The Strand 1912-10 Vol-XLIV № 262 October mich

364 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. walked at our head as our guide, but refused indignantly to carry any burden. Behind him came the two surviving Indians with our scanty possessions upon their backs. We four white men walked in the rear, with rifles loaded and ready. As we started there broke from the thick, silent woods behind us a sudden great ululation of the ape- men, which may have been a cheer of triumph at our departure or a jeer of contempt at our flight. Looking back, we saw only the dense screen of trees, but that long-drawn yell told us how many of our enemies lurked among them. We saw no sign of pursuit, however, and soon we had got into more open country and beyond their power. As I tramped along, the rearmost of the four, I could not help smiling at the appear- ance of my three companions in front. Was this the luxurious Lord John Roxton who had sat that evening in the Albany amidst his Persian rugs and his pictures in the pink radiance of the tinted lights ? And was this the imposing Professor who had swelled behind the great mahogany desk in his massive study at Enmore Park ? And, finally, could this be the austere and prim figure which had risen before the meeting at the Zoological Institute ? No three tramps that one could have met in a Surrey lane could have looked more hope- less and bedraggled. We had, it is true, been only a week or so upon the top of the plateau, but our spare clothing was in our camp below, and the one week had been a severe one upon us all—though least to me, who had not to endure the handling of the ape-men. My three friends had all lost their hats and had now bound handkerchiefs round their heads, their clothes hung in ribbons about them, and their unshaven, grimy faces were hardly to be recognized. 13oth Summerlee and Challenger were limping heavily, while I still dragged my feet from weakness after the shock of the morning, and my neck was as stiff as a board from the murderous grip that had held it. We were indeed a sorry crew, and I did not wonder to sec our Indian com- panions glance back at us occasionally with horror and amazement on their faces. In the late afternoon we reached the margin of the lake, and as we emerged from the bush and saw the sheet of water stretching before us our native friends set up a shrill cry of joy, and pointed eagerly in front of them. It was indeed a wonderful sight which lay before us. Sweeping over the glassy surface was a great flotilla of canoes coming straight for the shore upon which we stood. They were some miles out when first we saw them, but they shot forward with great swiftness, and were soon so near that the rowers could dis- tinguish our persons. Instantly a thunderous shout of delight burst from them, and we saw them rise from their seats, waving their paddles and spears madly in the air. Then, bending to their work once more, they flew across the intervening water, beached their boats upon the sloping sand, and rushed up to

THE LOST WORLD. 365 -- are our friends. They are great fighters, and they hate the ape-men even as we do. They command \"—here he pointed up to heaven— \" the thunder and the lightning. When shall we have such a chance again ? Let us go forward and either die now or live for the future in safety. How else shall we go back unashamed to our women ? \" The little red warriors hung upon the words of the speaker, and when he had finished they burst into a roar of applause, waving their rude weapons in the air. The old chief stepped forward to us and asked us some question, pointing at the same time to the woods. Roxton made a sign to him that he should wait for an answer, and then he turned to us. \" Well, it's up to you to say what you will do,\" said he. \" For my part, I have a score to settle with these monkey-folk, and if it ends by wipin' them off the face of the earth, I don't see that the earth need fret about it. I'm goin' with our little red pals, and I mean to see them through the scrap. What do you say, young fellah ? \" \" Of course I will come.\" \" And you, Challenger ? \" \" I will assuredly co-operate.\" \" And you, Summerlee ? \" \" We seem to be drifting very far from the objects of this expedition, Lord John. I assure you that I little thought, when I left my professorial chair in London, that it was for the purpose of heading a raid of savages upon a colony of anthropoid apes.\" \" To such base uses do we come,\" said Roxton, smiling. \" But we are up against it, so what's the decision ? \" \" It seems a most questionable step,\" said Summerlee, argumentative to the last; \" but if you are all going I hardly see how I can remain behind.\" \"Then it is settled,\" said Roxton, and, turning to the chief, he nodded and slapped his rifle. The old fellow clasped our hands each in turn, while his men cheered louder than ever. It was too late to advance that night, so the Indians settled down into a rude bivouac. On all sides their fires began to glimmer and smoke. Some of them who had disappeared into the jungle came back presently, driving a young iguanodon before them. Like the others, it had a daub of asphalt upon its shoulder, and it was only when we saw one of the natives step forward with the air of an owner and give his consent to the beast's slaughter that we understood at last that these great creatures were as much private property as a herd of cattle, and that these symbols which had so perplexed us were nothing more than the marks of the owner. Helpless, torpid, and vegetarian, with great limbs but a minute brain, they could be rounded up and driven by a child. In a few minutes the huge beast had been cut up, and slabs of him were hanging over a dozen camp-fires, together

365 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \"THEY CAME BACK PRESENTLY, DRIVING A YOUNC 1UUANOUON KKI-ORB THKM. the lake. Here and there high serpent- heads projected out of the water, cutting swiftly through it with a little horseshoe of foam in front, and a long, swirling wake behind, rising and falling in graceful, swan- like undulations as they went. It was not until one of these creatures wriggled on to a sandbank within a few hundred yards of us, and exposed a barrel-shaped body and huge flippers behind the long serpent neck, that Challenger and Summerlce, who had joined us, broke out into their duet of wonder and admiration. \" Plesiosaurus ! A fresh - water plesio- saurus ! \" cried Summerlce. \" That I should have lived to see such a sight! We are blessed, my dear Challenger, above all zoologists since the world began ! \"

THE LOST WORLD. 367 It was not until the night had fallen, and the fires of our savage allies glowed red in the shadows, that our two men of science could be dragged away from the fascinations of that primeval lake. Even in the darkness, as we lay upon the strand, we heard from time to time the snort and plunge of the huge creatures who lived therein. At earliest dawn our camp was astir, and an hour later we had started upon our memor- able expedition. Often in my dreams have I thought that I might live to be a war correspondent. In what wildest one could I have conceived the nature of the campaign which it should be my lot to report ? Here, then, is my first despatch from a field of battle. Our numbers had been reinforced during the night by a fresh batch of natives from the caves, and we may have been four or five hun- dred strong when we made our advance. A fringe of scouts were thrown out in front, and behind them the whole force in a solid column made their way up the long slope of the bush country until we were near the edge of the forest. Here they spread out into a thin, straggling line of spearmen and bowmen. Roxton and Challenger took their position upon the right flank, while Summerlee and I were on the left. It was a host of the Stone Age that we were accompanying to battle— we with the last word of the gunsmith's art from St. James's Street and the Strand. We had not long to wait for our enemy. A wild, shrill clamour rose from the edge of the wood, and suddenly a body of ape-men rushed out with clubs and stones and made for the centre of the Indian line. It was a valiant move but a foolish one, for the great bandy- legged creatures were slow of foot, while their opponents were as active as cats. It was horrible to see the fierce brutes, with foaming mouths and glaring eyes, rushing and grasp- ing, but for ever missing their elusive enemies, while arrow after arrow buried itself in their hides. One great fellow ran past me roaring with pain, with a dozen darts sticking from his chest and ribs. In mercy I put a bullet through his skull and he fell sprawling among the aloes. But this was the only shot fired, for the attack had been on the centre of the line, and the Indians there had needed no help of ours in repulsing it. Of all the ape- men who had rushed out into the open, I do not think that one got back to cover. But the matter was more deadly when we came among the trees. For an hour or more after we entered the wood there was a des[>e- rate struggle, in which for a time we hardly held our own. Springing out from among the scrub, the ape-men with huge clubs broke in upon the Indians, and often felled three or four of them before they could be speared. Their frightful blows shattered everything upon which they fell. One of them knocked Summerlee's rifle to matchwood, and the next would have crushed his skull had an Indian not stabbed the beast to the heart. Other

368 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. the real conquests—the victories that count. By this strange turn of Fate we have seen and helped to decide even such a contest. Now upon this plateau the future must ever be for man.\" It needed a robust faith in the end to justify such tragic means. As \\ve advanced together through the woods we found the ape-men lying thick,, transfixed with spears or arrows. Here and there a little group of shattered Indians showed where one of the anthropoids had turned to bay and sold his life dearly. Always in front of us we heard the yelling and roaring which showed the direction of the pursuit. The ape-men had been driven back to their city ; they had made a last stand there ; once again they had been broken, and now we were in time to see the final fearful scene of all. Some eighty or a hundred males, the last survivors, had been driven across that same little clearing which led to the edge of the cliff, the scene of our own exploit two days before. As we arrived the Indians, a semicircle of spearmen, had'closed in on them, and in a minute it was over. Thirty or forty of the bravest died where they stood. The others, screaming and clawing, were thrust over the precipice and went hurtling down, as their prisoners had done of old, on to the sharp bamboos six hundred feet below. It was as Challenger had said, and the reign of man was assured for ever in Maple White Land. The males were exterminated, Ape Town was destroyed, the females and young were driven away to live in bondage, and the long rivalry of untold centuries had reached its bloody end. For us the victory brought much advantage. Once again we were able to visit our camp and get at our stores. Once more also we were able to communicate with Zambo, who had been terrified by the spectacle from afar of an avalanche of apes falling from the edge of the cliff. \" Come away, massas—come away ! \" he cried, his eyes starting from his head. \" The debbil get you sure if you stay up there.\" \" It is the voice of sanity !\" said Sum- merlee, with conviction. \" We have had adventures enough, and they are neither suitable to our character nor our position. I hold you to your word, Challenger. From now onwards you devote your energies to getting us out of this horrible country and back once more to civilization.\" CHAPTER XV. \" OUR EYES HAVE SEEN GREAT WONDERS.\" _I WRITE this from day to day, but I trust that before I come to the end of it I may be able to say that the light shines, at last, through our clouds. We are held here with no clear means of making our escape, and bitterly we chafe against it. Yet I can well imagine that the day may come when we may be glad that we were kept, against our will, to see something more of the wonders of this singular place and of the creatures who inhabit it.

THE LOST WORLD. \"THB OTHERS, SCKEAMINi; AND CLAWING, WEKE THRUST OVF.R THE PRECIPICE.\" disposed. We kept our independence, there- fore, and had our weapons ready for any emergency, while preserving the most friendly relations. We also continually visited their caves, which were most remarkable places, though whether made by man or by Nature we vS..:>.-. 30. have never been able to determine. They were all on the one stratum, hollowed out of some soft rock, which lay between the vol- canic basalt, forming the ruddy cliffs above them, and the hard granite which formed their base.

370 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. The openings were about eighty feet above the ground, and were led up to by long stone stairs, so narrow and steep that no large animal could mount them. Inside they were warm and dry, running in straight passages of varying length into the side of the hill, with smooth grey walls, decorated with many excellent pictures done with charred sticks, and representing the various animals of the plateau. If every living thing were swept from the country the future explorer would find upon the walls of these caves ample evidence of the strange fauna, the dinosaurs, iguanodons, and fish-lizards, which had lived so recently upon earth. Since we had learned that the huge iguano- dons were kept as tame herds by their owners, and were simply walking meat-stores, we had conceived that man. even with his primitive weapons, had established his ascendancy upon the plateau. We were soon to discover that it was not so, and that he was still there upon tolerance. It was upon the third day after our forming our camp near the Indian caves that the tragedy occurred. Challenger and Summerlee had gone off together that day to the lake, where some of the natives, under their direction, were engaged in harpooning specimens of the great lizards. Lord John Roxton and I had remained in our camp, while a number of the Indians were scattered about upon the grassy slope in front of the caves, engaged in different ways. Suddenly there was a shrill cry of alarm, with the word \" Itopu ! \" resounding from a hundred tongues. From every side men, women, and children were rushing wildly for shelter, swarming up the staircases and into the caves in a mad stampede. Looking up, we could see them waving their arms from the rocks above, and beckon- ing to us to join them in their refuge. We had both seized our magazine rifles, and ran out to see what the danger could be. Sud- denly from the near belt of trees there broke forth a group of twelve or fifteen Indians, running for their lives, and at their very heels two of those frightful monsters which had disturbed our camp and pursued me upon my solitary journey. In shape they were like horrible toads, and moved in a succession of springs, but in size they were of an incredible bulk, larger than the largest elephant. We had never before seen them save at night, and, indeed, they are nocturnal animals, save when disturbed in their lairs, as these had been. We now stood amazed at the sight, for their blotched and warty skins were of a curious, fish-like iridescence, and the sunlight struck them with an ever-varying rainbow bloom as they moved. We had little time to watch them, however, for in an instant they had overtaken the fugitives and. were making a dire slaughter among them. Their method was to fall forward with their full weight upon each in turn, and, leaving him crushed and mangled, to bound on after the others. The wretched

THE LOST WORLD. a frenzied dance of victory round the dead bodies, in mad joy that two more of the most dangerous of all their enemies had been slain. That night they cut up and removed the bodies, not to eat—for the poison was still active—but lest they should breed a pestilence. The great reptilian hearts, how- ever, each as large as a cushion, still lay there beating slowly and steadily, with a gentle rise and fall, in horrible independent life. It was only upon the third day that the ganglia ran down and the dreadful things were still. Some day, when I have a better desk than a meat-tin, and more help- ful tools than a worn stub of pencil and a last tattered notebook, I will write some fuller account of the Accala Indians, of our life amongst them, and of the glimpses which we had of the strange conditions of won- drous Maple White Land. Memory, at least, will never fail me, for so long as the breath of life is in me every hour and every action of that period will stand out as hard and clear as do the first strange happen- ings of our child- hood. No new impressions could efface those which are so deeply cut. When the time comes I will de- scribe that won- drous moonlit night upon the great lake when a young ichthyo- saurus—a strange creature, half-seal, half-fish, to look at, with bone- covered eyes on e'ach side of his snout, and a third eye fixed upon the top of his head— was entangled in an Indian net, and nearly upset our canoe before we towed it ashore ; the same night that a green water-snake shot out from the rushes and carried off in its coils the steersman of Challenger's boat. I will tell, too, of the great nocturnal white thing — to this day we do not know whether it

372 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. from head to foot,—phororachus its name, according to our panting but exultant Professor —went down before Roxton's rifle in a flurry of waving feathers and kicking limbs, with two remorseless yellow eyes glaring up from the midst of it. May I live to see that flat- tened, vicious skull in its own niche amid the trophies of the Albany. Finally, I will surely give some account of the toxo- don, the giant ten-foot guinea- pig with projecting chisel teeth, which we killed as it drank in the grey of the morning by the side of the lake. All this I shall some day write at fuller length,and amidst these in a vile swamp to the east of the lake, and flitted about with a faint phosphorescent glimmer in the darkness. The Indians were so terrified of it that they would not go near the place, and, though we twice made expeditions and saw it each time, we could not make our way through the deep marsh in which it lived. I can only say that it seemed to be larger than a cow and had the strangest musky odour. I will tell, also, of the huge bird which chased Challenger to the shelter of the rocks one day— a great running bird, far taller than an ostrich, with a vulture-like neck and cruel head which made it a walking death. As Challenger climbed to safety, one dart of that savage curving beak shore off the heel of his boot as if it had been cut with a chisel. This time, at least, modern weapons prevailed, and the great creature, twelve feet THE HUGE BIRD CHASK1) CHALLENGER TO THE SHELTER OF THE ROCKS.\" more stirring days I would tenderly sketch in those lovely summer evenings when, with the deep blue sky above us, we lay in good com-

THE LOST WORLD. 373 radeship among the long grasses by the wood, and marvelled at the strange fowl that swept over us and the quaint new creatures which crept from their burrows to watch us, while above us the boughs of the bushes were heavy with luscious fruit and below us strange and lovely flowers peeped at us from among (he herbage ; or those long, moonlit nights w'len we lay out upon the shimmering surface 01 the great lake, and watched with wonder and awe the huge circles rippling out from the sudden splash of some fantastic monster ; or the greenish gleam, far down in the deep water, of some strange creature upon the confines of darkness. These are the scenes which my mind and my pen will dwell upon in every detail at some future day. But, you will ask. why these experiences, and why this delay, when you and your comrades should have been occupied day and night in the devising of some means by which you could return to the outer world ? My answer is that there was not one of us who was not working for this end, but that our work had been in vain. One fact we had very speedily discovered — the Indians would do nothing to help us. In every other way they were our friends—one might almost say our devoted slaves—but when it was suggested that they should help us to make and carry a plank which would bridge the chasm, or when we wished to get from them thongs of leather or liana to weave ropes which might help us, we were met by a good-humoured but an invincible refusal. They would smile, twinkle their eyes, shake their heads, and there was the end of it. Even the old chief met us with the same obstinate denial, and it was only Maretas, the youngster whom we had saved, who looked wistfully at us and told us by his gestures that he was grieved for our thwarted wishes. Ever since their crowning triumph with the ape-men they looked upon us as supermen, who bore victory in the tubes of strange weapons, and they believed that so long as we remained with them good fortune would be theirs. A little red-skinned wife and a cave of our own were freely offered to each of us, if we would but forget our own people and dwell for ever upon the plateau. So far all had been kindly, however far apart our desires might be, but we felt well assured that our actual plans of a descent must be kept secret, for we had reason to fear that at the last they might try to hold us by force. In spite of the danger from dinosaurs (which is not great save at night, for, as I may have said before, they are mostly nocturnal in their habits), I have twice in the last three weeks been over to our old camp in order to see our nesjro, who still kept watch and ward below the cliff. My eyes strained eagerly across the great plain in the hope of seeing afar off the help for which we prayed. But the long cactus-strewn levels still stretched away, empty and bare, to the distant line of the cane-brake.

374 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. on through the wood with his extraordinary cage around him. If Lord John's behaviour at this time was strange, that of Challenger was more so, I may say that he seemed to possess an extra- ordinary fascination for the Indian women, and that he always carried a large, spreading palm branch with which he beat them off as if they were flies when their attentions became too pressing. To see him walking, like a comic-opera Sultan, with this badge of authority in his hand, his black beard bristling in front of him, his toes pointing at each step, and a train of wide-eyed Indian girls behind him, clad in their slender drapery of bark-cloth, is one of the most grotesque of all the pictures which I will carry back with me. As to Summerlee, he was absorbed in the insect and bird life of the plateau, and spent his whole time (save that considerable portion which was devoted to abusing Chal- lenger for not getting us out of our difficulties) in cleaning and mounting his specimens. Challenger had been in the habit of walking off by himself every morning and returning from time to time with looks of portentous solemnity, as one who bears the full weight of a great enterprise upon his shoulders. One day, palm branch in hand and his crowd of adoring devotees behind him, he led us down to his hidden workshop and took us into the secret of his plans. The place was a small clearing in the centre of a palm grove. In this was one of those boiling mud geysers which I have already described. Around its edge were scattered a number of leathern thongs cut from iguanodon hide, and a large collapsed membrane, which proved to be the dried and scraped stomach of one of the great fish-lizards from the lake. This huge sack had been sewn up at one end and only a small orifice left at the other. Into this opening several bamboo canes had been inserted, and the other ends of these canes were in contact with conical clay funnels, which collected the gas bubbling up through the mud of the geyser. Soon the flaccid organ began to slowly expand and show such a tendency to upward movement that Challenger fastened the cords which held it to the trunks of the surrounding trees. In half an hour a good-sized gas-bag had been formed, and the jerking and straining upon the thongs showed that it was capable of considerable lift. Challenger, like a glad father in the presence of his first-born, stood smiling and stroking his beard in silent, self-satisfied content as he gazed at the creation of his brain. It was Summerlee who first broke the silence. \" You don't mean us to go up in that thing, Challenger ? \" slid he, in an acid voice. \" I mean, my dear Summerlee, to give you such a demonstration of its powers that after seeing it you will, I am sure, have no hesitation in trusting yourself to it.\" \" You can put it right out of your head— now, at once,\" said Summerlee, with decision. \" Nothing on earth would induce me to

THE LOST WORLD. 375 that a cord could be easily attached to it. This cord was the one which we had brought with us on to the plateau after we had used it for climbing the pinnacle. It was over a hundred feet long, and, though it was thin, it was very strong. He had prepared a sort of collar of leather with many straps de- pending from it. This collar was placed over the dome of the balloon, and the hang- ing thongs were gathered together below so that the pressure of any weight would be diffused over a consider- able surface. Then the lump of basalt was fastened to the thongs and the rope was allowed to hang from the end of it, being passed three times round the Professor's arm. \" I will now,\" said Chal- lenger, with a smile of pleased anticipation, \" demonstrate the carrying power of my balloon.\" As he said so he cut with his knife the various lashings that held it. Never was our expedi- tion in more imminent danger of complete annihi- lation. The inflated mem- brane shot up with fright- ful velocity into the air. In an instant Challenger was pulled off his feet and dragged after it. I had just time to throw my arms round his ascending waist when I was myself whipped up into the air. Lord John had me with a rat-trap grip round the legs, but I felt that he also was coming off the ground. For a moment I had a vision of four adventurers floating like a string of sausages over the land that they had explored. But, happily, there were limits to the strain which the rope would stand, \" LORD JOHN HAD ME WITH A RAT-TRAP GRIP ROUND THE I.EOS, BUT I FELT THAT 11B ALSO WAS COM INC OKK THK GROUND.\" though none apparently to the lifting powers of this infernal gas. There was a sharp crack, and we were in a heap upon the ground with coils of

PARSONS' WIT. STORIES TOLD BY CLERICAL CELEBRITIES. Illustrated by George Morrow. AS dull and sombre as *» their cloth. The term, on more than one occasion, has been applied, in a more or less contemptuous vein, to the clergy in general by those who assert that one of the chief causes of empty churches and the growing distaste for religion is that the clergyman of to-day is wholly unattractive. His personality lacks magnet- ism ; his conversation is monotonous and uninterest- ing ; in his preaching there is no fire or enthusiasm; he does not get down to the people ; he seems obsessed with the idea that his sole mission is to make people think, and that it is unbe- coming and undignified on his part to endeavour to attract or entertain them with his discourse — in a word, he takes such a lugubrious view of life that he defeats his main object by repelling people. Such are the accusations which are levelled against him. That there is some truth in them seems to be recognized by Dr. Cosmo Gordon Lang, Archbishop of York, who, when he was Bishop of Stepney, remarked, apropos of the children of the East-end, \" They are doing a great deal to rebuke the tendency of the clergy to become middle- aged in spirit—dull, morose, and superior.\" And he told one of his favourite stories of an East-end cleric who was feeling lifeless and disconsolate on setting out on his daily round of visits, when a little street urchin looked up at him with a cheerful eye and knowing smile and said :— ' 'Ullo, young man ! \" \" That greeting quite set the parson up for the rest of the day,\" Dr. Lang declares. And it was Dr. Ingram who once declared that '' a sense of humour is essential to success. If a young man has no sense of \" HIS PERSON- ALITY LACKS MAGNETISM.\" humour I would keep him At college until he got one.\" As a matter of fact, men like the Arch- bishop of York ; Dr. Davidson, Archbishop of Canterbury ; Dr. Ingram, the Bishop ol London ; Dr. Knox, Bishop of Manchester; Bishop Welldon, Dean of Manchester; ft. Boyd Carpenter, late Bishop of Ripon; Dean Pigou ; the Rev. R. J. Campbell, and other famous clerics whose sense of humour and bonhomie have added not a little to their popularity, have, by their example, endea- voured to remove the reproach that the clergy of to-day are deficient in the knowledge of

PARSONS' WIT. 377 \" Permit me, madam,\" responded the wit, leading her forward, \" to bring perfection near to the sweet-peas.\" Or that of Bishop Wilberforce, who gave as the reason for his sobriquet, \" Soapy Sam,\" that \" he was always in hot water, and always came out of it with clean hands,\" and whose wit is further illustrated by the following anecdote. He was caught one day in a sudden and heavy shower, when Lords Palmerston and Granville passed him in a carriage. The former, referring to a pre- vious conversation, put his head out of the window and banteringly said to the Bishop :— How blest is he who ne'er consents By ill advice to walk ! Looking directly at Lord Granville, the prelate capped the quotation by finishing the verse thus:— Nor stands in sinners' ways, nor sits Where men profanely talk. It was the same witty prelate who, when asked the Latin for hearse, at once replied, \" Mors omni- bus, of course.\" Although, however, we may not have a counter- part of Smith or Wilber- force living to-day, it is possible to point to a num- >< HOW AWFUL IT her of eminent ecclesiastics GIRAFFE TO HAVE who possess the saving grace of humour in a marked degree. Reference has already been made to Dr. Lang, and it is interesting to recall that it was he who, when the late Queen Victoria remarked upon his employing twelve curates at Portsea, and suggested that if he had a wife he could do with at least three fewer, replied, \" Well, madam, if I disagree with my curates we can part, but if I disagreed with my wife, then it is I who might have to leave.\" Of course, one of the most delightful of clerical raconteurs was the late Dean Hole, who in his \" Memories \" has left behind a plethora of good stories concerning authors, artists, sportsmen, athletes, and preachers with whom he came into contact during his praiseworthy life. His name, however, instantly reminds one of the Very Rev. Francis Pigou, the genial Dean of Bristol, who, in spite of his eighty years, is still VOL vigorous, hale, and hearty. The Dean is famous for his anecdotes, and the writer remembers him telling the following story about his cousin, Goldwin Smith, on his eightieth birthday, in January, 1912. One day at breakfast Goldwin Smith was particu- larly silent, and his father exclaimed, \" A penny for your thoughts, Goldwin.\"

378 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. some people are aware, his wife, Mrs. Davidson, is a daughter of the former Archbishop of Canter- bury, Dr. Tail, to whom the present Primate was formerly secretary. One day, while assisting with his Grace's correspond- ence, the Archbishop asked the then Mr. David- son to read a letter he was about to send to the Press, remarking: \" I have never yet written a letter of importance without giving it to someone to find faults in it. The silliest people are some- times the best critics, so take this draft, Mr. David- son, and give me your candid opinion upon it.\" A delightful speaker, with ready wit, Dr. David- son has produced some sparkling repartee at times, notably when going in to luncheon with a crowd of ecclesiastics, one of whom exclaimed : \" Now to put a bridle on our appetites.\" To which the Archbishop retorted, with- out a second's hesitation : \" Now to put a bit between my teeth.\" Dr. Davidson is probably the finest horse- man among the occupants of the episcopal benches, a fact which throws some light on the retort. The sense of humour of Dr. Ingram, Bishop of Lon- don, is very marked. In the words of Mr. Harold Begbie, \" he fronts life genially.\" Some time ago, at a meeting at the Trocadero Restaurant, he told the story of an old Scotch gillie who was wont to refer to him as the \" Minister of London.\" \" On one occa- sion,\" says Dr. Ingram, \" when I was in Scotland, I nearly converted all the gillies from Presbyterianism to Episcopalianism. I said to them : ' Now, old boys, six salmon before lunch,' and held up five fingers and a thumb. By an extraordinary- coincidence I had six rises and WHAT DID YOU HKAR IN CHURCH, BILL?\" caught six eighteen-pound salmon. That was why the ' Minister of London ' has an inflated reputation on the Tay.\" A keen sense of humour is also the chief charac-

PARSONS WIT. 379 '\"WOT D'YE THINK I'M GOIN\" TO i>o WITH THIS?' HE (1ROWLKD.\" Dr. King, Bishop of Lincoln, tells a good story of a trip he once took in the High- lands of Scotland in company with a big, burly Churchman. While crossing a loch in a small boat a heavy storm overtook them. Immediately Dr. King's companion began to pray. But this did not please the matter-of-fact boatman, who expostulated in loud tones. \" Na, na ! \" he exclaimed, pointing to Dr. King. \" This wee mon can pray, but you big 'un mun row.\" It is Dr. King, too, who tells the story of how he was sitting in a chair by the seashore, and, on at- tempting to rise, found that his legs were not so young as they were. While he was still struggling to gain an 'erect position a fisherman's little daughter came along and lent her aid. \" Thank you, little girl,\" said the Bishop, when safely on his feet. \" Oh, it's nothing,\" said the girl, in reply. \" I've helped father to get up many a time when he has been quite as tipsy as you.\" There is delightful humour, too, in the following remarks of Dr. Gore, who in August, 1911, was transferred from Birmingham to the See of Oxford. During a speech a short time ago he said his earliest educational recollection was of being addressed in rather a rough voice with the words, \" Why are you fidgeting, you naughty boy ? \" Then he was slapped. If he had then known what he should hear on the modern educational platform, he would have replied, \" Madam, you are unaware that these wrigglings on my part are only the indications which Nature gives of the safety- valve which requires regular movement.\" A good illustration of the wit of Bishop Welldon, the popular Dean of Manchester, is afforded by the following story. Once at a luncheon given by the Lord Mayor of Man- chester, the Dean sat next to Sir Herbert Tree. \" Well, Mr. Tree, what have you been doing to-day ? \" he asked. \" I went for a long motor-ride this morning and lost a bet,\" replied the famous actor. \" Indeed,\" said the Dean. \" And may I ask what the bet was ? \" \" I made a bet that we would pass through four hundred different odours, and we only encountered three hundred and ninety-nine.\" \" Ah,\" replied Bishop Welldon, promptly, \" you missed the odour of sanctity.\"

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. caused much amusement by remarking, \" I am not only a Carpenter, but a ' joiner' also.\" A story, however, which the Bishop has been heard to recount with glee concerns an occasion when he was to perform the ceremony at a very smart wedding in a West-end church. As usual, a great crowd of people stood about the doors and lined up on either side of the strip of red carpet. Mag- nificent carriages and motor-cars rolled up and disgorged the splendidly- dressed guests, but at the end of a long string of fine equipages came a deplorably ramshackle old four - wheeler. It drew up gloomily opposite the strip of red carpet. A couple of policemen dashed at the cabby. \" Here, hi ! \" they shouted. \" You can't stop here ! The Bishop's just coming ! \" The old cabman re- garded them with a scornful eye. \" Keep yer 'air on! I've got the hold buffer inside ! \" And Dr. Carpenter opened the door and stepped out. The astute workings of a child's mind are strikingly illustrated by a story told by Dr. Ryle, Dean of Westminster, who relates how the five-year-old daughter of a well-known clergyman walked into her father's study one day and said :— \" What are you writing, papa ? \" \" I am writing a sermon, my dear,\" replied the parent. \" How do you know what to write ? \" was the next question. \" God tells me what to write,\" was the answer furnished. Then, after watching her father for a few minutes, the child exclaimed :— \" Well, papa, if God tells you what to write, why do you scratch some of it out ? \" And there is no one who enjoys a good story better than Dr. Percival, ROSE FOR KVKRY YEAR OF LIFE.\" Bishop of Hereford. Here is one of his favourites. Gwendoline, on the eve of her natal day, had protested to her admirer, \" But you must guess my age,\" whereupon he said, \" Very well; and I will send you a rose for every year of your life.\" At the florist's the young man's order was brief: \" Send Miss Love eighteen of your best roses to - morrow morning. You know the address.\"

THE OUTSIDER. By E M. JAMESON. Illustrated by W. H. Margetson, R.I. N the gaiety of her heart Fenella hummed a little song as she moved about the room. She was going to a ball to-night, and tter soft pink satin frock, just arrived, lay outspread in all its loveliness on the couch, with the little buckled shoes near by, and a fan, and a rose for her hair. She paused before them for a moment, wishing it was time to dress, putting out a finger and stroking the smooth surface of the satin, like a child pleased with a new toy. Only lately had she been emancipated, and life seemed very good to her nineteen years. She lived at high pressure in these times, in a whirl of engagements, and as yet she was singularly fresh and unspoiled, though one of the beauties of her season. She sat down presently, and, taking up a pair of long white gloves, began% to draw them on. The room beyond was her bed- room. Through the half-opened door could be seen the dressing-table with its oval mirror framed in silver, and all the glittering paraphernalia of the toilet-table. Not every girl had a dainty suite to herself, but John Ransom grudged nothing to his only daughter. She was his idol. He cared little for luxury himself; the earlier years of his life had been passed in poverty, but he was glad to think that his little girl, who had no equal in the county for looks and good breeding, should ruffle it with the best. One glove on to her satisfaction, Fenella drew it off and placed it with the fan. In the act of putting on the other, she raised her head and listened. There was a knock at the door. \" Come in ! \" She expected her father. \" I want to show you \" \" You are at home, for a wonder,\" said her brother, with a kind of surly satisfaction. \" Precious seldom I can find you.\" He advanced to the hearth, looking at her with sombre eyes that always, she felt, held a tinge of resentment. Fenella laughed and went on with her glove-fitting. \" Why, you never want me, Harry. How early you are ! \" He said nothing, looking down at the ground, shoulders hunched up, and hands in his pockets. He was broadly built and plain, with eyes set deeply beneath frowning brows. He was only a year younger than Fenella, but there was little in sympathy between them, though, to do Fenella justice, she had often tried to bridge the gulf she vaguely felt to be there. It seemed a pity when there were only the two of them. As he remained silent, she went on smooth- ing the glove into place and humming under her breath a waltz that was popular just then. Harry was always surly and unapproachable. He suddenly flung himself down upon the

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. nearer. \" You are worried about something. Let me help you ; I will if I can.\" He turned upon her half fiercely. \" Do you mean it ? You can if you will. You are the only one to save me. Fenella, nelp me, do help me ! \" He put out his hands and gripped hers so his lips ; \" but if anyone has a right to make allowances, you have ! \" He glanced around him, and then into her startled face, giving a sneer as be looked. \" Nothing's too good for you, Fenella. Father's just crazy about you. He's proud of you because people think you a beauty. I'm ugly—homely, like himself—and not too good-tempered. He lavishes the best on ym —anything's good enough for me. He think I ought to work as hard as he did years ago. He keeps me short of cash on purpose to spur me on. He ties me to the City, when I loathe it; and he won't let me go away to \"'WHAT IS THE MATTKR ?' SHE ASKED, A CHII.L SENSATION OF DISASTER SWEEPING OVER HE*. 'WHAT HAS HAPPENED? TKLL ME; I'LL HELP IF I CAN.'\" tightly that she gave a cry. He flung them away from him and sprang to his feet. \" Words, words ! \" he said, bitterly. \" You don't mean it.\" \" Try me,\" she said ; \" and be quick, or father may come. Isn't it anything you can tell him ? \" Harry burst into a harsh laugh. The sound made her wince. \" When you hear, I suppose you'll be down on me like the rest,\" he went on, moistening the country, where I might have a chance. Why should I bother you ? Perhaps in the long run I might as well tell him, and then he d kick me out for good and all. I was mad when I did it, but if he'd treated me better \" He broke off with what sounded like a sob. and, walking away, looked out of the window. Fenella sat very still, her glance following him. It was jealousy all the time that had caused the vague resentment in his eyes. She wished

THE OUTSIDER. 3«3 she had understood. She got up and went to him, putting a hand on his arm. \" I'll do whatever I can to help, Harry. What have you done ? \" \" Forgery ! \" He uttered the word in a loud whisper, fear looking from his eyes. \" I signed another man's name to a cheque, and it may be discovered any day—to-morrow, perhaps ; and then—Fenella—they give awful sentences for forgery, don't they ? \" Fenella swayed towards him, and he put his arm out. <c Whose name ? Father's ? \" He shook his head. \" Ballantyne's ! \" \" No, no ?\" She gave a sharp cry. \" Not Hugh Dalian tyne ! \" He nodded, speaking hurriedly in jerks. \" His cheque-book was on the table—he had gone out—he writes such an easy hand to imitate—no flourishes—just simple and square —H-u \" His fingers worked up and down, forming the letters. \" Don't! \" she said, sharply,\" don't! What can we do? He's hard—I'm sure he's hard. The disgrace for father ! He has always prided himself \" \" It was his fault,\" said the boy, with passionate obstinacy. \" I don't care what anybody says, it was his fault! I wanted money. I'd—well, I'd been betting—they told me it was a sure thing.\" But Fenella paid no attention. Before her eyes rose Hugh Ballantyne's face, with its hard lines and firmly-compressed lips—the face of a man slow to condone a slip—even the slip of a boy fourteen years his junior. She had met him so often lately ; at balls, at dinners, at theatre parties, Hugh Ballantyne had always seemed to stand in the background, tall, grave, impassive, but watchful of her all the time. She knew that he admired her, and only the other night she had warded off the proposal that hovered on his lips. It was not altogether unpleasant to know that she held in the hollow of her hand the happiness of a much-sought-after man, who had lived his thirty-two years without giving up his freedom for any woman ; a man who had passed from childhood to boyhood, and on to manhood, without womenfolk about him, to make home pleasant. Perhaps because he knew women so little he was apt to put them on a pedestal, and Fenella, in spite of her tear of his stern, unsmiling ways, had not been averse to the heights. But marry him !—a thousand times no. She had pictured someone young, handsome, debon- air, with a gay enjoyment of life to match her own. Harry was in Ballantyne's office, with access to his room. Ballantyne had been kind in his severe way, but he expected good work from all his people. Fenella stirred. Harry's eyes were on her with desperate appeal, as if in her lay all his hopes of salvation. She twisted her hands together in her lap. \" What can I do ? Let me tell father.

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. presently, the sound of vivid youth had left her voice. \" Listen, Harry ! I'll do what I can to help, and I think )'ou are right—I can do a good deal. I wish we'd been better friends. I did try sometimes, but not very hard ; perhaps I didn't think enough about it. But now I'm going to make up, if 1 can— for your sake, and father's, and \" her voice failed an instant—\" no, not my own.\" He moved towards the door, but awk- wardly, not looking at her—ashamed. Open- ing it, he hesitated ; then, inarticulate, as he had always been, he passed through, and she was left alone. \" I will give you three, if you like,\" said Fenella, with a gay little laugh that seemed to set the ache at her heart throbbing more acutely. \" You deserve them for being so— so \" She coloured softly as she met his glance. He looked so passionately in earnest that she knew she had only to show him a little more favour to have the question asked that was to save Harry from disgrace. The soul within her rose in revolt; essentially straight- forward, she must play a part to-night, to her own discredit. She wanted to be free a little longer, to make her own choice, not to have a husband thrust upon her. She was half afraid of the man standing before her. In the midst of his happiness Ballantyne was puzzled by a change in her. Underlying her gaiety was a hint of hardness that had not been there a day or two before. Later in the evening, when he asked her to be his wife, the hardness was still there to trouble him. \" I don't expect you to care as I do at first,\" he said, his dark, keen face moved for once out of its impassiveness; \" but some day, please God, you will care for me.\" He longed to take her in his arms and kiss her ; but, instead, he sat down beside her and put his hand over both hers as they lay folded together on her knee. At his touch she shrank away, keeping her face averted and becoming paler. A poignant sense of disappointment overwhelmed him. \" Surely you are not being coerced in any way ? \" he asked. \" Your father ? \" She shook her head, her colour coming back a little. His face had fallen into its customary grave lines again. There was nothing of the happy lover about him. For an instant her heart failed her. Better to tell him—to throw herself and Harry on his mercy. He began to speak again, and the impulse fled. \" Your father would be glad for you to marry me,\" Ballantyne went on, slowly. \" He told me so when he found out how much it meant to me. He has not forced you in any way ? You see \"—with a grave smile—\" I want to know that you are giving yourself to me of your own free will.\" Fenella drew her hands away and sat more erect. She must play her part better. \" Father would not force me to do anything I did not choose to do. He has said nothing

THE OUTSIDER. 385 together with Ballantyne's face came Harry's, sullen, afraid of what an hour might bring forth. John Ransom usually called for his daughter, never hurrying her when she wanted to stay, but watching her with pride as she made her daintily triumphant way through social gatherings. To-night she came up to him quite early, and slipped her hand under his arm. He had talked with Ballantyne, and in his heart was a curious blending of gladness and resentment. \" Want to go now ? \" he asked, noting the change in her. \" Why, of course, little girl, if you'd rather. You look tired out.\" Ballantyne saw them into their electric brougham, and just before it started Fenella leaned forward and, putting out a small hand, smiled at him, half doubtfully, like a child repentant for a fault. Then, as the carriage glided away, she rested her forehead against her father's shoulder and closed her eyes. John Ransom's great arm went round her ; there was a swelling in his throat. \" So you mean to leave your old father in the lurch ? \" he said, presently. \" Not for a long time, eh ? Ballantyne will have some- thing to say to that—he generally gets his way. I'm glad you chose him out of them all, Fenella ; he's a man, is Ballantyne, through and through, and I've often felt sorry for his loneliness. Not a soul belonging to him, and, as a consequence, mighty few of the things that make life worth while have come his way. He's a good chap, and a hard worker, in spite of his riches. You've made your old father very glad, and very sorrowful, to-night, Fenella. If your mother had lived she'd have been glad, too.\" He broke off hurriedly, for not even to Fenella could he speak of his dead wife. \" Perhaps she is glad —somewhere— Ballantyne walked back to the big, ram- bling, empty house he called home. It had never been that, but now; he regarded it from a different standpoint. It should be altered to make it more worthy of his little bride-to- be. She should have the sunny rooms for her own, furnished as she liked; he would spare no money to make them perfect. Money ! He smiled up at the stars. It would seem more natural if the fairies waved their wands over the place Fenella was to occupy. He slackened his pace and went more slowly as the memory of her swept over him, her beauty, her delicate grace, the eyes that seemed to be appealing to him. He knew nothing of women ; perhaps others were as cold as Fenella to the men who loved them. He felt again the velvet-soft cheek his lips had touched. She might not care yet, but in time he would make her ; his own love was so vast, so compelling, surely one day He mounted the shallow steps and inserted his latch-key in the door, passing through the silent house to the study where he usually sat. The servants never waited up for him. There was a light in the room as he entered, and from an easy-chair someone rose to greet

386 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. before him several bank-notes and a handful of gold. Ballantyne looked from them to the haggard young face above. He asked no question, but his eyes narrowed a degree in his keen face. Harry leaned across the table. \" Your money,\" he said, \" what's left of it! \" Ballantyne never moved a muscle— raged around Ballantyne, leaving him filled with an amazed pity for the boy. He momentarily forgot that Harry was Fenella's brother. He was just a fellow-being suffering agonies of mind, and only a boy, after all. As the rush of words ceased he got up, and taking the speaker by the shoulders \"THE NEXT MOMENT HARRY RETURNED TO THE CIRCLE OF I.IOHT AND SPREAD UPON THE TABLE BEFORE HIM SEVERAL BANK-NOTES AND A HANDFUL OF GOLD.\" not for a moment did the truth dawn upon him. \" Is it a joke, Ransom ? I don't under- stand ! \" The next moment, in a torrent of words, almost incoherent in their violence, Harry told the truth. For the first time in his life he was fluent—the burning injustice of years had broken bounds ; all the primitive passions of his nature swept over him and pushed him into a chair. Harry flung his arms across the table, his head upon them, great sobs shaking him. Ballantyne put his hand on his shoulder. \" It's all right about the cheque, Harry. You'll never do such a thing again, that's certain. I wish you had come to me in the first place, if you were afraid of your father. I'll square your debts, such as they are, and

THE OUTSIDER. 387 you can pay me back by degrees, if you like. And I'll do my best to persuade your father that a country life is more suited to you. I know a splendid chap who runs a farm, and who would appreciate a great strong fellow like you. You'd get on famously in your right element. I'm glad you came; it's only a pity you didn't come earlier.\" Harry sat up, shading his disfigured face with his hand. \" You wouldn't have treated me like this yesterday,\" he said, slowly ; \" you're different to-night. I can't explain what I mean, but it's there, and—I'm not afraid of you—I was when I came, but it rushed over me that I'd just got to tell you the truth, whether you handed me over to the police or not. because it seemed behaving so low down to Fenella. I saw that afterwards.\" Ballantyne's cigar had smouldered out; in the act of relighting it his hand shook suddenly, and the match dropped. \" Your sister ? What has she to do with the affair ? It is between you and myself— she must know nothing about it ! \" \" She knows,\" said Harry. \" I told her this afternoon. I threatened to make away with myself. She said she would help me if she could, but she didn't see how \" He paused, held by a look in Ballantyne's eyes. \"Goon.\" \" I told her that she—that you \" He broke off confusedly. \" That I \" \" Hurry, can't you ? \" \" That you were just crazy about her. and —wait a minute—afterwards I knew somehow what a hound I should be to let her suffer for what I'd done, and so I came right away to make a clean breast of it to you. She was so decent to me, and now you've been the same. 1 can't tell you half what I feel ! \" The room whirled round Ballantyne. A blind fury possessed him. He stared at the speaker with eyes that were filled with incre- dulous agony and disbelief. Then, as he met the boy's astonished glance, he gained control over himself, and laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. \" You had better get home now,\" he said, with a kind of deadly quiet in his voice ; \" I'll remember about the farm idea. Good night! \" He moved towards the fireplace, waiting until he heard the front door banged. So this was the reason. He understood now. As he paced the floor his brain by degrees grew clearer, and he made plans. Yes, he would hold her to her bargain. She should suffer as he was suffering. She should not esrape scot-free. He drew the blinds aside presently and looked out. Day had dawned ; the world outside was full of impalpable mists, as grey and dreary as his life. He turned off the electric light and went up to his room. The months went by slowly enough. Harry had long ago taken up his work on

388 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \"Why, no; now that I come to think of it, he didn't. I told him you'd be glad to hear he was about again, and that you hoped to see him soon.\" \" Yes ? \" Fenella's hands were twisted together in her lap. \" And what did he say ? \" \" Nothing,\" Ransom owned, reluctantly; \" nothing.\" A thought seemed to strike him as Fenella kept silence. He looked at her keenly. \" Have you and Ballantyne quarrelled ? \" \" No,\" said Fenella, composedly, \" not exactly quarrelled ; but he has the right to feel hurt with me. Take me with you to-morrow afternoon. Telephone in the morning to say I'm coming.\" To the gratification of his attendants, Ballantyne showed a certain interest in life next day. He insisted on being fully dressed, ordered some roses to be put in the study, and resented being compelled to lie down on the couch. Tea was laid in the window on the sunny side of the room when Fenella came in. \" I'll call for her in an hour,\" said John Ransom from the doorway. \" I have an important meeting with a man. Don't let him talk too much, Fenella.\" The door closed ; they were alone together. Ballantyne, cursing the weakness that put him at such a disadvantage, struggled into a more upright position on the cushions. Fenella was horrified by the change in him. Gaunt and grey and hollow-eyed, she would not have known him. He held out his hand, forcing a smile, as she put hers into it. She was in her favourite pink to-day, a frock that matched the roses on the table near. She was paler and thinner, he thought, one swift glance taking in all her loveliness, and the brown eyes that swam in a mist of tears—for him, or for herself ? He could not quite make out. He broke the silence that surrounded them. \" It was good of you to come to-day. I hoped you would, even at the expense of your feelings. There's something I wanted to tell you. Do you think you'd mind drawing your chair a little more this way, where I can see you better ? \" • She obeyed without a word, but he noticed that as she shifted the position of her chair she hurriedly raised a morsel of cambric to her eyes. Well, she need not weep much longer. A spasm contracted the face of the man watching her—she looked so incapable of deception. \" They say I must go away soon for a change,\" he said, in a moment; \" but before I go I want not only to set you free, but to ask your forgiveness. I must have been mad, I think, all these months, to play the cowardly part, to hold you to your bargain. Since I've been ill I've seen things in a different light. Don't cry, Fenella ; it's all right—I give you back your freedom. Why should I spoil your

THE OUTSIDER. 389 \"I love you,\" said Ballantyne, slowly. \" In my heart of hearts I knew that what you had done was contrary to your nature, to your inclinations, but I was angry, and deliberately blinded my eyes. Fenella \"— he leaned nearer, his thin face eloquent— \"give me your other hand as well. Listen! I set you free, but couldn't we begin again in a dearer, a more understanding way ? And perhaps, if I'm patient, you'll care for you, love had been growing and growing, until I felt that if. you died——\" She trembled at the thought, and, stooping, put her lips, in a passion of self-reproach, to his thin hand. \" Now I want to help to make you well, Hugh. Couldn't we \" \" Yes ? \" \" Couldn't we get married quite soon, without any fuss at all, and go away to some quiet little place just by our two selves ? I \"1 SET YOU FREE, BUT COULDN'T WE BEGIN AGAIN IN A DEARER, A MORE UNDERSTANDING WAY?\" me some time ? Just a little—I'll be satis- fied with so little ! \" Her eyes, clear now and shining, met his, telling him the truth. He drew her towards him. and their lips met. \" \\\\hen I heard you were ill,\" she said, after a long silence that meant more than *ords, \" I knew that I loved you, and that a'l this time, in spite of my efforts to hate mean to be very good to you. You'd like to have me with you ? \" He kissed her in a suppressed passion of happiness that told her what she was to him. \" You've changed the whole face of the world for me. Only an hour ago I did not care what became of me, and now—Fenella— just )»u and I together—think of it! \"

THE PERILS OF THE PEDESTRIAN. How to Minimize Road-Traffic Accidents. By R. P. HEARNE. 1 he Nervous Pedestrian's Nighlmarc AST year 1.557 people were killed and 35,210 injured by traffic accidents in the United Kingdom. In London alone the number of killed was 410, and of injured 15.156. These casualties are equivalent to the losses in a great battle, and the distressing point about them is that each year shows a marked increase. The increase in fatal accidents, as compared with the previous year, was 230 for the United Kingdom and 107 for London. There is every indication that this year will sho\\v a still greater death-roll. An occasional outcry is raised, but it usually resolves itself into a bigoted attack

THE PERILS OF THE PEDESTRIAN. upon \" murderous motors.\" and it is followed by inane suggestions that automobiles should be driven at a walking pace, or that they should be barred entirely from certain routes or localities. It is easy to show the foolishness of these recommendations. The very life of the nation depends on the free circulation of its traffic, and to convert this into a sluggish and obstructed stream would be to create widespread congestion and confusion, and probably increase the number of accidents. It is a common belief that slow traffic is safe traffic, but when \\ve come to examine statistics this will be disproved. For our purpose it is advisable to concentrate atten- tion first on the details of London traffic accidents, for here we have the most dangerous area and the most difficult problem to deal with. If casualties can be reduced in the London streets and traffic rendered less destructive of life, although vehicles increase in numbers and mileage, we' ca'n readily apply the lessons all over the country. It should first be pointed out that street acci- dents in London are no recent development. Ten years ago. when there was practically1 no mechanical locomotion save the bicycle, more than a hundred people were killed in the street each year by slow horse traffic. Over 50,000 horses have been withdrawn from London traffic since 1903 owing to the growth of mechanical traffic, and'yet last year the horsed vehicles killed 122 people. Thus, with a decline in horse traffic, we have had an increase in fatalities. The total number of traffic fatalities has increased four-fold in the last decade, but the traffic has increased 'in mileage and average speed at a far greater rate. There is a much bigger population to be dealt with,' and each person travels a'considerably greater distance per year owing to the increased facilities offered. Thus it cannot be said that the street traffic has become abnormally dangerous solely through the introduction of motor traction. 'Nevertheless, the dangers are serious enough to merit careful inquiry. Turning from this point, we may next examine the casualty list's, and here it will be well to separate the mechanical from the non- mechanical traffic. The returns of accidents caused by street traffic in 1911 are:— MECHANICALLY-PROPELLED VEHICLES. HORSE-DRAWN VEHICLES. Horse omnibuses Horse trams Horse carts, etc. Total Persons killed. I I 120 122 Perions injured. 136 44 5.298

392 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. motor-cabs, and the remainder private cars, commercial vehicles, motor-cycles, etc. Cursory examination of the detailed statis- tics shows that the most dangerous of the motor vehicles is the moto'r-omnibus, and it is closely followed by the motor-cab, both of these public service vehicles not comparing very well with other types of motors or with electric trams. The conditions of usage, however, must be taken into account. Electric trams are usually run only on wide thoroughfares, and their mileage is less than the motor- buses, which, by opening up every part of London, must of necessity travel through many narrow streets. So, too, with taxi-cabs ; and plying by day and night these vehicles have the maximum chance of meeting with acci- dents. At the same time it must be said that there is far too much reckless driving of cabs and omnibuses, and the police do not attach sufficient value to the lives sacrificed. Horse carts, with a smaller and a rapidly- dwindling mileage, show little improvement. They rank next to motor-cabs and motor- cars in the percentage of killed, and also in the percentage of injured. Here, again, analysis shows that horse-drawn vans of the covered and uncovered types are the most prolific in causing accidents. The danger of the horsed van is due to many causes. In the first place, it seldom has brakes, and. secondly, the hood or the arrange- ment of the load often obstructs the driver's view. Then, again, any unskilled man or boy may be given control of a brakeless horsed vehicle, whilst motor drivers are licensed and under the control of the autho- rities. A bad driver of a horsed vehicle may kill or injure several people and still continue at his calling. A motor driver is liable to have his licence suspended; and if more drastic action in this direction were taken by the police the results would be better. Inquests on deaths caused by traffic accidents need far more searching examination than at present, and a more competent tribunal than a coroner's jury should deal with them. The percentage of accidents may not disturb the statistician, but many people look with concern at the ever-growing list of mishaps, and cry out in panic that motor-cars should be abolished, or that their speed should be reduced to walking pace. But we must first be certain that motor vehicles are more dangerous than horse vehicles. The only correct way to compare the rela- tive dangers of vehicles is to reckon the acci- dents in proportion to the total mileage. A certain motor-car and a certain horse van may each cause one accident in a year, and look equally guilty in the police statistics. But the van mileage may be 3,000 and that of the motor 20,000, or, in other words, the van might cause over six accidents if it travelled as far as the motor-car in a year. When we apply this test generally it is found that motor traffic is, on the whole, far

THE PERILS OF THE PEDESTRIAN. 393 fining. To the less expert person the modern streets have an ever-growing horror; whilst children, at all times a source of anxiety to drivers, have now become a serious traffic problem. To add to the difficulty, a good deal of confusion exists with regard to the laws which should govern traffic. In the British Isles it is the rule of the road that vehicles keep to the left. Pedestrians in London are requested to \" Keep to the right\" when on the pavement, and they thus have to adapt themselves to a new rule when they step out on the roadway. There is another danger attendant upon this double rule. When a pedestrian keeps to the right on the pavement and is on the outer edge, there is a stream of traffic on the road close to him, and travelling in the same direction. Thus, vehicles are coming up behind him, and if one jumps on to the pavement it may knock him down from behind. Or, should he suddenly step out into the road, he runs imminent risk of being run down at once from the traffic nearest to him, and not be content with a hasty glance over his shoulder. The best plan is shown in the case where the \" Keep to the-left \" rule is observed by both driver and pedestrian. The latter, before stepping off the kerb, should turn at an angle so as to command a view of the oncoming traffic, and pursue a slanting course to the middle of the road. Here there ought to be a three-foot-wide space on which the pedestrian could remain stationary as if an \" island \" existed. A police law could be enforced that no driver encroach on this space when it is occupied by a foot-passenger. In time, at such a crossing, people would Wrong and eight methods of crossing a street.^The wrong method is to matte a bee-line as shown by the single arrows. Here the pedestiian can only partially see the oncoming traffic. By talcing the oblique course shown by the double arrows he is always facing the approaching traffic. Now, if there were one law of \" Keep to the left \" for road and pavement, the pedestrian on the outer edge of the pavement would be always facing the line of traffic nearest to him. He would thus see oncoming vehicles, and might avoid injury in many cases. Most accidents, however, arise when pedes- trians cross the roadway. A good deal has to be learned yet in the art of crossing a busy thoroughfare, but the following suggestions may help to bring about an improvement. Let us first take the case of a side-road intersecting the path of the pedestrian.

394 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. The \" masked \" tramcar danger.—The passenger steps off one tram and dashes across the rails at the rear of the car. which masks oncoming traffic. On alighting from a stationary tram step back five or six feet in the wake of this vehicle, and thus obtain a view of any car coming from the opposite direction. Or cross the road in front of the stationary car. Another serious danger arises from one vehicle \" masking\" another. It usually occurs at tram-car hahs. One tram-car stops in mid-road and its passengers alight. Some make for the near-side pavement and get across with little risk. Others wish to attain the other side. Their usual plan is to dis- mount from the tram and dash round by the back of this Vehicle. At that moment another tram m.iy be bearing down from the opposite direction. Its approach and its signals are alike masked by the stationary tram, and a passenger may dash right into it when b? 'eaves the shelter of his tram. In crossing the road behind a stationary vehicles in its wake, pro- vided the pedestrian does not wander too far from his \" base.\" A yet safer course would be to cross to the near-side pavement and walk to the front of the tram, crossing the road there. Much of the danger with trams halting in mid- road could be avoided if the tram-lines were made to curve in close to the kerb at all important stop- ping-places. The trams could thus discharge pas- sengers on the pavement, and fast traffic could meantime go by without obstruction. Any vehicle standing by the kerb also forms a \" mask \" for the confusion of the unwary pedestrian about to cross the road. He generally steps into the thoroughfare in front of this stationary vehicle, and thus runs the danger of being dashed into by unseen traffic coming from behind this vehicle once he leaves its shelter. The obvious rule here is to cross at the rear of a stationary vehicle close to the kerb. This is the reverse of the procedure to be followed in the case of a tram standing in mid-road. The relation between speed and danger is very badly understood by the public and by many motorists. If we could rigidly separate up traffic from down traffic, run vehicles at uniform speeds along each route, and build bridges or subways to take intersecting traffic and pedes- trians across the roads, we could have safe traffic moving along suit- able routes at a mile a minute, and so rapidly would journeys be accomplished that the streets would look almost deserted, for the longer The \" masked \" vehicle danger. — The pedestrian wrongly steps off the kerb in front of a stationary vehicle and fails to see the approaching traffic, masked by the vehicle at the kerb. This error is commonly

THE PERILS OF THE PEDESTRIAN. 395 | 15 miles per hour i r* • \"* ' i win. V Car Hops in • Mi; 10in. ( 20 mild per hour { « 25fl. I in. V. Car stops in Car I ravel* 29'3ft. per frond (25 miles per hour > Car 1 ravel) 36 7fl per second ,, 33ft. 4in. Vv...ar stops in Car travels 44ft per second 483ft. fnon-skid lyre.) 54}fl. (wilh smooth rubber tyre«) f 30 miles p:r hour. -\\ Car slops in I Car slops in Speed and safety.—The stopping power of a motor-car. From recent Irsts in America the following returns were obtained. Up to speeds of twenty-five miles an hour the driver could stop his car within a second of observing an obstacle in nis path. Note that as speed increases so does the distance the car travels per second, and so the obstacle must be removed farther from the car. The weight of the car. the condition of the road, and the form of tyres used affect these figures. a moving vehicle remains in a street—that is to say, the slower its speed — the more obstruction and congestion does it cause. It is for this reason that, if London reduced its traffic speed all round by a few miles an hour, the confusion would be appalling, and accidents would increase. The vehicles would be packed together in a dense mob at every junction, and pedestrians would incur very serious risk in trying to get through. Fast traffic is needed to relieve the con- gestion, and there really will be less danger when every vehicle has a fairly high speed. The removal of horsed locomotion from London will ease the traffic problem, and then a uniform pace can be maintained. But slow traffic cannot be done away with just yet, and the pedes- t r i a n will always remain with his right to cross every highway, and with his habit of doing it carelessly. Road-traffic speed must, then, to a certain extent, be rendered subservient to ihe safety of the foot-passenger, and on this assumption motor-speed limits have been drawn up. But in theory- no set-speed limit can be applied to every road with satisfaction. Fix the speed limit at twelve miles an hour, and a car can be recklessly and dangerously driven at ten miles an hour ; reduce the limit to eight miles an hour—the speed of many horsed vehicles—and accidents will not be avoided. Traction engines moving at a walking pace

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. stopping power of the vehicle. Most horsed vehicles have no brakes, and even at low speeds they are very slow in stopping. The automobile, with its powerful brakes, is much superior at all speeds. Light vehicles can stop more readily than heavy vehicles. But as pace increases a greater time and space are required in which to bring the most powerfully-braked vehicle to a standstill. With the wheels locked the vehicle can still slide forward under its momentum. There is also the serious danger of skidding when the brakes are too suddenly used at high speeds. I publish a most interesting table of brake tests recently carried out under novel con- feet at twenty-five miles an hour. At the higher speeds he would be wise to allow about one hundred feet, or wait until the car goes by. It may only take a few seconds to get past, and to the pedestrian this time makes no difference. The table would be very useful to the police in judging what was dangerous speed in a given situation. The ideal of the motorist should be to so adapt his speed to the road, and to the traffic conditions and probabilities, that he could at any instant stop his car before colliding with an obstruction. On a narrow and winding road he would drive very slowly ; in rounding a sharp corner his pace would also be low ; and in narrow streets or busy How corners ihould be laken.—ILvery vehicle should keep close to its proper side, and no vehicle should over- lake another until the bend is passed. How reckless drivers act at corners — Eich holds to the centre of road as long as pos- sible and then 'swings sharply TOJnd the bend. ditions in America, and they give a graphic idea of the distance a motor-car requires in which to stop at various speeds. A notable point brought out is that at speeds up to twenty-five miles an hour a driver could stop his car from running over an obstacle provided he observed it one second before reaching it, or, in other words, had one clear second in which to bring the car to a standstill. The tests were made on an average road, and the car had non-skid tyres. With smooth tyres from five to ten feet more must be allowed. The pedestrian may glean from this table that if a car bears down on him at fifteen miles an hour he should not cross its path unless it is at least twenty-two feet away; when its speed is twenty miles an hour he should allow twenty-nine feet, and thirty-six thoroughfares, as also when passing schools or side-streets, his car would be well in hand. In short, modern traffic demands highly skilled and responsible drivers, and the authorities should spare no effort in elimi- nating all the reckless and incompetent men. Pedestrians, for their own sake, should get

Tke T millionaire. uppenny Mali By P. G. WODEHOUSE. Illustrated by Rene Bull. |N the crowd that strolled on the Promenade des Etrangers. enjoying the morning sun- shine, there were some who had come to Roville for their health, others who wished to avoid the rigours of the English spring, and many more who liked the place because it was cheap and close to Monte Carlo. None of these motives had brought George Albert Balmer. He was there because, three weeks before, Harold Flower had called him a vegetable. What is it that makes men do perilous deeds ? Why does a man go over Niagara Falls in a barrel ? Not for his health. Half an hour with a skipping-rope would be equally beneficial to his liver. No ; in nine cases out of ten he does it to prove to his friends and relations that he is not the mild, steady-going person they have always thought him. Observe the music-hall acrobat as he prepares to swing from the roof by his eyelids. His gaze sweeps the house. \" It isn't true,\" it seems to say. \" I'm not a jelly-fish.\" It was so with George Balmer. In London at the present moment there exist some thousands of respectable, neatly- dressed, mechanical, unenterprising young men, employed at modest salaries by various banks, corporations, stores, shops, and busi- ness firms. They are put to work when young, and they stay put. They are mussels. Each has his special place on the rock, and remains glued to it all his life. To these thousands George Albert Balmer belonged. He differed in no detail from the rest of the great army. He was as respect- able, as neatly-dressed, as mechanical, and as unenterprising. His life was bounded, east, west, north, and south, by the Planet Insurance Company, which employed him; and that there were other ways in which a man might fulfil himself than by giving daily imitations behind a counter of a mechanical figure walking in its sleep had never seriously crossed his mind. On George, at the age of twenty-four, there descended, out of a clear sky, a legacy of a thousand pounds. Physically, he remained unchanged beneath the shock. No trace of hauteur crept into his bearing. When the head of his depart- ment, calling his attention to a technical flaw in his work of the previous afternoon, addressed him as \" Here, you—young what's- your-confounded-name!\" he did not point out that this was no way to speak to a gentle- man of property. You would have said that the sudden smile of Fortune had failed to unsettle him. But all the while his mind, knocked head over heels, was lying in a limp heap, wonder- ing what had struck it.

398 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. He was tired of lending, and in a mood to resent unauthorized demands. Harold Flower's struck him as particularly unautho- rized. He said so. It took some little time to convince Mr. Flower that he really meant it, but, realizing at last the grim truth, he drew a long breath and spoke. \" Ho ! \" he said. \" Afraid you can't spare it, can't you ? A gentleman comes and asks you with tack and civility for a temp'y loan of about 'art nothing, and all you do is to curse and swear at him. Do you know what I call when a man with a hoarse voice and a watery eye is comparing you to your disadvantage with a parsnip, and George did not come anywhere near achieving the feat. But he extricated himself somehow, and went home brooding. Mr. Flower's remarks rankled particularly because it so happened that Consols were the identical investment on which he had decided. His Uncle Robert, with whom he lived as a you—you and your thousand quid ? A tup- penny millionaire, that's what I call you. Keep your blooming money. That's all I ask. Keep it. Much good you'll get out of it. I know your sort. You'll never have any pleasure of it. Not you. You're the careful sort. You'll put it into Consols, you will, and draw your three-ha'pence a year. Money wasn't meant for your kind. It don't mean nothing to you. You ain't got the go in you to appreciate it. A vegetable—that's all you are. A blanky little vegetable. A blanky little gor-blimey vegetable. I seen turnips with more spirit in 'em than what you've got. And Brussels sprouts. Yes, and parsnips.\" It is difficult to walk away with dignity \" A VEGETABLE—THAT'S ALL YOU ARE.\" paying guest, had strongly advocated them. Also they had suggested themselves to him independently. But Harold Flower's words gave him pause. They made him think. For two weeks and some days he thought, flushing uncomfort- ably whenever he met that watery but con- temptuous eye. And then came the day of his annual vacation, and with it inspiration.

THE TUPPENNY MILLIONAIRE. 399 He sought out the messenger, whom till now he had carefully avoided. \" Er—Flower,\" he said. \" Me lord ? \" \" I am taking my holiday to-morrow. Will you forward my letters ? I will wire you the address. I have not settled on my hotel yet. I am popping over \"—he paused—\" I am popping over,\" he resumed, carelessly, \" to Monte.\" \" To who ? \" inquired Mr. Flower. \" To Monte. Monte Carlo, you know.\" Mr. Flower blinked twice rapidly, then pulled himself together. \" Yus, I don'l think ! \" he said. And that settled it. The George who strolled that f pleasant morning on the Promenade des Etrangers differed both externally and internally from the George who had fallen out with Harold Flower in the offices of the Planet Insurance Company. For a day after his arrival he had clung to the garb of middle-class England. On the second he had discovered that this was unpleasantly warm and, worse, con- spicuous. At the Casino Municipale that evening he had observed a man wearing an • arrangement in bright yellow velvet without attracting attention. The sight had impressed him. Next morning he had emerged from his hotel in a flannel suit so light that it had been unanimously condemned as impossible by his Uncle Robert, his Aunt Louisa, his Cousins Percy, Eva, and Geraldine, and his Aunt Louisa's mother, and at a shop in the Rue Lasalle had spent twenty francs on a Homburg hat. And Roville had taken it without blinking. Internally his alteration had been even more considerable. Roville was not Monte Carlo (in which gay spot he had remained only long enough to send a picture-postcard to Harold Flower before retiring down the coast to find something cheaper), but it had been a revelation to him. For the first time in his life he was seeing colour, and it intoxicated him. The silky blueness of the sea was startling. The pure white of the great hotels along the promenade and the Casino Municipale fascinated him. He was dazzled. At the Casino the pillars were crimson and cream, the tables sky-blue and pink. Seated on a green-and-white striped chair he watched a revue, of which from start to finish he understood but one word—\" out,\" to wit— absorbed in the doings of a red-moustached gentleman in blue who wrangled in rapid French with a black-mousiuched gentleman in yellow, while a snow-white commere and a compere in a mauve flannel suit looked on at the brawl. It was during that evening that there flitted across his mind the first suspicion he had ever had that his Uncle Robert's mental outlook was a little limited. And now, as he paced the promenade, watching the stir and bustle of the crowd, he definitely condemned his absent relative as

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. What could she have thought of him ? The sun ceased to shine. What sort of an utter outsider could she have considered him ? An east wind sprang up. What kind of a Cockney bounder and cad could she have taken him for ? The sea turned to an oily grey ; and George, rising, strode back in the direction of his hotel in a mood that made him forget that he had brown boots on at all. His mind was active. Several times since he had come to Roville he had been conscious of a sensation which he could not understand, a vague, yearning sensation, a feeling that, splendid as everything was in this paradise of colour, there was nevertheless something lacking. Now he understood. You had to be in love to get the full flavour of these vivid whites and blues. He was getting it now. His mood of dejection had passed swiftly, to be succeeded by an exhilaration such as he had only felt once in his life before, about half-way through a dinner given to the Planet staff on a princely scale by a retiring general manager. He was exalted. Nothing seemed impos- sible to him. He would meet the girl again on the promenade, he told himself, dashingly renew the acquaintance, show her that he was not the gaping idiot he had appeared. His imagination donned its seven-league boots. He saw himself proposing—eloquently— accepted, married, living happily ever after. It occurred to him than an excellent first move would be to find out where she was stay- \"A WOODEN-FACED HIGH PRIKST FLICKS A RF.D ing. He bought a paper and turned to the list of visitors. Miss Waveney. Where was it ? He ran his eye down the column. And then, with a crash, down came his air-castles in hideous ruin. \" Hotel Circle de la Mediterranee. Lord Frederick Weston. The Countess of South- bourne and the Hon. Adelaide Liss. Lady Julia Waveney \" He dropped the paper and hobbled on to his hotel. His boots had begun to hurt him again, for he no longer walked on air. At Roville there are several institutions provided by the municipality for the purpose of enabling visitors temporarily to kill thought. Chief among these is the Casino Municipale, where, for a price, the sorrowful may obtain oblivion by means of the ingenious game of boule. Disappointed lovers at Roville take to boule as in other places they might take to drink. It is a fascinating game. A wooden-faced high priest flicks a red india- rubber ball into a polished oaken bowl, at the bottom of which are holes, each bearing a number up to nine. The ball swings round and round like a planet, slows down, stumbles among the holes, rests for a moment in the one which you have backed, then hops into the next one, and you lose. If ever there was a pastime calculated to place young Adam Cupid in the background, this is it. To the boule. tables that night fled George with his hopeless passion. From the instant when he read the fatal words in the paper he

THE TUPPENNY MILLIONAIRE. 401 INDIARUBBER BALL INTO A POLISHED OAKEN BOWL, AT THE BOTTOM OK WHICH ARE HOLES.\" day-dream was definitely ended. It was a thing of the past—all over except the heart- ache. By way of a preliminary sip of the waters of Lethe, before beginning the full draught, he placed a franc on number seven and lost. Another franc on six suffered the same fate. He threw a five-franc cart-wheel recklessly on evens. It won. It was enough. Thrusting his hat on the back of his head and wedging himself firmly against the table, he settled down to make a night of it. There is nothing like boule for absorbing the mind. It was some time before George became aware that a hand was prodding him in the ribs. He turned, irritated. Imme- diately behind him, filling the landscape, were two stout Frenchmen. But, even as he searched his brain for words that would convey to them in their native tongue his disapproval of this jostling, he perceived that they, though stout and in a general way offensive, were in this particular respect guiltless. The prodding hand belonged to somebody invisible behind them. It was small and gloved, a woman's hand. It held a five-franc piece. Then in a gap, caused by a movement in the crowd, he saw the face of Lady Julia Waveney. She smiled at him. \" On eight, please, would you mind ? \" he heard her say ; and then the crowd shifted again and she disappeared, leaving him hold- ing the coin, his mind in a whirl. The game of boule demands undivided attention from its devotees. To play with a mind full of other matters is a mistake. This mistake George made. Hardly con- scious of what he was doing, he flung the coin on the board. She had asked him to place it VoL xliv.-33. on eight, and he thought that he had placed it on eight. That, in reality, blinded by emotion, he had placed it on three was a fact which came home to him neither then nor later. Consequently, when the ball ceased to roll and a sepulchral voice croaked the news that eight was the winning number, he fixed on the croupier a gaze that began by being joyful and expectant and ended, the croupier remaining entirely unresponsive, by being wrathful. He leaned towards him. \" Monsieur,\" he said. \" Mot I J'ai jettt. cinq francs stir hint I \" The croupier was a man with a pointed moustache and an air of having seen all the sorrow and wickedness that there had ever been in the world. He twisted the former and permitted a faint smile to deepen the melancholy of the latter, but he did not speak. George moved to his side. The two stout Frenchmen had strolled off, leaving elbow- room behind them.

.'02 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. had caused it to rage. If this had been entirely his own affair it is probable that the croupier's frigid calm would have quelled him and he would have retired, fermenting but baffled. But it was not his own affair. He was fighting the cause of the only girl in the world. She had trusted him. Could he fail her ? No, he was dashed if he could. He would show her what he was made of. His heart swelled within him. A thrill permeated his entire being, starting at his head and running out at his heels. He felt tremendous —a sort of blend of Oliver Cromwell, a Berserk warrior, and Sir Galahad. \" Monsieur,\" he said again. \" Hi ! What about it ? \" This time the croupier did speak. \" C'est fini\" he said ; and print cannot convey the pensive scorn of his voice. It stung George, in his exalted mood, like a blow. Finished, was it ? All right, now he would show them. They had asked for it, and now they should get it. How much did it come to ? Five francs the stake had been, and you got seven times your stake. And you got your stake back. He was nearly forgetting that. Forty francs in all, then. Two of those gold what-d'ycm-call-'em's ? in fact. Very well, then. He leaned forward quickly across the croupier, snatched the lid off the gold tray, and removed two louis. It is a remarkable fact in life that the scenes which we have rehearsed in our minds never happen as we have pictured them hap- pening. In the present case, for instance, it had been George's intention to handle the subsequent stages of this little dispute with an easy dignity. He had proposed, the money obtained, to hand it over to its rightful owner, raise his hat, and retire with an air, a gallant champion of the oppressed. It was probably about one-sixteenth of a second after his hand had closed on the coins that he realized in the most vivid manner that these were not the lines on which the incident was to develop, and, with all his heart, he congratulated him- self on having discarded those brown boots in favour of a worn but roomy pair of gent's Oxfords. For a moment there was a pause and a silence of utter astonishment, while the minds of those who had witnessed the affair adjusted themselves to the marvel, and then the world became full of starting eyes, yelling throats, and clutching hands. From all over the casino fresh units swarmed like bees to swell the crowd at the centre of things. Pro- menadcrs ceased to promenade, waiters to wait. Elderly gentlemen sprang on to tables. But in that momentary pause George had got off the mark. The table at which he had been standing was the one nearest to the door, and he had been on the door side of it. As the first eyes began to start, the first throats to yell, and the first hands to clutch, he was passing the counter of the money-

THE TUPPENNY MILLIONAIRE. 403 spasm of presence of mind. Without pausing in his stride, he pointed excitedly before him, and at the same moment shouted the words, \"La! La! Vite 1 Vile!\" His stock of French was small, but it ran to that, and for his purpose it was ample. The French temperament is not stolid. When the French temperament sees a man running rapidly and pointing into the middle distance and hears him shouting \" La 1 La I Vite I Vite!\" it does not stop to make formal inquiries. It sprints like a mustang. It did so now, with the happy result that a moment later George was racing down the road, the centre and recognized leader of an enthu- siastic band of six, which, in the next twenty yards, swelled to eleven. Five minutes later, in a wine-shop near the harbour, be was sipping the first glass of a bottle of cheap but comforting vin ordinaire while he explained to the interested pro- prietor, by means of a mixture of English, broken French, and gestures, that he had been helping to chase a thief, but had been forced by fatigue to retire prematurely for refresh- ment. The proprietor gathered, however, that he had every confidence in the zeal of his still active colleagues. It is convincing evidence of the extent to which love had triumphed over prudence in George's soul that the advisability of lying hid in his hotel on the following day did not even cross his mind. Immediately after breakfast, or what passed for it at Roville, he set out for the Hotel Circle de la Mediterranee to hand over the two louis to their owner. Lady Julia, he was informed on arrival, was out. The porter, politely genial, advised monsieur to seek her the Promenade des Etrangers. She was there, on the same seat where she had left the book. \" Good morning,\" he said. She had not seen him coming, and she started at his voice. The flush was back on her face as she turned \"HE SHOT SWIFTLY INTO THK ROAD AND FELL IN A HEAP.\"

404 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. to him. There was a look of astonishment in th grey eyes. He held out the two louis. \" I couldn't give them to you last night,\" he said. A horrible idea seized him. It had not occurred to him before. \" I say,\" he stammered—\" I say, I hope you didn't think I had run off with your winnings for good ! The croupier wouldn't give them up, you know, so I had to grab them and run. They came to exactly two louis. You put on five francs, you know, and you get seven times your stake. I \" An elderly lady seated on the bench, who had loomed from behind a parasol towards the middle of these remarks, broke abruptly into speech. \" Who is this young man ? \" George looked at her, startled. He had» hardly been aware of her presence till now. Rapidly he diagnosed her as a mother—or aunt. She looked more like an aunt. Of course, it must seem odd to her, his charging in like this, a perfect stranger, and be- ginning to chat with her daughter, or niece, or whatever it was. He began to justify himself. \" I met your—this young lady \"—some- thing told him that was not the proper way to put it, but hang it, what else could he say ? —\" at the casino last night.\" He stopped.- The effect of his words on the elderly lady was remarkable. Her face seemed to turn to stone and become all sharp points. She stared at the girl. \" So you were gambling at the casino last night ? \" she said. She rose from the seat, a frozen statue of displeasure. \" I shall return to the hotel. When you have arranged your financial transactions with your—friend, I should like to speak to you. You will find me in my room.\" George looked after her dumbly. The girl spoke, in a curiously strained voice, as if she were speaking to herself. \" I don't care,\" she said. \" I'm glad.\" George was concerned. \" I'm afraid your mother is offended, Lady Julia.\" There was a puzzled look in her grey eyes as they met his. Then they lit up. She leaned back in the seat and began to laugh, softly at first, and then with a note that jarred on George. Whatever the humour of the situation—and he had not detected it at present—this mirth, he felt, was unnatural and excessive. She checked herself at length, and a flush crept over her face. \" I don't know why I did that,\" she said, abruptly. \" I'm sorry. There was nothing funny in what you said. But I'm not Lady- Julia, and I have no mother. That was Lady Julia who has just gone, and I am nothing more important than her companion.\" \" Her companion ! \"

THE TUPPENNY MILLIONAIRE. 40.5 \" I don't know what you suppose I am,'' he said, \" but I'll tell you. I'm a clerk in an insurance office. I get a hundred a year and ten days' holiday. Did you take me for a millionaire ? If I am, I'm only a tuppenny one. Somebody left me a thousand pounds a few weeks ago. That's how I come to be here. Now you know all about me. I don't know anything about you except that I shall never love anybody else. Marry me, and we'll go to Canada together. You say I've helped you out of your groove. Well, I've only one chance of getting out of mine, and that's through you. If you won't help me, I don't care if I get out of it or not. Will you pull me out ? \" She did not speak. She sat looking out to sea, past the many-coloured crowd. He watched her face, but her hat shaded her eyes and he could read nothing in it. And then, suddenly, without quite knowing how it had got there, he found that her hand was in his, and he was clutching it as a drown- ing man clutches a rope. He could see her eyes now, and there was a message in them that set his heart racing. A great content filled him. She was so com- panionable, such a friend. It seemed in- credible to him that it was only yesterday they had met for the first time. SHALL RETURN TO THK HOTEL. WHEN YOU HAVK ARRANGED YOUR FINANCIAL TRANSACTIONS WITH YOUR—FRIEND, I SHOULD LIKE TO SPEAK TO YOU.\" \" And now,\" she said, \" would you mind telling me your name ? \" The little waves murmured as they rolled lazily up the beach. Somewhere behind the trees in the gardens a band had begun to play. The breeze, blowing in from the blue Mediter- ranean, was charged with salt and happiness. And from a seat on the promenade a young man swept the crowd with a defiant gaze. \" It isn't true,\" it seemed to say. \" I'm not a jelly-fish.\"

Is England on the Down Grade ? A Symposium of Eminent Persons in Many \\Valks of Life. OR many years past one of the most popular pastimes of the day among those who are pessimistically inclined—and unfortunately their name is Legion—would seem to have been to openly bemoan Eng- land's decadence at any and every available opportunity. Indeed, it is. not too much to say that, according to a certain section of the public, England and everything English is on the down grade. In com- merce, trade, music, athletics, enterprise —in fact, in almost every walk of life— according to these pessimis- tic critics, Eng- land has, for the past few years, been slowly but surely dropping behind her foreign com- petitors in the march of progress. As a matter of hard fact, however, are there any grounds for such depressing views ? Is it true that in many walks of life England has lately been losing caste and much of her old-time prestige ? To arrive at a satisfactory con;lusion on these points, we have collected the views of many prominent heads of pro- fessions and celebrities in various walks of life, each of whom is en- titled to speak with particular authority on the subject under discussion. All of them, except Mr. Winston Churchill, whose views are public property, have favoured us with a special contribution on the subject. \" No chance of falling behind in naval supre- macy,\" says Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL, First Lord of the Admiralty ; \" and we shall make it clear that other naval Powers, instead of overtaking us by additiotial efforts, will only be more outdistanced in consequence of the measures which we ourselves shall take.\" There is no chance whatever of our being overtaken in naval strength unless we want to be. We think that we can build as well and as good ships as any other constructors in the world. I could put it higher, but, as Dr. Pangloss observes, 1 A \"On their own merits modest f QL men are dumb.\" But we know, ^^m whatever may be said about quality—we know that we can build as fast and faster, cheaper, and on a far larger scale than any other Power in the world. So that if the money is all right the shipbuilding plant is all right.

IS ENGLAND ON THE DOWN GRADE? 407 of other great Powers, so that our margin of superiority will become larger and not smaller as the strain grows greater. Thus we shall make it clear that other naval Powers, instead of overtaking us by additional efforts, will only be more outdistanced in consequence of the measures which we ourselves shall take.\" \" I do not think it is jair to say that England is on the down grade,\" says SIR HIRAM MAXIM. I do not think it is fair to say that England is on the down grade. I have been in England about thirty years, and certainly a great deal of progress has been made during that time — progress in ever}' direction. But some nations have progressed even faster than the English. Germany and Japan have made great pro- gress, but this is largely on account of the very backward condition that they were in only a few years ago. If the country could be governed by a class of men who thought more of their country than of their political party, and had suffi- cient backbone to see that the laws were rigidly executed, it is quite possible that, with the suppression of disorders, we should make greater progress than any other country in the world. Mme. CLARA BUTT considers that \" vocally \" England is greatly on the H/> grade. I have ever been a firm be- liever in the maxim which tells us that comparisons are \" best left to the tactless.\" for which reason I prefer not to compare any individual singers of the day with other famous artistes of, let us say, fifteen to twenty years ago. At the same time my own opinion is that, in any case, the modern singer has assuredly not \" gone back.\" I am speaking of those artistes at the top of the tree, whose number is necessarily more or less limited. Regarding England vocally on wider lines, I feel, too, that lovers of music have every reason to be proud of the greater facilities offered to-day to singers of all classes, from the richest to the poorest, for the cultivation of the voice on the best possible methods. Time was when England was woefully lack- ing in really good schools of music, but MME. CLARA BUTT. /Viol.), by lioivr Mrtet ttudiui.

4o3 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. to-day that charge can certainly not be levelled against her. The Rev. F. B. MEYER considers that the query, \" Is England on the dmen grade 1 \" is fully justified, bid that there are stronger reasons for optimism than pessimism, so far as the future of the country is concerned. Surely there were sufficient grounds for the asking of the question ; but I none the less feel that the reasons on the other hand for optimism are greater far, and lie deep in the heart of our people. When great moral issues are presented England ever has immedi- ately responded —and, in my own heart, I certain extent lethargy has settled down upon certain sections of the public, I am ncvert he less firmly c o n- vinced that a moral or physical \" call to arms\" would be responded to as whole-heartedly to-day as ever before in the history of our country. Mme. SARAH BERNHARDT says: from an artistic point of view, I consider that England is in a stronger position to-day than she has ever been since first 1 uiis privileged to knmo her.\" I have been a very close observer of the English stage ever since I first made my THE RKV. F. B. MKVICR. feel,ever will— to the appeal of the higher against the lower and baser. For that reason, although I think to a appearance in London at the Gaiety Theatre in \" Phexlre \" over thirty years ago, and I can say, with the firmest convict ion, that my facts are right, that since those far-away days, from the point of view of real art, the English theatre has made rapid, far-reaching strides for the better. To me, indeed, it seems that in every detail of stage work the English theatre to-day is in a stronger position, artistically, than when first I made my bow to London audiences. Methods of production are greatly superior to-day ; numerically speaking, there are far more talented actors and actresses to-day than, let me say, twenty to thirty years ago. The atmosphere of the theatre is more faithful to the policy of true art; all round, indeed,

75 ENGLAND ON THE DOWN GRADE t 409 places of amusement in London or in the provinces that there are to-day. And yet I have observed that although theatres and other places of amusement have, within recent years, been springing up, I might almost say like mushrooms, so suddenly have they made their appearance, yet, withal, in every case, new ventures seem to thrive and prosper in a manner which must be truly gratifying to their promoters. To-day people who live in small provincial towns in Great Britain frequently have the opportunity of seeing London successes played, not in a way which might be con- sidered good enough for the pro- vinces, but very often almost as well as when they were origin- ally produced in your great capital. No, no, no; it is un- fair, unkind, unjust to point the finger of scorn at the dra- matic art in England to-day and say, \"That is all that we have left of the great art of the theatre as our fathers and grandfathers knew it.\" Those who profess to believe that, artistically speaking, the dramatic art in England is on the decline can know little of their subject. As one who has ever been a faithful student of the methods of English playwrights, players, and play- producers, I most emphatically state that I consider, theatrically speaking, England is stronger to-day than she has ever been since first I was privileged to know her. The late Mr. D. GRAHAM GILMOUR sent THE STRAND MAGA/INE the jollmving opinion a few days before his tragic death. In the aerial competition of the nations, although England has not yet taken the lead, bearing in mind that the old country is notoriously slow to launch out in innovations of any kind the present position—compara- tively speaking—she now holds assuredly points to the fact that she is at least as enter- prising to-day as she was twenty years ago. Thus, when the possibilities of motoring first became apparent England was slow to take her place in this new industry—far slower, indeed, than she has been in ranging up along- side other nations in the aeroplane industry— which conclusively proves, I think, that she is not on the down grade so far as initiative is concerned. Indeed, I am inclined to think that it is Vol. xliv.-34. official apathy which has allowed other countries to get ahead of us in aviation. At present, in land flying, we are a great distance behind various other countries—France, for example — but in sea flying we might even now start upon equal terms and get the lead if prompt encouragement were given to the Navy. Why this encouragement has not been instantly forthcoming is a secret known only

4io THE STRAND MAGAZINE. often, within recent years, been compelled to form the opinion that, as the mother of boxing, England latterly has not turned out such skilful and sturdy children as she did a decade or so ago ; for it seems to me then both amateur and professional followers of the fistic art were distinctly better than they are to-day. For instance, to take a few names at random, Peggy Bettinson, Tom Hill, Bob Hare, John Douglas, and the Dearsleys represent a better-class brand of boxer than the majority of the best-known exponents of the fistic art to-day. Naturally, however, there are exceptions. For example, the present amateur champion, W. H. T. Douglas, is quite one of the finest amateur boxers I have ever seen, while John Hopley is assuredly one of the finest heavy- weights that ever put a glove on. But still one cannot help thinking that the average young man of the present day is not quite so tough as he used to be, though, so far as boxing is concerned, this may perhaps be accounted for by the fact that the amateur and the profes- sional are much closer together these days than they were twenty years ago. However, so far as the lighter division of boxers are concerned, an exception must be made to the above re- mark, for in the annals of fistic history there can MR. EUGENE CORRI. PAolo. by Siwrt t General. surely never have been any better men than Jim Driscoll, Fred Welsh, or Johnny Summers. True, in one or two small respects they may, perhaps, compare unfavourably with Pedlar Palmer, who, as I have elsewhere remarked, was quite a wonderful boxer when at his best; but in other respects they are his superiors. So that it is really an invidious task to be- little the best representatives among the light-weight division to the smallest extent. In the other branches of boxing, however, both amateur and professional, I regret to say that I cannot conscientiously give it as my opinion that England has recently turned out as good men as did twenty fifteen years SIR JOSEPH

IS ENGLAND ON THE DOWN GRADE/ 411 from their money. I think I may humbly claim to have had a fair knowledge—and withal an accurate knowledge—of commercial England for many years past, and, in my opinion, when places of amusement increase there is no surer sign that the prosperity of the whole country has been increasing, thus giving the masses more money to spend upon pleasure. There is one unfortunate phase, however, that we have to face, and that is the higher prices which now obtain for the necessaries of life. So far as luxuries are concerned, the wants of the well-to-do can be limited. But the people's necessaries are becoming less and less easy to secure, because, I imagine, the population of the world increases in a ratio which is not met by any commensurate increase in the supplies from the land for the use of that ever-growing mass of humanity. Even America, with its vast arable areas, which ought to be able to supply the food of the whole world, is not self- supporting, but imports some of her own require- ments. The remedy ? We 11, it would help a great deal were more British capital put into some of our Colonies for the production of food- stuffs, making those Colonies more prosperous and rendering the Mother Country less dependent upon foreign nations. If you say this is a pill to cure an earthquake —well, maybe you will not be utterly wrong. I am no specialist in world troubles, but I think my way would reduce the inflam- mation. In conclusion, I may perhaps be allowed to add that those who continually throw storms of invective at what they call \" England's decline as a commercial nation \" are doing more than merely utter idle untruths—they are assisting in no small way to belittle our increasing commercial greatness in the eyes of the foreigner. That, surely, is no patriotic thing to do. Mr. LANDON RONALD considers that \" from a musical standpoint England is pro- gressing by leaps and bounds.\" I confess that I have little patience with those pessimistic grumblers who chant the mournful song, \" England is on the down grade,\" with parrot-like faithfulness. To their depressing cries there is no end—and, worse still, although they can seldom find any sound argument on which to base their remarks, they nevertheless continue to decry everything English with un- flagging determination.

412 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. of these unconscious enemies of music, nothing can, or will, stay the vast progress—musical progress, that is to say—which is taking place in England to-day. SIR CHARLES MACARA, Bart., the well-known Lancashire cotton magnate, says that unless English business men \" show greater interest in commercial propositions a down- grade movement will set in.\" I do not consider that England is yet on the down grade, but unless business men show a much greater interest in those matters which are necessary for the maintenance of our pre-eminent industrial and commercial posi- tion, I fear a down-grade movement will set in. I have not known public spirit to be at a lower ebb than it is at the present time, and I attribute this largely to the absorbing interest in party politics to which everything else appears to be subservient. \" / do not think there are any visible signs of physical decadence in the British thorough- bred,\" writes Mr. F. W. BALL (\"Hotspur\"), the special racing corre- spondent of the \"Daily Telegraph.\" You ask me whether England is on the down grade as regards its race- horses. It would be considered rank heresy on my part if I said \" Yes.\" As a matter of fact, I don't think there are any visible signs of physical decadence in the British thoroughbred, notwith- standing the fact that foreigners have for years been buying up our best blood, both stallions and brood mares. The fact that the British racehorse remains supreme despite this continuous drain is sufficiently significant—it conveys a striking answer to the above query. By the present generation of racegoers it is tacitly agreed that Ormonde was probably the best horse ever foaled, though it is a practical impossibility to settle such questions as these effectually or satisfactorily. It is extremely doubtful if we have, since Ormonde's day, seen anything quite so good as the famous SIR CHARLES MACARA. rhoto. by Elliott £ Fr,. son of Bend Or, but I have not observed any signs of deterioration in the best thoroughbreds either as regards strength, symmetry, quality, or the sterling courage for which the British racehorse has ever been so eminently dis- tinguished. We hear from time to time that consistent inbreeding to Galopin and St. Simon has tended to develop undesirable idiosyncrasies of temperament in certain