The Strand 1912-8 Vol-XLIV № 260 August mich

124 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" Our judgment must still be in abeyance/' said Professor Challenger, with a huge slab of whitish-coloured flesh across his knee. \" The indications would be consistent with the presence of a sabre-toothed tiger, such as are still found among the breccia of our caverns, but the creature actually seen was undoubtedly of a larger and more reptilian character. Personally, I should pronounce for allosaurus.\" \" Or megalosaurus,\" said Summcrlec. \" Exactly. Any one of the larger car- nivorous dinosaurs would meet the case. Among them are to be found all the most terrible types of animal life that have ever cursed the earth or blessed a museum.\" He laughed sonorously at his own conceit, for, though he had little sense of humour, the crudest pleasantry from his own lips moved him always to roars of appreciation. \" The less noise the better,'' said Lord Roxton, curtly. \" We don't know who or what may be near us. If this fellah comes back for his breakfast and catches us here, we won't have so much to laugh at. By the way, what is this mark upon the iguanodon's hide ? \" On the dull, scaly, slate-coloured skin, somewhere above the shoulder, there was a singular black circle of some substance which looked like asphalt. None of us could suggest what it meant, though Summerlee was of opinion that he had seen something similar upon one of the young ones two days before. Challenger said nothing, but looked pompous and puffy, as if he could if he would, so that finally Lord Roxton asked his opinion direct. \" If your lordship will graciously permit me to open my mouth, I shall be happy to express my sentiments,\" said he, with elaborate sarcasm. \" I am not in the habit of being taken to task in the fashion which seems to be customary with your lordship. I was not aware that it was necessary to ask your permission before smiling at a harmless pleasantry.\" It was not until he had received his apology that our touchy friend would suffer himself to be appeased. When at last his ruffled feelings were at ease, he addressed us at some length from his seat upon a fallen tree, speaking, as his habit was, as if he were imparting most precious information to a class of a thousand. \" With regard to the marking,\" said he, \" I am inclined to agree with my friend and colleague, Professor Summerlee, that the stains are from asphalt. As this plateau is, in its very nature, highly volcanic, and as asphalt is a substance which one associates with Plutonic forces, I cannot doubt that it exists in the free liquid state, and that the creatures may have come in contact with it. A much more important problem is the question as to the existence of the carnivorous monster which has left its traces in this glade. We know roughly that this plateau is not larger than an average English county.

THE LOST WORLD. homely English bee buzzed everywhere around us. Many of the trees under which we passed had their branches bowed down with fruit, some of which were of familiar sorts, while other varieties were new. By observing which of them were pecked by the birds, we avoided all danger of poison, and added a delicious variety to our food reserve. In the jungle which we traversed were numerous hard-trodden paths made by the wild beasts, and in the more marshy places we saw a profusion of strange footmarks, including miny of the iguanodon. Once in a grove we observed several of these great creatures grazing, and Lord Roxton, with his glass, was able to report that they also were spotted with asphalt, though in a different place to the one which we had examined in the morn- ing. What this phenomenon meant we could not imagine. We saw many small animals, such as porcupines, a scaly ant-eater, and a wild pig, piebald in colour and with long, curved lusks. Once, through a break in the trees, we saw a clear shoulder of green hill some distance away, and across this a large dun-coloured animal was travelling at a considerable pace. It passed so swiftly that we were unable to say what it was ; but if it were a deer, as was claimed by Lord Roxton, it must have been as large as those monstrous Irish elk which are still dug up from time to time in the bogs of my native land. Ever since the mysterious visit which h:~.d been paid to our camp, we always re'urned to it with some misgivings. However, on this occasion we found everything in order. That evening we had a grand discussion upon our present situation and future plans, which I must describe at some length, as it led to a new departure by which we were enabled to gain a more complete knowledge of Maple White Land than might have come in many weeks of exploring. It was Summerlee who opened the debate. All day he had been querulous in manner, and now some remark of Lord Roxton's as to what we should do on the morrow brought all his bitterness to a head. \" What we ought to be doing to-day, to-morrow, and all the time,\" said he, \" is rinding some way out of the trap into which we have fallen. You are all turning your brains towards getting into this country. I say that we should be scheming how to get out of it.\" \" I am surprised, sir,\" boomed Challenger, stroking his majestic beard, \" that any man of science should commit himself to so ignoble a sentiment. You are in a land which offers such an inducement to the ambitious naturalist as none ever has since the world began, and you suggest leaving it before we have acquired more than the most superficial knowledge of it or of its contents. I expected better things of you, Professor Summerlee.\" \" You must remember,\" said Summerlee, sourly, \" that I have a large class in London who are at present at the mercy of an

126 THE STRAND MAGAZIXE. with the important contribution to science which we have already gained. Professor Challenger has devised means for getting us on to this plateau when it appeared to be inaccessible ; I think that we should now call upon him to use the same ingenuity in getting us back to the world from which we came.\" I confess that as Summerlee stated his view it struck me as altogether reasonable. Even Challenger was affected by the con- sideration that his enemies would never stand confuted if the confirmation of his statements should never reach those who had doubted them. \" The problem of the descent is at first sight a formidable one,\" said he, \" and yet I cannot doubt that the intellect can solve it. I am prepared to agree with our colleague that a protracted stay in Maple White Land is at present inadvisable, and that the ques- tion of our return will soon have to be faced. I absolutely refuse to leave, however, until we have made at least a superficial examina- tion of this country, and are able to take back with us something in the nature of a chart.\" Professor Summerlee gave a snort of impatience. \" We have spent two long days in explora- tion,\" said he, \" and we are no wiser as to the actual geography of the place than when we started. It is clear that it is all thickly wooded, and it would take months to penetrate it and to learn the relations of one part to another. If there were some central peak it would be different, but it all slopes downwards so far as we can see. The farther we go the less likely it is that we will get any general view.\" It was at that moment that I had my inspiration. My eyes chanced to light upon the enormous gnarled trunk of the gingko tree which cast its huge branches over us. Surely, if its bole exceeded that of all others, its height must do the same. If the rim of the plateau was indeed the highest point, then why should this mighty tree not prove to be a watch-tower which commanded the whole country ? Now, ever since I ran wild as a lad in Ireland I have been a bold and skilled tree-climber. My comrades might be my masters on the rocks, but I knew that I would be supreme among those branches. Could I only get my legs on to the lowest of the giant off-shoots, then it would be strange indeed if I could not make my way to the top. My comrades were delighted at my idea. \" Our young friend,\" said Challenger, bunching up the red apples of his cheeks, \" is capable of acrobatic exertions which would be impossible to a man of a more solid, though possibly of a more commanding, appearance. I applaud his .resolution.\" \" By George, young fellah, you've put your hand on it ! \" said Lord Roxton, clap- ping me on the back. \" How we never came to think of it before I can't imagine ! There's not more than an hour of daylight left,

I HE LOST WOULD. 127 broken boughs as it dived wildly down into the tangle of green. I caught a glimpse of a hairy body like that of a reddish pig, and appearance of this ape-man that I hesitated whether I should not climb down again and tell my experience to my companions. But •* _ 0 »wwu i->i- . ('jr.' 11,11 ill v 94fcUvi iv.iiv,i^ \\.\\j 111 y i_.uiiiL't*iiivjii j. JJL* i> then it was gone amid a swirl of leaves and I was already so far up the great tree that it branches. \" What's the matter ? shouted Roxton seemed a humiliation to return having carried out my mission. without \"IT WAS A HUMAN FACK.—OR AT LEAST IT WAS FAR MOKE HUMAN THAN ANY MO.NKEY's THAT I HAVE EVER SEEN.\" from below, you ?\" \" Did vou see it ? \" Anything wrong with cried, with my arms After a long pause, therefore, to recover my breath and my courage, I continued my ascent. Once I put my weight upon a rotten round the branch and all my nerves tingling, branch and swung for a few seconds by my \" We heard a row as if your foot had slipped. What was it ? \" I was so shocked at the sudden and strange me, and I was aware, from the wind upon my hands, but in the main it was all easy climb- mg- Gradually the leaves thinned around

128 STRAND MAGAZINE. face, that I had topped all the trees of the forest. I was determined, however, not to look about me before I had readied the very highest point, so I scrambled on until I had got so far that the topmost branch was bend- ing beneath my weight. There I settled into a convenient fork and, balancing myself securely, I found myself looking down at a most wonderful panorama of this strange country in which we found ourselves. The sun was just above the western sky- line, and the evening was a particularly bright and clear one, so that the whole extent of the plateau was visible beneath me. It was, as seen from this height, of an oval con- tour, with a breadth of about thirty miles and a width of twenty. Its general shape was that of a shallow funnel, all the sides sloping down to a considerable lake in the centre. This lake may have been ten miles in circum- ference, and lay very green and beautiful in the evening light, with a thick fringe of reeds at its edges, and with its surface broken by several yellow sandbanks, which gleamed golden in the mellow sunshine. A number of long dark objects which were too large for alligators and too long for canoes lay upon the edges of these patches- of sand. With my glass I could clearly see that they were alive, but what their nature might be I could not imagine. From the side of the plateau on which we were, slopes of woodland, with occasional glades, stretched down for five or six miles to the central lake. I could see at my very feet the glade of the iguanodons, and farther off was a round opening in the trees which marked the swamp of the pterodactyls. On the side facing me, however, the plateau presented a very different aspect. There the basalt cliffs of the outside were reproduced upon the inside, forming an escarpment about two hundred feet high, with a woody slope beneath it. Along the base of these red cliffs, some distance above the ground, I could sec a number of dark holes through the glass, which I conjectured to be the mouths of caves. At the opening of one of these something white was shimmering, but I was unable to make out what it was. I sat charting the country until the sun had set and it was so dark that I could no longer distinguish details. Then I climbed down to my companions waiting for me so eagerly at the bottom of the great tree. For once I was the hero of the expedition. Alone I had thought of it, and alone I had done it; and here was the chart which would save us a month's blind groping among unknown dangers. Each of them shook me solemnly by the hand. But before they discussed the details of my map I had to tell them of my encounter with the ape-man among the branches. \" He has been there all the time,\" said I. \" How do you know that ? \" asked Lord Roxton.

THE LOST WORLD. 129 •'The flesh-pots of civilization,\" groaned Challenger. \" The ink-pots of civilization, sir. It is our task to put on record what we have seen, and to leave the further exploration to others. You all agreed as much before Mr. Malone got us the chart.\" \" Well,\" said Challenger, \" I admit that my mind will be more at ease when I am assured that the result of our expedition has drawn out in its relative place. Challenger's pencil hovered over the great blank which marked the lake. \" What shall we call it ? \" he asked. \" Why should you not take the chance of perpetuating your own name ? \" said Sum- merlee, with his usual touch of acidity. \" I trust, sir, that my name will have other and more personal claims upon posterity,\" said Challenger, severely. \" Any ignoramus can Of THE ROUGH CHART OF MAPLE WHITE LAND. been conveyed to our friends. How we are to get down from this place I have not as yet an idea. I have never yet encountered any problem, however, which my inventive brain was unable to solve, and I promise you that to-morrow I will turn my attention to the question of our descent.\" And so the matter was allowed to rest. But that evening, by the light of the fire and of a single candle, the first map of the lost world was elaborated. Every detail which I had roughly noted from my watch-tower was hand down his worthless memory by imposing it upon a mountain or a river. I need no such monument.\" Summerlee, with a twisted smile, was about to make some fresh assault when Lord Roxton hastened to intervene. \" It's up to you, young fellah, to name the lake,\" said he. \" You saw it first, and, by George, if you choose to put ' Lake Malone ' on it, no one has a better right.\" \" By all means. Let our young friend give it a name,\" said Challenger.

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" Then,\" said I, blushing, I dare say, as I said it, \" let it be named Lake Gladys.\" \" Don't you think the Central Lake would be more descriptive ? \" remarked Summerlee. \" I should prefer Lake Gladys.\" Challenger looked at me sympathetically, and shook his great head in mock disapproval. \" Boys will be boys,\" said he. \" Lake Gladys let it'be.\" CHAPTER XII. \" IT WAS DREADFUL IN THE FOREST.\" I HAVE said—or perhaps I have not said, for my memory plays me sad tricks these days •—that I glowed with pride when three such men as my comrades thanked me for having saved, or at least greatly helped, the situa- tion. As the youngster of the party, not merely in years, but in experience, character, knowledge, and all that goes to make a man, I had been overshadowed from the first. And now I was coming into my own. I warmed at the thought. Alas ! for the pride which goes before a fall! That little glow of self-satisfaction, that added measure of self-confidence, were to lead me on that very night to the most dreadful experience of my life, ending with a shock which turns my heart sick when I think of it. It came about in this way. I had been unduly excited by the adventure of the tree, and sleep seemed to be impossible. Summer- lee was on guard, sitting hunched over our small fire, a quaint, angular figure, his rifle across his knees and his pointed, goat-like beard wagging vith each weary nod of his head. Lord Roxton lay silent, wrapped in the South American poncho which he wore, while Challenger snored with a roll and rattle which reverberated through the woods. The full moon was shining brightly, and the air was crisply cold. What a night for a walk ! And then suddenly came the thought, \" Why not ? \" Suppose I stole softly away, suppose I made my way down to the central lake, suppose I was back at breakfast with some record of the place—would I not in that case be thought an even more worthy associate ? Then, if Summerlee carried the day and some means of escape were found, we should return to London with first-hand knowledge of the central mystery of the plateau, to which I alone, of all men, would have penetrated. I thought of Gladys, with her \" There are heroisms all round us.\" I seemed to hear her voice as she said it. I thought also of McArdle. What a three- column article for the paper! What a foundation for a career! A correspondent- ship in the next great war might be within my reach. I clutched at a gun—my pockets were full of cartridges—and, parting the thorn bushes at the gate of our zareba, I quickly slipped out. My last glance showed me the unconscious Summerlee, most futile of sentinels, still nodding away like a queer mechanical toy in front of the smouldering fire. I had not gone a hundred yards before I deeply repented my rashness. I may have

THE LOST WORLD. '31 meet. If I were to go back to camp to change my weapon I could hardly expect to enter and to leave again without being seen. In that case there would be explanations, and my attempt would no longer be all my own. After a little hesitation, then, I screwed up my courage and continued upon my way, my useless gun under my arm. The darkness of the forest had been alarm- ing, but even worse was the white, still flood of moonlight in the open glade of the iguano- dons. Hid among the bushes, I looked out at it. None of the great brutes were in sight. Perhaps the tragedy which had befallen one of them had driven them from their feeding- ground. In the misty, silvery night I could see no sign of any living thing. Taking courage, therefore, I slipped rapidly across it, and among the jungle on the farther side I picked up once again the brook which was my guide. It was a cheery companion, gurgling and chuckling as it ran, like the dear old trout-stream in the West Country where I have fished at night in my boyhood. So long as I followed it down I must come to the lake, and so long as I followed it back I must come to the camp. Often I had to lose sight of it on account of the tangled brushwood, but I was always within earshot of its tinkle and splash. As one descended the slope the woods became thinner, and bushes, with occasional high trees, took the place of the forest. I could make good progress, therefore, and I could see without being seen. I passed close to the pterodactyl swamp, and as I did so, with a dry, crisp, leathery rattle of wings, one of these great creatures—it was twenty feet at least from tip to tip—rose up from some- where near me and soared into the air. As it passed across the face of the moon the light shone clearly through the membranous wings, and it looked like a flying skeleton against the white, tropical radiance. I crouched low among the bushes, for I knew from past experience that with a single cry the creature could bring a hundred of its loathsome mates about my ears. It was not until it had settled again that I dared to steal onwards upon my journey. The night had been exceedingly still, but as I advanced I became conscious of a low, rumbling sound, a continuous murmur, some- where in front of me. This grew louder as I proceeded, until at last it was clearly quite close to me. When I stood still the sound was constant, so that it seemed to come from some stationary cause. It was like a boiling kettle or the bubbling of some great pot. Soon I came upon the source of it, for in the centre of a small clearing I found a lake—or a pool, rather, for it was not larger than the basin of the Trafalgar Square fountain—of some black, pitch-like stuff, the surface of which rose and fell in great blisters of bursting gas. The air above it was shimmering with heat, and the ground round was so hot that I could hardly bear to lay my hand on it.

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. volcanic action ; but this could not be so. Any volcanic action would surely be down in the hollow, and not high among the rocks. What, then, was the alternative ? It was wonderful, and yet it must surely be. These ruddy spots must be the reflection of fires within the caves—fires which could only be lit by the hand of man. There were human beings, then, upon the plateau. How gloriously my expedition was justified ! Here was news indeed for us to bear back with us to London ! For a long time I lay and watched these red, quivering blotches of light. I suppose they were ten miles off from me, yet even at that distance one could observe how, from time to time, they twinkled or were obscured as someone passed before them. What would I not have given to be able to crawl up to them, to peep in, and to take back some word to my comrades as to the appearance and character of the race who lived in so strange a place ! It was out of the question for the moment, and yet surely we could not leave the plateau until we had some definite knowledge upon the point. Lake Gladys—my own lake—lay like a sheet of quicksilver before me, with a reflected moon shining brightly in the centre of it. It was shallow, for in many places I saw low sandbanks protruding above the water. Everywhere upon the still surface I could see signs of life, sometimes mere rings and ripples in the water, sometimes the gleam of a great silver-sided fish in the air, sometimes the arched, slate-coloured back of some passing monster. Once upon a yellow sandbank I saw a creature like a huge swan, with a clumsy body and a high, flexible neck, shuffling about upon the margin. Presently it plunged in, and for some time I could see the arclicd neck and darting head undulating over the water. Then it dived, and I saw it no more. My attention was soon drawn away from these distant sights and brought back to what was going on at my very feet. Two creatures like large armadillos had come down to the drinking-place, and were squatting at the edge of the water, their long, flexible tongues like red ribbons shooting in and out as they lapped. A huge deer, with branching horns, a magnificent creature which carried itself like a king, came down with its doe and two fawns and drank beside the armadillos. No such deer exist anyw'-.ere else upon earth, for the moose _or elks which I have seen would hardly - reached its shoulder. Presently it gave a warning snort, and was off with its family among the reeds, while the armadillos also scuttled for shelter. A new-comer, a most monstrous animal, was coming down the path. For a moment I wondered where I could have seen that ungainly shape, that arched back with triangular fringes along it, that strange, bird-like head held close to the ground. Then it came back to me. It was the stegosaurus—the very creature which

THE LOST WORLD. '33 \"THEN HE LUMBERED AWAY AND WAS LOST AMONG THK BOULDERS.\" stood still within me as it flashed across me that the beast, whatever it was, must surely be after me. My skin grew cold and my hair rose at the thought. That these monsters should tear each other to pieces was part of the strange struggle for existence, but that they should turn upon modern man, that they should deliberately track and hunt down the predominant human, was a staggering and fearsome thought. I remembered the blood-beslobbered face which we had seen in the glare of Lord Roxton's torch, like some horrible vision from the deepest circle of Dante's hell. With my knees shaking beneath me, I stood and glared with starting eyes down the moonlit path which lay behind me. All was quiet as in a dream landscape. Silver clearings and the black patches of the bushes

134 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. •—nothing else could I see. Then from out of the silence, imminent and threatening, there came once more that low, throaty croaking, far louder and closer than before. There could no longer be a doubt. Some- thing was on my trail, and was closing in upon me every minute. I stood like a man paralyzed, still staring at the ground which I had traversed. Then suddenly I saw it. 1'here was movement among the bushes at the far end of the clear- ing which I had just traversed. A great dark shadow disengaged itself and hopped out into the clear moonlight. I say \" hopped \" advisedly, for the beast moved like a kangaroo, springing along in an erect position upon its powerful hind-legs, while its front ones were held bent in front of it. It was of enormous size and power, like an erect ele- phant, but its movements, in spite of its bulk, were exceedingly alert. For a moment, as I saw its shape, I hoped that it was an iguanodon, which I knew to be harmless, but, ignorant as I was, I soon saw that this was a very different creature. Instead of the gentle, deer-shaped head of the great three-toed leaf-eater, this beast had a broad, squat, toad-like face like that which had alarmed us in our camp. His ferocious cry and the horrible energy of his pursuit both assured me that this was surely one of the great flesh-eating dinosaurs, the most terrible beasts which have ever walked this earth. As the huge brute loped along it dropped forward upon its fore-paws and brought its nose to the ground every twenty yards or so. It was smelling out my trail. Sometimes, for an instant, it was at fault. Then it would catch it up again and come bounding swiftly along the path I had taken. Even now when I think of that nightmare the sweat breaks out upon my brow. What could I do ? My useless fowling-piece was in my hand. What help could I get from that ? I looked desperately round for some rock or tree, but I was in a bushy jungle with nothing higher than a sapling within sight, while I knew that the creature behind me coufd tear down an ordinary tree as though it were a reed. My only possible chance lay in flight. I could not move swiftly over the rough, broken ground, but as I looked round me in despair I saw a well-marked, hard-beaten path which ran across in front of me. We had seen several of the sort, the runs of various wild beasts, during our expeditions. Along this I could perhaps hold my own, for I was a fast runner and in excellent condition. Flinging away my useless gun, I set myself to do such a half-mile as I have never done before or since. My limbs ached, my chest heaved, I felt that my throat would burst for want of air, and yet with that horror behind me I ran and I ran and ran. At last I paused, hardly able to move. For a moment I thought that I had thrown him off. The path lay still behind me. And then suddenly, with a crashing and a rending, a thudding of

THE LOST WORLD. STRIKING A MATCH, I WAS ABI.K TO FORM SOMK OPINION OF THIS PI.ACK INTO WHICH I HAD KALLKN.\"

i36 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. the last state of putridity. The atmosphere was poisonous and horrible. After tripping and stumbling over these lumps of decay, I came suddenly against something hard, and I found that an upright post was firmly fixed in the centre of the hollow. It was so high that I could not reach the top of it with my hand, and it appeared to be covered with grease. Suddenly I remembered that I had a tin box of wax-vestas in my pocket. Striking one of them, I was able at last to form some opinion of this place into which I had fallen. There could be no question as to its nature. It was a trap—made by the hand of man. The post in the centre, some nine feet long, was sharpened at the upper end, and was black with the stale blood of the creatures who had been impaled upon it. The remains scattered about were fragments of the victims, which had been cut away in order to clear the stake for the next who might blunder in. I •remembered that Challenger had declared that man could not exist upon the plateau, since with his feeble weapons he could not hold his own against the monsters who roamed over it. But now it was clear enough how it could be done. In their narrow-mouthed caves the natives, whoever they might be, had refuges into which the huge saurians could not penetrate, while with their developed brains they were capable of setting such traps, covered with branches, across the paths which marked the run of the animals as would destroy them in spite of all their strength and activity. Man was always the master. The sloping wall of the pit was not difficult for an active man to climb, but 1 hesitated long before I trusted myself within reach of the dreadful creature which had so nearly destroyed me. How did I know that he was not lurking in the nearest clump of bushes, waiting for my reappearance ? I took heart, however, as I recalled a conversation between Challenger and Summerlee upon the habits of the great saurians. Both were agreed that the monsters were practically brainless, that there was no room for reason in their tiny cranial cavities, and that if they have dis- appeared from the rest of the world it was assuredly on account of their own stupidity, which made it impossible for them to adapt themselves to changing conditions. To lie in wait for me now would mean that the creature had appreciated what had hap- pened to me, and this in turn would argue some power connecting cause and effect. Surely it was more likely that a brainless creature, acting solely by vague predatory instinct, would give up the chase when I disappeared, and, after a pause of astonish- ment, would wander away in search of some other prey ? I clambered to the edge of the pit and looked over. The stars were fading, the sky was whitening, and the cold wind of morning blew pleasantly upon my face. I could see or hear 'nothing of my enemy. Slowly I climbed out and sat for a while

THE LOST WORLD. \" MY COMRADES HAD DISAPPEARED.\" through the woods all round the empty camp, calling wildly for my companions. No answer came back from the silent shadows. The horrible thought that I might never see them again, that I noight find myself abandoned all alone in that dreadful place, with no pos- sible way of descending into the world below, that I might live and die in that nightmare country, drove me to desperation. I could have torn my hair and beaten my head in my despair. Only now did I realize how I had learned to lean upon my companions, upon the serene self-confidence of Challenger, and upon the masterful, humorous coolness of Lord Roxton. Without them I was like a child in the dark, helpless and powerless. I did not know which way to turn or what I should do first. VoL xliv.-W. (To be continued.)

usiest Spots. Tke figures quoted in the following novel article have been specially obtained, as far as possible, from official sources. LONDON (ROYAL BXCHANGE)—500,000 PERSONS iv\\ss IN A HAY. from a rhotooraph by dm. Acwiiei, IJtL week HE most crowded spot in the world for five and a half days of is that small tract of territory, covering one acre, hounded by the Royal Exchange, the Rank, and the Mansion House in the City of Lon- don. It is a veritable human ganglion. If you \\vere to stretch an invisible thread north and south across this space you would find that in the course of each day no fewer than 500,000 persons passed and repasscd, together with 50,000 vehicles. And the busiest corner of all in this busy acre is immediately outside the Mansion House, for rather more than half the traffic crossing our imaginary boundaries passes that way. The results of a traffic census taken by the City police show that on an average day some 30,000 vehicles pass this particular corner, whilst the pedestrian traffic is well over 250,000, and these figures are constantly increasing. Thus the totals at which we

THE WORLD'S BUSIEST SPOTS. have already arrived for the whole of this space are probably well within the mark, and. no doubt, on extra busy days are often exceeded. And to realize to the full the remarkable BERLIN (FRIEDRICHSTRASSE)— 300,000 I'KRSONS PASS DURING A DAY. i/iA by Topical f'rtu Agency. nature of these statistics we have to remember that the working day in the City is a com- paratively short one, much shorter than at some of the other busy spots of the world, and that the great bulk of this traffic passes astonishing result that the total number of foot-passengers entering that small, circum- scribed area amounts to no fewer than 45,000 or 50,000 per hour during the busiest part of the day. Here is the busiest spot in the \\ (nit I;KAKKN)—ABOIT PASS DAILV. Pntm a fkotoyraph bg Topical I*rtiH Avency. during the limited period of about ten hours. Particularly is this the case with the pedes- trian traffic, and we are confronted with the

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. world's greatest city; the tide of human life, which used to flow highest in Cheapside or Fleet Street or at Charing Cross, has long since reached its diurnal high-water mark total figures would probably approach closely to those of the Bank, although, since it is extended over a longer portion of the day, the hourly average would not be anything like so great, and the congestion is therefore usually much less. \" Piccadilly Circus,\" said a Scotland Yard official to the writer, \"is an extremely busy spot. A traffic count taken some few years ago at the end of Picca- dilly, just where it enters the Circus, resulted in a total of 16,140 vehicles and 68,640 foot- passengers merely between the hours of 8 a.m. and 8 p.m. Between 8 p.m. and midnight Piccadilly Circus is as busy as at any period of the day, so that the full figures for the twenty- four hours must be largely in excess of this. Then there is the almost equally heavy traffic entering the Circus from Regent Street, as well as that from Shaftesbury Avenue and the Hay- ST. PElKKSBl'Ki: (VLADIMIRSKY I'KOMT.KI.i— M-.AKI.V 31X3,000 l'KKs\"NS J'AsS IN A /•'nmi n Photograph by] 1 ' \\\\. [i'ndfrteovl J- I'lideruwl. in front of the residence market of the City's chief magis- indeed, trate. be the But the solitude of the is not u City ;it night suggests an because important handicap, and gestion there are other places in traffic London for which the spread MI that the total must be very large Si ill larger, in all probability, would figures (or Hyde Park Corner. This -uallv looked upon as a very busy spot, there is such a wide area that all con- is avoided, but the volume of vehicular is certainly large, and, moreover, is over practically the whole of the

THE WORLD'S BUSIEST SPOTS, PARIS (PLACE UE L'OPERA) — 450,000 PERSONS PASS IN A DAY. /Vom a PfarioprapA fry ffeiintern: twenty-four hours. No sooner has the after- theatre traffic ceased than a steady stream of market carts begins to pour in towards Covent Garden, and this brings up the day's total considerably. The same thing applies to the Marble Arch and Regent Circus, where the traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, is a trifle heavier than at Piccadilly Circus.\" It is, at first sight, strange to find that the finest and broadest streets are usually not the most used. The explanation is, of course, to be found in the fact that the most hand- some streets are the most modern, and people all over the world are inclined to stick to the more inconvenient, but more familiar, thoroughfares which have been used for JAPAN (O-DORI STREET)—ABOUT 300,000 PASS is A DAY. from a PMoprop* 6» Vnitncood &

142 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. . generations. Frequently, also, the finest streets are occupied by Govern- ment offices and official buildings. An example of this is to be found in the famous Unter den Linden, the Piccadilly and Bond Street of Ber- lin, a noble thorough- fare, 197 feet wide. The greatest traffic is to be found not here, however, but in the Friedrich- strasse, which runs at An exception is provided in the case of St. Petersburg, for here wp find the vastest crowds surging through the broadest and principal thoroughfare, the Prospekt Nevsky, which is nearly three miles long. Near the Vladimirsky Prospekt the pedestrian traffic is densest, frequently approaching 30,000 per hour, with a daily total of nearly 300,000. These figures are the same as for Berlin's busiest spot, but, whereas the narrow Friedrichstrasse is frequently overcrowded, the capacity of the Prospekt Nevsky is rarely taxed to anything like its full amount. On occasions, owing to its great width, as many as 80,000 pedestrians have passed MADRID (PUERTO DE.L SOL)—350,000 PERSONS PASS IN A DAY. From a PkotitQraph by To^icttl I'rett Agency. right angles to the Unter den Linden and is considerably less than half as wide. At some points, near the junction of these two thoroughfares, the traffic is particularly heavy, especially during the afternoon and evening. During this part of the day the traffic of pedestrians attains to 30,000 per hour, and the total for the day amounts to some 300,000. Again, in Vienna, the most popular street is not the Ringstrasse, one of the finest streets in the world, which encircles the kernel of the city, but the Graben, in the heart of the busi- ness portion of Vienna. Here the number of foot-passengers amounts to 275,000 daily. and repassed within an hour. The busiest centre of Parisian life is the small space in front of the Opera House, where both pedes- trian and vehicular activity extend far into the night. According to the police figures, the Place de 1'Opera, at its junction with the Boule- vards, is traversed by 63,000 vehicles and 450,000 pedestrians daily.

THE WORLD'S BUSIEST SPOTS. 143 At certain hours of the evening both foot- ways of the Boulevards are occupied by a dense moving mass, progressing, however, at a pace scarcely more than half that of the London crowd at the Bank of England, which is declared to average four miles an hour, and frequently is almost on the run, whereas the only hurrying figures in the Paris crowd are the newsboys. It is said that since the establishment of the underground railway in Paris the ten- dency is for the numbers to diminish, or at least to remain stationary. The same result was anticipated in London when the under- ground electric railways were first introduced. When the Central London Railway was opened numbers remaining on the surface. On the con- trary, the pedestrians have increased in num- bers, and the omnibuses, which it was thought would be reduced almost to vanishing point in the principal streets, have increased and multiplied in the most unexpected manner. Whatever may be the case in Paris, the Londoner is fond of travelling and is quick to avail himself of the CHICAGO (STATE 5TBKT) — NEARLY 400,00 >Vwm a fkotoytaiA by Topical /^ress .I IN A DAY. it was expected to clear half the traffic out of Oxford Street and greatly relieve the congestion which frequently occurred there. The actual result has been precisely the reverse, not only in Ox- ford Street, but all over London. Paradoxical as it may seem, the fact that millions of passengers now travel underground has not caused the least diminution in the increased facilities for getting from place to place. But it is not only on this side of the world that crowded streets are to be found. One of the most densely-peopled spots in the world is O-dori Street, Tokio. The long thoroughfare known as Ginza, which runs from near the Shimhashi railway station to Spectacles Bridge, is made up of several streets with different names, some wide and modern, some old-fashioned and narrow, and if the earth were suddenly to gape open wide in that portion known as O-dori Street, at any hour of the day, there is no other thoroughfare in the Japanese city where the results to

144 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. n human life would be more fatal. For here the tide of human life runs the highest. But 0-dori Street is extremely narrow, so that the den- sity of the crowd does not make the daily figures much above the 300,000 mark. At the pointshown in the photograph the throng about the open- air bazaar is densest. Unlike most of the other important cities of the world, this thickly-popu- lated commercial district neighbouring Calle Mayor are never deserted at any hour of the twenty-four. Conse- quently the daily average of 350,000 persons does not indicate a crowd of any very great density, considering the space to be covered, at any portion of the day. But it is to America that one naturally turns for big figures to rival those of London. Chicago boasts a human ganglion in State Street, where nearly 400,000 people pass and repass on foot during the day. In New York the figures approach those of London, and largely exceed it if we count the actual number of persons on foot and in vehicles alike. For in Broadway, at the junction with Herald Square, it is stated that 700,000 pass daily. But this includes the passengers NtW YORK (BROADWAY)—NEARLY SOO,OOO PERSONS 1'ASS t'nrn a PhaloyrtiiJt III] LIAILY. lUndtn of Tokio is situated out- side the city walls. A very different type of crowd is that to be seen every day in the Puerto del Sol, in Madrid. It is the junction of no fewer than ten of the main streets of the city,and the place of most pedestrian and vehicular traffic. It is capable of containing crowds of enormous magnitude; but the Puerto del Sol and the by tram-car, the foot- passengers alone being well under 500,000. All these crowds are different one from another, for national character shows up strongly in a crowd. It has been remarked that you can pack a British crowd closer within a specified area for a longer time than a French or Italian crowd. It is, perhaps, something of this sort which explains the wonderful success of the London policeman in handling complicated traffic, which has made him in this respect, as in many others, a model for the police of the whole world.

BYLESTONES. By ARTHUR MORRISON. Illustrated by Alfred Leete. ORE than once already 1 have said that Snorkey Timms was not a person of any constitu- tional honesty, except in an oblique and cranky way to- ward such of his intimates as trusted the honour he never claimed to possess. Perhaps his chief personal characteristic was a dislike of the particular form of violence called work ; and no argument could change his views. It ain't that I've never tried work, he said, sucking with much enjoyment at his pipe, just filled from my pouch—his taste in tobacco was almost his only creditable characteristic — you mustn't suppose that. I've tried it right enough, thovigh not often, bein' only 'uman, as you might say. It may pay some, but I don't seem to be that sort. Born different, I s'pose. Why, the hardest work- I ever did— my word, it was a drive, too! —I lost money over — lost it. An' after workin' like two 'orses all night, too ! Fair makes me shudder when I remember it. Somebody had been a- preachin' about honesty to me, I s'pose, like what you do sometimes. So I took on a job as a book - maker's minder — you know what that is, o' course. You just 'ang about your bloke's pitch on the course, an\" if anybody gets makin' a dis- pute with him, or claimin' what your bloke don't mean to pay, or what not, why you just give 'im a push in the jore. O' course, you get it back sometimes, but that's what you're paid for. Choppy Byles was my bloke—he was a nut, and no mistake. There wasn't nothing that Choppy Byles wasn't up to. He was up to such a lot o' things that he kep' two minders reg'lar—and he wanted 'em, too, I can tell ye. We could 'a' done with a few more to 'elp us most times, could me and Jerry Stagg, the other minder. Both of us had either one eye or the other black, permanent, while the flat-racin' season was 10' \"BOTH OF us HAD EITHBR ONE EYE OR THE OTHER BLACK, PERMANENT, WHILE THE FLAT-RACIN' SEASON WAS ON.\" on ; an\" once we went 'ome from Alexander's Park with about three-quarters of a weskit between us an' nothing else on us but bruises. But Choppy Byles, he was all right, and a mile away 'fore the row got into its swing ; he 'ad quite a payin' afternoon. Chipstead Spring Meeting and Felby races is within a few days of each other, and not more'n twenty mile apart—as o' course you know, like any other educated feller. About

i46 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. Nuthatchers had got a chap they fancied could run a good mile. That was enough for Choppy Byles. He was on it. The runnin' chap's name was Dobbin—Jarge Dobbin they called 'im—an' it didn't seem to stand to reason that a chap with a name like that could run a fast mile. What was more, Choppy Byles's memory was wonderful, and, follerin' the Sheffield 'andi- caps rcg'lar, he knew the name o' pretty well everything on two legs that could raise a toddle, and the name o' Jarge Dobbin wasn't one of 'em. But he always wanted the best bargain he could make, did Choppy ; so he began comin' the innocent kid. \" 'E must be a wonderful runner,\" he said, \" this here Dobbin. I s'pose 'e could run a mile in four minutes quite easy ? \" \" Why, no,\" says the Nuthatcher as was pion, not yet. But he'd run a mile on the road in five minutes.\" \" That seems rather slow for sich a very fine runner,\" says Choppy. \" Well, I think he could beat that,\" says Gosling ; and a whole lot o' the others there said they was sure he could. \" Ah ! \" says Choppy. \" Sich a man as him ought. You don't seem to be stickin' up for your pal half enough. I expect you'd be glad to bet big odds he'd do it in four minutes an' three-quarters ? \" \" Why, yes,\" says one chap in the crowd, \" I would.\" An' some o' the others says \" 'Ear, 'ear ! \" But Gosling, he sat con- siderin'. He was a fat, jolly-lookin' feller, but very thoughtful, with sharp little eyes. . \" I wouldn't bet very big odds,\" he says, presently. \" But I'd give a bit of odds he'd do it—say between the forty-fourth and forty-fifth milestones along the main London road here.\" \"'WHAT ODDS?' ASKS CHOPPY, SNAPPIN1 HIM UP QUICK. 'TWO TO ONE?'\" talkin' most—chap called Gosling—\" nobody could do that. The best as was ever done in the world was nearly thirteen seconds more'n that.\" \" Was it ? \" says Choppy, lettin' on to be surprised. \" Well, o' course, I dunno nothin' about them things. I only seemed to 'ave a sort of idea that four minutes would be pretty quick. I s'pose he'd do it all right in four minutes and a 'alf ? \" \" No,\" says Gosling ; \" that's champion- ship time, too. Jarge Dobbin ain't a cham- \" What odds ? \" asks Choppy, snappin' him up quirk. \" Two to one ? \" \" Why, no,\" says Gosling, in his slow way; \"not sich odds as them. Five to four.\" Choppy 'aggled a bit. but he couldn't get the odds no longer. So it was fettled and put down in writin' that jarge Dobbin was to run from the forty-fourth lo the forty-fifth milestone, next day, in four minutes forty-five seconds, if he could, the stakes bein' five quid to four on his doin' it. An' as soon as that

BYLESTONES. was fixed Choppy Bylcs began offerin' side bets all round. \" Not in my \"ouse,\" says the landlord. \" I can't 'ave no bettin' 'ere. I've got my licence to think of. You'll 'ave to go outside if that's your game.\" So everybody got up an' went out. Jist as we came tumblin' out into the lane Choppy gives me a drive in the ribs and whispers., \" 'Ere's your chance to make a bit for your- self. Take the odds, same as me, an' tell Jerry Stagg.\" What his game was o' course I didn't know, but it was pretty clear there was something up his sleeve—it was the sort o' sleeve there's allus something up, was Choppy's. Well, I told you the Xuthatchers were a sportin' lot, but it would ha' surprised you to see the little crowd out there under the stars in that peaceful village a-backin' and a-layin' that evenin'. Choppy Byles, he took every bet he could get, givin' evens when there was no more odds to be got, an' then offerin' odds against—any- thing to pile it up. Jerry Stagg an' me, we got our little bit on soon and stopped ; and sooner or later all the others stopped too, and went 'ome. It was the sort o' place where they go to bed in the middle o' the evenin'. The back door o' the Fox and 'Ounds was left on the latch all night for the potman to come in in the mornin'. Choppy found that out by tcllin' the landlord he'd take a evenin' stroll, and might be in late. So Choppy gave us the tip and went out for his stroll ; and when everybody else was in bed we went out very quiet by the back way, and found Choppy waitin' for us. \" Come along,\" says he. \" Don't make no row, and don't waste time ; there's a job o' work for you two.\" \" Work ? \" says we ; an' I could 'ear Jerry Stagg shudderin' in the dark. \" Yes,\" says Choppy, \" and you'll 'ave to do it smart if you want to win them bets you've made.\" \" 'Ow's that ? \" says I. \" Why,\" says he, \" we're goin' to shove one o' them milestones a bit further along the road. We might win with 'em where they are, but it's always best to make sure.\" Quite a genius, you see, was Choppy Byles —a genius out an' out. How many *ud 'a' thought o' sich a move as that ? Not one in a million. \" But won't they spot it ? \" says Jerry, a bit doubtful. \"Not if we do it careful,\" says Choppy. \" And, besides, what odds if they do ? \\Ye ain't takin' np witnesses, and it's down plain enough, in black an' white. Between the forty-fourth and forty-fifth milestones, it says, an' nothing about 'ow far apart they're to be. Nobody can't get over that. What's more, that chap Gosling, I believe he knows something about them .milestone*. What for should he pick on them two and na others ? And it was him as put it down on the paper, remember—not a mile, but between them stones. It struck me mighty odd at the

148 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" WE SPRKAD OUR COATS WHILE CHOI'PY KNELT DOWN AND STRUCK MORE MATCHES.\" navvies use. It looked as though Choppy Byles's usual luck was in. We shoved a crcwbar and a couple o* shovels and picks on the barrer, and Jerry Stagg had just started wheelin' it down the path to the gate when we got one o' the biggest frights I ever had in my life. We very near ran into a man standing in the gateway. \" Ullo!\" says the man. \" What's all this ? \" \" 'Sh ! \" Choppy whispers to us. \" Not a w:ord ! \" and he shoved in front. \" Good evenin'! \" says he to the chap. \" We thought you'd ha' been in bed, or we'd ha' come round. We just wanted to borrow —hire, that is—the barrer and shovels for a hour or two, to bury a—a dawg.\" \" Well,\" says the chap,\" you've come out a rum time to bury a dawg.\" \" Why, yes,\" says Choppy, \" we 'ave left it a bit late; but we wanted to keep it very private—not 'avin' a licence for the dawg, you see. Now, what should you think might be a fair charge for us borrowin' these things for a couple of hours, strictly private, to bury a dawg ? \" \" Well,\" says the chap, \" it'll come a bit dear. That there Christian wheelbarrer an' things out of a churchyard oughtn't properly to be used to bury a dawg at all —specially a dawg with no licence. There's the strain on my conscience to consider,\" he says. \"Say a quid.\" \" Bit 'igh, ain't it ? \" Choppy says, with his hand in his pocket. He was always a dreadful 'ard 'un to part, was Choppy. \" I told you it 'ud come a bit 'igh,\" says the chap ; \" specially if it's got to be kep' private. A quid.\" So, seein' there was no help for it, Choppy lugged out the money and 'anded over. \" Mind,\" he says, \" this is slrict Q. T.— between ourselves. We'll be careful to put the things back again.\" \" I don't care whether you do or not,\" says the chap, turnin' out o' the gate and chucklin' all over. \" They ain't my things. I only took a look in as I went along ! \" I'd almost 'a' give another quid to see Choppy's face just then, but I could guess it. We shoved out into the \"'BIT 'IGH, AIN'T IT?' CHOPPY SAYS, WITH HIS HAND IN HIS POCKET.\"

BYLESTONES. 149 road, and I could hear Choppy'.; rage almost bustin' out through his ears and nose. \" If it wasn't for givin' away the show,\" he said, presently, as we went along the road. \" we'd have it back out of him. Never mind—I'll get it all back to-morrow. Keep your eyes a-goin' for that milestone.\" It wanted watchin' for in the dark, for there was a lot o' big trees along the hedge just thereabout, which made it darker than ever. Pretty soon we spotted it, however, right in against the bank, with long grass and thistles and what not all round it. The trees sheltered us a bit more here, so we didn't have to waste so many matchesj and there was the \"44 miles \" all right and plain enough. So we set to work. A strange voice says, all of a sudden: \" Look 'ere—I'm sharin' in that! \" Jerry Stagg fell over his spade, and I sat down whop. Choppy Byles spun round with a jump, and there in the road was a chap standin' watchin' us. \" I've bin sittin' over 'Ome Chips 'arf the night workin' out that clue/' says the chap, \" and now I come along and find you diggin' on the very spot. I reckon I share in that treasure.\" This was the time when the buried-treasure rage was on, as you'll remember. All sorts o' papers buried money all over the shop, and parties was a-diggin' and pokin' about every- where after it. We was relieved A STRANGE VOICE SAYS, ALL OF A SUDDEN : ' LOOK 'ERE—I'M SHARIN' IN THAT ! ' \" Me and Jerry did the diggin' and Choppy Byles did the lookin' out—just the department he would choose. It was a sight easier than our job, anyhow, for that ground was very near as hard as the milestone itself. We dug pretty hard for a bit, and then Jerry took hold o' the top o' the stone and gave it a shove. It stood like a rock. \" My wig ! \" says Jerry. \" I wonder 'ow far it goes down ? \" We went at it again, and the more we dug the 'arder the ground got. I never had sich work ; and I was just slackin' off a bit for a rest when we had another startler. the chap wasn't up to our game, but it was a bit awkward. \" What rot!\" says Choppy. \" We're buryin' a dawg ! \" \" Dawg be blowed !\" says the chap. \" Show me your dawg ! \" \" Certainly not,\" Choppy says, very decided. \" It's a private dawg. You've done the clue wrong, that's what it is. Go back and do it again, careful.\" \" I have done it careful,\" says the chap ; \" and now I'll stop here and see if I'm wrong or not.\"

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" No,\" says Choppy Byles, gettin' nasty, \" you won't stop here, not when you come to think of it you won't. When we go out bury in' dawgs, private dawgs, we want to be let alone, see ? And there's three of us, with shovels. No, when you come to think of it, this is what you'll think,\" says Choppy, speakin' more friendly, and gettin' nearer to the chap, with his hand in his pocket again ; \" this is what you'll think. You'll think to yourself, ' 'Ere's three genelmen buryin' a dawg, a private dawg, what they're very grieved over. // I was right about that there treasure,' you'll think, ' why, they're there first anyhow, an' there's three of 'em with shovels and other things just as 'ard, and I'd better not make 'cm angry,' you'l! think. ' I'd better take a friendly quid what they offer me and go a\\vay, and write to the editor of 'Owe Chips for a consolation prize.' That's what you'll think if you're a reasonable chap, as knows what's best and safest.\" \" Well,\" says the chap, steppin' back a bit and speakin' milder, \" I am a-thinkin' something o' the sort, since you put it that way. Only I'm, a-thinkin' the friendly quid ought to be two.\" Choppy was a hard parter in general, but prompt when it paid. \" Here y'are,\" he snapped out ; \" two quid—take 'em and hook it, 'fore^ I change my mind.\" So the chap took the two quid and went off along the road. We listened to hear his foot- steps dyin' away, and then Choppy grabs a pick himself. \" We'll get this over quick,\" he says, \" before any more 'Ome Chippers comes along. Them papers is a public noosance, upsettin\" people's minds like this. But keep a look-out in that there hole, in case that feller's right.\" I don't like thinkin' about the job we had. Nobody ain't got any right to ask me to work again for the rest o' my life after what I did that night. That milestone was like them icebergs you read about—about ten times as much down below as up above. And the ground—well, you'd ha' sworn we'd found a iron mine, all solid metal. Choppy dropped his pick soon and put in all his energy stimulatin' Jerry and me, and gropin' about in the dirt for any odd thing 'Ome Chips might ha' put there. Well, we did it at last. That is, we got the milestone a-lollin' over sideways in a big hole, and we began sich a fight to get it on the wheelbarrer as we'd never gone through before—not even at Alexander's Park. Jerry and me was down the hole heavin' most desprit at the bottom of the stone, and Choppy Byles was haulin' at the top to pull the thing into the barrer, and the chorus was enough to roast the little birds a-sleepin' on the trees overhead. Our tempers was none the better for all this, and before we got the stone fair on the barrer we nearly had a fight among ourselves. I'd ha' sworn I 'card Choppy laughin' at us, but he said it was Jerry, an' Jerry said it was us two, and we never properly

BYLESTONES. \" You get up, old feller, and come along o' me,\" says Choppy, \" and I'll tell you all about it. I got a drink for you a little further up the road—in a flask. It's a beautiful night for a walk ; come alonij—the drink ain't very far off.\" We never knew Choppy had got his flask with him, or it 'ud 'a' been empty long before this, with what we'd gone through. But we got the chap up somehow between us, and him and Choppy went stag- gerin' off along the road the way we'd come. Choppy was gone a most rabun culous long time, and me and Jerry pretty well fell asleep on the milestone -wait- in' -for him. When he came at last he was spittin' and snarlin' with rage like an old tom-cat. \"That there drunken tyke's been and lost my flask,\" he said. \" Swigged it empty and then dropped it in the ditch or somewhere—he didn't know. I've bin grop- in' all over the road and ditch and burnt all my matches, and had to give it up. But he's fast asleep an' safe enough, up against a stile. These here Nuthatch people owe me a bit more over this ; but I'll have it all out of 'em to-morrow. We'll shove this milestone on a bit further still. But spread your coats over it, in case we meet somebody else in this here busy thoroughfare.\" So Jerry and me put our coats over it and started off once more. We didn't go far this time—about fifty or sixty yards. We'd made it a pretty long mile by now, and there was a sort o' place here that seemed a good deal like the one the milestone came from, so we stopped. And here we found the first bit o' reasonable luck since we left the church- yard shed ; the ground seemed pretty soft. So we whanged in with the picks and shovels, and soon had a pretty tidy hole. The boss took a hand quite serious this time, \"D'Y'EAR? TOMBSTONE. WHAT you WANT TOMBSTONE ON MARKER MIDDLE O1 NIGHT FOR?\" for he was gettin' nervous. Not that he was much good. If you get three men as ain't used to it all a-diggin' one hole together on a dark night, you'll find they get a bit tangled up, one way and another. Jerry and me both resigned our appointments several times in that hole, and it was only business considerations as prevented a fight.

152 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \"«OO — OO —OO!' SAYS THE VOICE. 'IT'S MURDER!'\" instructive articles by Aunt Eliza. One penny weekly. We're advcrtisin' it.\" \" Are you ? \" says the tramp. \" Well, I'm a nervous chap and always carry a police whistle. I'll blow it 'ard and advertise 'Ome Chips a little more.\" \" No,\" says Choppy, very hasty, \" don't do that. We don't advertise that way—any- body can blow a whistle.\" \" / can.\" says the trarnp. \" You hear me !\" And he shoved the whistle in his mouth. \" Stow it ! \" says Choppy, scramblin' up the bank. \" Don't do a silly thing like that. You see, we're out buryin' treasure.\" \" All right, I don't mind that,\" says the chap in the hedge. \" Bury it quick, so's T can come an' dig it up. Or give it me now, and save trouble.\" \" That ain't likely.\" says Choppy. \" You don't seem to understand liter'y work. We sha'n't bury no treasure here now. when you've spotted the place; not likely, is it ? But we'll give you five bob to go and sleep some- where else.\" \" Why ? \" asks the tramp. \" I ain't doin' no \"arm, and it's a very nice hedge. No, I don't believe this treasure yarn. My theory's murder. It's a habit I don't 'old with, is murder. I never allow a murder under two quid ; and this whistle's a very loud 'un. Don't you get no nearer—I'm nervous.\" Choppy Byles looked up at the tramp and down at us, helpless. Then he pulled out the money and handed it over. The tramp was off in a jiffy ; and presently we could hear him whistlin' a little tune a long way off. I believe he did that to give us another scare. \" Two more this peaceful village owes me,\" says Choppy. \" Just till to-morrow.\" So we tumbled that milestone into the hole, holus-bolus, and shovelled in the earth quick and stamped it down. There was a rare lot there was no room for, but we kicked it about among the long grass and made it pretty tidy. And then we went home. We put the things back all right in the churchyard shed, and we crawled very quiet into the Fox and 'Ounds ( not very long afore the potman. In the mornin', after breakfast, Choppy Byles says to the landlord, in a casual sort o' way, \" I s'pose you're goin' to see the runnin' match this afternoon ? \" \"Why, yes,\" says the landlord. \"I did think o' goin' over after dinner.\" \" Where is it ? \" asks Choppy, inno- cent as putty. \" I don't know my way about here.\" \" Well,\" the landlord says, takin' him to the window, \" you see the church right away there to the right ? \" \" Yes,\" says Choppy. \" Well, the forty-fourth

BYLESTONES. that we'd gone and made the mile a lump shorter instead of longer ! And such a lump ! \" Look out ! \" says Jerry, very sudden. \" There's Gosling comin' up the lane with another chap. Get behind the hedge! \" There was a gate close by, and we nipped in like winkin'andstooped behind the hedge. It was Gosling, sure enough, with a pal, talkin'andlaughin' like anything. He seemed to have a lot to say, but we only heard 'one bit, and that was enough. \" Five quid and a silver flask,\" says Gosling, \"not to mention a night's fun. But that'll be nothing to the afternoon's!\" We three just sat down behind that hedge and looked at each other like wax- works. We saw a whole new picture- show of that awful night in two seconds, us workin' and them peepin' and laughin'. Then says Choppy Byles, \" My bag's in the bedroom at the Fox and 'Ounds. Cheaper to leave it there. Foller the railway line. We'll hoof it.\" So we did. \" ' FIVE QUID AND A SILVER FI.ASK,' SAYS GOSLINO, 'NOT TO MENTION A NIGHT'S FUN.'\" \" U'E I.OOKRD UP, AND THERE WAS A MONSTROUS SORT OK RAGGED HEAD t.OOKIN1 DOWN AT US.\" Vol. x!!v.-t1.

Test-Match Cricket. Some Contrasts and Comparisons. By J. 13. l~IOj3l3S. Illustrated ty C. Grave. CRICKET has struck its roots \\_s deep into the heart of Empire, and wherever the game is played it is the same in spirit, but in detail very different. Wickets, for instance, present a problem of never-failing interest and variety. At home we get wickets of all sorts, but in no circumstances do we ever behold in Eng- Tbe Problem land anything like of Wickets, some I have seen on tour. Take the wicket at Johannesburg, for example—a matting pitch stretched in the middle of a playing-ground completely devoid of grass. Not a blade is visible, nothing but the hard, red earth, over which the ball zips and skips like a thing of life. If you are fielding at Johannesburg and one gets past you, it is a shocking waste of energy to run after the ball if it has been anything like hit. In other parts of South Africa you may find a matting pitch with grass out-field- ing, and at Cape Town the matting pitch is laid on grass. Here we have something utterly foreign to first-class cricket in England. A ball never rears up or does unex- pected things on a matting pitch, but I should say that as a rule it comes a little higher to the bat. They are fast, too, those matting pitches, often a good bit faster than even what is called a fast wicket at home. The bowler has plenty of scope on them, as the surface holds quite well enough to enable a break- ing ball to get in its bite and come twisting off the pitch in a way which gives full value for every atom of spin. But the leather does nothing more or less than this on a matting pitch—there are none of those little accidental effects which at times surprise both batsrnan and bowler on a turf wicket. All this makes a difference, so much that it takes some time to get used to matting after grass, or vice versa. This difference tells with the best of players—Aubrey Faulkner, for ex- C. A. F.ulkner. George Hint. F. R. Foster. A TRIO OK \"ALL-ROUNDERS.\" ample. In any part of the globe he would be worth a prominent place in a world's eleven, but on a South African pitch I should write him down as die best all-rounder now living. Mention of all- All-round round cricketers Cricketers. reminds me that, although often used, the adjective \" great\" is, I

TEST - MA TCH CRICKET. '55 cricket with dramatic effect. And when he does appear he is sure to be played, even if he can scarcely hold a bat and his fielding would hardly be good enough for ordinary Saturday-afternoon cricket. This, however, marks the limit of the specialist in our very best cricket. There are so many really tip-top batsmen that shaky fielding cannot be overlooked to give a man a chance who might make a century in any cricket. The wicket-keeper \"BLY1HK COULD WRHK A FINE BOOK ABOUT 'BALLS BAISMKN DO NOT LIKE.' \" is an exception, of course, but even he is expected nowadays to be more or less handy with the bat, to be \" all - round at least to the ex- tent of making a useful stand at a pinch. Yes, the all-round player is the man, and when he is really first- class what a power he is ! Take Aubrey Faulkner, one of the first three bats in the world, in my opinion. Suppose he gets out for a duck, as the very best have done times ever since the stone age of cricket. Well, he is quite likely to get good wickets at rummage-sale prices with those insidious googhes of his, especially as he puts them up quite fast for the class of ball. And what an ideal cricket tcmi>erament he has, to be sure ! F. R. Foster is another of the all-round brigade, and we must not forget George Hirst, Frank Tarrant, and Warwick Arm- strong in this connection. And \" there are others,\" plenty of them, but there is no need to write more •8 on the importance and value of the all-round performer. The mind turns naturally from George Hirst to tlie gentle art of mak- ing a ball swerve during its flight through the air, and I may state at once that in this particular line in the trun- „ dling department rTe' the Yorkshireman serves up some wonderful samples. I should say he makes a ball swerve more than any other bowler. A couple of feet is nothing at all extraordinary when George is on the warpath, and I think I have seen him do a good deal more than that at times. Un- doubtedly he can make a ball swerve at will, but only in one direction. A. E. Relf is the only bowler I know who can make a ball swerve either way to any extent, although J. W. H. T. Douglas does the same

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. have duly entered and indexed in a fairly large ledger all the chinks in our armour. There are always two balls at least which a batsman does not like. One is the first, which may be any- thing, and the other the last, which you know so little of that it knocks your middle stump out. Some- times you get the two in one fell swoop—that you like least of all. The last ball causes plenty of con- troversy. Very few men can really tell exactly what the one did which removed the bails or uprooted the \"YOU HAVE TO ALMOST CLIMB INTO THK AIR TO GET ON TOP OF IT.\" sticks. Back in the pavilion it is funny to hear their statement of what the fatal ball did, for in nine cases out of ten it is quite erroneous. \" That was a good one which bowled me. Came right across from six inches outside the off stump,\" is quite a common remark in the circumstances. Now, you who have been watching at the other end of the pitcn know very well that it did nothing of the kind, but that it was a simple good-length one, which got outside the bat in a totally incom- prehensible manner. But if you are wise you will not say so—if you do you will not be believed. You had far better agree with the victim, and if you care to add a couple of inches to the break as a salve to his feelings, so much the better for your future relations. No one likes a yorker, especially one on the leg stump early in the innings, before the eye has got accustomed to correctly gauging the flight of the little red imp. A really good yorker is about \" Y k \" t'ie ^est tmnS to '\"' serve up to a man who is the least bit shaky at beginning, and quite a number of trundlers make a regular practice of trying to bowl it, sometimes as the very first ball. George Thomp- son is the most capable exponent of the yorker I have batted against. I suppose the most disliked ball of all is the one which, pitching a good length, and which in the ordinary way you could play forward to and smother or force away with ease, rears up sud- denly, or \" stands on end,\" as we say, and which you have to almost climb into the air

TEST-MATCH CRICKET. 157 \"THK BALL SWERVES AWAY AND SPINS OFF HIS FINGER-TIPS.\" it flies from the pitch—I should say no other trundler can get quite so much \" stuff \" on a ball—and as he keeps an unimpeachable length, he is one of those remarkable bowlers who may do almost anything on his day. The art of playing the googlie is, in my opinion, a matter of ex- tremes. You must either go right forward and smother the ball on the pitch, or else wait for the break, keep your The Art of fyc fixe(1 \"n the' Playing ball until the last possible fraction the Googli*. £ timej and p]ay back as far as you dare. From this it will be seen that everything depends on quick and accurate judgment of length, on deciding without the least hesitation whether you will go ripht forward and play the ball, so that it does not matter what spin it may carry, or stay at home, use your feet, and bring the middle of the bat smack on the leather when you can sec everything the ball is doing. The fatal thing is to be caught between two minds—a remark which applies to every ball, googlie or not, but which is much more likely to happen when the batsman is playing a googlie. Which, to my rrind, accounts for the strength of this form of attack. The googlie, more than any other ball, is apt to make the batsman think of two things at once, some- times perhaps three or four tilings at once, and before he has made up his mind what he will do he is either out or the howler has had hard luck. \"He who hesitates is lost\" every time to the googlie bowler, but the man who acts with decision has the googlie man more than half beaten before he takes his guard against him. Ho much for playing the googlie ; scoring off it is quite another matter. The \" hit out or get out \" policy is not the least use. If you try to knock a googlie bowler off he will be much obliged The Strain of to >r°u- Be con- Bowling Real tent to put as much willow as you Googlies. ran jn Ae 'way of the good ones, and those which are just a little faulty tap with care for a. single or a couple. Depend upon it the strain of bowling real googlies must tell, and when the stuff begins to

'53 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 'SENDS THE OFF STUMP CART-WHEELING PAST THE WICKET - KEKPER.\" whizzing ball strikes the fingers anywhere near the tips, or either side of the hand, away it goes, per- haps for four. Sharp work in the slips and fast bowling go together, as W. Brearley must be well aware. I should say he is the best fast bowler in present-day cricket, as he puts up that unplayable Some Great one oftener than Bowlers. any other trundler of his type. The ball I mean is pitched a perfect length, comes along like lightning, does just a little after it pitches, makes the batsman shape to do all sorts of things at once, beats him easily while he is shoving his bat forward in an \" iffing \" sort of way, and sends the off stump cart-wheel- ing past the wicket-';eeper like an acrobat. Such a baA is fair value for the wicket of any batsman, and as W. Brearley seems to have more of that sort up his sleeve than any other bowler, he enters a class by himself on that account. For sheer pace, however, Hitch is quite as speedy, \" BKKARLEY SEEMS TO HAVE MORF. OF THAT SORT UP HIS SLK.EVE THAN ANY OTHER BOWLER.\" and gets in a real \" snorter\" at times with dire effect. J. W. MacLaren, the fast bowler of the present Australian team, is not so fast as Cotter, and Cotter is not so speedy as he'used to be, to say nothing of his arm having dropped a little. The new man played against us in the last Test Match in Australia is built on bigger lines than Cotter, but seems to lack that little bit of extra pace which makes all the difference in Test cricket. Another type of fast bowler is the man who does not do anything very swift while the ball is in the air, but makes it nip off the pitch like a flash. F. R. Foster did this with wonderful effect in Australia. His bowling could not be called fast in the ordinary way, but he made the ball zip off the Foster. pitch as quickly as Barnes. ^ a rea' ^ast bowler had delivered it. All the time he was swinging them away to leg in a manner which was simply marvellous, so it is not to be wondered that the best bats in Australia did not like him a little bit. Sid Barnes, the greatest orthodox bowler in the world, is at once brought to mind by the mention of Foster's

TEST-MATCH CRICKET. '59 takes toll in that direction of every ball which offers a scoring chance, and when in the right vein has a happy knack of running up big scores in quick succession—as those who saw him make 130 and 136 during that memorable Test Match at the Oval in 1909 will bear witness. He seems to have Memorable a liking for certain Test Match, grounds — Leyton and the Oval in particular. Roy Minnett, who played against us in each of the five Tests \" down under,\" is a bat of the punishing type, and a bowler of no mean calibre into the bargain. He hits with tremendous force, and is decidedly the kind of batsman who scatters the spectators near the boundary when he makes up his mind to hit a ball. Others in the i*->f*B Plodders. \"SYD GREGORY HITS TREMEN- DOUSLY HARD.\" a question of enterprise, of striking the happy mean between rash hit- ting and over-caution. The latter tendency is most likely to predomi- nate in men new to Test cricket, in spite of the fact that ultra-steady batsman before he has made up his mind that the time has arrived to take the least risk. The bat who likes to spend a couple of hours or ' so in playing him- self in before set- ting about the bowling in earnest is not only flying in the face of for- tune, but, in modern high-class cricket, is also a constant source of encouragement to a bowler. The truncllcr thinks he has his man afraid of him, and keeps on giving of his very best. Bowlers of to-day refuse to have the edge worn off their attack by the steady plodder, but they are always to be knocked off by a hitter. \" When the hitter comes off,\" I hear the critics exclaim, and I admit that in the best of cricket the man who tries to knock \"THE KIND OF BATSMAN WHO SCATTERS THE SPECTATORS NKAR TUB BOUNDARY. team who might be mentioned have plenty of runs in them, and if only some of the new men let themselves go I shall not be in the least sur- prised to see more than one batting reputation made during the tour. But, in my opinion, it will be largely batting is absolutely fatal if it inter- feres with the natural style of a man, and always seems to me a leaning in the wrong direction in every case, except that of the born stone-waller. The fortune of the game is always

i6o THE STRAND MAGAZINE. the while a man is at the wicket he has two main chances—one to get runs, the other to get out. If he treats run-getting as something that G. L. JESSOP, \"THE UNORTHODOXY OF CRICKET.\" batsman are going to do in given circumstances, but what the ball will do, and frequently he has to make up his mind on tie last point The Good WIcKet- Keeper. can wait for half-volleys and full tosses, he is not only unattractive to watch, but is also unsound in the highest cricket sense of the word. Time is against him all the while he is pottering about strictly on the defensive,and there Pottering is quite enough About. ,, luck in cricket, quite enough \" glorious uncertainty \" to make it unwise to neglect every possible chance of scoring. But there is a mean in all things, and the man who scores at a fairly good pace is the best to my way of thinking, and, within reasonable limits, the faster he scores the better he plays. Beyond a certain limit, however, fast scoring brings us to the un- orthodoxy of genius, to such batsmen as Kenneth Uutchings and G. L. Jessop. Having dared to bracket these two, I suppose I had better define what I mean by an \"unortho- dox \" bat. Well, imagine two balls bowled by the same man at exactly the same pace and alighting on exactly the same spot, and imagine a batsman hitting each for four in totally different directions, and you have my notion of an un- orthodox bat. Either G. L. Jessop or Kenneth Hutchings would do this, and therefore I call them both \" unorthodox,\" with the added comment that the Gloucester skipper would be more likely to hit both balls for six. C. B. Fry hits a ball with very great force, but always all along the ground in the most approved style. It is astonishing the power he gets into these strokes. In fact, he hits so hard before the wicket that when I have been in with him I have always kept a wary eye on his bat when backing up —it would be a very serious matter to stop a straight

TEST-MATCH CRICKET. 161 Fielding. pitch of perfection than it is in the Old Country. I am speaking now of the general level, not of excep- tional fieldsmen, who are more born than made. Such a cover-point as Syd Gregory or G. L. Jessop, for instance, is more gifted than trained, and I should say the same of Gordon White, the South African. David Denton in the long field or at deep third man is another great fields- man, and the daring work of Hitch on the leg side is something to marvel at. Vernon Ransford is the world's champion out-field, in my opinion. To see him pick up and return a ball in one action when running at top speed is a treat to behold. He does it so accu- rately, too, always return- ing the ball either with a 'THE DARING WORK OF HITCH ON THE TO MARVEL AT.\" LEG SIDE IS SOMETHING mid-on you can never tell how the ball will come at you, or how hard it will come. Many grand bats depend more on smashing than placing when hitting to the on, and batsmen are trying to steal a short run. Before laying down my pen 1 should like to say a little concerning a subject which was much discussed not so very long ago. At the time in question we heard a great deal about the alleged decadence of England as a cricketing power. In this connection so many people seem to forget that in cricket, as in all other things, there is an ebb and flow of talent. Sometimes the gods are more kind to our Colonial kins- men than to our- selves, but in due course the swing of the pendulum comes our way, and we are on top again for the time being. This, to my mind, is the best way to regard the see-saw of form in Imperial cricket, and is at any rate far better than blaming selection committees, writ- ing doleful diatribes about \" deca- dence,\" and hinting darkly that it is affecting other cherished national institutions besides our cricket. The Swing of the Pendulum. \"SFRUDWICK IS GIVEN TO BRI>GING OFF MARVELLOUS

JANET'S TROUSSEAU By LOUISE JORDAN MILN. Illustrated by H. M. Brock, R.I. TIE governess stood at the schoolroom window and looked disconsolately out into the April rain, and wished that something would happen —anything, almost—to break her drab monotony. She had been wishing so for thirty years, ever since she sat—a discontented little girl of five—and hemmed coarse dusters for a Spartan grandmother. And nothing ever had happened. Life had been one long, grey grind. Womanhood had slowly changed the pupil- teacher into the timid nursery governess, who, with the years, had seared (rather than grown) into Miss Ridley, the governess. She was earning sixty pounds -a year now —and a comfortable \" home.\" Mrs. Arm- strong was kind, if preoccupied and rather indifferent. The children might have been very much worse. And so she was duly grateful to fate. She counted her blessings often, and made the most of them, in her naturally sunny little mind. Such few holidays as she was unable to fill with temporary engagements she spent at Bosham, lodging in a tiny grey cottage that overhung the salt sea—and it was her avarice-dream one day to own its fellow and live her last years there, with one liny maid (an orphan girl, to whom she'd be kind) and a good dog or two. She hated cats. But to-day she was frankly miserable. The touch of spring in the April air was madden- ing. The wine of life ran red, and new growth was teeming everywhere—except for her. Janet sighed despondently and turned back to her big work-basket. She thought that perhaps she had a touch of malaria or of some obscure spring malady —though she had never had a day's illness in her life. Or perhaps she was feeling dull and foolish, in sympathy with the general reaction and blight that had fallen upon the entire establishment since the last wedding. For the Limes had recently suffered an epidemic of marriage. Alice and Maude, the twin daughters, had had a double wedding in January. In February Mrs. Armstrong's maid had married the butler and gone with him to preside over a lodging-house at East- bourne. In March Frank, the eldest son, had married. And only last week Caroline, Mr. Armstrong's niece and ward, had been married to a neighbouring squire. Two of the servants were off on a well- earned holiday. The housekeeper had taken to her bed with influenza. Tom—the second son—had gone back to his regiment. And Mr. Armstrong had carried off his wife and the two little girls—Janet's charges—to sun- shine and Brighton. The governess was all alone, except for the depleted and fatigued staff of servants. Servants were her heaviest cross always— an experience not unique among governesses.

JANET'S TROUSSEAU. 163 \" The cake is extra nice, miss,\" said Tompkins, \" and the toast is very hot.\" Miss Ridley was speechless with surprise. \" Can I do anything else for you, miss ? \" \" No, thank you, Tompkins,\" said the amazed lady. \" I've given notice, miss. I'm going to be married.\" Miss Ridley gasped. Tompkins—plain, unattractive, old-maidish Tompkins—a bride ! What next ? \" Indeed, I hope you'll be very happy, Tompkins.\" \" Thank you kindly, miss. I'm sure I hope so. And I know it will be my fault if I'm not.\" And when the girl had closed the door Miss Ridley almost thought she her.rd a suppressed humming go with Tompkins down the hall. She got up and went to the window for a moment. The rain had ceased and the sunset was very beautiful. How f.esh and sweet it all looked! And, secure in the family's absence and the housekeeper's ill- ness, Anne, the youngest and pret- tiest housemaid, a girl still in her 'teens, was saunter- ing down a garden path with the good- looking groom. The very servants found their share of life's blessing. But none for her 1 She shook herself and marched back resolutely to her tea. She ate and drank— and it did her good. Tompkins had brought her cream—rich, yellow cream. Then she went to the departed twins' old dressing- room. Brave with ever}' luxury, necessity, and absurdity of twin lavish trousseaux, they had bestowed a large collection of old clothes upon Janet, bidding her do anything she liked with them. She wondered what use she could make of the dainty, half-worn things. It was an inflexible rule of Mrs. Armstrong's mlnage that no garment that had been worn by a member of the family should ever be given to a servant—and it was quite out of the question that Janet should take any of them for her own use. She was far too proud for that. In fact, the idea never crossed her mind. How pretty they were—some of them ! She got up and put the litter of delicate

164 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. self a \" vulgar goose,\" and stuffed the sisters' dainty gowns ruthlessly into wardrobe and drawer. She had had lovers of a tepid sort in her younger days. But one, whom she had only liked, had been too poor, too nearly invalid ; one she had not even liked. She was thinking of them both as she went back to her mending. And she thought of Tompkins with the new comeliness on her face, the new kindness in her eyes, the new softness in her voice. Ah ! she had it ! She would beg Mrs. Armstrong to relax—just this once—her rigid rule, and allow her to give the plainer of the twin brides' dis- carded raiment to Tompkins. Tompkins was in the schoolroom when the governess opened the door. The tea-tray- had disappeared, and the maid was putting all tidy. \" I brought a letter up to you, miss,\" the servant said. \" And shall I take the cat away ? \" \" Please do.\" said Janet, really gratefully. \" Good night, miss/' said the maid, grasping the wheezing basket in both arms. \" It's my night out. James will bring your supper. I hope it's good news, miss.\" Janet sat and gazed at her letter, rather dazed. She turned the envelope over. The handwriting and the firm name on the back told her equally little—nothing. Nor did the postmark tell her more. She knew no one in London, W.C. The letter was brief—but she had to read it more than twice before she half understood it. Then the lonely woman leaned back trembling against the huge mending basket and let the slow, silent tears have their gentle way with her, Messrs. Grant and Slaughter—so they wrote—regretted to inform her that her cousin, Andrew Wilson—whom she had particularly disliked—was deceased ; they begged to inform her that he had died intes- tate ; and they were pleased to have the honour of informing her that her share of their late client's estate was about two thou- sand pounds ; they awaited her commands ; and they were her obedient servants. \" Good news \" ! She thought no news had ever been half so good. But after a few days she began to wonder if it were so very good, after all. She was afraid to face life alone—just yet. After much feverish thought and counter-thought she concluded that for the present, at least, she would leave life as it was. After all, two thousand pounds was not much. She would let it grow a bit. Eighty pounds a year was little enough for her to live on in her old age. Even with the income of her careful savings added, the little cottage would need to be tiny indeed, and the mistress's economy minute. Her decision once reached, she felt her old, sunny self again, and moved about the empty rooms with many a smile and soft snatch of

JANET'S 7ROUSSEAU. '65 ance could not well fall under twenty-three hundred pounds, and might possibly reach two or even three hundred more. He, William Smith, put it down at very nearly exactly twenty-five hundred. And there were a few knick-knacks—pictures, clocks, books, etc.—that must be amicably divided among the heirs or sold to the highest bidder. \" Please attend to it all for me, and do just as you think best. I do not understand such things in the least,\" said Janet, impulsively. a man of success, and my lines of life have stayed in humble places. But we were great friends thirty years ago, and even now we lunch together sometimes. I do not know his family. I live very quietly, of course, at Highgate, with an invalid sister.\" \" That settles it,\" said Janet, firmly. \" You are to take charge of my little matter, if you kindly will.\" Smith bowed. \" Our firm will be pleased and honoured,\" with old-fashioned and elabo- '\" PLEASE ATTEND TO IT ALL FOR MB, AN'I) DO JUST AS YOU THINK BEST. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND SUCH THINGS,' SAID JANET.\" William Smith smiled, a wonderful, kindly smile that lit the dull little room with friendli- ness, and made his somewhat ovine face fairly handsome. \" We shall be delighted to do that, madam, of course, if you so instruct us—and honoured. But would you not rather have outside advice ? We already represent several of the other heirs.\" \" I usually know whom to trust,\" said the woman, shyly but firmly, \" and I should not know whom else to get.\" \" Mr. Armstrong would doubtless advise you as to another firm. I noticed that it was at his country home that I addressed you.\" \" You know Mr. Armstrong—Mr. Neville Armstrong ? \" \" I was his fag at St. Paul's. He has been rate courtesy. \" And I shall be delighted to give your instructions my best attention, madam—my very best attention.\" Janet thanked him and went away. On her return she did not mention her inheritance to anyone. She was too shy. And she feared that her employers might feel, as she did, the grotesqueness of so rich a woman working. The lawyer's clerk kept his word well. He secured all he honestly could to Miss Ridley. And in a few weeks Janet found herself the actual possessor of twenty-four hundred and seventy-six pounds eleven shillings and four- pence, and an old-fashioned but exquisite set of seed pearls that had belonged to the dead man's mother. Before her fortune was finally collected

i66 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. and adjusted it had been necessary for Janet to make several journeys to London. She surprised herself even more than she did Mrs. Armstrong by the ease and intrepidity with which she asked for a day's freedom. But William Smith was less deliberate than lawyers are apt to be, and now there was no further need of Miss Ridley in Essex Street. Beyond the three-guinea hat, she had as yet bought nothing for herself. But with tact as infinite as it was needless she had found out what Tompkins most needed and had supplied it. even making some trifles with her own hands, marking and arranging with lingering, beneficent fingers. Tompkins, dumb with gratitude and sur- prise, took the governess's bounty and departed with scarcely a word. But Miss Ridley hardly noticed it. Her pleasure had been in the doing, and her life had long accustomed her to a paucity of thanks. But she soon felt as occupationless as Othello (it was probably her sole point of resemblance to the Moor), and began fidgeting for some other self-indulgence. She sat by the open window one warm evening, listening to a nightingale that often sang on such nights in the old beech tree. Her ready tears welled gently as the liquid loveliness of the song and the queenly per- fume from the bloom-heavy rose-trees swept her senses, as skilful fingers sweep a harp. She shook herself impatiently, for she had liltle patience with her own sentimentalities. To-morrow she would settle down to a course of stiff, solid reading, and lead once more a sensible life. \" You are a moon-struck old maid ! \" she told herself, disgustedly. Then she slipped again to musing. She wondered if Tompkins were reasonably happy. \" At all events,\" she thought, softly, \" she had a nice outfit. Oh ! how I wonder how it feels to have a trousseau !\" It was at that precise moment that the impish inspiration seized her. And, as ill luck, or good, would have it, it was at that precise moment that Mrs. Armstrong opened the door and came in. If Janet had taken a moment to think she would never have done it. But the school- room lights were not lit, and, before she thought, the words were out, her bridges burnt. \" Mrs. Armstrong,\" she said to that astonished lady, \" I believe it isn't legal to give notice after noon, but, as you're here, perhaps you'll let me tell you now that I must leave you \" (her voice broke a little) \" when—when you can conveniently let me go. I don't want to put you out. I don't want to hurry you, either. And I shall feel leaving my girls very much indeed. But the fact is—I am going to be married.\" \" Well, I never ! \" The words were not as congratulatory or as deft as each woman could have wished, nor was the gasp with which Mrs. Armstrong sank into the chair

JANET'S TROUSSEAU. 167 and every maid in the house made some excuse to proffer assistance. The next morn- ing Janet drove to the station, pink-cheeked, bright-eyed, triumphant. She had six boxes and a luxurious impedimenta of bags and rugs. Mrs. Armstrong stood on the station platform until the train pulled Londonward. And Janet was left alone with her lie, her trousseau, her dismay, and her unplanned future. He went on quickly: \" You are here more pleasantly. I am very glad. Armstrong mentioned one day that the lady who had educated his daughters had just married, and to a gentleman of my full name. I thought it a pleasant coincidence ; but, of course, I did not mention that I had had the pleasure of meeting Miss Ridley—as I remembered how particularly you wished that the Arm- strongs should not know of your inheritance.\" Still the woman was dumb—and he saw that she was cruelly embarrassed. Mystified, and a little embarrassed now him- self, he continued his monologue. \" I trust \"THE NEXT MORNING JANKT UROVE TO THE STATION, PINK-CHEEKEO, BRIGHT-KYKD, TRIUMPHANT.\" Six weeks later—it was mid-November—• the head clerk of Messrs. Grant and Slaughter, dressed in deep black, was strolling aimlessly beside the sea in a tiny Mediterranean town. \" What on earth ! \" he said, with sudden animation and active amazement, and quick- ened his pace. \" I thought I could not be mistaken.\" he said, tritely, to the woman he overtook, a trim, slow-moving figure in unmis- takable Scotch tweed. \" How do you do, Mrs. Smith ? \" Janet wheeled round in panic. \" Oh ! \" was all she said. \" Yes,\" he admitted, \" it is the last place on earth to meet London friends in. I have just come from Rome, where I was sent to see an important client. My errand finished, I had a month's holiday granted me. I came here because I was here once, on a walk- ing tour, with my father, man)', many years ago, and I thought I'd like to recall old days if I could. I am all alone now. My sister died two weeks before I left England.\" Janet tried to say something, but her voice would not come. you will permit me to know my lucky name- sake, and have the pleasure of congratulating him in person.\" Janet shrank against a motherly oleander tree, then burst into tears. Mr. Smith felt greatly relieved. He could not, in the least, imagine what this woman's trouble was, but he was cordially glad to see her \" cry it out.\" His eyes fell upon her hands. Both were bare and ringless. He pursed his lips, as if to whistle, but emitted no sound—a well- established trick of his cloth. So—the man had jilted her at the last, or the lovers had quarrelled. But, no, Armstrong had distinctly spoken of the marriage as having taken place. Janet had buried her face against the old oleander's trunk—but her sobs were ceasing.

i68 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. You can listen to me.\" The lawyer bowed his head. To listen was a large part of his craft, and a part in which he had had life-long training. \" And when you have heard, you will have no further wish to serve me.\" \" I think you are mistaken,\" he said, gravely. \" But let us sit down.\" He meant to hear it all, if he heard any. And he thrust her gently down on to a natural seat on the oleander's twisted roots, and sat down himself. \" Now,\" he said. And she began, eagerly : \" When I begged near whom I cared to live, to whom I could look for some companionship, if I were to give up my occupation as a governess.\" \" I know,\" said the man, slowly. \" I was thinking, as I walked along here, just before I saw you, that I was the loneliest creature on earth. I loved my sister very tenderly. I gave up all other ties or friendships to be the more with her. She needed me, and I wanted nothing but her. She was like you,\" he said, impulsively ; \" you reminded me of her the first day you came to Essex Street. She lacked your fine health of course, but : \"JANET HAD BURIED HER FACE AGA1NT THE OLD OLEANDER'S TRUNK.\" you to be very careful not to mention my money to the Armstrongs—to Mr. Armstrong —I had no object but the one I gave you. I felt that I must go on teaching, because I'd be too lonely doing nothing, and there was nothing else I could do. And I felt that I'd be more comfortable teaching if I went on just as I was, and said nothing about the slight change in my circumstances. I think I was ashamed to own to Mrs. Armstrong that I hadn't a friend or a relative on earth you were very like in several ways—very like. I miss her terribly—terribly. But I wonder, if I could have known how horribly lonely I'd have been after she went, if I should have had the courage to abstain from all other interests—all other ties. But that's idle thinking. It's too late now.\" Janet went on quickly, afraid to lose her courage. \" I was tired of being called an old maid— of being called one, not in the least of being

JAXET'S TROUSSEAU. 169 one. I'd been one so long,\" she added, with unconscious pathos, \" that I was so used to it, that I couldn't possibly have liked anything else—endured anything else.\" \" I wonder ? \" he said, musingly. He had guessed her secret now—in part. \" 1 told Mrs. Armstrong that I was going to be married—just to see her astonishment— yes, and the servants'.\" She was determined to tell the stark, abject truth now. She would make her humiliation complete. That much medicine she could give her soul. She went on rapidly, relentlessly. And William Smith listened to her with a welling heart and eyes on the far horizon. \" I think, perhaps. I had a brain-storm, or some queer, old-maid's dementia. I took four hundred and fifty pounds of the money, you remember ? \" Smith nodded kindly. \" I bought a trousseau. I spent three hundred pounds on clothes.\" \" No ! \" gasped Smith. To him this sum —in relation to apparel—seemed Homeric. \" Three hundred pounds. And I spent another hundred for an engagement-ring.\" The man's thin lips twitched, but his eyes were misted. \" And I took fifty for my wedding trip. I had to pay all the expenses, you see, because there was no husband—not the sign of one. No one ever wanted to marry me.\" She had forgotten the two pale suitors of her youth, honestly forgotten. \" And there was no one I ever wanted to marry. I was lying from beginning to end.\" \" I don't see the harm,\" he said, gently. \" Neither did I—then. But afterwards I did. They began giving me wedding presents.\" The lawyer laughed. \" Oh, don't! \" she cried. \" Don't you see the horror of it ? I am a thief—a common thief. I tried to confess—again and again. But I couldn't. So I went on with it to the end. And I must have nearly a hundred pounds' worth of stolen goods. I can't eat, I can't sleep. If only 1 could get clear of that! \" \" We'll find a way,\" he said, gravely. \" That has been the hardest thing to bear —that and the utter loneliness. But it isn't half as hard to speak of as something else is. 1 mean the name.\" \" My dear lady,\" he said, imperatively, \" the name is very honoured. I wish I had a more individual claim on it, that I might the more feel that something of mine had been of service to you.\" \" How good you are ! \" Janet said, brokenly. \" Of course, I did not think of the name being your name.\" \" Of course not. I quite understand.\" Each was very red—at this point—but neither looked even towards the other. \" Mrs. Armstrong cornered me. She would know his name, then and there. And I couldn't think. I had to say something— and I said the' first thing I thought of. I

Twelve-Object Pictures. A PUZZLE FOR ARTISTS. have entitled this article \" A Puzzle for Artists,\" and a puzzle it may well be called. It consists in bringing into one picture a stated number of objects as incongruous and diverse as possible—so much so that at first sight it might well be thought that the task was an utter impossibility. Herewith is the problem which we set before a number of eminent black-and-white artists:— Can you construct a picture from the following list of objects, introducing every item but nothing else except by way of back- ground, and at the same time making your picture tell a coherent story ? 1. A Flying Machine. 2. An Egyptian Mummy. 3. A Pretty Girl. THE ATTEMPTKD ABDUCTION OF THK DUCHESS '\"—MR. H. M. BROCKS SOLUTION. 4. A Swell. 5. A copy of THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 6. A Dog. 7. Sherlock Holmes. 8. A Shadow. 9. A Hospital Nurse. 10. A Cow. n. A Barrel-organ. 12. A Beggar with a Wooden Leg. The following are the results we have received, and we think our readers will agree that Our artists have succeeded in displaying remarkable skill and ingenuity with the materials at their command. Our first solution comes from Mr. H. M. Brock, R.I., who has entitled his drawing \" The Attempted Abduction of the Duchess.\" His plot is, briefly, as follows : The swell has abducted the pretty girl, otherwise the Duchess, and has had her conveyed to a lonely spot on the coast, hidden in- side the mummy- case. The aero- plane is at hand to take the girl across the water, and it will be seen that the swell, although, doubtless, a vil- lain of the deep- est dye, has at least some con- sideration for the welfare of his captive, for he has brought the hos- pital nurse with him in case of need—a necessary precaution, for the girl's journey in the mummv- case appears to have disagreed with her. This

TWEL VE - OBJECT PICTURES. 171 however, is, it is quite clear, doomed to failure, for Sherlock Holmes is hot on the trail, taking cover behind the cow. Also what appears to be a wandering one-legged beggar with a barrel - organ is really a Scotland Yard detective in disguise, busily engaged in taking notes. Finally, the purchased the mummy, neatly wrapped up in brown paper, as an ornament for the home —and what more natural ? The pity of it is that Mr. Leete has introduced a messenger- boy to carry the mummy, a character not on the list supplied him, but his working out of the problem is in many ways so good that \"THE MYSTERY OF THK LOST LEFT LEG,\" BY MR. A. LKETE. shadow is that of a policeman guided to the spot by the dog, who has scented from afar a copy of THE STRAND MAGAZINE, dropped by the conspirators. This is a capital solu- tion of the problem ; Mr. Brock has not only introduced every item on the list, but he has given each one a plausible part in the working out of his plot. In one respect only he is open to criticism, for he has given us only a mummy-case, instead of a mummy. Mr. Alfred Leete has only used the cow and the aeroplane as minor details in his otherwise extremely entertaining and ingenious picture ; they do not come into the plot, and neither does the organ. This artist's central figure is the wooden-legged beggar, placarded \" Blind and paralised,\" and accompanied by the dog, but his blindness is only assumed for business purposes, for, as will be seen, he is deep in the pages of THE STRAND MAGAZINE. The girl and the swell have caught him \" off duty,\" and are evidently highly amused. These young people have, seemingly, deve- loped into a newly-married couple and have he may be forgiven. His beggar is really a most fraudulent person ; his wooden leg is a sham, and he has thrust his real one through a hole artfully contrived in the fence. On the other side of the fence Sherlock Holmes, having been fetched by the hospital nurse, whose professional instincts were doubtless aroused by the sight, is wrestling with the problem of \" The Mystery of the Lost Left Leg.\" The shadow, Dr. Watson, looks on approvingly. The aeroplane and the cow are the most prominent features in Mr. Starr Wood's masterpiece, representing a racecourse scene, which he has entitled \" Aeroplane v. Cow —a race meeting of the future, only to be seen in the Strand.\" The race is evidently a handicap, for the aeroplane is winning by a short plane only. A very solemn-looking Sherlock Holmes holds the tape, and Mr. Wood has cleverly disposed of the difficult problem of the mummy by making it the first prize. The girl and the swell play the parts of spectators, but are seemingly more intent on their own affairs than in the result

172 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. has the hospital nurse in the shape of a waxwork figure of Florence Nightingale. Holmes is also a waxwork and has a dual personality, as he is disguised as the wooden- legged beggar; he also plays the organ and holds, appropriatel y enough, the copy of THE STRAND MAGAZINE. An- other exhibit is theflyingmachine, probably the first ever made, as, also, is the dog, whichhasacquired three and a half tails in order to qualify him as a freak, and for a like reason the cow has developed six horns. The re- maining item, the shadow, is the proprietor of the museum, seen through the window, exhorting the populace to step up and see the finest show on earth. Here once more is MK. STAkK WOOD CALLS HIS EFFORT \" AEROPLANE V. COW—A RACK MEETING OF THE FUTURE, ONLY TO BE SEKN IN THE STRAND.\" of the contest; and this, of course, is a weak point in his composition, as the puzzle is only partially solved. The wooden-legged beggar plays the barrel-organ, but apparently with faint hope of pecuniary gain. The hospital nurse is seen admonishing the dog, which, with no little acrobatic skill, is balancing a copy of THE STRAND MAGA- ZINE on its nose. And, finally, the shadow is appa- rently that of a gentleman who is inspecting the prize—possibly he is the owner of the aeroplane. Mr. Harry Rountree breaks entirely new ground, having put all the items on the list in an American Dime Museum. The swell is escorting the pretty girl round the show. The mummy has become one of the exhibits, and so MR. HARRY ROUNTREE HAS PLACED ALL THE ITEMS IN THE LIST IN AN