
 something of that kind, and couldn't go home 
 till they were well." 
 
 Evidently Virginia was one of them. I 
 began to understand her advertisement. If 
 she is confined to bed, or even to her room, 
 and is in charge of Mrs. Jennings, the reference 
 to torture has some meaning though the 
 language is exaggerated. I -should rather be 
 nursed by Adolphus' wife when I was sick than 
 placed upon the rack or made to endure the 
 thumbscrew. But I should very much dislike 
 being nursed by Adolphus' wife. 
 
 " Find out for me," I said, " what doctor 
 is in attendance and whether those girls, 
 especially Virginia, are being properly looked 
 after. Make inquiries from your wife when 
 you go home to dinner and bring me back 
 word. No shuffling now, Adolphus. Make 
 your wife understand that I must have plain 
 and satisfactory answers." 
 
 Adolphus and I spend two hours in the 
 office every afternoon doing nothing particular. 
 Then, from half-past six till half-past eight, we 
 
106 PEESEUS AND ANDEOMEDA 
 
 dine. After that our work really begins. 
 Adolphus, like a good husband, always goes 
 home to dinner. 
 
 He came back fall of information, Virginia, 
 Hilda, and another girl, whose name he did 
 not know, had somehow got tonsilitis a fort- 
 night before the beginning of the holidays. 
 Virginia's case was considerably the worst of 
 the three. Sir Eackwood Challenger was 
 called in, and after a consultation with the 
 school doctor had decided that Virginia's ton- 
 sils must be removed. He intended to perform 
 the operation as soon as the existing inflam- 
 mation had sufficiently subsided. Adolphus 
 thought that Thursday was the day fixed. 
 
 Sir Eackwood Challenger is the leading 
 surgeon in Middleton. When he was made a 
 knight last year I had an article on him. I 
 said that he was a man of world-wide reputa- 
 tion and that the public recognition of his 
 magnificent abilities had been too long delayed, 
 I added that every one in Middleton and the 
 neighbourhood was enormously proud of him. 
 
 It is not, however, pleasant to be out up, 
 even by a titled surgeon of whom all his fellow- 
 townsmen are enormously proud. I thoroughly 
 understood, after listening to Adolphus' news, 
 why Virginia had made her appeal for a rescuer. 
 But I felt that her case was hopeless. A 
 
PEESEUS AND ANDROMEDA 107 
 
 Perseus could in old times occasionally be 
 found to face a sea monster for the sake of a 
 maiden. No one, nowadays, dare venture 
 forth to deprive a surgeon of his prey. And 
 Sir Rackwood is a surgeon of terrifying deter- 
 mination. I felt exceedingly sorry for Virginia 
 but could think of no way of helping, her. I 
 laid aside the leading article on which I was 
 engaged and began a letter of consolation. 
 
 " My dear Virginia — If I could rescue you, 
 believe me I would. No thought of personal 
 danger would hold me back for a moment. 
 But unfortunately these doctors have us com- 
 pletely in their power. The same thing might 
 happen to me any day, and if it does I shall 
 have to submit with as good a grace as 
 possible. There is no appeal against " 
 
 The office boy walked in with a letter which 
 he told me had been brought by a special 
 messenger from Rose Park, Sir Isaac's country 
 place. I opened it. 
 
 Sir Isaac is, as I have mentioned, a highly 
 successful business man. It is very difficult 
 to believe this when listening to his conversa- 
 tion. But his letters give an entirely different 
 impression of his character. It may be that 
 they are composed as weU as typed out by his 
 secretary. But I think this unlikely. Sir 
 Isaac has had three different private secretaries 
 
108 PEESEUS AND ANDEOMEDA 
 
 since I knew Mm. But his letters are always 
 rigidly business-like. 
 
 "Dear Qodfrey," this one ran, "re adv. in 
 to-day's Daily Gazette and conversation there- 
 upon; I visited the High School at 5.15 p.m., 
 acting in my capacity as Chairman of Board 
 of G-overnors of same. It was brought to my 
 knowledge that a decision had been arrived 
 at to perform a surgical operation on Miss 
 Tempest. In the opinion of the patient her- 
 self the operation was unnecessary. I have 
 removed her, in an ambulance, under charge 
 of a trained nurse, to Eose Park. Sir Rack- 
 wood Challenger calls there to-morrow at 
 11 a.m. I should like, if convenient, that 
 you should be present at the interview. — I am, 
 yours very sincerely, Isaac Wool." 
 
 I got up early next morning— early, that 
 is to say, from the point of view of a journalist. 
 I daresay a farmer would have called it late. 
 I went out to Eose Park immediately after 
 breakfast and found Sir Isaac wandering 
 nervously round the library. 
 
 "After leaving you yesterday," he said, 
 
 " I went straight But I needn't repeat 
 
 that. I told you the facts in my letter. I 
 found the poor child in a state of great — great 
 — ^in fact very much — agitated is hardly the 
 right word." 
 
PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA 109 
 
 " Frightened," I said. " I don't wonder. 
 Everybody funks these operations." 
 
 " I should not describe her attitude — her 
 mental attitude, you understand, my dear 
 fellow — as precisely one of fear. It struck me 
 more as resentment, a sense of injustice. I 
 gathered from her that she thought Sir Rack- 
 wood had recommended the operation merely 
 because he found it a pleasure. It sounds 
 very absurd, I know, and it is really difficult 
 to explain. Her view of operations generally 
 is so peculiar, and her opinion of Sir Rack- 
 wood But perhaps the best thing is for 
 
 you to see her yourself and hear what she has 
 to say. I really don't know what to do." 
 
 "The obvious thing," I said, "is to 
 telegraph for her father." 
 
 "I have done so. I did so at once. I 
 telegraphed yesterday before I brought her 
 here. I telegraphed again this morning, but 
 I have received no reply whatever. I fear 
 that the father must be away from home, and 
 that he has left no address." 
 
 " Much more likely that he has too much 
 sense to interfere with Virginia," I said. 
 
 '* It places me in an awkward position — 
 very awkward. You must not think that I 
 am complaining, my dear fellow, or inclined 
 to shirk my responsibility, but it is very 
 
110 PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA 
 
 awkward. I have no real authority, and 
 Virginia absolutely refuses " 
 
 "I expect that's exactly what her father 
 feels. He knows Virginia much better than 
 we do, and he realises that he has no authority 
 over her. Nobody could have. Suppose we 
 leave her to Sir Rackwood and see what 
 happens." 
 
 " I thought — I do not wish to place you in 
 a difficult position. I am sure you understand 
 that, but I thought that if you would see her. 
 After all, you know, if Sir Rackwood says the 
 operation is necessary, perhaps she might 
 listen to you." 
 
 "But I have no authority, either." 
 
 '' Not authority. 1 should not like to rely 
 on authority even if we could. My idea is 
 that you might use your influence. Influence 
 is so much better than authority, in every 
 case, my dear Godfrey. I have always felt that 
 one of the root principles of real Liberalism 
 is that persuasion is to be preferred to force, 
 
 and that coercion in any form But we 
 
 must not wander from the point. I feel con- 
 vinced that if you These operations are 
 
 very trying, of course, and I understand the 
 natm*al shrinking. But if you were to reason 
 with her " 
 
 I was fortunately saved from making any 
 
PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA 111 
 
 attempt to reason with Virginia, an attempt 
 which would have ended, I am sure, in Virginia 
 reasoning with me. A servant opened the 
 door of the library and announced Sir Rack- 
 wood Challenger. He came in smiling ; but 
 there was a nasty gleam in his eyes. I saw at 
 once that he was seriously angry, and I under- 
 stood his feeling. No doctor likes to have his 
 patients snatched away from him by meddle- 
 some outsiders. I also understood his smile. 
 Sir Isaac Wool is so very wealthy and so 
 generous a supporter of hospitals of every kind, 
 that even a leading surgeon cannot afford to 
 speak quite plainly to him. Besides, I count 
 for something in Middleton. The Daih Gazette 
 is not a paper of national importgfice, but it 
 has a good deal of influence in local afifairs. 
 It is never wise to try to bully even the 
 humblest editor. 
 
 Sir Rackwood's tone when he spoke might 
 be described as heavily jocose. 
 
 " So our young lady has run away," he 
 said. " Dear, dear ! Dear, dear ! Well, we 
 were all young once." 
 
 " Do you think," said Sir Isaac, " do you 
 
 really think ? Of course, I speak with all 
 
 deference to your opinion. But do you 
 think that this operation — I quite under- 
 stand that you are the ultimate court of 
 
112 PERSEUS AND ANDEOMEDA 
 
 appeal. Your immense knowledge — your 
 great experience— your unrivalled professional 
 skill. Now do yon think this operation 
 is absolutely necessary ? " 
 
 Sir Eackwood's eyebrows went up until 
 they formed arches, pointed arches of the 
 Early English kind over his eyes. His nostrils 
 dilated. A small pulse throbbed visibly at the 
 side of his forehead. He was evidently very 
 angry. I do not suppose that he had ever 
 before heard it suggested that an operation 
 could be unnecessary. I admired the way in 
 which he answered Sir Isaac. His tone ex- 
 pressed surprise at first and then a mild kind 
 of pity. It gave no indication of the rage 
 which he certainly felt. 
 
 " My dear Wool ! " he said. " Will you 
 allow me to explain ? " 
 
 He explained patiently, as one explains 
 very obvious things to a wilfully stupid child. 
 He went on explaining for nearly half an hour. 
 I do not profess to remember all he said about 
 bacilli, septic conditions and inflammation; 
 but I gathered that Virginia would suffer 
 indescribable torture for many years, all her 
 life in fact, though that was likely to be very 
 short, unless some part of her throat were 
 immediately cut out. 
 
 " Of course," said Sir Isaac, " I quite agree 
 
PERSEUS AND ANDEOMEDA 113 
 
 with what you say. Nothing is further from 
 my intention than to dispute. But — well, the 
 difficulty is " 
 
 " Suppose," I said, " that we send for 
 Virginia herself and see what she has to say." 
 
 I do not think that Sir Rackwood was 
 particularly pleased at this suggestion. It 
 must be rather humiliating for an eminent 
 surgeon to have to justify himself to a mutinous 
 schoolgirl. On the other hand there was plainly 
 nothing else to be done. He could not expect 
 Sir Isaac to hold Virginia down while he 
 drugged her and hacked at her with a knife. 
 I rang the bell and sent a message to her. 
 
 She kept us waiting for at least a quarter 
 of an hour, and we . were, none of ,us, either 
 comfortable or happy. Sir Rackwood picked 
 up a paper knife from the table and held it 
 tightly in his hand while he strode up and 
 down. I suppose it comforted him to feel 
 that he had some cutting instrument in his 
 grasp. Sir Isaac pattered round and rouud 
 the hearthrug, taking very short steps and 
 glancing appealingly at me. I made several 
 interesting remarks about the political situa- 
 tion which was then in its usual condition of 
 acuteness. I got no answers, so I lit my pipe. 
 At last Virginia came in, accompanied by the 
 hospital nurse whom Sir Isaac had put in 
 charge of her. 
 
114 PERSEUS AND ANDEOMEDA 
 
 She either was, or chose to pretend to be, 
 greatly surprised to see Sir Eaokwood, 
 
 " Hullo ! " she said. " Fancy your coming 
 out here after me ! Perseverance I call that ! 
 You must want to do it frightfully. The 
 operation, I mean. I shouldn't have thought 
 anyone would, as much as all that. But, of 
 course, when it's a thing you really like doing 
 I quite understand that you'd go miles rather 
 than lose your chance. I would myself, and 
 do, often, when I'm keen on anything. Ices, 
 for instance. I remember one day when Hilda 
 and I wanted ices awfully and weren't allowed 
 to go further than the Canal Walk, besides 
 having no money " 
 
 I remembered that day too. I received a 
 grave letter of reproach from Miss Merridew 
 afterwards. I did not want the whole matter 
 brouglit up again. 
 
 " Virginia," I said, " Sir Rackwood Chal- 
 lenger has just explained to us that this 
 operation, which is really a very trifling 
 one " 
 
 " Is all for my good," said Virginia, smil- 
 ing in the most friendly way at Sir Eackwood. 
 " I know that, of course. Pinkie says just the 
 same about English Lit. ; and I've heard it 
 lots of times about French verbs. I don't 
 mind your saying it in the least. I know you 
 
PEESEUS AND ANDEOMEDA 115 
 
 have to, in order to get doing it. The opera- 
 tion, that is. If you simply said you wanted 
 to, someone would probably stop you. I know 
 that. Somebody always does. Besides, if 
 you said that it wouldn't be half so noble, 
 though true; and nobleness is one of the 
 greatest things there is." 
 
 "My dear child," said Sir Isaac, "You 
 won't mind my calling you ' my dear child,' 
 will you ? " 
 
 " Not a bit," said Virginia. 
 
 " This operation — Sir Eackwood has just 
 explained to us that the persistence of septic 
 poisoning — you said septic poisoning, didn't 
 you. Sir Eackwood? — and the condition of 
 chronic inflammation will lead in the end 
 to. " 
 
 (( 
 
 I may as well say at once," said Sir 
 Eackwood, " that I absolutely decline to have 
 anything further to do with this case. I shall 
 not operate." 
 
 Virginia ran across the room and grasped 
 his hand warmly. 
 
 " Thanks awfully," she said. " I do call 
 that sweet of you ; but don't think I want to 
 stop you. I'm quite on your side, I think 
 you ought to be allowed to do it as often as 
 you like, when you really want to. Only not 
 on me. I told you the day before yesterday 
 
116 PEESEUS AND ANDEOMEDA 
 
 that Hilda would love it. Lots of people do, 
 you know. In fact most people." 
 
 She looked round at us all as she spoke, 
 and her eyes rested on me. I said at once 
 my tonsils had been cut out long ago. This 
 was not true ; but I did not want to run any 
 risks. Virginia was anxious to supply Sir 
 Eackwood with an immediate victim, and was 
 evidently thinking of me. When she under- 
 stood that I was impossible she turned to Sir 
 Isaac. He looked so miserably uncomfortable 
 that I think she felt it would be a shame to 
 make him any worse. 
 
 " Nurse told me this morning," she said, 
 " that if you wanted to do it to her she'd let 
 you like a shot. She said there wasn't any- 
 body she'd sooner have than you. Do have a 
 go at her." 
 
 She was still holding Sir Eackwood's hand. 
 She looked at him with a most engaging smile 
 while she made her last utterly monstrous 
 proposal. I am sorry to say that he did not 
 seem to appreciate Virginia's charm. He 
 snatched his hand away from her and seized 
 his hat. 
 
 " Good-morning, Wool," he said. 
 
 He left the room without taking any 
 further notice either of Virginia or of me. 
 The nurse held the door open for him with the 
 
PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA 117 
 
 utmost deference. She bowed low as lie 
 passed her. It would, I think, have been 
 contrary to medical etiquette for her to speak. 
 But I have no doubt that she was mutely 
 offering her throat. I suppose it was, for 
 some reason, unattractive to him. Instead of 
 operating on her, he scowled and pranced out 
 of the room. 
 
 " Silly of him," said Virginia, " when he 
 could have had Hilda or the nurse if he'd 
 liked. But that's the worst of losing your 
 temper when you can't get exactly what you 
 want. It ends in your not getting anything 
 at all. I've often noticed that, haven't you? 
 It's far better to take what you can get. I 
 always do. Last Christmas I wanted the 
 English Lit. prize frightfully ; but when I 
 saw that Pinkie wouldn't give it to me I 
 just made up my mind to put up with the 
 one for good conduct. That's what I call 
 sense." 
 
 "Virginia," I said, "do you really think 
 that Sir Rackwood tried to cut your throat 
 just for the pleasure of it ? " 
 
 " Of course," said Virginia. " No one 
 would do a thing like that just for the sake of 
 earning a pound or two. And there isn't any 
 other reason, so it must have been because he 
 likes it. Curious, I call it, that anybody should. 
 
118 PERSEUS AND ANDEOMEDA 
 
 Seems to me ratljer a disgusting amusement ; 
 but then you never can tell what people will 
 like. I knew a girl once who simply loved 
 Euclid, which isn't as messy, nearly, as opera- 
 tions ; but quite as horrid in other ways. We 
 oughtn't to judge other people by ourselves. 
 I don't happen to like wallowing in gore ; but 
 that's no reason why he shouldn't, and he 
 evidently does, or he wouldn't be a surgeon. 
 Nobody is obliged to be a surgeon. Anyhow, 
 I'm frightfully obliged to you, Sir Isaac. If 
 you hadn't rescued me he'd have had me to 
 a dead cert : I couldn't have held out. Pinkie 
 and everybody was on his side j. saying it was 
 for my good, of course, and all the regular 
 things of that sort." 
 
 " Your advertisement," I said, " turned 
 out well. What made you think of it ? " 
 
 " Well," said Virginia, " when I was sick 
 Pinkie gave me a book to read with the story 
 of Andromeda and that sea lion in it, which 
 seemed rather appropriate to me just then. 
 Not happening to know anyone called Perseus 
 I thought the best plan would be to advertise. 
 So I did. Which just shows that what you 
 say in your paper about always putting in an 
 advertisement when you want anything, pre- 
 paid at five shillings for forty words, is quite 
 true, though I hardly believed it at the time." 
 
VI 
 
 SIR RACKWOOD CHALLENGER 
 
 Sip Kackwood Challengee was naturally, even 
 properly, annoyed. I quite understood his 
 feelings. To some extent I sympathised with 
 them. He had been certain of his prey. There 
 was nothing, so far as any one could see, to 
 prevent his operating on Virginia's throat, 
 cutting out her tonsils, removing centres of 
 septic infection or whatever else it was that 
 he proposed to do. At the very last moment 
 his victim had escaped him and gone home 
 unmutilated. Her home was a long way ofif, 
 and Sir Rackwood had no real hope of getting 
 the child into his clutches again. It was 
 small wonder that he was irritated. I was 
 prepared to make every possible allowance for 
 him. He may not have been originally actu- 
 ated, as Virginia maintained, solely by a blood- 
 thirsty longing to stick his knife into a Hving 
 body. He may have believed that the opera- 
 tion he proposed would really benefit Virginia's 
 health; just as the servants of the Spanish 
 Inquisition may often have believed that half 
 
120 SIE RACKWOOD CHALLENGER 
 
 an hour on the rack would be good for their 
 victim' s soul. Such honesty of purpose merely 
 made Sir Eaokwood's mood fiercer. It is bad 
 enough to be deprived of a legitimate pleasure. 
 It is much worse to be baulked in an effort to 
 do good to a fellow creature. 
 
 Unfortunately, the whole weight of Sir 
 Eaokwood's wrath fell on me. I did not 
 deserve punishment. I had taken no active 
 part in helping Virginia to escape the opera- 
 tion. I had not backed up Sir Isaac in any 
 way. I had not said one word in disparage- 
 ment of the surgeon's art. But Sir Raokwood 
 nodded to me in the coldest way when we met 
 in the street. I, found him one afternoon sit- 
 ting at the window in the smoking-room of the 
 club. Instead of allowing me to sit down 
 beside him, he got up and walked over to the 
 far end of the room where there is no window. 
 The afternoon was hot and stuffy, so Sir Rack- 
 wood was the one who suffered; but his 
 hostility made me uncomfortable. I cornered 
 him two days later on the golf links, and 
 invited him to play a round with me. I did 
 it in such a way that he could not very well 
 escape; but he sulked the whole time, and 
 became actually offensive at the tenth hole, 
 where he topped his drive badly. I began to 
 think that my only chance of pacifying him 
 
SIR EACKWOOD CHALLENGER 121 
 
 would be to invite him to perform an operation 
 on me, a minor operation, to cut off one of my 
 toes, or sometliing of that kind. 
 
 It was, as I have said, unfortunate, but it 
 was almost inevitable that I should be the only 
 person on whom Sir Rackwood could take any 
 kind of vengeance. Virginia had gone home. 
 Sir Isaac Wool went off early in August for a 
 tour in Spain. There was no way of getting 
 at him, except by letter, addressed to Cook's 
 office in Madrid. The nurse, the only other 
 person who had been mixed up in Virginia's 
 audacious escape, was, I suppose, beneath Sir 
 Eackwood's notice. Besides, it was a case of 
 outraged professional dignity, and it is merely 
 foolish to assert professional dignity to a 
 person who already firmly believes in it, or, at 
 least, makes a living by pretending to believe 
 in it. The nurse, I have no doubt, grovelled 
 to Sir Rackwood and condemned Virginia. I 
 was not ready to sacrifice my self-respect to 
 that extent, so I came in for the whole of the 
 great surgeon's indignation. 
 
 It was a relief to me when he went away 
 for a holiday on the 10th of August. I believe 
 he went to the west of Ireland to shoot grouse. 
 I sincerely hoped that he would be in a better 
 temper when he came back. 
 
 It was, I remember, on the 12th of August, 
 
122 SIR RACKWOOD CHALLENGER 
 
 that the trouble, the real trouble about Sir 
 Rackwood Challenger began. It Jiad been a 
 hot day, and the office was particularly oppres- 
 sive all the afternoon. Adolphus was singularly 
 irritating. He had been away for a fortnight's 
 holiday, -and had come back in a mood of 
 argumentative inefficiency which almost drove 
 me wild. He wanted to write a leading article 
 on the charms of some obscure watering-place 
 on the south coast, although he knew perfectly 
 well that Sir Isaac owns a lot of property in 
 Blackpool. Sir Isaac never asked me to write 
 up Blackpool in the paper ; but I have some 
 sense of duty to my employer. I was not 
 going to boom some wretched place in Devon- 
 shire in which neither Sir Isaac nor I nor any 
 one in Middleton had any interest at all. 
 
 "Adolphus," I said, "take that article 
 awsy and write it again." 
 
 " Why ? " said Adolphus. 
 
 " Because it's a rotten bad article. That's 
 one reason. Cut out all that silly piffle about 
 seagulls circling around giant cliffs on snowy 
 wings. Who on earth cares whether seagulls 
 circle or not ? " 
 
 " My wife and I," said Adolphus, " used to 
 watch them for hours. It was one of our 
 greatest pleasures." 
 
 " I daresay it was ; but I won't have that 
 
SIR EACKWOOD CHALLENGER 123 
 
 kind of pleasure cracked up in this paper. It's 
 morbid. Say something about mixed bathing 
 and children playing on the sand. Make it 
 quite clear that you mean Blackpool." 
 
 "But I don't. I regard Blackpool as 
 vulgar." 
 
 " Good heavens, Adolphus ! What has 
 vulgarity got to do with it ? Go away and do 
 what you're told." 
 
 " I can't," said Adolphus obstinately. " My 
 wife and I agreed long ago never to degrade 
 our souls by deliberately pandering to the 
 base instincts of the crowd. It is our duty to 
 elevate " 
 
 Adolphus got very pink in the face while 
 he spoke. I had a volume of the Encyclo- 
 paedia Britannica on my desk at the time and 
 was just going to throw it at him when Silver 
 entered the room. I suppose he tapped at 
 the door before coming in, but I did not 
 hear him. 
 
 Silver is Sir Isaac Wool's butler, and must 
 be one of the best servants in the world. He 
 leaves undone nothing which a good man- 
 servant ought to do. He always looks exactly 
 as a good servant ought to look. He has all 
 the calm and -the dignity which has made his 
 class great. He views Sir Isaac from a coolly 
 detached standpoint and tolerates me as a 
 
124 SIR RACKWOOD CHALLENGER 
 
 kind of fellow servant with duties to perform 
 analogous to his own, though less important. 
 This is indeed my position. The fact that a 
 ridiculous social convention allows me to eat 
 at the dining-room table in Rose Park while 
 Silver has his meals in the housekeeper's 
 room makes no real difference between us. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Silver, 
 "but, if I'm not disturbing you, there's a 
 small matter with regard to Sir Isaac's affairs 
 that I'd be glad to have your advice about." 
 
 Silver is left in charge of Rose Park when 
 Sir Isaac is away from home. He sees that 
 the maids have such holidays as maids 
 ought to have, and that the floors are kept 
 properly polished. He also forwards Bii 
 Isaac's letters, on this occasion to Madrid. 
 Silver is quite competent to perform these 
 duties and I cannot imagine his wanting to 
 consult me about them. 
 
 *' Adolphus," I said, " here's your article. 
 Take it away and make the alteration I 
 suggest.-" 
 
 Adolphus could not well start a fresh 
 argument when Silver's fishy and expression- 
 less eyes were fixed on him. He took his 
 manuscl:ipt and left the room. 
 
 " Now, Silver," I said, " what is it ? Not 
 a burglary at Rose Park, I hope." 
 
SIR EACKWOOD CHALLENGER 125 
 
 Silver looked at me reproachfully. 
 " The plate, sir," he said, ' ' is invariably kept 
 in the safe behind my pantry during Sir Isaac's 
 
 absence from home. The other valuables " 
 
 " Surely," I said, " the houseuaaids haven't 
 gone on strike ? " 
 
 It seemed unlikely. Sir Isaac pays large 
 wages and his servants have very little to do. 
 Besides I never heard of a strike of domestic 
 servants. They alone, among the working 
 classes, have succeeded in getting their wages 
 raised 150 per cent, or 200 per cent, during the 
 last fifteen years without even forming a Trade 
 Union. Silver eyed me with cold disapproval. 
 "The housemaids, sir," he said, "upper 
 and under, knows their places." 
 
 "Good," I said, "I wish I could say as 
 much for Adolphus. He argues." 
 
 Silver was perhaps uninterested in Adol- 
 phus, Perhaps he felt that it was not his 
 " place " to discuss the failings of my assistant, 
 just as it was not my "place" to suggest 
 that his subordinate housemaids might go on 
 strike. Instead of taking any notice of my 
 remark he drew a telegram frojn his pocket 
 and handed it to me. I read it. 
 
 " Sir Isaac Wool, Rose Park, Middleton. 
 Sir Rackwood Challenger will arrive to- 
 morrow afternoon." 
 
126 SIR EACKWOOD CHALLENGER 
 
 There was no name appended to the 
 message. It had been sent off from a place 
 called Ballymore. I confess that I was sur- 
 prised. Sir Eaokwood knew perfectly well 
 that Sir Isaac, was in Spain. I had told him 
 so myself. Moreover he had gone to Ireland 
 to shoot grouse. Ballymore, I judged by its 
 name, is somewhere in Ireland. I could not 
 imagine why Sir Rackwood should leave his 
 grouse on the very first day of the shooting 
 and return to Middleton. It was more hope- 
 less still to try to guess why he should wish 
 Sir Isaac to expect him. 
 
 Silver took a second telegram from his 
 pocket. 
 
 " This one arrived, sir, about an hour 
 later than the other." 
 
 I read the second message with increasing 
 bewilderment. It ran : 
 
 " Meet Sir Rackwood at 3.30 train, or send 
 stable boy." 
 
 " Can't understand it, sir," said Silver. 
 
 * ' Well, " I said, " it is puzzling, especially the 
 part about the stable boy. But I think you may 
 get a room ready for Sir Rackwood, and some 
 dinner. He'll Want some dinner, of course." 
 
 "If Sir Isaac was expecting visitors at 
 Rose Park, sir," said Silver, "he'd have been 
 sure to let me know." 
 
SIR RACKWOOD CHALLENGER 127 
 
 "A letter must have gone astray," I said. 
 " It's quite possible that Sir Rackwood may 
 have asked to be put up for a couple of days at 
 Rose Park, though I don't see why he should 
 when he has a house of his own. In fact, I 
 should think that just at present he'd rather 
 accept hospitality from anyone else in Middle- 
 ton than from Sir Isaac. However I 
 
 suppose you've forwarded Sir Isaac's letters ? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir, according to orders." 
 
 " Was there one from Sir Rackwood ? " 
 
 " Can't say, sir, I'm sure. There was a 
 good many letters." 
 
 "Evidently," I said, "what's happened is 
 this. Sir Rackwood has written asking to be 
 put up for a couple of days at Rose Park. 
 You've forwarded the letter. Sir Isaac has 
 replied and forgotten to write to you. Sir 
 Rackwood has telegraphed here, not realising 
 that Sir Isaac is still in Spain. It's com- 
 plicated and most unlikely, but it's the only 
 possible explanation of those telegrams. Any- 
 how your course is plain. Get a room ready 
 for Sir Rackwood." 
 
 "Very good, sir," said Silver, "acting on 
 your orders." 
 
 He meant that if anything disastrous hap- 
 pened — if Sir Rackwood blew up Rose Park or 
 stole the towels — I should be held responsible. 
 
128 SIR EACKWOOD CHALLENGER 
 
 " And what about the stable boy, sir ? " 
 said Silver. " Shall I send him to meet Sir 
 Raokwood? " 
 
 " No," I said. " There must be some 
 mistake about the stable boy. Send a motor." 
 
 " Very good, sir," said Silver, 
 
 He bowed respectfully — Silver is always 
 respectful in manner — and left the office. I 
 spent another half-hour that evening wrangling 
 with Adolphus about Blackpool, and then set 
 him down to write an article about the adul- 
 teration of mUk, a subject on which he could 
 produce half a column without sacrificing his 
 principles or injuring the paper. 
 
 I was wakened next morning at about half- 
 past ten by a tap at my bedroom door. As my 
 servant has strict orders never to call me 
 before noon, I used abusive language, and told 
 the disturber of my peace to go away at once. 
 I was not obeyed. The door opened and 
 Silver came into my room. He stepped softly, 
 as if he were bringing an early cup of tea to 
 one of Sir Isaac's guests in Rose Park. 
 
 " I beg pardon for disturbing you, sir," he 
 said. 
 
 I growled out that he had no right to 
 waken me unless Sir Isaac had died suddenly 
 or Rose Park had been burnt down in the night. 
 
 *' There's two more telegrams, sir, about 
 
SIE RACKWOOD*' CHALLENGER 129 
 
 Sir Rackwood," he said. " The first of them 
 came at 9 a.m., and the second just as I was 
 leaving home. I'd be glad of your instructions, 
 sir, as to how I should act." 
 
 " Give them to me," I said. 
 
 "If you'll excuse me one moment, sir," 
 said Silver. 
 
 He crossed the room and pulled up the 
 blind, letting in a blaze of sunshine. 
 
 " I think you'U be able to read more com- 
 fortably now, sir," 
 
 Silver, like all well-trained servants, is 
 particularly soHcitous of the comfort of those 
 he serves at times when he is annoying them. 
 Having set me blinking in the sunlight he 
 handed me his two telegrams. I confess that 
 the first of them amazed me greatly. 
 
 " Sir Rackwood is to sleep in a basket near 
 the kitchen fire, not in a kennel." 
 
 The second was even more bewildering. 
 
 " Feed Sir Rackwood on warm bread and 
 milk. No bones." 
 
 " I should be glad to receive your instruc- 
 tions, sir, before taking on myself to act as 
 directed." 
 
 His face was perfectly impassive. His way 
 of speaking suggested that he was quite pre- 
 pared to provide a basket beside the kitchen 
 fire for Sir Rackwood, and to feed him on pap 
 if I said he was to do so. 
 
130 SIE EACKWOOD CHALLENGER 
 
 " You can't," I said, " expect an eminent 
 surgeon to sleep in the kitchen." 
 
 "Seems a little odd to me, sir," said 
 Silver. 
 
 " Of course," I said, ** it may be some new 
 kind of medical treatment, a cure for insomnia 
 or something of that sort. You never know 
 nowadays what doctors will advise. But it's 
 curious his trying the experiment on himself. 
 I never knew a medical man before who did 
 that." 
 
 "And the bread and milk, sir?" said 
 Silver. " I had been thinking of a little clear 
 soup, a roast chicken and a savoury — for dinner, 
 sir." 
 
 I looked at the telegram again. 
 " It distinctly says ' no bones.' " I said. 
 " Eoast chicken won't do. Look here. Silver. 
 If I were you I'd go down to the train myself 
 —3.30 isn't it ? — and meet Sir Rackwood. 
 You needn't say anything at first about the 
 basket by the kitchen fire. Just ask him what 
 he'd like for dinner. If he says bread and 
 milk then you'll know that there's been no 
 mistake, and that he really wants to sleep in a 
 basket. I don't know where you'll get a big 
 enough basket, but you'll have to try." 
 
 " The basket will be managed, sir, if re- 
 quired," said Silver. 
 
SIR RACKWOOD CHALLENGER 131 
 
 Silver is really wonderful. Nothing defeats 
 him. No demand finds him at the end of his 
 resources. I had no doubt whatever that a 
 basket would be provided if Sir Raokwood 
 insisted oh it. 
 
 " G-ood morning, sir," said Silver. " I'm 
 sorry for disturbing you. Would you wish me 
 to pull down the bhnd again ? " 
 
 " No use trying to sleep any more now," I 
 said. " I should only dream about Sir Rack- 
 wood eating bread and milk by the kitchen 
 fire. I may as well get up." 
 
 " Very good, sir," said Silver. "I'll turn 
 on your bath before I leave." 
 
 Having been forced to get up at an un- 
 reasonable hour I mad6 the best of a bad 
 business and played a round of golf. I went 
 down to the oflSce at half-past three. There I 
 got some fresh news of Sir Rackwood Challen- 
 ger. It took the form of a short paragraph 
 prepared for insertion in our next day's column 
 of fashionable intelligence ; a column known 
 in the office as "Fash." This part of the 
 paper ought to be under the control of the 
 business manager, since it consists of what are 
 really advertisements, supplied and paid for by 
 people who like to see their movements and 
 engagements chronicled. The paragraph 
 which caught my attention stated the fact 
 
132 SIE EACKWOOD CHAIiLENGEK 
 
 that Sir Eaotwood Challenger was one of the 
 shooting party assembled at Cloongard, the 
 coTintry seat of a well-known Irish earl. It 
 added that Cloongard was picturesquely 
 situated on the Shannon. I took up a railway 
 time-table and looked out Ballymore, the 
 place from which the telegram about Sir Eack- 
 wood's arrival had been despatched. It turned 
 out to be at least fifty miles from any part of 
 the Shannon. This puzzled me. I could not 
 understand why Sir Eackwood, if he were 
 really in an earl's house on the Shannon 
 should have travelled fifty miles to send off 
 his telegrams. He had sent four. That 
 meant travelling 400 miles, allowing for the 
 return journeys. The thing was incredible. 
 I sent for Miss Bembridge. 
 
 Miss Bembridge is the lady who describes 
 the clothes worn by our local artistocracy at 
 flower shows, weddbigs, pubHo balls and other 
 functions. She also compiles our "Fash" 
 column from the notes sent to her by people 
 who want their names to appear in it, notes 
 accompanied in every case by cheques or 
 postal orders. I pointed out the paragraph 
 about Sir Eackwood to her. 
 
 " How did you get that ? " I asked. 
 
 Miss Bembridge sighed a little wearily. 
 Hers is, I admit, a tiresome job. 
 
SIR EACKWOOD CHALLENGER 133 
 
 " Oh, the usual way," she said. " Sir 
 Rackwood sent it to us," 
 
 " Are you sure he sent it himself? " 
 
 " It was in his writing. I know his hand 
 quite weU." 
 
 She ought to know it. Sir Rackwood 
 Challenger is one of the most regular patrons 
 — clients or customers — of our "Fash" 
 column. He appears in it every time he 
 leaves home and every time he returns. If he 
 buys a new horse, the beast's pedigree comes 
 out in "Fash." The engagements and 
 marriages of his remotest cousins are always 
 announced at a guinea for each insertion. 
 Even the operations he performs turn up as 
 paragraphs when his victims are people in 
 any way distinguished. Medical etiquette, 
 I understand, forbids doctors to advertise. 
 Solicitors and stockbrokers are in a similar 
 position, but neither solicitors nor stockbrokers 
 have yet grasped the possibilities afforded by 
 the columns of fashionable intelligence 
 published in the daily papers. When they 
 come to understand the advantage of Sir 
 Eackwood's system, our revenue will greatly 
 increase and we shaU have to print two or 
 three columns of " Fash " daily. 
 
 " Now I come to think of it," said Miss 
 Bembridge, " there was a telegram from him 
 
134 SIK RACKWOOD CHALLENGER 
 
 this morning asking us to be sure to insert 
 that paragraph." 
 
 " D@ you happen to remember where the 
 telegram was handed in? Was it at Bally- 
 more ? " 
 
 " No," said Miss Bembridge, " Cloongard, 
 the same name as the house he's staying at. 
 It must be a village as well as a house." 
 
 " Odd," I said, " very odd. Just hoM over 
 that paragraph. Miss Bembridge. Don't send 
 it down to tlie printers till you hear from me. 
 Sir Raokwood is expected to arrive here to-day 
 by the 3.30 train." 
 
 Miss Bembridge left me. Almost im- 
 mediately afterwards Silver entered my room. 
 He was leading a small black puppy by a 
 string. 
 
 " Well, Silver," I said, "has Sir Raokwood 
 arrived? " 
 
 " Sir Rackwood Challenger was not in the 
 train sir," said Silver stiffly. " I beg your 
 pardon, sir, but what am I to do with this ? " 
 
 He jerked the string which he held in his 
 hand and pulled the puppy forward. It was 
 engaged at the moment in gnawing my waste- 
 paper basket. When Silver chucked its stiing 
 it slid forward with its paws stretched out and 
 began to gnaw the legs of Silver's trousers. 
 
 "It looks a nice puppy," I said. "I 
 
SIR RACKWOOD CHALLENGER 135 
 
 shoTild think it will grow up to be a cooker 
 spaniel. Where did you get it ? " 
 
 " Arrived by train, sir, consigned to Sir 
 Isaac. There was seven and sixpence to pay." 
 
 "It must have come a long way," I said. 
 " Were you expecting a puppy ? " 
 
 "No, sir. I was not. And what's more, 
 sir, if you'll excuse my speaking plain, I don't 
 care to undertake the responsibility of this dog. 
 It's not my place, sir, to rear young dogs." 
 
 The puppy, having worried Silver's 
 trousers to its satisfaction, got its teeth into 
 his leg. Silver kicked it gather savagely. 
 
 " I don't understand the management of 
 dogs, sir," said Silver, " and I mu*^ decline to 
 have anything to do with this one." 
 
 Light began to break on me in confusing 
 flashes. 
 
 " Feed it on warm bread and milk," I said. 
 " No bones. Let it sleep in a basket beside 
 the kitchen fire." 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir," said Silver. " But I 
 can't undertake the responsibility. Dogs 
 isn't my place." 
 
 When a British servant says anything is 
 not his place there is no use arguing with him. 
 The matter, whatever it is, is settled. In the 
 middle ages men believed that a case was 
 finished when Rome had spoken. But nothing 
 
136 SIR EACKWOOD CHALLENGER 
 
 Rome ever said settled anything as definitely 
 and finally as the " It's not my place " of the 
 domestic servant. I recognised the position 
 and sent for Adolphus. 
 
 " Adolphus," I said, " this puppy is an 
 animal of great value and you are to take 
 charge of it till Sir Isaac comes home. I 
 need scarcely say that if anything happens to 
 it — ^if it dies or gets distemper — you'll lose 
 your place in this oflSce." 
 
 Silver placed the string in Adolphus' hand, 
 bowed respectfully and left the office. 
 Adolphus looked at the puppy and then at 
 me. His face expressed utter amazement. 
 
 " Feed it on warm bread and milk," I 
 said, " no bones. Put it to sleep in a basket 
 beside the kitchen fire." 
 
 " WiU it bite ? " said Adolphus. 
 
 "Probably," I said. "I hope it will. 
 You want waking up." 
 
 "I wasn't thinking of myself," said 
 Adolphus. " But my wife won't agree to 
 keep it if it bites the baby." 
 
 " It will almost certainly try to eat your 
 baby." I said. •' But don't let it. Babies are 
 simply poison for puppies of that age. Go 
 away now, Adolphus. Tie the puppy up to 
 your writing table until you go home to dinner. 
 Then take it with you." 
 
SIE EACKWOOD CHALLENGEE 137 
 
 I thought over the whole situation very 
 carefully when Adolphus left me, and began 
 to see my way a little. I telephoned to Adol- 
 phus' wife and asked her if she knew Virgiuia 
 Tempest's home address. She did. It was 
 " Mill House, Ballymore, Ireland." That 
 confirmed the theory I had formed. I sent 
 for Adolphus and told him that the puppy's 
 name was Sir Eaokwood Challenger. 
 
 Next morning I received a note from 
 Silver enclosing a telegram from Sir Isaac, a 
 telegram despatched from Seville. 
 
 "'Please receive and keep carefully a 
 puppy which arrives by train consigned to me. 
 Letter follows." 
 
 SUver was kind enough to say in his note 
 that the arrangements I had made for the 
 care of the puppy would no doubt be quite 
 satisfactory to Sir Isaac. They were certainly 
 not satisfactory to A.dolphus. The puppy did 
 not actually bite the baby — Mrs. Jennings 
 saw to that — but it devoured a pair of gloves, 
 bit holes in the rug which covered the per- 
 ambulator, and tore to pieces three of the 
 baby's boots. Adolphus had to bring the 
 creature to the office with him every day and 
 keep it in his room. Fortunately Miss Bern- 
 bridge has a kind heart. She fed it. 
 
 In due time a letter arrived from Sir 
 
138 SIR EACKWOOD CHALLENGER 
 
 Isaac and finally cleared up the whole 
 mystery. Virginia Tempest— 'I might have 
 suspected her sooner than I did — had sent the 
 puppy to Sir Isaac as an expression of grati- 
 tude for the noble way in which he had played 
 Perseus to her Andromeda, rescuing her at 
 the last moment from Sir Rackwood Chal- 
 lenger and the threatened operation. She had 
 written a letter which was duly forwarded to 
 Madrid by Silver and thence to Seville by the 
 clerk in Cook's ofl&ce. She told Sir Isaac 
 that she was sending the puppy and gave its 
 name as Sir Rackwood Challenger "just to 
 remind you — " Sir Isaac here quoted her 
 exact words — " of the perilous but glorious 
 adventure, though of course he may have 
 meant well, as people often do when inflicting 
 cruel torture on pthers." 
 
 Sir Isaac called the letter touching, and 
 said that he would cherish the pnppy as long 
 as he lived. 
 
 Sir Rackwood, who came home early in 
 September, is often asked by men in the club 
 whether he still sleeps in a basket beside the 
 kitchen fire. If he ever succeeds in getting 
 Virginia into a hospital he will certainly cut 
 her into small pieces. 
 
VII 
 
 THE BISHOP 
 
 I DO not go to churoli very often. This, I 
 think, is excusable in an editor. If I were a 
 business man of any ordinary kind, with work 
 which could be done at reasonable hours, I 
 feel sure, fairly sure, that I should go to 
 church regularly every Sunday and in time 
 become a churchwarden. Being an editor I 
 have to work till two or three o'clock in the 
 morning and therefore find it necessary to 
 stay in bed, once I get there, till far on in the 
 day. I must do this six days in the week. 
 On Saturdays when I might go to bed early, 
 the habit of sitting up late is strong in me 
 and I am rarely awake early enough on 
 Sunday morning to go to church. Still, I 
 have no prejudice against the clergy and I 
 deeply respect all bishops. 
 
 I have respected bishops aU my life, 
 although — a cynical man would say because — 
 I never actually met one until Miss Merridew 
 invited me to luncheon a fortnight ago. 
 She had just returned from a well-earned 
 
 E 
 
140 THE BISHOP 
 
 holiday spent in Italy, and was eager to take 
 up the threads of her various activities again. 
 The girls had not yet finished their holidays. 
 They were expected back at the scene of 
 their labours a week later. In the meanwhile 
 Miss Merridew was entertaining the Bishop. 
 I did not, when I received the invitation, 
 understand why I was picked out for the 
 peculiar honour of meeting a high ecclesiastic. 
 I iovLuS. that out before lunch was over. 
 
 There was nobody there except Miss 
 Merridew, the bishop and myself. This 
 surprised and, I admit, embarrassed me a 
 little. I expected to be one of many guests, 
 a minor one, to be allowed to shake the epis- 
 copal hand and then to relapse into obscurity 
 beside some man to whom I could talk freely 
 about golf. Somebody else, so I assumed, 
 some more worthy person, would talk to the 
 bishop about theology, disestablishment, 
 divorce, the higher criticism, or whatever 
 it is which bishops and those familiar with 
 them do talk about. When I found out that 
 I and the bighop were to sit one on each side 
 of Miss Merridew and converse with one 
 another across her I felt my position awk- 
 ward. I regretted, not for the first time in 
 my career, that I am the editor of a Liberal 
 paper, I cannot be sure that J may not, 
 
THE BISHOP 141 
 
 some day, be expected to advocate the 
 disestablishment of the Church. A bishop, 
 so I thought, would very naturally be pre- 
 judiced against Liberals. 
 
 The appearance of the bishop reassured 
 me a little. He was deeply sunburnt and the 
 skin was peeling off his nose. His hands — 
 I shook hands with him of course — ^were hard 
 and horny. Most of his finger nails were cut 
 as short as finger nails can be. Two, which 
 were not short, were broken. By the feel of 
 his hands, supposing I had grasped them in 
 the dark without knowing whose hands they 
 were, I should have ^aid that he was a labour- 
 ing man. 
 
 We sat down to luncheon and I began by 
 commenting on a pamphlet recently published 
 by a scholarly Dean on the results of the 
 higher criticism. It had been sent to our 
 oflS.ce for review, and by the greatest good luck 
 I had dipped into it before handing it over to 
 Adolphus. It seemed to me a very proper 
 thing to talk about under the circumstances. 
 The bishop was quite polite but, I am bound 
 to say, uninterested. He spoke of the Dean 
 as " Dear old Trotter," although the Dean's 
 name was D'Aubigny, and said he remembered 
 him well as a Fellow of All Saints' when he 
 was at Oxford. I suppose that "Trotter" 
 
142 THE BISHOP 
 
 mast ihave attached itself to him from some 
 pecuUarity in his walk. 
 
 We very soon dropped the pamphlet. The 
 bishop was enjoying his lunch, and said so. 
 Miss Merridew gives excellent luncheons, 
 though perhaps a little too elaborate. I' 
 always enjoy them though I do not say so 
 quite so frankly as the bishop did. He 
 beckoned to the maid who waited on us 
 and made her bring him the fish a second 
 time. He helped himself to all that was left 
 on the dish. 
 
 "After ten days," he said, "on tinned 
 tongue and hard biscuits — did I tell you that 
 we were nearly ten days without bread ? " 
 
 " The bishop," said Miss Merridew to me, 
 " has just been yachting." 
 
 I was glad of the explanation. I might 
 have thought that he had been doing a little 
 voluntary missionary work among some very 
 uncivilized heathen people. I began to under- 
 stand why his hands were hard and why the 
 skin was peeling off his nose. I noticed that 
 his fingers were so swollen that his episcopal 
 ring was a very tight fit. 
 
 "A ten tonner," said the bishop, "and 
 we worked her ourselves, three of us. Next 
 time I shall bring a curate to do the washing 
 up. The only thing I really object to is 
 
THE BISHOP 143 
 
 washing up. Do you teach your girls to wash 
 up, Miss Merridew ? " 
 
 Miss Merridew explained that some of the 
 elder girls take up House Craft, which includes 
 washing up. 
 
 "Nasty greasy work," said the bishop, 
 " but excellent disoipliue. I suppose you 
 never wash up, Mr. Godfrey ? " 
 
 I have never in my life washed up plates 
 or cups ; but I am often called on to clean up 
 the abominable mess which politicians make 
 of affairs when they have had an orgy in 
 Parliament. I said so, and the bishop seemed 
 immensely pleased. 
 
 "I daresay," he said, "that's worse. 
 Warburton — you know Warburton? " 
 
 " Francis Warburton ? " I said. 
 
 " That's the man," said the bishop. " He 
 was one of our party. Know him ? " 
 
 I knew him by reputation, of course. He 
 is a member of the Cabinet, in my opinion an 
 objectionable member of the Cabinet, for he 
 is continually giving his own side away. 
 When he speaks in public we have to spend 
 a week explaining that he does not mean 
 what he says. 
 
 "The first two days," said the bishop, 
 " he wouldn't eat buttered eggs and jam off 
 the same plate at breakfast. The third day 
 
144 THE BISHOP 
 
 it was his turn to do the washing up. He 
 found out then that any number of things 
 can be eaten off the same plate. You ought 
 to try turning him on to edit a daily paper 
 for a week or two at a time. That would 
 teach him to be careful what he says." 
 
 I wish the thing were possible. I have 
 suffered as much as any man from War- 
 burton's blazing indiscretions. It gratified 
 me to think of his having to wash up his 
 own plates with greasy wateir in a small tin 
 basin while the bishop gloated. I began to 
 like the bishop very much when I thought of 
 his gloating over Warburton. 
 
 I heard a good deal about the yachting 
 cruise during luncheon. I had somehow 
 imagined beforehand that bishops took longer 
 holidays — the cruise had lasted a bare ten 
 days — and took them in a more stately way. 
 Nor had I realised that Cabinet Ministers 
 would enjoy themselves in any such manner. 
 I have never kedged, or helped to kedge a 
 heavy boat off a mudbank on a wet afternoon, 
 but, judging from the bishop's account of the 
 sport, it is the last thing I should expect men 
 in high and dignified positions to do. War- 
 burton is, of course, an exceptional Cabinet 
 Minister. Most of them have less vitality. 
 The bishop, I suspect, must be an exceptional 
 
THE BISHOP 145 
 
 ecclesiastic. If there are many like him there 
 is plainly no use trying to disestablish the 
 Church of England. The ordinary politician 
 might quite easily get the better of " dear old 
 Trotter" in a struggle for existence; but 
 would be likely to go under rather helplessly 
 when face to face with a bishop who finds 
 pleasure in taking a ten ton boat through the 
 race off Portland. For the sake of the Party 
 and the cause of democracy generally I can 
 only hope that this bishop is an exceptional one. 
 In one respect he turned out to be quite 
 an ordinary kind of clergyman. He wanted 
 money for a good cause. It was Miss Merridew 
 who brought up the subject. We had finished 
 luncheon and were drinking our coffee. The 
 bishop and I were smoking. Miss Merridew, 
 who being the mistress of a large girls' school 
 cannot allow herself a cigarette, was sipping a 
 small glass of Benedictine. We had exhausted 
 the yachting cruise and worked through Miss 
 Merridew's account of her experiences in Italy. 
 I was wondering whether it would be fair to 
 tell the story of Virginia's defeat of Sir Eack- 
 wood Challenger. The bishop would enjoy 
 it ; but I could not be sure that I should not 
 place Miss Merridew in an awkward position 
 by telling it. She is, after all, more or less 
 responsible for Virginia and might feel bound 
 
146 THE BISHOP 
 
 to take some official notice of the incident. 
 While I hesitated Miss Merridew opened a 
 new subject. 
 
 " What about the D.D.F., bishop ? " she 
 said. "I am sure Mr. Godfrey would like to 
 hear about your idea." 
 
 I had heard the bishop's ideas about chain 
 compressors, rigging screws, and swivel blocks 
 for jib halyards ; all strange things to me. 
 I naturally thought that the D.P.F. was 
 some still obscurer part of the gear of a small 
 yacht. I said I should like to hear about it 
 very much. The bishop plunged into the 
 subject impetuously, very much as I expect 
 he and Warburton plunged overboard every 
 morning from the deck of the ten tonner. I 
 was a little surprised to find that D.D.F. 
 stands for Diocesan Development Fund, and 
 that the bishop was just as keen on raising 
 £15,000 a year for building new churches and 
 Betting fresh curates to work as he was on 
 hauling down the purchase of a throat halyard. 
 I at once offered to subscribe. 
 
 "Yery good of you," said the bishop, 
 " very, and I'U take your cheque with pleasure. 
 But we want rather more than a subscription 
 out of you." 
 
 "There's no use," I said, "offering to or. 
 dain me as a lay reader. I'm constitutionally 
 
THE BISHOP 147 
 
 incapable of conducting a Mothers' Meeting. 
 Sir Isaac now " 
 
 " Exactly," said the bishop. 
 
 "That's just what we want to get at," said 
 Miss Merridew. 
 
 I had mentioned Sir Isaac without think- 
 ing. His name slipped from my lips naturally 
 the moment any kind of good work was spoken 
 of, I saw at once that I had made a mis- 
 take and must draw back. No man living 
 would make a better lay reader than Sir Isaac. 
 But there was one fatal objection to him. 
 
 "Unfortunately," I said. "Sir Isaac's a 
 Nonconformist — Methodist, I think. At all 
 events, not a Churchman." 
 
 " That's the point," said the bishop. 
 " That's where you come in," 
 
 " I don't see," I said, " what I can do in 
 the matter. I quite agree that Sir Isaac 
 would make an admirable lay reader. Minor 
 orders would just suit him, but " 
 
 I rather liked the phrase " minor orders." 
 I must have picked it up during the course of 
 some Church controversy and kept it stored 
 unconsciously in the back of my mind. Un- 
 fortunately it did not impress the bishop. He 
 laughed. 
 
 " I wasn't thinking of making an acolyte 
 of Sir Isaac," he said, " my idea is that, as a 
 very wealthy man " 
 
148 THE BISHOP 
 
 " Oh," I said, " a donation." 
 
 "An annual subscription," said Miss 
 Merridew. 
 
 "And," said the bishop, "his influence. 
 He's enormously influential with the very 
 people we want to get at; the recently en- 
 riched members of the commercial class." 
 
 "If we could persuade him," said Miss 
 Merridew, " to let us hold a meeting at Eose 
 Park, an address to be given by the bishop, 
 invitations to be sent out to all and sundry in 
 Sir Isaac's name. A tent on the lawn, you 
 know. Tea and ices afterwards." 
 
 "I see," I said. "I expect it could be 
 managed if a good case can be made out for 
 the D.D.F." 
 
 " The best possible," said the bishop. 
 
 " On generally philanthropic, not merely 
 ecclesiastical grounds," I said. 
 
 I left Miss Merridew's house with a fat 
 bundle of literature in my pocket. I handed 
 the whole thing over to Adolphus when I got 
 to the office. 
 
 " Adolphus," I said, " you're to do an 
 article, full column, for to-morrow's paper, 
 pressing the claims of the D.D.F. on the 
 public from a non-sectarian and broadly 
 humanitarian point of view." 
 
 "What is the D.D.F.?" said Adolphus. 
 " I never heard of it." 
 
THE BISHOP 149 
 
 "If I were you, Adolphus," I said, "I 
 should try to conquer that habit of saying 
 you've never heard of important publio institu- 
 tions. It will injure your prospects in life 
 if you let it get hold of you. The D.D.F. is 
 a fund run by our excellent bishop to build 
 new churches, and you're to crack it up in to- 
 morrow's paper along the lines I've suggested." 
 
 I've never seen Adolphus actually shut his 
 mouth. He goes through life with his lips 
 slightly parted and the ends of his teeth 
 plainly visible. But he went very near 
 shutting it when I told him what he was to 
 do about the D.D.F. A look of frightened 
 obstinacy came into his eyes. 
 
 " I can't do that," he said, " I really can't. 
 My conscience " 
 
 "Good heavens, Adolphus," I said, "no- 
 body's conscience can object to increasing 
 the number of curates. If I'd asked you to 
 advocate murdering them " 
 
 " I'm a free thinker," said Adolphus. 
 
 My first inclination was to batter his head 
 against the wall until he died. I am not, I 
 hope, a bigoted man. I cannot imagine that 
 I should ever, at any stage of the world's 
 history, have been seriously angry with a man 
 for believing or not believing anything in 
 particular. But there are limits to toleration. 
 
150 THE BISHOP 
 
 I could not keep my temper while a con- 
 genital imbecile like Adolphus set up to have 
 opinions of his own about religion or anything 
 else. However, I resisted the temptation to 
 kill the creature. 
 
 ** Adolphus," I said, " what is a jib halyard 
 purchase ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " "What is a kedge ? Can you sail full and 
 by ? Have you the remotest idea how to set 
 a spinnaker ? Can you make a clove hitch or 
 a sheet bend? Can you — can you even 
 swim?" 
 
 " No," said Adolphus, " but my wife " 
 
 "Your wife," I said, "is probably a 
 Christian." 
 
 " She goes to church," said Adolphus, " but 
 I don't see what all those nautical terms — they 
 are nautical terms, aren't they ? — have to do 
 with my views on religion." 
 
 " If you don't see that," I said, " I can't 
 help it ; but I'll just commend to your attention 
 two facts. The bishop, who owns the D.D.F. 
 about which you're going to write, knows all 
 about jib halyards, kedges, spinnakers and clove 
 hitches, and can swim like a duck. That's 
 one fact. The original Apostles, being fisher- 
 men, were professional experts in sailing. 
 That's the other fact. Now go away." 
 
THE BISHOP 151 
 
 " I still don't see the connection," said 
 Adolphus, "between " 
 
 " If you don't," I said, " you can't call 
 yourself a thinker, either a free thinker or any 
 other kind. Bring me that article, properly 
 written, after dinner." 
 
 In the end I had to write the article my- 
 self. The thing Adolphus brought me would 
 have disgraced a ten-year-old school board 
 child. He had evidently been trying to think 
 out some connection between yachting and 
 Christianity. - The result was a muddle rather 
 worse than any I have yet seen made, even by 
 Adolphus. I wrote an excellent article, though 
 I had to do it in a hurry. I call it excellent 
 because it produced exactly the effect I wanted. 
 This is, after all, the only standard by which 
 literature or anything else can be judged. A 
 steam engine is a good steam engine if it 
 steams, because that is what it is meant to do. 
 A book is a good book if it is read, assuming 
 that a book is meant to be read. Some books 
 are not ; and they are good books of their kind 
 when they successfully escape the defilement of 
 popularity. My article was meant to attract 
 Sir Isaac to the D.D.F. and it did. That is 
 why I call it an excellent article. 
 
 The old gentleman had just returned from 
 a visit to his property in Blackpool. He was 
 
162 THE BISHOP 
 
 in high spirits and fuller than ever of the 
 desire to do good. My article caught him at 
 just the right moment. He had no special 
 scheme in hand, and the picture I drew of the 
 civilizing effect of curates and new churches in 
 the overgrown outskirts of our towns appealed 
 to him strongly. I had not the slightest 
 difficulty in persuading him to place Eose Park 
 at the disposal of the bishop for a garden party. 
 Miss Merridew was kind enough to say that I 
 had rendered a real service to the cause of the 
 Church in the diocese, and the bishop wrote me 
 a nice little note of thanks for what he called 
 my good ofl&oes. 
 
 This was very pleasant, and I was not 
 really much annoyed when Sir Isaac, who 
 seemed a little vague about the business, left 
 the whole arrangements in my hands. I set 
 Adolphus to work with a directory, and had 
 invitations sent to every one who could possibly 
 be expected to attend a garden party. This 
 was good for Adolphus, and, I hope, taught him 
 that even a professed atheist must do his part 
 in the work of church extension. I felt safe 
 in leaving the issuing of the invitations in 
 his hands once I had ticked off the names in 
 the directory. Adolphus is quite good at 
 addressing envelopes. I hired a large tent for 
 the afternoon and had a talk with Silver on 
 
THE BISHOP 153 
 
 the subject of catering. We settled that tea, 
 coffee, ices and fruit, would be proper to the 
 occasion. Silver engaged twenty waiters to 
 assist the Eose Park servants. 
 
 Nearly a thousand people accepted our 
 invitation, and Sir Isaac was greatly pleased 
 and quite excited. It was arranged that the 
 bishop should spend the night before, and the 
 night after the meeting, at Rose Park. Sir 
 Isaac fitted up a special sitting room for his 
 use, and spent five pounds on theological books 
 which he thought the bishop would like to 
 read. He invited Miss Merridew and me to 
 luncheon. As an after-thought he suggested 
 that Miss Merridew should bring Virginia with 
 her. The school would by that time have re- 
 opened, and Virginia, so Sir Isaac thought, 
 would like to see how her puppy was getting on. 
 
 The luncheon party went off very well. 
 Sir Isaac was nervous, but Miss Merridew can 
 be relied on to keep a conversation going. 
 Virginia was demure, and immensely respectful 
 to every one, especially the bishop. I told him 
 the story of the puppy, after bindmg Miss 
 Merridew over to make no dishonourable use 
 of the information she received. The bishop 
 said he would like to see the puppy^ after 
 luncheon. He and Virginia left the room 
 together. Miss Merridew, Sir Isaac and I 
 
154 THE BISHOP 
 
 intended to go with them, but the bishop is a 
 man with a talent for management. He did 
 not want our company, and we found ourselyes 
 left behind. We understood that the bishop 
 would pat the puppy's head for perhaps five 
 minutes, and then retire to his own room to 
 read the theology provided for him, and 
 meditate on the address which he was to give 
 afterwards in the tent. 
 
 Silver, who took the occasion very seriously, 
 had arranged exactly how the thousand visitors 
 were to be received. Two subordinate footmen 
 were to be at the door, and would conduct the 
 guests, as they arrived, to Sir Isaac, who was 
 to stand at the entrance of the long drawing- 
 room. There Sir Isaac was to shake hands and, 
 as I understood from Silver, speak a word of 
 welcome to each. The guests then passed 
 into the drawing-room at the far end of which 
 Miss Merridew was posted. Her business was 
 to prevent any one from loitering- about the 
 drawing-room. She might or might not shake 
 hands — Silver left that to her discretion — but 
 she was to see that each guest passed straight 
 to the gallery. There Silver himself was on 
 duty. The bishop was to be placed at the far 
 end of the gallery, just inside the large glass 
 door which leads to th e lawn. Silver would pro- 
 claim the names of the guests, and the bishop 
 
THE BISHOP 155 
 
 would, shake hands with them as they passed 
 out. My post was on the lawn. I was to 
 catch the guests, still -tingling after physical 
 contact with the bishop, and shepherd them 
 safely into the tent. The bishop's address was 
 to be given at half -past three. We expected 
 the audience to begin arriving at three. 
 
 I was ready at my post ten minutes before 
 the time. So, I am sure, were Sir Isaac, Miss 
 Merridew, Silver, and the footmen. The bishop 
 was not. At five minutes to three. Silver 
 asked me where he was. I said that he was 
 probably reading theology in his room, 
 
 "I beg pardon, sir," said Silver, " but, at 
 the risk of disturbing his lordship, I've just been 
 to his room. His lordship is not there, sir." 
 
 " Perhaps," I said, "he's in his bedroom, 
 brushing his hair. He would naturally want 
 to brush his hair before addressing a thousand 
 people." 
 
 " I thought of that, sir," said Silver, " and 
 I tapped at the door of the bedroom. His 
 lordship was not there either. Beg pardon, 
 sir, but I see two ladies in the gallery." 
 
 I looked through the door. Silver was 
 right. Our guests had begun to ai!rive. 
 
 " Seems to me, sir," said Silver, "that the 
 best thing would be for you to receive them, 
 instead of his lordship." 
 
156 THE BISHOP 
 
 " Silver," I said, " I'd do almost anything 
 to save the situation, but I can't pretend to be 
 a bishop. I should be found out at once. I'm 
 not dressed for the part, and lots of these 
 people know me." 
 
 Silver was in no mood for frivoKty. He 
 snubbed me severely. 
 
 " What I was venturing to suggest, sir, is 
 that you should say a few words explaining 
 that his lordship is unavoidably detained, and 
 that you expect him every minute." 
 
 I hastUy composed a suitable form of words. 
 
 "The bishop," I said, shaking hands 
 heartily as I spoke, " is putting the finishing 
 touches to his address. He'll be with us in a 
 few moments. Will you kindly take a seat in 
 the tent ? " 
 
 Silver proclaimed the names of the guests. 
 I shook hands and repeated my little speech. 
 The guests, who were gentle and biddable 
 people, filed past me and took their places in 
 the tent. We worked through about eight 
 hundred people in rapid succession. Then 
 the stream began to slacken a little. I glanced 
 at my watch. It was half-past three. I looked 
 at Silver. He betrayed very little sign of 
 nervousness, but I could see that his attention 
 was wandering. He made a couple of mistakes 
 about names. There was no sign of the 
 
THE BISHOP 157 
 
 bishop. Another hundred people or so dribbled 
 past me. Then there was a definite pause. It 
 was a quarter to four. Miss Merridew, having 
 given up hope of more arrivals, deserted her 
 post and came over to my door. 
 
 " Where's the bishop ? " she said. 
 
 I had, I suppose, got into the way of acting 
 mechanically. I shook hands with Miss 
 Merridew. 
 
 "The bishop," I said, "is putting the 
 finishing touches to his address. He'll be with 
 us " 
 
 Then Sir Isaac came on me. 
 
 •' Where's the bishop ? " he asked. 
 
 I shook hands with him too. 
 
 "The bishop," I said, "is putting the 
 finishing touches to his address. WiU you be 
 so good as to take a seat in the tent ? " 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir," said Silver, "but do 
 you think anything can have happened to his 
 lordship ? " 
 
 I woke to the extreme gravity of the situa- 
 tion. Sir Isaac was twittering nervously on 
 one side of me. Miss Merridew was babbling 
 rapidly at my other side. Silver, with a per- 
 fectly impassive face, kept on saying that 
 something must have happened to his lordship. 
 The cheerful buzz of conversation in the tent 
 ceased. Our guests realised that something 
 
158 THE BISHOP 
 
 had gone wrong. At such moments of des- 
 perate crisis the mind works rapidly. 
 
 " Miss Merridew," I said, " where's Vir- 
 ginia?" 
 
 " I don't know," she said, " I haven't seen 
 her since lunch. But it doesn't matter about 
 her. The question is, where's the bishop ? " 
 
 " Silver," I said, " where is that infernal 
 puppy kept ? " 
 
 " Sir Rackwood Challenger, sir ? He sleeps 
 in the kitchen, sir, but during the day he's 
 mostly in the stable yard." 
 
 *' Then run to the stable yard at once. 
 The bishop and Miss Tempest may be there." 
 
 Silver did not actually run. I do not 
 think he can ; but he walked off promptly and 
 rapidly. 
 
 " Sir Isaac," I said. " Go to the tent and 
 make a short preliminary speech, introducing 
 the bishop. Anything will do, but keep on 
 talking till I find out where Virginia has taken 
 him." 
 
 I had to shove him into the tent, and he 
 kept murmuring in a foolish way that he could 
 not introduce a bishop when he had not got a 
 bishop to introduce. Miss Merridew, who 
 knows Virginia intimately, displayed great 
 presence of mind. 
 
 •' The peach house," she said. " They are 
 
THE BISHOP 159 
 
 ripe now. Or the vinery. I'll go there. 
 Virginia would — and the bishop may have 
 forgotten the time. The only other place I 
 can think of is the lake. You try the lake." 
 
 She was ofi before I could thank her for 
 her two brilliant suggestions. I glanced into 
 the tent. Sir Isaac was on the platform. 
 Several officious people— there are always 
 officious people in every assembly — left their 
 seats and came to me with vague offers of 
 assistance. I took no notice of them, but 
 started at a rapid walk towards the artificial 
 lake. One lady followed me, explaining 
 breathlessly that her husband was a doctor 
 and that she could ring him up on the tele- 
 phone at any moment. She evidently thought 
 that the bishop had got a fit of some sort. I 
 assured her that what we wanted was not a 
 doctor to take charge of the bishop, but a 
 policeman to convey Virginia to prison. She 
 did not seem to take in my meaning. Instead 
 of going away and telephoning for a policeman 
 she continued to follow me, trotting briskly 
 when I began to run down to Sir Isaac's 
 artificial lake. 
 
 In one corner of the lake, hidden behind a 
 clump of pampas grass, a kind of wooden box 
 is kept. In it, I understand, a garden boy 
 goes out from time to time to rake off the 
 
160 THE BISHOP 
 
 weeds whioli accumulate on the surface of the 
 lake. The thing cannot be called a boat. It 
 is oblong, with neither bow, stern, nor seats. 
 It is always half full of water. The garden 
 boy shoves it about by means of a short pole. 
 
 When I got to the lake I saw the bishop 
 and Virginia in it. The water was rather over 
 the bishop's knees and reached almost to 
 Virginia's waist. The bishop had also appar- 
 ently sat down. He was wet up to his armpits. 
 Between them was the wooden punt — ^if the 
 thing can be called a punt^-quite full of water 
 and sunk up to its gunnel. Virginia and the 
 bishop were towing it to the shore. Virginia 
 was expostulating with the bishop. I never saw 
 a bishop look less dignified. I turned fiercely on 
 the doctor's wife, who was panting behind me. 
 
 " G-o away at once," I said. " Go back to 
 the tent and stay there." 
 
 I did not even glance round to see whether 
 she obeyed me or not. The bishop looked up 
 when he heard my voice. 
 
 " Hullo," he said ; " surely it's not half- 
 past three yet ? " 
 
 " It's a quarter-past four," I said, " and 
 there's a crowd of people in the tent." 
 
 " My goodness I " he ^d ; " how time 
 flies ! Virginia and t were having such a 
 delightful sail." 
 
THE BISHOP 161 
 
 " He said," said Virginia, ** that he could 
 manage a boat." 
 
 " I never said I could manage a coffin," 
 said the bishop. "I told you at the start it 
 was a risky business." 
 
 " He upset her," said Virginia. " Not 
 that I mind. Only when a man, especially a 
 bishop, says he's accustomed to yachting " 
 
 " She sank," said the bishop, " because you 
 wouldn't help me to bale her out." 
 
 " How could I," said Virginia, " when you 
 wouldn't give me anything to bale with ? " 
 
 "My hat," said the bishop, "cost thirty 
 shillings, and I'm a poor man." 
 
 " What about the people in the tent ? " I 
 said. " They're waiting for you." 
 
 ** I'U run," said the bishop. 
 
 He left Virginia and the water-logged box, 
 and waded ashore. Then he ran, dripping as 
 he went. 
 
 " Virginia," I said, " I hope you're satisfied 
 with this performance. I was a fool to trust 
 you with that bishop even for ten minutes. I 
 might have known something would happen." 
 
 Virginia looked at me with an expression 
 of innocent surprise. Then a faint smile 
 hovered on her lips. I hesitated, said another 
 word or two, and then stopped midway in my 
 rebuke. Virginia hauled the punt ashore and 
 wrung the water out of her skirt. 
 
162 THE BISHOP 
 
 " Virginia,' I said, in a much milder tone, 
 " why did you do it ?." 
 
 " Of course," she said, " I'm only a girl, 
 quite a young girl, and I'm not supposed to 
 know anything. But, if I was asked, I should 
 say that it was rather the bishop's business to 
 take care of me, and not let me get into mis- 
 chief. If anybody is to blame I'm not 
 
 complaining, of course, and won't, unless I'm 
 unjustly attacked. But if anybody is to get 
 into a row, it ought to be the bishop, not me." 
 
 I knew perfectly weU that the bishop was 
 not to blame in the least.- Virginia would 
 have led astray a whole synod of bishops. But 
 there was a certain plausibility about her line 
 of defence. I was thinking how I could best 
 meet it, when a burst of cheering reached us 
 from the direction of the house. Virginia 
 stopped wringing out her skirt and listened. 
 
 "It seems to me," she said, "that those 
 people of yours rather like the bishop . I rather 
 like him myself, of course ; but I didn't think 
 they would. I should have thought a different 
 kind of bishop would have suited them better." 
 
 Another burst of cheering reached us. The 
 bishop was evidently highly popular. 
 
 " Come on," said Virginia, "let's see what's 
 happening." 
 
 It took me nearly a quarter of an hour to 
 
THE BISHOP 163 
 
 drag the facts out of Adolphus. I found him 
 standing rather sulkily outside the tent, while 
 the bishop, still dripping, addressed his audi- 
 ence on the importance of the D.D.F. It 
 appeared that the lady who had pursiied me, 
 the doctor's wife, rushed back to the tent after 
 leaving me. When she got there Sir Isaac 
 was still stuttering nervously through some 
 disjointed fragments of the speech he had pre- 
 pared. She interrupted him and gave the 
 audience a breathless and highly-coloured 
 account of the rescue of Virginia from a watery 
 grave. The bishop, so she seemed to think, had 
 plunged into an eddying torrent at the risk of 
 his life. The enthusiasm when the bishop ar- 
 rived, undeniably wet, was naturally immense. 
 There was an enormous collection for the 
 D.D.F., and seven hundred new annual sub- 
 scribers were enrolled. I made Adolphus write 
 a leading article next day on " Gallantry as a 
 feature of the Christian character," The task 
 was particularly odious to him, and he kept 
 babbling to me about Nietzsche and his philo- 
 sophy for several days afterwards. But Nietz- 
 sche's views are no concern of mine. My 
 business is to improve Adolphus, if possible. 
 When his ridiculous principles stand in the 
 way of his improvement I make him trample 
 on them. 
 
VIII 
 
 THE BEAR 
 
 Adolphus was greatly annoyed at the success 
 of the bishop's scheme for providing additional 
 curates for the diocese. A curate's business, 
 according to the bishop's theory, is to persuade 
 people to be Christians, and Adolphus particu- 
 larly disKkes Christianity. He is, so he often 
 tells me, a " convinced sceptic." The phrase 
 is admirably calculated to express the natural 
 muddle of Adolphus' mind; for the very 
 essence of scepticism is total absence of con- 
 viction, and the moment a man is convinced 
 he necessarily ceases to be a sceptic. But I 
 never could get Adolphus to see this point. 
 When I make it he assures me in reply that 
 he has always been a convinced sceptic and 
 always will be. After the bishop's meeting he 
 became an aggressive sceptic, which is a far 
 more objectionable thing. He informed me 
 one day that he had become a member of the 
 International Brotherhood of Rational Pro- 
 paganda and Social Beform. 
 
THE BEAR 165 
 
 " If that means," I said, " that you intend 
 to give me tracts of any kind I may as well 
 tell you at once that I won't have it. Chris- 
 tian tracts are bad enough, but anti- Christian 
 and Socialist tracts ! I've never actually read 
 one, but I expect they're simply insults," 
 
 "I've been appointed honorary secretary 
 of the local circle of the Brotherhood," said 
 Adolphus. 
 
 " Very well," I said," that's your affair, and 
 of course I won't interfere. But remember 
 that you mustn't issue your manifestoes on 
 the notepaper of this of6.ce. And what's more 
 I won't have the radii coming here at aU 
 hours and interrupting your work." 
 
 " Eadii ? " said Adolphus. 
 
 "You called the thing a circle," I said, 
 "so I suppose the members are radii." 
 
 " At present," said Adolphus sadly, " there 
 are no members in Middleton, but I hope " 
 
 " In that case," I said, " you oughtn't to 
 call it a circle. If you must quote Euclid 
 about the thing you should say that you're the 
 honorary secretary of a point. That has no 
 parts, you know, and no magnitude." 
 
 I do not know whether Adolphus succeeded 
 in enlarging the local point of the Brother- 
 hood of Eational Propaganda and Social 
 Eeform. I never heard of his making any 
 converts, and I am bound to acknowledge that 
 
166 THE BEAE 
 
 he never attempted to proselytise me by drop- 
 ping tracts about the office. The only ap- 
 parent effect his honorary secretaryship had on 
 him was that he took to quoting Scripture 
 frequently in his leading articles. This showed 
 me that he was reading the Bible, though 
 probably for the purposes of destructive criti- 
 cism. This turned out to be a troublesome 
 habit, and I had to stop it. Adolphus quoted 
 the four Gospels as he quoted everything else, 
 inaccurately. Our head compositor, who 
 cheerfally prints any mangled version of 
 Browning or Tennyson sent down to him, 
 insisted on correcting Adolphus' scriptural 
 quotations. He was a Sunday School teacher 
 and knew large parts of the Bible off by heart. 
 Adolphus used to appeal to me against the 
 compositor's corrections and I found that I 
 should have to keep a Bible and a Cruden's 
 Concordance on my desk if he went on. That 
 would have been a nuisance, so I forbade any 
 quotations from Scripture or any references 
 to biblical characters in the columns of my 
 paper. 
 
 About a month later Adolphus gave birth 
 to a pamphlet. It was printed for him by the 
 International Society for Eational Propaganda 
 and Social Eeform. A copy turned up in the 
 office for review. I sent it straight to the 
 bishop and asked him to give his opinion of 
 
THE BEAR 167 
 
 Adolphus' intelligence and learning in a 
 column and a half of print. I had great hopes 
 of the bishop. As a practical yachtsman he 
 must, I thought, have considerable command 
 of invective. All sea-going men use strong 
 language. He sent me a short paragraph, not 
 more than 300 words, saying that playrooms 
 for the children of the poor are excellent things. 
 
 I came to the conclusion that the bishop, 
 who is a busy man, must have mixed up 
 Adolphus' pamphlet with some sermon 
 preached and printed by a curate interested 
 in social reform. Having mixed them up he 
 must have reviewed the wrong one and then 
 put them both into the waste-paper basket. 
 
 Then Sir Isaac called on me. He had a 
 copy of Adolphus' pamphlet in his hand when 
 he came into my room, and I fuUy expected 
 that there would be a row. Sir Isaac, though 
 the gentlest and kindest of men, dislikes 
 people who write disrespectfully of the Chris- 
 tian religion. I was a good deal surprised 
 when he began to speak. 
 
 " There is nothing more valuable to us 
 
 older people " he said, " you'll excuse my 
 
 calling you older, won't you, my dear fellow ? 
 I only speak in a comparative way. You are 
 anything but old, and yet, of course, there are 
 many who are younger than you are. Some- 
 times we are inclined to forget that the years 
 
168 THE BEAE 
 
 slip by — ^keep slipping by — but I must not 
 wander from the point." 
 
 He laid Adolpbus' pamphlet on the table 
 and patted it gently with his hand. I gathered 
 that it was the point and that Sir Isaac hoped 
 to escape further wandering by keeping it 
 before his eyes. 
 
 " Such an excellent young fellow," said 
 Sir Isaac, " not perhaps brilliant. But then 
 brilliance is not everything. His heart is in 
 the right place. You remember — I'm sure you 
 remember what the poet says about kind 
 hearts — more than coronets, you know. But, 
 of course, that's not exactly what 1 came to 
 say to you, is it ? " 
 
 I hoped not. Sir Isaac was, apparently, 
 talking about Adolphus and I had no interest 
 whatever in the position of his heart. 
 
 "The fact is," said Sir Isaac, "that the 
 idea in this pamphlet — it is not precisely 
 new, of course. But it is stated in such a 
 way that I cannot help feeKng that I ought 
 to try the experiment at once. I am sure I 
 can count on your co-operation. Without 
 your help, my dear fellow- — without your 
 vigorous and incisive feculty for the mastery 
 of detail I should be lost." 
 
 Sir Isaac has, no doubt, a perfect right to 
 count on my co-operation and help. He 
 pays me so well for editing his paper that I 
 
THE BEAE 169 
 
 feel in honour bound to render any kind of 
 service demanded of me. 
 
 "Perhaps," I said, "I'd better read the 
 pamphlet." 
 
 "Do, my dear fellow," said Sir Isaac. 
 " I'm sure you'll agree with me when you've 
 read it. And now, if you'll forgive me, I 
 must trot away. I have a meeting to attend 
 — a meeting of some little importance — the 
 finance committee of the Maternity Benefit 
 Association, you know. Such very important 
 work." 
 
 I felt thankful that the finance of bene- 
 volent maternity required oversight. If 
 that committee had not been waiting for Sir 
 Isaac he might have sat on in my office for 
 an hour or two hours, impressing on me the 
 value of my incisive mastery of detail, and the 
 excellent place in which Adolphus' heart is to 
 be found. 
 
 I turned to the pamphlet. I confess that 
 the thing surprised me greatly. I expected 
 to find Adolphus making nasty insinuations 
 about St. Paul and saying that St. John was 
 not himself but another man of the same 
 name. It would not have surprised me to 
 find some elaborate witticisms about miracles. 
 That was, I understood, the kind of thing 
 which the International Society for Propa- 
 ganda went in for. Instead I found a mild 
 
170 THE BEAB 
 
 and rather sugary appeal for the establish- 
 ment of play centres for slum children. The 
 bishop had evidently made no mistake after 
 all and had really reviewed the pamphlet I 
 sent him. Sir Isaac's enthusiasm was easily 
 understood. Adolphus had made his appeal 
 in exactly the way most likely to attract a 
 kind-hearted old gentleman who was both a 
 Liberal and a Nonconformist. 
 
 I suppose that convinced sceptics like 
 Adolphus and other members of rationalistic 
 societies find it necessary, in the interests of 
 social reform, to borrow a good deal of the 
 spirit of Christianity, in order to show their 
 contempt for the source from which it comes ; 
 very much as Trade Unions accumulate and 
 invest large sums of money in order to 
 demonstrate the evils of capitalism. Adolphus 
 showed signs here and there of a wish to 
 complain that Christians had not done their 
 duty in providing play centres for children, 
 and there was one paragraph which ended 
 very abruptly, breaking off just at the point 
 where a violent attack on the Church of 
 England seemed inevitable. A careless reader 
 might not have noticed these signs of anti- 
 Christian bias, but I was struck by them. 
 
 I sent for Adolphus. 
 
 " I've just read your pamphlet," I said, "and 
 I'm going to publish a review of it to-morrow." 
 
THE BEAR 171 
 
 " Oh, thanks," said Adolphus. 
 
 " A nice, warm, appreciative review ; 
 though not very long." 
 
 *' Thanks awfully," said Adolphus. 
 
 " Written by the bishop," I said. 
 
 I thought that would annoy Adolphus and 
 it did. There is nothing more irritating 
 than to receive warm praise from a hated 
 opponent. 
 
 *' Oh," said Adolphus blankly. 
 
 " Listen to what the bishop says," I said. 
 " Here's the last sentence of his review. 
 ' This excellent pamphlet affords a good 
 example of the firm hold which the teachings 
 of Christianity maintain upon the most earnest 
 spirits of our time.' " 
 
 This was more than Adolphus could stand. 
 He burst into an indignant protest. 
 
 " That's quite wrong," he said. " The 
 bishop is entirely mistaken. The teachings 
 of Christianity have no hold on me. None at 
 all. Quite the contrary," 
 
 "You ought to have made that plainer, 
 then. I've only just skimmed through your 
 pamphlet, but I must say I agree with the 
 bishop." 
 
 "I did make it quite plain," said Adol- 
 phus. " But — well, the pamphlet is not quite 
 as I wrote it." 
 
 M 
 
172 THE BEAB 
 
 " Bits cut out ? " 
 
 " The best bits," said A3olphus sadly. 
 
 " I suppose the International Brotherhood 
 for the Propagation of Eationalism found 
 them a bit too strong and had to cut them 
 out." 
 
 "It -wasn't the society," said Adolphus. 
 " It was my wife. I asked her to correct the 
 proofs, and without consulting me she cut 
 out some of the most important paragraphs." 
 
 " You ought to be jolly thankful you have 
 a good religious wife," I said. " If what you 
 call your best bits had been printed — I don't 
 know what they are, of course, but I expect 
 you slanged the twelve apostles. If there'd 
 been anything of that sort in the pamphlet, 
 the play centre you profess to want wouldn't 
 have been established; whereas now, owing 
 to the expurgated version of what you wrote, 
 which has actually been printed, an up-to- 
 date play centre of the most improved kind 
 is to be set up in the worst slum we can find 
 in this town.' " 
 
 Adolphus brightened up a little. For 
 some reason or other he really seemed to want 
 a play centre. 
 
 " Sir Isaac," I said, "is going to do it in 
 his usual benevolent way. He's leaving the 
 working out of the details in my hands. My 
 idea is that you should be secretary, unpaid 
 
THE BEAE 173 
 
 of course, but doing all the tiresome part of 
 the work. The bishop will be president, and 
 will make a speech on the opening day." 
 
 " Why the bishop ? " said Adolphus, sulky 
 again. 
 
 " He's the proper person," I said, " to 
 preside over a religious institution. And this 
 play centre of ours is going to be run on sound 
 religious lines. That's why I'm insisting on 
 your being secretary. The elder girls from 
 Miss Merridew's school will take it in turns, 
 two at a time, to play with the children. That 
 will be good for them, and will be a little com- 
 pliment to your wife. After all, we owe some- 
 thing to her. If she hadn't cut out the best 
 bits of your pamphlet there'd have been no 
 play centre." 
 
 " But — ■— " said Adolphus. 
 
 "If you argue or carp," I said, "I shall 
 ten Sir Isaac that you want to run a Sunday 
 School in the place every Sunday afternoon. 
 He'll be so pleased that he'll insist on your 
 doing it." 
 
 That threat silenced Adolphus; but I 
 think he was sorry he ever wrote the pamphlet. 
 The last thing he wanted was to become a 
 social worker under episcopal superintendence. 
 
 There was not very much trouble about 
 getting the play centre started. There very 
 seldom is trouble about getting anything 
 
174 THE BEAR 
 
 started when there is plenty of money to work 
 with. Sir Isaac told me that I might spend 
 what I liked. He added, " in moderation, of 
 course, my dear fellow, in moderation." But 
 I knew that " moderation " in Sir Isaac's 
 mouth is an elastic word. I sent Adolphus on 
 a tour of exploration through some of the 
 poorest parts of the town. He came back with 
 a report that no suitable building could be 
 found. But Adolphus is incompetent. I found 
 a suitable building at once without going 
 further than my own advertisment columns to 
 look for it. The widow of a deceased publican 
 wished to sell the lease of her house and good- 
 will of her business. The hous^ was not 
 worth very much, but we had to pay a stiff 
 price for the goodwill, which meant, I suppose, 
 the right to sell whisky in a particularly im- 
 poverished district. It is not pleasant to pay 
 largely for a right which you never mean to 
 exercise. But Sir Isaac did not mind. The 
 idea of turning a public-house into a philan- 
 thropic institution appealed to him strongly. 
 He was particularly pleased with the phrase 
 by which I described the transformation. "A 
 nursery of vice," I wrote in a leading article, 
 "has been turned into a nursery for human 
 flowers." Sir Isaac quoted the words again 
 and again, often adding little glosses of his own. 
 *' Human flowers," he used to say, " little 
 
THE BEAR 175 
 
 children, you know. I think we might almost 
 say, moss rosebuds," 
 
 I left the furnishing and decoration of the 
 place entirely to Adolphus. I supposed — any 
 one would have supposed — that he would have 
 bought a supply of toys, dolls' houses, ninepins 
 and so forth, and have hung the walls with 
 nice bright pictures of lambs and horses. But 
 Adolphus never does anything sensible. He 
 saw, I suppose, that he could not use the 
 building as a centre for rational propaganda, 
 so he devised a perfectly idiotic scheme for 
 undermining the faith of the children without 
 attracting the attention of the bishop or Sir 
 Isaac. He fitted the place up as a kind of 
 museum, suited for students of pre-historic 
 man. He had pictures of cave dwellers in 
 their caves, primitive hunters, lake villages 
 and various hairy monsters. He had a large 
 collection of models of pre-historic weapons, 
 flint axes, bronze arrows and such tMngs, 
 restored to their original state according to 
 the latest theories. Both the pictures and 
 weapons were attractive, and I could quite 
 beUeve that children would like them. But 
 Adolphus' idea was that by careful instruction 
 in the earliest history of the race, he would 
 instil into the children's minds a contempt for 
 Adam and Eve, the Garden of Eden, the 
 Flood, and the other stories which all ordinary 
 
176 THE BEAR 
 
 children are taught. The plan was so idiotic 
 that no man in the world except Adolphus 
 could have made it. I should not have 
 thought that even Adolphus could have 
 believed in it if he had not told me so himself. 
 
 The opening ceremony was an important 
 event. Adolphus read a long statement, and 
 the bishop made a short speech. Miss Merri- 
 dew brought about a dozen of her girls with 
 her, and there were twenty chOdren seated in 
 a row in front of the bishop. They were 
 supposed to be natives of the district in which 
 the play centre stood, but they seemed to me 
 unnaturally clean and well behaved. We had 
 tea after the speeches were over, and I had 
 the good luck to get into a corner with Virginia 
 Tempest. 
 
 " Eather rot, I call this," she said. 
 
 " The speeches," I said, " or the tea, or the 
 play centre ? " 
 
 " All three," said Virginia, " though there 
 is , one decent cake, that one with the pink 
 icing, on the corner of the table. If We had 
 that to ourselves the tea wouldn't be so bad." 
 
 I fought my way to the table and carried 
 off the pink cake. Virginia cut a huge slice, 
 and then put the rest of it on a shelf behind 
 her, underneath the picture of a large, mild- 
 looking, very woolly bear. 
 
 " That," I said, " makes the tea tolerable. 
 
THE BEAE 177 
 
 Now I wish you'd tell me why you regard the 
 speeches and play centre as rot." 
 
 " Speeches," she said, " always are. I 
 can't imagine why people make them, sensible 
 people, I mean. Of course one expects 
 
 nothing else from " She nodded and 
 
 glanced at Adolphus. " But the bishop ! In 
 other ways you'd think the bishop quite a nice 
 man." 
 
 " I'm inclined to agree with you on the 
 whole," I said, " Speeches are imnecessary 
 things. But they have become a regular part 
 of our civilization. It seems almost hopeless 
 to attempt to reform our habits in that direc- 
 tion. There are some things, my dear Virginia, 
 which everybody knows are futile — ^politics, 
 for instance — and yet we must all keep on 
 pretending to admire them. If we didn't " 
 
 " Don't piffle," said Virginia. " I suppose 
 that sort of talk is what's called brainy. In 
 reahty it's like — well like that." 
 
 She pointed with her thumb to the picture 
 of the woolly bear. It was, I admit, a singu- 
 larly foolish-looking animal and I do not in the 
 least wonder that the species became extinct. 
 
 " Just fancy expecting children to stand 
 about looking at a thing like that," said 
 Virginia. " And I'm supposed to mug up a 
 lot of sUly stuff, such as calhng it an ichtheo- 
 saurus or something, when it's really a bear, 
 
178 THE BEAR 
 
 though badly drawn, and tell it all to wretched 
 children who come here expecting to play." 
 
 ''I suppose," I said, " that you're one of 
 the girls who are coming here to amuse the 
 children." 
 
 " Yes," said Virginia, " worse luck ! I 
 wouldn't have undertaken it if I'd known it 
 was to be like this. Next Friday is to be 
 my first afternoon. Hilda and I boss the 
 show that day for three hours. I don't 
 expect I'll ever do it again; but having 
 promised, I must go at least once." 
 
 "Don't you think," I said, "that you 
 might try and improve the tone of the place 
 — give the children a good time — ^play some- 
 thing with them that they'd reaUy like. You 
 could, couldn't you ? " 
 
 " I could," said Virginia doubtfully. 
 
 " "Well then, do. Sir Isaac will be pleased." 
 
 "Do you think he really would ? " 
 
 " What he wants," I said, " is for the 
 children to enjoy themselves." 
 
 "Very well," said Virginia. "but if 
 there's a row afterwards you'll have to take 
 the blame." 
 
 " I will. The whole blame. But don't 
 let them kill each other with the flint axes 
 or poke bronze arrows into their own eyes." 
 
 Adolphus took his duties as secretary of the 
 
THE BEAR 179 
 
 play centre very seriously. He went there 
 every afternoon at two o'clock and stayed till 
 five, the hour at which he was due in the 
 office. On Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday 
 — we had opened the play centre on Monday — 
 everything went smoothly. Sir Isaac walked 
 about, radiating benevolence, and smiUng all 
 day. Adolphus wrote a long report to the 
 committee of the International Brotherhood 
 and gave a glowing account of the success of 
 the experiment. 
 
 On Friday afternoon I met Sir Isaac in 
 the street a few yards from the office door. 
 He was even more cheerful than usual. 
 
 "Delightful," he said. " My dear fellow 
 it's perfectly deHghtful. I've just paid a visit 
 to the play centre. Did I mention that ? " 
 
 I guessed it. 
 
 " Shouts of laughter," said Sir Isaac, 
 "positive shouts, and scores of children. 
 More than I've ever seen before. It is a 
 great privilege — I feel it a great privilege to 
 be able to give those sweet children the 
 opportunity of enjoying themselves. But of 
 course I've done nothing, reaUy nothing. It's 
 those dear girls from Miss Merridew's school 
 who— " 
 
 *' Virginia Tempest," I said. 
 
 " She was there this afternoon. My dear 
 
180 THE BEAK 
 
 fellow, she's wonderful. Suoh a genius for 
 dealing with children. I could see they adored 
 her. They were all pretending to be wolves, 
 or perhaps it was savages. I'm not sure. She 
 was teaching them to bark, or howl. Or it 
 may have been war cries. I assure you it 
 was most inspiriting. Such a noise, and p^ll 
 so merry." 
 
 While Sir Isaac was speaking, Adolphus 
 Jennings appeared. He came round a corner 
 from a side street, running hard. He had no 
 hat. His tie was streaming out behind his 
 ear. His collar was' torn from his stud. 
 His face was beaded with perspiration and 
 had a blotchy appearance, very white in 
 some places, purple in others. He was 
 panting and evidently nearly done. He 
 headed for the office door. A few yards be- 
 hind him came a mob of small children, 
 running hard, and brandishing pre-historio 
 weapons. Behind them was Virginia, cheer- 
 ing them on. Every now and then she gave 
 a short shout, and the whole pack of children, 
 taking their note from her, howled. 
 
 It was a most exciting race. The children 
 gained when they ran silently, but had to 
 slacken their pace a Kttle when Virginia gave 
 the signal to howl. AHolphus just succeeded 
 in reaching the office door and darting (through 
 
THE BEAR 181 
 
 it as the foremost children were trying to 
 grab his coat. They broke into a long-drawn, 
 lamentable howl when he escaped them. 
 
 " Virginia," I said sternly, " unless you 
 want to find yourself in the hands of the 
 police you'd better take those children back 
 to their homes, or wherever you got them. 
 That is to say, if you can." 
 
 I did not think it likely that she could 
 control the mob of young savages who 
 seemed to be planning an attack on my oflBce. 
 But Virginia is a surprising girl. She uttered 
 a peculiar whoop, which she told me after- 
 wards was a tribal rallying cry. The children 
 gathered round her at once and trotted off to 
 the play centre in quite an orderly manner, 
 
 Sir Isaac seemed a little anxious about 
 Adolphus. He insisted on going into the 
 office and telephoning to Mrs Jennings. 
 I walked down to the play centre to hear 
 Virginia's explanation of the riot. I found 
 her and her friend Hilda driving out the 
 last of the children, who seemed most un- 
 willing to leave the building. I walked back 
 to Miss Merridew's with the two girls, and 
 heard their version of what had happened, 
 
 "We had a lecture last week," said 
 Virginia, " on the latest dodge for educating 
 the young. You know what that is, of course. ' ' 
 
182 THE BEAE 
 
 "There are so many," I said. "I get 
 confused, and sometimes forget which is the 
 latest. Tell me about it." 
 
 "It's called Monte-something," said Vir- 
 ginia, " but not Monte Carlo, I know. Hilda, 
 what is it called? " 
 
 " Montessori," said Hilda. 
 
 " It consists," said Virginia, " in the child 
 which has to be educated, doing the thing, 
 whatever it is, instead of just talking. Eather 
 good idea, don't you think ? " 
 
 "I'm told," I said, "that it works well. 
 It ought to. But I don't want to hear about 
 educational systems now, Virginia, though 
 they're very interesting things." 
 
 " They're simple pifde, most of them," she 
 said, " though the Monte one is not so bad 
 as some." 
 
 " Still, no matter how interesting it is I'd 
 rather hear why you were chasing that un- 
 fortunate Adolphus Jennings through the 
 streets." 
 
 "We were simply working out the Monte 
 system of education, weren't we, Hilda ? " 
 
 Hilda, I'm glad to say, had the grace to 
 blush when she said, " yes." 
 
 " The idea," said "Virginia, "as explained 
 to us by Pinkie — we still call her Pinkie, 
 though of course she is really Mrs. Jennings 
 
THE BEAR 183 
 
 now — was that Hilda and I should explain 
 to those children how people used to get their 
 dinners in the old days. Hunting, you know, 
 chiefly bears. Well, we did explain it, on the 
 Monte system. That's all there is to tell." 
 
 "I begin to see," I said. "Adolphus 
 played the part of the bear." 
 
 "I couldn't be the bear myself," said 
 Virginia, "for I was running the show and 
 teaching the children tribal rallying cries, 
 which I must say they learnt quite easily, 
 showing the advantage of the Monte system, 
 Hilda couldn't be a bear either, though she 
 might have liked to, but had a blister on her 
 heel, and therefore was not able to run. So 
 there was no one left except Pinkie's husband. 
 Besides, he is exactly like the picture of the 
 bear on the wall, the one we saw at tea on 
 the opening day. You remember, don't you ? " 
 
 I remembered it quite well ; but at first 
 did not see how it resembled Adolphus. 
 
 "As weU as I recollect," I said, "it was 
 extraordinarily woolly, whereas he " 
 
 "Nearly bald, I know," said Virginia, 
 " which of course was a pity. It would have 
 been better if he had been woolly too. Still, 
 the look on that bear's face and on his — 
 though he does wear spectacles, which the 
 bear didn't, being primitive and so not educated 
 
184 THE BEAR 
 
 up to them. But except for that, he and the 
 bear are very like each other, aren't they ? '^ 
 
 I saw her point then. There is a likeness, 
 a very striking likeness in expression, between 
 that bear and Adolphus. They both have the 
 same look of discontented, slightly malicious 
 foolishness. 
 
 " Virginia," I said, " suppose you'd caught 
 him — ^you very nearly did, you know — would 
 you have gone on with the lesson according 
 to the Montessori system, and actually eaten 
 him?" 
 
 " I shouldn't," she said, " nor would Hilda. 
 We'd both had dinner. But the children 
 might. I was rather afraid they would. And 
 Pinkie wouldn't have liked it if they had. 
 There'd have been a row afterwards." 
 
 "There'll probably be a row, even as 
 things are," I said. 
 
 *• Very likely," said Virginia. " But that 
 won't matter to us, because you said you'd 
 take the whole responsibility. You did say 
 that, at tea, didn't you ? " 
 
 I remembered saying so quite well, and 
 like Virginia, felt glad that the children had 
 not eaten Adolphus. 
 
IX 
 
 LIFE SAVING 
 
 It is not Sir Isaac's fault that I get no more 
 than a fortnight's holiday in the year. The 
 dear old gentleman is for ever urging me to 
 take a month's complete rest, or six weeks, or 
 two months ; to go abroad, visit Algiers or the 
 Canary Islands. Once, thinking that I might 
 be too poor to afford to travel, he actually 
 offered to pay for a trip for me in one of those 
 pleasure steamers which make round tours to 
 places of interest. That particular ship was 
 going, I think, to the Adriatic Sea and the 
 islands of the Greek Archipelago. It took Sir 
 Isaac two hours to make the offei". He was so 
 much afraid of hurting my feelings by offering 
 to pay for me, that I could not for a long time 
 make out what he was trying to say. When I 
 understood him at last, it took me another 
 quarter of an hour to refuse the offer without 
 hurting his feelings. 
 
 The fact is that I have quite enough money 
 to take a good holiday, and I could afford the 
 time, even six weeks occasionally, if I had any 
 
186 LIFE SAVING 
 
 one in my office whom I could trast to keep 
 the paper going while I am away. But, depend- 
 ing as I must on a congenital idiot like 
 Adolphus, I simply dare not leave the paper 
 for long, or go very far away from it. I like 
 to be somewhere within reach, so that I can 
 see the paper every morning and rush back to 
 Middle ton if Adolphus breaks out into any 
 dangerous kind of silliness. 
 
 My favourite holiday place is Bircham-on- 
 Sea, where there is a comfortable hotel, good 
 golf links, and a service of trains which enables 
 me to get to Middleton in three hours if 
 necessary. Last August I allowed myself to 
 be persuaded by Kenworthy to try Breenhaven, 
 a place I had never.been to before. Kenworthy, 
 who is an old friend of mine, said that the 
 Breenhaven links were excellent, and the place 
 far less crowded than Bircham-on-Sea. He 
 said he was spending the whole summer there, 
 and promised to play golf with me every day 
 as long as my hoHday lasted. Kenworthy's 
 handicap is 8. I hover between 8 and 10, He 
 is, in other ways also, a most agreeable com- 
 panion. I engaged a room in the Breenhaven 
 hotel. Eenworthy himself had taken a house. 
 He had his vafe with him, and said something 
 about a niece ; but I did not pay much attention 
 to that part of his letter. I am too old 
 and staid to be attracted by nieces. But I 
 
LIFE SAVIKG 187 
 
 was glad to hear about Mrs. Kenworthy. She 
 is a pleasant woman who manages to give 
 excellent little dinners, and plays a fair hand 
 at bridge. I supposed that the niece would 
 be of no account ; but it would go hard with 
 us if we could not get some one to make up a 
 fourth of an evening, even though Breenhaven 
 were a very quiet place. I looked forward to 
 my holiday with pleasure. Golf all day, a good 
 dinner, and a rubber in the evening made a 
 very pleasant prospect. 
 
 I arrived at Breenhaven about seven o'clock 
 one evening, and found the hotel just what 
 Kenworthy said it was— small, quiet, and very 
 comfortable. Next morning, after breakfast, I 
 lit my pipe and settled down in a comfortable 
 chair to take a look at the Gazette. I knew that 
 Kenworthy would not call for me before ten 
 o'clock. I did not, of course, want to see the 
 news of the day. No editor wants to see the 
 news when he is on holiday. He gets too 
 much news all the rest of the year. I do not 
 think that even a railway accident or a millers' 
 strike would have affected me in the least. 
 All I wanted to see was what Adolphus had 
 made of that issue of the paper. I observed, 
 with complete satisfaction, that he had merely 
 succeeded in being extremely dull. Some 
 boys had upset a boat on the Thames, and one 
 of them had been drowned. That was the 
 
 N 
 
188 LIFE SAVING 
 
 item of news which Adolphus chose to empha- 
 sise with leaded headlines. His first leading 
 article dealt with the necessity of teaching 
 every one to swim. There is no possible 
 objection to that. I had written two articles 
 on the same subject myself during the earlier 
 part of the summer. There had been rather 
 a heavy crop of boating and bathing fatahties, 
 and poor Sir Isaac had been greatly distressed 
 about what he called " the untimely cutting 
 short of promising young lives." He had, at 
 his own expense, of course, engaged a pro- 
 fessional swimmer to give lessons in life saving 
 in the public baths at Middleton. He had 
 even offered medals and certificates to boys 
 and girls who succeeded in passing the tests 
 imposed by the professional swimmer. I 
 backed him up as usual in the Gazette, writing 
 about the necessity of learning to swim, and 
 the advantage of being able to save Ufe. I 
 could not complain that Adolphus was going 
 on with my good work. 
 
 Kenworthy turned up with his clubs shortly 
 after ten. I thought him looking haggard 
 and ill, very badly in need of a holiday, and 
 asked him what he had been doing with 
 himself. He explained that he had neither 
 been over-working nor drinking too much. 
 
 " The fact is," he said, " that I've been 
 bathing every morning before breakfast for the 
 
LIFE SAVING 189 
 
 last fortnight, ever since we've been here in 
 fact, and I don't think it agrees with me." 
 
 " Then why do it ? " I asked. 
 
 " I have to," he said. " I can't get out of 
 it. You see, we have a niece staying with us 
 — a niece of my wife's. She no relation to 
 me — and she's tremendously keen on bathing, 
 especially before breakfast." 
 
 I never bathe in the sea before breakfast 
 myself, but I have always heard that it is a 
 most wholesome practice. I did not for a 
 moment believe that it was that which had 
 made Kenworthy look ill. I left him and 
 went to get my golf clubs and a cap. "When 
 I came back I found him seriously upset about 
 something. 
 
 "Godfrey," he said, "is this your paper? 
 — ^the paper you edit, I mean ? " 
 
 He was holding my copy of the Gazette at 
 arm's length, as if it had been a dead rat or 
 some other disgusting object. 
 
 "If it is," he said, "you ought to be 
 ashamed of it. What the devil do you mean 
 by printing stuff like this ? " 
 
 He put the paper down on a small table 
 which stood at hand, and laid his thumb on 
 Adolphus' leading article. I looked at him 
 with astonishment. There was nothing, abso- 
 lutely nothing, in the article to which any 
 sane person could object. 
 
190 LIFE SAVING 
 
 " Listen to this," said Kenworthy. *" It is 
 plainly the duty of aU parents and guardians 
 to see that our boys and girls are taught to 
 swim and instructed in the art of saving life. 
 The methods adopted by good swimmers for 
 saving life are simple, and with a little practice 
 can be easily mastered. All young people 
 should be encouraged and strongly urged to 
 learn this highly useful accomplishment.' 
 Now if you wrote that, you ought to be shot. 
 Did you ? " 
 
 "As a matter of fact, I didn't," I said. 
 " Adolphus wrote that article. When I write, 
 I produce something a trifle better than wobbly, 
 broken-winded sentences like those. If you'd 
 any sense of style, Kenworthy, you'd know I 
 couldn't and wouldn't write like that." 
 
 " Style be damned ! " said Kenworthy. 
 " What I'm talking about is the meaning. Do 
 you mean to say you think that boys and girls, 
 especially girls " 
 
 •'I don't say especially girls; but I do 
 think — hang it all, every one must think — -that 
 boys and girls ought to be taught to swim." 
 
 "And save life?" said Kenworthy, tragi- 
 cally. 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "Well, all I can say is I wish you'd try 
 it yourself. Godfrey, that niece of mine, Qr 
 rather my wife's— thank God she's no relation 
 
LIFE SAVING 191 
 
 to me — has been saving my life every morning 
 for a fortnight, and I'm very nearly dead. 
 Another week of it will iill me. The girl is 
 learning what you call 'this highly useful 
 accomplishment.' She's going in for an ex- 
 amination, trying to get a medal or something, 
 and she practises on me. I wish to God she'd 
 practise on you. Then you'd know better than 
 to write articles in your paper encouraging, actu- 
 ally encouraging, the kind of thing she does." 
 
 "Come now," I said, "it can't be as bad 
 as all that. I admit that bathing before break- 
 fast is beastly. Still the girl is quite right in 
 trying to learn to save life." 
 
 " Will you let her practise on you ? " said 
 Kenworthy. 
 
 I did not in the least want to go bathing 
 in the sea, and I felt certain that Mrs. Ken- 
 worthy's niece, being young and evidently 
 energetic, would want to prolong the business 
 unreasonably. But I did not see that any 
 great harm could come to me. 
 
 "Very well," I said, "but not before 
 breakfast. At any other hour of the day, say 
 just before luncheon when the air is fairly warm, 
 I'll have a swim with you and your niece." 
 
 "And let her save your life?" said Ken- 
 worthy. 
 
 " Certainly," I said. " I shall enjoy that." 
 
 Kenworthy played a wretched game of golf 
 
192 LIFE SAYING 
 
 that morning. He did not win a single hole 
 from me. The man's nerves had gone to 
 pieces. He did not even take an interest in 
 what he was doing. After topping or slicing 
 his drive in a way that would make an arch- 
 bishop swear, he seemed placidly unconscious 
 that anything was wrong. Instead of blaming 
 me, or the caddy, or the weather, when his 
 ball trickled into the nearest bunker he talked 
 about bathing. 
 
 " It's going to be a hot afternoon," he said. 
 " I don't see why you shouldn't have a swim 
 after lunch to-day." 
 
 He was nine down at the turn, and I sug- 
 gested that he might like to stop the round, 
 since he was evidently feeling unwell. He took 
 no notice of what I said, but picked a driver 
 out of his bag and got ready to start again. 
 
 " The tide will be about full at 3 o'clock," 
 he said, "and there's quite a good bathing 
 place just below our house." 
 
 I began to get rather tired of the subject 
 in the end, and wished that Kenworthy would 
 take a little interest in the#game. But at last 
 he startled me. We had finished our round, 
 a most ^isgracefwf^one for Kenworthy, and 
 he said : 
 
 "I'm sure Virginia will enjoy saying your 
 life." 
 
LIFE SAVING 193 
 
 "Virginia!" I said. "Is Virginia your 
 niece ? What's her surname ? " 
 
 There are, of course other Virginias in the 
 world besides the one I know. I suppose there 
 are scores of them. But the name is not very- 
 common. 
 
 " Virginia Tempest," said Kenworthy. 
 " My wife was a Miss Tempest, you know." 
 
 I did not know any such thing. I had 
 never cared and do not care now who Mrs. 
 Kenworthy was. But I got a distinct shock 
 when I heard the name Virginia Tempest. To 
 go bathing with an unnamed niece of Ken- 
 worthy's was nothing. She would, I supposed, 
 be an ordinary girl, perhaps a pleasant and 
 agreeable girl. To find myself committed to 
 any kind of enterprise with Virginia Tempest 
 was a different matter altogether. I have a 
 strong belief in that young woman's capacity 
 for mischief. 
 
 " She's a nice, bright little girl," said Ken- 
 worthy, encouragingly. 
 
 " If she's the girl I know," I said, " she's 
 rather too bright for comfort. Is your niece, 
 by any chance, a pupU of Miss Merridew's? 
 Does she go to school near Middleton? " 
 
 "Yes," said Kenworthy. "At least I 
 think so. I'm sure I've heard her mention Miss 
 Merridew and somebody called Pinkie. She's 
 staying with us for her summer holidays." 
 
194 LIFE SAVING 
 
 " I don't think I'll bathe this afternoon," 
 I said. " I feel rather off bathing." 
 
 " Oh, you must," said Kenworthy. " Vir- 
 ginia will be delighted. And besides, I can't 
 play golf again. I'm really not well enough." 
 
 That was true, and if I could not play 
 golf with Kenworthy I should have nothing 
 to do aU afternoon. I reflected that Virginia 
 could not involve me in any serious trouble 
 while bathing. I am a good swimmer, and 
 weU able to take care of myself in the water. 
 
 I lunched at the hotel and walked round 
 to Kenworthy's house about three o'clock. I 
 found him waiting for me. 
 
 He was evidently determined to leave me 
 no possible loophole for escape. 
 
 " I'll lend you my bathing dress," he said. 
 "I'm not going in again to-day. I shall sit 
 on the rooks and watch you. Virginia is 
 tremendously pleased at getting a second 
 chance of life saving on the same day." 
 
 If Kenworthy thought he was going to 
 have the pleasure of seeing me try to avoid 
 the bathe he was mistaken. I was uneasy in 
 mind — I always am when I'm mixed up with 
 Virginia — but I pretended that I expected to 
 enjoy myself. 
 
 "You can undress in my room," said 
 Kenworthy. "It's quite easy to get to the 
 sea from this house. All you have to do is 
 
LIFE SAVING 195 
 
 to walk down a grassy bank, and yon come to 
 the rooks." 
 
 I came downstairs a quarter of an hour 
 later arrayed in a bathing-dress and a dressing- 
 gown of Kenworthy's. I found Virginia wait- 
 ing for me in the porch. Kenworthy and his 
 wife were both there. I thought Mrs. Ken- 
 worthy looked a little sorry for me. Kenworthy 
 was full of malicious jdy. I did not see what 
 risk I was going to run, but I felt it wise to 
 propitiate Virginia with the friendliest possible 
 greeting. 
 
 "Last time I saw you," I said, "was 
 just before your summer examinations. You 
 were a little anxious, I think, about your 
 algebra paper. I hope it turned out better 
 than you expected. But I suppose all that 
 is like a bad dream now, and you've forgotten 
 that there are such things as exams." 
 
 " Not at all," said Virginia. " In fact I'm 
 going in for another exam, quite soon. 
 Didn't Uncle John tell you? I thought he had." 
 
 " I did," said Kenworthy. 
 
 " What I'm in for now," said Virginia, *' is 
 drowning. Far more exciting in every way 
 than maths., French, or even EngKsh Lit., 
 besides being much usefuller. You never 
 know when you'll come across a fellow creature 
 being overwhelmed in the vasty deep. Can 
 you swim ? " 
 
196 LIFE SAVING 
 
 " Yes," I said. *' I once won a swimming 
 race — a long time ago, of course." 
 
 " Must have been," said Virginia, looking 
 at me critically. " But I expect you can 
 swim still, a little. I daresay you'll be able 
 to get a few yards from the shore. Then I'll 
 save you. Do you mind ? " 
 
 "That's what he's here for," said Ken- 
 worthy. " He says he likes it." 
 
 We crawled down the grassy slope to- 
 gether ; Kenworthy offering help to Virginia, 
 which she always refused. We reached the 
 rocks. The water was clear, sparkling, and 
 inviting. The sun had made the rooks 
 actually hot. I felt glad that I was going to 
 bathe, and there seemed no possible objection 
 to allowing Virginia to save my life. 
 
 She adjusted a bathing cap and plunged 
 in. I followed her. We swam out together 
 till we were about thirty yards from the shore. 
 
 " Now," said Virginia, " First method, for 
 use in case of a drowning person who hasn't 
 lost his presence of mind." 
 
 "The business seems systematised," I 
 said. " What do I do to bring on the first 
 method ? Shriek for help, I suppose." 
 
 " All you have to do for the first method," 
 said Virginia, "is not to struggle or clutch. 
 But you may shriek for help if you like. It 
 won't do any harm." 
 
LIFE SAVING 197 
 
 I shrieked. I intended to shriek a second 
 time, bat before I did so Virginia had me by 
 the ears. She turned me over deftly and, 
 swimming on her back, towed me to the 
 shore. If she had not kicked me six or seven 
 times the sensation would have been quite 
 pleasant. Kenworthy was sitting on the rocks, 
 grinning. I shouted to him that the water 
 was agreeably warm, and that I liked having 
 my life saved. Kenworthy stiU grinned. 
 
 Virginia and I swam out again, and she 
 explained to me that the first method of Hfe 
 saving is very little use in actual practice, 
 because most drowning people lose their heads, 
 and refuse to remain passive in the hands of 
 the rescuer. 
 
 " That," she said, " leads on to the first 
 method of release and second of life saving." 
 
 " Bight," I said. " You give the word and 
 I'U seize you round the neck." 
 
 "No," she said, "by the wrists. You 
 don't grab me round the neck till we get to 
 the third method of release. Are you ready?" 
 
 She offered me her wrists and I seized 
 them. I do not know exactly what happened 
 next, but a moment later I found myself with 
 my arms stretched out and my head thrown 
 back. Before I had time to do anything 
 Virginia seized me by the nose, hurting me 
 a good deal. I opened my mouth to protest. 
 
198 LIFE SAVING 
 
 She immediately plunged my head under 
 water. I emerged spluttering and choking. 
 Virginia turned me on my back and towed me 
 ashore again. 
 
 "Pretty good I call that," she said. 
 "What do you think, Uncle John? Better 
 than I did you this morning. I'm improving, 
 I think." 
 
 Kenworthy was grinning in a most offen- 
 sive manner. I began to wish I had him in 
 the water. But I was not going to give 
 in. I was determined to revenge myself on 
 Virginia and to show Kenworthy that I was 
 not such a helpless fool as he seems to have 
 been. 
 
 " Virginia," I said, " if you'd told me you 
 were going to practise wrestling in deep water 
 I should have been ready for you. I thought 
 you were supposed to be life saving." 
 
 " I was life saving," said Virginia. "That's 
 the way it's done, according to instructions. 
 Come on now, and we'll try the second 
 release." 
 
 " Very well,"- 1 said. 
 
 I am six inches taller than Virginia, at 
 least three stone heavier, and a very great 
 deal stronger. I dislike the idea of using 
 physical violence in dealing with a girl, but 
 my mouth was still salt with sea water, and I 
 was determined to give Virginia a lesson she 
 
LIFE SAVING 199 
 
 would not forget. This time she would be 
 towed spluttering and breathless to the shore. 
 I should be the heroic rescuer, and see how 
 she Hked being the victim. Afterwards I in- 
 tended to throw Kenworthy in, clothes and all. 
 
 " Where am I to catch you," I said, " so 
 as to give you a chance of showing off the 
 second method of release ? " 
 
 " By the arms," said Virginia, " above the 
 elbows." 
 
 That was exactly what I wanted to know. 
 If Virginia expected to be grasped by the 
 arms, I should clutch her by the throat. That 
 ought to give me a distinct advantage in the 
 struggle. 
 
 Virginia swam up to me and stretched out 
 her arms. I took a deep breath, closed my 
 mouth tightly, and made a plunge at her. I 
 got her by the throat with my right hand, and 
 put my left arm round her neck. We sank. 
 We sank together like stones. Virginia did 
 not move hand or foot, made indeed no 
 attempt at all to get clear of my clutches. 
 We remained at the bottom of the sea for what 
 seemed about half an hour. Then we rose 
 slowly to the surface again. Virginia gave a 
 sudden a,nd very violent wriggle. I suppose 
 my grasp must have relaxed a little. She got 
 free before I could do anything, and had me 
 by the nose again. I grabbed at her helplessly 
 
200 LIFE SAVING 
 
 I felt her knee slipping up my chest until it 
 pressed against my ohin. My head was forced 
 back. I caught a glimpse of Virginia's eyes 
 with a light of passionate determination in 
 them. I made one more effort to grab her 
 throat. Then I was forced under water again 
 with my mouth wide open. Virginia was 
 extraordinarily vindictive. She kept me under 
 water till I was nearly drowned. 
 
 I did not actually lose consciousness, but I 
 was not in a position to say or do anything 
 until Virginia had towed me ashore again. I 
 grasped a rock and climbed out of the water. 
 My idea was to kill Kenworthy at once. I 
 daresay I might have done it if he had still 
 been grinning. But he looked actually sorry 
 for me. I remembered that he had been 
 through the whole abominable business every 
 morning before breakfast for a fortnight. I 
 sat down beside him and panted. 
 
 Virginia, smiling delightedly, was swim- 
 ming about at our feet. 
 
 "You're not unconscious," she said. "I 
 almost thought you were. Rather a pity, 
 isn't it ? " 
 
 "Virginia," I said. "Do you mean to 
 say that you actually wanted to drown me ? " 
 
 " Oh no," she said. " I was saving you." 
 
 "You very nearly killed me. Another 
 half minute and I should have been drowned." 
 
LIFE SAVING 201 
 
 " Only apparently drowned," she said. 
 " Then I should have been able to practise 
 artificial respiration on you. That's part of 
 the life-saving course." 
 
 " I'm glad it didn't come to that," I said. 
 
 " Come along," said Virginia. " There's 
 a lot more to do still." 
 
 " I'm sorry for you, Godfrey," said Ken- 
 worthy. "But you're only about half way 
 through." 
 
 " Nothing morp," I said, " will be done 
 to-day. I'm going up to the house to dress. 
 And what's more, I won't bathe with you 
 again." 
 
 " Ever ? " said Virginia. 
 
 " Not tiU the life-saving exam, is over," I 
 said. 
 
 "That's a pity," said Virginia, "for I 
 want a lot more practice if I'm to get that 
 medal." 
 
 She clambered out of the water and we 
 climbed the cliff, dripping as we went. 
 
 " Virginia," I said, " did you say that you 
 expected to be given a medal for that sort of 
 violence ? " 
 
 "Yes. A bronze medal; or if I'm not 
 good enough for that, then a certificate. Sir 
 Isaac is giving them to every one who passes 
 the exam, in life savingv You ought to know 
 
202 - LIFE SAVING 
 
 that. You've written plenty about it in your 
 old paper." 
 
 "If I have any influence with Sir Isaac," 
 I said, " I'll see that he never gives medals for 
 this sort of thing again. Life saving ought 
 to be suppressed by law." 
 
 " There was an article in your paper," said 
 Kenworthy, "recommending that all boys and 
 girls " 
 
 "I didn't write it," I said, "That was 
 Adolphus." 
 
 Then a splendid thought struck me 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Virginia," I said. " Do you really want 
 more practice in your horrible art ? " 
 
 " Of course I do. You said yourself that 
 life saving ought to be learnt by all, so as to 
 promote courage and humanity." 
 
 " Courage perhaps," I said, " but there's 
 • no humanity about it. However, if you really 
 want to go on " 
 
 " I do," said Virginia. 
 
 "Very well. Let your unfortunate uncle 
 off his morning bathe. Don't attempt to save 
 my life again, and as soon as I go home I'll 
 send Adolphus down to you, and you can save 
 him twice a day for three weeks." 
 
 Virginia pondered the offer. Then she 
 made a bargain. 
 
LIFE SAYING 203 
 
 " And Pinkie," she said. " I'd rather like 
 to save her life." 
 
 " Certainly," I said. " I'll send Pinkie if 
 I can, and the bahy." 
 
 " It might be rather cruel to save the baby's 
 life," said Virginia. " But I'd be glad to get 
 Adolphus and Pinkie." 
 
 Kenworthy came up to his room with me, 
 and talked to me while I dressed. 
 
 " You see now," he said, " why I objected 
 to that leading article in your paper to-day." 
 
 " I do," I said. " It was a most objection- 
 able article. I can only say that if it will 
 gratify you to see the man who wrote it suffer- 
 ing, I'll send him down here the moment my 
 own holiday is over." 
 
 " Is he an utter fool ? " said Kenworthy. 
 
 "Fool isn't the word for him," I said. 
 " He's an imbecile." 
 
 " If that's really so," said Kenworthy, " he 
 may possibly come. But if he has any sense, 
 he won't." 
 
 I do not know whether it was an unexpected 
 glimmering of sense or a premonition of evil 
 which saved Adolphus. He firmly declined to 
 spend his holiday in Breenhaven. However, 
 Virginia got her bronze medal, so I suppose 
 the loss of practice on Adolphus did not really 
 matter. 
 
X 
 
 OAKUM 
 
 ViEGiNiA. Tempest has a sense of honour. 
 Having made a bargain she kept her part of 
 it. Though the weather remained sunny and 
 hot she never so much as hinted that she 
 would like me to bathe with her again. Ken- 
 worthy was not asked to have his hfe saved 
 either before or after breakfast. His health 
 began to improve at once, and in three days 
 he was playing golf at the top of his form, 
 beating me about three rounds out of every 
 four. If I had been a man of sensitive con- 
 science, I might have felt uneasy. I fully 
 intended to keep my promise to Virginia if I 
 could, but I had long experience of the stupid 
 obstinacy of Adolphus, and I knew that the 
 chances were against my being able to force 
 him to spend his holiday at Breenhaven. 
 Fortunately, I have scarcely any conscience, 
 not enough to trouble me seriously. I accepted 
 Virginia's good behaviour and admired her 
 scrupulous loyalty to her word without reflect- 
 ing that I should very probably break mine. 
 
OAKUM 205 
 
 The days passed pleasantly, just as I hoped 
 they would pass when I arranged to meet 
 Kenworthy at Breenhaven, before I knew that 
 Virginia Tempest was Mrs. Kenworthy's niece. 
 We played golf morning and afternoon. In 
 the evening I sometimes dined with the Ken- 
 worthys, sometimes at the hotel, but always 
 went to their house for bridge. Mrs. Kenworthy 
 found a young solicitor, on holiday like our- 
 selves, who made a satisfactory fourth in our 
 rubbers. Virginia, I remember, used to sit 
 quite quietly with a book on her lap while we 
 played. At half-past nine every evening she 
 got up, kissed her aunt, said " good-night " to 
 the rest of us, and went to bed. No girl could 
 possibly have been less troublesome than she 
 was. She hardly ever spoke, and if she moved 
 from her chair she walked so softly that she 
 did not disturb us in the least. It is charac- 
 teristic of Virginia that when she is not in 
 mischief of some violent and ferocious kind, 
 she is gentler and more demure than any other 
 girl of her age. 
 
 Perhaps she was equally good all day. 
 Mrs. Kenworthy never complained about her, 
 and I expect that we should have heard about 
 it if she had done anything extravagant. But 
 Mrs. Kenworthy was uneasy about the girl. 
 She may have had reason to fear that Virginia 
 
206 OAKUM 
 
 intended to break out in some way. She may 
 possibly have felt that something ought to be 
 done to break the monotony of the days. One 
 evening — we had finished bridge, Virginia was 
 in bed, and the solicitor had gone home — Mrs. 
 Kenworthy appealed to us. She addressed 
 herself to her husband, but I knew that she 
 meant me to take what she said to myself. 
 
 " I think," she said, " that it's rather selfish 
 of you to play golf every day and all day. You 
 ought to get up some little amusement for 
 Virginia." 
 
 Kenworthy wriggled in his chair and made 
 a pretence of re-lighting his pipe which had 
 not gone out. 
 
 " Bathing really doesn't agree with me," 
 he said. " I've been ever so much better since 
 I gave it up." 
 
 " The poor child," said Mrs. Kenworthy, 
 *' is having rather a dull time of it. I'm busy 
 all the morning, and going out for a walk with 
 me in the afternoon isn't very exciting for her." 
 
 Kenworthy looked at me for a suggestion. 
 I made one. 
 
 " What about a picnic ? " I said. " We 
 could hire a fly or a motor, if there is one in 
 the place, and go somewhere for tea. We'll 
 all go. You'd like a picnic, wouldn't you, 
 Mrs. Kenworthy?" 
 
OAKUM 207 
 
 I had a feeling that we should be safe if 
 Mrs. Kenworthy were with us. She would be 
 responsible for Virginia. But Mrs. Kenworthy 
 was quite firm in her refusal of my invitation. 
 
 " I'm afraid I couldn't possibly go," she 
 said. " I'm very busy every day." 
 
 Mrs. Kenworthy cannot possibly be busy 
 at a place Hke Breenhaven. I looked at her 
 suspiciously. Virginia might not have been 
 quite so good as it seemed. Her aunt certainly 
 wanted to get rid of her for a few hours at 
 least. 
 
 "But Virginia would love a picnic," she 
 said cordially. *' What about fizing something 
 up .for to-morrow ? The weather may break, 
 you know. And I think it ought to be an 
 all-day affair. A tea picnic is a half-hearted 
 business. Why not take your lunch with you, 
 and enjoy yourselves thoroughly? " 
 
 Kenworthy made a feeble effort to escape. 
 He said something about the first round of 
 the competition for the Captain's Cup, an 
 event for which we had both entered. But 
 Mrs. Kenworthy knew all about that. 
 
 "The competition doesn't begin till the 
 day after to-morrow," she said. " That's why 
 I think the picnic ought to be to-morrow." 
 
 After that there was no use making any 
 further attempt at evading it. I said I should 
 
208 OAKUM 
 
 speak to the hotel manager about hiring a 
 motor for the day, 
 
 I had just finished breakfast next morning 
 when Virginia arrived at the hotel. She was 
 in the highest spirits, and looked remarkably 
 pretty in a blue cotton frock. I felt for a 
 moment quite pleased at the thought of the 
 picnic. Then I became acutely uneasy. 
 
 " Where's your Uncle John ? " I asked. 
 
 "Can't come," said Virginia. "Botten 
 luck for him, of course ; but in some ways not 
 so bad for us. Uncle John is a bit too grown 
 up. He doesn't care much for the sort of 
 things you and I like." 
 
 This was flattering to me, and I felt 
 gratified. But neither the pleasant compliment 
 I had received nor my sense of satisfaction 
 altogether did away with my uneasiness. I 
 admire Virginia immensely but I am" not sure 
 that I share all her tastes. I began to feel, 
 too, that Kenworthy had played me a mean 
 trick. It was he, quite as much as his wife, 
 who had let us in for the picnic. I do not 
 think he ought to have backed out of it at the 
 last moment. 
 
 " What's his excuse ? " I asked. 
 
 "Eeason," said Virginia, "not excuse. 
 Excuses are what you make when you don't 
 want to do a thing. Eeasons are when you 
 
OAKUM 209 
 
 do want and really can't. Uncle John wanted 
 to come on the picnic. He said so." 
 
 Virginia combines an astonishing astuteness 
 with a childlike simplicity of mind in a way 
 which often puzzles me. She apparently 
 believed Kenworthy when he assured her that 
 he wanted to join the picnic party. 
 
 " His reason," said Virginia, " was lum- 
 bago. Quite a sudden disease, according to 
 Uncle John. It took him this morning while 
 lacing his boots." 
 
 Virginia glanced at my feet as she spoke, 
 and appeared satisfied. My boots were laced. 
 There was no chance of lunibago seizing me. 
 I recognised that Kenworthy is a man of some 
 intelligence. He had chosen his disease weU. 
 No one, not even a doctor, can tell for certain 
 whether you really have lumbago or not. 
 
 " What about starting ? " said Virginia. 
 " It's a pity to waste time sitting here. I 
 have the lunch packed in a basket all ready." 
 
 " Sandwiches, I suppose," I said. 
 
 " And hard-boiled eggs," said Virginia. 
 
 " My favourite food." 
 
 Since I was in for a picnic with Virginia I 
 was determined to be as agreeable as I could. 
 
 "And bread and butter, in slices," said 
 Virginia. " Where shall we go ? " 
 
 " Somewhere inland," I said. *' Not the 
 
210 OAKUM 
 
 seashore. Bread and butter always gets covered 
 with sand if you try to eat it on the shore." 
 
 "I was thinldng of the island," said 
 Virginia. 
 
 There is a small island, scarcely more than 
 a rock, about a mile from Breenhaven. It is 
 inhabited, so far as I know, only by seabirds. 
 
 " There's no sand there," said Virginia. 
 " Nothing but seaweed and a little grass, so it 
 would be all right about the bread and butter." 
 
 " The island would be delightful," I said. 
 " But we haven't got a boat, and I don't think 
 I could row so far if we had. I'm not like the 
 bishop, you know. He's accustomed to 
 navigation." 
 
 " I never expected you to row. I knew 
 you couldn't. But I'm quite a good rower, so 
 that would be all right." 
 
 "But the boat," I said. "Do you think 
 we can hire one? "^ 
 
 " Hiring boats is a rotten thing to do," 
 said Virginia. " The owner always wants to 
 come too, not trusting you, and then it's no 
 fun at all. Eather foolish that, I think. But 
 all men who hire boats are the same. My 
 idea is to borrow one." 
 
 " I don't know anyone who owns a boat." 
 I said. "Do you?" 
 
 Virginia hesitated a little before she 
 
OAKUM 211 
 
 answered. She looked round cautiously. 
 There was no one near us ; but Virginia was 
 taking no risks. She came quite close to me 
 and whispered : 
 
 " I don't exactly know anyone who owns a 
 boat," she said. " But I know a boat, and we 
 can borrow it quite easily without anybody 
 finding out," 
 
 The distinction between borrowing a thing 
 with the owner's consent and taking it without 
 his knowledge seems to me an important one. 
 Virginia thought otherwise. 
 
 "We'll bring it back, of course," she said, 
 " and do it no harm at all. I'm not proposing 
 to steal it." 
 
 I suppose it is the giving back which makes 
 the difference between borrowing and stealing ; 
 stUl, I hesitated. 
 
 'I Come on," said Virginia. 
 
 I rose meekly and followed her. We 
 reached the strand after a hot walk, during 
 which I carried the luncheon basket. Virginia 
 pointed out a small white boat which lay by 
 itself far up the beach, some twenty yards 
 above high-water mark. 
 
 " The oars are in her," said Virginia, " and 
 the rowlocks are under the stem sheets. I 
 know that because I looked at her one day 
 when I happened to be passing along." 
 
212 OAKUM 
 
 "But the owner?" I said. "If we only 
 knew who it was. I really don't like " 
 
 " The owner," said Virginia, " whoever he 
 is, doesn't want her. She has been there ever 
 since I came to stay in Breenhaven, and he's 
 never once taken her out. I've watched to 
 see, and he never has. I call it waste to have 
 a boat and not use her. Uncle John said the 
 other day that all waste is wrong and ought to 
 be prevented by those who can. You agree 
 with that, I suppose." 
 
 I do of course. Every one does, in theory. 
 Virginia goes further than most people. She 
 puts theory into practice, and actually tries to 
 prevent waste when she sees it. 
 
 We hauled the boat down to the water, a 
 very laborious and heating business, for the 
 tide was out. We shipped the rowlocks and 
 laid the oars ready to hand. Then we pushed 
 her into the water till the stern floated. The 
 sea was calm, fortunately, but there were small 
 waves which broke over the stern of the boat 
 and wetted the seat. Virginia ordered me to get 
 in. I obeyed her, of course, and sat down in 
 a shallow pool with the luncheon basket at my 
 feet, Virginia gave a final shove and tumbled 
 in over the bows, dripping from her knees 
 down. There was, I am thankful to say, 
 no sign of the owner, Virginia took the 
 
OAKUM 213 
 
 oars and rowed vigorously towards the 
 island. 
 
 I found myself fairly comfortable. The 
 sea, once we were clear of the beach, was 
 quite smooth. The island looked most at- 
 tractive in the sunshine. The water, which 
 soaked rapidly through my trousers, felt 
 pleasantly cool. I lit a pipe, and was glad that 
 Virginia liked rowing. 
 
 We were about two hundred yards from 
 the shore when I noticed that the water was 
 beginning to ooze through the cracks between 
 the floor boards under my feet. 
 
 " Virginia," I said, " this boat is leaking." 
 
 " Boats often do," said Virginia. " In fact 
 almost always. Nobody ever minds." 
 
 Five minutes later the water covered the 
 floor boards and the luncheon basket was in 
 a pool. I picked it up and set it on the seat 
 beside me. 
 
 " It seems to me," I said, " that this boat 
 is leaking rather rapidly." 
 
 Virginia could scarcely deny this time that 
 the matter was serious. She did the next best 
 thing, what politicians always do when facts 
 become insistent. She explained. 
 
 " Her seams have opened a little," she 
 said. "That happens when a boat has been 
 lying up for a long time in the sun. The 
 
214 OAKUM 
 
 bishop told me so, and he. knows all about 
 boats." 
 
 " Did he tell you what to do to stop the 
 seams opening ? " 
 
 " He said it didn't matter in the least. 
 The seams close again when the wood begins 
 to swell up with the wet. All this boat wants 
 is to be in the water for a bit and then she'd 
 be as dry as a bone." 
 
 The facts are, I believe, precisely as Vir- 
 ginia stated them. Boats' seams do open in 
 the sun. They do close again when the boat 
 is in the water. I have no doubt that the 
 bishop had seen the whole thing happen scores 
 of times. Unfortunately, the process of closing 
 is a slow one. We were filling fast and were 
 a long way from the land. 
 
 "Perhaps," said Virginia, "you'd better 
 bale a bit. There doesn't seem to be a baling 
 tin, but there are two enamel cups in the 
 luncheon basket." 
 
 The water W5,s nearly up to my ankles. 
 I got out the two cups and baled. I worked 
 with a cup in each hand, and I worked hard. 
 The water still rose, but, I was thankful to 
 see, not so rapidly as before I began to 
 bale. 
 
 " Keep the luncheon dry," said Virginia, 
 " and bale for all you're worth. I'll put on a 
 
OAKUM 215 
 
 spurt, bub the boat's a bit heavy with all this 
 water in her." 
 
 Virginia rowed hard and I baled hard, 
 spilling half of each cupful over my own legs. 
 
 " Let's go back," I said. " We'll sink 
 soon," 
 
 Virginia turned her head and glanced over 
 her shoulder. 
 
 " We're more than half-way to the island," 
 she said. " We'd better go on. Besides it 
 would spoil the picnic utterly if we went back 
 now. You said you hated eating bread and 
 butter on the sand." 
 
 I do. But I hate being drowned even 
 more. However there was some sense in 
 -■what Virginia said. The island was the 
 nearest dry land. 
 
 " AU right," I said, " but please remember, 
 if it comes to swimming, that I'd rather not 
 be saved. I am told that drowning is an easy 
 death and not unpleasant. But after my 
 experience the other day I can imagine 
 nothing worse than being saved." 
 
 The last hundred yards cost us a severe 
 struggle ; but we did it, thanks to Virginia's 
 vigorous rowing. The water was almost up 
 to the thwarts when we landed on the shore in 
 a little gravelly bay. 
 
 " Now for lunch," said Virginia. "I'm as 
 
216 OAKUM 
 
 hungry as a seagull. Rather an adventure, 
 I call that. I love adventures, don't you ? " 
 " I am a little past the adventurous age," 
 I said, " and I'm very wet." 
 
 "Your own fault entirely," said Virginia, 
 " If you'd baled properly — ^but you kept pour- 
 ing the water over your legs. I say, it's just 
 as weU that Uncle John didn't come after all. 
 He mightn't have liked it." 
 
 V'lf he really has lumbago," I said, "the 
 wetting would probably have killed him." 
 
 " I read in a book once," said Virginia, 
 " that salt water is good for rheumatism. It 
 may be good for lumbago t.oo. In which case 
 Uncle John might be better, not dead. He 
 wouldn't have liked it, but that rather 
 shows that it would have been good for him. 
 Things that we don't like generally are. I 
 say, do let us feed. It's so siUy to stand 
 talking vJ'hen we're both furiously hungry." 
 
 She spoke as if it was I who had insisted 
 on discussing the effect of salt water on lum- 
 bago. However I did not wish to argue the 
 point. We sat down on a rock andunpaoked 
 the luncheon basket. Then — Virginia's was 
 exactly the right word— we " fed." The hard- 
 boiled eggs had not suffered much. The sand- 
 wiches and bread and butter were pulpy. I 
 do not care much for warm lemonade mixed 
 
OAKUM 217 
 
 with salt water. Virginia drank hers out of 
 the bottle, and got it, I suppose, unadulterated. 
 But there was only one bottle, so I had to 
 drink mine out of one of the cups I had used 
 for baling. After luncheon I sat in the sun 
 and smoked. Virginia took off her shoes and 
 stockings and paddled about in and round the 
 boat. It was scarcely worth while going bare- 
 footed. Her shoes and stockings would not 
 have been much wetter if she had worn them. 
 
 Half an hour later Virginia came back 
 to me. 
 
 "I suppose you realise," she said, "that 
 we've got to get back somehow." 
 
 " That thought," I said, " has been spoiling 
 my enjoyment of therday." 
 
 "According to what the bishop told me," 
 she said, " the seams of the boat ought to be 
 completely closed by this time." 
 
 " You can't always believe bishops," I said. 
 " I wish you could." 
 
 " I'm bound to say that they don't seem to 
 me to have closed in the least." 
 
 " What do you suggest ? " I said. " Shall 
 we camp out here for the night, with nothing 
 to eat except eggshells ? Or shall we try to 
 swim home ? " 
 
 " The proper thing to do," said Virginia, 
 " is to caulk the seams." 
 
218 OAKUM 
 
 I had heard of caulking the decks, seams, 
 and other parts of ships. But I had not the 
 remotest idea how to do it. I suppose the 
 bishop must have described the p^rocess to 
 Virginia. She explained it to me. Oakum, 
 or other suitable naaterial — so Virginia said — 
 is pressed into the seams, between the planks. 
 The sides or deck of the boat or ship im- 
 mediately become watertight. So Virginia 
 said, and there seemed to be no great difficulty 
 about staunching our boat, 
 
 " Have you got any oakum ? " she asked. 
 
 "Not a bit," I said. "It's a thing I 
 seldom carry about with me, but next time I 
 go boating with you I'll bring a pocketful with 
 me." 
 
 Virginia thought over the situation. Then 
 she asked me : 
 
 " What sort of thing is oakum ? " 
 
 " To tell you the truth," I said, " I don't 
 think I've ever seen oakum. Convicts make 
 it, I know, and I rather think they make it 
 out of tarred rope, using their finger nails or 
 bits of rusty iron to tease the rope out. But 
 don't go by what I say. I'm not at all certain. 
 I have a dim recollection of reading a rather 
 harrowing account of oakumrmaking in the 
 * Gaol Journal of a Suffragette.' I wish now 
 that I'd paid more attention to the subject." 
 
OAKUM 219 
 
 " You ought always to pay attention to 
 everything you read," said Virginia, severely. 
 " Pinkie often tells us that. Still, what you 
 do remember is some use. Oakum must be 
 stringy, fluffy stuff, somethitig like cotton- 
 wool, only coarser. I wonder if tobacco would 
 do?" 
 
 I put my pouch into my pocket. If I was 
 to spend a night on the island without food I 
 should want to smoke badly. 
 
 " Tobacco would be no use at all," I said. 
 " Water soaks through it at once." 
 
 " If tobacco won't do, we must think of 
 something else." 
 
 Ten minutes later she asked me abruptly 
 whether I had a knife in my ppcket. I had. 
 Virginia took it and deliberately sawed off a 
 look of her hair. 
 
 " I don't see," she said, " why hair 
 shouldn't do quite as well as oakum for caulking 
 seams. It's fluffy — at least miue is — and water 
 doesn't soak through it. Let's try, anyhow." 
 We hauled the boat on shore with great 
 difficulty. Being half full of water she was 
 very heavy. We turned her upside down and 
 then set to work to caulk her. We used a 
 hairpin — Virginia's only hairpin, I think — and 
 the blade of my knife. We pushed the hair 
 into the seams between the planks, and we 
 
 p 
 
220 OAKUM 
 
 worked hard for an hour. We could not, of 
 course, caulk the whole boat. That would 
 have left Virginia bald. But we did all the 
 worst places, the openings through which we 
 could actually see daylight. Virginia's head 
 had a curiously spotted appearance when we 
 had finished. , 
 
 " I expect," she said, " that it will be all 
 right now and that we'll be able to get home. 
 But just in case of accidents you'd better take 
 off your shoes and socks before we start. If 
 we do have to swim for it you'll do much 
 better in your bare feet." 
 
 We did have to swim for it. Either hair 
 is a poor substitute for oakum, or else we did 
 our caulking badly. The water flowed into the 
 boat from the moment we launched her. I 
 did my best at the baling and nothing could 
 have been finer than the way Virginia rowed. 
 About fifty yards from home and safety the 
 boat sank. She went down quite quietly, and 
 when Virginia and I were floundering in the 
 water she came up again and lay water- 
 logged, her gunwale just awash, I struck out 
 for the shore at once, feeHng confident that 
 Virginia could take care of herself. She 
 overtook me before I was twelve yards on 
 my way. 
 
 " Do you want any help ? " she said. 
 
OAKUM 221 
 
 " No," I shouted. " That's the last thing 
 I want. Go away, Virginia. Don't come near 
 me. I'm a good swimmer, and perfectly well 
 able to get ashore without help." 
 
 " If you're as good a swimmer as all that," 
 she said, " come back and help me to tow the 
 boat ashore." 
 
 "My dear Virginia," I said, "leave the 
 boat alone. It won't drown, We may." 
 
 " The boat isn't ours," said Virginia, 
 "We only borrowed it. Now I call it dis- 
 honest to borrow a boat and not give it back 
 again," 
 
 " Very well," I said, " if we must die, let 
 us die in the effort to be honest." 
 
 It was a terrific business, but we got that 
 boat ashore in the end. Virginia swam out 
 again and fetched the oars. The luncheon 
 basket, I regret to say, sank, and could not be 
 recovered. I think it was the weight of the 
 lemonade bottle which sank it. 
 
 Kenworthy, hurrying along the beach, 
 reached us just as Virginia came ashore with 
 the oars. 
 
 "If I'd known you- were going out in that 
 boat," he said, " I'd have warned you not to. 
 She belongs to the house I've rented, and the 
 landlord told me she was rotten." 
 
 " No warning would have been any use," I 
 
222 OAKUM 
 
 said. " We should have gone even if an angel 
 had blown a trumpet to stop us. But if I'd 
 known the boat was yours, I shouldn't have 
 risked my life trying to drag her ashore." 
 
 "You ought to be greatly obliged to us, 
 Uncle John," said Virginia. "After the 
 soaking we've given her the seams will pro- 
 bably close, which will be a good thing for the 
 boat, and the landlord will probably thank you. 
 Anyhow we caulked her, and he ought to pay 
 you something for that, though we didn't do 
 quite all the seams, only the worst ones." 
 
 Mrs. Kenworthy is a woman of calm 
 temperament and philosophic mind. 
 
 "I used to be sorry," she said, "that 
 Virginia is a girl. But on the whole I'm glad 
 now. jhey say boys get into worse mis- 
 chief." 
 
 I do not see how they can. Virginia must 
 be worse than any boy. She looks like one 
 now, for all the rest of her hair had to be cut 
 off on account of the irregular way we took 
 the tresses which we used for caulking. 
 
XI 
 
 THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 
 
 The war came on us rather unexpectedly in 
 Middleton. We were occupied all through 
 July with an acrimonious dispute about the 
 town water supply. Sir Eackwood Challenger, 
 who seems to have been irritated by an 
 accident to the main pipe outside his house, 
 started a theory that the town was in danger 
 of an epidemic. Mr. Winslow Flake, our 
 Mayor, took the matter up warmly, and 
 quoted statistics to show that Sir Rackwood 
 was entirely wrong. Mr. Flake is a manu- 
 facturer of lemonade and other aerated drinks, 
 so he ought to be as good an authority on 
 water as Sir Eackwood is on epidemics. 
 Various members of the Corporation — 1 called 
 them our civic fathers in my leading articles 
 — came out as supporters of the Mayor. The 
 little ring of gentlemen who control our milk 
 supply backed up Sir Eackwood. It was 
 suggested by some of my correspoivdents 
 that the milkmen naturally wanted a more 
 abundant supply of water, but that, I think. 
 
224 THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 
 
 was slanderous. They merely disliked the 
 Corporation, and the Mayor in particular, 
 because they had been a good deal harried by 
 inspectors. 
 
 The dispute occupied columns of the 
 Gazette every day, and any little space I had 
 to spare for foreign affairs I devoted to Irish 
 Home Rule, which at that moment was in an 
 unusually acute condition. I mention these 
 facts as an explanation, not as an excuse. It 
 was certainly my business, as editor of our 
 chief paper, to keep an eye on the continent 
 of Europe, and warn the people of Middleton 
 that grave things were happening. I failed 
 to do this. My only consolation is that no 
 one would have believed me if I had written 
 that a conflagration was imminent, and Sir 
 Isaac would have been deeply pained if I 
 had suggested that England would ever, 
 under any circumstances, join in a European 
 war. 
 
 I fully expected to have a good deal of 
 trouble with Sir Isaac when the war broke 
 out. He is not a Quaker — Methodism is, I 
 think, his favourite kind of Christianity — ^but 
 as an advanced Liberal he had for years 
 opposed expenditure on any kind of armament. 
 He spoke of the Army as "an appendage of 
 effete feudalism," and looked on the Navy 
 
THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 225 
 
 as a foolish national extravagance. It would 
 not have surprised me in the least if he had 
 insisted on the Gazette adopting a pacifist 
 poKcy. He would have ruined the paper and 
 lost a lot of money if he had taken that line. 
 But that would not have stopped him. Sir 
 Isaac is in some ways as siUy as any man I 
 know; and when he is acting on what he 
 calls his principles he almost rejoices in losing 
 money. It was an immense relief to me when, 
 after a week of painful hesitation, Sir Isaac 
 emerged as an out-and-out patriot. I was 
 then in a position to write the nastiest things 
 I could think of ahout the Germans. 
 
 I claim no credit for the conversion of Sir 
 Isaac. I reasoned with him, of course, hut 
 any one who knows him will readily under- 
 stand that he is not the kind of man to he 
 influenced hy reason. I think he was affected 
 a good deal by a cartoon which represented 
 Belgium as a small boy threatened by a very 
 big and beery-looking man with a heavy stick. 
 Sir Isaac would always be on the side of a 
 small boy threatened by a big man, especially 
 if the big man had been drinking beer. I 
 think, too, that the war appealed to him 
 strongly as a great opportunity for charity. 
 Sir Isaac is always on the look out for ways 
 of relieving distress and sorrow, feeding 
 
226 THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 
 
 hungry people and alleviating pain. War 
 seemed to promise innumerable chances for 
 philanthropy. I should not like to say that 
 he actually welcomed the war because it called 
 for charity, but I am sure that the calls, 
 which came at once in large numbers, helped 
 to reconcile Sir Isaac to what he would have 
 otherwise regarded as a hateful thing. For 
 -instance, he immediately offered Eose Park 
 to the War Office as a hospital, undertaking 
 to defray the whole expense of the estabHsh- 
 ment and to place it under the medical control 
 of Sir Eackwood. The War Office, of course, 
 refused the offer. It was, in those early days, 
 very suspicious of civilian help. But the 
 refusal merely whetted Sir Isaac's appetite 
 for good works, and I had no trouble with 
 him over the policy of the paper. 
 
 On the other hand, I had a great deal of 
 trouble with Adolphus. I noticed that he was 
 depressed, almost sulky, for a week or two 
 after the declaration of war; but I did not 
 find out what was the matter with him until 
 I told him to write an article on the landing 
 of the B.E.F. in France. 
 
 " A full column," I said. " You know the 
 sort of thing. Triumph of organisation — proof 
 to the world of the efficiency of British methods 
 — unexpected blow to arrogant enemy — 
 
THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 227 
 
 picturesque passages about great ships slipping 
 down the Solent under cover of night." 
 
 Adolphus turned quite pale— pale yellow 
 — while I spoke. 
 
 "I'm afraid," he said, " I can't." 
 
 " You can," I said. " Any one could. It's 
 the easiest kind of article there is-to write." 
 
 " I can't do it," said Adolphus. " I won't. 
 I think war is wrong. I'm convinced that we 
 ought to have remained neutral. I cannot 
 support in anyway what I regard as organised 
 murder. My conscience forbids me." 
 
 He bahbled on in this way for several 
 minutes, getting more and more confused. 
 Finally he said that he was a convinced 
 disciple of Tolstoy, and quoted what I took 
 to be a text from the New Testament about 
 the non-resistance of evil. Then I had him, 
 or thought I had. 
 
 "Adolphus," I said, "you've gone in for 
 being opposed to Christianity. You were 
 furious with the bishop when he wanted a few 
 extra curates — a perfectly natural and proper 
 thing for a bishop to want. You started, or 
 tried to start, a Bationalist League in this 
 town ; deliberately aiming at the destruction 
 of religion. And now you've the cheek to 
 come and quote the New Testament to me in 
 support of your ridiculous theories about war." 
 
228 THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 
 
 " I didn't quote the New Testament," said 
 Adolphus, " I quoted Tolstoy." 
 
 I was not prepared, without referring to 
 St. Matthew's Gospel, to say that the exact 
 words Adolphus quoted were in the Sermon 
 on the Mount. But that is where Tolstoy got 
 his ideas, so Adolphus has no right to use 
 them in any case. Ho\^ever, I did not care 
 to argue that point. 
 
 " Anyhow," I said, " you talked about your 
 conscience. Now if you're a Eationalist — 
 and that's what you say you are — you can't 
 keep a conscience. A conscience is a distinctly 
 irrational thing. You can't have it both ways. 
 Eithei^be a Christian, in which case you can 
 keep your conscience'; but then you must 
 subscribe to that fund for additional curates 
 and support the bishop properly. Or else be 
 a Eationalist ; in which case you must justify 
 your refusal to write that article about the 
 B.E.F. in some purely reasonable way, without 
 any reference to conscience." 
 
 I think Adolphus saw the point of that 
 argument. He started on a new tack. 
 
 "I've always," he said, "been a warm 
 adherent of the International Democratic 
 Brotherhood of the Independent Toilers of 
 the World. The right to work, which we 
 claim, carries with it a sense of unity " 
 
THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 229 
 
 " My dear Adolphus," I said. " Nobody's 
 denying your right to work. I'm merely 
 trying to persuade you to exercise it instead 
 of standing there talking. Go and write the 
 article. That's yoar work." 
 
 At this point Adolphus became distinctly 
 sulky. 
 
 "I won't write that article," he said. 
 " You can dismiss me if you like." 
 
 I could not dismiss Adolphus. He knew 
 that just as well as I did. Sir Isaac would 
 interfere with me at once if I tried to do such 
 a thing. Sir Isaac has a conscience and 
 would certainly take the line that Adolphus 
 has one too. I could very easily imagine the 
 sloppy way he would talk about the wicked- 
 ness and the futility of persecuting honest 
 opinion, however wrong ; just as if the laws 
 of nature and Hfe were anything else but a 
 gigantic system of persecuting wrong opinions, 
 however honest; as if there were any other 
 conceivable way of treating people like 
 Adolphus except persecuting them> 
 
 Adolphus was perfectly well aware of the 
 strength of his position. By way of still 
 further irritating me he gave me another 
 piece of information. 
 
 " My wife thoroughly agrees with me," he 
 said. " She and I see eye to eye in this matter." 
 
230 THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 
 
 I saw a faint glimmer of hope there. 
 Mrs Jennings is, I am thankful to say, 
 still a mistress in Miss Merri dew's school. 
 I could do nothing whatever to Adolphus. 
 It was just possible that I might arrange a 
 certain amount of unpleasantness for Mrs. 
 Jennings. 
 
 " Oh, so your wife's in it too ? " I said. 
 " Very well. I'll mention that to Virginia 
 Tempest and to Hilda. They've got con- 
 sciences too, Adolphus — active, vigorous and 
 very ingenious consciences. I don't know 
 exactly what line they'll take; but in my 
 opinion it would be wise for you and your 
 wife to modify or at all events disguise your 
 pacifist feeling." 
 
 I do not know that I actually intended 
 to incite Virginia to make any kind of attack 
 on Mrs. Jennings. If I had chanced to meet 
 either her or Hilda, I daresay I should have 
 mentioned the matter of Adolphus' objection- 
 able views and left them to deal with it as 
 they chose. I should not, I am fairly certain, 
 have gone so far as to write them a special 
 letter on the subject. As things turned out 
 there was no need for me to do anything at 
 all. Virginia found out for herself all about 
 the Jennings family pacifism, and acted with 
 her usual prompt vigour. 
 
THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 231 
 
 The late post that evening brought me a 
 letter for publication in the Gazette signed 
 " Wakeful Patriot." It ended with a post- 
 script " Name and address enclosed as a 
 guarantee of good faith, but not for publica- 
 tion." No name and address were enclosed ; 
 but this did not matter, I recognised the 
 hand-writing as Virginia's. 
 
 The letter was headed "Anti-Pacifist 
 Educational League — A Long-felt Want." 
 
 The writer began by lamenting the pre- 
 valence of pacifist feeling among the educated 
 classes of the community, a thing which just 
 at that moment was not very noticeable, the 
 educated classes being vehemently patriotic. 
 I began to see, as I read on, that the writer 
 was using the word " educated " in a peculiar, 
 though perhaps quite a proper way. 
 
 " Such people," she wrote, " as professors 
 and teachers in schools are pacifists ; this 
 being natural in their case on account of 
 Germany being the home of the most superior 
 kinds of learning, as is weU known for many 
 years, and more devoted to teaching the 
 young than any other country, which makes 
 all professors and teachers love it, that is 
 Germany, and so become pacifists and socialists 
 and opposed to the war." 
 
 Virginia's style is peculiar, and sometimes 
 
232 THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 
 
 a little involved ; but her meaning usually 
 emerges in the end with sufficient plainness. 
 
 " The effect," I read, " of the influence of 
 professors and teachers, though insidious is 
 terrific, and should be at once counteracted 
 by the most violent exertions of aU true 
 patriots, especially those who, being at school 
 or otherwise being taught, are constantly — 
 though against their will — subjected to the 
 pacifist classes — i.e. girls and boys. These, 
 being naturally opposed to education — 
 which is rotten and also German — will gladly 
 enrol themselves in the League for their own 
 emancipation, on patriotic grounds, and for 
 the rescue of others less fortunate than them-» 
 selves from the baneful bacillus. I therefore 
 venture to solicit the aid of your powerful 
 organ in the formation of an Anti-Pacifist 
 League for the young in order to oppose all 
 teachers and professors who believe in educa- 
 tion, which is German." 
 
 I like Virginia's way of getting to her 
 point. What she wanted, apparently, was 
 that the I>aily Gazette should organise a 
 gigantic strike of school children and proclaim 
 a continuous holiday for the duration of the 
 War. She attempted to enUst the sympathies 
 of all right-minded people by emphasising the 
 fact — it really appears to be a fact-^that 
 
THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 233 
 
 for years aU our inteUeotuals had been cracking 
 up Germany as the true home of sound 
 educational methods. We had allowed our- 
 selves to be hypnotised by the reputation of 
 German science and thoroughness. We had 
 sent our sons to German universities and held 
 up German schools as examples to our own. 
 Virginia was perfectly entitled to make her 
 point, and if she went a little too far in identify- 
 ing education with German educational 
 methods, she was certainly wise in thinking 
 that her appeal should be made in the first 
 instance to those "at school or otherwise 
 being taught^' I could scarcely doubt that 
 boys and girls everywhere in England would 
 join her League gladly. I did not, however, 
 see my way to publishing Virginia's letter or 
 otherwise suggesting the formation of an 
 Anti-Pacifist League among school children. 
 
 What I did was, write an article ^in which 
 r mentioned the failure of our schools to 
 foster a spirit of patriotism. I pointed out, 
 towards the close of the article, that there 
 might be, and probably were some school 
 teachers who were the victims of the pro- 
 paganda of international socialism and that 
 these men and women should be carefuUy 
 watched by the educational authorities of 
 the country. I ended with a platitude 
 
234 THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 
 
 calculated to please Sir Isaac when he read 
 the article. 
 
 " We cannot be too careful," I wrote, " to 
 remove the impressionable minds of the very 
 young from all malign influences. This is a 
 sacred duty." 
 
 Sir Isaac was, as I expected, greatly 
 pleased with the article. He presented a 
 large Union Jack to every school in the town, 
 and wrote to Miss Merridew suggesting that 
 her girls should get up a pageant of great 
 scenes from English history, beginning with 
 St. George and the dragon. He showed me 
 the letter before he sent it, and was delighted 
 when I said that Virginia Tempest would 
 make an excellent St. George. I did not 
 suggest that Mrs. Jennings should appear in 
 the part of the dragon ; but I was sure that 
 the scene would be most animated if Virginia 
 were allowed to prance on a white horse 
 round a prostrate Pinkie. 
 
 Two days later I was in my office at about 
 6 p.m. I had sent Adolphus off to write an 
 article in abuse of Treitschke. He knew 
 nothing about Treitschke. Nor did I. But 
 I gave him a short synopsis of what other 
 people said they knew and told him to do his 
 best. It did not much matter what he wrote,, 
 for no one in Middleton was likely to have 
 
THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 235 
 
 heard of Treitsclike, Adolphus had no objec- 
 tiom to writing that article. Whatever else 
 Treitschke was, he was certainly not a disciple 
 of Tolstoy. 
 
 There was a brisk tap at my door. Before 
 I had time to take my pipe out of my mouth 
 and say " Come in," Virginia Tempest stood 
 in front of me. 
 
 " Grood evening," she said. " That was 
 an excellent article you published the day 
 before yesterday about school teachers and 
 pacifists — spies, I call them." 
 
 "I'm glad you like the article," I said. 
 " I couldn't publish your letter just as it stood." 
 
 " Oh, you knew it was mine," she said. 
 " I found out after I had sent it that Hilda 
 forgot to enclose the name and address of the 
 writer as a guarantee of good faith, though I 
 told her twice she was to. How did you guess 
 it was mine ? " 
 
 "Well," I said, "partly by the writing, 
 partly by the style. You have a very dis- 
 tinctive style, Virginia." 
 
 " Anyhow," she said, " we've been acting 
 on it." 
 
 " Founded the Anti-Pacifist League ? " 
 
 " Not acting on my letter," said Virginia. 
 "How could we when you didn't publish it? 
 Acting on your article." 
 
236 THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 
 
 She went to the door and called — 
 
 " Hilda, Hilda, bring it up," 
 
 Then she turned to me again. 
 
 "Hilda has it downstairs," she said, *'in 
 its pram. It's in quite a good temper so far, 
 and has hardly howled at all. We gave it 
 peppermint bull's-eyes. Lucky I thought of 
 peppermint bull's-eyes, wasn't it ? Have one ? ' ' 
 
 She held out a small parcel of rather sticky 
 sweets to me. I shook my head at first. Then 
 I took one. 
 
 "Perhaps I'd better," I said. "I don't 
 know what Hilda's got downstairs, or what 
 you're going to do ; but I feel inclined to howl 
 already. If a peppermint bull's-eye wiU stop 
 me—" 
 
 " It may , " said Virginia. ' * They certainly 
 stopped it." 
 
 Hilda came into the room. She was carry- 
 ing a baby in her arms. 
 
 " Put it down on the rug, Hilda, and come 
 along. We're late already. You'll find the 
 pram downstairs," she said to me, " when you 
 want to take it home with you." 
 
 I had sufficient presence of mind to jump 
 from my chair, shut the door and put my back 
 against it before Virginia and Hilda could 
 leave the room. I must say for Hilda that 
 she seemed a little xmwilling to dump the baby 
 
THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 237 
 
 on my hearthrug without a word of explana- 
 tion. 
 
 " Virginia," I said, " what's that ? " 
 
 " Pinkie's baby," said Virginia. " I thought 
 you'd know." 
 
 "How on earth could I know," I said, 
 " that you were going to bring that baby or 
 any other into my office ? " 
 
 " Wasn't that what you were aiming at ? " 
 said Virginia. " In your article, I mean." 
 
 " Virginia," I said, " you've misread that 
 article. No sane man, no lunatic even, would 
 deliberately aim at having a strange baby 
 brought to his office and left on the hearthrug." 
 
 "It's what you said, anyhow," Said Virginia. 
 
 " I didn't." 
 
 Virginia drew a smaU and very crumpled 
 scrap of newspaper from her pocket. 
 
 "Here," she said, "are your own words: 
 ' We cannot be too careful to remove the 
 impressionable minds of the very young from 
 all malign influences. This is a sacred duty.' " 
 
 "Even now," I said, "I don't see what 
 that has to do with Mrs. Jennings' baby." 
 
 Virginia explained kindly, patiently, speak- 
 ing quite slowly, so that I could^have no 
 difficulty in following her, 
 
 " Pinkie," she said, " is a spy. You agree 
 to that." 
 
238 THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 
 
 " Pacifist," I said. "" 
 
 " Same thing," said Virginia, " and that's a 
 malign influence, isn't it ? .Very well. Pinkie's 
 baby is very young. You can't deny that. 
 Therefore, according to you, according to what 
 you wrote, it is a sacred duty to remove 
 Pinkie's baby from her. So we have, Hilda 
 and I. That's all." 
 
 " That's not aU," I said, " Not nearly all. 
 Why did you bring it here ? " 
 
 "We had to bring it somewhere," said 
 Virginia. " We couldn't take it back to school 
 with us. In the first place there'd have been 
 a row if we had. In the second place Pinkie 
 would have got it again almost immediately. 
 So we brought it to you. After all you're the 
 person who said it ought to be removed. So 
 you're tlie proper person to keep it. You 
 didn't want us to kill it, I suppose. Hilda, 
 put it down and come on." 
 
 This time Hilda did as she was told, and 
 laid the baby on the rug. I looked on help- 
 lessly. If I had moved from the door Virginia 
 would have got out and left me with the baby. 
 
 " Virginia," I said. •' Where did you get 
 it ? How did you manage to kidnap it ? " 
 
 "Oh, that was quite easy," said Virginia. 
 "We saw Pinkie taking it out in its pram. 
 We followed her at a safe distance till she 
 
THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 239 
 
 went into the post office. She couldn't take 
 the pram in with her on account of the steps, 
 so we wheeled it off. That's all. And now, 
 please, we must go." 
 
 I still had my back against the door, but 
 Virginia came straight for me in a very 
 threatening way. I could not possibly engage 
 in a physical struggle with a girl of seventeen. 
 Besides, I should probably have got the worst 
 of the fight. Hilda certainly would have 
 backed her friend. Virginia and Hilda left 
 the room. They did aU they could for me 
 before they went. The baby looked quite 
 happy on the rug. Its package of bull's-eyes 
 lay on my desk. 
 
 I rang the bell and sent for Adolphus. 
 He came at once, looking flushed and hot. 
 Treitschky was evidently too much for him. 
 I pointed to the baby. 
 
 " Adolphus," I said, •* is that yours ? " 
 
 He went over to the fireplace and looked 
 at the baby. 
 
 " I— I think it is," he said. " Yes. It is. 
 How did it get here ? " 
 
 '• Take it away at once," I said. 
 
 "But," said Adolphus, "how did it— I 
 mean how did she come here ? " 
 
 " Its pram," I said—" is " 
 
 " Her pram," said Adolphus. 
 
 ^ 
 
240 THE PACIFIST LEAGUE 
 
 " The pram," I said, " is downstairs. Put 
 the creature into it and wheel it back to your 
 wife." 
 
 "But," said Adolphus, "I don't under- 
 stand How " 
 
 "And tell her distinctly," I said, '• that I 
 will not have babies brought into this office. 
 Don't argue. Go and do what I tell you at 
 once. And you can take that package of 
 sweets with you. If the baby cries, give 
 it one." 
 
 "I want to know," said Adolphus, "in 
 fact I must know " 
 
 " And mention to your wife," I said, " that 
 if she wants to keep that baby she'd better 
 suppress her pacifist sentiments. Otherwise 
 there'll be serious trouble, and I decliue to 
 be held responsible. Take it away at once, 
 Adolphus. It's going to cry." 
 
XII 
 
 THE WEDDING PRESENT 
 
 ViBGiNiA Tempest left Miss Memdew's school 
 at the end of the Christmas term of 1914. I 
 suppose that her education was then com- 
 plete. The attempt to kidnap Adolphus' baby 
 was the last of her exploits in which she 
 succeeded in involving me. But I heard of 
 her occasionally during the war. Miss Merri- 
 dew kept in touch with her for a while, and 
 told me that she worked as a kitchenmaid 
 in a V.A.D. Hospital near Manchester. It 
 must have been a large establishment, for 
 there were eight kitchenmaids, all under 
 the control of a head cook. Virginia, so Miss 
 Merridew told me, organised a kind of trade 
 union among the kitchenmaids, and issued, 
 in typescript, a weekly journal called The 
 Scullery Gazette. I never saw a copy, for 
 Miss Merridew returned the one sent to her 
 by the hospital authorities before showing it 
 to me. It contained, I believe, a number of 
 highly libellous statements about the head 
 
242 THE WEDDING PEE SENT 
 
 cook, and drew attention to several mistakes 
 and muddles in the management of the 
 hospital. 
 
 I next heard of her from Sir Isaac. She 
 gave his name as a reference to a lady who 
 ran a canteen for women munition-makers in 
 Birmingham. Sir Isaac — who always writes 
 and beUeves the best of every one — recom- 
 mended Virginia strongly for the post of 
 waitress. There was some trouble afterwards ; 
 but I never could make out from Sir Isaac's 
 confused account exactly what it was. Sir 
 Isaac took the view that Virginia was in the 
 right and had been treated most unfairly. I 
 have not the slightest doubt that she was 
 able to produce a plausible defence of her 
 action, whatever it was. 
 
 After that I heard no more of her for 
 nearly three years. I feel sure that she was 
 actively engaged all the time in helping to 
 win the war; but I do not know what form 
 her activities took. Then I got a letter from 
 the Secretary of the Y.M.C.A. asking me 
 whether I could conscientiously recommend 
 Miss Virginia Tempest for work in their 
 canteens in France. I cannot imagine that 
 Virginia would be anything except a disturbing 
 influence among Christian young men, and at 
 first I was inclined to say so. I reflected, 
 
THE WEDDING PEE SENT 243 
 
 however, that the Y.M.C.A. in France had 
 very wisely laid less emphasis on the last 
 two than on the first two initials of its name. 
 There was — and this accounts for its success — 
 more young man than Christian association 
 about it. For work among young men, not 
 necessarily Christian, I could confidently re- 
 commend Virginia. I wrote warmly about 
 her energy, spirit, and capacity for influencing 
 others. I mentioned that she was always 
 guided by the highest principles. 
 
 She evidently passed the tests imposed on 
 her by the committee, for I heard of her as 
 a worker in a canteen in Le Havre. Adolphus 
 Wrote and told me he had seen her there. 
 Adolphus, driven by my taunts and the 
 general unpleasantness of staying at home, 
 attested under the Derby scheme, and went 
 out to France as a private in the Midland 
 Fusiliers. He never got further than the base 
 at which he first landed, and was employed 
 there, according to his own account, in making 
 footpaths in a district called Cinder City. 
 They must have been shockingly bad paths 
 if Adolphus made them, and I do not wonder 
 that those who had to walk on them com- 
 plained of the mud. He saw Virginia at a 
 concert party in a Y.M.C.A. hut, where she 
 sang a song about a " Piggy, wiggy, wig," 
 
244 THE WEDDING PEE SENT 
 
 wMoh delighted the audience. Adolpiius says 
 that he haunted that hut for weeks afterwards 
 in the hope of coming to speech with Virginia. 
 He must have heen very homesick, for in the 
 old days, when he was my assistant, Virginia 
 was the very last person he wished to speak 
 to. He never came into touch with her at 
 Le Havre. Either she was a stranger in the 
 hut at which he heard her singing, or else she 
 must have left the service of the society 
 immediately after that concert. I know she 
 did leave or was turned out of the Y.M.O.A., 
 though I never heard why. The committee 
 of the association must have lost my name 
 and address. If they had been able to write 
 to me they would certainly have done so to 
 ask what I meant by recommending Virginia. 
 The Kenworthys sent me the next news 
 of her. I received one morning from Mrs. 
 Kenworthy a copy of a French paper pubhshed 
 in Bordeaux. A short paragraph, marked by 
 Mrs. Kenworthy, gave an account of the ex- 
 ploit of an English girl, a motor driver in the 
 service of the French Red Cross, who had 
 succeeded in capturing a German spy. She 
 made her capture unaided and handed over 
 the victim, " a man of the most great figure 
 and ferocious face," to the military authorities. 
 The heroine's name was given as Mademoiselle 
 
THE WEDDING PEE SENT 245 
 
 Virginie de Temp^te ; but I have no doubt 
 that it was Virginia Tempest. No German 
 spy, foolish enough to wander about in her 
 neighbourhood, would have a chance of escape. 
 
 One morning, just after the signing of the 
 Armistice, Sir Isaac came into my office, 
 bringing a rather nice-looking young officer 
 with him. He had two wound stripes on his 
 arm and an M.O. ribbon. Sir Isaac introduced 
 him to me as his nephew, and was plainly very 
 proud of him. He babbled on, greatly to the 
 embarrassment of the young man, about 
 courage, endurance, self-sacrifice and the 
 freedom of oppressed nationalities. Sir Isaac 
 was one of the people who really thought that 
 the freedom of oppressed nationalities was 
 desirable. EinaUy he informed me that his 
 nephew — Edward Miles was his name — was 
 engaged to be married to Virginia Tempest. 
 
 " He met her at Staples," said Sir Isaac. 
 " Quite a romance ! Edward was wounded 
 for the second time and sent down. Virginia 
 — such a gallant child, my dear Godfrey! 
 Edward, you must forgive me for speaking of 
 her as a child. She still seems a child to me. 
 I remember-^perhaps you remember, Godfrey, 
 the day when I first saw her. At Miss 
 Merridew's Prize-Giving, you know. I pre- 
 sented her with a good-conduct prize." 
 
246 THE WEDDING PEESENT 
 
 " Good Lord ! " said Edward Miles. 
 
 His exclamation, and the tone in which 
 he made it, told me that he knew some- 
 thing of Virginia, and had not drifted blindfold 
 into his engagement with her. Sir Isaac 
 meandered on. 
 
 " Such a sweet girl 1 But of course that's 
 not what I wanted to tell you. Virginia was 
 driving a n^otor ambulance at Staples, under 
 our Red Cross — a splendid organisation, 
 Godfrey. What should we have done 
 without it ? " 
 
 So Virginia had left the French service. 
 Perhaps they found her activity in catching 
 spies embarrassing. 
 
 "And she actually^ drove dear Edward to 
 hospital," said Sir Isaac. " So very romantic ! 
 I can scarcely imagine — Just think my dear 
 Godfrey. An attachment formed under such 
 circumstances, amid the blood and tears of 
 this terrible war, and the heroism and high 
 endeavour — we must never forget the heroism, 
 and the lofty spirit of sacrifice. A love 
 springing amid such surroundings, like a lily 
 on a battlefield you know " 
 
 In mere pity for Edward Miles, who was 
 suffering acutely, I did what I very seldom do 
 — interrupted Sir Isaac and cut his rhapsody 
 short. I fe£\.r he was a little hurt, for he left 
 
THE WEDDING PEESENT 247 
 
 the office almost immediately. Edward Miles 
 said he wanted to talk to me, and stayed on 
 for a while. 
 
 " Uncle Isaac," he said, "is a bit sloppy 
 sometimes." 
 
 " He's one of the best men in the world," I 
 said, " if not actually the very best." 
 
 " I know that," said Edward Miles. " All 
 the same, that sort of stuff he talks does 
 rather turn you up, doesn't it ? I hope he 
 won't slobber over Virginia. She'd never 
 stand it." 
 
 " She won't raind," I said. " She knew 
 him quite well when she was at school here." 
 
 Edward Miles did not speak again for about 
 a minute. Then he said : 
 
 " I hope you don't mind my asking, but — 
 I say, you used to know Virginia pretty well 
 when she was a kid, didn't you ? " 
 
 " Almost too well," I said. 
 
 "Well, you won't mind my asking, will 
 you ? Did she — I mean she used to run a bit 
 of a rig sometimes, didn't she ? " 
 
 I was not going to give Virginia away to 
 the man she intended to marry. 
 
 " You heard your uncle say," I said, 
 " that she won a good-conduct prize at Miss 
 Merridew's." 
 
 " Oh yes, I heard that all right." 
 
248 THE WEDDING PEESENT 
 
 "WeU," I said. "You can believe it. 
 It's quite true." 
 
 "I believe it. I know how those prizes 
 go. You'd hardly think it, I daresay, but I 
 once got a prize for Divinity myself. Know- 
 ing the catechism and that sort of thing. 
 That's the reason I don't think so much of 
 a good-conduct prize as some fellows might. 
 I wish you'd tell me something about what 
 Virginia was really like." 
 
 "I don't think it would be fair," I said, 
 " I really don't. Some of my stories about 
 Virginia — ^You might throw them in her teeth 
 some day when you'd had a tiff, and then there 
 might be a permanent estrangement between 
 you." 
 
 " Virginia and I never quarrel," he said. 
 
 " Of course not. But it would give you an 
 unfair advantage if you heard some of the 
 things she's done. After all, you wouldn't 
 like to have your whole past life laid bare to 
 her." 
 
 " I shouldn't mind a bit," he said. " And 
 I don't suppose Virginia would mind either. 
 I don't want to score off her in any way. The 
 
 fact is but you wouldn't understand if I 
 
 told you." 
 
 " I might," I said. "Try." 
 
 ^' Well, anything about Virginia interests 
 
THE WEDDING PEE SENT 249 
 
 me awfully. Old photos, for instance, or or 
 
 anything. Specially knowing all about her. 
 You see, I'm weU, you know." 
 
 " In love with her ? " 
 
 Edward Miles blushed, which is more, I 
 think, than Virginia ever did. There was no 
 doubt whatever that he was passionately in 
 love with her, 
 
 "Very well," I said. "If Virginia gives 
 permission, I'll write a history of her schooldays 
 and present it to you." 
 
 Edward MUes left my office after that. 
 Three days later he was back with me again, 
 bringing a letter from Virginia with him. He 
 produced it from his pocket and carefully 
 folded back the top and the bottom of the 
 sheet on which it was written. There remained 
 a few lines in the middle which he invited me 
 to read. 
 
 "Tell old G," I read, " not to be a siUy 
 ass. I never did anything to be ashamed of, 
 though lots of other people, including himself, 
 did. He can write down anything he likes 
 about me, so long as he writes the truth. He 
 can pubHsh it if he wants to. I shan't mind." 
 
 I do not like being called a siUy ass, and I 
 do not like being eaUed " Old G.," though I 
 am, unfortunately, well above the highest age 
 considered fit for military service. 
 
250 THE WEDDING PEESENT 
 
 " Tell Virginia," I said, " that I shall write 
 and publish accounts of all her worst escapades. 
 I hope she'll like the book when she sees it." 
 
 "Oh, I say, not publish," said Edward 
 Miles. " I rather bar that, you know." 
 
 "Virginia says I may, and I shall. When 
 are you to be married ? If I can possibly get 
 through the work in time Virginia shall have, 
 a copy for a wedding present." 
 
 The wedding was, in my opinion, hurried 
 on unduly. I had my MS. ready in time, but 
 I could not persuade the publishers to get the 
 book out. However, Mrs. Edward Miles will 
 get her copy soon. She ought not to have 
 called me a silly ass. I did a good deal for 
 her in the old days. 
 
 PaiKISD BT WHLIAK OtOWES AND BOSS, LIBIIED, LONDOK AND BECOllSS, SHOIAKD.