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The Strand 1913-3 Vol_XLV №267 March mich

Published by Vector's Podcast, 2021-09-29 18:00:41

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\"IT IS, IN MY OPINION, THE END OF THE WORLD.\" (SEE PAGE 255.)



244 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. It was upon Friday, the twenty-seventh of August—a date for ever memorable in the history of the world—that I went down to the office of my paper and asked for three days' leave of absence from Mr. McArdle, who still presided over our news department. The good old Scotchman shook his head, scratched his dwindling fringe of ruddy fluff, and finally put his reluctance into words. \" I was thinking, Mr. Malonc, that we could employ you to advantage these days. I was thinking there was a story that you are the only man that could handle.\" \" I am sorry,\" said I. \" Of course, if I am needed, there is an end of the matter. But the engagement was important and intimate. If I could be spared \" \" Well, I don't see that you can.\" It was bitterly disappointing, but I had to put the best face I could upon it. After all, it was my own fault, for I should have known by this time that a journalist has no right to make plans of his own. \" Then I'll think no more of it,\" said I, with as much cheerfulness as I could assume. \" What was it that you wanted me to do ? \" \" Well, it was just to interview that deevil of a man down at Rotherfield.\" \" You don't mean Professor Challenger ? \" \" Aye, it's just him that I do mean. He ran young Alec Simpson, of the Courier, a mile down the high road last week by the collar of his coat and the slack of his breeches. You'll have read of it, likely, in the police report. Our boys would as soon interview a loose alligator in the Zoo. But you could do it. I'm thinking—an old friend like you.\" \" Why,\" said I, greatly relieved, \" this makes it all easy. It so happens that it was to visit Professor Challenger at Rotherfield that I was asking for leave of absence. The fact is, that it is the anniversary of our main adventure on the plateau three years ago, and he has asked our whole party down to his house to see him and celebrate the occasion.\" \" Capital! \" cried McArdle, rubbing his hands and beaming through his glasses. \" Then you will be aole to get his opeenions out of him. In any other man I would say it was all moonshine, but the fellow has made good once, and who knows but he may again ! \" \" Get what out of him ? \" I asked. \" What has he been doing ? \" \" Haven't you seen his letter on ' Scientific Possibeelities ' in to-day's Times 1\" \" No.\" McArdle dived down and picked a copy from the floor. \" Read it aloud,\" said he, indicating a column with his finger. \" I'd be glad to hear it again, for I am not sure now that I have the man's meaning clear in my head.\" This was the letter which I read to the news editor of the Gazette :—

THE POISON BELT. 2-15 . • the little and obscure planetary system to which we belong. A third- rate sun, with its ragtag and bobtail of insignificant satellites, we float under the same daily conditions towards some unknown end, some squalid catastrophe which will over- whelm us at the ultimate confines of space, where we are swept over an etheric Niagara, or dashed upon some unthinkable Labrador. I see the mighty ocean of ether through which we no room here for the shallow and ignorant drift, and that the bunch of corks represents optimism of your correspondent, Mr. James_ \" HE RAN YOUNG Al.EC SIMl'SON, OF THE ' COURIER,' A MILE DOWN THE ROAD.\"

246 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. Wilson MacPhail, but many reasons why we should watch with a very close and interested attention every indication of change in those cosmic surroundings upon which our own ultimate fate may depend.\" \" Man, he'd have made a grand mcenister,\" said McArdle. \" It just booms like an organ. Let's get down to what it is that's troubling him.\" \" The general blurring and shifting of Frauenhofer's lines of the spectrum point, in my opinion, to a widespread cosmic change of a subtle and singular character. Light from a planet is the reflected light of the sun. Light from a. star is a self-produced light. But the spectra both from planets and stars have, in this instance, all undergone the same change. Is it, then, a change in those planets and stars ? To me such an idea is incon- ceivable. What common change could simul- taneously come upon them all ? Is it a change in our own atmosphere ? It is possible, but in the highest degree improbable, since we see no signs of it around us. What, then, is the third possibility ? That it may be a change in the conducting medium, in that infinitely fine ether which extends from star to star and pervades the whole .universe. Deep in that ocean we are floating upon a slow current. Might that current not drift us into belts of ether which are novel and have properties of which we have never conceived ? There is a change somewhere. This cosmic disturbance of the spectrum proves it. It may be a good change. It may be an evil one. It may be a neutral one. We do not know. Shallow observers may treat the matter as one which can be disregarded, but the deeper intelligence of the true philosopher will understand that the possibilities of the universe are incalculable and that the wisest man is he who holds himself ready for the unexpected. To take an obvious example, who would undertake to say that the mys- terious and universal outbreak of illness which is recorded in your columns this very morning as having broken out among the indigenous races of Sumatra has no connec- tion with some cosmic change to which they may respond more quickly than the more complex peoples of Europe ? I throw out the idea for what it is worth. To assert it is, in the present stage, as unprofitable as to deny it, but it is an unimaginative nujnskull who is too dense to perceive that it is well within the bounds of scientific possibility.— Yours faithfully, \" GEORGE EDWARD CHALLENGER. \" The Briars, Rotherfield.\" \" It's a fine, steemulating letter,\" said McArdle, thoughtfully, fitting a cigarette into the long glass tube which he used as a holder. \" What's your opeenion of it, Mr. Malone ? \" I had to confess my total and humiliating ignorance of the subject at issue. What, for example, were Frauenhofer's lines ? McArdle had just been studying the matter with the aid of our tame scientist at the office, and he

THE POISON BELT. 247 unwieldy gambollings. Was this one of those jokes which used to reduce him to uproarious laughter, when his eyes would disappear, and he was all gaping mouth and wagging beard, supremely indifferent to the gravity of all around him ? I turned the words over, but could make nothing even remotely jocose out of them. Then surely it was an order— though a very strange one. He was the last man in the world whose deliberate order I should care to disobey. Possibly some chemical experiment was afoot; possibly Well, it was no business of mine to speculate upon why he wanted it. I must get it. There was nearly an hour before I should catch the train at Victoria. I took a taxi, and having ascertained the address from the tele- phone book, 1 made for the Oxygen Tube Supply Company in Oxford Street. As I alighted on the pavement at my destination, two youths emerged from the door of the establishment carrying an iron cylinder, which, with some trouble, they hoisted into a waiting motor-car. An elderly man was at their heels scolding and directing in a creaky, sardonic voice. He turned towards me. There was no mistaking those austere features and that goatee beard. It was my old cross-grained companion, Pro- fessor Summerlee. \" What ! \" he cried. \" Have you had one of these preposterous telegrams for oxygen ? \" I exhibited it. \" Well, well ! I have had one, too, and, as you see, very much against the grain, I have acted upon it. Our good friend is as exacting as ever. The need could not have been so urgent that he must desert the usual means of supply and encroach upon the time of those who are really busier than him- self. Why could he not order it direct ? \" I could only suggest that he probably needed it at once. \" Or thought he did, which is quite another matter. But it is superfluous now for you to purchase any, since I have this considerable supply.\" \" Still, for some reason he seems to wish that I should bring some, too. It will be safer to do exactly what he tells me.\" Accordingly, in spite of many grumbles and remonstrances from Summerlee, I ordered an additional tube, which was placed with the other in his motor-car, for he had offered me a lift to Victoria. I turned away to pay off my taxi, the driver of which was very cantankerous and abusive over his fare. As I came back to Professor Summerlee, he was having a furious altercation with the men who had carried down the oxygen, his little white goat's beard jerking with indignation. One of the fellows called him, I remember, \" a silly old bleached cockatoo,\" which so enraged his chauffeur that he bounded out of his seat to take the part of his insulted master, and it was all we could do to prevent a riot in the street. These little things may seem trivial to

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. WE NEARLY HAD COLLISIONS WITH OTHER EQUALLY ERRATIC VEHICLES. and he had already lit the short and charred old briar pipe which seemed to singe the end of his long, aggressive nose. \" Friend Challenger is a clever man,\" said he, with great vehemence. \" No one can deny it. It's a fool that denies it. Look -at his hat. There's a sixty-ounce brain inside it—a big engine, running smooth, and turning out clean work. Show me the engine-house and I'll tell you the size of the engine. But he is a born charlatan—you've heard me tell him so to his face—a born charlatan, with a kind of dramatic trick of jumping into the limelight. Things are quiet, so friend Chal- lenger sees a chance to set the public talking about him. You don't imagine that he seriously believes all this nonsense about a change in the ether and a danger to the human race ? Was ever such a cock-and- bull story in this life ? \" He sat like an old white raven, croaking and shaking with sardonic laughter.

THE POISON BELT. A wave of anger passed through me as I listened to Summerlee. It was disgraceful that he should spjak thus of the leader who had been the source of all our fame and given us such an experience as no men have ever enjoyed. I had opened my mouth to utter some hot retort, when Lord John got before me. \" You had a scrap once before with old man Challenger,\" said he, sternly, \" and you were down and out inside ten seconds. It seems to me, Professor Summerlee, he's beyond your class, and the best you can do with him is to leave him alone.\" \" Besides,\" said I, \" he has been a good friend to every one of us. Whatever his faults may be, I don't believe he ever speaks evil of his comrades behind their backs.\" \" Well said, young fellah my lad,\" said Lord John Roxton. Then, with a kindly smile, he slapped Professor Summerlee upon his shoulder. \" Come, Herr Professor, we're not going to quarrel at this time of day. We've seen too much together. But keep off the grass when you get near Challenger, for this young fellah and I have a bit of a weakness for the old dear.\" But Summerlee was in no humour for compromise. His face was screwed up in rigid disapproval, and thick curls of angry- smoke rolled up from his pipe. \" As to you, Lord John Roxton,\" he creaked, \" your opinion upon a matter of science is of as much value in my eyes as my views upon a new type of shot-gun would be in yours. I have my own judgment, sir, and I use it in my own way. Because it has misled me c ice, is that any reason why I should accept .vithout criticism anything. however far-fetched, which this man may care to put forward ? Are we to have a Pope of science, with infallible decrees laid down ex cathedra, and accepted without question by the faithful ? I tell you, sir, that I have a brain of my own, and that I should feel myself to be a siob and a slave if I did not use it. If it pleases you to believe this rigmarole about ether and Frauenhofer's lines upon the spectrum, do so by all means, but do not ask one who is older and wiser than yourself to share in your folly. Is it not evident that if the ether were affected to the degree which he maintains, and if it were obnoxious to human health, the result of it would already be apparent upon our- selves ? \" Here he laughed with uproarious triumph over his own argument. \" Yes, sir, we should already be very far from our normal selves, and instead of sitting quietly discussing VoL xlv.-26. scientific problems in a railway train we should be showing actual symptoms of the poison which was working within us. Where do we see any signs of this poisonous cosmic disturbance ? \" I felt more and more angry. There was something very irritating and aggressive in Summerlee's demeanour. \" I think that if you knew more about the

250 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. since I last had the pleasure of meeting you,\" said Lord John, severely. \" You lordlings are not accustomed to hear the truth,\" Summerlee answered, with a bitter smile. \" It comes as a bit of a shock, does it not, when someone makes you realize that your title leaves you none the less a very ignorant man ? \" \" Upon my word, sir,\" said Lord John, very stern and rigid. \" if you were a younger man you would not dare to speak to me in so offensive a fashion.\" Summerlee thrust out his chin, with its little wagging tuft of goatee beard. \" I would have you know, sir, that, young or old, there has never been a time in my life when I was afraid to speak my mind to an ignorant coxcomb—yes, sir, an ignorant coxcomb, if you had as many titles as slaves could invent and fools could adopt.\" For a moment Lord John's eyes blazed, and then, with a tremendous effort, he mastered his anger and leaned back in his seat with arms folded and a bitter smile upon his face. To me all this was dreadful and deplorable. Like a wave, the memory of the past swept over me, the good comrade- ship, the happy, adventurous days—all that we had suffered and worked for and won. That it should have come to this—to insults and abuse ! Suddenly I was sobbing— sobbing in loud, gulping, uncontrollable sobs which refused to be concealed. My companions looked at me in surprise. I covered my face with my hands. \" It's all right,\" said I. \" Only—only it is such a sad pity ! \" \" You're ill, young fcilah, that's what's amiss with you,\" said Lord John. \" I thought you were queer from the first.\" \" Your habits, sir, have not mended since I saw you last,\" said Summerlee, shaking his head. \" I also observed your strange manner the moment we met. You need not waste your sympathy, Lord John. These tears are alcoholic. The man has been drinking. By the way, Lord John, I called you a coxcomb just now, which was, perhaps, unduly severe. But the word reminds me of a small accom- plishment, trivial but amusing, which I used to possess. You know me as the austere man of science. Can you believe that I once had a well-deserved reputation in several nurseries as a farmyard imitator ? Would it amuse you to hear me crow like a cock ? \" \" No, sir,\" said Lord John, who was still greatly offended; \" it would not amuse me.\" \" My imitation of the clucking hen who had just laid an egg was also considered rather above the average. Might I venture ? \" \" No, sir, no—certainly not.\" But, in spite of the earnest prohibition. Professor Summerlee laid down his pipe and for the rest of our journey he entertained —or failed to entertain—us by a succession of bird and animal cries which seemed so absurd that my tears were suddenly changed

THE POISON BELT, 251 \" FOR THE REST OF OUR JOURNEY HB KNTKKTAINKD—OR FAILED TO ENTERTAIN—US BY A SUCCF.SS1ON OF BIRD AND ANIMAL CRIES.\" Lord John was still struggling with his buffalo story, so far as I could make out, while once again I heard the deep rumble of Challenger and the insistent accents of Summerlee in high and fierce scientific debate. . Suddenly Austin slanted his mahogany face towards me without taking his eyes from his steering-wheel. \" I'm under notice,\" said he. \" Dear me ! \" said I. Everything seemed strange to-day. Every- one said queer, unexpected things. It was like a dream. \" It's forty-seven times,\" said Austin, reflectively. \" When do you go ? \" I asked, for want of some better observation. \" I don't go,\" said Austin. The conversation seemed to have ended there, but presently he came back to it. \" If I was to go, who would look after 'im ?\" He jerked his head towards his master. \" Who would 'e get to serve 'im ? \" \" Someone else,\" I suggested, lamely. \" Not 'e. No one would stay a week.

252 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. If I was to go, that 'ouse would run down like a watch with the mainspring out. I'm telling you because you're 'is friend, and you ought to know. If I was to take 'im at 'is word—but there, I wouldn't have the 'eart. 'E and the missus would be like two babes left out in a bundle. I'm just everything. And then 'e goes and gives me notice.\" \" Why would no one stay ? \" I asked. \" Well, they wouldn't make allowances, same as I do. 'E's a very clever man, the master—so clever that 'e's clean balmy sometimes. I've seen 'im right off 'is onion, and no error. Well, look what 'e did this morning.\" \"What did he do?\" Austin bent over to me. \" 'E bit the 'ousekeeper,\" said he, in a hoarse whisper. \" Bit her ? \" \" Yes, sir. Bit 'er on the leg. I saw 'er with my own eyes whooping and 'opping down the drive.\" \" Good gracious ! \" \" So you'd say, sir, if you could see some of the goings-on. 'E don't make friends with the neighbours. There's some of them thinks that when 'e was up among those monsters you wrote about, it was just' 'Ome, Sweet 'Ome,' for the master, and 'e was never in fitter company. That's what they say. But I've served 'im ten years, and I'm fond of 'im, and, mind you, 'e's a great man, when all's said an' done, and it's an honour to serve 'im. But 'e does try one cruel at times. Now look at that, sir. That ain't what you might call old-fashioned 'ospitality, is it now ? Just you read it for yourself.\" The car on its lowest speed had ground its way up a steep, curving ascent. At the i-orner a notice-board peered over a well- clipped hedge. As Austin said, it was not difficult to read, for the words were few and arresting :— WARNING. Visitors. Pressmen, and Mendicants are not encouraged. G. E. CHALLENGER. this for many a long year, but to-day my feel- ings seem to 'ave got the better of me. 'E can sack me till 'e's blue in the face, but I ain't going, and that's flat. I'm 'is man and 'e's my master, and so it will be, I expect, to the end of the chapter.\" We had passed between the white posts of a gate and up a curving drive, lined with rhododendron bushes. Beyond stood a low brick house, picked out with white woodwork, very comfortable and pretty. Mrs. Chal- lenger, a small, dainty, smiling figure, stood in the open doorway to welcome us. \" Well, my dear,\" said Challenger, bustling out of the car, \" here are our visitors. It is something new for us to have visitors, is it not ? No love lost between us and our neighbours, is there ? If they could get rat poison into our baker's cart, I expect it would be there.\"

THE P01SO.\\ BELT. =53 help that, can I ? . . . Very unpleasant, no doubt, but I rather fancy it will affect more important people than you. There is no use whining about it. ... No, I couldn't possibly. You must take your chance. . . . That's enough, sir. I have something more important to do than to listen to such twaddle.\" He shut off with a crash and led us upstairs into a large, airy apartment which formed his study. On the great mahogany desk seven or eight unopened telegrams were lying. \" Really,\" he said, as he gathered them up, \" it would save my correspondents' money if I had a telegraphic address. Possibly ' Noah, Rotherfield,' would be the most appropriate.\" As usual when he made an obscure joke, he leaned against the desk and bellowed in a paroxysm of laughter, his hands shaking so that he could hardly open the envelopes. \" Noah! Noah ! \" he gasped, with a face of beetroot, while Lord John and I smiled in sympathy, an.d Summerlee, like a dyspeptic goat, wagged his head in sardonic disagree- ment. Finally Challenger began to open his telegrams, and the three of us stood in the bow window and occupied ourselves in admiring the magnificent view. It was certainly worth looking at. The road in its gentle curves had really brought us to a considerable elevation—seven hundred feet, as we afterwards discovered. Chal- lenger's house was on the very edge of the hill, and from its southern face, in which was the study window, one looked across the vast stretch of the weald to where the gentle curves of the South Downs formed an undu- lating horizon. In a cleft of the hills a haze of smoke marked the position of Lewes. Immediately at our feet there lay a rolling plain of heather, with the long, vivid green stretches of the Crawborough golf course, all dotted with the players. A little to the south, through an opening in the woods, we could see a section of the main line from London to Brighton. In the immediate foreground, under our very noses, was a small enclosed yard, in which stood the car which had brought us from the station. An ejaculation from Challenger caused us to turn. He had read his telegrams and had arranged them in a little methodical pile upon his desk. His broad, rugged face, or as much of it as was visible over the matted beard, was still deeply flushed, and he seemed to be under the influence of some strong excitement. \" Well, gentlemen,\" he said, \" this is indeed an interesting reunion, and it takes place under extraordinary—I may say unpre- cedented—circumstances. May I ask if you have observed anything upon your journey from town ? \" \" The only thing which I observed,\" said Summerlee, with a sour smile, \" was that our young friend here has not improved in his manners during the years that have passed:

254 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. possible truth ! I seem to have heard the words before. And may I ask with what arguments the great and famous Professor Summerlee proceeded to demolish the humble individual who had ventured to express an opinion upon a matter of scientific possibility ? Perhaps before he exterminates that unfor- tunate nonentity he will condescend to give some reasons for the adverse views which he has formed.\" He bowed and shrugged and spread his open hands as he spoke with his elaborate and elephantine sarcasm. \" The reason was simple enough,\" said the dogged Summerlee. \" I contended that, if the ether surrounding the earth was so toxic in one quarter that it produced dangerous symptoms, it was hardly likely that we three in the railway carriage should be entirely unaffected.\" The explanation only brought up- roarious merri- ment from Chal- lenger. He laughed until everything in the room seemed to rattle and quiver. \"Our worthy Summerlee is, not for the first time, somewhat out of touch with the facts of the situa- tion,\" said he at last, mopping his brow. \"Now, gentlemen, I can- not make my point better than by detailing to you what I have myself done this morning. You will the more easily condone any mental aberration upon your own part when you realize that even I have had moments when my balance has been dis- turbed. We have had for some \"SHE FLEW DOWN THE DRIVE.\" years in this household a housekeeper— one Sarah, with whose second name I have never attempted to burden my memory. She is a woman of a severe and for- bidding aspect, prim and demure in her bearing, very impassive in her nature, and never known within our experience to show signs of any emotion. As I sat alone at my

THE POISON BELT. 255 anything to your minds ? What do you think of it. Lord John ? \" Lord John shook his head gravely. \" You'll be gettin' into serious trouble some of these days if you don't get a brake on,\" said he. \" Perhaps you have some observation to make, Summerlee ? \" \" Drop all work instantly and take three months in a German watering-place,\" said he. \" Profound! profound ! \" cried Challenger. \" Now, Mr. Malone, is it possible that wisdom may come from you where your seniors have so signally failed ? \" And it did. I say it with all modesty, but it did. Of course, it all seems obvious enough to you who know what occurred, but it was not so very clear when everything was new. But it came on me suddenly with the full force of conviction. \" Poison ! \" I cried. Then, even as I said the word, my mind flashed back over the whole morning's experiences, past Lord John with his buffalo, past my own hysterical tears, past the out- rageous conduct of Professor Summerlee, to the queer happenings in London, the row in the park, the driving of the chauffeur, the quarrel at the oxygen warehouse. Every- thing fitted suddenly into its place. \" Of course,\" I cried again. \" It is poison. We are all poisoned.\" \" Exactly,\" said Challenger, rubbing his hands; \" we are all poisoned. Our planet has swum into the poison belt of ether, and is now flying through it at the rate of some millions of miles a minute. Our young friend has expressed the cause of all our troubles in a single word, ' Poison.' \" We looked at each other in silence. No comment seemed to meet the situation. \" There is a mental inhibition by which such symptoms can be checked and con- trolled,\" said Challenger. \" I cannot expect to find it developed in all of you to the same point which it has reached in me, for I suppose that the strength of our different mental processes bears some proportion to each other. But no doubt it is appreciable even in our young friend here. After the little outburst of high spirits which so alarmed my domestic I sat down and reasoned with myself. I put it to myself that I had never before felt impelled to bite any of my household. The impulse had then been an abnormal one. In an instant I perceived the truth. My pulse upon examination was ten beats above the usual, and my reflexes were increased. I called upon my higher and saner self, the real G. E. C., seated serene and impregnable behind all mere molecular disturbance. I summoned him, I say, to watch the foolish mental tricks which the poison would play. I found that I was indeed the master. I could recognize and control a disordered mind. It was a remarkable exhibition of the victory of mind over matter, for it was a victory over that form of matter which is most

Tilings Seen and Not Seen by the Referee. By H. THOMPSON (Southern League Kef tree).- Illustrated by CKas. Grave. REFEREE in a football match sees and hears many things. He must take par- ticular notice of everything he sees, and absolutely no notice of almost everything he hears. Yet referee-baiting is not quite the popular sport it is represented to be by comic artists, and for my part I always say to myself, \" Well, it amuses them and it does not hurt me,\" when the wild men of the football world shout nasty things regarding my eyesight, my ability, my impartiality, and even my ancestry. I take this sort of thing as all in the day's work, let it pass at that, and am very grateful for the crumbs of humour thrown at me occasion- ally by a foot- ball crowd in a critical mood. Once an excited individual roared, \" Can't yer see a foul unless it's got feathers on, ref. ? \" I think if a player had said that I should have-sent him off the field, and reported him as a foot- ball criminal of the deepest dye, who ought to be suspended for the rest of his life. But players do say funny things sometimes. \" Holy Moses ! Did ye see that trip ? \" cried a dashing Irish forward, during a hot mix-up in the goal-mouth. I had seen nothing, so the game went on. After the match the Irish lad, one of the best the Green Isle ever bred, tackled me quietly and seriously about what he really thought was a glaring \" HOLY MOSES! DID YE SEE THAT TR1I'?' infringement. He may have been right—a referee cannot see everything—and, not wishing to argue the point, I evaded it—• rather neatly, as I thought—by saying, \" My name is not Holy Moses, who was, if you remember, the gentleman you asked for a decision.\" Like a shot came the reply, \" 'Tis right ye are, bedad ; an' 'tis as little ye know about football as the same Moses did when he was aslape in the bulrushes.\" After this, I have no more to write about things I have heard in connection with my refereeing, and will keep my remarks strictly within the limits defined by the title of this article. The position of a referee enables him to enjoy a

THINGS SEEN AND NOT SEEN BY THE REFEREE. 257 \" HK IS CHARGE!} AND KNOCKKI) THREE OR FOUR STEPS.\" he is charged and knocked three or four steps—what then ? Surely there is nothing for it except the unseeing eye ? Again, some custodians are so quick in their movements that unless you are right on the man it is often a physical impossibility for a referee to be certain whether or not a third step has been taken ; he can only give the player the benefit of the doubt. The work of a goalkeeper is hard enough, without the referee coming down at all heavily on the man. Very clever it is, too. especially when the goalie is a master of the art of placing himself in anticipation of a shot in just the one place where a forward has the absolute minimum of goal-space to shoot at. I have seen a quaint thing or two in con- nection with goalkceping. During an impor- tant amateur match this season I saw a big back rush across the field to keep off an eager forward, who was following up a slowly- moving ball. The goalkeeper dashed out. gave the leather a mighty Vol. xlv.-27. \"THE BALL BEAT HIM BY INCHES ONLY. kick, and sent it bang in the nape of the neck of his own man. The ball spun back without a great deal of pace on it, and it was funny to see the strenuous efforts the goalie made to struggle home in time to effect a save. But the ball beat him by inches only, and a goal was scored while the unfortunate back was turning round and round in dazed fashion, wondering what had hit him. I once saw a goalkeeper in a similar con- dition, in an important League fixture, too. A forward got his foot to the ball with terrific force about a dozen yards from goal, and so quick was the shot that the goalkeeper, trained man as • he was. simply had no tinn- even to raise his hands to save his face. The ball struck him fair be- tween the eyes and spun almost straight up in the air for a good twenty yards, to drop eventually just behind the goal. After which. I may add, the game was stopped for slight repairs to the goalkeeper, who. when he came to. vowed he \" would never head any more out like that/'

258 THE STRAXD MAGAZINE. backs arc striving with might and main to save their side. A good back becomes a second goalkeeper on occasion, and there \"THE BALL STRUCK HIM FAIR BKTWEKN THE EYES.\" is surely no more thrilling moment on a football field than when a dropping or bouncing ball is sailing under the cross-bar, and a back, with a splendid running jump, clears with a flying overhead kick. Back play;has its ludicrous side, especially when an ultra-cute de- fender passes back to his goalkeeper, and makes a sorry hash of things \"HE POPPED IN A SHOT WHICH WOULD HAVE DONE CREDIT TO A FORWARD ON THE OPPOSING SIDE.\" pressed back may be expected to do weird things, and I certainly remember one case where a defender in a tight corner made a decided impression on a man's face with the sole of his boot, and yet was really the injured party, strictly according to the rules of the game. 11 happened like this. The ball was bobbing and bouncing about in the goal-mouth in that thrilling style which makes spectators rise in their seats and sets the goalkeeper jumping all over the place, when a back, a tall chap, shaped for a high kick at the ball. A minute fraction of time after the back had fixed his eye on the ball and begun to swing his foot for the effort a rival forward, a shortish man, darted forward to gain impetus for a leap which he hoped would enable him to head by popping in a shot which would have done credit to a forward on the opposing side. I suppose, however, that a hard- \"THE BACK'S FOOT AND THE FORWARD'S HEAD CAMF. IN CONTACT WITH THE LEATHER IN PERFECT UNISON, AND SO DID THE SOLE OK THE BACK'S BOOT WITH THE FACE OF THF. FORWARD.\" the ball into the net. It looked all like a case of whichever got there first either saving or putting on a certain goal, but it so hap- pened that they both arrived together. As near as I could judge—and I was very close at the moment—the back's foot and the forward's head came in contact with the leather in perfect unison, and so did the sole of the back's boot with the face of the forward. Down went the bold attacker like the proverbial log, and as soon as he was fit to resume play I threw the ball down. According to the strict letter of the law, I could have given a free kick against him, for he was guilty of \" dangerous \" play if ever a

THINGS SEEN AND NOT SEEN BY THE REFEREE. 259 man was, and there is nothing in the rules to prevent a referee from penalizing a man whose methods are a danger to himself. If, however, that back had started his kick when the forward was well on his way towards the ball, the case would have been altogether different, and I should have awarded a free kick without a moment's hesitation, to say nothing of the by no means remote possibility of ordering the offender off the field. From this it must not be hastily inferred that I am in favour of pulling a man up for vigorous and energetic methods, always pro- vided his play is as clean as it is strenuous. Football is no game for those incapable of giving and taking hard knocks as part of the sport, and if a back uses his weight and strength fairly—well, that is what he is there for. But the sly trip, the vicious jab -with the elbow at close quarters, and that dirty and deliberate tap on the ankle which para- .^ lyzes an opponent and ^P may lame him for a season — these are the things which make my whistle toot and move my tongue to a sharp \" caution,\" which means \" march- ing orders \" next time. Happily, these offences are rare, and are diminishing with a gratifying ra- pidity which points to their com- plete extinction at no distant date. Players, public, and football legis- lators side with the referee in sternly suppressing these shady practices, and nowadays a player who is known to have a weakness for foul play is sure to be dropped from any decent team, no matter what his general football ability may be. So far, so good. But it is a big mistake to emasculate the game in the vain endeavour to cope with the low dodges of those who do not mean to play it, who take the field with the set purpose of doing anything they think the referee will not see, and which enables them to gain an advantage. It is impossible to legislate effectively against this type, and by attempting too much in this direction there is considerable danger of spoiling the game. Honest charging never hurt football, and never will, and it is quite possible for any amount of it to be done without the least tendency to foul play. I should think there never was more straight- forward charging .seen in any match than there was in the first Army ?;. Navy game at Queen's Club, when the late King Edward and the then Prince of Wales were present. It was a sight for gods and men to see the way Jack and Tommy banged into each other with right good will : but never a man was hurt, and the referee had a very easy time. Charging, even if heavy, is not without its touch of incidental humour. I was once

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. stretched hand, in circumstances which game. In such circumstances I interpret show that his action was a perfectly natural the rule referring to \" violent \" or \" dan- one, due to the body pose essential to get gerous \" play in its broadest sense, but the the ball away. A technical infringement, no unfortunate part of it is that the whistle may doubt, but not seen by referees who know sound after the mischief has been done, their business. Indeed the great footballer may be next If, on the contrary, the man uses his hands to knocked out of the match without the to push off an opponent, or to play a kind of leap- frog to get his head to the ball, then the whistle must sound. But not otherwise, as my view of the matter is that the public does not pay its money to hear me oblige with a whistling solo, but wants to see the game, and nothing but the game. Players, too, are not interested in my lung power. They want to play football—not keep stopping in response to the ever-ready whistle of a referee who undoubtedly has splendid eyes to see, but no blind side for use when the spirit of the game demands a transient exhibition of masterly inactivity. \"A KIND OF LKAP-FROG.\" referee having the faintest excuse to blow his whistle. But, all the same, such conduct, organized and deliberate, is dead against that unwritten law of British fair play which is the salt of every descrip- tion of manly sport, and if persisted in will tend to degrade a grand game to the level of a gladiatorial spectacle. It is so need- less, too, as the opposing star can always be dimmed quite fairly. The manner in which Needham baulked Bloomer in an historic Cup final is a case in point. That magnificent half simply followed Bloomer all over the field like his shadow. He never left him, no matter where the ball It is often a very nice question whether went, and the result was that whenever the or not the whistle should sound, especially leather came near Bloomer there was Need- as there are ways and means of doing fair ham on the spot to worry his man, which things unfairly on the football field. This he did most effectively. But it was all clean contradiction needs a little explaining, but the point becomes only too clear when one forward is the outstanding star - artiste of a team—the main- spring of combi- nation and the

THINGS SEEN AND NOT SEEN BY THE REFEREE. 261 accident on the fact, so imprrtant in other infringements, is not to be considered. I should like to \"shatter one very common delusion regarding the offside rule, which is that simply because a man is in an offside position the game must be stopped. But to be offside in effect a man must act; he cannot be passively offside. The rule says that when offside a man shall not \" play the ball or in any way interfere with the play or an oppo- nent,\" and to me it seems quite plain that until he does so he has been guilty of no offence. Personally, if I was a keen supporter of a team. I should like to fee the opposing forwards take up offside positions as much as they pleased, simply because they are out of the game until they are brought onside by a change in posi- tion. There are other nice points in the offside rule— points far to ocomplicated to interest my readers. Even experts differ widely on certain aspects of the offside rule, and the only final and comprehensive verdict I ever heard concerning it was that supplied by a keen partisan, who said : \" Offside—yes, I know- all about it. That's what's always given against our team.'' Among other things which the referee does \"THE REFEREE DOES NOT SEE THE BALI. WHICH HITS IN THE not see is the ball which hits him somewhere in the back, occasionally with more force than is compatible with his dignified control of the game at the moment. This sort of thirg has happened to me more than once, and, although I have never been able to see any- thing desperately funny in it, yet I can vouch that as a comic turn it is by far the greatest success seen on a football field. Yet why should even the minor mis- fortunes of a football referee excite nothing more human than the appreciative laughter of the multitude ? I suppose it is because the crowd regards a referee as a species of autocrat who is humanized when his dignity is upset by a flying ball. This may be true of a referee here and there, but most of them take a far different view of their duties and position. My

The East a~Callm\\ By ARTHUR MORRISON. Illustrated by Charles Crombie. I. IR HUDSON BAGG'S title was brand - new, and his country house was so newly occupied and recently fur- nished and freshly painted and lately aired that it seemed brand-new also, although it had stood in the same place for two hundred years. But the deeds of conveyance were as new as the house looked, and Sir Hudson Bagg and Lady Bagg were strangers in the county, though desperately anxious to remain so no more ; for Lady Bagg already, in her mind's eye, saw the Baggs pre-eminent among the county families. At present, however, calls were strangely few and tardy, so that expe- dients were necessary, and Sir Hudson and Lady Bagg became patrons of the Philan- thropic Society for Harassing the Indigent. That alone, of course, was not enough; it was merely a step. The next was to take so active an interest in the society that it became advisable to organize a great meeting and conversazione in furtherance of its principles, to which everybody desirable in the county and out of it was invited, and for which Sir Hudson Bagg very kindly allowed the use of the Hall and grounds, where he and Lady Bagg were \" at home\" to all distinguished Harassers of the Indigent, and speeches and tea and resolutions and a garden-party took their parts in the confusion. The success was glorious. The Philan- thropic Harassers were a society-of very high patronage, and for some while Lady Bagg even dared to indulge a hope that a minor Royalty might be netted. This failed to \" come off,\" but the company was nevertheless sufficiently numerous and distinguished to constitute a triumph for the house of Bagg, and the first of many. So much, therefore, for Sir Hudson and Lady Bagg, who merely provide the house and grounds for this story, as they did for the Philanthropic Society for Harassing the Indigent. The day was fine, and a large crowd of people brightened the grounds. At least, some of them did, but a great proportion were a very serious-looking lot indeed. Bishops dotted the landscape, deans punc- tuated the lawns; one or two countesses were visible, and a duchess very nearly came, but not quite. The less distinguished Harassers pointed out the more distinguished to each other, and the more distinguished exhibited themselves with great affability. There were several quite respectable politicians, and three Labour members came in strange mixtures of clothes which had cost hours of thinking out, to express their unutterable independence. \"Why,\" said one visitor to another, indicating a clerically-attired figure in the distance, \" I do believe that's Aubrey Fitzmaurice ! \" \" No, is it ?\" replied his friend. \" I haven't seen him since he buried himself

THE EAST A-CALLIN'. 263 met them on equal terms, playing billiards with them, boxing with them, and sharing as much of their lives as they would allow. It was so great a change for this exquisite of Balliol in particular that he was noted and talked of above the generality of them that laboured east of Aldgate, though he displayed himself less than any, and had vanished wholly from his earlier world. \" That,\" said a lady in the crowd, who \" I believe his aunt's coming presently—- Lady Bilbury. And there's Clara's cousin Mary right across the lawn. We'll speak to her.\" Meanwhile, Mr. Harry Benyon, who had not seen the Reverend Aubrey Fitzmaurice since he left Oxford, strolled across with his two friends and accosted the exile. . \" Why, Aubrey, old chap ! \" said Harry Benyon. \" I hardly knew you ! \" \" Wotcheer ! \" replied the Reverend Aubrey '•YOU KKMEMBIiR HARRY HKNVON, SURELY?\" had just been told, \" is Aubrey Fitzmaurice, who married Clara Tyrwhitt and hid her and himself in some parish in the East-end. They've made quite a mania of it. Nobody's seen her since the wedding.\" \" Is that the man ? \" replied the other. \" Why, Clara Tyrwhitt was my greatest chum at school, and I haven't seen her for years. I must ask about her. Does anybody know him ? \" Fitzmaurice, looking up quickly and con- tinuing his walk. \" Cheer-oh ! \" \" Why, I don't believe you know me,'' answered Benyon, following and offering his hand. \" You remember Harry Benyon, surely ? \" \" What-ho ! Don't I rather ! \" responded the reverend gentleman, shaking hands vigorously. \" Good ol' 'Arry ! An' 'ow's yerself ? \"

264 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" First-rate, thanks. But, I say, you are East-end, you know ! \" \" What 'd'you think ? Right in it! I'm one o' the nuts down 'Oxton! \" \" I'm sure you are. But do you keep it up always ? \" \" Keep it up ? Not 'arf! Always keep it up. I'm a-thinkin' out a sermon now.'' Benyon and his friends looked at each other blankly, and then at the Reverend Aubrey Fitzmaurice. \" Well,\" said one, \" if you deliver 'em like that I'd like to come and hear one.\" \" Right-o, ol' cockalorum ! Come when- ever you like. Any old sinner's welcome ; an' bring a bob for the whack round. We don't often get a toff.\" \" We'll all come,\" said Benyon, \" and all bring our bobs for the—the what-d'yc-call-it. But now just you forget that sermon and the East-end for a bit and be yourself again. This function's going to be dull—we'll keep together.\" \" Gam—cheese it, 'Arry ! \" replied the Reverend Mr. Fitzmaurice. \" What price my sermon ? I got to think it over, I tell ye. See ye later on, matey.\" The reverend gentleman sheered off to a quieter part and left the three friends some- what perplexed. \" They told me he'd gone East-end mad,\" remarked Benyon, \" and by Jove he has ! Who'd have dreamed he'd have played it as low as that—he, of all men ? Making oneself popular -in the parish is all very well, but— hang it all! \" \" There may be something in it,\" observed one of the others. \" I've heard they're very suspicious of strange ways down there, and the Oxford manner they won't stand at any price.\" \" But, my dear chap \" \" Oh, of course I know he's got it pretty rank, but it's only more extreme than some of the others. Some of them do all sorts of wild things and play it most amazin' low to catch the fancy of the East-enders. There was even a bishop \" \" Oh, yes, we know about that; but Aubrey isn't an advertising bishop, and, more, he was never that sort at all. I believe it's actual mania—I do, positively. He is East- end mad, that's plain. But we'll see him again in course of the afternoon.\" Meanwhile, the lady who had been Mrs. Fitzmaurice's greatest chum at school and her friend, Miss Cust, had lost sight of Mrs. Fitzmaurice's * cousin Mary, but presently found her in another part of the grounds. Before they could speak of the thing them- selves she said: \" Do you know, Clara's husband's here somewhere ? Harry Benyon's been talking to him. He's gone clean East- end mad. it seems—worse than the Bishop of Limehouse. Talks just like a costermonger. Isn't it quaint ? I can't think what aunt will say ! \" \" Oh, we must speak to him,\" said Miss

THE EAST A-CALLIN'. 265 Paragon an' the Britannia's close by, an' a But stow all this — no 'ank, I must think corkin' movin'-picture show just raand the out that sermon. So long! See you corner—on'y a dee a time ! \" later.\" \" Poor Clara ! But there, no doubt she \" But surely you don't think out sermons likes it as much as you. I suppose it is in places like this ! And here comes your \" • WOTCHEKR, AUNTIK!' HB CRIED, AND KISSED HER WITH A LOUD SMACK.' necessary to be so very East-end ? I expect you find the people appreciate it ? \" \" Fair knocks 'em. Me an' the ol' Dutch \" \" Old what 1\" \" Ol' Dutch ; the delo elrig, you know—the storm an' strife ; the missis, I mean—Clara.\" \" Clara ? Oh, don't call her such things as that!\" \" Don't ? Well, what would you call 'er ? aunt; I expect she's looking for you. Lady Bilbury, we've just been introduced to Aubrey, and he's such an East-ender ! \" Lady Bilbury, stout, imposing, and peering through an ivory-handled lorgnon, came sailing toward the group. The Reverend Aubrey, with an air of resignation, stayed his departure, and then smiled cheerfully as he met Lady Bilbury's gaze and plunged to meet her.

,66 THE STRAXD MAGAZINE. \" Wotcheer, auntie ! \" he cried, and kissed her with a loud smack. Lady Bilbury. her lorgnon knocked into one eye, choked with fury. \" Go away, Aubrey, you fool!\" she gasped. \" It's plain you are mad, as everybody says. You neglect us all for two years, and then make a disgusting public exhibition of yourself like this ! You're not fit to be at large ! \" \" 'Ere, cheese it, auntie ! \" protested the reverend gentleman, somewhat abashed—for Lady Bilbury could be a very terrible person on occasion. \" Draw it mild. Don't go chewin' the rag afore company. I'll do a bunk till your monkey climbs down. Got to think out a sermon. Tooraloo ! \" \" The creature's mad ! \" said Lady Bilbury, flushed and indignant, as her nephew's back view vanished in the crowd. \" Hopelessly crazy ! It's not safe to let him go about ! \" \" He does certainly seem very strange,\" observed Miss Tyrwhitt. \" He's been saying the most extraordinary things in the most peculiar language. I wonder if it's safe for Clara to be with him ? \" \" It's the sort of thing some of them do.\" said one of Benyon's friends, who had joined the party. \" Do in Rome as the Romans do, you know, and all that. The}' call their parishioners ' blokes ' and that, and they say it goes down wonderfully. There's the Bishop of Limehouse, now \" \" Oh, of course, we know the Bishop of Limehouse,\" said Lady Bilbury, smoothing her ruffled plumage ; \" but he's no excuse for Aubrey, and the Bishop does draw the line somewhere. He doesn't behave like a drunken bargee among his friends. No, it's actual mental derangement, I'm sure, and what I've expected all along. These absurd enthusiasms always lead to something of the sort. Something must be done, and quickly ; lie mustn't be allowed to go about disgracing his family.\" \" Shall we wire to Clara ? \" \" That would scarcely be of much use. This affair would be all over long before she could get here. Besides, we're not sure how- Clara might take it. I hate to say it, my dear, but I've a horrid fear she may be almost as bad herself, if it's only from constant asso- ciation with him. She worshipped him, you know, and we've seen nothing of them for ever so long, since they went so mad over this East-end business. No, the family must interfere, and we must really do something to restrain him among all these people. There will be a perfect scandal. What can we do ? We can scarcelv ask Sir Hudson Bagg to have him turned out; that would make a scene at once. But we really must do something.\" \" He keeps saying he wants to think out a sermon.\" remarked Harry Benyon. \" I've heard him say it half-a-dozen times at least— the sort of cranky, persistent thing they're apt to say, you know. I think that's the side to take him on. Get Sir Hudson Bagg

THE EAST A-CALLIN'. 267 moment, and then retreated. The servitor — called ordinarily simply a footman—had been made somewhat apprehensive by the mysterious in- structions given him; and when, ten minutes later, the door once again opened, and once more the clerical gentleman glared wildly at him and again disappeared, his apprehensions vastly increased. He grew firmly con- vinced that he was deputed to guard a dangerous mad- man, and on the whole he judged it expedient to turn the key of the study door, which he did, with a loud \"THE NEXT INSTANT THE LEr.S, THE BODY THERETO ATTACHED, THE ICES, THE TRAY, AND THE BUTLKR WERE INVOLVED IN ONE CATACLYSMAL SMASH.\" dick that refused to be stifled. At once the door was tried from the inside; the footman retreated to an angle of the passage and watched ; and the sequel was witnessed from the grounds. The study window opened on a balcony, which made a roof for the veranda of the ground floor. The butler was in the act of emerging from the veranda, bearing a very large tray of ices, when he was suddenly rooted to the spot by the apparition of a pair of human legs depend- ing from the balcony and kicking within an inch of his nose. The next instant the legs, the body thereto attached, the ices, the tray, and the butler were in- volved in one cataclysmal smash, from the thick of which rose the Reverend Aubrey Fitzmaurice, splashed and veined iu

268 THE STRAXD MAGAZINE. pink and cream, and darted across the lawn for the nearest shrubbery. \" Stop him ! \" screamed Lady Bilbury, her worst fears realized and doubled. But nobody made the attempt save one portly dean, who. chancing to be in the line of flight, extended his arms and for one second danced before the fugitive as of yore danced the Bishop of Rum-ti-foo. In the next second the dean had turned three-quarters of a somersault, and the Reverend Mr. Fitzmaurice vanished like a harlequin through an arbutus. II. NEXT day's issue of that bright little paper, the Telephone, contained a bright little personal article, contributed by the journal's representative at the meeting of the Philan- thropic Society for Harassing the Indigent. He had, it appeared, \" enjoyed an unusual opportunity of a chat with that fascinating and interesting personality, the Reverend Aubrey Fitzmaurice, whose devoted work among the poor of his East London parish has made his name familiar to all who are interested in the upraising of the masses. Amid a thousand calls of duty the reverend gentleman gladly gave ' 'arf a mo,' to use his own picturesque expression, to a few remarks on his opinions and experiences. In spite of his high connections and his University education, he has become one of the people, sharing their joys and sorrows, and adopting their simple manners and earnest vocabulary. By dint of continued perseverance he has completely succeeded in eliminating the noxiously undemocratic consonant ' h ' from his speech, and he has as carefully assimilated the expressive locutions of the down-trodden toiler. As he himself says, he finds Stepney a fair knock-out, and, although he wears a black 'I'm afloat' and 'round the 'ouses ' —playful synonyms for coat and trousers— lie is truly right in the push at 'Oxton. Questioned as to the prevalent views, as to the localities he loves, the reverend gentleman replied with the pregnant monosyllable, ' Rats ! ' As for himself and his old Dutch— an affectionate reference to Mrs. Fitzmaurice —residence anywhere else would speedily drive them balmy on the crumpet. \" In regard to the type of pulpit discourse he considered best fitted to his parishioners, Mr. Fitzmaurice expressed no very particular views, beyond a general opinion that the preacher should chuck it off his chest with no hank, and serve it up very O T—or, as you might say. peas in the pot.\" Several more paragraphs followed, in which a pleasant picture was drawn, from the Reverend Aubrey Fitzmaurice's own informa- tion, of the devoted vicar traversing his parish in cheerful guise, reproving an acquaint- ance who seemed elephant's trunk in one place, correcting an unruly parishioner else- where with one on the I suppose, and farther along encountering a tragedy that wrung his raspberry tart ; all explained as being

THE EAST A-CALLIN'. 269 down here and everybody began callin' you Aubrey. If I'd 'a' done it, like I wanted, it 'ud 'a' bin all right. I wouldn't 'a' bin nobody in particular, 'cept an anonymarious parson in them clothes you've got to pay Ikey Cohen for. I'd 'a' gone in easy enough with all that mob an' made no 'ank, an' got proud o' yerself an' yer Aubrey, once you got the togs you must go an' dress up in 'em an' fancy yourself, I s'pose ! So o' course the first thing somebody thinks 'e knows you, an' o' course the next thing you go a-jawin' up an' down an' Why, what's the good o' lookin' like a - '•SNORKEV 11M.MS WAS BITTERLY REPROACHING DIDO.\" in the place an' done it neat an' quiet. Nobody 'ud 'a' come talkin' to me, an' if they did I wouldn't 'a' give meself away like that. 'Tain't enough to wear a parson's clobber, you idjit ! \" \" But look what a chance it was,\" protested Dido—\" me lookin' the very livin' spit of 'im when I've 'ad a wash an' a shave.\" \" Chance ? Rats ! It's lookin' like the parson that's busted the show. So mighty parson unless you talk like one ? That's where I'd 'a' come in. I'd 'a' chucked 'em the proper dialogue. I may not look like any partic'ler parson, but I can sling orf a few words classy.\" \" Classy ? You ? Rats ! \" \" There you are—' rats ' is just what you'd say. You've got no polite savvy yerself, so you bloomin' well can't see mine. That's your ignorance.\"

SIR JOSEPH LYONS. I'rom a t'hvtoffraph by Dover Strtvt URIOUSLY enough—for there does not seem any direct con- nection between the two—my first experience of the serious side of business life, the art of earning bread and butter, was connected with palettes (not palates), for I began my working career as a water-colour artist. All things con- sidered, too, I think 1 may claim to have made some small strides in this profession, as full early my pictures were exhibited at the Royal Institute, while I was also fortunate enough to find an excellent customer for my work in Sir Spencer Wells. Shortly afterwards, too, Sir Eardley Wilmot proved a good patron to me, and really, as things go in this particular walk of life, I suppose I should have accounted myself fortunate to have obtained such influential recognition so early in my career. True, I was not earning a fortune in any sense of the word, but at least I was executing a sufficient number of commissions to \" keep the wolf from the door \" by disposing of the fruits of my labour. Strangely enough, the more success I achieved the more resentful I became. Naturally, from one point of view, I felt extremely gratified at finding a customer, but that one point of view was utterly subservient to another—the feeling that my own pet thoughts, my own pet ideas, the fruits of weeks of work, the cherished creations MY REMINISCENCES. By SIR JOSEPH LYONS. Drawings by H. M. Brock, R.I. of my brain, would have to leave me, never to return. But one day, when I was seriously con- sidering whether my artistic feelings, as I regarded them, would stand the strain of being continually parted for ever from their sister sentiments, the creations of my brain, fate, opportunity, chance—call' it what you will—decided that I should turn any small talents I may have possessed into another direction. This strange happen- ing occurred, curiouslyenough. amid most unro- mantic and in- artistic surround- ings—to be brief, in a rather un- savoury, none too cleanly, most unfashionable London eating- house. It chanced that, to satisfy the inner man, one morning in

MY REMINISCENCES. 271 THE 1,ANL> OF MOUNTAIN AN IJ SiKbAM. BY SIR JOSEPH LYONS. man and his wife, with, perhaps, one or two waiters. They were also almost invari- ably dark, stuffy little places, often infested with cockroaches ; and as for their kitchens, they were things liable to cause nightmares— anyway, I prefer'not to tell of them. The City clerk: who wanted a snack had to pay fourpence for a cup of coffee or tea, a penny- tip, and a penny or twopence for a bun. It goes without saying that these charges were beyond his slender means; result, he adjourned to the nearest bar and had a glass of beer. Well, on thje occa- sion to which'l refer I entered the said \"restaurant^.\" ordered the least uninviting dish ' I could hit upon, and turned things over , in my mind during the unconscionably long time I had to wait for the arrival of my repast. I had often enough before this reflected how great fortunes had been made by the discovery of some simple universal want waiting to be supplied. In a flash it came to me that I had discovered just such a simple unsupplied univer- sal want — clean and decent fare in bi'ightandcongenial surroundings at a reasonable price. And there and then was laid the foundation-stone of a business which now feeds about two million of the inhabitants of London, and which .on. every working day. in the year caters for over five hundred thousand men, women, and c h i 1 d r e n—a business, too, which finds work for nearly sixteen thousand em- ployes, which possesses two hundred and fifty branches (the number is steadily increasing, both in London and the provinces), and which has no fewer than hundred and twenty thousand agents throughout the country selling our \" wares.\" Yes, in a small way—

272 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. large section of men, women, and children in Great Britain. Anyway, since that day \" we \" have changed the conditions of feeding the public. I write \" we,\" because it was at this time that I entered into partnership with Mr. Montague Gluckstein, who, in my opinion, is one of the cleverest organizers in the kingdom, and we have worked together ever since. A positive revolution has taken place in the habits of our people. The twopenny cup of tea and no tips, ditto, ditto, ditto coffee, has done wonders. But we never forget that man does not live by bread /H< alone. Brightness and light, music and flowers, civility and cleanliness—all these are indispen- sable elements in the building up of our business. Our first coup was at Newcastle Exhibition. We engaged M. Baroza, the most famous Hungarian violinist of his day — a little, ugly, pock- marked genius, whose every move- ment was like a poem—and with him we engaged eight other violinists. For that band of first-rate per- formers we paid a hundred and ten pounds per week during the whole time the exhibition was opened. People said we weie mad. We had no earnings save the profit on the twopenny cup. But the refreshment- hall was crowded night after night, as if it had been a gala performance at the opera. We not only got our money back, butmadeaprofitbesides. From the Newcastle Exhibition we \"trekked\" to the Glasgow Exhibition. There the lessons learned at Newcastle were taken advantage of. But the distinctive feature of the Glasgow success was our waitresses. They were chosen from the bonniest lasses in all Scotland ; they were all arrayed in Marie Stuart costume, and were one of the great features of the Exhibition. Pretty girls in attendance, tastefully dressed, civil and attentive. By the way. on the last night of the Glasgow Exhibition it became known that the medical students of Glasgow and Edinbuigh were coming in their thousands to paint the place red. The police came to me about it and offered me whatever protection I thought fit. I promptly refused any. I personally saw the leaders of the students, told them that I relied entirely upon their proper instincts, and got their promise that no harm should be done to my establishment. Then I handed the cafi over to them. They placed their own guards at the doors, admitting only whom they chose, and had a nice old time. finishing by carrying me shoulder-high. The moral is this—that not a single cup or saucer was broken; and our establishment, which was the only one which refused police pro-

MY REMINISCENCES. 273 success can be explained in these two maxims—\" Never bite off more than you can chew \" (quite an appropriate motto for us !) and \" Advertising's a good thing if you're advertising a good thing.\" We had the \" good thing,\" we advertised the \" good thing,\" the man in the street liked it, found it a \" good thing \"- and came back again. It may be of interest if I say that every member of our staff has to work his way up from the bottom. I have, at the present time, over twenty nephews of my own in the service. Every one of these began at the bottom. Let me, in imagination, take you through one of our kitchens. You see those two young cooks, with caps on their heads and the usual white uniform, who are working forty to the dozen ? They are my nephews. There is not a superinten- dent in the whole of our establishment who has not begun life as a waiter. But a truce to commerce, with its attendant delights and disappoint- ments. Let me turn to , less strenuous subjects. Let me, for ex- ample, try to tell you about a. tew of the re- flections which are the outcome of an exceedingly arduous career. In the first place, it has been said that we twentieth-centuryites are too prone to indulge to excess in the good things of the table—a charge, alas ! for which I have been frequently held largely responsible. Is this true ? I think not. Every age has its fad, and the twentieth century- is essentially an age of fads. Almost daily articles appear in the papers discussing the question as to exactly what quantity of food the human frame icquires to keep it strong and healthy, while some enterprising experimentalists go so far as to declare that the by no SIR JOSEPH means magnificent sum of four- A \" VANITY VoL xlv.—28. pence a day is quite large enough to procure nourishing food for even the heaviest of eaters. Now, I may as well say at once that I am by no means in accord with those who assert that the Englishman is, in these days, prone to over-eating. The

274 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. either eat or drink more. The real explana- tion lies in the fact that the restaurant of the present day can do much more for its customers than the old-fashioned eating-house was able to do. Then, again, the British workman has recently had the charge of over-eating levelled at him. Now, I can conscientiously say that in his case also, as in the case of the \" world of wealth and fashion,\" this accusation of gluttony is a most unfair one. The British workman—and under this head I include all workers of Great Britain—is, \" collectively \" speaking, a conscientious, hard-working man. He has perforce to arise betimes, and, whether he is employed in factory or ware- house, the manual labour he has to perform necessarily induces a healthy appetite. In a small way I have ever been a close observer and student of human nature. And surely no more interesting study has ever existed. As a business man, too, I have naturally been brought into contact with all sorts and conditions of blas& in the extreme, and the thought crossed my mind that a peep into another side of life—into a side of life of which they had probably seen next to nothing—would no doubt do them a deal more good than sitting up until the small hours of the morning. I therefore said to them : \"Do you want to have the time of your lives ? It will cost you something. Are you willing to spend a couple of pounds a head ? I guarantee you will never forget the experience as long as you live. I am willing to put in a similar sum. and so make six pounds for the outing.\" The young fellows, who had been dining and wining, were rather puzzled, but eventually people. One or two stories of actual ex- perience of these said people may, therefore, not be out of place. I remember some years ago two young Oxford students, who had been dining late, saying that as the hours of closing would compel them to be turned out at 12.30 a.m., they would like to put in another couple of hours and go to some supper club where they could, as they expressed it, \" do as they liked—within reasonable bounds, of course,\" and have the time of their lives. The two undergraduates in question already looked agreed to share in the adventure. \" First,\" I said, \" we must change our gold into half- crowns.\" Then, each carrying sixteen half- crowns in our pockets, we sallied forth shortly after midnight. \" Where are you taking us ? \" they said. I replied that I thought that a short walk to cool their brains would probably do them no particular harm. And thus we wended our way down to the Embankment, where, on a Saturday night, the homeless and destitute, life's outcasts who have nothing else to hope for and nothing else to live for, endeavour to

MY REMINISCENCES. 275 find temporary oblivion by making their beds on the cold, hard seats. Beginning at Westminster, I and my two young Oxford fiiends walked slowly along the Embankment from seat to seat, waking the sleepers, hearing their stories, and distributing the half-crowns. The students, who were excellent young fellows at heart, soon entered into the spirit of the thing, and not only cheerfully and cheerily distributed their sixteen half- crowns each, but gave away three or four pounds more —all the money they had with them, so that eventu- ally it became necessary for them to walk home to their hotel. I left them at the door, and they both thanked me heartily for being the means of enabling them to get a glimpse at \" how the other half of the world lives.\" \" Well, you know what's what,\" they said, as they bade me good - night. \" We never enjoyed any- thing so much be- fore.\" They had had their money's worth in the pleasure they gave to other people. 1 fancy that visit to the Embankment gave those two youthful merry- makers far more real pleasure than sitting up for six nights and days could possibly have done. Yes, to the real observer of life—and I hope and think I may number myself in this category—there is a never-ending field for interesting and profitable—morally, at least —observation. Another little story. Not %'ery long ago I was going down Piccadilly when I felt I was being shadowed by someone. I looked round and saw a small boy following me closely and watching me. To ascertain what it was he wanted I turned sharply round upon him. Before I could speak the little nipper said to me : \" Ain't you done with it yet, guv'nor ? You'll be burning your yo u done wSK yet. £uv'r\\or?/ moustache if you smoke it much longer.\" \" What do you mean, my boy ? \" said I. \" Well,\" said he, \" my father is a cripple at home. He can't afford no tobacco, but, oh ! he do love a smoke, and I have been follering you, sir, waiting for you to throw away the

276 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. me, to which he replied, with a merry twinkle in his hungry eye (if ever a man appeared to want a good square meal, I was talking to that man then), \" I'm laughing, because I'm mad.\" \" You don't look mad,\" I answered. \" That's as it may be,\" he said; \" but I am mad, all the same—as mad as anyone in Bedlam, and that is why I am laughing. And mark you, sir,\" he added, hastily, \" I can prove the truth of my words.\" \" How can you do that ? \" I said. \" Just as easily ' Im U because I »m as rolling off a log,\" he said, with the merry- twinkle still in his eye. \"All last week I was not able to get a stroke of work to do. In fact, as man to man, I may tell you that I have not slept in a bed for a week, neither have I tasted a bite of food since yesterday. Yesterday was a lucky day for me,\" he added, as an after- thought, \" for I actually found an eatable crust in the gutter ; and but very few crusts that one picks up in the gutter are eat- able, you know.\" The man's sense of humour was infectious, but the pathos of the whole thing was too sad for words; so that, for fear of appearing weak, I made no reply. \" Well, now you want to know why I'm mad,\" continued my friend, for as such I was beginning to regard him. \" Well, I'll tell you. Here am I standing before this window. That's plain enough, isn't it ? And I'm devilish hungry. And to appease that hunger all I have to do is to break the window and nneak as much food as I can eat. And that't not the only beauty of the whole thing, for if I break the window I should get a night's lodging in the police-station and food and shelter thrown in. But I don't do it. Why don't I do it ? Because I'm mad—stark, staring mad ! \" And the man broke out into another peal of laughter.

MY REMINISCENCES. 277 Is it easy to educate the public ? The question is a particularly interesting one. Personally, as an individual expression of opinion, I think the public is very easily educated, if you go the right way about it. The change, for instance, that has been made in the habits of the London working men in the last twenty years is amazing. It is due to three causes. First, to the Council schools; secondly, to the shortening of the hours of work ; thirdly, to the improvements of the feeding of the working classes. Twenty years ago, if you sat opposite any building in process of erection, you would see the children coming up at twelve and one o'clock with their dinner-cans. Their fathers would come out all grimy and dirty, and sit down on the nearest plank and rush through their food, and then spend the rest of the dinner-hour in the nearest public-house. Now you will find the working man dining in the evening with his family. The \"dinner- pail \" is no longer brought to him at midday by his children, but he goes to the nearest cheap restaurant, gets a cup of good tea or coffee and some bread-and-cheese, or a snack of something else ; then he sits reading the newspaper and talking with his mates until the dinner-hour is over. There has been an enormous improvement in the victualling of the public. Food is better, food is cheaper, cooking is better, and the result is that there is less drinking, and the father and family dine together in the evening. By the way, I wonder whether the fact that life is one of the greatest paradoxes imaginable has ever crossed your mind ? It has crossed mine on many an occasion, and in passing has left behind it a feeling of sadness. I take it that among the majority of workers in this world the salient hope is to make money —lots of money, barrels, tons of money—for 'few of us are satisfied with a sufficiency. But then, of course, we don't know what a sufficiency of money is. Within recent years many men and women have come to me and have said : \" You must be a very happy man ; you have made money out of your business.\" Was ever cause and effect so greatly misconstrued ? To think that money makes happiness is to think as one bereft of reason. All the money in the world would not bring any living soul a step nearer to happiness than would the possession of the fastest racing motor-car bring the earth nearer to the moon. If I have discovered one thing worth the finding in a sf enuous life it is that it is \" Hope,\" the longing for what is usually the unattainable, that is the fairy godmother of happiness. And yet I can remember the day when, like so many others, I fondly believed that a small measure of success in business would make me the happiest man in the world. I know now what a big mistake I made. I was as happy as an ambitious young artist, every whit as happy as I am to-day. Once upon a time I fancied that, did

The Guardian or the Left Flank. By C. BENBOW. Illustrated by Christopher Clark, R.I. I. AYONARA.\" \" Sayonara,\" replied the old man, and grasped his son's hand. .\" I am old, and it will not be long to wait. It is well that both i my sons shall greet me when I cross over.\" The little wrinkled woman with the close- cropped grey head rose from the cushions on which she was seated, and going to her son put both her hands on his shoulders and looked long into his face. He led her gently back to her cushions and made her sit down, then he knelt on one knee and took the brown, wizened face between his hands. \" As the father says, it will not be long to wait, mother. Sayonara.\" She tried hard to speak, to .smile at him ; her bony hands gripped his arms, her whole frame seemed to stiffen in its effort to keep back her pent emotions. Then, in an instant, old age and mother-love had conquered ; she raised the ample sleeves of her kimono before her face and fell forward on her cushions, sobbing convulsively. Captain Osaka rose to his feet and turned to the little girl in the rainbow-silk kimono. \" Sayonara, my beloved.\" She, too, came close to him and held his arms and looked tensely into his face. He was a little man, even for a Japanese, and their eyes were level. For a long moment they stood thus. \" Sayonara, my lord,\" she replied at last in a strangled whisper. She and the old man stood in the doorway and watched the dapper, blue-uniformed figure go down the street, and when Osaka was about to turn the corner and looked round, she waved her hand and cried, \" Banzai!\" That was his last glimpse of her, a dainty little figure in rainbow silk, standing in the

THE GUARDIAN OF THE LEFT FLANK. 279 sunny doorway and smiling bravely as she waved to him. None who witnessed this parting would have guessed that to him that smile had been more heartrending than tears, or that the smiling girl in the doorway had a moment later collapsed moaning on the matted floor within. This was the second parting. Mirami had first said good-bye to her lover when he left for the \" front\" three weeks after the marriage. She had never expected to see him again, but the gods had been kind, and had sent him back to her. While his wound healed she had prayed feverishly that the war would end before her husband was well enough to go to the front again. By day she had smothered the shrine with flowers, and by night had crept out and made it gay with rushlights and coloured sweetmeats. But it was all in vain, the gods were deaf; perhaps the dread God of War had overawed them. Osaka's father, the old Samurai, was crippled with rheumatism, yet he hobbled restlessly about the house and garden for the greater part of the afternoon ; at last he announced his intention of going down to the quay. \" I go not to see him again,\" he explained to the two women;\" the boy was right when he said that public partings make for weak- ness ; but I would see this wonderful gun of his which is the talk of all Sasebo. This strange thing will I see from the barrier, without entering.\" The excuse was a transparent one, for hitherto nothing would induce the old man to go near the quay. He was a warrior of the old school who had fought in armour in his day, and like many of his class he was an irreconcilable. He resented fiercely all modern innovations. The sword had been good enough for him and for his ancestors for countless generations, and now the sword had fallen to second place. Men hid in holes now and killed each other from a great distance with these new-fangled Western weapons. Thus was war robbed of all honour. Where was the glorious sword-fight of old, the lightning-play of the swordsman, the music of steel on steel, the thunder of the stamping feet of ten thousand mailed warriors ? It was in vain that Osaka had argued that these methods of warfare would spell annihilation to-day: the old man only became more unreasonable and irritable. The sight which met the veteran's eyes when he reached the quay filled him with amazement, for he had never before seen a modern steamship at close quarters. What struck him most was the immensity of the thing. The side of the liner towered up from the edge of the quay like a great steel battle- ment. How huge, too, were the funnels through which the monster seemed to breathe ! But the old man had come to get a last glimpse of his son ; he pushed through the crowd which surged against the railings, and at last caught sight of him. He was directing

280 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. from view. Once more the shouts of \" Banzai! \" rent the air. The old man's gaze fell aga\\n to the quay in search of his son. Captain Osaka was now striding up and down not far off, while his junior was collecting and marshalling the gun section. \" There,\" said the soldier, in- dicating Osaka with a quick glance of admiration, \" is the Commander of the Gun. He knows every screw and bolt and thread of it, even as a watchmaker knows the inside of a watch. See, he has the Samurai sword; his father, who still lives, is the old Samurai Okamoto, and our captain is a chip of the old block.\" \" How smart and handsome he is!\" replied the geisha with a sigh, her eyes following the officer. \" I must go now ; see, the section is falling in,\" said the soldier. \" Sayo- nara, M u s i b o San.\" She took a carnation from her hair and held it out to him, smiling. \"Sayonara,\" she replied. \" Kill many Rooskis before you return.\" He placed the flower inside his cap and said something in an undertone which was evi- dently complimentary, for the geisha broke \"NEXT MOMKNT THKRB WAS A TRKMBNDOUS JARRING, CLANGING SOUND, AS TUB STEAM-CRANK LIFTED THE GIANT HOWITZER INTO TH« AIR.\"

THE GUARDIAN OF THE LEFT FLANK. 281 into a merry laugh which expressed, as clearly as if she had spoken it, the exclamation : \" O flatterer ! \" The soldier, still smiling, saluted, then turned and doubled across the enclosure to where the men of the gun section were falling in. Soon afterwards Osaka's junior came up to him and reported with a salute that the gun section was \" present and correct.\" The captain acknowledged the salute, then walked briskly to where the section had fallen in. He gave a sharp word of command, and the party marched off and began to ascend the gangway which bridged the space between the quay and the troopship. Captain Osaka stood at the foot of the gangway until all his men had passed up, then he too turned and mounted. At the top he turned again, and stood there for several moments surveying the crowd. His eyes swept up and down the closely-packed bairier as if he half expected to see some familiar face. Perhaps he felt the earnest gaze of the old man whose eyes were riveted upon him. The crowd recog- nized him as the officer in charge of the gun, and broke again into a roar of \" Banzai!\" Osaka had not bargained for this: he saluted and disappeared hastily behind the black bulwarks. Okamoto backed slowly out of the crowd. He felt suddenly very old and very tired ; he must get back home and tell them all about it. The words of the soldier and of the geisha kept repeating themselves in his brain : \" A chip of the old block, knows every screw and every bolt,\" and the geisha: \" So smart and so handsome.\" Yes, they would be pleased to hear of this; perhaps he would bring them back to see the last of the ship—it sailed at midnight. Why not? There was no harm in standing behind the barriers. But when he got back he felt almost too exhausted and generally done up to talk, and while he was telling them about his adventures he fell asleep. When he awoke the sunlight was streaming through the creeper-clad window, and the Deshima Maru was far away, steaming northwards through the Inland Sea. II. FROM the Chinese farm far out on the plain the landscape looking northwards was a grand and desolate one. Range upon range of snow- clad, conical-peaked mountains. In the deep valleys between the mountains pine-forests nestled, and here and there sparse battalions of pine and fir struggled up the steep slopes towards the rocky summits. Vol. *lv.-29. Through the ranges resounded continually the tremendous thunder of big guns, and, as an accompaniment, a faint, persistent, mut- tering sound, which told of distant rifle-fin.-. Punctuating this uproar at short and irregular intervals was a peculiar, harsh, peremptory rah-ta-ta-ta-ta-taa—the distinctive stammer of a machine-gun. At times, when several of these sinister weapons were \" talking \"

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. An orderly passed continually to and fro between the telephone room and the room in which Osaka stood ; each time he entered the latter he handed one of the staff officers a paper which appeared to be a written message. The officer would glance through it quickly, then turn and bend over the table. What he did there Osaka was unable to make out, as the table was almost hidden from view by the officers who stood round it. Dusk was approaching, and at an order from one of the staff an orderly entered and lit a large acetylene lamp which hung over the centre of the table from a massive, soot- covered beam overhead ; the lamp was fitted with a large, conical shade, and threw down a brilliant circle of light. The general and his chief of staff moved to the head of the table, and Osaka joined the group standing round it. As he had expected, a large map was pinned out on the table,and on this mapwere hundreds of little paper flags which represented the positions of the opposing forces. The Russians were represented by black flags, and the Japanese by a miniature replica of their national flag, i.e., white, with a rising sun in red inset in the lower half. The farm was connected by telephone with the headquarters of every large unit in the field, and, in addition, just behind the firing lines, hundreds of specially-trained observers, carrying field telephones, reported continually the progress of the battle. The constant stream of messages thus pouring in were quickly sifted in the telephone room, and then passed by an orderly to the staff officer most nearly concerned. If a unit miles away advanced or retired, the flag which repre- sented it on the map made a corresponding move. Thus the general could, merely by glancing at the map, see at any time how the attack was progressing. Osaka studied this bird's-eye representation of the battle then in progress with the keenest interest. The Russian position faced south; they were holding about twenty miles of a chain of mountains which ran almost due east and west. Their right flank was strongly posted on a broad river, and their left on the end of the range where it rose abruptly from the plain. On the map the two irregular lines of flags, the black and the white, ran parallel along the whole length of the position, but at one end, the east, Osaka saw with delight that a group of white flags had advanced right on to the Russian position. The chief of staff pointed to this group of flags. \" Gentlemen, as you see,\" he said, \" the enemy is holding us along the whole front, but here we have partially succeeded in turning his left flank. The general intends to push this advantage with every available man. To accomplish this, it will be necessary to weaken our centre and left, for the general reserve will not be used until later. The troops required from these sections will march to-night. Detailed written instructions on this point will presently be issued to all con- cerned. The general wishes you to impress on

THE GUARDIAN OF THE LEFT FLANK. 283 ground, and that the epaulement will be ready for the gun before you get there.\" III. THE great gun was in position at last; it had taken an entire infantry battalion the whole night to get it there. In fact, for the last few hundred yards up the long slope to the foot of the hill, the services of another battalion had to be requisitioned, as the human gun- teams, which had been toiling all night in the snow, were completely exhausted, and men were falling in their tracks. The soldiers worked willingly to get the howitzer into position, for well they knew what a powerful auxiliary it would be. Osaka found that the C.R.A. had been as good as his word, for not only was the epaule- ment ready for the gun, but a field telephone had been laid to the top of the hill, where a cunningly hidden bomb-proof shelter had been erected for the use of the \" observer.\" It was from this spot that the fire of the gun would be directed. When Osaka, accompanied by a telephone orderly, reached the shelter, the stars were still blazing from a clear, frosty sky, and all that could be seen of the landscape were the grey, ghostly outlines of some of the nearer snow-clad peaks. There was nothing to be done save to sit down and wait for the daylight. To Osaka it seemed that that first faint flush on the mountain-tops which heralded the coming of dawn would never appear. Suddenly the telephone orderly gave an exclamation, and pointed to a faint object far up in the sky behind them. This object appeared to be a tiny, dim crescent of light. It was the captive balloon, and the crescent of light was caused by the sun's rays striking its varnished globe of yellow silk. Owing to its great height above the earth the balloon caught these rays while the mountains below were still in shadow. A few minutes later the long-looked-for tinge of rose appeared on the highest peaks. The azure shadows fled swiftly into the valleys, then in an instant a lofty, snow-clad pinnacle gleamed like a living coal, the sun-fire leapt from peak to peak ; it was as if an auroric curtain had been suddenly lowered to just below the levels of the peaks, and had set them all aflame. But in a few moments the red-gold beacons paled to silver, the grey light swept the valleys, and it was day. As soon as Osaka could discern the bridge he took the range of it carefully with the range-finder he carried ; the distance was, as near as possible, nine thousand seven hundred yards. After checking it several times he moved to the telephone to issue instructions to the gun section below. Just at that moment the bell rang. Osaka took up the receiver and a breathless voice greeted him^ \" Halloa ! halloa ! Are you there ? \" \" Halloa ! Yes,\" replied Osaka. \" Is that Captain Osaka ? \" \" Yes ; who is speaking ? \" \" C.R.A. this end. Balloon reports large

281 THE STRAXD MAGAZ1XE. \" INTO THE 1\" OF THIS SKI.THING MASS CAME THK SLCO.NL) SHELL, A VERITABLE given in a quiet, level voice. Again he turned his glasses on the bridge and waited. The sight was one of the greatest confusion. The shot \\\\as so unexpected, and the shriek of the enormous projectile as it flew close overhead so astounding in volume, that in an instant panic reigned supreme. Some of the horse- men set spurs to their horses and dashed forward, while others turned to gallop back. The result was a hopeless block of plunging horses and excited men. Into the midst of this seething mass came the second shell, a veritable aerial torpedo containing over five hundred pounds of high explosive.

THE GUARDIAN OF THE LEFT FLANK. 285 AF.KIAL TORPEDO CONTAINING OVER FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS OK HIGH EXPLOSIVE.\" The observer saw a bright flash, followed instantly by a dense cloud of black smoke which towered up from the bridge. When this had cleared away he noted with glee that one of the spans had disappeared. Along the whole length of the bridge a mass of men and horses still struggled frantically. Osaka aimed this time at the east end of the bridge—again the shot told. Now a crowd of horsemen found themselves entrapped, for the shell had cut the bridge behind them. The fate of the unfortunate. Cossacks thus marooned under the terrible fire of the big gun was pitiable. They surged helplessly to

286 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. and fro, and in the meU.e several horses and riders were pushed over the broken ends of the roadway and fell into the swirling stream below. The sight of these swimming and floating downstream seemed to point to the only possible chance of escape, and as he gave the order to fire again Osaka saw hundreds of men and horses leap or fall into the river. This shell demolished one of the piers, which caused the spans it had supported to sink down into the river at a steep angle. The bridge was now a wreck, the whole face of the broad stream was covered with struggling men and horses, and at last the great gun was silent. IV. MEANWHILE the battle had recommenced along the whole front, and on the other flank twenty miles away the Japanese turning movement had succeeded. But the Russian general reserve, which had arrived too late on the scene to avert this disaster, was now fight- ing grimly and holding the Japanese in check. Although the Russian commander could no longer look for victory, he still hoped to withdraw his army without serious loss. He relied on his Cossack division, and believed firmly that it would carry out the mission he had entrusted to it, as he knew that his opponents' cavalry was weak. He argued that when the Japanese found themselves attacked in rear their pressing attentions would be diverted, and he would then be in a position to withdraw his troops in safety. Everything now depended on the success of the Cossacks. When he learnt that they had been held up by the unexpected destruction of the bridge he was in despair. After a hurried consultation with his staff he wired back to the Cossack commander :— \" My left flank driven in and falling back slowly. Your success imperative to ensure safe retreat of army. Silence gun at all costs. Engineers will repair bridge.\" On receipt of this message the Cossack commander began a series of desperate attacks on the hill covering the gun. He pushed his horse artillery boldly forward, and under cover of its fire his squadrons in widely extended formation \" galloped for \" the hill. But the Japanese infantry there were well entrenched and supported by numerous machine-guns, and the gallant horsemen were mown down by hundreds and driven back again and again. Meanwhile, the hidden howitzer, invisible to the enemy, continued to fire all day, and silenced many of the plucky little guns which had dared to come out into the open. When night came the Russian engineers, under cover of the friendly darkness, began the task of patching up the bridge. But in this work they counted without Captain Osaka. That indomitable little gunner care- fully laid his gun on the bridge just before dusk, and at midnight one of his terrific projectiles landed on it with dire results.

THE GUARDIAN OF THE LEFT FLANK. 287 face. He opened his eyes to find that it was snowing fast. He sat up and looked round ; he was still somewhat dazed, and what with the falling snow and the darkness could at first make out nothing. Then he discerned the dim shape of the howitzer looming up a few feet away, and like a keen agony came the sudden realization of his position. He was alive and to all intents and purposes a prisoner, while his men were all killed or wounded and his beloved gun in the hands of the enemy. On the morrow it would be turned on his own comrades. From its position it could enfilade many of their lines and work dreadful havoc. With this thought came a grim resolve. He must somehow disable the gun before morning. But how ? That was the question. The enemy were all round him, and only a few yards away, manning the sand-bag parapet of the epaule- ment. If the snow ceased he would be discovered; there was not an instant to lose. He stretched himself face downwards on the snow, and began to worm his way towards the gun. As he did so his brain worked at the fever speed of thought. How was he to effect his purpose ? Single-handed it would be impossible even to remove the massive breech-block, much less carry it away. He could tamper with the breech mechanism, but with his bare hands could do no lasting damage. He might block the barrel with pieces of rock or anything else which came to hand, and trust to the obstruction not being discovered. This plan would take time, and he could hardly hope to carry it out with the Russians only a few yards off. He reached the gun and stood up cautiously. The breech was open ; evidently the gunners were about to load when the alarm came. For several minutes Osaka stood there and racked his brains for some method of disabling the monster. Then a sudden inspiration came—there was only one method of blocking the barrel effectually in the circumstances. He must do it with his own body ! He began cautiously to scoop out with his hand and arm the snow which had drifted into the \" chamber \" ; then, without hesita- tion, but slowly and painfully, for his limbs were stiff with cold, he climbed in head foremost. He was not a moment too soon. Hardly had he reached his hiding-place and partially closed the breech behind him by pulling at the breech-block with his feet, when a shot rang out close by. This was followed by a fusillade. As the din grew, Osaka realized that this was no mere night alarm, but a determined counter-attack by his comrades to regain the position and the lost howitzer. Hope leapt up in his breast, but it was followed instantly by fear. What if his comrades should recapture the gun and find him hiding inside it ? Would they credit his reasons for being there ? He shivered at the alternative. To be branded as a coward.

288 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" SLOWLY AND PAINFULLY, FOR HIS LIMBS WERE STIFF WITH COLD, HE CI.1MBKD IN HEAD FOREMOST.\"

THE Gl'ARDIAN OF THE LEFT FLANK. 289 the muzzle of the gun. It was growing light ; he could see some rorks on the hillside quite clearly. At the same time he berame aware that the noise of the battle, which he had heard almost unconsciously for hours, had grown louder and nearer. His spirits rose, for he knew that the gun would soon be in action, and his -torture would be at an end. He was also cheered by the approaching din of battle. Surely it could only mean that the great turning movement on the other flank had been successful, and that his victorious comrades were \" rolling up the line,\" advancing towards him along the Russian position. A deep guttural voice boomed out close by, and he felt the barrel begin to move slowly to the right; it was evident that the gun was about to bs trained on some target. Presently the lateral movement stopped; all that Osaka could see now was the upper half of a snow-clad fir tree. How beautiful it looked ! Again the guttural voice boomed out; a light broke in from the breech end. The gun was. about to be loaded. Would they discover him ? He heard the familiar squeak of the shell-lift—he had intended to have it oiled, but the grease-case had been dropped in a drift and lost when the gun was being dragged into position the night before. Was it really only the night before ? It seemed ages ago. The light disappeared suddenly; something had entered the breech of the gun. Was that loud hiss the soft, squishy noise which he had heard so often when the breech-block went home ? The gun was loaded. Once more the guttural voice snapped out a word of command. The muzzle began to travel slowly upwards, and the fir tree disappeared from view. Far away on a distant ridge a number of little dots were moving; they were either his comrades advancing or the Russians retiring, he could not tell which. Again the movement ceased. The gun was laid and about to fire. Suddenly a wild desire to live came to the man hidden within it. Was it worth it after all ? No one would ever know what had become of him. His name would not be added to the glorious list of Japan's heroes who had died for their country. Little Mirami and the old people, they would wait and wait, and always hope for news of him. Little Mirami —he saw her now, standing in the sunny doorway in her rain-bow-silk kimono, smiling her frozen little smile and waving him good- bye. \" Sayonara \"—\" Banzai \"—the sweet tones of her voice rang in his ears. And there was the old man, his father, behind her with his proud face and the non-committal eye? which veiled, as he well knew, a great and tender heart. And within, face downward? on the cushions, his mother; she Fools, would they never fire ? His nerve was breaking, he must scream aloud. Once more the guttural voice. Now ! No, the muzzle began to move upwards again. Ah ! they wanted more elevation. He tried

THE COOKS' DEPARTMENT. Romance in a Registry Office. By E. S. VALENTINE. Illustrated by George Morrow. a recent novel the heroine's mother explains her sudden plunge into trouble to a confiding but inexperienced friend :— \" I had just sent for the housemaid to give her notice because she never dusts the lustres properly, when she turned round and gave it—notice, I mean—to me 1\" \" What a blessing! It saved you the trouble.\" \" On the contrary, if you knew anything of domestics, Valentia, you would see that it put me in a most awkward position ; and now I shall have to live at Mrs. Hunt's.\" \" To live at Mrs. Hunt's ? \" repeated Val, as if stupefied. \" Why, you're not going to leave your charming house ? And who is Mrs. Hunt—an old friend of yours ? \" \" Don't you really know who Mrs. Hunt is, Valentia\"?\" \" No ; I haven't the faintest idea.\" \" She has a registry off Well, may you never know ! Certainly I'm not going to leave my house. The idea of such a thing ! \" What is the greatest problem of the day ? Men might fumble over the question, but any woman in the kingdom would tell you at once. It is the problem of the servant. To the servant it is the problem of the master and mistress. Everybody in the kingdom is more or less interested in this problem, enormous, baffling, insistent; and yet it is astonishing how little is known about the great sources of servant supply. Domestic science is beginning to be taught—but what about domestic servant science ? Here is an army of over a million persons, divided off into corps, regiments, and bat- talions. How is this army recruited ? How is it trained ? What is its scab of pay ? Who fixes the rate of wages ? For how long does it enlist ? How many butlers are there ? How many cooks and housemaids ? Where do they come from ? Where do they go to ? And how does this army, bearing the worthy banner of \" Ich Dien,\" compare with the armier of other countrie? ? In London's West-end are several large establishments which may be called servants' recruiting offices. Not one household head in a thousand ever so much as crosses their portals or knows anything about them ; but their workings are full of humour, human interest, and even of romance. One of these

ROMANCE IN A REGISTRY OFFICE. 291 emporiums for the supply of butlers, men- servants, footmen, pages, housekeepers, cooks, parlour-maids, up-and-down maids, house- maids, and kitchen-maids has grown to be almost a national institution. \" We will assume,\" said my mentor, as we threaded our way through the corridors, \" that you want a cook.\" \" Certainly,\" I asserted. \" We can live without poetry, music, or books ; But civilized man cannot live without cooks.\" \" Then we will pass to the cooks' depart- ment. This way, if you please.\" On the glass door was painted a legend, \"Single-handed Cooks.\" \" No,\" I said, firmly, \" we will not go in there. The sight of these poor, faithful, mutilated servants would unman me. We—\" But the door was already opened, and as my gaze rested upon scores of female cooks, young, old, thin, fat, dark, fair, the manager explained that the phrase \"single-handed\" merely meant cooks un- assisted by a kitchen- maid. They were the sort of cooks most in demand. It seemed strange to see them sitting here, chatting together, reading newspapers, in their bonnets, gloved, always with that air of expectancy— waiting, always waiting. In spite of the absence of a range, it gave the place the aspect of a vast kitchen. The manager spoke to one of them—a stout, red-faced, middle-aged one. \" Ah, Mrs. Briggs ! Back again ? \" \" Yes,\" she said, simply. \" Tarts.\" \" I remember—your strong point. Pastry. They didn't like it ? \" \" Wouldn't touch it. What could I do ? I couldn't stay and be 'appy, could I ? \" Turning to me, the manager said : \" She's a little eccentric, but a splendid cook. Was nine years with Lady M- . She has tried three places since, but can't get suited. Have you any idea where the best cooks in England come from ? \" I reflected. \" Cookham ? \" I hazarded. \" No ; Herefordshire. I haven't any idea SOME TYPES OF FEMALE SERVANTS. why, but the cooks in London with the longest records of service hail from Hereford- shire. Nottinghamshire produces the most nursemaids, and Kent the most housemaids, of any county in proportion to their popula- tion. Do you see that woman in the corner —with the large green hat ? She has been, I think, fifteen years in service, and spends


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