The Strand 1911-3 Vol-XLI № 243

3o8 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. music, elocution, and drawing ; but the per- fect grace and beauty of her figure and her exquisite art in dressing were her crowning accomplishments, and won for her the power she exercised until her death. \" The most delicate flower I have seen in a long time,\" said John Wilkes when he heard the young Bath dtbutante. Miss Elizabeth Linley, sing at a concert in London in 1773, father, who was a composer and music- master, and amongst her suitors was an elderly bachelor named Long, whom the beauty detested and wished to flee from. In this desire she was abetted by a certain clever and good-looking youth, a friend of her father's, named Richard Brinsley Sheridan. With his connivance she secretly escaped from Bath and took ship to Dunkirk, with the MRS. SHERIDAN. From ihe Painting by Gainsborough. By permission of Lord Rothschild Front a Carbon Print ry Brann Content. Dornoch. when she was nineteen years old. Horace Walpole went further—he placed her \" above all living beauties.\" The Bishop of Neath, on beholding her, declared she was \" the con- necting link between woman and angel.'' Sir Joshua Reynolds was so impressed that he besought her to sit to him for his \" St. Cecilia and for the Virgin in his \" Nativity.\" Miss Linley sang in oratorios arranged by her intention of boarding at a convent at Lille. But Sheridan frankly told the beautiful girl that, although he was willing to help her, he could not be content to leave her in a convent unless she consented first to marry him, as, after the step she had taken in running away from her father in his company, she could hardly appear in England save as his wife. So. at a village near Calais, the marriage

THE POWER OF BEAUTY.\" 3°9 play or Garrick, but the marvellous beauty of .Mrs. Robinson, who played Perdita. The chief actor, when it was rumoured that the young Prince of Wales would attend the performance, prophesied that the lady would captivate the Royal Prince. His prediction proved true. After the performance there came into her hands, through Lord Maiden, a letter signed \" Florizel.\" It began an amorous correspondence between the Prince and this girl of twenty, who had already known something of the vicissi- tudes of life. Mary Darby (the Darby had once been McDermott) was a native of Bristol, who at sixteen had married a clerk named Robinson, who became arrested for debt, and she shared his imprisonment. While in prison and nursing her child the girl-mother wrote a volume of poems, which she showed to the Duchess of Devonshire, who had them published. On her release after MRS. ROBINSON. From the Painting by Reynolds. From a Photograph by Jl'. Man sell J- Co. ceremony was performed by a com- plaisant priest, although both parties only regarded it as a betrothal. On the heels of this escapade over came old Mr. Linley, who carried his daughter back to Bath. His friend Mathews denounced young Sheridan as \" a liar and a treacherous scoun- drel,\" and a duel was the result, in which Mathews was disarmed and had to beg for his life. Another duel resulted in Sheridan being wounded, but a year later he was married in England to Miss Linley with her father's permission. After her marri- age the beauty declined to sing in public, although she kept her won- derful voice to the end. She died at thirty-eight. \"' No other woman of her time.'\" remarks Mr. Fraser kae. \" possessed in larger measure than Mrs. Sheridan beauty, talent, and virtue.\" She is said to have been the only lady for whom that eminent connoisseur in female beauty, the Duke of Clarence, ever sighed in vain. On a certain December night in 1778 Drury Lane Theatre was crowded to see a representation of Garrick's version of the \"' Winter's Tale.\" The most important topic was not the I LADY HAMILTON. From the Painting by Romney. From a Photogtafih by //'. A Mansell &* Co.

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. MRS. 1[ JORDAN. From the Painting by Romney. a Photoerajtli by 11'. A. Mans til & ten months' confine- ment she was engaged by Garrick, and made her appearance on the stage as Julietwithgreat success. On receiving the billet-doux from the Prince she answered it. signing herself \" Per- dita,\" and after several letters had been ex- changed a meeting w as arranged at Kew. So great was young George's infatuation that, wish- ing to give her a present, he gladly signed a bond for twenty thousand pounds, to lie paid when he came of acre. MISS CROKER. From the Painting by Lawrence. n Plwtoirnph by If. A. .Hansel/&• Co. But the Royal lover was fickle. The lady became talked about, and left the stage. She went to Paris on a pension of five hundred pounds a year, where her beauty attracted great attention, but she prudentlv declined over- tures from the Duke of Orleans, and opened an academy. Marie Antoi- nette presented her with a pur^e knitted by her own hands and a note to \" la belle Anglaise.\" She returned finally to England and literature, writing many poems and

THE POWER OF BEAUTY: 3n plavs before her death.crippled and impoverished in 1800, at the age of forty. It was an age of beautiful women, and a contempo- rary of \" Perdita \" was the famous Dorothy Jordan, who, beginning life as a milliner's assistant in Dublin, went on the stage, where her father filled the humble post of scene- shifter. At first her beauty won her way, but after- wards her talents asserted them- selves and she became one of the leading actresses of the day, second perhaps only to Mrs. S 1 d d o n s. Byron declared her Mathews called her MISS MARY ANDERSON. From a Photograph by 11'. D. Downey. Kbury Street. superb, and the elder an extraordinary and exquisite being, as distinct from any other being in the world as she was superior to all her contemporaries in her particular line of acting. Sir Joshua Reynolds preferred her to all the actresses of his time. Naturally such a paragonwould have a host of admirers. She was known as the wife of Sir Richard Ford for a time, but in 1790 she accepted the attentions of the Duke of Clarence (William IV.). and in course of time bore him ten child- ren, all known under the name of FitzClarence. and several of whom became famous sol- diers, sailors, and divines. The Duke allowed her one thousand pounds a year, and when the GEORGIANA COUNTESS OF DUDLEY. From a Photograph by Russcii &* Sons. King sought to have this reduced to five hundred

312 THE STRAXD MAGAZINE. extraordinary career of vicissitudes she came under the protection of the Hon. Charles Greville, who introduced her to Romney, who was inspired by her loveliness to paint from her some of his finest pictures. At twenty-eight she had become the wife of the Ambassador at Naples. Sir William Hamilton. There she met Nelson, and there- after her history is entwined with his own. She was obliged, at fifty, to flee from her creditors to Calais, where she died in 1815. Eighty years ago all England rang with the fame of Miss Croker's beauty. This young lady had been brought up in the atmo- sphere of kings and pa1 aces. She was the young sister of the wife of a once famous politician, John Wilson Croker, Secretary to the Admiralty. He adopted the little girl, Rosamund, as his daughter, and she took his name. Being always a wel- come visitor at Carlton House, Windsor. and the Pavilion at Brighton.and the Prince Regent being fond of children, Miss Croker was never forgotten at the children's balls often given at the Palace. She finalls married Sir George Barrow in 1832. and retained her beauty until past middle life. Not easily to be matched in all the lists of. beauty is the delicate perfection of Miss Mary Anderson, the Kentucky girl who took London by storm a quarter of a century ago and then suddenlv retired for ever from the THE stage which had witnessed her triumphs. As Mme. de Navarro she has since lived in retirement in Worcestershire, but none who remembers that chaste and slender form and the chiselled features of an ideal Galatea can find her equal amongst the stage beauties of to-day. To the surpassing loveliness of Georgiana

THE QUESTION. By MARGARET WESTRUP (Mrs. W. Sydney Stacey). Illustrated by Alec Ball. I. ? I were superstitious,\" she said, \" I should be afraid.\" \" Afraid of what ? We can't be sitting beneath a ladder, and we aren't thir- teen.\" He broke off to add, tenderly, We're one, aren't we—just one, Enid ? \" Yes,\" she said. She looked down into his face as he lay there beside her on the great flat rock, and then out to where more rocks towered above them, huge grass-topped rocks poised one over another, one behind another, in towering majesty—grey, with tender lichen coolly green, and burning red and gold gleam- ing in the sunshine; and down at their foot, where the waves were breaking over the smaller rocks, sending up little fountains of glittering spray, covering and then leaving the sharp jagged points bare, hinting with beautiful and cruel suggestion at the terrible rocks hidden beneath. There was a fresh wind blowing from off the sea, and the waves hurried in restlessly and broke in showers of booming beauty at the foot of those great rocks. \" I say, isn't it ripping ? I don't see what there's to be afraid of on a day like this.\" She turned, smiling. \" That's just it — it's rippingness,\" she said. \" What ? Oh, don't get clever, darling, 1 DREAMILY, HER HAND IN HIS, SHE SAT AND WATCHED IT ALL, THE SEA AND THK SKY AND THE ROCKS.\" Vol. XU.-4Q.

314 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. and talk over my head. You promised you'd always explain, you know.\" \" You're a baby,\" she laughed. \" There, it was only that You see, Dick, I've not had a very happy life.\" \" I'm going to make up for that.\" She nodded. \" Yes. Well, that was it. I was looking out at the beautiful green sea, and—and thinking of \" \" Last Tuesday ? \" \" Yes, our wedding day, and—it is all so beautiful and happy and wonderful, that I— I almost felt afraid—just for a minute— afraid that it is too—too wonderful.\" He drew her closer. \" Poor little girl! \" \" Doesn't that chap look a midge up there ? \" She followed his gaze over to the summit of the highest rock, where a man was standing looking out to sea. \" It's that man I saw pass the hotel this morning,\" she said. \" Do you remember ? I said he had a face like a Dutch doll.\" He nodded. \" I didn't see him, but how on earth you can see who it is at this distance I can't imagine.\" She laughed, proud of her splendid eye- sight, but acknowledged frankly :— \" It's his legs. They're such curious legs. They look as if they are put on back to front somehow. Look at their outline against the sky.\" He peered up drowsily at a pair of stock- inged legs that to his eyes might just as well have been anything else, and grunted. \" I can't see any outline, you little humbug. Might as well be sausages or tadpoles.\" \" It's because you're half asleep.\" He smiled up at her. \" It's so warm and comfy and happy. But I'm not asleep—I'm thinking.\" \" What of ? \" she asked, demurely. \" Oh, Aunt Louisa, of course. Give me your hand. Rubbish ! There's no one within a mile. Oh, that chap can't see. He isn't likely to have your vivid imagination, and anyway, you're my wife. Enid, what did you promise last Wednesday ? You surprise and grieve me.\" Dreamily, her hand in his, she sat and watched it all, the sea and the sky and the rocks, and because deep down in her heart that tremulous fear lurked, her thoughts turned to tragedy, and she said :— \" Dick, suppose that man up there—he's climbing about now—suppose he fell over, would you have to try to save him ? \" \" Of course I should try, but I couldn't do it.\" She looked down at the little sharp points with the sea running off them, and shuddered. \" You couldn't possibly swim round,\" she said. \" You'd be \" \" Bashed to bits,\" he finished, cheerfully. \" I should. But he isn't going to fall over, so

THE QUESTION. brightening. \" We'll see about it later on. You're all right now, aren't you ? \" \" Yes, but \"—she slipped her hand into his coaxingly —\" would you, Dick ? \" \" Would I what ? \" \" Oh, don't look so stern. I'm not going to begin again, only—I just wanted to know —would you go in and try to save him ? \" \" Yes,\" he said, curtly. She sighed. He added, endeavouring to explain what was to him not explainable :— \" You see, dearest, you'd just do it—you couldn't help it. What else could you do ? There's no other way—here —and—well, you wouldn't like me to be a sort of half- inch cowardlv beast, would you ? \" She broke into a delicious little laugh. \"Oh, you dear love—no. I'd like you to be just exactly what you are— the bravest and best \" \" There, you see. Oh, you illogical child.\" \" I know. I think it's all wrong though, all the same.\" He lay back on the rock with a contented little laugh. \" Nothing seems wrong to me to-day. The world's the best old place.\" She said softly :-. God's in His Heaven— All's right with the world ! He nodded. \" Who's that ? Shake- speare ? \" \" No—Browning.\" \" Oh ! Never knew Brown- ing wrote anything so simple and easy to understand.\" She laughed at him tenderly. Silence fell between them again then. He stretched out his hand for hers, took it, muttered, \" Dear little hand,\" and closed his eyes. She leant back against the rock behind them, and gazed out, so happy that her thoughts were like \" SUDDENLY HE LOST HIS BALANCE AND FELL.\"

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. some beautiful, happy, broken dream. Her eyes, wandering lazily, turned after a while to the highest of those great rocks, and she saw that the little man like a Dutch doll was still there, sitting on the grass now, looking out to sea. She moved restlessly. In some curious, indefinable way he formed a discordant note in her beautiful world. \" What—is it, sweetheart ? \" She answered the sleepy voice lightly. \" Nothing; go to sleep. Perhaps I am composing a sonnet.\" \" Clever—little—darling ! \" She found herself unable to keep her eyes away from that tall rock, where the little man sat on the grassy slope of its summit, and she experienced a thrill of relief when at last he rose and, after stretching his arms above his head, sauntered off inland. She drew a deep sigh, checked midway, for the man turned and walked back to the spot where he had been sitting, and began to move to and fro, head down-bent, evidently searching for some- thing he missed. She watched impatiently. He approached the edge of the slope and, bending, peered down at the ledge a yard below where he had been clambering earlier in the morning. She watched. She saw him bend farther over, stretch his neck out—then suddenly he lost his balance and fell. She saw him fall, saw him clutch frantically at the narrow ledge, miss it, and disappear down behind the rocks. She saw him, and she felt no shock of surprise. She was conscious of only one great sick anxiety—that Dick should not wake. She sat rigid, holding her breath, faint with the terrible deadliness of her purpose, possessed only with that, and so possessed that she remembered to fight against the terrified longing to catch at his hand. She fought and conquered, so that her fingers lay limp within his. The man screamed as he fell, and she waited breathless lest it should have wakened Dick. After- wards that scream was to ring with pitiless reiteration in her ears, but now it meant only a possible waking of the man beside her. That was all. It was over in less than a minute, but she sat there, rigid, dazed, and clinging dully to her deadly purpose. She heard the cry of a gull, and thought confusedly that he was a long while dying. She was glad Dick would not be able to see him when he woke— away round all those rocks. But he must not wake. She sat there, rigid ; a dull pain was creeping all through her back and limbs ; the longing to move became so intense as to be almost unbearable. But she must not move. If she moved she might wake Dick, and Dick must not be wakened. She could tell that he was asleep, because he lay so still. She could not see him because there was a curious mist that made everything dark, and there were little black specks floating in the air. . . . When she regained consciousness she sat up and looked around, striving to understand, to remember. The place at her side, where Dick had lain, was empty, and with the shock



THE STRAND MAGAZINE. and unhappy over his wife's delicacy, or over whatever it was that was wrong with her. Enid, moving amongst all these old friends of Dick's, realized again and again that she could never tell him what she had done that day on their honeymoon. At times the sick longing to unburden her soul, to pull away the curtain that had dropped between them, became so strong that she almost risked his grief and scorn and told him the truth. There were times when she felt that she could bear anything better than this shadow that had fallen between their souls, this burden of hypocrisy. But she never told him ; living in the midst of stories of his valour and the valour of his forefathers, she could not do it. Friends, old servants, old country-folk, would tell her stories of Master Dick's pluck ; to her proud yet shrinking mind there seemed no end to them. He would despise her. His women-folk had been as brave as the men of his family ; they had sent their men to the wars with smiling faces; had borne their losses with a beautiful courage. Wandering amongst portraits of lovely women with clear, brave eyes up in the old gallery, Enid shrank appalled at the thought of confession. The gallery possessed a morbid sort of attrac- tion for her. She spent a good deal of her time there ; sometimes Dick would find her there and tell her stories of the men and women. He found her there one cold day in February ; he sought her with more of his old expression in his face than he usually wore, and she responded to it eagerly. \" What is it, Dick ? \" \" That Socialist chap—you know, Barker— has come down here to try and force his rotten doctrines down my people's throats.\" He gave a little laugh. \" I don't fancy he'll get a particularly warm reception.\" \" No,\" she said. She waved her hand towards the portraits. \" There are too many memories of them down here.\" They were silent a while. Suddenly she shivered. \" It is cold ; let us go down to the library.\" \" I should like to see that man—Barker,\" she said, a little later. \" That's easy enough,\" he laughed. \" He'll make enough row and show himself enough. He won't stay in modest retreat.\" She saw him that same afternoon. She was alone, walking through the woods ; the air was crisp and exhilarating, the woods wonderfully beautiful. Something of their quiet beauty, their peace and gentleness, sank into her spirit and soothed it. Then she heard a step approaching over the dead beech leaves, and, turning her head, surprised, she saw a man drawing near. He was still a long way off—a short, thick-set figure, his head in shadow, his clumsy, stockinged legs out- lined brightly against the glowing bracken. Enid waited, her heart suffocating her with its rapid beating, and when he drew near her eyes leapt upward and she saw the face that haunted her night and day—the face that once she had laughingly declared was like a Dutch doll. She had known she would see

THE QUESTION. 3!9 \"SHE SAW HIM SHAKE HIM AS IF HE WERE A RAT, THEN DRAG HIM BACK TO HER How the told in suitable language! wife \" \" Be quiet ! \" For a moment, and in spite of himself, her voice stayed his tongue. Even when he resumed his tone and words were different. \" I'll do it all the same,\" he said, with sulky obstinacy. \" You can't put me off by looking at me as if I'm the dirt beneath your feet ! I suppose that's why you would

320 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. have let me drown, eh ? I wasn't worth risking anything for \" \" Oh, hush ! Someone will hear.\" There was a pause. His sharp little eyes never left her shrinking face. When he next spoke he came a step nearer, and his voice was lower. \" I'll give it up if you make it worth my while,\" he said. She looked at him uncomprehendingly. \" I want money. Do you understand ? Give me fifty pounds and I'll hold my tongue.\" She went home light-footed, eager-eyed. She was not a murderer—the man was alive ! Surely now she could throw it from her ! She could not tell Dick, but need it be a horrible shadow between them any longer ? The man had gone; she had stipulated for that. She was to send the money to an address in London. She lifted her head and drew in great, glad breaths of the clean, sharp air. That man—the little man with the face like a Dutch doll—was alive ! Alive, and well, and repulsive ! If she had wakened Dick he coul^- not be more alive, and Dick would be -;' Her footsteps quickened into a run. She ran to him. When she found him her bright eyes questioned his face remorsefully. How she had worried and grieved him ! She twined her arms about him, pressed her cold cheek to his, till the worried lines in his face seemed to smooth out, and he kissed her again and again passionately. It was a fortnight later that she received a letter from Barker asking for a further ten pounds. And then she began to realize into what she had let herself be led. Shivering at the thought of the deceit that would be neces- sary, the methods she would have to practise to obtain the money this man would demand, she wrote to him in reply that she could send him no more money, and that she had decided to tell her husband everything. The letter she received from him in answer to that gave her a terrible shock, and she realized with shrinking horror that she had a scoundrel to deal with. For he said that unless he received the ten pounds within two days he would publish the story, down to the very traffic she had had with him ; and, further, that he would so tell it that her husband should figure as a coward sheltering behind his wife's skirts. He concluded with the remark that he thought the story would do good to his side, so far as Fordingham was concerned, and harm to theirs, so that he was quite prepared to forfeit the money for that. She sent him the ten pounds. And a month later a further twenty. She knew that she was only getting deeper and deeper into the mire -this man had brought into her life, and the knowledge made her physically ill. There very soon came a time when, at bay, she refused to send him what he asked. She had not got it, and she would not tell the lie to Dick that would have easily procured it. Barker came down to Fordingham and way- laid her ; he lurked about in the woods till

THE QUESTION. 321 had been prepared so tenderly for her, and where she had spent so many bad hours. She was chiefly conscious of just a great longing for Dick, and for his forgiveness. When he came at last she did not go to him, she stood hesitating. \" Dick,\" she whispered. \" Oh, try not to —to despise me—too—much \" He took her into his arms with a cry. \" My love, my love, I saw him fall, too ! It was not for a long while that she questioned him. She just lay in his arms with a great sense of wonderful peace. But at last her mind began to work, and she was puzzled. \" But you were asleep,\" she murmured. \" No, I was not quite asleep. I thought you were.\" He passed his hand over his eyes. \" I can't realize it quite yet,\" he said. \" Barker, that man ! And you—saw him fall. All these months—you, too—oh, my poor little girl ! \" Presently she whispered. \" Tell me, Dick.\" Then, as he hesitated, she said, with an infinite tenderness, \" Does it hurt too much ? \" \" Heavens, child, how I have longed to tell you ! But it seemed to me that it would be cowardly—that the only reparation I could make was never to let you know what you— what I had done \" \" What I had made you do,\"she corrected, softly. \"Sometimes I nearly told you ; but you thought so much of courage—you were always in the picture gallery—I used to tell you stories of their pluck and watch your face. I thought it would break your heart to know \" \" Go on,\" she said. \"That morning—you were leaning back against the rock, and I thought you had fallen asleep—I was drowsy—I didn't see him fall—I heard him calling out \" She shivered, and he drew her closer. \" Enid, I don't know what came over me. I can't explain. I just lay there, your words about leaving you alone chasing through my brain. It seemed in those few seconds that it would be foul treachery to leave you while you slept—your hand in mine. Dear, you know how they say a drowning man sees all his past life spread out before him ? In those seconds I saw—not mine, but yours—every incident and sorrow you have told me of your life I saw—I saw your unhappiness, and—it

**** CARD-SQUIGGLES. By \"STRAND\" READERS. 1HANKS to The Strand, the art of \" squiggling \" is making great progress amongst His Majesty's lieges, if one may judge by the liberal abundance of specimens which continue to pour in upon us, via His Majesty's mails from all parts of the kingdom. As regards playing-card squiggles, one might venture to think they are beginning to rival card-playing, even of bridge itself, as a popular pastime. It is interesting to know that there is in existence at least one entire pack of \" squig- gled\" playing-cards—each one, from the king of hearts, \" the Emperor of the pack,\" to the humble deuce of clubs, lending itself to the production of something which never entered the mind either of the original designer of playing-cards or of his successors through several centuries. Six cards from one of these packs are reproduced at the head of this article. For the use of these we are indebted to Mr. W. Sapte, of Ashford, Middlesex. For examples of sheer ingenuity the squiggles herewith presented are hard to beat. To begin with, there is the election orator, who has hardly begun to address his audience before three ballot-boxes are hurled at him, one catching him in the jaw, a second hurling away his hat; his stool is upset, while one of the unrepentant audience waves a miniature flag, and in this manner is the five of diamonds correctly utilized. The ace of spades forms the ground-

CARD - SQ UIGGLES. 323 work of several magnificent spiders, one of the best of which is shown. That the ace of clubs should have suggested to many the three balls of the pawnbroker is most natural, but there are not many who would have treated the idea so ingenious y, and one may add so humorously, as this. The marginal consigne does duty as the trefoil apex of a Gothic spire. And observe that the prospective patron of the establish- ment is no squalid strugfor/ifeur, for all that he is familiar with the sign of the swinging club. A single club is suspended above him, but he carries a set of clubs under his arm, and he pro- bably belongs to a club, unless he, too, is sus- pended. That the interval of space between two men of fashion should take the shape of an ace of dia- monds would not readily occur to everyone, and one suspects that the stay - maker must have something to do with such a result. Yet this is not, one reflects, the first time that a diamond has separated two friends. It is not a little curious that so few card-squigglers 4. should have thought of kite-flying in connec- tion with diamonds. A really capital design is that given below of the two of diamonds figuring as red kites, one launched and the other on the point of being so. As for the ace of the same suit, a most complicated picture shows it as part of the central object, the bottom of a chair poised on a juggler's nose. One feels that this is a considerable waste of effort on a single pip, although, as we hinted before, it is not uncom- mon for a man to stake a good deal on a diamond. The next squiggle is reminiscent of the panto- mime season. We have already seen the club suggesting the familiar— alas ! too - familiar — tri- sphere of the impecunious; here that idea is com- bined with the eccentric head - dress of a clown. And if you turn this card upside down you will per- ceive that pantaloon's nose has something to do with the numeral of the consigne in the corner. A very graceful drawing is that of two peacocks with upraised plumage,

324 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 6 design, forming the ace of spades. Probably, were the birds to be pausing before the mouth of a dark cavern, the background would be sufficiently black to make a similar impression on a beholder. Another striking conception is that of a pair of serpents engaged in mortal combat, their heads being the two of spades. The deuce of diamonds would appear to be a favourite with those fashioners of objects which, to adopt the language of the poet, Contrive a double debt to pay, A picture droll to see and then a card to play. Ca ) VJ 8. For in another example we are presented to a most voracious fish (\" finny monster of the deep,\" as the youthful reporter would say) about to swallow a worm suspended from a float, the latter and the fish's gaping mouth forming the two of diamonds. The angler overhead, although of microscopic propor- tions, appears in his punt happy and alert. The three of spades is the basis of a composi- tion in which a characteristic scene on our English roads is pleasantly delineated. A motorist, surmounted by that eccentric

CARD - SQUIGGLES. 325 10. variety of headgear without which much of the delights of motoring must be foregone, is bearing down upon the recumbent figure of his victim, who would appear to have previously received the attentions of another motor, for he is nailed to the earth and covered with gore. Not the least amusing detail of the sketch is the utilization of the helmet to indicate the suit, which is a touch of observation, too, in the artist, for in real life the hat is often an indication of the suit. The same three of spades is taken by another draughtsman for his comic delineation of a sable belle, who is re- velling in the joys of rinking. Her face is the top spot, the middle spot is the lady's muff, while the third spot is comfortably occupied by her right foot, which is of generous proportions, but doubt- less, in reality, no larger than her left, partly concealed by her skirt's draperies. It is wonderful to reflect upon the many combinations, even of the smaller denr nina- tions of a pack of cards, which ought to occur to everyone, but which are somehow reserved for a few clever ones. Looking at the figure of a boy scout on the next page signalling with flags, one might suppose hundreds would think of this; but it seems to have escaped all but two or three. Although of great simplicity, it is yet one of the very best. We find ourselves at the end of our space and yet with hundreds of excellent squiggles which we should like to mention. We must be content, however, to reproduce just a very few of them and on a much reduced scale. A most ingenious use of a three-spot shows a performing elephant balancing his huge bulk on the middle one of three box - stopls. The three of spades is made to take on the character of two Chinese duellists and the lady who is the object of their joint affec- tions, while the two of hearts is next used to show another Chinaman running off with a bag he has just snatched from an indignant old lady. In No. 16 the three of spades is used in a very

326 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 23. Bird.\" The spider as a spade we have already seen, but in the next example he figures a? a heart, while four other hearts represent four flies, his victims. The ace of clubs ap- pears in another as the trifoliate window of a church, and in the next the two of clubs is introduced most cleverly into the sketch of an owl. A solitary damsel, posing as the ace of clubs, follows, and the next is a familiar type of squiggle which utilizes the three of a suit for hat, trunk, and object to be stood upon. Another squiggler saw the portrait of Air. Hall Caine in the ace of hearts, while surely 24. thehobbled skirt was never con- strained within such proportions as is shown in the next treat- ment of the ace of spades. The threeof thatsuitis used in another squiggle to portray three fishes enacting a little human as well as piscatorial drama, \" Two's com- pany, three's none \"; while in the last, an old woman blows the bellows before a fire, the implement being the ace of hearts. On the whole, the practice of seeing squiggles in playing-cards is a pastime with a good deal to recommend it as a test of skill com- bined with imagination. The following list gives (he names and addresses of the senders of the Squiggles published in the article, the numbers corresponding to those under each reproduction. No. r, Mr. HarryJ. Mclnnes, ti, Highburgh Road, Dowanhill, Glasgow; Nos. a and 21, Mr. Eric Cant, 5, Mill Lane, Cambridge; No. 3, Mr. G. R. Whitehead, Trimdon, Trimdon Grange, S.O., Durham; Nos. 4, 14, and 15, Mr. Stephen H. Critten, 15. Reginald Road, Forest Gate, E. ; No. s, Mr. T. R. Wallace, West Woodburn, Newcastlc-on-Tyne; No. 6, Mr. W. H. Soar, 138, Old Heath Road, Colchester; Nos. 8 and 19, Mr. F. A. Williams, 83, Hammersmith Road, W. ; Nos. 7, ao, and 23, Mr. Thomas Hobson, 25, Bursar Street, Cleethorpes; No. 9, Miss H. B. Killby, 12, Ncwnham Terrace, Pembridge ; Nos. to and 26, Mr. Eustace l.uton, 11, Argyle Terrace, Twert-tn, Hath; No. it, Mr. Arthur Booth, 34, Belgrave Square, Rathmines, Dublin; No. 12 M.. J. Talman, 99, Queens- borough Gardens, Hyndland, Glasgow; Nos. 13, 16, and 17, Mr. H. F. Feet, 39, Outram Street, Houghton-le-Spring, Co. Durham; No. 18, Miss Daisy Hunt, 148, Claremont Road, Forest Gate; No. 22, Mr. G. W. Cooper, Quarrington, Sleaford, Lines; No. 24, Mr. K. J. Roberts, Dharur, Llandudno; No. 25, Mr. W. J. Vinson, 26, Cann Hall Road, Leytonslone.

Absent Treatment. By P. G. WODEHOUSE. Illustrated by Joseph Simpson, R.B.A. WANT to tell you all about dear old Bobbie Cardew. It's a most interesting story. I can't put in any literary style and all that; but I don't have to, don't you know, because it goes on its Moral Lesson. If you're a man you mustn't miss it, because it'll be a warning to you ; and if you're a woman you won't want to, because it's all about how a girl made a man feel pretty well fed up with things. If you're a recent acquaintance of Bobbie's, you'll probably be surprised to hear that there was a time when he was more remark- able for the weakness of his memory than anything else. Dozens of fellows, who have only met Bobbie since the change took place, have been surprised when I told them that. Yet it's true. Believe rue. In the days when I first knew him Bobbie Cardew was about the most pronounced young rotter inside the four-mile radius. People have called me a silly ass, but I was never in the same class with Bobbie. When it came to being a silly ass, he was a plus four man, while my handicap was about six. Why, if I wanted him to dine with me, I used to post him a letter at the beginning of the week, and then the day before send him a telegram and a 'phone-call on the day itself, and—half an hour before the time we'd fixed—a messenger in a taxi, whose business it was to see that he got in and that the chauffeur had the address all correct. By doing that I generally managed to get him, unless he had left town before my messenger arrived. The funny thing was that he wasn't alto- gether a fool in other ways. Deep down in him there was a kind of stratum of sense. I had known him, once or twice, show an almost human intelligence. But to reach that stratum, mind you, you needed dynamite. At least, that's what I thought. But there was another way which hadn't occurred to me. Marriage, I mean. Marriage, the dyna- mite of the soul; that was what hit Bobbie. He married. Have you ever seen a bull-pup chasing a bee ? The pup sees the bee. It looks good to him. But he doesn't know what's at the end of it till he gets there. It was like that with Bobbie. He fell in love, got married—with a sort of whoop, as if it were the greatest fun in the world—and then began to find out things. She wasn't the sort of girl you would have expected Bobbie to rave about. And yet, I don't know. What I mean is, she worked for her living ; and to a fellow who has never done a hand's turn in his life there's un- doubtedly a sort of fascination, a kind of romance, about a girl who works for her living. Her name was Anthony. Mary Anthony. She was about five feet six ; she had a ton and a half of red-gold hair, grey eyes, and

328 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. judging by the way she looked at him when to me to he running along as smoothly as she thought I wasn't noticing. And Bobbie you could want. If this was marriage, I seemed to think the same about her. So thought, I couldn't see why fellows were so that I came to the conclusion that, if only frightened of it. There were a lot of worse dear old Bobbie didn't forget to go to the things that could happen to a man. \" HE COT MARRIED.\" wedding, they had a sporting chance of being quite happy. Well, let's brisk up a bit here, and jump a year. The story doesn't really start till then. They took a flat and settled down. I was in and out of the place quite a good deal. I kept my eyes open, and everything seemed But we now come to the incident of the Quiet Dinner, and it's just here that love's young dream hits a snag, and things begin to occur. I happened to meet Bobbie in Piccadilly, and he asked me to come back to dinner at the flat. And, like a fool, instead of bolting

ABSENT TREATMENT. 329 and putting myself under police protection. I went. When we got to the flat, there was Mrs. Bobbie looking—well, I tell you, it staggered me. Her gold hair was all piled up in waves and crinkles and things, with a what-d'-you- call-it of diamonds in it. And she was wear- ing the most perfectly ripping dress. I couldn't begin to describe it. I can only say it was the limit. It struck me that if this was how she was in the habit of looking every night when they were dining quietly at home together, it was no wonder that Bobbie liked domesticity. \" Here's old Reggie, dear,\" said Bobbie. \" I've brought him home to have a bit of dinner. I'll 'phone down to the kitchen and ask them to send it up now—what ? \" She stared at him as if she had never seen him before. Then she turned scarlet. Then she turned as white as a sheet. Then she gave a little laugh. It was most interesting to watch. Made me wish I was up a tree about eight hundred miles away. Then she recovered herself. \" I am so glad you were able to come, Mr. Pepper,\" she said, smiling at me. And after that she was all right. At least, you would have said so. She talked a lot at dinner, and chaffed Bobbie, and played us rag-time on the piano afterwards, as if she hadn't a care in the world. Quite a jolly little party it was—not. I'm no lynx-eyed sleuth, and all that sort of thing, but I had seen her face at the beginning, and I knew that she was working the whole time, and working hard, to keep herself in hand, and that she would have given that diamond what's-its-name in her hair and everything else she possessed to have one good scream—just one. I've sat through some pretty thick evenings in my time, but that one had the rest beaten in a canter. At the very earliest moment I grabbed my hat and got away. Having seen what I did, I wasn't par- ticularly surprised to meet Bobbie at the club next day looking about as merry and bright as a lonely gum-drop at an Eskimo tea-party. He started in straightaway. He seemed glad to have someone to talk to about it. \" Do you know how long I've been married ? \" he said. I didn't exactly. \" About a year, isn't it ? \" \" Not about a year,\" he said, sadly. \" Exactly a year—yesterday ! \" Then I understood. I saw light—a regular flash of light. Vol. x-li-- 41. \" Yesterday was ? \" \" The anniversary of the wedding. I'd arranged to take Mary to the Savoy, and on to Covent Garden. She particularly wanted to hear Caruso. I had the ticket for the box in my pocket. Do you know, all through dinner I had a kind of rummy idea that there was something I'd forgotten, but I couldn't

33° THE STRAND MAGAZINE. number nine. But I didn't. I forgot them. And it was just the same with Bobbie. For about a week, perhaps a bit more, the recollection of that quiet little domestic evening bucked him up like a tonic. Elephants, I read somewhere, are cham- pions at the memory business, but they were fools to Bobbie during that week. But, bless you, the shock wasn't nearly big enough. make Bobbie see it, when he was t>y way of pouring out his troubles to me one afternoon. 1 can't remember what it was that he had forgotten the day before, but it was something she had asked him to bring home for her—it may have been a book. \" It's such a little thing to make a fuss about,\" said Bobbie. \" And she knows that it's simply because I've got such an infernal 'HERE'S OLD REGGIE, DEAR,' SAID BOBBIE. ' I'VE BROUGHT HIM HOME TO HAVE A BIT OF DINNER.' \" It had dinted the armour, but it hadn't made a hole in it. Pretty soon he was back at the old game. It was pathetic, don't you know. The poor girl loved him, and she was frightened. It was the thin end of the wedge, you see, and she knew it. A man who forgets what day he was married, when he's been married one year, will forget, at about the end of the fourth, that he's married at all. If she meant to get him in hand at all, she had got to do it now, before he began to drift away. I saw that clearly enough, and I tried to memory about everything. I can't remember anything. Never could.\" He talked on for a while, and, just as he was going, he pulled out a couple of sovereigns. \" Oh, by the way,\" he said. \" What's this for ? \" I asked, though I knew. I owe it you.' How's that ? \" I Why, that bet said. on Tuesday. In the billiard-room. Murray and Brown were pay- ing a hundred up, and I gave you two to one that Brown would win, and Murray beat r,im by twenty odd.\"

ABSENT TREATMENT. 331 \" So you do remember some things ? \" I said. He got quite excited. Said that if I thought he was the sort of rotter who forgot to pay when he lost a bet, it was pretty rotten of me after knowing him all these years, and a lot more like that. \" Subside, laddie,\" I said. Then I spoke to him like a father. \" What you've got to do, my old college chum,\" I said, \" is to pull yourself together, and jolly quick, too. As things are shaping, you're due for a nasty knock before you know what's hit you. You've got to make an effort. Don't say you can't. This two quid business shows that, even if your memory is rocky, you can remember some things. What you've got to do is to see that wedding anniversaries and so on are included in the list. It may be a brain-strain, but you can't get out of it.\" \" I suppose you're right,\" said Bobbie. \" But it beats me why she thinks such a lot of these rotten little dates. What's it matter if I forget what day we were married on or what day she was born on or what day the cat had the measles ? She knows I love her just as much as if I were a memorizing freak at the halls.\" \" That's not enough for a woman,\" I said. \" They want to be shown. Bear that in mind, and you're all right. Forget it, and there'll be trouble.\" He chewed the knob of his stick. \" Women are frightfully rummy,\" he said, gloomily. \" You should have thought of that before you married one,\" I said. I don't see that I could have done any more. I had put the whole thing in a nut- shell for him. You would have thought he'd have seen the point, and that it would have made him brace up and get a hold on himself. But, no. Off he went again in the same old way. I gave up arguing with him. I had a good deal of time on my hands, but not enough to amount to anything when it was a question of reforming dear old Bobbie by argument. If you see a man asking for trouble, and insisting on getting it, the only thing to do is to stand by and wait till it comes to him. After that you may get a chance. But till then there's nothing to be done. But I thought a lot about him. I abbie didn't get into the soup all at once. Weeks went by, and months, and still nothing ha opened. Now and then he'd come into t' club with a kind of cloud on his shining morning face, and I'd know that there had been doings in the home ; but it wasn't till well on in the spring that he got the thunder- bolt just where he had been asking for it—in the thorax. I was smoking a quiet cigarette one morning in the window looking out over Piccadilly, and watching the buses and motors going up one way and down the other—most interesting it is ; I often do it—when in rushed Bobbie,

332 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \"And you can't remember ? \" \"No.\" I rang the bell and ordered re- storatives. \" Well, Bobbie/' I said, \" it's a pretty hard case to spring on an un- trained amateur like me. Suppose someone had come to Sherlock Holmes and said, ' Mr. Holmes, here's a case for you. When is mv wife's birth- day ? ' Wouldn't that have given Sherlock a jolt ? However, I know enough about the game to under- stand that a fellow can't shoot off his deductive theories unless you start him with a clue, so rouse yourself out of that pop- eyed trance and come across with two or three. For instance, can't you remember the last time she had a birthday ? What sort of weather was it ? That might fix the month.\" Bobbie shook his head. \" It was just ordinary weather, as near as I can recollect.\" \" Warm ? \" \" Warmish.\" \" Or cold ? \" \"Well, fairly cold, perhaps. I can't remember.\" I ordered two more of the same. They seemed indicated in the Young Detective's Manual. \" You're a great help, Bobbie,\" I said. \"An invaluable assistant. One of those indispensable adjuncts without which no home is complete.\" Bobbie seemed to be thinking. \" I've got it,\" he said suddenly. \" Look here. I gave her a present on her last birthday. All we have to do is to go to the shop, hunt up the date when it was bought, and

ABSENT TREATMENT. 333 down to work. As I say, it sounded good. But when we came to go into the thing, we saw that there was a flaw. There was plenty of information all right, but there wasn't a single month that didn't have something that exactly hit off Mary. For instance, in the December book it said, \" December people are apt to keep their own secrets. They are extensive travellers.\" Well, Mary had cer- tainly kept her secret, and she had travelled quite extensively enough for Bobbie's needs. Then, October people were \" born with original ideas \" and \" loved moving.\" You couldn't have summed up Mary's little jaunt more neatly. February people had \" won- derful memories \"—Mary's speciality. We took a bit of a rest, then had another go at the thing. Bobbie was all for May, because the book said that women born in that month were \" inclined to be capricious, which is always a barrier to a happy married life \" ; but I plumped for February, because February women \" are unusually determined to have their own way, are very earnest, and expect a full return in their companions or mates.\" Which he owned was about as like Mary as anything could be. In the end he tore the books up, stamped on them, burnt them, and went home. It was wonderful what a change the next few days made in dear old Bobbie. Have you ever seen that picture, \" The Soul's Awakening \" ? It represents a flapper of sorts gazing in a startled sort of way into the middle distance with a look in her eyes that seems to say, \" Surely that is George's step I hear on the mat1 Can this be love ? \" Well, Bobbie had a soul's awakening too. I don't suppose he had ever troubled to think in his life before—not really think. But now he was wearing his brain to the bone. It was painful in a way, of course, to see a fellow human being so thoroughly in the soup, but I felt strongly that it was all for the best. I could see as plainly as possible that all these brain-storms were improving Bobbie out of knowledge. When it was all over he might possibly become a rotter again of a sort, but it would only be a pale reflection of the rotter he had been. It bore out the idea I had always had that what he needed was a real good jolt. I saw a great deal of him these days. I was his best friend, and he came to me for sympathy. I gave it him, too, with both hands, but I never failed to hand him the Moral Lesson when I had him weak. One day he came to me as I was sitting in the club, and I could see that he had had an idea. He looked happier than he had done in weeks. \" Reggie,\" he said, \" I'm on the trail. This time I'm convinced that I shall pull it off. I've remembered something of vital importance.\" \" Yes ? \" I said. \" I remember distinctly,\" he said, \" that

334 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. forgotten to bring any money with you, so you wrote a cheque.\" \" But I'm always writing cheques.\" \" You are. But this was for a tenner, and made out to the hotel. Hunt up your cheque-book and see how many cheques for ten pounds payable to the Ritz Hotel WHAT IS THK MATTER?' SAID MARYS VOICE.' you wrote out between May the fifth and May the tenth.\" He gave a kind of gulp. \" Reggie,\" he said, \" you're a genius. I've always said so. 1 believe you've got it. Hold the line.\" Presently he came back again. \" Halloa ! \" he said. \" I'm here,\" I said. \"It was the eighth. Reggie, old man, I \" \" Topping,\" I said. \"Good night.\" It was work- ing along into the small hours now, but I thought I might as well make a night of it and finish the thing up, so I rang up an hotel near the Strand. \"Put me through to Mrs. Cardew,\" I said. \" It's late,\" said the man at the other end. \" And getting later every minute,\" I said. \" Buck ■ along, laddie.\" I waited patiently. I had missed my beauty - sleep, and my feet had frozen hard, but I was past re- grets. \" What is the matter ? \" said Mary's voice. \" My feet are cold,\" I said. \" But I didn't call you up to tell you that par- ticularly. I've just been chat- ting with Bobbie, Mrs. Cardew.\"

ABSENT TREATMENT. 335 \" Oh ! is that Mr. Pepper ? \" \" Yes. He's remembered it, Mrs. Cardew.\" She gave a sort of scream. I've often thought how interesting it must be to be one of those Exchange girls. The things they must hear, don't you know. Bobbie's howl and gulp and Mrs. Bobbie's scream and all about mv feet and all that. Most interesting it must be. \" He's remembered it ! \" she gasped. \" Did vou tell him ? \" \" No.\" Well, I hadn't. \" Mr. Pepper.\" \" Yes ? \" \" Was he—has he been—was he very worried ? \" I chuckled. This was where I was billed to be the life and soul of the party. \" Worried ! He was about the most worried man between here and Edinburgh. He has been worrying as if he was paid to do it by the nation. He has started out to worry after breakfast, and \" Oh, well, you can never tell with women. My idea was that we should pass the rest of the night slapping each other on the back across the wire, and telling each other what bally brainy conspirators we were, don't you know, and all that. But I'd got just as far as this, when she bit at me. Absolutely ! I heard the snap. And then she said \" Oh ! \" in that choked kind of way. And when a woman says \" Oh ! \" like that, it means all the bad words she'd love to say if she only knew them. And then she began. \" What brutes men are ! What horrid brutes ! How you could stand by and see poor dear Bobbie worrying himself into a fever, when a word from you would have put everything right, I can't \" \" But \" \" And you call yourself his friend ! His friend ! \" (Metallic laugh, most unpleasant.) \" It shows how one can be deceived. I used to think you a kind-hearted man.\" \" But, I say, when I suggested the thing, you thought it perfectly \" \" I thought it hateful, abominable.\" \" Hut you said it was absolutely top \" \" I said nothing of the kind. And if I did, I didn't mean it. I don't wish to be unjust. Mr. Pepper, but I must say that to me there seems to be something positively fiendish in a man who can go out of his way \"OH! IS THAI MR. PEPPER?\" to separate a husband from his wife, simply in order to amuse himself by gloating over his agony \" \" But ! \" \" When one single word would have \" \" But you made me promise not to \" I bleated. \" And if I did, do you suppose 1 didn't expect you to have the sense to break your promise ? \" I had finished. I had no further observa-

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Ages. WILLIAM HESKETH LEVER. 00K well at the portrait on the next page. Even if you did not at once identify it as that of Mr. William Heske t h Lever, you would at any rate take it to be that of a man of deter- mination, of one who knows his own mind and acts accordingly. And you would be right, for the world-famous founder of Port Sunlight is a man of character, a man of ideas, and a man accustomed to carrying his ideas into effect. He is a captain of industry in the best sense of that somewhat misused phrase. If his success in business has been great, has he not earned it by foresight and organizing ability beyond the ordi- nary ? He comes of a Lanca- shire family, and was born in 1851 in Wood Street, Bolton, in which street his father had first seen the light. He may be said to have been cradled in commerce, for his grandfather was a manufacturer, while his father's trade was that of wholesale grocer. After receiving a good education at Bolton, at the age of sixteen he began busi- ness life in his father's office, but he had not reached twenty-six when he determined to make a venture on his own account. Wigan was selec- ted as his scene of operations, and here he started a grocery busi- ness in 1877, and, though he still continued From n Daguermotvix. Prm a Pholit. to live at Bolton, every morning found him at Wigan by seven o'clock, or soon after. His venture prospered, and its success enabled him in 1886 to sell it for a large sum and thus obtain the capital required to further a new enterprise on which he had embarked in the pre- vious year. This was the acquisition of a small soap factory at Warrington. Here was Mr. Lever's op- portunity, and he seized

PORTRAITS OF CELEBRITIES AT DIFFERENT AGES. 337

33» THE STRAND MAGAZINE. AGK 22. From a Photograph.' Port Sunlight, with its well-kept gardens and tree-lined streets, is one of the sights of industrial England. Its houses, with their quaint Old-English style, red-tiled roofs, latticed windows,and walls covered with creepers, give it an air of picturesque- ness all its own. Mr. Lever takes a personal interest in his employes, and \" one of his ambitions in life,\" as he stated to an inter- viewer some time ago, \" has been to find what he can do better than other people and to do it, and to ascertain what other people can do better than himself and help them to do it.\" The same determina- tion and grit which have marked Mr. Lever's busi- ness life were shown in his repeated attempts to enter Parliament. Four times he was unsuccessful —three times in Birken- head and once in the FromaPiwto.bu AGE 35. From a Photo, by Kay it .Sim. Wirral Division of Cheshire — before he renewed his assault on the latter seat and won it in 1906. Though Mr. Lever has entered on his sixtieth year, it is hard to believe that this energetic, keen-eyed, and singularly healthy - looking man of medium height is within ten years of his actual age. Possibly he would attribute this to the good health he enjoys and to his hobbies, which include the collection of pictures, furni- ture, and china. Archi- tecture and building have always possessed a fascina- tion for him, a fact to which much of the beauty of his model village is due. Several tours round the world gave him material for an inter- esting series of letters entitled \" Following the Flag \" ; and he has also written largely on the Land and Housing quest ions and uairington, in. man)' other subjects.

\"TOOTATOO. A REALLY NEW CARD GAME. HE capacities of a pack of cards seem to be practically inexhaustible, every year or two bringing forward some- thing new in the way of a game. During recent years most of the new games have been simply changes in method, the bidding element being the chief feature. But here is a game which is absolutely new in principle and requires an entirely new theory of play, although it has points in common with both bridge and whist, and skill in those games will tell greatly in favour of a player. The inventor calls it Tootatoo, which he assures his friends is very correct French for \" all trumps.\" The game has been made known to the American public by the New York Sun, and, by the courtesy of the pro- prietors of that paper, we are enabled to give the first account of it in this country. The fundamental principle of the game is that the four suits are trumps, but that they come into their own one after the other in the same order as the rank of the suits at bridge, hearts, diamonds, clubs, and spades. In the beginning hearts are the only trumps, but the moment the last heart is played the diamonds become the trumps. As the last diamond disappears from the board clubs jump into first place, and any club will win any spade, so that no spade trick is sure until every other suit is gone. The game is for four players, and is played with the full pack. Thirteen cards are given to each player, one at a time, no trump being turned and no declaration of any kind being made by the dealer or his partner. The player to the left of the dealer leads for the first trick any card he pleases, and the dealer's partner then lays his thirteen cards face up on the table and becomes the dummy for that deal. The original lead in tootatoo is made more or less in the dark, of course, but the player's object is usually to establish for himself as quickly as possible a commanding position in the suit which will be of the greatest advan- tage to him when it shall become the trump. Sometimes his object is to disarm the adver- sary by getting out of his way at least a round or two of the suit that will block his winning cards in the black suits before they come into their own. An illustration of a hand from actual play will probably make clearer than anything else could do the manner in which the suits inter- weave in the play. Here is the distribution of the cards:— Hearts—10, 6, 3, z. Clubs—Ace, 9, 8, 2. Diamonds--4. Spades—Ace. king, to, 6. Hearts—Knave, 8. Clubs—King, knave, 7. Diamonds—Queen, knave, 10, 5.

340 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. and he can manage the black suits as if the hand were a no-trumper, if there is any advan- tage in so doing. This position frequently arises in actual play, and many hands may be practically turned into no-trumpers by holding up the thirteenth card of a suit that is still trumps. But in this case the dealer has nothing to gain by following such a course, and his best plan seems to be to knock out the diamonds together and promote the clubs to be trumps, especially as he has seven of them and one has been discarded ; so he leads three rounds of spades and trumps the third. This exhausts the heart suit and promotes the diamonds, and by leading the nine of diamonds he takes out two of them together and still has a trump left, in case spades are played before clubs become trumps. A now has a nice little problem before him for the odd trick, and the situation is a fair example of the skill required in the management of one's cards in the new game. The problem before A is this: Z is apparently marked with the eight of dia- monds or no more. If Z has no more A can make a trick with the spade queen. If Z has another diamond and it is not the eight B can shut him out by trumping the spade queen, but it is hardly likely that B would see it to be his duty to do so. If A leads the diamond in order to catch Z's last trump he takes out B's little trump as well, and he does not thereby protect his queen of spades, because in exhausting the diamonds, if B and Z each have one, A promotes the club suit to the rank of trumps, and Z can trump the spade queen with a club, of which he must have three. Another chance that A might take would be to slip the club knave through the ace, hoping that B held the queen. But if B holds that card two club tricks are certain at any time, no matter how the rest of the hand goes. In the actual game A figured it out that the worst thing that could happen to him would be to have a round of trumps, which would promote the clubs a trick too soon and cost A and B the odd, so he led the king of clubs, forcing Y into the lead with the ace. This effectually prevented Z from leading another diamond and exhausting that suit. Y had nothing left but clubs, having discarded the spade, which he did not foresee the value of, and Z had to win the club trick with the queen. It is useless for Z to lead the diamond now, because it only makes the ten of clubs good for a trick, and the only chance is that A will make the mistake of trumping a third round of clubs. But A, seeing his only hope, passed the club up to his partner, discarding the queen of spades and making the last trick and the odd with his knave of diamonds, which is still a trump at the end. This is a game in which a person's ability to count thirteen is sometimes put to a severe

\" TOO TA TOO.\" 341 the dealer, who could have forced the last heart with his diamonds when he was in, making diamonds trumps and losing only one trick instead of six. The scoring for this game is by tricks and honours, and they do not differ in value, ten points being a game. To the tricks are added as a bonus the honours, which are always the three aces ; but instead of counting them to the side to which they were dealt, they always go to the side that wins them. The ace of hearts is never reckoned, as it must go to the holders ; but each of the other aces may be taken into camp by a trump in a higher suit. It is thus possible to go game in one hand by making a grand slam, which must include the capture of all three aces. The playing of rubbers is a matter of agree- ment, as is the value of rubber points, if any. The laws that are used to govern the new game are essentially those of bridge, except that all rules relating to declarations and doubling are unnecessary. Should anyone renounce to a suit and play a card which he imagines to be a trump when it is not there is no penalty against him except to take the trick from him and to treat the card played as if it were a discard. But should a player renounce to a suit and take back the card he cannot substitute a trump if the card first played was not a trump. Should a player not only take in a trick through an error in his conception of the trump suit, but lead for the next trick, or should his partner lead under such circum- stances, he is liable to the usual penalty for a lead out of turn. No player is allowed to give any informa- tion as to which suit is now the trump, nor as to how many trumps are still in play, under penalty of having his whole hand exposed and the cards in it liable to be called. The penalty for a revoke is to take three actual tricks from the side in error, if they have so many. Tootatoo has several virtues which pro- bably will recommend it to a large number of persons who are always ready for something new in the way of a game of cards. Not the least of these virtues is that you can teach anyone how to play it in less than five minutes—to play at it, that is. How much there is in the game probably will not dawn on one until he has played it for a year at least. As an illustration of some of the varia- tions take the following problem, which is by Mr. Frank Roy, of New York:— Hearts— 5. Clubs—Knave, 8, 7. Diamonds—Knave. Spades—Ace. Hearts—None. Clubs—None. Diamonds—o. Spades—King, queen, knave, 8, 7. /

A Man s Opportunity. By E. M. JAMESON. Illustrated by W. H. Margetson, R.I. ESKETH put her into the brougham very carefully, his clean - shaven, strong young face showing a tenderness pleasant to see. She was driving the short distance alone. From beneath the folds of her evening cloak Nan's bare left hand stole out and touched his own. In the midst of the light and noise and movement they seemed to be absolutely alone. He smiled down at her, then stood back on the pavement. \" To-morrow,\" he said. \" To-morrow,\" she replied, as the carriage moved on to make way for the next in the long line. \" To-morrow.\" There was little space between the two houses, and the electric brougham soon slowed down again before Marshall Balamaine's big house. A flood of light flashed out across the pavement. Nan, who in the few minutes' drive had never stirred, gathered her cloak about her and passed slowly up the steps. In the hall she paused, one little satin shoe upon the stair. The light shone down on her uncovered fair head and the young beauty of her fate. She passed up another stair, the shimmering length of her cloak flowing behind her, then she hesitated again. \" I can't talk about it to-night,\" she said to herself, tremulous with the wonder of it all; \" and yet \" She turned to question the man-servant, and at the same moment saw her father coming along the side hall from his study. \" Still up ? \" she asked, leaning over the balustrade. \" It is so late that I imagined even you might be tired of waiting.\" He smiled, the keen, hard lines of his face softening as they never failed to soften at the sight of her. \" Come along and tell me all about it,\" he said, preparing to lead the way to the study. For an instant she hesitated, looking down at him as if about to refuse. From beneath his heavy brows he shot a look at her, realizing in her a barely-perceptible difference. His heart contracted sharply as he looked, warning him that something had come into her life in which he had no part. She caught his glance and coloured softly, but she followed him into his own room and passed over to the hearth, her cloak slipping from her shoulders as she went. He picked it up and threw it across a chair. She was all in white to-night, like a bride, with a string of pearls round her throat and a creamy rose in the lace at her breast. A little slender thing, inexpressibly dear to him—his one ewe Iamb, whom, father and mother both, he had guarded jealously for nineteen years. For some reason he now thought of the night she had come to him, and how in the shabby little parlour of those days he had waited alone with arms outflung across the table, his fingers stopping his ears. The Lord

A MAN'S OPPORTUNITY. 343 FOR AN INSTANT SHE HESITATED, LOOKING DOWN AT HIM AS IK ABOUT TO REFUSE.\" mised—when I really cared—to tell you. It is all so different. Those others who wanted to marry me \" She waved her hand, smiling mistily up into his face. \" Two of them were good men,\" Balamaine said. \" Hard workers, steady-going ; the third —thank God you never gave him a thought! \" \" Not one of them was Neil,\" said Nan, that happy note still in her voice. \" It never could have been anybody but Neil. He is going to the office to-morrow morning, father, just to settle things with you.\" \" To settle things with me ? \" Balamaine's lips took on a firmer line. Nan, absorbed in her happiness, did not notice the grimness of his tone. She nodded, and put up her face to be kissed. \" I'm so perfectly wideawake and happy that it's hardly worth while going to bed,\" she said. Then, struck through all her self- absorption by something in his eyes, she clung to him a moment. \" Father, you will like Neil ? You're glad ? \" \" I haven't met him yet, Nan, and how can I be glad ? But the man you love has got to prove himself worth while—just because of that — just because you love him and will have to spend your life with him. I'll be

344 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. quite reasonable, my dear; trust your old That father.\" \" I do.\" Nan spoke wistfully. \" Of course I do, just as I trust Neil from the bottom of my heart, though a week ago I hadn't met him. He's the one man I could ever love like that.\" She reached the door and there turned, her cloak a shimmering heap in her arms. Throw- ing it away from her, she ran impulsively back again, putting a hand on his coat-sleeve. \" Father, you're not one of those ridiculous people who imagine love can't come quickly ? FKLT. IN LOVE WITH YOUR MOTHER AT SIGHT,' SAID BALAMAINE, yUIETLY, STARING INTO THE FIRE.\" just a short time isn't enough to make one care for always ? Looking back, I see now that with Neil and myself love came at once—in a flash.\" \" I fell in love with your mother at sight,\" said Balamaine, quietly, staring into the fire. \" It was with us no thing of days or weeks or months, Nan ; and therefore I am not likely to make matters too hard for you and Hesketh. I have no doubt he will readily prove himself.\" \" He will do anything in reason,\" said Nan ; \" just as I will, father.\" There was another sound in her voice—a trace of appre- hension. Balamaine watched her pick up her cloak and pass slowly through the doorway. He dropped into his chair, and there sat with tightly- clenched hands until the last red embers faded into grey and dawn framed the win- dows. He looked about him drearily, and, stooping, picked up the rose she had dropped a few hours before. For a moment he stood with it in his hand, then walked across the room to his writ- ing-table. There he unlocked a drawer in which were the few birth- day letters she had written to him in childhood, and one or two trifles that had belonged to his girl-wife. He dropped the rose in with them and locked the drawer

A MAN'S OPPORTUNITY. 345 After one of the few sleepless nights of his healthy young existence Hesketh sat waiting, his eye on the clock. He was not troubled with any doubts of his acceptance as a son-in-law by the self-made man who controlled so many business interests and whose life-story differed so enormously from his own. Nan loved him—nothing else mattered. He fell into a reverie now, as he thought of her face last night, of the wonder of her beauty, the warmth of her lips as his own touched them for a moment behind the friendly shade of a palm in the conservatory. She loved him, and he loved her. From the first mo- ment he had seen her love had come to him with a force, an ecstasy, a maze of feeling that left him very humble and very glad. He had endured a torture of doubt where she was concerned, but he had none at all about her father. He was glad to be rich, that he need not be accused of fortune-hunting—glad that his family was unimpeachable enough to stand with the best—glad that in all his eight-and- twenty years he had kept himself free of entanglements with other women. In no way a vain man, his life had conspired to give him assurance and a sane belief in himself. He was young, rich, strong, popular with a large circle of friends. The more serious side of life had only lately come his way. He contributed to deserving charities when asked ; he flung largesse to a tramp if he encountered one. He was good-natured, easy-going, and, since his college days, when his abilities had enabled him to take a good place in spite of himself, he had travelled, gone in for sport and amusement with a zest worthy, perhaps, of a better cause. There was an eagerness now in his eyes and upon his tanned face with its clean-cut lips that Nan would have liked to see. He presently sprang to his feet and shook his clenched hand at the clock. \" Hurry, can't you ? If I hadn't my watch to confirm vou I'd swear you were working backwards ! Eleven o'clock, she said, as then his letters would be read and his secretaries seen, and there would be a few minuses' breathing-space to bestow on me before other affairs claimed his attention.\" He walked over to a table that was littered with papers and took up a magazine. When he came to the page he sought he propped it open and thoughtfully considered the some- what harsh lineaments of the ironmaster. Marshall Balamaine's life-story often figured in the Press. People apparently never tired of hearing how the great man had made his Vol. jili.—44. money. It pleased the multitude of workers to know that once he was in a more humble position even than themselves ; that some day, by a stroke of the magician's wand, they, too, might be millionaires. Balamaine's offices were in town, away from the great works he owned, but not so far that from the topmost windows could be seen the

346 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" I have come on no business matter. Mr. Balamaine, but on a personal one. I love Nan, and she, thank God, loves me.\" He spoke with an undercurrent of fervour. \" May I conclude that you will not withhold your consent to our marriage ? \" It was hardly a query. The quiet self- confidence of the words brought Balamaine's heavy brows together in a frown. Upon the writing-table stood a small bronze statuette of a workman leaning on his pickaxe. He lifted the thing up and put it down again, as if weighing it in his hand. Then he gave his attention again to Hesketh. \" You seem very certain of my consent,\" he remarked, dryly. The young man's tanned face took on a degree more colour. \" Why not ? \" he said. \" Nan loves me; there is nothing in my life to my discredit. You will want to put me through my facings, and you naturally want to know the kind of man your daughter is marrying. She has told me all that you are and have been to one another, and, of course \" He broke off, some of his self-confidence torn away by the older man's expression. He half rose, but Balamaine's great hand waved him back. \" Come, that's belter,\" he said. \" I like you to be frank with me. I'm not the man to beat about the bush myself. You're out- spoken with mc ; I'm going to speak my mind to you, and if you get a few hard knocks, well -—I guess my little girl's worth 'em.\" He rose and took a leisurely turn round the room, then came back to his chair and, leaning forward, faced Hesketh. \" Nan seems to have taken a fancy to you, and you seem to think you've fallen in love with Nan. No, wait—don't begin interrupt- ing me; you shall have your say later. You've known each other for a week, she tells me, and last night at a ball matters came to a head.\" It was all hideously commonplace, put that way. Fortunately, Heskelh's sense of humour came to his aid. He folded his arms, set his lips firmly, and made no comment. Marshall Balamaine, fidgeting again with the bronze statuette, nodded to himself. \" And where did you meet before that ? At another ball, she told me. And before that ? At the opera. And before that \" He paused. Hesketh, imperturbable, again made no sign. \" At another ball.\" Hesketh's eyes came back to him from the bronze figure. \" Forgive me for interrupting, but you evidently like to be accurate. It was at a theatre supper given by the Crawleys.\" Balamaine waved his hand in acknow- ledgment of the correction. \" What I want to point out is the fact that never once have you and she met when either was at a disadvantage. You have both been on your very best behaviour, well dressed, pleased with your company, sur-

A MAN'S OPPORTUNITY. 347 Hesketh, you come easily enough to ask me for my only child. I have watched over her and guarded her for nineteen years. We have hardly ever been separated. Her birth cost me my wife, and at first I refused to see the child. I went away from it all with a burning sense of resentment to mourn my loss sullenly alone. And one night \"—his voice grew hoarse—\" across the awful lone- liness, I seemed ' o hear the baby—hers and mine—crying to me, and I came back. We have been all in all to each other for nineteen years until \"—his strongly-marked features contracted and hardened again—\" until you came — you who haven't a notion of what life really means—who have just skated airily over the surface, blind to all that lies beneath, who have never done a day's work in your life, or taken an interest in those who work. I hoped she had enough of her father in her Now it is my turn. I knew you to be a hard man—it's the outcome, I suppose, of your life. But I looked for some kind of tolerance at least from one who has an army of men under him. But. no ; you are narrow, like many of your kind. You've risen to power by trampling on o.her people. You have set up Labour as a god, and those who won't fall down and worship with you, you have no call for. You had the great incentive Need to spur you on — there's nothing like it for nerving a man ; he's got to work, or he's got to go under. If you'd been a rich man's son, you might have been different—probably much pleasanter to deal with. You grind \"WITH A PASSIONATE FOREFINGER HE INDICATED THE BRONZE FIGURE—'THIS IS YOUR FETISH—NOT NAN.'\" lo care for a man with some ideas beyond sport and entertainments.\" He pulled up short in front of Hesketh and eyed him up and down with grudging glance. \" And the pity of it is that you're strong, well-built, manly, with the looks that women set store by. And vou're nothing but a well-bred loafer after all.\" Hesketh had reached the end of his tether. He sprang up, passionately angry, his control flying to the winds. \" You have had your say, in all con- science, and for Nan's sake I've borne it. your people ; you interfere with the existence of those under you. You want to spoil the happiness of the daughter you profess to love. She takes a secondary place. This \"—with a passionate forefinger he indicated the bronze figure—\" this is your fetish—not Nan.\" Taken out of himself, Hesketh walked over to the hearth. He had momentarily for- gotten his errand. Now the face of the girl he loved rose before him and checked his words—her eyes, the soft curve of the lips his own had touched last night. He had failed her, Balamaine was not the man to

348 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. forgive such plain speaking. He ought to have tried diplomatic means. He stood erect and went over to the chair that held his hat and stick. His face looked suddenly older, more determined. He hated the inflexible adversary with whom he had just measured steel. He would have Nan in spite of him. Balamaine, from his big leather revolving chair, watched him. Suddenly he leaned nearer, his eyes gleaming under shaggy brows. \" That's the plainest speaking I've heard for many a day,\" he remarked, and there was that in his deep voice which made Hesketh pause. \" You've a temper of your own, young man, that's certain. Now you've worked it off you're probably ready to apologize.\" Hesketh gave a short laugh. \" Apolo- gize ? Why should I ? There's not a word of it I want to take back. In spite of your whole-hearted denunciation you don't know me yet.\" He turned on his heel again. At that moment before Marshall Balamaine's eyes rose Nan's face, pleading, tremulous, happy. He, too, in the joy of fight had forgotten Nan. He brought his great fist upon the table with an energy that made the contents rattle. Then suddenly it shot out towards Hesketh. \" Shake,\" he said, abruptly. \" I like your spirit, young man, and your worst enemy couldn't accuse you of inconsistency. If you'd taken all I said lying dmvn, just to curry favour on account of my little girl, I wouldn't have wanted to exchange another word with you. So shake, and sit down. We must have the thing right out, here and now.\" And after a momentary pause Hesketh shook hands. Balamaine drew a long breath. Nan, after all, occupied a wide territory in his heart, and Nan would have been hard to face if Hesketh there and then had walked out of the office. Instead, he sat down again. Halamaine had always wished for a son. His glance rested on the younger man, and then he ruminatively shook his head. \" The pity of it,\" he said, half aloud. \" You'll have to prove your mettle for work before you marry my little girl. You've got your good points, I allow, but no wastrel of time shall have Nan.\" Hesketh squared his shoulders and his mouth twitched. \" You seem mightily determined that I am a wastrel. Why, I wonder ? Because I am careful in matters of dress ? So are you, in spite of your sledge-hammer theories on labour. Because I go to an occasional ball, or concert, or theatre ? And because in my travels I have brought down my share of big game ? \" Then, as Balamaine made no reply, he went on with apparent irrelevance. \" Do you recollect that some time ago Verra- meed's bank stopped payment ? It was a one-man show, if you remember, and the high

A MAN'S OPPORTUNITY. 349 Hesketh ceased speaking, and reached over for his hat and stick again. Then as he turned to go he met the older man's glance. \" It was misguided,\" Balamaine's voice was slower than usual, \" but it was a fine thing to do. Quixotic, I grant you, but fine.\" Hesketh shrugged his shoulders again. \" It was nothing of the kind. The fool wanted to do something practical. He was a bit tired of mooning round without a definite object in life. He ran no risks ; he just found himself and his own possibilities—at Verra- meed's. Bank hours, fortunately, are not long, though at Verrameed's, as in other places, we occasionally work overtime.\" He glanced at the clock and then at Balamaine, who stood motionless beside the table, the little bronze figure overturned near his hand. \" Nan has been waiting a long time,\" Hesketh said in a moment. \" I promised to go to her when I had seen you, Mr. Balamaine. May I tell her that I—that you \" In his eyes was an anxiety that had not been there on his entrance. Balamaine strode forward and held out his hand. This time it was the close grip of men standing on an even plane. \" Tell her,\" he began, and his deep voice was a degree hoarse, \" tell her \" He broke off abruptly and gave a short laugh. \" Why, tell her just what every woman likes best to hear from the man she loves.\" \" BALAMAINE STOOD MOTIONLESS BESIDE THE TABLE, THE LITTLE BRONZE FIGURE OVERTURNED NEAR HIS HAND.''

CAREERS IN PICTURES. I.-Tke Right Hon. JOHN BURNS, M P. BIRTHPLACE. No. 19 (once No. 7) Simpson Street.Vaux- hall. London, where John Burns was born in 1858 is the house marked with a X. His father and mother were both Scotch, and it was only a short time before his birth that they came to London. A REMINISCENCE OF CHILDHOOD. A well-known story of Burns's childhood is here illustrated. He was hetpinjr his mother to carry a basket of washing, and as they stopped a moment on Westminster Bridge to rest he exclaimed: \" Mother, it I've health and strength, no other mother shall have to work as hard as you have to. and no child do what I have to do \" FACTORY LIFE. At the early age of ten John Burns went to work in Price's candle factory at Battersea (here shown), where he stayed for two years, during which time his mother wisely saw to it that his schooling was not neglected. He left the candle factory to become a page-boy, as the increased wages would the sooner enable him to apprentice himself to an engineer. He did not. however, continue for Ionic as a boy in buttons, as he found more congenial work as a rivet-lad in Wilson's engineering works at Vauxhall. where he went at the age cf thirteen. He was now not only maintaining himself, but also helping towards the household expenses as well as augmenting his fund for the purpose of apprenticing himself as an ennineer at Thorn's. Millbank. near the spot where the Tate Gallery now stands. All this time he had a passion for acquiring knowledge, often going without food in order to buy some coveted book. Nor were many of his books such as would have appealed to the average boy. for at an early age he had read much of John Stuart Mill. Thomas Carlyle, John Ruskin. and William Cobbett, and. what is more, had profited by his reading.

CAREERS IN PICTURES. IN WEST AFRICA. His apprenticeship completed, at the age of nineteen he went out to West Africa as foreman engineer, and one of his companions has recorded an incident of those days. They were returning from Brass River through a shark-infested creek, when the propeller of their steam-launch fell off. His friend proposed diving for it. but Burn-, would not hear of it. \"No,\" he said, \"you are married and I am single; if either of us risks his life, I'm the man.\" And he stripped, plunged in, and after a long search recovered one of the two blades. FIRST STANDS FOR PARLIAMENT. John Burns in 1885, in which year he first stood for Parliament as Socialist candidate for West Nottingham, and received 598 votes out of a total poll of 11.064. THE WEST-END RIOTS. As a sequel to the West-end riots of 1886. John Burns, in company with other Socialist leaders, found himself in the dock at Bow Street, but the subsequent trial resulted in his acquittal, and, incidentally, \" made \" him as a Labour leader. In the above picture the figure of John Burns will be recognized standing beside a policeman. His next appearance in the dock, however, ended in a sentence of three months* imprisonment for his share in the vindication of public meeting in Trafalgar Square. This experience of prison life was not without its uses, for, as he once remarked, \"There are no such schools for training a public man as Pcntonville and the County Council.\" THE GREAT LONDON DOCK STRIKE. John Burns addressing the Dockers on Tower Hill at the time of the great Dock Strike of 1889. His influence with the strikers was all-powerful, qnd to this must be attributed the fact that the strike was conducted with such comparative quietness and order.

352 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. IN THE CAUSE OF PEACE. During the Dock Strike John Burns took part in the Conciliation Conference at the Mansion House, amongst the other members being the late Cardinal Manning. Sir John Lubbock, and other well-known public men. The figure standing is Mr. (now Sir) William Soulsby, then as now, the Lord Mayor's Secretary. AS AN OUTDOOR MAN. John Burns never seems so happy and in his element as when he is opening some new institution or playing ground for the benefit of Londoners and treating his audience to one of his racy speeches, full of observation and home truths. This picture, taken on the occasion of the opening of a new recreation ground at Ealing, also shows him in another favourite role—that of cricketer. All his life he has been an enthusiastic cricketer and lover of outdoor sports, and for many years his has been a familiar figure on thecommons and playing grounds round London, especially on Saturday afternoons. EARLY DAYS ON THE L.C.C. Voting at the London County Council in its early days under Lord Rosebery's chairmanship. John Burns, who at this time (1890) was one of Biittersea's repre- sentatives on the Council though not yet in Parlia- ment, is seen leaning on his desk facing Lord Rosebery. He was the only working man in the first Council, and in con- sequence had a large share in framing its labour policy. He put in an immense amount of work on various Committees and fully earned the title of \"The Statesman of Labour.\" ELECTIONEERING. In 1892 John Burns first became M.P. for Battersea. and the between constituents and member has increased with years, photograph shows a typical scene in Battersea during Election The

CAREERS IN PICTURES. 353 AS CABINET MINISTER. John Burns in Levee dress was at first a strange sight to Londoners who had for so long been accus- tomed to his blue reefer suit, but it is one with which they are now becoming familiar. PRESIDENT OF THE LOCAL GOVERNMENT BOARD. The fine block of buildings in Whitehall which is the home of the Local Government Board, to the Presidency of which John Burns was appointed in 1905. When, at the age of forty-seven, he became a member of the Cabinet he was one of the youngest members of the Government, and the first working man to attain Cabinet rank. At the time of his appointment the salary attaching to the position was £2,000 a year, but that has recently been raised to £5,000 in view of the incr. asing importance of the post, and the enormous development of the work of the Local Government Board consequent on the rapid growth of London. IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS John Burns speaking from the Treasury Bench on one of his favourite subjects-Unemployment and it, Remedy \" The causes of unemployment are numerous; they strike deep: they are socal. economic personal, and political. They are the accumulation of ages, and no single Act would be able to remove them. Photograph, by Illustration, Bureau. Central News. Topical. W. S. Campbell, and R. Haines. Vol. xli.- 45.

A Pri nsoner of Providence, By FRANK E. VERNEY. Illustrated by Dudley Hardy, R.I. T was exactly eight o'clock in the evening when Hannaford Fielding walked into his flat near the Buckingham Palace Road. That the great special correspondent of the Tribune should prefer Belgravia's pre- cincts for his pied-a-terre had at times caused remark among his friends and the staff of the paper, the view-point being that, for a man whose disinclination for Society was as great as his fondness for his profession, a dwelling between the Strand and Fleet Street would have been more fitting. Beyond that there was no reason why he should not live in Park Lane itself if he desired. But Fielding's wants were a quiet neigh- bourhood and a railway-centre, so during the few and short periods of his presence in London he wrote and slept in a great panelled room equi-distant from Buckingham Palace and Victoria Station. One of these intervals had just arrived at an end. Five days ago he had come into Charing Cross from a trip across Siberia; to-night he was leaving Victoria to join a tropical expedition that was sailing from Hamburg the next night. He had dined with friends at a specially early hour, returning home to change his clothes and to obtain his despatch-case, with ample time to stroll to Victoria and catch the 8.35 Continental express. Inside his room Fielding lit a cigarette, and sat down at his writing-table to check the contents of his case. This done, he looked at his watch, then pushed away his chair and walked across to an old-fashioned wardrobe of considerable dimensions, a ponderous piece of furniture with a capacious hanging cupboard at one side, the full-length mirrored door of which reached practically to the floor. He threw off his light overcoat, flung it on a near .couch, and put out his hand to the knob of the cupboard. As he did so the heavy door swung violently open and smashed against his outstretched fingers. \" The devil ! \" he exclaimed, and he sprang back a pace. \" I guess, Mr. Fielding,\" said a charming feminine voice with a slight transatlantic drawl, \" that one of my countrymen would have been more polite \" ; and there stepped out of the wardrobe a figure which matched the voice, and Fielding, in speechless amaze- ment, looked from the serviceable revolver which a white, diamond-ringed hand held in businesslike alignment with his head to the slender figure in an evening dress of old rose, framed in the dark doorway of his clothes cupboard. If the intruder had been a man—an ordinary burglar—Fielding would have closed with him at the instant of appearance, arms

A PRISONER OF PROVIDENCE. 355 attractive one, too—the phenomenon was too bewildering. \" The devil ! \" he said again. \" Put up your hands,\" commanded the girl, firmly. Fielding's trade tended to induce in him a quick and nonchalant acceptance of extra- been troublesome, instead of just standing and repeating an unoriginal invocation, like any ordinary person.\" \" If it is not a rude question,\" said Fielding, politely, \" may I ask what you are doing here ? You might even honour me with an inkling as to your identity.\" •\"put up your hands,' commanded the girl, FIRMLY.\" ordinary situations, so he quietly and tact- fully elevated his hands before trying to discover the meaning of the astonishing adventure. \" Thank you,\" said the girl, slight relief in her tones. \" I was afraid you might have The girl laughed a trifle discomposedly. \" That's real delicious,\" she said ; and Fielding, with the observantly-trained eye of the descriptive writer, noted that the details of his '' guest's\" appearance fitted his first momentary impression. He could not see her eyes on account of the black velvet half-mask she wore, but he was pleased with the fine lines of her arms and neck and the slight tan of her complexion. \" In the meantime,\" he said, \" I am won- dering if you realize that the modern revolver has a hair trigger, and that an unsteady finger might mean \"■

356 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" Depriving the Tribune of its chief correspondent,\" she interrupted. \" Truly,\" she confessed, \" my hand is rather trembly, but I daren't take my finger away; you might—besides, I used to shoot rather well on Poppa's ranch.\" Fielding caught a glimpse of himself in one of the side mirrors of the wardrobe, and could not help smiling. \" I am sure,\" he commented, with an indicative glance at his evening clothes, \" that your estimable parent never taught you to ' hold up ' the hands of an obviously unarmed man.\" \" Will you promise to be sensible and not ring the bell, or anything like that ? \" she demanded. \" You appear to command the circum- stances,\" he remarked. \" Further, if it is any comfort to you, there is no bell to ring.\" \" Of course,\" she reminded him, \" this revolver might go off if you did anything to startle me.\" \" There is that possibility, of course,\" he admitted. \" We will call it a truce for five minutes. I can barely spare that time, but you seem desirous of—er—securing my attention.\" \" Five minutes ? I guess that will do to go on with,\" she agreed. She pointed to the chair ten feet away. \" You sit in that,\" she ordered. \" But you \" he demurred, courteously. \" I shall occupy the table opposite,\" she stated ; and Fielding's eyes twinkled as he walked to the chair and sat down, while his surprising \" guest \" levered herself into a sitting position on the table. \" That's better,\" she exclaimed. \" I've been in that horrid old cupboard half an hour, and, pouf!—it smells horribly of stale tobacco \"—she complained. \" Unfortunately,\" observed Fielding, sug- gestively, \" I had not sufficient notice that you would require its shelter, otherwise I might have given up smoking for a month or two—I might even have perfumed the interior with your special perfume,\" he added, ironically, as he inhaled a faint odour of violets. \" I guess your sense of smell is keener than your sense of humour,\" she replied, with a flush which betrayed a woman-like disrelish for observations of a sarcastic nature. \" That's real delicious!\" commented Fielding, with a grin, repeating her own earlier phrase. He was beginning to enjoy the unusual situation. Naturally he had a taste for the out-of-the-way. He was, of course, com- pletely puzzled, but already he was sorry that time would not permit him to prolong the incident. The revolver ! Well, he did not bother about that. The girl smiled in return with quickly- recovered sang-froid. \" Do you mind if I smoke ? \" she asked, and, laying her revolver on her lap, she opened

A PRISONER OF PROVIDENCE. 357 she examined her bracelet. \" These things are very stupid.\" Fielding took out his watch. \" Five minutes past eight,\" he informed her, \" and,\" he added, \" the truce is nearly up, and I am tion to being played with, and this finished trespasser seemed determined on maintaining the mystery of her presence. \" I have just remarked,\" he said, \" that I must go. What is it you want of me ? \" The girl for answer lit another cigarette. \"For the last time,\" repeated Fielding, with exasperation, \" will you be kind enough to tell me who you are ? \" \" Yes,\" she said, with provoking procrastina- tion, \"I will tell you who I am. I am Providence.\" \"Providence—whom?\" he queried. \" Providence,\" the girl repeated — \" just Provi- dence — the smoother of steps — the opportunity- monger.\" For a second Fielding 'SHE SEEMED IN NO HURRY TO ENTER INTO EXPLANATIONS—TO STATE HER BUSINESS WITH HIM.\" afraid I have no further time to place at your disposal.\" \" I suppose,\" the girl inquired, \" in your profession it is a great thing to be able to walk out of your door with no servants or anything to bother about, and just walk in again when you care to return ? \" Fielding lost patience. He had an objec- stared. Surely a fascinating creature like that was not a lunatic ? No ! It was a huge joke. He was frankly annoyed. \" I must request you to leave,\" he said. \" I have to change and catch a train at eight- thirty-five.\" \" Stop ! \" she commanded as he attained his feet, and she brandished the revolver.